Gone for Good
Page 83

Katy whispered, “I know where we are.”
I turned to her. “Where?”
“We’re in the South Orange Water Reservation,” she said. “We used to come here and drink. We’re not far from Hobart Gap Road.”
“How far?” I asked.
“A mile maybe.”
“You know the way? I mean, if we make a run for it, would you be able to lead us out?”
“I think so,” she said. Then, with a nod: “Yeah. Yeah, I could lead us out.”
Okay, good. That was something. Not much maybe, but a start. I looked out the door. The driver leaned against the car. The Ghost stood with his hands behind his back. He bounced on his toes. His gaze was turned upward, as if bird-watching. The driver lit up a cigarette. The Ghost did not move.
I quickly scoured the floor and found what I was looking for—a big hunk of broken glass. I peeked out the door again. Neither man was looking. So I crept behind Katy’s chair.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I’m going to cut you loose.”
“Are you out of your mind? If he sees you—”
“We have to try something,” I said.
“But”—Katy stopped. “Even if you cut me free, then what?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But be ready. There’ll be a chance to escape somewhere down the line. We have to take advantage of it.”
I pressed the broken edge against the rope and started sawing back and forth. The rope began to fray. The work was slow. I hurried the pace. The rope started giving way, strand by strand.
I was about halfway through the rope when I felt the platform shake. I stopped. Someone was on the ladder. Katy made a whimpering sound. I rolled away from her and made it back to my seat just as the Ghost entered. He looked at me.
“You’re out of breath, Willie boy.”
I slid the broken glass to the back of my seat, almost sitting on it. The Ghost frowned at me. I said nothing. My pulse raced. The Ghost looked toward Katy. She tried to stare back defiantly. She was so damn brave. But when I looked toward her, the terror struck me again.
The frayed rope was in plain sight.
The Ghost narrowed his eyes.
“Hey, let’s get on with this,” I said.
It was enough of a distraction. The Ghost turned to me. Katy adjusted her hands, giving the frayed rope some cover. Not much if he looked closely. But maybe enough. The Ghost waited a beat and then he went for the laptop. For a second—for the briefest of seconds— he turned his back to me.
Now, I thought.
I would jump up, use the broken glass like a prison shiv, and jam it into the Ghost’s neck. I calculated quickly. Was I too far away? Probably. And what about the driver? Was he armed? Did I dare—?
The Ghost spun back toward me. The moment, if there had ever been one, was over.
The computer was already on. The Ghost did some typing. He got online with a remote modem. He clacked some more keys and a textbox appeared. He smiled at me and said, “It’s time to talk to Ken.”
My stomach knotted. The Ghost hit the return button. On the screen, I saw what he had typed:
YOU THERE?
We waited. The answer came a moment later.
HERE.
The Ghost smiled. “Ah, Ken.” He typed some more and hit the return.
IT’S WILL. I’M WITH FORD.
There was a long pause.
TELL ME THE NAME OF THE FIRST GIRL YOU MADE OUT WITH.
The Ghost turned to me. “As I expected, he wants proof it’s really you.”
I said nothing, but my mind raced.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he went on. “You want to warn him. You want to tell him an answer that’s close to the truth.” He moved over to Katy. He picked up the stick end of the lasso. He pulled just a little. The rope coiled against her neck.
“Here’s the deal, Will. I want you to stand up. I want you to go over to the computer and type in the correct answer. I’ll keep tightening the rope. If you play any games—if I even suspect you tried to play any sort of game—I won’t stop until she’s dead. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
He tightened the lasso a little more. Katy made a noise. “Go,” he said.
I hurried to the screen. Fear numbed my brain. He was right. I had been trying to come up with a decent lie, something to warn him. But I couldn’t. Not now. I put my fingers on the keys and typed:
CINDI SHAPIRO
The Ghost smiled. “For real? Man, she was a little hottie, Will. I’m impressed.”
He let go of the lasso. Katy released a gasp. He moved back over to the keyboard. I looked back over at my chair. The broken glass was in plain view. I moved quickly back to my seat. We waited for the response.
GO HOME, WILL.
The Ghost rubbed his face. “Interesting response,” he said. He thought about it. “Where did you make out with her?”
“What?”
“Cindi Shapiro. Were you at her house, your house, where?”
“Eric Frankel’s bar mitzvah.”
“Does Ken know that?”
“Yes.”
The Ghost smiled. He typed again.
YOU TESTED ME. NOW IT’S YOUR TURN. WHERE DID I MAKE OUT WITH CINDI?
Another long pause. I was on the edge of my seat too. It was a smart move by the Ghost, turning the momentum around a bit. But more important, we really didn’t know if this was Ken or not. This answer would prove it one way or another.
Thirty seconds passed. Then:
GO HOME, WILL.
The Ghost typed some more.
I NEED TO KNOW IT’S YOU.
A longer pause. And then finally:
FRANKEL’S BAR MITZVAH. GO HOME NOW.
Another jolt. It was Ken. . . .
I looked over at Katy. Her eyes met mine. The Ghost typed again.
WE NEED TO MEET.
The answer came fast: NO CAN DO.
PLEASE. IMPORTANT.
GO HOME, WILL. NOT SAFE.
WHERE R U?
HOW DID YOU FIND FORD?
“Hmm,” the Ghost said. He thought about that and typed: PISTILLO.
There was another long pause.
I HEARD ABOUT MOM. WAS IT VERY BAD?
The Ghost did not consult me for this one. YES.
HOW’S DAD?
NOT GOOD. WE NEED TO SEE YOU.
Another pause: NO CAN DO.
WE CAN HELP YOU.
BETTER TO STAY AWAY.
The Ghost looked at me. “Should we try to tempt him with his favorite vice?”
I had no idea what he meant, but I watched him type and hit the return key:
WE CAN GET YOU MONEY. DO YOU NEED SOME?
I WILL. BUT WE CAN DO IT THRU OVERSEAS TRANSFERS.