Qubit, page 18
“No,” she said again, but it was a whimper now, as though the breath was leaving her body, evaporating through her midsection.
When the man next to her reached out and touched her hair, she sprang forward off the cot and staggered toward the door. The three men quickly surrounded her, and a hand slapped onto the door. She stared into the slitted eyes of the man who’d been at the foot of the bed. His nostrils flared, and his thinly-mustached lip curled. She felt a hand grab her breasts and another grabbed her chin. In a moment, it was going to be too late.
She screamed.
The man with the scar slapped her and yelled something. She fell away from the door and scrambled on her knees to hide behind the easy chair. The men approached her, half-smiling, half-sneering. Angry, ugly words were being spoken. She couldn’t understand them, but she had no doubt about their import. Her eyes darted around the room, but there was no place else to go. One man made a grab for her and then another pushed the chair aside and pulled up her dress. She tried to scream again, but a hand grabbed her jaw and pushed it closed. She got an arm loose for a moment and struck out wildly, but the men just laughed.
In a blinding flash, the lights came on, the laughing stopped, and she was released. She fell backward into the corner, her hands over her eyes. She heard yelling and looked up, squinting toward the door where a fourth man filled the frame. Two of the men went to the door. The man doing the yelling grabbed them each in turn and threw them out into the hallway. The man with the thin mustache remained, his head bowed. Sophie fell to the ground, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. The fourth man, who was obviously in charge, came over to the corner and Sophie hid her head in her arms. She felt a powerful grip on her arm, pulling her to her feet and dragging her to the cot.
She fell onto the cot and quickly gathered herself into the corner again. The man was still yelling, and something hit her in the face, bringing with it a dank, familiar smell. Her old clothes. She looked up at the man, who was scolding her, then back at her clothes. She gathered them up, confused. The man in charge grabbed the ear of the man with the mustache, who was still cowering by the displaced easy chair, and led him out of the room, closing the door behind them.
Sophie frantically pulled the dress over her head and put on her old, smelly clothes. Kicking the dress away from her, she began furiously rubbing her head, tangling her hair into an unruly mess. A voice called out from the hallway and the door opened. The man with the mustache re-entered the room and closed the door behind him. He moved the easy chair back into position and then walked over and turned off the light. In the shadows, Sophie could see him sit down while she hugged her knees on the cot. She felt his stare and shivered.
She remembered her father’s face on the video feed, the images coming through like stop-motion. She couldn’t remember what he’d said. All she could remember was the way he’d looked at her, and she felt something ripping in her gut when she did. She could no longer identify distinct emotions—anger, sadness, fear. Her insides were just a doughy mess.
But there were two things that were abundantly clear. First, her father couldn’t save her.
Second, she had to leave this place.
Tonight.
20
* * *
FBI Regional Headquarters, New Orleans
Friday, May 4th
7:00 p.m. CDT (Central Daylight Time)
“Director?”
Honour looked up from his piles of papers and his Styrofoam cups. He pushed a wayward lock of hair from his eyes, his hair-gel having lost its potency some hours past. The clock on the wall read seven, and light streaming in from the windows meant it was a new day. He was alone in the room now, just here to make sure the next phase of the dragnet got underway smoothly.
A pair of hands holding a red folder appeared in the doorway, followed by muscled forearms and, finally, the burly figure of one of his agents. Forearms…that’s Thorton, thought Honour.
“Yes, Agent Thorton.”
“Special Agent, sir,” corrected Thorton.
You’d think it would be enough that I remembered your name at all, thought Honour. “What is it?”
“We have an interesting development.”
“Good,” said Honour, the corners of his mouth turned down. “What is it now?”
“This, I think…uh, I think this might be—”
“Just tell me.”
“So Lochan Cairnes, remember that one?”
“God, no. Do you know how many of these I’ve looked at?”
Thorton looked at a folder. “Priority two. Two priors. Possession with intent. Computer fraud. Fixed his friend’s grades. From Detroit.”
“Actually, I do remember him. Borderline.”
“Yeah, I think he’s priority one now.”
“Why?”
“Maybe even higher than that.”
“For God’s sake, Thorton. Get to the fucking point.”
“We’re getting back cross-checks from local PD, right? Turns out, this guy’s daughter was abducted last Friday. Still missing.”
Honour sat up and stared in front of him as though he were going to open a portal that would allow him to begin surveillance on Lochan Cairnes right there in the conference room. He turned back to Thorton. “That’s a helluva coincidence.”
“You think it’s a coincidence?”
“No, Thorton, that’s the point.”
“Oh. Well…there’s more.”
“Oh?”
“Detroit PD says he’s suspected of being an accessory. And he gave his occupation as a computer programmer. Which means he’s still active. As a hacker.”
“He’s a suspect? In the kidnapping?”
“As an accessory.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t matter for now. Bump him to one. Put some surveillance on him. And find out why he’s a suspect. Could just be some petty custody thing.”
“Yes, sir. Maybe we should just pick him up?”
