Frontline (31 page)

Sean tucks his phone away. “Randall is on his way to the airport now.”

Trenton nods.

I tighten my hand around my father’s shoulder. “Dad, don’t do this.”

He gives a small smile. “The goal is to get in and get out of the port without drawing suspicion. That’ll be easier and faster with me there.”

“But
Dad—”

“I’ll be fine, kiddo. It’s you I’m worried about. Kedrov’s unpredictable and wants revenge. You should do as Merrick says and go to the safe house.”

As my father follows Chris to the door, I can’t shake the feeling that if I let him leave now, I might lose him forever. And to think of all the times he’s been there for me . . .

“I’m coming with you.”

Trenton pivots in the doorway so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t lose his balance and topple over. A vein in his forehead bulges. “Absolutely out of the question.”

“I’m not asking.” I grab a windbreaker from the hook next to my bed, knowing how cool San Francisco can be on the best of days, and pick up my purse.

Trenton reaches for my arm as I attempt to brush past him and out into the corridor. I shrug out of his grasp. “I’m involved now, like it or not. You can’t stop me.”

My father brushes his hand against my back. “Sara, there’s no way to know what’s gonna happen. I’d rather you stayed.”

I soften my voice. “Dad, I’m not hiding out in a safe house while Trenton leads you into danger.”

“I got myself into this mess. I need to get myself out of it and try to salvage Merrick’s mission so Kedrov can be brought to justice. It’s our only chance of ever being safe again.”

“Sara, Sean will stay with you until Ben and Kyle arrive. You are to accompany them to the safe house without a fuss,” Trenton says on his way into the corridor.

Chris follows his boss while Sean looks at my father and gestures down the hallway. “Allan, if you please. I’ll see that Sara leaves the apartment safely with Ben and Kyle. They’re good guys. Some of the best Trenton employs
—”

“I’m going to San Francisco, even if I have to hitchhike across the country. End of story.” I look to Denim and Kelly. “I’ll see you guys when this is all over.”

“We’re coming, too.” Kelly grabs Denim’s hand and pulls her toward the door. She glares at Sean as he steps toward her. “And don’t even think about ordering me to stay, Mavis.”

“Forget it!” Trenton storms back into the apartment. “This is not a goddamn vacation. It’s a covert mission requiring speed and stealth. That won’t be possible in high heels.” He sneers at Kelly, motioning to her ruby red pumps.

“They could come with us, but stay at Hill House while we retrieve the container,” Sean says.

Trenton’s steely gaze finds a new target on Sean’s face.

“Just a suggestion.” Sean shifts on his feet.

“It might be a good idea.” Chris looks at Denim. “I’d rather the girls be under our supervision in San Francisco than have them hundreds of miles away under someone else’s watch. Kedrov might use Kelly and Denim to get to Sara. We shouldn’t take any chances. Randall can stay with them while we head to the port.”

Denim squeals and claps her hands. “I’ll back in a jiffy. I have to call in sick to work and pack a bag.”

“Me too,” Kelly says.

“Out of the question!” Trenton roars again, but Kelly and Denim are already moving past him into the corridor.

I follow them and watch their departure. There’s no point in telling them to stay in New York
—they won’t listen. I can’t believe they’d put their lives in danger just for me.

“See ya in the lobby in five minutes,” I say as a
ding
signals the elevator’s surprisingly fast arrival.

“T minus five minutes,” Denim says. She giggles as she steps inside the elevator with Kelly.

Trenton glares at Chris and Sean, but finds them both waving at Kelly and Denim. They wave back as the elevator doors close.

Trenton curses and turns to me, tenacity engraved in his face. “You will do as I say from here on out, it is that understood? You and your friends will remain with Randall at a secure location in San Francisco while the four of us head to the port. Those orders are not up for negotiation.”

“Trenton—”

“Sara,
please
.” The vulnerability from last night makes a startling reappearance.

In that moment, I realize that despite his fancy suit, polished hair, and icy demeanor, he’s still hurting. The man responsible for getting my father out of San Francisco safely; the man who didn’t inform the FBI about what happened to protect my father from being arrested, who hid my mom from danger, and so
many other noble things.

I love you, Sara.

