Orphan X

19 Advertising Cost

“I’m scared.”

Sitting at the edge of the motel-room bed, Katrin shoved her clenched hands into the already stretched hem of the woefully oversize T-shirt Evan had brought her. Her hair, still wet from the shower, fell at blunt angles into a bob. Her irises, a crystalline sea green, looked even clearer given the absence of eyeliner. She took in his face in darting glances, her knees nutcrackering the union of her fists again and again.

Evan pulled a chair around to face her. “It’ll be okay.”

“How can you know that?”

“It always has been before.”

The air, still humid in the aftermath of her shower, felt oppressively heavy and carried the hospital-hygienic scent of bad motel soap. He’d arrived minutes ago to find her pacing around the cramped space, chewing a dark-painted thumbnail to the quick. Now she rammed her hands again into the belly of the ill-fitting shirt, the V-neck tugging down, showing the top swell of her breasts. Nerves firing, limbs jumping — her anxiety fighting the confines of her body.

His black briefcase rested on the bureau beside the TV, knocking out any surveillance devices that might be in the area. He punched a code into the lock, turning off the wideband high-power jammer.

It was time to make a phone call.

Sensing this, Katrin picked up the burner phone from the mattress beside her. She pressed it to her lips, closed her eyes as if praying.

Evan removed his RoamZone. “We’ll use mine,” he said. “Untraceable.”

She gave a quick nod. “Hang on. Just hang on.” She took a few breaths. Opened those wide eyes, brimming with fear. “Okay.”

He dialed. Hit speaker. Set the phone on the corner of the mattress, between him and Katrin.

As it rang, Katrin squeezed one hand in the other.

A man picked up. “Who’s this?”

“Do you have Sam?” Evan asked.

“Looking at him.”

Katrin muffled a cry in her throat.

“Proof of life,” Evan said. “Then we discuss terms.”

A shuffling sound, and then came a ragged masculine voice. “Hello? Katrin?”

“Dad?” Katrin blinked, and tears slid down her ivory cheeks. “I’m here.”

“Hi, baby.”

“Have they hurt you?”

“I’m all right.”

She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to them better. I’m sorry I went to someone for help.”

“Honey, I want you to know … I want you to know I don’t fault you for any of this. For anything that happened. Whoever you’re with, I hope he protects you. I hope he—”

A clamor of grappling as the phone was ripped away. Then the first man’s voice again. “You didn’t adhere to our instructions.”

“That’s my fault,” Evan said. “But I’m prepared to negotiate Sam’s release. I have money, and I have—”

“We don’t care about money. Not anymore. Our directions were not obeyed.”

“Wait!” Katrin said. “We can fix it. We can make it okay again.”

“This is our advertising cost,” the man said. “For the next time.”

A single pop of a gunshot.

The thump of deadweight hitting floor.

Evan came up off the chair, almost knocking the phone from its perch. He stared at the speaker holes in disbelief.

As if from a distance, he was aware of Katrin sobbing. “Sam! Dad? No. No. No!”

The voice came again, slicing through the shock static filling Evan’s head. “The bitch is next. Then you.”

The line cut off.

The static thickened until it drowned out everything. He’d made an operational miscalculation, his first in eight years. That night came back to him as a swarm of sensations — the choppy slate of the Potomac, cherry blossoms wadding underfoot, a hot coppery scent piercing the sawdust-filled air of the dank garage.

Katrin’s sobs rang in his ears, drawing him back into his shell-shocked body. Her father’s blood was on his hands as sure as if he’d fired the shot himself.

As Evan reached for the dead phone, he realized that his hand was shaking for the first time in as long as he could remember. The room gave a vertiginous tilt, the Fourth Commandment falling by the wayside.

It was personal.