Honour paused and placed his forefinger to his lips. “No, not yet. The markets aren’t going to be open again until Monday. So we’ve got a little time. Let’s see where he leads us.”
Lafayette Park, Detroit • Lock's Apartment
Friday, May 4th
9:00 p.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Lock slumped forlornly on his couch. Kafka sat on the edge of the recliner, elbows on his knees, holding a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.
“At least you know she’s alive,” Kafka reminded him.
“I couldn’t even speak,” groaned Lock.
“I’m not surprised.”
“And she was crying…”
“Of course she was.”
“It all happened so fast.”
“Look, you at least established—”
There was a loud pounding on the door. Lock sat up abruptly. “The fuck?”
“Lock! Open the door!” yelled a voice from behind the door.
Lock stood up. Was that Kirin? He went to the door and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, he could see Kirin’s face, his nose nearly pressed against the door.
Lock flung it opened and stepped back as Kirin made a blustery entrance, flanked by two large men wearing suits and sunglasses. Lock guessed that they were the same men who’d been following him. Kirin looked uncharacteristically dour. The trio were all wearing wool overcoats even though it was actually a mild evening.
“What’s going on?” asked Lock.
“You’re being followed,” said Kirin.
Lock glanced at the two men with Kirin. “Yeah, no kidding.”
Kirin shook his head. “No, I mean, by someone else.”
Lock’s insides fluttered. “Like who?”
“Who’s this?” demanded Kirin, pointing at Kafka.
Kakfa stood up and extended his hand. “I’m Kafka.”
Kirin ignored Kafka’s proffered hand and turned to Lock. “Get him out of here.”
“He’s my friend. Who’s following me?”
“We don’t know. But there are only so many candidates. I need you to pack a bag. Don’t bring your cell phone or your—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Lock, holding up his hand. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Lock, please. This is no time for your—you need to keep your head this time.”
“Listen, I’m not—”
“Lock!” yelled Kirin.
The two men regarded each other in silence. Kirin stepped closer to Lock and spoke barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to warn you before. These people, the people I work for, are dangerous. When are you going to get that? What has to happen for you to understand? The only prayer you have of seeing your daughter again is to do exactly as I tell you. What’s more, from here on out, I won’t be here to protect you, Lock. You will be dealing with them directly. And, believe me—”
“Protect me?” asked Lock, his outrage dying on his lips.
“Yes, Lock. I’ve been the buffer. But that’s over now. You’re going to Singapore.”
“Singapore?”
“Lock, please. Just listen.”
“I’m listening. It’s just—Singapore? Is that where Sophie is?”
Kirin closed his eyes and exhaled. “You pack a bag. Pack light. Don’t bring anything that could be even remotely considered a weapon. Don’t bring your cell phone or your laptop or anything like that. We’ll clean out your apartment after you leave. Just a few changes of clothes. Your passport. These men will drive you to the airport. You’ll board my jet, which will take you, as I said, to Singapore.”
Lock’s eyes wandered vacantly around his apartment for a moment. He looked at Kafka, who gave a slight shrug, and then at the two men waiting impassively behind Kirin.
“Now,” insisted Kirin.
Naubatpur (Bihar, India) • Rathod Apartment Building
Saturday, May 5th
3:00 a.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Sophie sat up abruptly in the darkness. She had nearly fallen asleep. She swung her legs slowly over the edge of the cot, her bare feet coming to rest on the carpet.
Don’t think about it, she reminded herself.
She looked over at the figure in the chair. He was asleep again. Standing up and walking to the door, she realized she didn’t know where the sandals or her shoes had gone. She would have to go barefoot. The knob of the door handle rattled obstinately instead of turning. She held her breath and looked over at the sleeping silhouette. He didn’t stir.
Someone had locked the door, but it locked from the inside. Maybe the idea was to keep the men away from her. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to stay here any longer.
Unlocking the door and opening it produced a squeak, but she didn’t bother looking back. She stepped on the balls of her feet, moving quickly across the hall and into the bathroom. Without hesitation, she walked to the window and pushed with both hands on the screen. It popped out and fell away from the window. The sound was sharp but brief. She listened for a moment, hearing only the familiar murmuring of the voices coming from downstairs, playing at cards.
She pulled herself up onto the windowsill. Its frame dug into her flesh as she folded herself up and managed to rotate and swing her legs outside. She looked down briefly and regretted it immediately. It was too far to jump. She forced herself to think about what it felt like, trapped in that corner with those hands on her. She recalled the pixelated, halting images of her father’s impotent misery.
No one was coming to save her.
And so she jumped.
She landed hard, an icy jolt running up her right ankle, followed by a wave of nausea that nearly knocked her down again when she tried to stand. It passed and resolved into a woozy ache, coming from the ankle. Reflexively, she shifted her weight to her left foot and took in her surroundings. She was between two buildings separated by a patch of dead grass. Walking directly away from the building she’d jumped from, she was immediately blinded by bright bursts of electric light. Her right knee folded and she fell to the ground.
