Don't Turn Around (31 page)

He’d never forgiven them for that. They’d sent Peter on a ski trip, ostensibly to “get away from it all.” And he’d returned home to find that all of his brother’s possessions had been packed up and sent away. He hadn’t even had a chance to grab a small token, like Jeremy’s lacrosse stick or science-fair medal.

Bob and Priscilla had probably already decided that the death of their sole remaining child was for the best, all things considered. They were practical that way, and as they constantly pointed out, he caused them a lot of trouble.

“Out,” Cole barked, interrupting Peter’s thoughts.

Noa and Peter exchanged a glance. Peter hated feeling like he was voluntarily marching to his death. If he made a break for it, though, there was no guarantee Noa would get away. Maybe they wouldn’t kill her, but they sure as hell planned on strapping her to a table again. And he felt responsible for her now. She put up a good front, but underneath all that was something vulnerable; he could sense it. Deep down, he suspected they were more alike than she’d ever admit.

He just had to hold Cole off long enough for the NSA cavalry to show up. Peter prayed that their program was still running, and that it had attracted enough attention to elicit a response. That Cole hadn’t discovered it and shut it down before it got flagged.

Noa’s face was locked in the same mask as always, but she met his eyes and he could tell she was thinking the same thing.
Stall them
.
Stay alive
.

He drew a deep breath, forcibly tamping down the fear. They were smart. They’d get out of this. They had to.

“I said, out!” Cole smacked his head with the barrel of the gun. Peter winced—the hard metal felt like it had made a dent. Reluctantly, he got out of the car.

The rain had turned to sleet; hard, icy stones pelted him. Peter huddled deeper into his collar and tucked his hands in his pockets. He should have thought to grab something, he chided himself—even a knife, or some pepper spray. Not that either would have been much help against an armed man.

“Where’s Fred?” the guy called from the door of the Quonset hut. He was small, wiry. Midtwenties, with a smoker’s pallor. A scrubby-looking soul patch marred his chin.

Cole didn’t answer. He gestured for Noa and Peter to go inside—apparently he wasn’t enjoying the rain, either.

The wiry guy moved aside as they approached. This Quonset hut was different from the others. The overhead lights were on, an entire block of them. It was glaringly bright in contrast to the other buildings, everything set in stark relief. It looked like a cafeteria. There were long tables set in rows with metal chairs tucked beneath them. A coffee station sat at the far end of the room, beside the same stainless-steel-and-glass serving setup they had at Peter’s school. A stack of red trays perched on the metal railing in front of it.

It was the kind of thing you’d find in a real hospital, albeit on a smaller scale. Peter tried to imagine what type of person would be able to sit here and eat after experimenting on a bunch of helpless kids.

Right behind the serving area was a freestanding, enormous walk-in freezer. The door stood ajar. Inside, Peter could make out empty gurneys. The counter had been shifted back to make room for a long table. It was the kind contractors used, with a built-in saw on one end. The table was spattered red, and there were … he forced himself to look away.

Another blue cooler stood open beside it.

He glanced at Noa. She’d noticed the cooler, too. He was getting better at reading her expressions. Outwardly she projected the usual blankness, but he could see rage and horror in her eyes.

“You should be done by now,” Cole said flatly.

“Hey, man.” The wiry guy looked scared. He held his palms up. “We were trying. But the weather turned to hell, and we figured there was no way to take the boat out without the coast guard coming by.”

Cole grunted at that, looking back toward the door.

“So are these …” The guy glanced at them, then looked away. “I mean, I thought we were done here, right?”

“Done doing what?” Cole demanded, stepping close to him.

The guy shrank away. “Nothing. I didn’t mean—”

“We don’t do anything here, and we never have,” Cole spat. He turned away, muttering, “Goddamn incompetents.”

Cole yanked out a satellite phone with a long antenna. He punched a few buttons and stepped away, speaking in a low voice. He kept his eyes locked on them the entire time, like he was daring them to try to escape. The other guy had retreated to the depths of the room. Like a rat, he paced a few feet back and forth, tugging incessantly at the growth on his chin.

Peter looked at Noa again. For the first time, she appeared truly frightened. Meeting his eyes, she managed a small smile and slipped her hand in his. Her fingers felt icy.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “They’ll be here soon.”

