London Escape Read online

“Look, you said he might be in trouble, right?”

  “Right,” I admit.

  “Well, maybe he got your message and sent you a coded text so the bad guys or whoever are chasing him couldn’t see what he was telling you,” she finishes.

  As far as I can tell there are about a million holes in this theory.

  I sigh. “Yes, but if someone was chasing him he wouldn’t exactly have time to sit down and figure out how to code a text message would he? Also, if it were so important he would have to know I’d be able to read it. Clearly I can’t.”

  I know she agrees with me, because she’s silent again while we both attempt to make sense of it all. I take the opportunity to move over to my desk and put my cell on speaker. After that I grab a small notebook and copy the secret message, whatever it is, so I can study it.

  “Hang on,” Alexa cuts in suddenly. “You said if he was being pursued he wouldn’t have a chance to come up with some sort of decoded message?”

  “Yeah?” I’m not sure what’s she’s getting at.

  “What kind of cell phone does Jason have, you said he hates texting because of his phone.”

  “He has an old flip phone.” I glance at my own phone, a newer-model smart phone with a full keyboard.

  “That’s it!” she exclaims.

  Somehow I already know what she’s about to say.

  “If you had to send a text quickly on a phone with no keyboard like that, you have to input the letters manually, scrolling through them one by one. It takes forever and it’s a total pain.” She’s speaking quickly now in an excited tone. “So if you want to send a C, you have to press two, three times. If he was sending you this message on the run, he may have not had time to do that.”

  Instantly I know she’s on to something, and my mind is whirling with all the implications. If he indeed is on the run, then I haven’t given him much of a head start. This means we have to decode the message, and fast.

  “Okay,” I say, glancing down at the daunting list of numbers in my notebook.

  63330435705663660665904673027323278627

  I take my cordless phone from its cradle on my desk and look at the numbers. Sure enough, 2 is ABC, 3 is DEF and so on. We have a lot of letters to try.

  “This is going to take a while,” I say.

  “Right, but we’ll know when we’ve gotten one right, won’t we?” she says confidently.

  “We will?” I’m not so sure.

  “Of course, it will make sense, won’t it?”

  Again, I don’t quite share her confidence, but already I’m trying to predict what the message might contain. His location? The names of the men after him? Or even proof of his innocence?

  I settle down to work and it takes less than a minute before I hit a snag. “What’s with all the zeros? They have no letter equal.”

  “Spaces, I think,” she says in a clipped tone. “The first word is need. You take the second, I’m already on the third.”

  I look for the first zero, which marks the space between the first two words. That leaves me with the numbers 4357, four letters, and the first is either a G, H or I.

  “Alexa, do you really think he was in trouble when he wrote this?” I hope I’m not completely overreacting.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe he had his phone in his pocket and was trying to text you while he was on a date with another girl,” she says with a laugh.

  I’m able to answer my own question as I figure out the second word. “Help,” I whisper.

  “Need help,” Alexa responds, completing the sentence aloud.

  We immediately attack the rest of the message, feeling more urgent than before. My curiosity at what the message held has now shifted into fear.

  “London,” she hisses as she discovers the meaning of the third word.

  I nod, feeling better now that I at least know where in Europe he is. Also, I’ve unscrambled the fourth word.

  “Only?” I say hesitantly.

  Alexa is quicker than I am, now that she’s gotten the hang of it. “Hope.”

  “Need help, only hope?” Great, now I’m equally confused and worried.

  The final word is longer than the others and it takes us both several minutes before we come up with anything that remotely makes sense.

  “Breadcrumbs?” Alexa says finally, disbelief in her voice.

  I throw my notebook down in disgust. How am I supposed to help him with just a few words to go by? The only word out of the four that makes any sense at all is his location.

  “Well, that’s annoying,” Alexa sighs.

  “What do you think it means?” I ask, in case she noticed something I’ve missed.

  “He’s in London. He needs help. Um, you’re his only hope…” She trails off. “You don’t think he’s been hit in the head recently, do you?”

  She means it as a joke, I know, but all I can see is Mr. Barron and a bag of frozen peas, part of the story I had left out earlier.

  “More importantly,” she continues, “what are we going to do about it?”

  “What can we do?” I wonder aloud. My fear has dimmed in the excitement and ensuing letdown of decoding the message. Now I’m left with a feeling of helplessness instead.

  “Look, he’s an eighteen-year-old guy. He got himself into this mess. I’m sure whenever these guys who are looking for him find him, he’ll just give back the jewels that he took and they’ll let him go. No harm done. I mean, this is Jason we’re talking about, he’s not exactly the hero type.”

