The Traitor's Story (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Pablo and Henri woke him in the morning, finding it hysterical that he was sleeping on the sofa, clambering all over him, jumping up and down until Cecile came in and upbraided them with good humor and apologized to Finn.

The thaw between Cecile and Finn seemed to be lasting, and he wondered if it was because of what he’d done for Hailey, casting him in a different light. Perhaps he’d make a habit of rescuing runaways.

The mood was once more good over breakfast. Mathieu was having fun with the boys, appearing less parental with them than he did with Finn most of the time. Adrienne and Cecile were talking to Hailey, apparently making plans for an imaginary return trip to Paris—imaginary, he thought, because he couldn’t foresee Ethan and Debbie allowing her to go off on tour any time soon.

If anything, during pauses in the conversation, he thought he noticed Hailey looking a little lost or sad. Was she thinking about the boy she’d left behind in Uppsala, the brief taste of a more exciting adult life she’d had there—or was it that she knew they would be home later that day, the reunion with her parents beginning to weigh heavily on her thoughts?

Finn had hoped he’d find another chance to speak to Adrienne, to reinforce what he sensed was the progress they’d made, albeit intangible, the previous night. She had other ideas, and appeared determined that they wouldn’t be left alone together, that the lively atmosphere of the morning would not be sacrificed for things that had already been said.

So almost the only time she spoke to him directly was as he and Hailey readied themselves to go downstairs and get the taxi to Gare de Lyon.

“Bye, Finn.”

“I’ll call.”

She nodded, only to say, “Do what you have to do first.”

Finn noticed Hailey look at him, as if she also knew what that meant. Finn resented both of them for it in some way.

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” he said, sounding conciliatory rather than defiant. “But it may be some time. Take care.”

The rest of them said their goodbyes. Mathieu and the boys came down to the street to wave them off, and Hailey waved excitedly back from the taxi. Finn noticed she had tears in her eyes as she finally faced forward again.

She smiled, wiping the tears away as she said, “It’s silly, I know, but I’m so glad we came here. They’re such a beautiful family.”

“I suppose they are.” He glanced behind, but of course they’d already driven too far and Mathieu had probably taken the boys back inside by now. “We forgot to call your parents.”

“No, I called them last night. I called from the kitchen.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure why he should feel put out by that—it wasn’t as if he had some sort of ownership over her return—but he did feel put out, and couldn’t remember her being missing and on her own at any point in the evening. The thought that Adrienne might have been there as she’d made the call left him feeling more dislocated. “Who did you speak to?”

“Dad.”

“Was he okay? I mean, how did it go?”

“Okay, I guess. Mom was more hysterical the other day. Dad was kind of teasing about it, joking about how he hoped I’d got it out of my system. That was almost worse in a way, because it sounded like he was hurt but he didn’t want me to know it.”

Finn didn’t bother to tell her that when she talked about “the other day,” that had also been yesterday—the day had no doubt been so momentous to her that it felt like a week.

He said, “I think they’re both hurt. It’s hard for them not to see some kind of rejection in this.”

“But that’s not what it was about at all. They know how much
I love them. They’re great parents.” He grimaced slightly, saying no more, and she relented. “I know. I know what I did was pretty crappy.”

The taxi driver blasted his horn at someone on a bike who cut in front of them. The cyclist gave a couple of hand gestures in response and hurled a few specialized words in French that Finn didn’t understand but that made Hailey laugh.

The two of them looked out at the streets and the traffic then, and when they got to Gare de Lyon they talked only of platforms and trains and other necessities. On the train, Hailey looked out of the window, her head resting against the side of the seat, and he thought she might fall asleep again.

But half an hour into the journey, she looked across at him as if only just remembering he was there, and said, “Do you mind if I say something to you—something personal?”

He did, alarms immediately sounding, but he could hardly admit to being intimidated by a fifteen-year-old girl.

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. I think you’d be really dumb to let Adrienne go.”

He smiled, almost laughed.

“I don’t intend to let her go. We spoke last night. We have a few things we need to sort out, that’s all.”

“I just thought . . .” She stopped, uncertain, but he looked expectantly and she said, “I just thought things didn’t seem great between you this morning.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m completely frank, it probably didn’t help that you told her about my past in intelligence and about the USB stick before I’d had the chance to tell her myself.”

Hailey came back at him, surprisingly combative, as she said, “When would you have told her?”

“I don’t know. When would you have told Anders that you’re fifteen?”

“That’s so unfair.”

