The Paladin Prophecy

#2: STAY FOCUSED ON THE TASK AT HAND.

They’d get into their cars and spread out to look for him. If they missed him, Belinda could notify the cops: Post an Amber Alert about a missing kid and you can roll out the army, navy, air force, and marines, as well as local police. They might even set up roadblocks at both roads leading out of Ojai Valley. How long before that happened?

Half an hour at most. He might reach the western exit on foot by then, although if he stayed in the open, they’d eventually find him. But these people didn’t really know him and that was his advantage. They had no idea—and maybe he didn’t yet, either—just how resourceful and determined Will West could actually be.

Trust your instincts and training. Hold nothing back.

He swung the duffel off his shoulder, pulled out his iPhone as he ran, and punched in the number that he’d memorized. She answered on the third ring.

“Lillian Robbins.”

“Dr. Robbins, it’s Will West.”

“Hello, Will. You sound a little out of breath.”

“I’m out on a run at the moment.”

“Always helps to clear your head, doesn’t it?”

“Sometimes more than others,” said Will.

“How was the rest of your day?” she asked.

“You were right—I’ve had a lot to think about.”

“So how can I help? Do you have any questions?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Where are you now?”

“In my car, driving back to the Center. I flew out this afternoon and landed here about an hour ago.”

So much for hitching a ride out of Dodge with the doctor.

“How quickly do you think I could start?” asked Will.

“At the Center? Does that mean you’re accepting?”

“Yes.”

Will reached the end of the road where it dead-ended into the hills. He turned left and flew down the slope toward town, picking up speed, even faster than he’d run that morning.

Where’s Spooky Hot Rod Dude now that I really need a lift?

“First let me say, Will, that I am really pleased,” Dr. Robbins said. “And to properly answer your question, our next semester begins in January. We’d encourage you to transfer then.”

“This is going to sound a little strange.”

“Try me.”

“I’d like to start tomorrow.” All he heard was his own breathing as he sprinted down the hill. He lowered the phone, powered around a corner, then brought it back up: “I told you it would sound strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger,” she said. “But not many. So you’d like to transfer in effective immediately.”

“Is that possible?”

“Well, we have your transcripts. I assume your parents are on board; this is a family decision?”

“One hundred percent.”

“They’ve signed the consent forms, filled out all your paperwork?”

Note to self: Next free moment, forge their signatures. “I have them with me.”

In the distance, Will heard the deep bass purr of an approaching helicopter. Then sirens. He looked at the stopwatch: Four minutes. That was fast. Cops would be all over Ojai soon, then the Ventura sheriff and CHP. Unless I stay ahead of them.

“You also mentioned that you’d pay my travel expenses,” he said.

“That I did.”

“So if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to catch a flight tonight.”

She hesitated. “Will, is everything all right on your end?”

Will hesitated, too. “That needs to be part of the longer conversation you wanted us to have.”

He had reached the edge of town in record time, skirting the north end of the business district, all the shops closed for the evening. He stopped a moment and leaned back against a wall on a dark side street and took a deep breath. By her silence, he sensed she needed more convincing.

“You helped me today,” he said quietly. “Helped me realize that I need a … really, really big change in my life.”

Another pause.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Will continued. “This morning I didn’t even know the Center existed. You came looking for me. So what difference does it make if I start tomorrow or seven weeks from now?”

“It doesn’t make any difference, Will. It’s just …” She trailed off.

Time to play his last card.

“By the way, about that test in September? They gave us three hours to finish, and I spent at most twenty minutes on it. The truth is, I wasn’t even trying.”

Will heard the helicopter droning closer, making a sweep toward town.

“And what’s up with the fingerprints and DNA sample you took this morning with your magic chalkboard? You want to tell me why a school needs that?”

“Is that what you think it was?”

“I’m saying I don’t care what it was. You want me there, and my answer is yes. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t really need this.”

“Tell me what you need … exactly.”

“A plane ticket. From the closest airport that’ll get me there. Right now.”

She paused, then said, “I want to help, Will, but I need to talk to the headmaster’s office. Can I call you back in five?”

“Yes.”