  I know she’s partially right. The Jason I know never causes much trouble. But the night he left I saw a side of him I had never seen before. He had been strong and determined. I’m not so sure he’d just hand over the jewels, not when he’d gone to so much trouble to steal them from his own father.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I concede, though I’m pretty sure she isn’t. I think I’m just trying to convince myself. Whatever strange intuitive sense that usually lets me know when someone is lying is now manifesting itself in a different way. Because no matter how much Alexa and I try to reason it all away, I can’t shake the feeling that I have to do something.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep and we’ll figure something out in the morning,” she suggests.

  Sleep is the furthest thing from my mind, but I barely have the energy to kick off my shoes before I crawl under the covers.

  In the morning I wake up far too early considering how late I had stayed up. My sleep had been restless and plagued by dreams of the men I knew had to be after my best friend by now. I cringe when I realize I’ve slept in Alexa’s beautiful green dress, but she’ll have to forgive me. Today I have bigger problems.

  Instead of fading into vague memory, my fears from last night only seem to burn brighter in the morning sun. A sense of urgency rushes through me and I jump out of bed. With trembling hands I dress in the first thing I find, yesterday’s jeans, a clean t-shirt and my green Converse.

  I stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen where the coffee pot is already hissing and sputtering. I don’t even wait for it to stop before I yank out the pot, pour myself a cup, and start sipping. A noise in the foyer startles me. My nerves are still ragged from last night so I jump easily. I hurry out into the hall see what the noise is.

  My dad is dragging two large suitcases down the stairs. I guess this means I was right about last night. He’s off on another business trip. For once my anger towards him surges, anger at his uncanny ability to disappear whenever I needed him the most. Like right now, and like before when Mom left.

  “You’re up early,” he remarks as he deposits the suitcases by the front door and heads to the kitchen.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.” I lean up against the kitchen island, watching him as he pours his coffee and toasts a bagel. As he turns to me I’m struck by how much older he suddenly looks this morning, the fine lines around his eyes seem deeper than usual. Maybe I’m not only one who had trouble sleeping last night. I try to push past my resentment towards
him and remind myself that even though his job takes him away so often, it has to be incredibly stressful.

  He seems to notice me staring at him, because he glances up from spreading cream cheese on his bagel. “Is everything alright?” he asks.

  “I’m great, how about you?” I try to sound casual, but I can’t help but wonder what kept him up last night.

  “I’m okay,” he nods, glancing at his watch. “Going to miss my flight,” he groans.

  “Where are you headed?” I follow him again back out to the foyer, frowning at the trail of crumbs he’s leaving as he hurriedly eats his breakfast.

  I hear him answer, at least I think I do, but I’m frozen staring at the floor.

  “Breadcrumbs,” I whisper.

  “I’ll be back next Saturday.” He’s swigging the rest of his coffee now as he looks out the window for his driver.

  “Mm hmm,” I say, but my mind is whirling. Finally an idea strikes. “Hey, since you’re going to be gone, can I go spend the week at Alexa’s house?”

  “Here or in the city?”

  I have to think quickly before answering carefully. “Here.” She would probably be back at her dad’s some time this week, so that part isn’t technically a lie.

  “I don’t know,” he hesitates. “Are you sure you don’t want me to have Mrs. Abernathy check in on you while I’m gone?”

  He’s joking, or at least I hope he is. Mrs. Abernathy is the widow across the street who used to watch me while he was gone. That is until I turned seventeen last year and insisted on him leaving me alone.

  “Come on, please?” I beg.

  He stands up straight after lifting his suitcases and observes me carefully for a moment. He sighs, “That’s fine, just stay out of trouble.”

  “I always do,” I promise with what I hope is a convincing smile.

  After my dad leaves, I remain rooted to the spot. Shifting my feet I hear the crumbs crunch underneath and think to myself what it could possibly mean.

  Jason has left me a trail of breadcrumbs, only the crumbs are clues. That much I know for certain now. The only questions that remain are where the trail starts, and how to find the next clue.

  “London. Only hope,” I repeat to myself. It still doesn’t make much sense. Even if I could get to London I have no idea where to look or what I am looking for. If he has indeed left me a trail, it isn’t a very good one.

  Feeling frustrated I shove my hands into my pockets and I’m surprised when my fingers close around an unfamiliar object. Confused I pull out my dad’s black American Express card. I stare at it for a moment, dumbfounded he could have made such a mistake, but exhilarated at the same time. This isn’t just any credit card. It’s my ticket to London.

  Without I hesitation I know what I must do.

  Before I can book my flight, I need one more piece of information. Mrs. Barron mentioned they haven’t heard from Jason in a week, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know where he is staying. This gives me pause because I wonder if Mr. V has also gotten that information from Mr. Barron. If so, I really need to hurry.

  My feet fly across the half acre of grass and through the thick row of bushes and trees that separate our property from the Barrons’. As quietly as I can I sneak around to the back door. It’s still relatively early, and I’m lucky enough to spot through the kitchen window the one person who can help me.

  I tap on the back door as quietly as possible and Mrs. Webb, the Barrons’ life-long housekeeper, throws it open.

