Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Alex
Midnight was approaching by the time Mr. Federline’s car stopped in the barren hills just beyond Jerusalem, where the last pinpricks of the city’s lights flickered faintly on the horizon.
Any thrill Alex might have expected from taking an airplane had drained away the moment they’d left the ground—replaced by the hollow awareness that they were traveling faster and further from Cairo than anyone could follow.
By the time the flight ended on a dusty strip outside of Lydda, the dull throb of inevitable doom had taken root in his chest.
A motorcar had been waiting at the airfield.
He’d smiled for Prescott’s benefit, even managed to draw on the encyclopedic trivia lodged in his mind about desert landscapes—little conversational diversions to make himself seem relaxed, casual, the way he imagined a man with nothing to fear might speak.
But with every passing mile, the effort had weighed heavier. Eventually, he’d slumped into the corner of the backseat, letting his eyelids droop in a show of exhaustion until the act blurred into reality.
The slam of the driver’s door jolted him.
Through a narrow slit between his lashes, he saw Mr. Federline step away from the car. Thank God. Alex worked his jaw, trying to wake up his brain.
He was really, truly alone.
No one could help him. And he couldn’t be of help to anyone.
Somewhere along this journey from home he’d miscalculated. Made a terrible mistake.
Now God knew where Ivy was.
If he was going to survive whatever he’d gotten involved in, he’d need to be smart. Smarter than Mr. Federline. He probably thought Alex was still sleeping. Alex needed to use that to his advantage.
A low hum approached from the east, growing into the steady growl of another engine.
Alex shifted in his seat, not wanting to call too much attention to himself or let Mr. Federline know he was awake yet.
His hand moved toward the handle of the door, and his fingertips met cool metal.
Opening the door would be too loud, so he waited, ready for when the next car was close enough that he wouldn’t be heard.
He leaned forward, watching the long, crisp shadows thrown by the headlights of the other car as it approached. The light illuminated the scrub and stone of the Judean hills beyond Alex’s window, beautiful and pale in the silvery moonlight.
A flash of purple stood out as the light shifted and the motorcar parked.
Alex frowned, his eyes locking on the plant he’d seen in the headlights just off the road.
There. A pale, spindly plant just beyond the edge of the headlight beam. Thick, inflated pods swayed on fragile-looking stems. Calotropis procera. Sodom’s apple or ashkhar—common along the sunbaked roads between the Dead Sea and Jerusalem.
A memory of one of his mother’s field guides surfaced, a page warning of the milky sap that could blister skin, blind, even kill if swallowed. The Bedouin used it for its medicinal properties, but Mama had also warned him that they believed any part of the plant could blind.
His heartbeat thudded harder.
If he could slip outside, grab a pod—or even a leaf—he could have something to use as a weapon.
He risked a glance out the windshield as the other car rolled to a stop in front of them.
The headlights and engine remained on, the roar of it enough to drown out other noises—for now.
Alex waited until he spotted the driver’s side door of the other car opening, then he popped the latch, and opened the door beside him.
When the driver of the other car moved toward Mr. Federline, Alex pushed the door open just enough to slip out, crouching low onto the desert sand.
He crept toward the back of the car, then flattened himself to the ground.
The metallic tick of the engine cooling filled his ears as he pushed himself partially under the back wheel.
“Prescott. Right on time.” A man’s voice broke through the silence. An American. Stone crunched, shifting to a stop as the man came to a standstill in front of Mr. Federline.
“You, on the other hand, are late,” Mr. Federline snapped. “I’m not amused with your little game, Ruby. You deviated completely from my orders from the moment you left Cairo.”
A woman’s shadow draped across the desert, softer footsteps accompanying it. “I knew what I was doing,” the woman snapped. “I got you your precious microfilm, didn’t I?”
A slap sounded through the crisp night, followed by a soft cry. “Yes, by playing a slut, I hear. You know the rules. They exist for a reason, and you blatantly disobeyed me. Now, where is the package?”
Alex held his breath. He had to focus.
The undercarriage was still warm, the smell of hot oil clinging to the air. He ran his fingers along the chassis until he found the copper fuel line and followed it up to the joint where it became a rubber tube disappearing under the frame.
“Where’s the sharif?” the man asked Mr. Federline.
A shard of flint lay nearby. Alex took it and began scraping in small, deliberate strokes. Tiny curls of rubber lifted under the pressure. Not enough to sever it—that would be obvious—but enough to weaken the wall, so that heat, vibration, and time would finish the job.
Hopefully buy him time to run too.
“The sharif is meeting us elsewhere. He wants both. The package and Alice. He’s not willing to take any chances.”
“That’s not what we agreed to,” Ruby said, her voice stiff. “We don’t know where she is.”
“Luckily for you—I found someone else who could do the job you couldn’t.” Mr. Federline clucked his tongue. “I’ve found out where she is. Only a handful of miles from here. At a girls’ orphanage on King George’s Street. And I’ll need your help to retrieve her, Ruby.”
Alex’s pulse pounded. Concentrate. He had to work faster. If Mr. Federline found him under the car like this, who knew what he might do?
When the cut on the fuel line was no deeper than the thickness of a fingernail, Alex tossed the flint away and brushed the dust from his hands.
Bootsteps scraped against gravel, close enough that he could feel the vibration against his knees. The man answered something Mr. Federline had said, no more than a few feet away on the far side of the bonnet. Alex pressed himself against the car’s flank, willing himself invisible.
Then he bolted. Certain he’d attract too much attention, he pushed himself out from under the car, then pushed the door to the backseat open widely. He popped up, doing his best to look like someone who’d just woken up. “Mr. Federline?” He squinted toward the three figures.