“Is it? I’ve lied for all these years about my past because that’s the nature of clandestine work—you keep it secret.” Even as he spoke, he was editing himself, a reminder that his real reason for keeping the secret from Adrienne was not the clandestine nature of his work but the darker truths that lay within his past, truths he didn’t even want to revisit himself. “Maybe I should have been open, particularly with her, but it’s a balancing act, one that’s hard to get right.”

“What was on the USB stick?”

“No, Hailey, we’re not doing this. I appreciate you giving me the stick, and you and Jonas probably helped me out by hacking that network in the first place, but you’re not involved in this, not anymore.”

“Could it be dangerous?”

“Not dangerous enough to run away.” She was ready to respond angrily, but realized he was teasing and smiled halfheartedly, as if at some corny joke from an uncle. “I don’t know, probably not. But it deals with sensitive material and serious people, so the safest way to proceed is without getting anyone else involved.”

“But Gibson definitely left, right?”

“He definitely left. The apartment’s empty. And your part in this is over.”

She looked offended by his final comment and said, “Okay,
I only asked a question. He knew we hacked his network so I think I
have every right to ask if we might actually be in danger.”

“Maybe, but you’re not. I doubt they have any interest in what you or Jonas did. But Hailey, don’t ever ask me about any of this again, because I won’t answer you.”

As if he were a nagging parent, she gave a grudging “Okay!” And that was it, though she didn’t fall asleep, she rested her head against the side of the seat again and looked out of the window for most of the journey. Only occasionally, as if to demonstrate that she wasn’t sulking, she’d point to something or other and say, “Beautiful church,” or, “The snow’s almost gone off some of the upper slopes.” She seemed disinclined for any further conversation than that.

It suited Finn, too, and he also looked out of the window for much of the journey. There had been rain, because he could see puddles here and there on roads and in fields, but the spring-like weather he’d left behind a couple of days ago was back in control, very few clouds in the sky, the landscape sun-drenched.

It created a false sense that he was returning to an idyll, but one that was now in danger. An idyllic country, perhaps, and his life had been as ordered as the place he’d chosen to live, but there had been little idyllic about it in retrospect.

It wasn’t even the way he’d lived, the way he’d slowly starved his relationship of oxygen. The clue to the real problem was in the way he’d left the money in that numbered account, untouched for all these years. Because at some level, he had always expected his past to finally catch up with him.

Maybe that was the sole reason for him starting to open up this last week. Adrienne leaving him, Hailey disappearing—both counted for nothing against the cathartic realization that he no longer had to look over his shoulder. The thing that he’d secretly dreaded all this time was something he no longer needed to dread, it was now something he had to tackle head-on.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hailey’s nerves became more visible the closer they got to home, and by the time they were in the taxi from the station, she looked fragile enough that she might shatter if touched. She didn’t speak, and nor did he.

When they got out of the cab, she looked up at her apartment and said, “Oh well, here goes.”

“It’ll be fine.”

He looked up at the apartment himself, expecting to see one of them standing there looking out, but the windows were reflecting sky and he could see no movement beyond them.

They took the elevator, and when it opened on her floor he put his hand on the button to hold the door open.

She looked at him, nervous, as she said, “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“You don’t need me there.”

“I guess not. So . . . Well, thanks, for everything.” She looked ready to hug him but thought better of it, perhaps taking her cue from his body language. She picked up her backpack and walked along the corridor.

As she reached the door, she looked back at him and crossed her
fingers, then pressed the buzzer. He was certain she had a key of her own, and he thought it summed up the momentous shift in her life this last week, that she temporarily felt unable to enter her parents’ apartment uninvited.

He heard the door open and let his finger move from the button.
The elevator doors closed and he went back to his own apartment. It felt too empty, more so than when he’d arrived back from Béziers. He wondered if Adrienne would press the buzzer when she came back—if she came back.

Thinking of her, he went into the study, and there, sure enough, he found her note where it had fallen on the floor. He opened it but it told him nothing new, only that she needed some time away, to think through what she wanted—in fact, reading it, Finn was glad he hadn’t found it at the time because he wasn’t sure he would have understood from it that she’d left him.

He did a quick search of the apartment while his laptop booted up, looking for telltale signs that anyone had been in there while he was away. Then he went back to the laptop and plugged in the memory stick. He took a new notebook and started scribbling down the information he’d glanced at the previous night.

He should have scanned the computer first, he knew that, searching for key-logging software or any other spyware. Of course, six years on, he might not have known what to look for or how to find it, but that wasn’t why he didn’t look. At some bloody-minded level, he wanted them to know that he was on to them.

