فصل 20

CHAPTER 20

MAC

THEY FLEW AS FAR AND AS FAST as they could, Sarah and Aidan doing the steering, trying to avoid lights, J.D. between them, still feeling quite relaxed. They passed over what looked like a river, although J.D., acting as aerial tour guide, informed them that it was actually a long, narrow, winding lake called Lake Carnegie. About a mile later the starstuff began to wear off, and they gently descended into a dense stand of trees.

The landing was not a thing of beauty. They bumped into some branches on the way down, dislodging J.D., who turned a slow, midair cartwheel before tumbling to the ground.

“Are you okay?” said Sarah, alighting next to him.

“I think so,” said J.D., sitting up.

Aidan landed next to Sarah. “Where are we?” he said.

“The Plainsboro Preserve,” said J.D. “It’s a nature reserve. There’s a reservoir over that way.”

“Great,” said Aidan. “We have nature and water. Now all we need is food, shelter, and, oh yeah, some way to stop everybody in the world from looking for us. I mean, we made the police van fly. Then we flew. We’re gonna be all over the news.”

“In which case,” said Sarah, “Ombra will definitely find out.”

“Not to mention that the police will be very unhappy with us,” said Aidan.

“Especially me,” said J.D., who was feeling less euphoric now that he was on the ground. “The cops think I kidnapped you.”

Sarah crouched next to him. “Listen,” she said. “We can get you out of this. You go back, turn yourself in to the police. Then we call them from a pay phone and explain that you never did anything wrong, that it was all our idea. They’d have to believe us, because you surrendered and we’re still running.”

J.D. stared at the ground, then looked at Sarah.

“Nope,” he said. “I’m…okay. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I’m a Starcatcher. We can sort it out with the police when this is all over. But right now we need to figure out what to do about the starstuff so this Ombra dude doesn’t get hold of it.”

Sarah touched J.D.’s arm. “If you saw him,” said Aidan, “I don’t think the word dude would come to mind.”

There was no response from Sarah or J.D., who were looking into each other’s eyes. Sarah realized that her hand was still on his arm. She quickly dropped it.

“Okay,” she said. “We need to get away from here. The police are going to be looking for us.”

“Not to mention Shadow Dude,” said Aidan.

“Is there a train station around here?” said Sarah.

“Bad idea,” said Aidan. “They’ll be watching the train stations and airports.”

“Then what?” said Sarah.

“We need a car,” said Aidan. He looked around the woods. “Although I don’t see any at the moment.”

“I know somebody who might be able to help us,” said J.D.

“Who?” said Sarah.

“A retired physics professor, Allen Macpherson, old family friend. He kind of mentored me when I joined the Princeton faculty. He lives in Monmouth Junction, not too far from here.”

“You trust him?” said Aidan.

“Yup,” said J.D. “He was really tight with my granddad and dad. Besides, we don’t have a lot of choices.”

“All right, then,” said Sarah, getting to her feet.

“Which way?”

“North,” said J.D., also rising.

“Which way is north?” said Aidan.

“That way,” said J.D. “I hope.”

An hour and a half later, after some meandering, they came to a modest house in an older subdivision. J.D. rang the bell; a minute later, the porch light came on, and the door was opened by a gaunt, elderly, white-haired man in pajamas.

“Hello, J.D.,” he said, giving no indication that he was surprised by the visit.

“Hello, Mac,” said J.D. “Sorry about the late hour.”

Mac waved away the apology. “Since Eleanor died,” he said, “I hardly sleep anyway. Come in.”

Inside, J.D. introduced Aidan and Sarah to Mac. There was an uncomfortable pause, then J.D. said, “Mac, I need to ask a favor.”

Mac looked at him, waiting.

“I was wondering if I could borrow a car.”

“All right,” said Mac.

“Really?” said J.D.

“Yes. I never use Eleanor’s car anyway. I’ve been meaning to sell it. I barely use my own.”

“But…I mean, aren’t you curious about why I need it?”

“I assume you need it to get away from the police.”

J.D.’s mouth fell open. “You know?”

