Betrayal

Chapter 3

Jet pulled the stolen Toyota Camry to the curb thirty yards from the house, having shut off the headlights as she inched to the curb. All the surrounding homes were dark, with the exception of a few porch lights glimmering in the shadows of midnight. She exited the vehicle, hoisted a black nylon backpack she’d bought earlier that day, and made her way to the vacant home she’d toured three days before with Joanie.

She edged to the porch and stooped, quickly finding the agent lock box and turning the combination to the numbers she’d memorized when Joanie had opened it. Her latex gloves squeaked on the slick surface as she fished inside for the key, and after unlocking the front door, she returned it to its hiding place, spinning the dial so it stopped on a random digit.

Once inside the empty house, she quickly pulled night vision goggles from the bag and put them on — courtesy of an overnight delivery from an internet vendor. She knew better than to purchase anything specialized in Omaha. Caution was an indelible part of her makeup when preparing for any kind of an operation, and rescuing her daughter was no different.

The interior of the house illuminated in the green glow of the goggles — a common commercial version that would be suitable for tonight’s task — and she extracted the rest of her gear.

Jet sat cross-legged on the floor and watched the street out front for forty-five minutes, wary of any movement or signs of life. Nothing. No cars, no dog walkers. The neighborhood was completely still.

She crept to the back door and eased it open, then took cautious steps to the fence that separated the yards. Seeing nothing suspicious, she climbed over the wood slats and moved to the rear entrance of Hannah’s house, ears straining for sounds of movement inside.

The lock took fifteen seconds. She slowly twisted the knob, careful not to make any sound, and when the latch freed, she pushed it open, the hinges silent from the drop of oil she’d applied to each before jimmying the lock.

The house was the twin of the vacant one next door, so she knew exactly where the master bedroom and the guest bedrooms would be. It was a better-than-even chance that Hannah would have her own room.

Her running shoes made no sound as she crept along the hall to the bedrooms. If she had any luck at all, Hannah’s putative parents would sleep with their door closed. If not, and they awakened, she was prepared to deal with them, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to hurt them. They were probably innocent in all this, considering how David had operated. Every player would be compartmentalized from the others, and nobody would know more than they absolutely had to.

She’d ruminated on how he had found these people, eventually deciding that it really didn’t matter. Because of his work with the Mossad, David had been granted access to far greater resources than she could have imagined. The most probable scenario was that he’d arranged to have Hannah delivered to a couple waiting for an adoption. There were myriad ways of achieving anything, she knew, if enough money was thrown at a problem, and he had told her that his operational budget was vast and untraceable.

The master door was closed, so she moved to the first guest bedroom — the likeliest of the two she would have used for a children’s room based on her tour of the home’s twin. The lever handle opened with a click.

Inside, she saw her first problem — a transmitter that would carry any noise Hannah made to a speaker in the master bedroom. Her fingers felt for a pocket knife, and she lifted the wire with a steady hand and severed it with a single slice. Hannah stirred in her toddler bed but didn’t make any noise, still sleeping, unaware of her mother only a few feet away.

Now was the moment of truth.

She leaned down and lifted Hannah, who struggled momentarily in her arms and then snuggled against Jet’s neck as she held her close, still out cold. Jet was surprised how much she weighed — around thirty pounds — and for a brief second, she was struck by how little she actually knew about children and mothering.

As Hannah snuffled against her neck, Jet’s heart melted.

She crept out of the house and down the side access to the Camry, removing her night vision goggles as she approached the vehicle. The streets were still quiet, empty and cold. Hannah woke up as she was being strapped into the child seat and looked at Jet with sleepy eyes, confused by why she was being transported in the middle of the night.

Jet buckled her in and smiled. Hannah reached out to her proffered hand, slapped it in a toddler’s version of high five, and laughed delightedly.

“Sweetheart. I’m so glad I finally found you. I love you. Mommy loves you.”

Hannah looked confused, which made sense. She was being told that Jet loved her, which she understood based on the three familiar words, but not what it meant in proximity to the assurance that Mommy also loved her.

“You want to go for a ride?”

Hannah giggled again.

“Okay, sweetheart, we’re going to go for a ride. Right now.”

Jet rounded the front of the car and climbed behind the wheel, then crossed the two wires she’d left dangling. The engine turned over with a purr, and she eased the vehicle down the street, waiting to turn on the headlights until she’d rounded the corner that would take them out of the subdivision.

