Page 29 of Exit Party

We were waiting at the Paris gate when a text came in on Felix’s phone from an unknown number. Two photos, one each of his friends Cali and Drew, tied to chairs. The message: You have one hour to deliver the entirety of the Company merchandise to Staplestown parking lot.

“I’ve known him since I was nine,” Felix said. His eyes were wide and panicked. “We were in The Nutcracker together.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “What is the Company?”

“A competitor.” Felix was carefully maintaining eye contact, in the studied manner of a man who’s been told to maintain eye contact while lying.

“You’re a terrible liar and you have to tell me,” I said.

“I made a mistake,” he said, “about a month before I moved to Ohio. I cheated someone out of money I owed and left town.”

“A lot of money?”

“A lot of money.”

“Where was this?”

“Maryland,” he said. “I didn’t think I was traceable, but I think they found me.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I thought I could get away with it,” he said. “I’m sorry, Ari. It was stupid.”

I nodded. “This entity you cheated, this was the Company?”

“Yeah. They were a local militia.”

“Was this near the Virginia border?” I asked.

“Very near. Silver Spring. How did you know?”

“I spent years reading in prison libraries,” I said. “Nonfiction, mostly. How far is that from Langley, like a twenty-minute drive?”

“I don’t remember. About that. Why?”

“It’s a militia based twenty minutes from Langley, called the Company, and you thought they were local?” I’d dropped my voice to a whisper, because I was trying very hard not to shout.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” he said.

“I’ll bet their weapons were unusually advanced,” I said. “Kind of stuff you couldn’t get anywhere else, right?”

“How did you guess that?” he asked.

“Here’s the thing about Drew and Cali,” I said. “I think they’re already dead.”

He nodded, slowly, and closed his eyes.

“I’m going to take your phone,” I told him.

“Okay.”

I held the phone in my hand for the hour that followed, waiting at the gate while other travellers filtered in. At fifty-eight minutes, I left Felix sitting there and walked away. The new texts came in as I was approaching the gate for the flight to Vancouver. I allowed myself a quick look. The same two pictures, except now Drew’s and Cali’s throats had been cut. At the Vancouver gate, I dropped the phone into a woman’s open handbag while her back was turned, and watched from a distance till I was certain the woman and the phone were on the plane. When I returned to the gate, Felix was watching me.

“There was no way to get back in time,” I said. “Absolutely no possible way.”

“We could’ve told them that,” Felix said. “We could’ve made arrangements.”

“We could’ve,” I said, “but I think then we’d be dead too.”