Terminated

Chapter 20

They traded the truck for tickets aboard a sightseeing vessel from Seattle to Anchorage. Reynolds’ deteriorating condition was disguised by use of a wheelchair, oxygen tank, and blanket over his lap. Bryn was surprised to see how many similarly impaired people were traveling by water. . . . It didn’t seem like a great idea for people who, by definition, couldn’t swim worth a damn. Still, Bryn had to admit, the cabin they shared wasn’t bad, and neither was the food—open buffet, and she went back for about five helpings of the rare roast beef, every meal. The ship’s store took care of her clothing and toiletry needs, and by the time they disembarked in Anchorage, she looked and felt . . . normal. Patrick looked stronger, too. By avoiding the Canadian borders, they hadn’t had to produce passports, which would have been . . . well, impossible. Patrick’s contacts had gotten them past the necessary ID checkpoints for the ship, on and off—but that was all they could promise.

Turned out they didn’t need to worry, because when they docked, sitting at the exit to the ship terminal was a big black limousine, and it had a sign that read DR. REYNOLDS & PARTY.

Bryn looked at Patrick, and then at the driver. He was a tall, good-looking young man with a military buzz cut; his livery uniform fit well.

He turned over the sign. It read COURTESY OF PANSY.

Bryn almost laughed. She steered the wheelchair in that direction, and the driver smiled and opened the back door. “Allow me, ma’am,” he said. He had a pleasant Southern twang, long vowels and musical lifts. He helped her lift Reynolds out of the chair and into the easiest accessible seat. As he straightened, he handed her a slim cell phone. “Miss Pansy would like you to call her when you have a chance.”

Bryn blinked at him, nodded, and pocketed the device. She and Patrick slid in the other side of the limo, and sank into the luxuriously soft leather upholstery. The driver loaded the wheelchair, and they were on the road in under a minute.

“I know I’m going to be stating the obvious when I say this, but . . . what the hell?” Patrick said. “A limousine. Really.”

Bryn shrugged. “It got our attention, didn’t it?” She took the phone out and scrolled through the address book. One number in it. She dialed it as the limo crunched through snow—snow, already—and headed in toward Anchorage proper. The sun was out, glittering on glass and steel and thin patches of snow, turning everything into fairyland.

Until it turned into an ice palace, at least.

“Bryn?” It was Pansy who picked up on the other end. She sounded breathless, but it was definitely her, and the sound of her familiar voice made Bryn suddenly feel shaky inside. “You’re okay?”

“Relatively,” she managed to say, and cleared a throat that was suddenly too tight, stuffed with emotion. “How are you and Manny? Is my sister okay?”

“Yeah, everybody’s fine. We’ve run through just about our entire DVD collection, though. We may be facing a serious rerun problem.”

“Joe and Riley?”

“Yeah . . . They made it to us. We have them locked down in a separate wing, though, because Manny—well. You know. But he’s working on the formula they brought. Pretty scary stuff.”

“How did you know—”

“Hang on. I’ll conference.”

There was a click, and then Joe’s warm baritone said, “Sorry, that was me. We were pretty desperate to keep track of you. I know most of Patrick’s contacts, so I focused on the ones closest to where we lost you guys. That led us to the shoot-out up in Paradise at Dr. Reynolds’ place, and I thought about Walt as a possible place for Patrick to go.”

“You called Walt? And he just . . . told you where we were going?”

“Nope. Never talked to him. But he’s on some federal lists, and there’s an eye in the sky that takes a look at his compound twice a day. We saw—well, I’m not going to sugarcoat it, we saw your body in a ditch. Pansy was pretty upset.”

“Not you? Joe. I’m crushed.”

“I’ve got more faith,” he said. “But yeah. It was unsettling. We tracked the truck from the compound. When it was obvious where you were going, Pansy hired the driver.”

“I’m guessing the driver isn’t just a standard wheelman?”

Patrick was gesturing for the phone. She handed it over. “Hey, Joe. I’m assuming this is a secure line. . . . Yeah, of course. I want you to double-check on your family and move them somewhere double secure. No, nothing specific. It’s just that I know Jane, and we’ve kicked her ass twice in a row now when she expected it to be a walkover—three times, if she runs right into the Walt buzz saw. She’ll go for the throat now, and that means what’s close to us.”

