“Victor,” Niklas says into the phone, “Javier is not in Tucson. He was reported to have used a known credit card with an old alias, just outside of La Grange, Texas.” I raise my back stiffly from the seat. “That’s less than a two hour drive to Houston,” I point out, more to myself. “At what time did the card process?” “At three-twelve this afternoon.” My body becomes rigid. Hanging up the phone, I crush it in my fist down at my side as I make my way to the cockpit. “Turn the plane around,” I demand. Less than an hour later I’m driving through traffic heedlessly, I know drawing unneeded attention to me. But I speed on through, running a number of stoplights, not knowing how I managed to drive all the way back to Samantha’s house without having to lose a cop or two in a high-speed chase on my way there.