My lower lip trembles.

Oh, God, what have I done?

“All right,” I say softly.

Relief relaxes the angry vein in Trenton’s forehead. He places his hand to
my lower back, but retracts it immediately, his callous expression restored.

“Sean will escort you to the car.” Without another glance, he starts for the door to the stairwell. Sean and Chris quickly snap out of their Kelly and Denim trances and scamper after him.

My father rests his hand on my shoulder. “Sara, this is my last ditch attempt to convince you not to come to San Francisco. I’m in way over my head, kiddo. I didn’t realize how dangerous Kedrov was before Don’s death, but now that I do, I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“Sara, Allan . . .” Sean calls from the end of the hallway. He props open the stairwell door and waits as Chris and Trenton’s footsteps echo down the concrete stairs.

“No offense, Dad, but I’ve already been shot at, and I survived. At least now I know what to expect.” I head back into my apartment because I realize I forgot to shut the window. I also figure it isn’t a bad idea to grab a change of clothes and basic toiletries.

My key turns smoothly in the fancy lock on our way out the door. I know it’s secure, but I give the doorknob a turn and push once just to make sure.

What would my mom think about all this? If we survive, keeping this a secret from her is going to be impossible. All I can do from here on out is think like her and keep my head down and my father safe. Her voice plays back in my memory.

Your father is a stubborn man, Sara. He will stick to doing what he believes is right, even if it’s sure to end badly. It’s our job to be there to help back
him up. It’s what family does.

“Let’s go, Dad,” I say. “The plane is waiting.”

I’m only uneasy about flying because I haven’t done very much of it in my life. Aside from my move to New York—and I suppose I should now count my escape from the river in Trenton’s helicopter—I never flew anywhere. When my family took a trip, we stayed in the state of California, usually traveling to Monterey for a few days, and then further south to San Diego, though once we ventured into Arizona to see the Grand Canyon.

A lot of my friends’ families took tropical trips and cruises during Christmas and spring break. They returned with bronze skin and cameras crammed with photos. Camping and sightseeing were the extent of my family’s vacations. Maybe they weren’t as exotic as what my friends experienced, but they gave me an appreciation of how diverse and beautiful California is. No matter how long I spend in New York, there’s nothing like the feeling of returning home. Even under these terrible circumstances, there’s comfort in that.

Trenton’s plane, like everything else he owns, houses every amenity one could ever need and even more, including a full bar and kitchen, four bedrooms with their own en suites, hi-speed Internet, and a lounge at the back of the plane that converts from a conference room to a movie theater. After takeoff, the soundproof interior blocks the roar of the engine. It’s so quiet that there are moments I forget we’re in the air.

In the front lounge, Denim, Kelly, and I sit in three high-backed leather chairs large enough to allow us to curl up and swivel around in circles until we’re dizzy if we wanted to. My father, Trenton, Sean, and Chris sit in their own chairs across the aisle and pour over a large schematic map of the Port of San Francisco. Randall is our pilot.

“Kedrov’s containers always come through Pier 80. That’s all break bulk.”

“What’s break bulk, Allan?” Trenton asks his question with enough edge to convey his impatience.

A wide smile stretches my father’s lips. “Thought you said you own a shipping company.”

“I said I
co-own
a shipping company. I didn’t say I run it. Aside from its annual net profits, it holds no further interest to me.”

“Break bulk means all the cargo has to be unloaded by hand. This method is used with Kedrov’s stuff because as it’s unloaded, anything marked with XD is set aside and scattered to different parts of the port, to be put onto trucks or train cars and shipped all over the place.”

Sean frowns. “Sounds risky. The operation is too visible.”

“Exactly,” my father replies. “It’s done all out in the open, so what’s there to hide? From any overseer’s point of view
—if I was doing something sneaky—I’d be acting like it. Besides, everything’s still crated and boxed anyway.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Trenton says, nodding. It’s the first time he seems impressed by anything my dad has said.

“This latest one, though, was different. Your ship brought it into Pier 62 and it stayed sealed in a container for the offload. Kedrov’s men told me Kedrov didn’t want it unpacked by hand, which means whatever it is, it’s probably all going to the same place. That made it much easier to hide.”

