Читать книгу The Last Daughter - Thomas Mahon - Страница 17

Maestro sat and faced the large terminal window. He watched the jetliners come and go. His aircraft had arrived fifteen minutes earlier. GSE buzzed about the plane, and workers casually pulled luggage from the underbelly while locking a fueling line into the right wing.

His cell rang. “Yes.”

“Is your flight on time?” asked the pale man.

“It is. We board soon. I’m looking at two hours and forty minutes in the air.”

“I have been assured that you have a car waiting at the other end, along with everything you’ll need.”

The assassin paused and thought about timing. Timing was everything. Though he had left very little to chance, he still worried that he might jump the gun on something. But what? He’d been incredibly detailed and meticulous. An error in judgment was unlikely. “The package,” he said. “Deliver it this afternoon. Understand?”

“Yes sir. Enjoy your flight.”

He pocketed the cell, and flipped open his laptop. Maestro prepped the computer as he had done the night before. His return address was ready: WenAdams12@Eastl.edu. No thought as to what he would write was required. He had prepared immaculately for this moment. He typed the message.

-How is lunch?

He hit the Enter key and waited. Caitlin Prescott’s school schedule was as regular as clockwork. If he knew her, and he certainly did, she’d be in the cafeteria right about now. Whether she’d get his message on her phone or iPad was anyone’s guess. Really, what did it matter unless—

-what do you want?

That was quick. The assassin was very pleased she had answered. It told him she was still intrigued by their game of chess.

-Did I stir up some unpleasant memories concerning Terry?

- militia bastard.

The first daughter’s response was not quite up to her standards. He knew she had already done some research on his friends out west, but she’d failed to peel the onion’s next layer.

-Do you remember me?

-what are you talking about?

This was no act. Apparently she didn’t know. Yet.

-You saw me from the window.

The gate agent announced the pre-boarding for his flight to Oklahoma City. Maestro waited for a reply. One minute turned to two and then three. He had more to say, so much more. She had to answer. She had better answer.

His laptop chimed.

-let’s get one thing straight. i don’t know you. you don’t know me. got that?

The gate agent announced the boarding of first class passengers.

-Birthmark one-inch above right ear. Clinodactyly. Type B blood when first lady and president both have type A. You are experiencing an uptick in distractibility, irritability, even violent tendencies. Obsessive violent thoughts worry you. School is becoming more and more pointless. In a community of villagers and hunters, you’ve always believed you were a villager. Now you realize otherwise. And your most profound question is this: Who am I? You know, Caitlin. You know. You saw me from the window.

He waited another three minutes for a response. What he finally got was clumsy, but not unexpected.

-who are you?!

The assassin typed back quickly.

-I am no one.

-cut the shit!

Passengers in rows ten through twenty-five were told to board. His fingers raced.

-Wandering Child

So lost

So helpless

Yearning for my guidance.

He tapped the Enter key.

-last time i will ask this, asshole!

Maestro typed his final response, a response worthy of a maestro. A simple tap of the Enter key sent the final clue on its way. It was simply brilliant.

-I am Vader.

He shut the laptop and boarded his flight for Oklahoma City.