Peever ushered me into the back of the Ford. He climbed into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. The other agent got in next to him. Then the van pulled away from the curb and Peever followed, so close it was like we were attached. The Dodge moved off too, making us the meat in a tightly packed law-enforcement sandwich, and the three vehicles tore down the center of the long, winding, tree-lined streets of my neighborhood so fast that any normal driver would have been arrested for it.
I kept waiting for Peever to say something, but he stayed absolutely silent. As did the other agent. I figured they were trying to trick me into starting a conversation so I’d incriminate myself, somehow. Like McKenna had tricked me with the bugs in my study.
Wait. McKenna had tricked me? How did I know that? I only had Peever’s word for it. Peever claimed McKenna had his guy pretend to find the first set of bugs, as a cover to plant his own. But who was to say Peever hadn’t pretended to find the second set, to discredit McKenna? Or to plant more? What they’d done with the phone wasn’t a million miles from pulling a dime out of a kid’s ear, and the two guys’ performances had been equally convincing.
I was still weighing the odds when a small sports car—a Mercedes SLK, in red—shot out from behind a giant boulder at the side of the road. I lost track of it for a moment, then realized it had managed to squeeze into the tiny gap between our car and the Dodge. The Mercedes’ hood was alarmingly close. I couldn’t see its radiator grill. Or license plate. But I could see the driver. She had long, wavy, blond hair. Richly tanned skin. Scarlet nails. And she was simultaneously applying eye makeup and adjusting her CD player. The lack of a collision suddenly seemed like a miracle.
The woman reached down to swap her mascara for a paper coffee cup, losing a little of her speed and allowing a small gap to open up between her car and ours.
“Watch her,” Peever warned his partner, backing off the gas a little himself as we steered into a tight curve.
It was an unnecessary instruction. The agent—like me—couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman. It was fascinating, the way she could apparently pay so little attention to the road and yet keep herself out of harm’s way. Next she discarded the coffee in favor of her phone, and the only impact was the loss of a little more speed.
Rubber squealed ahead of us and almost simultaneously I heard the hollow, ripping thud of one vehicle plowing into another. I pitched forward as Peever hit the brakes, and flew sideways into the foot well. I clawed myself up, winded from slamming into the front seats and desperate to escape the confined space.
Behind us, there was no sign of the Mercedes. Or the Dodge. But ahead, I could see the van. Its rear end had slewed round thirty or forty degrees, narrowly avoiding the trees at the side of the road. Its passenger side was all caved in. The vehicle that had rammed it—a shiny orange pickup truck with huge, knobbly tires—was in front of us, blocking us off. Steam was spilling from its radiator and clods of mud led back to a gap in the wall.
Movement caught my eye. It was a man in black coveralls, running, with a mask over his face. He was heading around the van, to the side that hadn’t been wrecked in the collision. Then another man appeared. He was raising some kind of weapon—like a rifle, only shorter and with a wider barrel. A bright flash came from the van, followed by a dull whump. The crumpled vehicle rocked on its springs. Peever and the other agent were scrabbling to open their doors. They were raising their guns and aiming at the second man, but I already knew they’d be too late.
“Bowman, down!” Peever yelled, but I was already back on the floor, pressing myself into the musty carpet.
There were three shots, painfully loud, then something shattered—the windshield?—and I felt pellets of glass rain down on my back. A heavy object slammed into the seat behind me, bouncing up against the rear door and hissing malevolently. And within a millisecond of it landing, ten thousand needles were ramming themselves into my eyeballs.
I heard the front doors opening and I raised my head, desperate for clean air, unable to see, my cheeks streaming with tears. There were two muted bangs, like someone swatting flies with a rolled-up magazine.
And then there was silence.
Wednesday. Evening.
THE WORLD FROZE ON ITS AXIS AND REMAINED THAT WAY UNTIL both of the car’s back doors were pulled open, jolting the universe back into motion. Hands grabbed my ankles and lifted my legs up onto the seat. Then someone took hold of me under the arms and started pulling me out of the car.
“Marc, can you hear me?” The voice was familiar, but distorted by the ringing in my ears. “Come on. We have to get you out of here. Take you somewhere safe.”
How could the police have arrived so fast? Then the penny dropped.
“Agent McKenna?” My feet hit the pavement. “Is that you? I can’t see. Why are you here? What the hell’s going on? And the other agents? Are they—”
“They’re fine, Marc.” McKenna was still taking most of my weight. “But we have to get you away. Right now. Come on.”
“Wait.” I struggled to free myself. “Peever said you’re an impostor. Said you were planting bugs in my study, not removing them.”
“I’m not surprised.” McKenna let go of my chest but straightaway grabbed my right arm. “I can’t air too much dirty laundry, but there’s a chance Peever’s been turned. Think about it, Marc. If we’d had bugs in your house, we would’ve rescued you before those guys got out of your driveway.”
I felt a second pair of hands take hold of my left arm.
“How did you know to act at all?”
“Remember when I told you I didn’t think the thieves would come back? I lied. So we’ve been watching your house. Around the clock. We saw Peever’s crew arrive, and figured they were up to no good. But we couldn’t be sure until they tried to take you away. We couldn’t let that happen, so we intervened.”
McKenna sounded plausible. But Peever had, too. I didn’t know who to trust. And my eyes were stinging like hell, which made it impossible to think.
“What the hell did you use tear gas for?” I muttered.
“We had to. So we could pop them with tranquilizer darts. We need them alive, to stand trial. Here.” McKenna pressed a piece of damp fabric into my hand. “Use this. Time’s the only real cure, but this’ll ease the sting a little.”
He gave me a moment to dab my eyes, then started to lead me away from the car again.
“Here’s another question.” He was trying to make me move faster. “When Peever busted into your house, there were two detectives with him, right?”
“Right. The lazy pair who took my burglary complaint.”
“They left before the agents drove off with you. One of them took a phone call. About a family emergency.”
“That’s right. How did you know?”
“Because there was no family emergency. We had her lieutenant make that call. We wanted them pulled before we came for you. A maneuver like this? There’s no guarantee things won’t get out of control. And we don’t want the wrong people getting hurt, if they do.”
“And the ambush?” I was struggling to see a flaw in his words. “You staged it? The woman in the Mercedes was part of it?”