10
They were too afraid to speak openly in the car. Jasper was not a part of this, but only they knew that. The FBI or CIA or NSA or whoever could have planted bugs in any of the crevices inside the Porsche. Even the car phone could be tapped.
Before Oslo, before every branch of law enforcement had swept down on the Presidio Heights house, before Agent Danberry had cornered Jane in the backyard, it had felt ridiculously paranoid when Nick had told them to assume that every familiar place was monitored, that someone was always going to be listening. To speak openly, they were supposed to find a park or a random café. They had to sneak down alleys and walk through buildings and say the passwords and know the interrogation techniques and practice self-defense and drill themselves over and over again so that they had their stories right.
The stories had been too right.
Jane could see that now. As she replayed all the conversations with all the agents over the last five days, she could see how their interrogators had registered certain phrases, certain gestures, in their notepads, to compare later.
I pretended to recognize the woman whom I thought was Dr. Maplecroft.
Only one of us had darker intentions.
I wanted to speak to an American after being in Germany for so long.
“Pull over,” Jane told Andrew, fear twisting her stomach into knots. She pushed open the door before the car fully stopped. Her boots skipped across the pavement. They were inside the city proper. There was no grass, just concrete. Jane had no choice but to vomit on the sidewalk.
I met Laura Juneau at the KLM lounge at Schiphol.
I could tell she was an American by the way she was dressed.
Jane retched so hard that she was on her knees. Her stomach clenched out dark bile. She hadn’t been able to eat more than toast and eggs since the murder. The tea that Nick had given her this morning tasted like bark as it burned its way up her throat.
Nick. She had to find Nick so he could explain how they were all going to be fine.
“Jinx.” Andrew’s hand was on her shoulder. He was kneeling beside her.
Jane sat back on her heels. She wiped her mouth. There was a tremble in her fingers that she could not get rid of. It was as if the bones were vibrating beneath her skin.
Theyknowtheyknowtheyknow...
Andrew asked, “Are you okay?”
Her laugh had an edge of uncontrollability.
“Jane—”
“None of us is okay.” Saying the words inserted some sanity into this madness. “It’s all closing in on us. They talked to Ellis-Ann.”
“I kept her out of this. She doesn’t know anything.”
“They know everything.” How could he not see this? “My God, Andy. They think we’re in a cult.”
He laughed. “Like the People’s Temple? The Manson Family?”
Jane wasn’t laughing. “What are we going to do?”
“Stick to the plan,” he said, his voice low. “That’s what it’s there for. When in doubt, just let the plan lead the way.”
“The plan,” Jane repeated, but not with his reverence.
The stupid fucking plan. So carefully plotted, so relentlessly discussed and strategized.
So wrong.
“Come on,” Andrew said. “We’ll find a café and—”
“No.” Jane had to find Nick. He could solve this for them. Or maybe he already had. Just the thought of Nick taking control immediately soothed some of her jagged nerves. Maybe what had happened with Danberry and Barlow was part of a larger, secret plan. Nick did that sometimes—made them all think they were about to walk into the path of an oncoming train, only to reveal at the last minute that he was the cunning conductor braking at the last possible moment to keep them out of harm’s way. He tested them like this all of the time. Even in Berlin, Nick had asked Jane to do things, to put herself in danger, just to make sure she would obey.