Page 27 of The Chain

“Yes.”

“Write this down: 2-3-4-8-3-8-3-h-u-d-y-k-d-y-2. Say it back to me.”

Rachel repeats it.

“That’s the Wickr account name for this part of The Chain. That’s W-i-c-k-r. You’ll need to download the app on your phone. Send the details of the targets you are considering to that account. Someone here may vet this list. We may veto some of your choices. Sometimes we veto all the candidates, and occasionally we suggest some of our own. Is that clear?”

“I think so.”

“Is it clear or not?”

“It is. Look, I might need help with this part, but I don’t know if I can bring in Marty, my ex-husband. He might want to go straight to the cops.”

“Then you’d better not bring him in,” the distorted voice says quickly.

“His brother, Pete, was in the Marines, but he’s definitely not a fan of law enforcement. He had some trouble with the police when he was a kid, and I think he was arrested last year in Boston.”

“That doesn’t mean much. I hear the Boston PD will arrest you for anything.”

Rachel sees a small opportunity here. A little seed of something that might never grow but that is nevertheless a seed.

“Yeah,” Rachel says and then adds with seeming indifference, “They’ll arrest you for jaywalking, arrest you for banging a uey.”

The distorted voice stifles a laugh and mutters, “Very true,” before immediately getting back to business. “We may allow this ex-brother-in-law of yours. Send me his details on Wickr.”

“I will.”

“Very good. We’re making progress. This is how it’s worked for many, many years. The Chain will get you through, Rachel,” the voice says and then the line goes dead.

The Lowell cop exits the Patterson house and walks to his car. Wendy comes to the door and waves.

It’s time to leave this street and this town.

Rachel puts the key in the Volvo’s ignition. The car backfires, and the cop turns to look at her. She has no choice but to wave to him through the window. Yet another person who has seen her do something weird or suspicious today.

She drives along Route 1A onto Rolfes Lane, takes the turnpike, and goes over the bridge to Plum Island.

Half a block from her house, she sees Kylie’s geeky friend Stuart approaching. Shit!

She rolls her window down, stops the car. “Hello, Stu,” she says casually.

“Mrs. O’Neill, um, I mean, Ms. Klein, um, I was wondering…I was wondering where Kylie was today? I didn’t get a text from her. Mrs. M. said she was sick.”

“That’s right, Kylie’s not well,” Rachel says.

“Oh? What’s wrong?”

“Um, stomach flu, that kind of thing.”

“Wow. Really? She seemed OK yesterday.”

“It was very sudden.”

“Must have been. She texted me this morning and didn’t say anything. I thought she might have been trying to get out of that Egyptology presentation, which is crazy because, you know—”

“She’s the expert, I know. Like I said, it was, uh, very sudden.”

Stuart seems puzzled and not entirely convinced. “Anyway, we all texted her and she never got back to us.”

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