As she drove the two miles to the industrial area where she’d left her rental car, Jet considered what she’d just done, and the hurdles she’d have to face getting Hannah out of the country. She’d need a passport and all the right paperwork. More importantly, she’d need to evade any law enforcement effort to apprehend her.

Jet had thought through all the elements of their escape with care and had calculated that they could be in Dallas after a hard ten hours of driving. There, she could find contacts who would be able to create documents for her. There were thriving underworld operations in virtually every major city that could create whatever she needed. But she had to get clear of Nebraska before daybreak, which meant she had no time to lose.

She swung onto the main road and gazed at Hannah in the back seat, her eyes already beginning to close from the rocking motion of the car. Jet realized this would be way harder with a toddler, but there was no turning back. She had her daughter. They would figure the rest out in the process.

They changed vehicles, and Jet opened the five-gallon gas can she had stowed in the trunk and doused the stolen Toyota inside and out, leaving her gloves and her shoes on the passenger seat after donning the replacement pair she’d stashed in the rental. She opened a pack of cigarettes she’d purchased for the purpose and lit one, then after puffing it until the tip glowed red in the darkness, she flicked it through the open window of the glistening Camry.

The vapor ignited with a whump, and within three minutes, they were back on the city streets, making their way to the motel, Hannah now asleep after the momentary excitement of the impromptu fireworks display from the car’s immolation.

A police cruiser pulled alongside as she waited at a light; the patrolman glanced at her, boredom evident on his face. A housewife in a family car late at night was as unexciting as it got. The light changed, and he tromped on the gas, the engine growling as he pulled ahead. Jet smiled to herself and eased away from the signal, careful to do so at a moderate pace.

Halfway up the next block, the squad car hit its emergency lights and swung around in a screeching arc, siren blaring.

Someone must have phoned in the burning car, or the gas tank had ignited and prompted a call from nearby security guards at the warehouses in the area. Whichever, that would draw every policeman within miles, ensuring that her trip out of town would be uneventful.

The motel’s lights bathed the parking lot with a fluorescent glow, and she noticed there were quite a few more cars than when she had left. None of the rooms were illuminated, suggesting everyone was asleep. She could slip into her room, grab her essentials out of the safe and be on the road within a matter of minutes. She had stolen a Chevy Equinox earlier that night and parked it next to the rental car lot, so her final task would be to transfer everything to the SUV when she dropped the car off — no point raising eyebrows by failing to return the vehicle.

“All right, sweetheart. I’ll be right back. I just need to get my stuff. Be good,” she crooned to Hannah, who watched her with sleepy eyes before slowly closing them again.

Jet’s eyes roved over the parked cars, automatically scanning for anomalies or suspicious tells, but saw nothing. Her mind was poring over all the items she’d need to get for Hannah — diapers, food, toys, a bed, clothes — all the sundry goods that were required to care for a toddler. She would have to stop somewhere after she crossed the state line. With any luck, the police wouldn’t be notified until morning, and it would take a little while for them to issue an all-points bulletin with Hannah’s description and a photo. By then she would be in Kansas or Oklahoma, on her way to Texas.

She tossed her clothes into her suitcase and went into the bathroom to retrieve her hygiene kit. There was more than enough room in the bag for all of her items as well as anything Hannah would need. The safe sprang open with a beep, and she quickly emptied it, slipping one of the passports into her back pocket before changing her top to a maroon one. All black might draw attention in rural states in America’s heartland, and she didn’t want to be memorable in any way.

Jet glanced at her watch. She’d been inside for six minutes.

She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and shouldered her purse, then moved to the door, taking a last survey of the little room to ensure she had everything. Satisfied, she twisted the handle and stepped into the night, her suitcase rolling behind her.

Hannah was still asleep when she returned to the car, and she took care to open the trunk as quietly as possible so as not to wake her.

A spike of pain stabbed into her thigh as she was hoisting the bags into the back, and she spun around, instinctively brushing at the painful spot. Her hand felt something hard — her vision began to blur. She fought for consciousness as her knees buckled, and she slumped to the ground, her last image was of two men approaching her from a blue van parked thirty feet away, one of them carrying what looked like an air rifle.

Then the world spun, and everything went black.