She clicked off. More sirens wailed in the distance, drawing in from three directions. He had stopped across from the local taxi office, a small company that serviced the Valley and ran shuttles to southland airports. Their storefront was lit up inside, but empty. A yellow minivan with the company’s logo sat at the curb.

The white-hot beam of the helicopter’s eye-in-the-sky flicked over buildings and the tops of trees a block away. Will broke from cover and crossed the street to the taxi company. An old-fashioned bell jingled as he entered.

A stocky Latin guy with a billy-goat beard walked out of a back room. Elaborate tattoos peeked out from his sleeves and neckline: barbed wire, the edge of what looked like feathered wings, the tip of a spear. The embroidered name tag on his company polo shirt read NANDO.

“That’s a sound you don’t forget,” said Nando. “You don’t want to be tracked by one o’ those bogeys.”

Will unglued himself from the wall and stepped to the counter, smiling harmlessly, trying to channel his best inner chess club nerd.

“Boy. Yeah. Really,” said Will. “What’s up with that? Hi.”

Nando looked him up and down. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good, good. So, uh, how much is it for a ride to the airport?”

“LAX is forty dollars; Santa Barbara, twenty. Which one you need?”

Will held up his phone. “I’m waiting to find out. Would it be okay if we left now and I told you which one on the way?”

“No, man. That’s totally uncool.”

“How come?”

Nando crossed his arms and pointed to either side: “Different directions, dude.”

“But I’ll know before we have to decide which way to turn.”

“If it’s LAX, I just quoted you the four-passenger price. But we’re not supposed to launch that ride without a full cabin.”

“Is anyone else going to LAX?”

“Not right now.”

Nando stood his ground, expressionless and unyielding as an Easter Island rock head. He even looked like one. The sirens were getting louder.

“What’s the one-passenger price?” asked Will.

“You take math? What’s four times forty, bro?”

“I get your point. I could give you sixty-five.” Almost half his entire reserve.

“Wouldn’t hardly pay for the gas, my friend.”

“See, the thing is, I just found out my dad was in a really bad accident, so I got to get a flight out tonight and I’m just waiting for Mom to figure out which airport and call me back.”

Nando paused, skeptical. “So where is he now? Your dad.”

“Intensive care. In San Francisco. That’s where it happened.”

Nando frowned. “Sorry, little dude. That totally sucks.”

A police car—siren howling, lights flashing—zipped by outside. Will pretended to bury his face in his sleeve and hide a tear, turning away from the window. His iPhone rang. He looked at the screen: DAD.

“That your moms?” asked Nando.

“No. Wrong number.” He put the phone in his pocket and kept a hand on it.

“I just work here, a’ight? The boss man’s in Palm Springs tonight.”

“So?”

“So screw company policy, holmes. We gotta get you to an airport.”

Nando grabbed keys from under the counter and led the way to the door. Will followed him outside, scanning the street for pursuers. Nando pressed a key fob and the minivan’s side door slid open. Will hopped in back and sank down in the nearest seat. Nando climbed behind the wheel and fired up the engine.

“What’s your name?” asked Nando.

“Will. Will West.”

“Will. Trying to help your pops while he’s lying there all messed up in some distant city? That’s awesome.”

“Thanks, Nando.”

“I love my pops, too, man. And if I knew he was like shot or stabbed or taken down on some kind of bogus weapons charge, I would do whatever it took, just like you, to be by his side.”

Nando steered away from the curb. As they turned onto the highway leading west out of town, two more patrol cars raced by, sirens wailing.

“Man, what is up with the po-po in our sleepy town tonight? We brought our baby girls up here from Oxnard to get away from junk like this, know what I mean?”

Will noticed a photo of a sturdy young woman holding two chubby babies in a glittered frame on the dash. A jiggly plastic hula dancer and a pair of fuzzy black dice hung from the rear-view mirror, which glowed in the dark.

“Yes, I do,” said Will.

“I got some Chumash in me, from my momma’s side. You know, the Indians? This used to be our hang, so no wonder, right? Love this town, man. It’s paradise. They shot this movie up here, long time ago, ’cause they said it looked like that place, what’s it called … that old group did the song ’bout that biker dude and his old lady.”