Noa gave his palm a squeeze and whispered, “I won’t let him hurt you.”

“That’s good, because I really hate being hurt.”

Noa made a strangled noise that sounded like a laugh. Cole’s head jerked toward them and he frowned.

Peter drew a deep breath and said in a low voice, “I won’t let them take you,” he said. “No matter what.”

Noa didn’t say anything, but she squeezed his hand again. Releasing it, she stepped forward and said in a loud voice, “Tell him we’ll make a trade.”

Cole stopped talking. His eyes narrowed and he came back toward them. “What did you say?”

“A trade.” Her voice was calm, steady. “I’ll stay, and we give you back all the data. But you have to let Peter go.”

“Wait, no—” Peter protested.

Cole laughed. “You’re misunderstanding the situation here, sweetheart. You stay no matter what. And I guarantee that after ten minutes alone in a room with me, Peter will cough up more than I need to know.”

“He can’t,” Noa said. “I changed the cipher.”

“What the hell’s a cipher?” Cole demanded, looking at her blankly.

Noa rolled her eyes. “They didn’t hire you for your brains, huh?”

He snarled and stepped toward her. Peter quickly inserted himself between them. Cole stopped just shy of his toes and glared down at him, as if deciding which body part to dismember first.

“A cipher is a cryptographic algorithm,” Noa piped up. “It’s like a dead bolt on the files. And I have the only key.”

“So we’ll get it from you,” he said dismissively.

“You could kill me, and I still wouldn’t tell you,” she said sharply. “And it doesn’t sound like you can do that, anyway. Golden goose, right? You only get the cipher if you let Peter go. Explain that to Mason.”

Cole hesitated. Something shifted in his gaze as he examined her. Clearly he was debating whether or not to believe her.

Peter held his breath, praying they would fall for the bluff. There was no way she could have changed the cipher he used to access the server. He’d set that key up himself. It would have taken a team of computers years of calculations to come up with it. Or Cole about ten minutes to work it out of him, probably. But maybe he didn’t know that.

“Go ahead,” Noa said calmly. “Ask Mason.”

Cole’s brow darkened, but he turned back to the phone and said something in a low voice. Apparently he didn’t like the response, because his glower deepened as his gaze slid over to Peter.

They were going to let him go, Peter realized. The elation was immediately supplanted by guilt. He couldn’t just abandon Noa. They’d already made it clear that they were planning on doing more terrible things to her. They’d whisk her away and bury her so deep he’d never be able to find her.

Their hands were still intertwined. Under his breath, he said, “I can’t let you do this.”

“One of us has to get away,” Noa said. “Someone has to keep trying to stop them.”

“Then it should be you.”

“They won’t let me go,” she said impatiently. She was looking past him, toward where the door remained ajar. Suddenly, she frowned.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Nothing. I just thought—”

Cole clicked the phone shut and came back over to them. “It’s your lucky day, kid,” he said, cuffing Peter on the side of the head. “Mason said to cut you loose. As long as your girlfriend gives up the cipher.”

“As soon as he’s gone,” Noa said firmly.

“Nope, that’s not how it’s gonna work,” he said.

“Can I go now?” a whiny voice called from the rear of the hut. Cole frowned and raised his gun again. “Almost forgot about you, Monte. You wanted to know about Fred, right?”

A whimper. “Please, Cole. I wanted to keep going, I swear. Fred stopped me.”

“Yeah?” Cole pointed toward the freezer. “So get the rest of the coolers on the boat.”

“Alone?” Monte said dubiously. At Cole’s glare, he blanched and muttered, “Yeah, okay. I got this. No problem, man, I got it.”

He moved past them and ducked out the door. The sound of a cooler being dragged against concrete, punctuated by Monte’s strained grunts.

Cole shook his head. “Morons. This was always my least-favorite site.”

“So there are more of them?” Peter asked.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Cole raised an eyebrow. “Asking that sort of thing? I just said you can go. So get out of here.”

“Just like that?” Peter said.

“Just like that. But, kid—” Cole stepped close enough for Peter to smell his breath. It was oddly metallic, like he’d been chewing on nails. “Drive straight home. You make any detours, to the cops, whatever … your whole family dies tonight. Understand?”

