Jed drifted to the surface, looked around and located the depot sign. He checked his watch. They were bang on schedule. So they would be in El Paso for an hour and five minutes. It was lunchtime and he wouldn’t get another decent break until they got to Dallas in the early hours of the next morning. Which meant it made sense to get out and find some food. He was starving, but he felt more energetic than the last time he woke up. He slid across onto the seat next to the aisle. Some of the other passengers were already outside, wandering about. He waited for an elderly couple to shuffle by, then stood up and started toward the door. Then he stopped again. He didn’t have his backpack. It hadn’t been on his lap. He hadn’t been hugging it. He hadn’t wanted to look like a little kid. So he’d put it on the seat next to him. Before he fell asleep. But now it wasn’t on the seat. It wasn’t on the floor. It wasn’t in the luggage rack. It was nowhere. It was gone.
Jed remembered the guy in the bus station in L.A. The surfer-looking dude who had found his ticket when he dropped it. The guy had warned him. Told him to hang on to his bag. To keep his arm through the strap when he slept. He should have listened. He should have…
Jed spotted the backpack. It was outside the bus. A guy was carrying it. He was moving quickly, along the concourse between the piers. He was almost at the depot exit. Jed started to rush down the aisle but almost at once he had to slow down. Nearly to a standstill. The old couple was in the way. Dawdling. Creeping along. It was like they were experimenting to see how slowly it was possible for human beings to move without their feet fusing with the floor. Jed hovered along behind them until they reached the door. They climbed down. Jed jumped out. He ran to the exit. There was no sign of the guy with his backpack. Then Jed caught a glimpse of him. Through a car window. A cab. The guy was reclining in the backseat. He was cradling the backpack. Its top flap was pressing against the glass.
The cab was twenty yards away. Jed ran toward it. He waved. He yelled. The cab accelerated. Jed jumped. He screamed. He kept on running. But the cab just moved faster and faster until it was gone from Jed’s sight.
Jed was left on the sidewalk, doubled over, out of breath. He was alone in a strange town, hundreds of miles from the only place he had ever thought of as home. All his worldly goods were gone. His dream of a new life was shattered. Tears blurred his vision. He slid his hand into his pocket. His fingers searched for coins. If he could find a quarter he could call his foster mother. Beg her to come and get him. To take him back. To save him.
Jed could call.
Whether his foster mother would answer was a whole other question.
* * *
—
Graeber and the other four guys had been waiting for an hour by the time Emerson arrived at the warehouse in Chicago. The four guys were surprised. It wasn’t like Emerson to be late. But these were not normal times. Graeber had laid out some of the background for them. Not everything. Emerson was a private kind of guy. He wouldn’t want his family’s dirty laundry washed in public. And Graeber was ambitious. He didn’t want to erode his privileged position in the organization so he stuck to the basics. Just enough to keep the others from asking too many questions. Or getting nervous and walking out.
Emerson’s wife had been crazier than he’d expected when he got home. She had screamed at him the moment he walked through the door. She had wailed and pounded on his chest. She had flung things. She had blamed him for what had happened to Kyle. For the fact that the treatment had failed. Which didn’t seem fair to Emerson. Not fair at all. He hadn’t poured the booze down Kyle’s throat. He hadn’t rolled his joints or filled his syringes with who knew what. All he had done was try to get the kid better. At huge expense. And not a little personal risk.
It had taken all Emerson’s strength to stay patient while his wife raged. To try to understand what was going on. And to wait for her Xanax to finally kick in.
* * *
—
Emerson sat at the head of the battered old table and took a moment to compose himself. Then he said, “Guys, thank you for being here. First up, you should know that this is not business as usual. It’s not professional. It’s personal. To me. So if anyone wants to sit this one out, you can leave. No hard feelings. No repercussions. I guarantee.”
No one moved.
“Excellent.” Emerson nodded his head. “So here’s the plan, such as it is. We have two known points of contact with these assholes. First, we know who their front man is. Graeber and I will pay him a visit. See if we can’t loosen his tongue. Persuade him to share more details of their operation. Second, there’s their ship, twelve miles and an inch off the Jersey coast. It’s not going anywhere. It can’t. Their top guys will probably stay on board. They’ll think they’re safe there, and it’s where they keep all their equipment and supplies. Which suits us fine, for now. As long as none of them sneaks away. So the rest of you, I want you to head over there. A friend is providing a plane. Take a basic dry kit. There’s no need for finesse with this job. Then start by setting up surveillance from the shore. There’s only one little boat that goes back and forth. If anyone tries to leave, intercept them. If they’re customers, let them go. Maybe shake them up a little first. Make sure they know to never come back. If they’re anything other than customers, put them on ice. And there’s no need to be gentle. Just make sure they’re still alive when I get there.”