“Shangri-la,” said Will.

Nando snapped his fingers. “The Shangri-Las! My boyfriend’s back and there’s gonna be trouble—”

“Hey-na, hey-na—”

“And in the movie, Shangri-la is this mystical valley with this tribe of blissed-out ancient dudes who all look thirty-five. Except you find out they’re all like five hundred ’cause they don’t ever stress or freak out about nothin’.”

“It’s from a book called Lost Horizon,” Will said. “My dad told me about it when we moved here. That’s the name of the movie, too.”

“I gotta check that out. You think it’s on DVD?”

Will’s phone rang. He looked at the incoming number: Dr. Robbins’s cell.

“That your moms?” asked Nando.

“Yes,” said Will, and answered, “I’m here.”

“There’s a flight from Santa Barbara to Denver at eight forty-five,” said Robbins. “That’s the only way I can get you out tonight. Can you make that one?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have a ticket in your name waiting at the counter.”

“Thank you, really. You have no idea—”

“It gets in at eleven. We’re still working on a red-eye from Denver to Chicago, but I’ll have that by the time you reach the airport. A car and driver will meet you in baggage claim at O’Hare in the morning … and, Will?”

“Yes?”

“The headmaster and I both want to discuss this, in detail, when you arrive.”

“Of course. I’ll see you then.”

“Have a safe trip,” she said.

Robbins ended the call, but before he hung up, Will added, for Nando’s benefit, “Love you, Mom. Always and forever.”

“Which way we headed?” asked Nando.

“Santa Barbara. Eight-forty-five flight.”

“Got you covered, bro. And don’t worry about your old man, okay? He’s gonna pull through fast once he knows you’re there for him.”

Will leaned back and took some deep breaths. He was starved, shaking with exhaustion and stress. As they drove out of town, he watched the lights of Ojai fade behind them, wondering if he’d ever see them again.

What would the Mystic 8 Ball say about that? Outlook not so good.

A ping from his iPhone: a new voice mail. Will plugged in his earbuds and hit PLAY. Dad’s voice. Low and controlled.

“We’re really worried about you, son. It’s not like you to run off like this. But I want you to know we’re not upset with you. If it has to do with this new school, we would never force you to do something like that. Your uncle Bill went away to school and he had a great experience, but it has to be up to you. Just let us know you’re okay. That’s the only thing that matters. Before you do anything, or go anywhere, please talk to us first.”

The message ended. Will didn’t have an uncle Bill. Will felt a huge wave of relief: Dad was still Dad. And he was telling him, It’s not safe here. Keep running.

“Will, you want to listen to the radio, man?”

“I’m good for now, Nando.”

“You hungry? I got water and trail mix in the console.”

“That’d be great.”

Nando handed back a bag of trail mix and a cold bottle of water. The trail mix had berries and flecks of yogurt mixed in. Will scarfed it down and chased it with the water. Just then, brake lights lit up ahead of them and traffic began to slow.

“Yo, Will, Highway Patrol’s setting up a checkpoint before the turn to Santa Barbara. In case that means anything to you.”

Will leaned forward to look. Traffic had come to a stop. They were ten cars away from three CHP cruisers turned sideways, blocking both lanes headed south.

“What should we do?” asked Will.

“If you’re gonna make your flight, we can’t get caught up in a situation here. Between the seats, on the floor behind you, see a black strap?”

“I see it.”

“Pull on it. Yank it up. Hard.”

Will undid his seat belt and grabbed the strap. On his second pull, the floor lifted, revealing a storage well big enough for two suitcases. Or a medium-sized person.

“Hop in,” said Nando.

“What?”

Nando turned and looked at him calmly. “If I’m crazy and the cops aren’t looking for you, then stay in your seat. I’m cool either way.”

Will took in Nando’s steady, untroubled gaze and thought, Can I trust you?

“Yes,” said Nando.

“What?”

“Yes, you’ll fit. Should be room for your bag, too. What’s your cell number?”

Will told him. He pressed his duffel down into the well on a patch of carpet covering the floor, then curled his body around it. A tight fit, but he just squeezed in.

