Chapter 109 - The Red Line at Logan
The rain over Boston had turned into a foul, low-hanging fog that smothered the elevated expressways in yellow glare. At 5:10 a.m., I pulled the salt-caked Subaru into the commercial delivery subterranean lane beneath the Hilton Logan Airport.
I left the Remington hidden beneath the spare tire well in the trunk. A shotgun would end the conversation before it began; in an international terminal crawling with State Police and TSA, steel and audacity were the only weapons that mattered.
Instead, I slipped Arthur's silver pocketknife into the sleeve of my coat, checked the cryptographic key in my breast pocket, and walked through the double rubber doors of the hotel's lower laundry facility.
The air smelled of industrial bleach and steaming linen.
Standing beside a row of metal laundry hampers, clutching four-year-old Leo against his chest while the three older children clung to his coat hem, was Caleb. He looked hollowed out—his hair greasy, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes, shivering in a cheap wool sweater.
Leo saw me first. "Grammy!" the boy piped up, his small face brightening.
"Hush, Leo," I murmured, stepping forward quickly and taking the boy into my arms. His weight was solid, warm, real. The other three—twins Clara and Ben, and seven-year-old Toby—huddled against my down coat, burying their faces in my fabric.
"Mom," Caleb choked, reaching for my shoulder.
I stepped back, out of his reach. My eyes met his, and the silence between us was wider than the Atlantic Ocean.
"Save it," I whispered. "Where is Tori?"
"She went up to Terminal E ten minutes ago," Caleb stammered, looking terrified. "She said the transport was early. She told me to wait in the room until the security detail came back for us."
"The detail is already on the third floor," I said, pointing toward the ceiling where the faint sound of elevator bells chimed. "They aren't coming to escort you, Caleb. They’re coming to clean the room."
I turned to the service exit that led directly into the underground pedestrian tunnel connecting the hotel to Terminal E.
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"We walk fast," I ordered. "Nobody speaks. If anyone in a dark coat approaches us, you drop to the floor and scream for airport police. Do you understand me?"
Caleb nodded miserably, taking Toby and Ben by the hands.