“Where’s the container?” Trenton asks.

My father scans the map again. “After the container came ashore, I erased the manifest from the database on the computer, so there’s no record of it. Then I trucked it over to Lotus Eight.” His finger swirls above the table and lands on a large empty square in the south corner of the map.

“Oversized crate storage,” Chris says.

My dad nods. “Thousands of big, wooden crates that don’t get used much anymore. I brought the container into one of the warehouses through the loading doors and hid it amongst the crates.”

“Can we safely assume it’s still there?” Trenton says.

“It was last night before I left. No one ever goes in those warehouses, and even if they have to for some reason, they won’t see it that easily.”

Kelly covers her mouth and exhales a long, loud yawn.

Sean peers over at her, his eyebrows raised. “Are we boring you, Queen Kelly?”

“As fascinating as this all is, I’m going to retire to my state room now. Come and get me when you have something newsworthy.” Kelly grabs Denim’s arm and yanks her out of her chair.

“Ow!” Denim pulls free of Kelly’s grip, but follows her dutifully toward the back of the plane.

“Sara, you coming?” Kelly asks.

I shake my head. “I’m going to stay here.”

“Suit yourself,” she calls over her shoulder.

With each step, she and Denim throw some extra sway into their hips, wiggling their toned behinds to each side. Chris and Sean don’t break their stares until the two of them disappear into the rear lounge.

“So once we get to the container, how do you expect to get it outta there?” my father asks.

Trenton rests his chin on his hand, glaring at the map as if the answer is written in code somewhere on the page. He sits completely still, though looking closely, I notice each feature of his face twitches as thoughts and calculations race through his mind. I imagine his brain looks like a collection of microchips soldered together with bolts of lightning buzzing around it.

“Wire a flatbed?” Chris looks at his boss expectantly.

“Do we have any idea how much the container weighs?” Trenton asks.

My father shrugs. “Your manifest said just over eighty-three-hundred pounds. No idea if that’s true or not.”

Trenton sighs. “We have to think like Kedrov. If he found it, he’d have to extract it in a hurry. How would he do that?”

The men sit silently, eyeing each other.

“Thank you, Allan. Your help has been appreciated.” Trenton motions to the corridor leading to the back of the plane. “Help yourself to a guest room while I confer with my men.”

My father stands and turns to me.

“Sara? Can we talk for a minute?” He stares at Trenton out of the corner of his eye while Trenton looks at me for the first time since we left my apartment.

I nod and follow my father into one of the bedrooms. He shuts the door behind us.

A thick, fluffy carpet of clouds brushes the underside of the plane’s right wing. The bright sky stretches for miles to the horizon and as far above us as I can see through the only tiny window in the room.

“Sara
—”

I hold up my hand. “Dad, you don’t need to say anything.”

“Yes, I do.” He walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge. “Sara, I screwed up. I screwed up bad.”

“It’s like you said. You were doing your best to take care of us. I know it wasn’t easy. What happened to Don was awful, but you’re trying to make it right now.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” my father says sternly. But as quickly as his assertiveness reemerges, it vanishes again with a slump of his shoulders. “I’m talking about those men—the ones that chased you. The ones that almost . . .”

“Killed me?”

His eyes sink to the floor. “Yes.”

My father has never had to say sorry to me for anything. How do I accept an apology from someone who has been my lifelong disciplinarian and protector
—someone who, in my memory, has never done anything wrong?

I sit next to him and press my hand down on his. “Dad, my whole life you’ve watched over me. A little too close sometimes, but whatever, I understand. It’s dangerous out there, especially for a girl living in a big city. That’s something I’ve learned the hard way since I got to New York.”

“It’s true, I got you this far.” His shoulders straighten slightly and the creases on his forehead relax.

“I want you to know I forgive you for everything.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “But how can you? What I did . . . all of it . . . it’s horrible.
Un
forgivable.”

“I forgive you because I know your intentions were honorable. And because that’s the only way you and I can move forward.”

My father turns his face away from me and exhales one long breath. His eyes hold at the window where the clouds have thinned. Small holes show glimpses of vast green plains beneath us, pocked by small black lakes and clumps of trees.

“Thank you, Sara.”

