Part 35 (1/2)

Now, I decided, I wanted to feel normal for a second. I started to text Theo back, then stopped. Mayburn had said it was difficult, nearly impossible, to tap cell phones, and he'd said mine hadn't been tampered with before I left. But what if someone had done something to it when I was in Italy? I couldn't imagine that was the case, since the phone had almost never been out of my possession. And then I decided that even if it somehow was tapped, it didn't matter. I wouldn't give out any identifying info. I wanted just an everyday exchange in a world in which every day lately had been surreal.

We just landed, I wrote to Theo. Can't thank you enough.

What are you doing today? he wrote back.

Looking for my brother. You?

Good luck. Let me know if I can do anything else. I'm working today and then going to Old St. Pat's.

The block party?

Yeah, they're doing it early this year. But if you need me, just tell me what you want me to do.

I could think of nothing to say to respond to that. G.o.d, block parties. They were staples of Chicago summers, but the thought of attending one seemed too childlike and innocent.

I glanced across the aisle at my dad. He was real now, not just an imaginative theory, and Charlie, the most innocent and childlike person I knew, was in real trouble. I tossed my nonswearing campaign to the Chicago winds and thought, Jesus f.u.c.king Christ, if they hurt my brother I will...I will what? What would I do?

Futility-one of the worst feelings in the world, and second only to the big doozy, regret-flooded into my brain, into me, until I felt as if I was swimming in it.

I looked back down at my phone, leaving the last text from Theo unanswered. I began scrolling through my e-mails, trying once again for distraction. One e-mail was from Dena Smith, a partner at a law firm where I had applied last week.

I stared at that e-mail. We were pleased to receive your resume, and we are, in fact, seeking lateral attorneys at this time...But the words didn't matter. It seemed so long ago that I cared about something as mundane as a job.

I clicked to the next e-mail. It was from Charlie! Sent a few hours ago.

”Oh my G.o.d, Dad,” I said. We both froze for a second. I had just called him Dad. Out loud. ”It's an e-mail from Charlie.”

The plane slowed. My father unclicked his seat belt and shot out of his seat, leaning over me to see the phone. ”What does it say?”

”Nothing. But hold on, there's an attachment.” I clicked to open it. An eternity pa.s.sed. Then there was the image. Of Charlie. His curly brown hair was messed. And his face...bleeding and swollen on one side.

”Oh G.o.d,” I said. ”Charlie.”

Below the photo was a caption. I read it fast, handing the phone to my dad. There, below the picture, someone had written, Isabel McNeil. Come see your brother. Bring your daddy, too. Both of you or there's no deal. Bring cops and your bro goes bye-bye. You'll get the address later, and when you do, you'll have 25 minutes to get here, or he's gone.

63.

T he plane doors opened and bright morning light filled the cabin. It made me suck in my breath. The air smelled like the Midwest somehow-like trees, like something scrubbed clean but with a lingering layer of smoke. I inhaled again. Chicago. I was back on my turf, in my hometown.

Following my dad, I moved to the plane door and walked down the few steps to the ground and swiveled my head around. I'd never been to that airport in the suburbs before. A small one-story building stood to the right. I looked to the left and flinched. Four men, dressed all in black, stood there.

”Isabel,” my father said. He was a few steps from the plane. ”They're here for us.”

I noticed that the men wore black baseball hats, just like my father had that day when I'd seen him outside of Gibsons. I took a step closer to them and lowered my voice. ”Who are they?”

”Old friends.”

”FBI?”

”No. I have no a.s.sociation with the FBI anymore. They don't know I exist.”

”But these guys do?” Other questions hung in the air. And your wife didn't? I didn't?

He gave a terse nod. ”Only recently.” No other explanation was forthcoming.

The men walked toward my father and he to them. They all bent their heads down as if in a huddle. A minute later they broke apart. One of them handed my father a set of keys, then two others walked to one of two black town cars and stood outside it.

”They've been here since we left Italy yesterday. They've done a complete sweep, and there's no one here at the airport. Either Romano couldn't figure out what airport we were coming into or...”

”Or he doesn't care, because he wants us to come to him.”

My father nodded. ”But at least we know we're on our own for now.”

Maggie and Elena got out of the plane. ”Maggie,” my father said, gesturing to the men near the cars. ”I don't want you going home. Is there somewhere these men can take you where you'll be safe?”

”Sure,” Maggie said. ”My grandfather has been a defense attorney for a long time. His house is a fortress.”

My father nodded and pointed at the town car. Then he smiled a little at Maggie. ”It was nice to meet Izzy's best friend.”

He and Maggie shook hands. I gave her a hug and she got in the car.

Elena's face was pale, her eyes darting around.

”Elena, I am so sorry about this,” my dad said to her, his words tender. They hugged. He whispered something in her ear.

She nodded and, still trembling, followed the two men toward the other town car.

As it pulled away I looked at my dad. ”Where is she going?”

”You don't need to know.”

My irritation flared. ”Why not? I'm sick of your secrets.”

He gave me a look of consternation. ”Izzy, I'm not telling you these things for your own good. The less you know the better. Your aunt will check into a hotel suite. She is fine, for now.”

I looked back down at my phone. What about Charlie? Was he fine?

My father gestured to another town car parked apart from the others.

”Shouldn't we have people with us?” I asked.

”What did that e-mail say?”

”It said, 'Bring cops and he goes bye-bye.'”