Salem sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Drake to arrive. The guards were no longer posted outside, her display of power against them seen as a sign that their presence was no longer required.
Before they left, she had probed inside their minds, surprised that access was so easy. She found nothing there to help her, though. The men had been nothing more than mindless minions, the lowest of the low on the Thorn totem pole. She wasn’t sure if she should be offended at that fact, but the more Salem considered it, the more it seemed that their lack of any knowledge of the ins and outs of Thorns business dealings was probably why they had been chosen.
Hearing a door open at the end of the hallway, Salem rose and tried to get her mind right. This mission was all about making sure that Terry remained safe and that her mother remained free. How to make both of those things happen was the issue. Salem was sure that Thorn would not look kindly on her playing any role in maintaining Raven’s freedom.
Drake rapped on the door and stepped inside, looking like a man ready to do battle. The five o’clock shadow and designer clothing were gone in favor of combat attire and a clean-shaven look that showed off a powerful square jaw.
“Good morning, Lionel,” Salem said with a smile.
He seemed surprised by the pleasantries, probably expecting a mouthful of vitriol, but he returned the smile and said, “Good morning to you. Are you ready to go?”
“I’m not sure. Do I need to bring anything?”
Drake pulled a pack off his shoulder and handed it to Salem. “There’s a clean set of clothing in there that might be more suitable than what you are wearing now.”
Salem looked down at her torn T-shirt, soiled sweatpants, and cheap sneakers, feeling inclined to agree. “I suppose you’re right. We aren’t going to Wal-Mart after all.”
“I’ll wait outside while you change. Do it quickly, please.”
Tossing her dirty clothes aside, Salem slipped on the fatigues that Drake had delivered. She tied back her red locks with a hair band and surveyed herself in the mirror. Camo was not what she would have ordinarily chosen as a fashion statement, but it was certainly better than what she’d previously had on.
Salem stepped into the hallway, closing and locking the room door with a flick of the wrist.
Drake scowled and shook his head. “You may want to preserve some of that for our trip.”
“I’ve got plenty in reserve,” Salem said, jogging down the hallway. “I’m not worried. Maybe you should be.”
Remaining stone-faced, Drake wheeled around and set off at a brisk pace. “Choppers leave in fifteen. Let’s go.”
They headed out of the building and into a waiting Jeep, which took off before they had time to get their seatbelts fastened.
Salem fiddled with the seatbelt, but she struggled to get it engaged as the Jeep bounded over uneven terrain, the driver seemingly oblivious to the thick fog surrounding them.
“Can he even see where he’s going?” Salem asked, gripping tightly to the side of the open-topped vehicle.
“Night vision goggles, with some modifications from Bits and Bytes,” Drake replied.
“I hope our pilots have those, too. I don’t see us going anywhere in this weather.”
The rise lasted no more than a couple of minutes, but it felt like forever. Stepping out of the Jeep, Salem rubbed her tailbone, which felt bruised and battered beyond belief.
It looked as though they were standing in the middle of nowhere, but as Drake led them through the fog, shapes began to emerge in the near distance. It was still tough to see, but Salem could make out a pair of helicopters and several people milling around. She also saw the unmistakable outline of Thorn sitting in his powerchair, gesticulating wildly. As they drew nearer, his words became clear.
“I don’t give a good flying fuck what you think. We are leaving now.”
“What seems to be the problem?” Drake asked.
At the sight of Salem and his head of security, Thorn fought to regain his composure. “Our pilots here are refusing to fly despite the fact that these outrageously expensive Black Hawk helicopters are equipped with FLIR, as well as a few extras from our IT boys.”
Salem watched as Drake pulled the pilots aside and spoke to them quietly. Both airmen shook their heads and pointed at the sky, seemingly refusing to change their stance.
“Well, this isn’t any good,” Salem said, sidling up beside Thorn. “Maybe we should call it a day.”
“Maybe you should learn your place and keep your mouth shut, Miss Grainger.” Thorn spat out the name, knowing how much it would rankle his target.
Salem refused to take the bait. While she found Thorn to be a pathetic creature, she also knew that he was a man that expected to get what he wanted, whenever he asked for it. She remained silent.
Bits and Bytes and the four other members of the security detail busied themselves by going over a checklist that had probably already been looked at a hundred times. It was obvious that they were going out of their way to escape the wrath of Thorn.
“I’m not paying them a penny more,” the billionaire yelled in the direction of Drake and the pilots. “They are already overpaid.”
Drake sauntered over to Thorn, a look of resignation on his face. “It’s not a matter of money, sir. They simply refuse to fly in this fog.”
“What about the equipment that Bits and Bytes delivered? That software can see through a bloody brick wall as though it wasn’t there. Surely it can see through this,” Thorn said throwing his arms up in the air.
The movement made the fog begin to swirl in concentric circles that spread out like waves after dropping a pebble in a pond. With each wave, the mist grew thinner, evaporating before their eyes.
Drake stared at Salem. “Are you doing this?”
Feeling her heart sink, she shook her head, the movement of her ponytail sending more of the fog drifting up and away.
“It’s a miracle,” Thorn said, beaming like a crazy man.
No, it’s my mother,” Salem muttered under her breath.
Jumping into action, Drake rounded up his team and yelled at the pilots to fire up the choppers. After surveying the sky for a moment and seeing the fog melt away, the men headed to their respective cockpits and prepared to leave.
As the fog drifted off, Salem peered out into the early morning darkness, looking in the direction of Alcatraz. She didn’t need a map or co-ordinates to know the direction in which The Rock lay. Instead, she felt her mother sounding out like a beacon, calling the group to their death.