Think Twice

Before the sun rises again, it will be over for Myron Bolitar.

And for others...

This time, you really aren’t sure.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Myron sat on one side of the kitchen table. Emily sat on the other side. The only item on the table between them was a phone. It was small and black and a flip model. Myron knew the type. Some people called them “no-contract” or “prepaid” or “pay-as-you-go.” Others, like Myron, knew them as disposable or burner phones.

He had not touched it yet.

“Do you have a pair of latex gloves?” Myron asked Emily.

“You mean like surgeons wear?”

“Yes.”

“Does this look like a hospital?”

“How about to clean?”

“You mean like rubber gloves?”

“Yes.”

“I can look. Why do you need them?”

“Why do you think, Emily?” His voice had a little too much edge in it. He dialed it back and said, “I don’t want to leave or smudge fingerprints.”

“But I already touched it,” she said.

“Tell me about that.”

“Tell you what?”

“Where exactly did you find it?”

“Jeremy’s room. I told you that. It was taped to the bottom of the bed.”

“And you heard it vibrate?”

“Yes. But for all I know, it could have been there for months.”

Myron frowned. “And stayed charged?”

“It wasn’t like someone was using it. Can’t phone batteries last a long time if it’s never used?”

Myron saw no reason to get into it with Emily.

“Myron?”

He looked up at her. There were tears in Emily’s eyes.

“I’m really scared.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “Step at a time, okay?”

She nodded.

“How did you get the phone out from under the bed?”

“I tried to pull it off with my hand, but the tape wouldn’t give. So I went back to the kitchen and got scissors.”

“Did you flip it open or anything?”

“No. I called you right away.”

Myron nodded. “Could you get the gloves?”

She found them under the sink, but they were far too small for his hands. Myron gave up on them pretty fast — if he messed up some DNA or whatever, so be it. The phone had been taped. Emily had grabbed it. The contamination was already there.

“Wait,” Emily said. “Should we call Jeremy first?”

“Okay,” Myron said. “But let’s not ask him about the phone right now.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“You’re probably right.”

“He’s in the military. He does a lot of clandestine work. The phone could be a part of that.”

“Yes,” Myron said. “I agree.”

They both stared at one another for a long moment.

“He’s our son,” Emily said, her voice a plea. “You get that, right?”

Myron said nothing.

“Maybe we shouldn’t touch it,” she said. “We should wait until he gets here and let him explain.”

“Call him,” Myron said.

She dialed Jeremy’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail. The voice on the message was machine-produced, not Jeremy’s. Emily didn’t bother leaving a message. She hung up. They sat at the table together. The room was silent. Myron stared at the phone. He glanced up at Emily and then reached across the table and picked up the phone. He flipped it open and checked incoming calls. There were four calls in total, all over the past three days, the most recent being an hour ago.

The caller ID on all of them read Anonymous.

Not helpful.

Myron looked for an option to call the number back. There was nothing there. He clicked the arrow on top of the screen and moved to outgoing calls. Bingo. There were two calls listed. Same number. When Myron saw it, he stiffened.

“What?” Emily said.

He didn’t reply. Don’t jump the gun, he told himself. Step at a time.

“Myron?”

The number had a 215 area code. That was what had startled him. He put down the phone and picked up his own.

“What are you doing?” Emily asked.

He put the 215 phone number into his own phone. He was about to dial the number, but then thought better of it. Why leave a record of his call? He moved over to the Google app and entered the number in there. If this didn’t work — if the number was unlisted or not online in some way — he would send it to Esperanza. She’d be able to find the phone’s owner right away.

But no need. The google worked.

The 215 phone number, according to Myron’s web search, belonged to the Prine Organization.

Myron closed his eyes.

“What?” Emily asked.

The intercom buzzed, startling them both. Emily pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

Myron slid the phone off the marble-top table. It dropped into his palm. He leaned back and jammed the phone into his front pocket. Myron heard Emily tell the doorman to let him up. Myron rose and headed toward the door.

“When I found the phone,” Emily explained, “I called you first. Isn’t that odd?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“It was just a gut reaction. But when I hung up, I felt weird.”

“So you called someone else,” Myron said.

“Yes,” she said. “And he’s here now too.”

The three of them — Myron, Emily, and now Greg Downing — sat at the same kitchen table with the flip phone in the middle, equidistant from all three of them.

Greg spoke first. “It’s a setup.”

“Yes,” Emily said, leaping at Greg’s explanation.