I give his hand a squeeze. “I love you, Dad. And even though we’re in a tight spot right now, I’m glad at least you and I are together.”

His eyes glisten with tears. “Me too, kiddo.”

I detected the first warbling pangs of helplessness in my father’s voice during our last telephone conversation, but decided it was only due to bad reception or technical glitches. Little did I know his troubles exceeded far beyond an ulcer flare-up.

Knowing now the stress the Kedrov situation causes him, I understand
I was actually hearing the voice of a man sick with worry. Seeing him now, slouched, eyes weepy, the corners of his mouth downturned, he’s no longer the fearless father who raised me to meet the world with feet planted and fists clenched. He’s knocked out and down for the count.

It makes my decision to forgive him all the more important. Holding what he did against him will not give him the confidence he needs to assist Trenton or help him recover after all of this is over. And it certainly won’t help our relationship either.

“Who is this Merrick guy to you, Sara?” My father’s question hangs in the silence between us.

I shake my head. “It’s complicated. Crazy complicated.”

“Yeah, he does seem like that kinda guy. A bit uptight.”

I can’t help but smirk. “To say the least.”

“Tell me something—do you trust him?”

“Who, Trenton?” It’s obvious, but I say it to stall for a few more seconds.

Do I trust Trenton? Of course I do . . . now . . . I think.

“Yes, Trenton. Is he trustworthy or am I digging us in even deeper here?”

My mouth feels dry suddenly, my tongue thick and heavy. Trenton’s the badass boyfriend you tell your friends about at school, as much to shock them as to brag, though you never want to admit to them or your parents that you’re in a situation you can’t control.

“He’s a good man, Dad. But after everything that’s happened recently, I just . . . I don’t know.” I barely recognize the voice saying these words.

What do I mean I don’t trust him? He saved my life.

He was saving his own.

He protected me. He’s been protecting me since we met.

He’s been protecting his own interests.

My father nods and purses his lips as if it’s the answer he expected and feared all along.

“Then take this, Sara.” He turns my hand over, drops a small piece of paper into my palm, and closes my fingers over it.

My eyebrows furrow. “What is it?”

A knock on the door interrupts us. It opens a crack and Sean peers through.

“Allan? When you have a minute, we’d appreciate a bit more input.”

My father stands from the bed. “Sure.”

Sean shuts the door.

I unfold the paper.

10, 21, 34, 32, 5, 0, 5, 6, 4, 9

The numbers are scrawled in my father’s barely legible handwriting.

He places his hand on my shoulder. “Memorize those numbers, then tear that paper up and throw it away. Don’t let anyone else see it.”

“What is this, Dad?”

He closes the buttons on his sport jacket. “If something should happen—if you somehow get caught up in this mess—use those numbers to bargain for your life. They’re the only leverage we have if things go wrong. We’re as good as target practice for Kedrov’s men without them.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Sara.” He fixes me with a stern look. “Trust no one else with those numbers. Not your friends in the other room, not Trenton’s men, and definitely not Trenton.”

“How can they be of any use to me if I don’t know what they’re for?”

“You’re a smart girl. I know you’ll figure it out if you have to, but I hope it won’t come to that.”

I nod slowly and tuck the paper in my pocket.

My father leans in and kisses my forehead. “Sara, I want to make you a promise.” “What’s that?”

“I promise I won’t fail you again.” With a sad smile, he leaves the room.

* * *

Sleep is impossible for me on a plane, whether sitting upright, crammed in the middle economy seat like I was on the way to New York, or curled up on one of the king-sized beds aboard Trenton’s private plane. With just under an hour left until landing and no indication that Trenton has devised a plan that will keep any of us alive for much longer, there’s no use expecting to catch up on any rest.

In the rear lounge, Kelly and Denim lay across two plush leather couches, the ends of which meet perpendicularly in an L shape.

Kelly smiles at me as I enter, but Denim seems lost in deep thought.

“Chris is slightly taller, so that has to mean something,” Denim says.

“Height has nothing to do with it,” Kelly replies. “Remember that one guy I told you about—Kevin—the Wall Street trader? He was five-foot-three tall, and about three-foot-five long.”

Denim shrieks. “You slept with someone five-foot-three?”