As they neared the front door, the porch light flashed on — presumably triggered by a motion sensor — but nothing else happened to indicate that the house was occupied. Jenna stabbed a finger at the doorbell button and heard a muffled two-tone ringing noise from within. Several seconds passed. Jenna was debating whether to ring again or walk away when she heard the soft click of a lock bolt disengaging.
She exchanged looks and shrugs with Mercy, then tried the door handle. Both the screen and front doors were unlocked. Jenna stood on the threshold, staring into the room beyond. In the diffuse illumination cast by the porch light, she could make out the front room, appointed with tasteful but generic furniture, and little else. There was no sign of the householder.
“This is like the start of a bad fairy tale.”
Mercy nodded. “I know what you mean.”
Jenna stayed there a moment longer, then turned around. While she had not really known what to expect from the mysterious Bill Cort, this was most definitely not even on the list of possibilities. “We should go.”
Mercy started to answer, but at that moment another sound issued from within the house: the distinctive trilling of a landline telephone.
Jenna’s breath caught with a gasp. “Forget fairy tales. This is more like a slasher flick.”
The phone rang without cease. Jenna expected that after three or four rings, voicemail or an answering machine would pick up. After eight cycles, she figured the caller would give up, but the ringing continued.
“I think someone knows we’re here,” Mercy finally said. “So we should either answer it or get the hell out of here.”
“I have to know,” Jenna said. “But hold the door open, okay?”
Mercy nodded.
Jenna stepped inside and followed the electronic chirps to their source, a rather quaint telephone set from the pre-digital age, sitting on a side table. Jenna laid a hand on the cool plastic receiver and picked it up.
She held the receiver at arm’s length, relishing the return of near total silence for a moment, then held it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Jenna?” The voice was masculine and not the least bit familiar. “Am I speaking to Jenna Flood?”
Jenna felt a chill shoot down her spine. “Who are you?”
“The name is Cort, and the fact that you’re talking to me right now tells me that your father sent you there. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Jenna looked around the room, searching for a hidden video camera, but she remembered that the ringing had started when she was still outside. The camera had been on the porch. Cort, wherever he was, had probably been watching them from the moment they opened the gate.
When she didn’t answer, Cort continued. “I’m on my way there right now. Five minutes, tops. Just get inside and sit tight. I know you probably won’t believe this, but you can trust me. I know what’s been happening to you. I can help.”
“You’re right, Mr. Cort. I don’t believe it.”
“Jenna, listen to me. I worked with your father. He trusts me. You know he does. That’s why he sent you my way.”
She felt her rage start to boil again. “You have no idea how little that means to me right now.”
There was a long silence on the line, then a sigh. “I guess you found out about…” He didn’t finish the sentence. “Look, I can explain everything to you when I get there, but you have to trust me.”
“People are trying to kill me, Mr. Cort. I’m not going to trust anyone.”
“I’m going to hang up and drive now, but Jenna I’m begging you to hear me out. The danger you’re in right now is just the tip of the iceberg. This is much bigger than you can possibly imagine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The only answer was the buzz of a dial tone in her ear.
35
Jenna was sitting on the couch in the front room when Cort arrived, as promised, slightly less than five minutes after ending the telephone call. He looked to be about the same age as Noah, a little taller and a little leaner, but no less grizzled. His bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothing — khakis and a tropical-patterned short-sleeved shirt — conveyed the impression of someone who had crashed after an all-night party.
He gave her an appraising look, then glanced around, as if searching for someone else. “Where’s your friend?”
Jenna did not answer directly. “You’ve got cameras here, right? That’s how you knew it was me?”
Mercy had not liked the idea of waiting around for Cort to come to them, but Jenna saw no alternative. “If it is a trap,” she had told Mercy, “we’re already in it. What we have to do now is give ourselves a way out.”
Mercy was hiding somewhere nearby, keeping an eye and the barrel of her pistol trained on the house. If Cort showed up with a posse in tow, or gave any hint of treachery, she would do what she could to provide cover for Jenna’s escape. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Jenna felt as alone as she had during the ordeal with the Villegas brothers.
Cort laughed — a short barking sound — and sank into a chair on the opposite side of the room. “That’s your first question? After everything you’ve been through?”
“This place is some kind of safe house, right? Cameras, remote locks, who knows what else. That tells me you’re working for the government…well, a government. I’m not sure which one. I think the men that tried to kill me work for the government, too. So…yeah, that’s my first question.”
She held his gaze, as curious about how he would react, as she was about what he would say. His eyes did not move.
Of course not. He knows all the same tricks that Noah taught me. I’ll never know if he’s lying.
“Let’s just cut to the chase, then. Yes, I work for the government. Our government. Just like your father did—”
“He wasn’t my father.” It was out of her mouth before she could even think about whether it was the right thing to say.
Cort’s expression did not change. “Now see, I thought your first question would have something to do with that.”
Jenna did not allow herself to be derailed. “So you do work for the government.”
“Yes, but not for the people that are after you. Not exactly. It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it,” she said. “Or I’m out of here.”
Cort drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. It was the closest thing to a ‘tell’ that Jenna had seen from him. She thought he might be stalling. Finally he cleared his throat. “Why don’t you invite your friend in? She might be interested in what I have to say.”
Jenna shook her head. “I feel safer with her right where she is.”
“Suit yourself.” Cort stood up. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? There are some Cokes in the fridge.”
Definitely stalling. Jenna stood up and headed for the door.
“Wait.”
She stopped but did not turn.
“I need you to see something. In the signal room.”
“What’s a signal room?”
“It’s like an office. Come on. I’ll show you.”
“If you’re wasting my time…” She let the threat hang. She was not exactly in a position to make demands. The only leverage she had was the ability to walk out the door, and the price for that would be abandoning the search for answers.
Cort led her into a short hall with three doors. The first was slightly ajar, revealing a bathroom. The other two were closed. He opened one of the latter and led Jenna into a space that looked more like the control room of a space ship than a mere office. One entire wall was dominated by enormous flat screen television monitors. There was a long utilitarian desk with two open laptop computers, along with printers, scanners, telephones and other devices that Jenna did not recognize. Large computer servers dominated one entire wall, while the wall opposite the screens was lined with gun-metal gray freestanding cabinets.