This time both phones had the same message, from a Spanish number.
Row 26, last cabin.
“I’ll go,” Rebecca said.
She walked down the aisle. The automatic door at the back of the car hissed and opened, and she was gone.
This ride was his very last chance to tell her the truth, Brian realized.
Whatever was hidden back there, a note, a phone, a picture with directions scribbled on the back, he could help her find it. Maybe he’d find a way to tell her, too.
As he was considering the possibility, his phone buzzed. A blocked number.
He looked around. No one within three rows. He sagged against the window, cupped hand over mouth. “Yes?”
Irlov. Brian was surprised the Russian would risk calling him on this phone, but Irlov probably figured Brian knew enough not to answer if the NSA were up on it or if Rebecca were close enough to hear.
“Who is this?”
Irlov ignored the feint. “How’s your lovely wife? Tragedies can bring families closer.”
The Russian’s cleverness never ended. Sure enough, Rebecca had been nicer to him, even after the stupid joke he’d made about betting the money. Brian wasn’t sure her feelings would outlast the kidnapping, but this wasn’t the time to argue.
“This can’t be a tragedy, Feodor. It needs a happy ending.”
“You have the two million?”
Irlov not even pretending anymore he wasn’t in charge.
“We do.”
“Then I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“Promise.”
“Promise?” Irlov made the word sound absurd.
Brian heard the door behind him open. He looked up, wondering if Rebecca could have come back so fast. No. Just the conductor.
“If you don’t set her free, Becks will be useless to you. She’ll quit the bureau, spend her life trying to find her.”
“Best to follow instructions, then. No heroes.”
And Irlov was gone. Once again, he hadn’t promised the kidnappers would free Kira. But Brian had to assume he wouldn’t have called otherwise.
Maybe after Kira came back Brian could tell Rebecca, suggest they team up for revenge?
Funny story, Becks, the real reason our daughter got kidnapped—
Yeah, maybe not.
* * *
The train sped on. Zaragoza was no longer just a faint blur. The outlines of shopping centers and apartment complexes glowed in the night. The air coming through the train’s vents was cool and stale. Brian felt like an astronaut returning to Earth, no idea what he’d see when he touched down.
The first Zaragoza announcement came, in Spanish and then English. Fifteen minutes. Where was Becks?
There.
She slid in beside him. Held up a phone, an old-school Nokia.
“Sorry, took me a while, it was under the seat by the window. This was taped to the back.”
She held up a battered Toyota key.
“Wonder if it’s the same Camry?” Brian flashed a nightmare vision: Kira’s body in the trunk.
“Guess we’ll find out. As for the phone, we can see if there’s video of who left it. But I doubt we’ll find anything. That cabin is practically empty. They probably planted it before the train left Barcelona.” She was talking fast, amped.
“The phone’s locked?”
“No. I already checked for messages, the phone book, everything. Clean. I looked up the number, it’s a thirty-four country code, Spanish. I texted Jake the number.” Jake Broadnik, her NSA friend, who was waiting at his desk to run numbers for them. Typical Becks, she even pulled strings at his agency.
“I doubt it’ll mean much, but anything’s possible.”
His last chance to come clean with her.
He knew he wouldn’t.
* * *
The train ran alongside a highway now. They would pull in soon enough. Maybe he’d been wrong about Zaragoza.
The phone in Rebecca’s hands buzzed.
A text. The number not blocked. Are you there
Rebecca thumbed an answer. Yes
You have car key
Yes
Zaragoza Police on platform
Yes
Get off Send them away Wait there
Yes
Leave phones on the train
Rebecca shook her head. “No,” she said. As if the phone could hear. “I’m gonna try a question.”
She thumbed in: What is the key for?
No response.
With her phone Rebecca took a picture of the phone number attached to the incoming messages. She texted the picture to Broadnik, along with a single word: Trace.
She shook her head. “I don’t get why they’re giving us their number. They have to know the NSA is going to be up on it in a hurry.”
“Unless they want us to know. Maybe their way of leading us to Kira.”
She nodded. “Maybe. But also they’re making mistakes with their English. They’re sloppy all of a sudden. I don’t like them being sloppy. This is the trickiest part of a kidnapping, handing back a hostage and getting the money