His glance went to her, and she swallowed, suddenly catching his unease. Her sister was safe, and she had assurances from Brick that he was on guard for her mom and other brothers and sisters. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t get hurt. Jane would . . .

Jane would do anything to hurt her. Bryn felt a shiver of dread pass over her like falling silk, and then it was burned off by anger. Then we have to keep her busy, she thought. We have to keep her focused on us, not on our families.

Patrick finished up and handed the phone back. It was Pansy again. “Well, this is just getting cheerier,” Pansy said. “I’m starting to think Manny has the right idea about living in a perpetual state of paranoia. Gotta love a man who sticks to his principles. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Bryn said. It wasn’t a lie. Physically, she was fine—better than she had been in a while. Mentally . . . well. Better to avoid that topic. “I need to take more cruises.”

“Words to live by, lady. The driver’s one of Joe’s guys; he’ll take care of you. He’s also got supplies for you. Um . . . can I ask where you’re heading? Because Anchorage isn’t on our radar as a Fountain Group hotbed of activity.”

“We’re not staying here,” Bryn said. “We’re going to Barrow.”

“Wow. Barrow. As in . . . are you renting a dogsled, too?”

“I have no idea,” Bryn said. “But I need to get there and get back, and fast. We have to make it to San Francisco in time for a meeting of the Trigon board of directors.”

“I—wow. Okay. So, you need one puddle jumper to Barrow. Let me . . . get on that. Bryn? Are you sure you’re—”

“I’m sure,” she said. “Thanks, Pansy. Tell my sister I love her.”

“I will. Be careful.”

“Am I ever?”

Pansy laughed, but it sounded hollow. Bryn missed her voice on the line when it was gone, and for a moment she just sat, hand gripping Patrick’s. Then she said, “You were serious? About Joe’s family?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “Jane won’t flinch.”

No. Jane wouldn’t. Bryn knew that from terrifying close experience. “And . . . my family . . .”

He was quiet for a few seconds, then lifted her hand to press a kiss on the back of it. “Brick’s people are watching them.”

“It was just a precaution before. Now it might save their lives,” she finished. She wasn’t really close to her other brothers and sister; they’d all gone very different ways in their lives. Her mother . . . Well. They’d never been exactly Norman Rockwell portrait material. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love them, didn’t worry.

And her nieces and nephews didn’t deserve any part of this horror. If I’d known what was coming, she thought with a wave of dull, black despair, I’d have let Jane feed me to the incinerator. Except that would not have saved anyone else, ultimately.

The only thing that would save people, really save them, would be the destruction of the Fountain Group itself.

But first, she had to finish Jane. And for that . . . for that, she needed to get to the unlikely place of Barrow, Alaska.

The driver turned and rolled down the window up front. “Ma’am? I’ve been told to take you and Mr. McCallister to the airport. Your friend there . . . He doesn’t look so good. What would you like me to do with him?”

Reynolds. Bryn looked at the man; he was silent, eyes shut. His skin was starting to lose its elasticity now, and take on that muddy color of decomposition. Still days away from dissolution, but he was going.

“Once we’re in the air, take him somewhere nice,” she said. “He’s dying. When I come back—when I come back, we’ll figure something out.”

Reynolds roused at that, and looked at her. His lips moved in what might have been intended as a smile. It looked ghastly. “Something fast,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Yes,” she said. “I promise.”

He settled back with a sigh, and closed those cloudy eyes again.

“You should stay with him,” she said to Patrick. “They might still try to get him back, although I doubt it. They probably considered him a lost cause when we took him. One thing these people don’t seem big on is loyalty.”

“I’m coming with you,” Patrick said.

“I don’t need you for—”

“I’m coming,” he said. It was flat, and hard as steel, and she smiled, a little.

“I love it when you get all forceful,” she said. “All right. But don’t blame me if you get eaten by polar bears. It’s already snow season there.”

“I love the cold,” he said, and gave her a crooked smile that warmed her nicely. “And I trust you to take care of the polar bears.”