She lay still, taking several deep and deliberate breaths. She found herself alone in the darkness, lying in the grass. She tried moving her right ankle and gasped in pain. Standing awkwardly, she moved her left foot forward quickly and then brought the right one even. There was pain, but it was manageable. She would simply limp.
Moving as quickly as she could through the moonlit darkness, she passed the building across from the one she’d fled, and then another. She came to an empty road and crossed it, passing more buildings and small, flat homes until coming to a half-collapsed fence, overgrown with weeds. She walked along the fence for a while until she found an opening.
Soon she was surrounded by trees and shrubs. She could hear water flowing nearby. The foliage overhead hid the moon, and the darkness was nearly complete. She followed the sound of the water and came to a small brook. She made her way alongside the brook, falling into a regular rhythm. The pain coming from her right ankle made her dizzy with each step. The muscles in her left thigh burned. And her mouth was dry.
As the sky turned violet, she decided to stop and rest. She knelt down next to the brook and scooped some water into her mouth. The smell and the taste were unpleasant, but she forced herself to drink it. She wouldn’t last long if she became dehydrated. She sat up and leaned against a rock, looking around. She could see a road and some houses across a meadow. She was too exposed here, she decided, and forced herself to her feet and continued on.
The brook led her into a small ravine. The sky was pink when she came to a cluster of three abandoned houses overlooking each side of the brook. She stepped inside the first one and looked around. She could hide here for the day. She found a corner facing the entrance and sat down. Leaves and moss covered the ground and formed something of a mattress. It’s at least as comfortable as that awful cot, she thought as she lay down. Listening to the brook making its way past, she thought about the people that once lived there and listened to that same sound. Slowly, the pain in her ankle began to ebb, and her body began to reclaim itself from her mind.
She closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.
ψ
When she finally awoke, she’d been aware of the burning sensation for some time. She sat up and then gasped in pain, clutching at the ground as though she might fall off the surface of the earth. Slowly regaining her senses, she could feel the burn on her face and arms and the nauseating pain surging up into her body from her ankle. She looked down toward her feet and realized that it had swollen up to the size of a volleyball.
Her forearms were bright red. She’d been laying there for hours in the bright sunlight. On the other side of the crumbling ruin was shade, and she slowly crawled across the ground until she reached the opposite wall. With even the slightest jarring, her ankle fired warning shots of pain through her spine that exploded in her brain. Reaching the shade felt like plunging into a cool pond. She leaned against the stone wall, and her body slowly relaxed.
Stomach cramps and fever came on as the shade crept across the floor. The slight pang in her side seemed incidental at first, and her sunburn and heat of the day masked the warmth of her body. But as the sky grew dusky and the air grew cool, beads of sweat still formed on Sophie’s forehead, and the pain in her side moved deeper inside until it rivaled the pain in her ankle. She felt as if she was aching from the inside out, everywhere at once. She curled up and lay on one side and then the other, but her movement could only briefly distract her from her aches and pains. Arching blades of grass and spidery weeds grew monstrous as another night’s darkness closed in on her. Even the wind, whistling softly through the brick ruins, sounded like unholy ghosts hunting unknowable prey. And the sound of water flowing so freely nearby became a taunting chorus.
Water. Her tongue felt like leather in her mouth. The brook was calling to her, but the brook was poison. What will it be like to die of thirst? she wondered.
ψ
She could see the half-moon overhead through a break in what was left of the roof as she lay on her side, shivering. Her clothes were damp. She was struck hard with mind-rending icicles of pain. After a moment, she remembered her ankle. Gingerly, she sat up and examined it, wondered if perhaps the swelling had gone down. She wrapped her arms around her legs like bailing wire around sticks. The thought came to her that she was supposed keep moving under the cover of night, but she wondered if that was going to be possible. Maybe it was better to stay another day, hidden.
Eventually, she decided to at least try to put more distance between herself and her kidnappers. With one arm standing in for her bad leg, she slowly raised herself up. So far, so good. She moved her hand to the wall and then twisted her body so that she could place both palms along the bricks. She felt another blinding shiver of pain, but she was braced for it, and it passed quickly. She walked herself up the side of the wall with her hands until she was standing on one leg, leaning against the it. Catching her breath, she decided to try hopping. She closed her eyes, ready to yield to the pain, and then pushed herself forward a few inches. It hurt, badly. But the pain ebbed again and she became more ambitious. Several hops later she stood in the doorway to the ruin. She eyed the brook through the shadows of the trees and decided to continue following it. With any luck, it was leading in a straight line away from where she’d come from.
The trunks of trees became her milestones. Leaning against one, she’d eye the next one, take a few breaths, relax her body, and begin hopping until she could lean against the new trunk. After five trunks, she had reached the end of the ruin. After ten, she felt tremors in the back of her good leg, but they stopped when she rested. After twenty, the tremors had become knots binding her, and she fell halfway between trunks. She crawled to the next one and bowed her head. She had accomplished nothing. She was still in sight of the abandoned homes where she’d been hidden, but the idea of hopping back to them was overwhelming. Perhaps she could crawl back? On the other hand, if she could crawl back, why not crawl forward?
