Chapter 4 - The Motel on Highway 9
They checked into a dilapidated roadside motel under the name of Martha’s long-deceased sister. The room smelled of old tobacco and industrial disinfectant, but the heavy brass bolt on the door was solid, and the back window faced an dense forest with no access roads.
While Leo slept on the creaky double bed, Martha unwrapped the bandage on his right knee.
Beneath the gauze, there was no scraped skin or bloody scuff from a toddler’s tumble. There was only a precise, neat puncture mark—a core biopsy needle site, neatly sealed with liquid bandage.
“Monsters,” Martha muttered, her hands gentle as she re-dressed the wound with clean medical supplies from the truck’s emergency kit.
Elena was seated at the small laminate table, working on a burner laptop she had bought with cash at a 24-hour truck stop. She inserted the daycare card into a portable chip reader she’d swept from Clara’s dropped bag.
“Clara made a mistake,” Elena said, her eyes fixed on the green lines of data scrolling down the screen. “When she dropped her bag, she didn't just drop her ticket. She dropped her encrypted comms drive. She was using our home Wi-Fi to sync updates to her handler.”
“Can you track who was receiving them?” Martha asked, coming over to stand behind her daughter, placing a warm hand on Elena’s shoulder.
“Better,” Elena replied, a grim smile touching her lips. “I can see her schedule. The bus ticket to the terminal was a decoy. Clara wasn't going to get on that bus. She was supposed to deliver Leo to a private airstrip twenty miles outside the city at midnight tonight.”
Martha looked at the clock on the wall. It was 12:45 AM.
“They know she failed,” Martha realized. “They know the bag was left behind.”
“Which means they know we have the drive,” Elena said. “And right now, Arthur Vance’s private security detail is turning our house upside down trying to find out how much we know. But they don't know where we are.”
Suddenly, the screen flashed red. An incoming signal pinged the drive.
A single text notification appeared on the screen from an unlisted number:
‘We have the grandmother’s medical records. We know where her prescription refills are sent. You have twelve hours to hand over the boy, or the old woman pays for your mistake.’
Elena froze, the color draining completely from her face.
May you like
Martha reached over, took the mouse, and clicked the message closed without hesitation. Her face was like carved stone.
“They think I’m an easy target, Elena,” Martha said quietly. “They don't know who I used to work for before I retired to raise you.”
