“A robbery. Killed my brother. Took the Specials.”
Hollis swore loudly. “Sorry about your brother,” he typed. “How many Specials?”
“Everything we’d kept back. The rest was already gone. But they were asking questions.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Not a damn thing, even with a gun to my head. But they know something.”
They couldn’t know about the Messenger, Hollis thought. Nobodyoutside the Movement knew about him. He almost never left the camp anymore. That’s what the tapes were for. To protect him, to keep the secret.
Except that dead reporter knew about him, didn’t she? She had the tape. And now the tall man had it, Hollis was sure of that.
He wrote, “What did they look like?”
“Two men, one white and one Black. Good with guns. Driving a big American SUV.”
Hollis ground his teeth. He’d had seen the same two men a few hours ago, driving away from the roofer’s house with a woman. “We’ll deal with them soon. Where are you?”
“On the road. I had to bury my brother. Cousin Vance is with me.”
Hollis sent a thumbs-up, dropped the phone in his lap, then picked it up again. This was part of the Industrial Machine, making these devices addictive on purpose, stealing your mind and monetizing your attention. But they were also useful. Wondering about the others, he went to Google Maps and found Location Sharing.
He saw the Messenger’s blue dot at the camp headquarters, exactly where he should be. BigGuns and Vance were on the highway near Kent. Reed’s locator had gone dark when the police took his phone.
But Scott Enderby’s was lit up.
He opened Telegram and went to his chat with Enderby. The app showed that his phone was logged on. Hollis didn’t understand.
He wasn’t naïve enough to think the mayor’s announcement about the end of the investigation meant the police wouldn’t follow up as many loose ends as they could. But why the hell was Enderby’s phone in Ballard, and how had they figured out Telegram? He could imagine a signal going out when the police tried to get into the phone, but the forensics lab was downtown. And why would they be looking at it in the middle of the night?
He deleted Telegram, then went back to Maps and zoomed in onthe Ballard location, getting the street address, then pulled up the King County Assessor’s website and ran a search. The property was owned by someone named Estelle Martinez.
He knew from a previous search that the roofer had the same last name. It was common enough. But this was no coincidence.
The tall man had the phone.
And now Hollis thought he might know where the man was staying.
Hollis had done some killing in the early years, to protect the Messenger and move the plan forward. As the Movement grew, he’d let the Hardcore Originals take over the bloody work. But when the Dark Time came, he’d have to pick up a gun again. So why not now?
He’d need Nickels and Vance to take on the tall man directly, especially if the man had brought in a friend. It was almost twoa.m. His reinforcements would arrive before too long. With everyone in the house asleep, it would be a lot easier.
He plotted a course to the address.
Twelve minutes out.
He got out of the car and unplugged the charger. He was at ninety percent.
More than enough.
34
June
Still waiting for Peter and Lewis to return, June got back online to finish digging up contact information for KT’s three interview subjects. Place of employment, home address, phone numbers, automobiles, it was all easy enough to find using her subscription databases. Then she mapped out a plan of attack for the morning, trying to calm her nerves.
Ever since KT had been killed, she’d been on edge. Yes, her friend had died, but it was more than that. Someone had assassinated a journalist for reporting the wrong story. That was the kind of thing they did in Russia, or China, or the cartel-controlled parts of Mexico. Not in America. Not until now.