All three of them turned to look at him. “Ah, Alex.” Mr. Federline gave him a pleasant smile. “I’ll just be a moment.”
“I have to … relieve myself,” Alex said with a grimace. He wasn’t completely lying. It’d been a while since he’d had the chance.
“Of course,” Mr. Federline said, gesturing toward the desert.
Alex stepped away from the car, heading in the direction he’d seen the ashkhar, until he was practically standing over it. Turning his back to them, he unzipped his trousers, slipping one hand into his pocket for a handkerchief.
They weren’t watching him, thankfully. He finished, waited a beat, then reached down and snapped up a leaf from the plant into the waiting handkerchief—careful not to get any of the poisonous sap on his skin.
He made a quick show of wiping his shoes in case any one of them had noticed him bend down, then folded the handkerchief and slipped it into his pocket.
Walking slowly back to the car, he let his heart rate slow, then slipped back into the rear seat, shutting the door with slow, even pressure until the latch clicked into place.
Outside, the conversation resumed, too low for him to make out the words. It didn’t matter. The damage was done, and the seed was planted.
A crippled car. A hidden weapon.
When the moment came, he would be ready. Or, at least, he’d have a chance.
Before he could get too confident in his plan, though, the back door opened and the woman, Ruby, climbed into the seat beside him. “Is this really necessary?” she called out the door before it slammed shut.
“Goddammit,” she said under her breath, then turned and shot a glance at Alex. “Sorry.”
“For?” Alex raised a brow.
“For swearing. You’re just a kid. Though I guess if you’re one of Prescott’s protégés, you’re probably used to swearing.” Ruby pulled pristine white gloves off, and Alex caught the slight tremble of her fingertips as she tucked a stray strand of hair under her hat.
Her cheek was still red from Mr. Federline’s slap, visible even under the dim light.
Something about that made Alex feel like they might have something in common. “I’m not,” he said in a quiet but dismissive voice, squaring his shoulders. “I don’t really know him.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Ruby rolled her eyes, fanning her face—not because of the trapped heat in the car, though it was arguably warm, but no doubt because her cheek stung.
“I don’t.” Alex shrugged. “I just happened to find a code in a newspaper article. So he hired me to decode others.”
Ruby smirked. “So, you’re just a really smart kid?” She didn’t look impressed—or like she believed him. “What’s your name?”
He hesitated. He couldn’t trust this woman, no matter how much he wanted to believe she didn’t like Mr. Federline either. He’d have to give her the name he’d given at the consulate. Stick with the same story. “Alexander Darby.”
Her sharp intake of breath made him stiffen. “Darby?” she repeated. She glanced out the window. “As in Jack Darby?”
“He’s my father,” Alex forced out.
“He has a son?” Ruby’s eyes went wide, her brows lifting. Then something else sparkled in her eyes—maybe anger. “What about your mom? Where’s she?”
Oh no. Alex opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t gotten that far in planning this lie. Hadn’t thought about how to answer that. The lights and engine to the other car cut out, throwing them into sudden darkness.
“You know what?” Ruby scowled. “I don’t want to know. Jesus,” she breathed, drooping back against the seat. “Forget I asked.” Then agitated, she scowled at him. “Your old man know you’re out here helping Prescott? No, probably not. Let me guess—he forced you into this?”
The driver’s door opened once again, and Mr. Federline climbed inside. Then the passenger door opened, and the man who’d come with Ruby sat, slamming the door behind him.
“What about our car?” Ruby asked him.
“We do what Prescott wants. End of story.”
Alex held his breath. So much for his plan. He didn’t think he’d have a problem outrunning Mr. Federline—but the other man was another matter. And with two other adults in the motorcar, he was sadly outnumbered.
“Sure thing, Theo.” Ruby crossed her arms, giving Mr. Federline a hard stare through the rearview mirror as he started the car. “So you’ve got Jack’s kid here, eh, Prescott?”
Mr. Federline knows Jack?
He hadn’t intimated that much at the consulate.
Then again, he hadn’t made many things clear at the consulate.
Just who was he?
Mr. Federline glared at Ruby. “Don’t you think you’ve said and done enough, Ruby?”
“I’m just curious. I didn’t know Jack had a kid. Does he have a wife too?”
Who was she, for that matter?
“Why? Does it interest you that much?” Mr. Federline smiled.
Theo stiffened. “Knock it off, Ruby.” He pulled out a pack of matches and a cigarette case, then took out a cigarette.
“It just would have been nice to know beforehand.”
Before what? Alex peered at her. “You know him?”
“If you had simply listened to my rules, you wouldn’t be feeling any guilt at all, Ruby. Instead, you resorted to your own methods.” Mr. Federline gave a pleasant smile, one Alex was increasingly starting to recognize as insincere. Snakelike, even.
“My methods get results.” Ruby crossed her arms, staring out the window.
“Then why did I have to send Theo to fetch you? He’s the only reason you’re still here. The only reason our deal is still on. I was about to give the order to get rid of you when he turned up in Cairo with that notebook.”
Theo said nothing, lighting his cigarette. He tossed the matches onto the dash, as if he owned the car.
“You were only able to send Theo to fetch me because I checked in, Prescott. Don’t forget that minor detail when you call my loyalties into question.” The leather vibrated as Ruby lifted her head, then let it drop back again against the seat with a frustrated thud.
Alex stared at her, worry gnawing at his chest more deeply.
Get rid of her?
Whatever game Mr. Federline was playing, he seemed increasingly less concerned about taking off his mask and showing Alex his true nature.
Or he already guessed that I don’t trust him.
Alex swallowed hard, the leaf in his pocket feeling like a child’s attempt at a man’s game.
Then the car sputtered to a stop.