Mac gestured toward the TV. “You were the top story on the eleven o’clock news. They’ve been showing photos of all three of you. And, of course, the flying police van.”

“Oh, no,” said Aidan.

“Oh, yes. There’s video from somebody’s cell phone. There are all kinds of theories about what happened. Some of them are quite entertaining, from a physics standpoint; one involves a giant magnet. The police are very interested in speaking with the three of you. I suspect others will be as well.”

J.D. looked troubled. “Maybe you shouldn’t get involved with this, Mac,” he said. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I know more than you might think,” said Mac. “Over the years, your grandfather did me the honor of seeking my advice in certain matters, and I flatter myself in thinking that I may have been of some help to your…organization. I’m more than happy to help you now.”

“So,” said Sarah. “You know…you know about…”

“I know it wasn’t a giant magnet,” said Mac.

“Mac,” said J.D. “I don’t know what to say.”

“No need to say anything,” said Mac. “I’ll get the keys to Eleanor’s car.” He left the room, returning a minute later with a set of car keys, which he handed to J.D. “I just hope it starts,” he said. “Not that it’s any of my business, but do you know where you’re going?”

J.D., Sarah, and Aidan exchanged blank looks.

“We haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” said J.D. “Mainly we need to get somewhere safe, away from here, where we can figure out our next move.”

“How about a cabin in North Carolina?” said Mac.

“What?”

“We bought it when I retired. Haven’t been there in a while. Another thing I’ve been meaning to sell. I’ll go get the keys.”

Ten minutes later, with the help of jumper cables, Eleanor’s car—an ancient green Volvo—was running. J.D. was at the wheel, with Sarah in the shotgun seat and Aidan in the back. J.D. rolled down the window.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.

“Just stay safe,” said Mac. “You need anything, get in touch. You remember my e-mail address?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. Better get moving.”

J.D. put the car in gear and eased it out of the driveway and onto the street. As they drove away, Aidan and Sarah looked back at the fading figure of Mac, watching them, looking frail and ghostly in his white pajamas.

“I can’t believe that old guy has e-mail,” said Aidan.

“That old guy,” said J.D., “helped invent the Internet.”

The sergeant had stepped outside the Princeton police station for a few minutes to stretch his legs. It had been a very long, very strange night—a flying police vehicle, for heaven’s sake. And the night was not going to end any time soon, with calls coming in from all over, including Washington, D.C.

The FBI, he thought. That’s all we need.

He walked a couple of blocks, then stopped under a streetlight to look at his watch. He sighed; time to get back.

A bird landed on the sidewalk next to him. The sergeant didn’t know what kind it was, but it was black, and unusually large. It also seemed unusually bold, for a bird—it stood only a few feet away from him, apparently unafraid.

A second bird landed on the sidewalk. A third. The sergeant heard a rustling noise overhead. He looked up and gasped; the roof of the two-story building he stood next to was lined with birds, hundreds of them.

Feeling both nervous and foolish—they’re just birds—he turned to walk back toward the station. He had taken only a couple of steps when he heard the furious beating of wings followed by a rushing sound. Suddenly, the sidewalk was covered with the black birds, swarming onto his shadow. He felt an awful chill creeping up through his body. He wanted to run, wanted to scream. But his legs would no longer move, and no sound came from his mouth. He fought to keep his wits about him—don’t panic—but it was as if his very ability to think was being sucked out of him.

And then there was only one thought left: Obey.

Slowly, he trudged back toward the station.

Sam Cleavy worked a cash toll booth on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. It was a boring job, but it had become less boring thanks to the advent of live TV streamed onto smart phones. Sam basically spent his days watching TV while taking tolls. He was very good at both.

When the old green Volvo came through his booth, he had already seen the driver’s face dozens of times on TV—it was the kidnapper, the one involved in the crazy story about the flying police van. Sam recognized the two kids, too; they didn’t look like they were afraid of the kidnapper, but they were definitely the ones on TV.

Sam handed the kidnapper his change, then reached down to press a red button used to photograph the license plate of the car currently in his bay. As soon as the car pulled away, he picked up the phone and called his supervisor.

Then he went back to watching TV.