He’d filled a couple of pages with notes when the buzzer sounded. He got up and went to the door, dreading that it was Debbie or Ethan coming to thank him, realizing now that he should have gone with Hailey to their apartment and got this done and out of the way.

But when he opened the door, it was Hailey standing there. It was unexpected, but part of the same problem, and he was ready to tell her that they needed to get some things straight, that their relationship might have changed, but not to the extent where he could be disturbed whenever she felt like it.

Within a moment he’d abandoned those thoughts, seeing how pale she looked, as if she might be in danger of fainting.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked at him like someone who’d been hit over the head and was being asked to count fingers—an expression of confusion and wonder, not sure where she was or how she’d got there.

And her voiced was laced with that same confusion and wonder as she said, “Jonas killed himself.”

“What are you talking about?” He’d said the words before real
izing what an absurd question it was. The thing she’d said was com
pletely
rational—simplicity itself—she was telling him that a young man he’d last seen a few days ago had since committed suicide.

“Yesterday, he did it yesterday. Don’t you get it? While we were having fun in Paris . . . If only we’d got a connecting flight.”

She started to cry, and though he had seen her in tears or upset several times over the last day and a half, there was something shocking and pitiful about her distress now, perhaps because he no longer saw it as the self-indulgent sorrow of youth but as something more adult.

He stepped forward and tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, realizing that until now he had not had any physical contact with her. Her response was immediate, throwing her arms around him, great heaving sobs issued directly into his chest, a release so great that he wondered if she had not sought the comfort of her parents first. Perhaps she had come to him only because of what he’d told her about Jonas, because he was in on the secret of her attraction to him and had revealed the reciprocation that neither teenager had imagined.

He felt no emotion himself, only a sort of curious anger. Why would he kill himself? There had been no signs of him being suicidal on Wednesday evening, nor in the note he’d left on Thursday morning. Finn didn’t know him, it was true, had spent only a few hours with him in total, and yet he had never struck Finn as the kind of kid who would take that way out.

And yet, and yet . . . on Wednesday evening, for Finn’s benefit, they had looked at Hailey’s Facebook page, at Anders Tilberg’s page, and learned about their relationship. Finn believed that Jonas hadn’t looked at her page until that point, but he might well have looked at it many times since, drawn back by a sickening curiosity, particularly after they’d failed to return on Friday.

Jonas had been in love with Hailey, there was no question of that, and he had appeared sanguine about that love not being returned, had almost appeared to expect nothing more than her friendship. But perhaps witnessing her love for someone else had been enough to undermine his calm acceptance.

Yet it still didn’t make sense to Finn. He may have known him for only a few days, but it was still well enough to know that Jonas would not have killed himself.

Finn held Hailey by the shoulders, and looked down at her, saying, “Was he on any medication at all?”

He realized that he knew the answer already, that it was only Hailey’s parents who’d believed him to be in need of a prescription.

Still, she shook her head. “Nothing at all. He didn’t believe in . . . what I mean is, there’s a guy in school who’s on medication for acne and Jonas even tried to talk him out of taking it. He thought it . . .” She started crying again.

“When did this happen? How?”

She looked up, oddly hopeful through the tears, as if just by asking questions he would come up with some solution or prove it all to be a mistake.

“Last night, they think, in the basement of his building. He . . . he hung himself.”

“Okay, let me get my keys and I’ll come back down to your apartment.”

She nodded and let him go, and until now he hadn’t realized that she was still hanging on to him. He grabbed his keys, then almost without thinking about it, he pulled the memory stick from his laptop and slipped it into his pocket, and they walked back down the stairs.

It had been little more than a subconscious action, but his retrieval of the memory stick summed up the worst of his fears about what was happening now. The thought of Jonas killing himself was bad enough, particularly if it had been induced by his exploration of Hailey’s Facebook page, but the other possibility was even more sickening—that someone had killed him, either to get at Finn or because Jonas had delved too deep.

Finn thought back to the note he’d received on Thursday morning, trying to remember what he’d done with it, because although he could remember the two sentences that had been written there, he wanted to check.

The first had been simple enough—
BGS = BRAC GLOBAL SYSTEMS, BASED IN THE CAYMAN ISLANDS
—and he’d made a mental note to himself at the time, to tell Jonas that he shouldn’t look any further into BGS, that it could be a dangerous thing to do.

But that had been only two days ago, probably thirty-six hours before Jonas had been found dead. It seemed impossible to believe that he could have dug far enough for them to silence him—a teenager—within such a short time frame. It seemed impossible, except for the fact that this was Jonas, and that the other sentence he’d written had made his intent clear:
NOTHING ELSE YET BUT MORE SOON
.