Peter managed a small nod. He looked past Cole’s shoulder at Noa. She was standing still, her eyes cast in shadow. She lifted a hand slightly, as if saying good-bye.

That slayed him. Peter turned, cheeks hot, feeling like the world’s biggest coward. Everything inside him protested, making the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other seem impossible. He couldn’t sacrifice her like this. Noa was … well, maybe not his friend, exactly, but right now probably the person he was closest to in the whole world. And he was just walking out on her, the same way his parents and Amanda had abandoned him.

Peter’s mind churned. He could spin around, rush Cole, surprise him, and grab his gun. Scream at her to run for the door. He might die, but at least then he’d be the hero.

He stopped and turned. Cole was still watching him warily.

“I can’t,” Peter said, hating the shakiness in his voice. “Not without her.”

“Your choice,” Cole shrugged, raising the gun and aiming.

“Go, Peter!” Noa’s voice was hard. “I don’t want you here.”

“But—”

“I mean it!” she said fiercely. “You’re useless, anyway.”

That stung. Worse yet was the look in her eyes, the same one she’d had the night they met. The one that said she’d taken his measure and found him lacking.

A wave of desolation swept over him. Rigidly, he turned back around and kept walking.

Behind him, Cole sneered, “Just you and me now, sweetheart.”

Peter paused in the doorway. The NSA wouldn’t get here in time. They might not even be coming. Cole and Noa would be long gone by then.

Screw it,
he decided. He’d get in the car and drive to the nearest police station. Tell them the whole story, and convince them to stop Cole. His parents could fend for themselves.

Resolved, Peter stepped across the threshold. The sleet had slowed to a trickle, easing visibility. He looked left. The blue cooler was halfway to the pier, but Monte was nowhere in sight. The boat still bobbed on the waves, rubber bumpers squeaking against the pilings. Maybe Monte got smart and took off. Peter had the feeling Cole was planning on stuffing him in a pot as soon as he finished loading the boat.

He trotted toward the car. He’d only gone ten feet when there was a loud
pop
from inside the building, followed by another, then another. Peter froze. Gunshots?
Noa,
he thought, heart clenching.

Peter raced back toward the Quonset hut.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
t was pitch-black inside. Noa had started moving as soon as the first light blew overhead, sending shattered fragments of glass cascading down. She hadn’t known what to expect when she saw the shadow flit past the door. Hadn’t even been sure it was him, that he’d gotten her message in time.

But then the enormous fluorescent bulbs that dangled above started to burst, flames dancing around a few of them. Cole’s eyes jerked up to the ceiling. Noa took full advantage. She dropped to a crouch and made for the exit. As the lights blew she heard a yell, then a shot, louder than the bulbs popping. The air filled with the smell of gunpowder and something chemical and sinister. Within seconds, all the light had been extinguished. It took her eyes a moment to adjust. A faint gleam emanated from the door Peter had left open. Hopefully he was already back at the car.

Noa could hear Cole crunching toward her on the glass. The door was only a few feet away. She’d be exposed while dashing through, but if she stayed low hopefully Cole wouldn’t have time to aim.

She didn’t let herself think it over.

As she was about to plunge toward it, the entrance was suddenly blocked by a tall figure.

“Noa!” Peter yelled.

Noa swore under her breath. A roar sounded from behind her—Cole, getting ready to fire.

Peter abruptly shunted sideways, knocked straight off his feet. He vanished from sight. Noa darted for the door, focused on the dim light outside, filtered white by the rain.

Just as she was about to bolt through, a flaming bottle rolled past her.

Peter landed hard and grunted. His arm had twisted beneath him at a funny angle, pinning his shoulder back. Reflexively he struggled against the weight on top of him.

“Go to the boat!” a voice hissed in his ear.

“What? Screw you, I’m getting—”

“I got her. Now go!”

Peter stumbled to his feet just in time to see his attacker light the fuse on a Molotov cocktail. The guy looked past him over the flame. He was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with dark hair that hung below his ears. Lean and grungy-looking, like the runaways at the shelter where Amanda volunteered. He glared at Peter through the rain. “Move!” he ordered, then tossed the bomb into the building.