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“I suppose you could say . . . I dropped out.”
“You ever going back?”
He paused, black eyes gazing out over the long road unfurled before them. “I don’t know for sure, but . . . I think not. I suspect that part of my life is over.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?” It wasn’t like her to interrogate other people like this, but he fascinated her. Mostly because with his broad shoulders, broken nose, dark ponytail, and tribal tatts, he didn’t resemble any college professor she’d ever known. If the physics professors had looked like him, she might’ve taken more interest in
the hard sciences.
Then again, maybe that’s why he quit.
Silas answered slowly, his voice deepening with notes that whispered of rue. “I did, once. Then everything changed. And I’m not the same person I was then. I can’t stand and stare at a whiteboard for hours while pondering problems that have no real-world application. I have something else I must do now.”
“Walk across Ecuador?”
His eyes crinkled in a surprisingly warm smile. “No. That’s tangential to my true goal.”
“And that is?” Unforgivable. Nosy. Prying. But she wasn’t sorry she’d asked.
“To make amends.”
That sounded like a twelve-step thing. She’d known her share of addicts. Guiltily, she flashed a look at his arms, but the ink made it impossible to tell if he had track marks. If he’d managed to kick the habit, though, more power to him.
The sun soon stole her desire to talk, however. They stopped for periodic water breaks, but the food had to last. Juneau welcomed the cooler weather when the sun sank away from the zenith, falling toward the horizon. She’d thought she was pretty tough, until now, but really, it was all she could do not to whine because there was no traffic on the road. Even if there had been, they shouldn’t accept a ride anyway. Kidnapping was big business in this part of the world.
As they crested a hill, the most welcome vista unfurled. Three simple white vacation bungalows, built on a rise overlooking the ocean, sat off to their right. Two of them had been damaged to the point of being uninhabitable, but the third appeared to be more or less intact. She quickened her pace without even checking to see what he thought of the idea. Proper shelter, running water, a regular toilet . . . oh yes, please.
She ran up the path, framed by brick and stonework. Cracks lay in what had been a pretty pattern, but nothing dangerous. Juneau vaulted some chunks of the other casitas and kept going. On closer inspection, the third house hadn’t escaped unscathed, but all four walls were standing, despite the fissures.
“Sound enough?” she asked Silas over one shoulder.
He studied the fracture running parallel to the door. “I think so.”
“Can you get us in?”
In answer, he slammed his left shoulder into the door, and it popped like a champagne cork. “They’ll never know it wasn’t quake related.”
Inside, it was beautifully cool and dim. A white and blue ceramic floor—some tiles now had cracks in them—led to a simple sitting room. This was a tiny vacation cottage, where the attraction lay in the landscape, the ocean, and the wildlife. Admittedly, it was gorgeous with spectacular sunsets, crystal clear water, unspoiled beaches, and the prospect of endless solitude. One didn’t come here for the luxurious accommodations, Juneau reflected. Still, she could tell the place had been built well, or it wouldn’t be standing. Simple worked when it came with running water.
“God bless the ecotourist,” she said on a happy sigh. “Dibs on first shower.”
“Go ahead. I’ll get the generator running, if there’s any fuel.”
It stood to reason there would be. This was probably a latchkey place with an absentee owner who took bookings online. There might even be some food in the cupboards. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? The few stale, crushed pastries and cans of soup they’d found in Salango would only go so far.
Juneau went down the hall and into the bathroom. God, it would be good to feel human again; she wouldn’t think of children who had no more birthdays coming or coworkers’ families who were praying to hear good news. One minute at a time, he’d said. Well, she could do that. In fact, she excelled at it. It was the longer stretches that gave her trouble.
SIX
A ping made Mockingbird turn to check it. So Silas was in Ecuador. He wondered if the Foundation tracked in the same way he did. Wait, they couldn’t. They might have Kestrel now, but they lacked his unique talent. He studied the picture of the fugitive, working with the Red Cross in the aftermath of the quake. Disaster relief, who would have guessed?
He needed to get an agent to Ecuador. Warn Silas not to use his ability, if he had one. If only I hadn’t lost Finch in Guatemala—but no use lamenting the irrevocable. If Finch wasn’t dead, he’d soon be working for the enemy. They needed to find Olivia Swift, like, yesterday. Her ability to fight covert battles while their adversaries slept would prove invaluable.
But that was a pipe dream. He had no idea where she was; she’d gone ghost. Then it occurred to him: Maybe she wipes our memories in our dreams. Maybe he’d found her. At that, he prowled through all his files, but there was nothing. Could she convince me to get up in my sleep and erase the records? A cold chill went through him. If she was unbalanced, there was no telling what she might be doing out there.
Anyway, he had no proof that was the case or that she knew anything about him or his efforts to find her. Sitting in this room, surrounded by humming electronics, was making him paranoid. Better to focus on the mission.
Tanager was in Florida. She could hop a plane to Ecuador, but getting to Puerto López, where Silas had last been sighted, would be tricky. Fortunately, Tan specialized in persuading people to do impossible things. That made her a natural for this job.
