Page 38 of The Chain

“Yes, fine.”

“What happened in there?”

“Nothing. It was a breeze. The back window was open, so I was in in two seconds. I found a desktop PC in a downstairs study that was still on. I loaded a worm on that. I couldn’t find the home phone, so I couldn’t load a bug there, unfortunately. Lot of people don’t have a landline anymore. But as soon as they fire up the desktop, I’ll be able to read their e-mail, Skype, FaceTime, and iMessage passwords.”

“Holy crap,” Rachel says, impressed.

“Yeah,” Pete replies.

“Your buddy Stan taught you all of that?”

“Most of it. I always had a bit of an outlaw mind-set.”

“Yes, Marty told me about you stealing a car and driving to Canada when you were eleven.”

“Nah, I didn’t make it to Canada. And I was twelve,” Pete says with false modesty.

“You went past the fifteen-minute time limit in there.”

“I know. I found Toby’s room. I did a little investigating. Normal kid. No health issues that I can see. Likes the Red Sox, the X-Men, and a TV show calledStranger Things.Totally normal kid.”

“So he’ll do?” Rachel asks miserably.

“Yeah, he’ll do.”

They drive over the bridge and onto Plum Island.

Rachel yawns when they arrive at the house.

“When was the last time you slept?” Pete asks her with concern.

She brushes off the question. “I’ll make some more coffee. We’ve got work to do.”

Rachel goes upstairs to get the whiteboard from Kylie’s room. She opens the door, half expecting Kylie to be hiding in there, for this to be some cruel, crazy prank.

It’s empty, but the room smells of her little girl. That cheap Forever 21 perfume she loves. The seashell collection, the clothes overflowing the laundry bin, the books on astronomy and Egypt. A box that holds every birthday card she’s ever gotten. The posters of Brockhampton and the Keira Knightley version ofPride and Prejudice. Her neatly arranged homework binders. Her photo montage of friends and family.

Rachel feels herself begin to sway. She grabs the whiteboard and steps into the hall and gently closes the door.

Downstairs they plot little Toby’s life on a flow chart. He has archery tonight and Sunday night. Archery finishes at seven and he walks home. That’s the window of opportunity. “The archery club meets at something called the Old Customs Hall near the water in Beverly. It’s a little less than a one-klick walk from there to the Dunleavys’ house,” Pete says, looking at Google Maps.

“What’s a klick?”

“Sorry—one kilometer. I’ve been over the route on Google street view a few times now. He walks from the Old Customs Hall up Revenue Street, then he turns left on Standore Street, right on Poseidon Street, and he’s at his house. It should take him no more than seven or eight minutes. Maybe ten at the most.”

It’s a pretty tight schedule and they know it.

“We have to hit him between seven o’clock and seven ten. In fact, if this is going to work, we have to get him when he’s on Standore Street, since there will be too many people milling about on Revenue Street and we can’t grab him right in front of his house on Poseidon because his mom might be waiting for him,” Rachel says.

Pete rubs his chin. It’s a very narrow window indeed, both temporally and geographically, but he doesn’t bring that up. This is the kid they have done the planning for. Rachel stifles a yawn. “Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll drive down there again and check the entire route this time,” Pete suggests.

“No nap necessary. Let’s go.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

They go outside, get in the Volvo, and reach Beverly in a mere fifteen minutes. The town is maybe a little too close to Rachel’s town for comfort, but that can’t be helped.

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