“Pull down the strap and hang on to it,” said Nando. “Mute your phone and put your earbuds in. Gonna hit’chu on the cell.”

Will pulled the hatch closed and disappeared in darkness. He thumbed on his phone, filling the well with faint white light. Black molded metal boxed him in all around. He heard the van inch forward, tires crunching on pavement just below him. Will’s phone buzzed. He answered, then heard Nando’s voice in his ears.

“Four cars to go. Chill now, we got this. Gonna put this on speaker.”

He heard Nando set the phone on the console and switch on a Lakers game. Every twenty seconds, the van rolled forward a few more feet. Will slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, and focused on what he could hear: a power window opening, traffic moving north toward Ojai. They rolled forward and stopped one more time. He heard footsteps, then an authoritative male voice.

“Where you headed tonight?”

“Got a pickup at LAX, Officer.”

“Would you lower your rear windows, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

Will heard Nando power the windows down and the scrape of the patrolman’s boots as he stepped toward the rear of the van.

“The roads closed up ahead or anything?” asked Nando.

“No,” said the patrolman.

Will heard a second set of footsteps. Something rolled beneath the van. He pictured a wheeled security inspection device with angled mirrors. It stopped directly under the well where he was lying.

“Are you carrying a spare tonight?”

“Always, sir,” said Nando.

“I’m going to need you to step out of the car, sir.”

Will coiled tensely, expecting a hand to bang on the well and order him out. But the silence was shattered instead by a sound that set his heart pounding—a raucous, unmuffled V-8 roaring up behind them on the highway. It accelerated wildly as it raced at them. There was an eerie pause, followed by a massive shattering crash; then the engine growled away. On the far side of the checkpoint.

“Whoa,” said Nando.

The Highway Patrol officers yanked their mirror from under the van and ran, shouting into their radios. Moments later, their cruisers peeled out, sirens screaming as they gave chase to the south.

“Hang tight,” said Nando into the phone. “We’re back on the move.” The van edged forward, slowly picking up speed. “You should’ve seen it. That was crazy.”

“A hot rod doing about ninety that jumped the roadblock?”

“Dude went Evil Knievel on ’em. Airborne, baby! Over three cruisers, sticks a landing on the roof of a fourth one, rides down the hood onto the highway, and takes off like a rocket, and the whole time I’m like, Are my eyes seeing what I’m seeing?”

Will heard the turn indicator. The van eased to the right, and he knew they’d branched off onto the road that would take them northwest to Santa Barbara.

“Come on out, Will. All clear.”

Will pushed open the hatch, stretched out a cramp, and settled back in his seat. They were alone on the road now, moving through the dark.

“So you seen that Prowler before?” asked Nando, glancing at him in the mirror.

“Earlier today. In town.”

Will heard a ding in his earpiece. He looked at the phone. Words appeared:

GET AWAY. FAST. I’LL FIND YOU.

Not a text. Just big block letters, by themselves. From Prowler Man?

“Who is that guy?”

“I have no idea,” said Will. “Think they’ll look for me at the airport?”

“They’re gonna be chasing that Prowler for a while. Dude’s probably in downtown Oxnard already. Waiting at the drive-through for In-N-Out.”

They both laughed a little. As the words on Will’s phone faded, it hit him: Prowler Man’s Australian. That was the accent I couldn’t place. Then another question: Do I want him to find me?

“Turn off your phone, right now,” said Nando. “No more calls.”

“Why?”

“There’s a GPS in there, my friend. You call or text while you’re hooked into the network, they’ll ping your IP address off the closest relay tower. Track you down to the inch.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Nobody’s supposed to know that. Heavy-duty Big Brother stuff. They can tag any conversation, trace texts, find you anytime they like. You can use the camera or calendar and stuff, long as you’re not on the network. But no calls.”

Will turned off his phone, feeling a lot more vulnerable.

“You tell anybody else where you’re going tonight?”

“No,” said Will. “Think we’re okay?”

“Think we got us a clean getaway,” said Nando.

He kept them at the speed limit as they twisted and turned through the hills around Lake Casitas. Will fought a powerful urge to close his eyes, then remembered:

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