  “Hello Kit, how are you?” she says loudly.

  I cringe. The last thing I want is the Barrons knowing I’m here.

  “Hi, Mrs. Webb, it’s good to see you. How are you? Can I come in?” I’m nervous, and I’m afraid it shows.

  “Of course, dear, I was just getting ready to start breakfast, would you like some?” She lets me past and we stand in the kitchen. Again I’m overtaken by a very unwelcome flashback of Mr. Barron and his injury caused by Mr. V. I shudder and refocus my thoughts.

  “Um, no thank you.” My eyes dart around the room. “I was just wondering if you have Jason’s address?”

  She frowns for a moment, as though this isn’t information she’s supposed to be giving out. I really want to ask if anyone else has been looking for that information, like a certain man from the party last night, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “I just want to send him a letter,” I say quickly.

  Apparently I chose the right disguise for my true intentions, because she’s smiling at me now. She opens a drawer and begins sorting through a stack of papers. Suddenly I remember she had always been a big fan of Jason and me as a couple.

  “Here it is.” She pulls out a piece of paper. “His parents are paying the rent on a flat in London. This is the address.”

  “Thanks,” I breathe and copy down the address in my notebook.

  “So are you sending him a love letter?” She winks at me.

  “Um, sort of,” I say vaguely. More like rescuing him. “Thanks again!” I call out over my shoulder and I’m gone before she can get another word in.

  Back at my house I grab my backpack and begin cramming clothes inside. I dial Alexa at the same time and start speaking before she even has a chance to say hello.

  “I’m going!”

  “Going where?” she answers groggily.

  Obviously I have woken her up. Which is crazy since it’s nearly nine.

  “London.” I toss my toothbrush and an extra pair of socks in on top of the clothes.

  “What? Why?” She sounds wide awake now.

  “For Jason!” I exclaim, powering up my laptop. I’ve still got an airline ticket to buy.

  “I don’t understand, what makes you think you can help him?”

  “Breadcrumbs!” I shout as I scroll through a list of flights from LaGuardia to London.

  “Now you’re scaring me, what breadcrumbs?” she sighs.

  “No, I know what he means, Alexa. He means a trail.”

  There is silence on the other end of the line.

  “Kit, this is crazy,” she speaks finally.

  “Really? I know,” I admit, but I’m already printing out the list of available fights to London, I’d have to get my tickets at the counter when I arrived.

  “You can’t go.”

  It’s bad enough my dad is constantly telling me what to do, or more importantly, what not to do, but I don’t need it from my best friend too.

  “Why not?” I ask irritably as I open my dad’s safe where my passport is kept. I laugh at the irony of it all, he made sure I had one so we could go on a trip together sometime and here I am stealing it and running away.

  “Because, it could be dangerous, Kit. And besides, what are you going to tell your dad? He’ll never agree to this.” She’s trying to be reasonable, logical, the way I usually am, but I think I’m beyond reasoning right now.

  “First off, yes it could be dangerous, but that’s why I’m going. Jason needs my help,” I stress.

  “Yeah, because eighteen-year-old guys are incapable of taking care of themselves,” she says sarcastically.

  I ignore her and continue my defense as I lock up the house and head to my car. “Also, my dad thinks I’m staying at your house.”

  “Oh great, add me to the mix. Now I’ve got to lie for you?” she protests.

  “He won’t even know I’m gone Alexa, trust me. He’s gone for business until next Saturday.” Of course he will never notice, when did he ever notice?

  I hear her sigh over the phone. She knows she’s fighting a losing battle.

  “So you’re telling me that you’ve completely one-hundred-percent thought this through?” she asks me in a tone that implies I haven’t.

  “Yes!” I exclaim.

  “Well, okay then, allow me to point out the one major problem with your plan,” she says evenly.

  “What’s that?”

  “Have you forgotten you don’t fly?”

  That’s when the phone slips from
my hand and falls down to the floorboards. No, I hadn’t thought about that at all.

  4. LONDON CALLING

  What feels like hours later, I’m still staring out my car windshield. The sudden realization of the flaw in my plan has left me unable to move or speak. Of course my own debilitating fear of flying hadn’t even crossed my mind. I had thought of nothing but Jason for the past twelve hours.

  I can hear Alexa’s voice chirping from the phone, which is still on floor by my feet. I don’t need to pick it up and listen to know what she’s saying. Reminding me of all the times I’ve tried to overcome this particular fear and failed.

  It’s not just flying that terrifies me, but heights in general. Most people have phobias, I suppose. Jason, for example, hates spiders, even the tiny ones. Alexa, well, I’ve never known her to be afraid of anything but a mismatched outfit or a computer virus she can’t fix. And my dad, the only thing that keeps him up at night is the fear of something happening to me.

  But my fear isn’t a simple phobia that can be overcome by therapy or simply pushing through. It’s called acrophobia, an extreme fear of heights. I don’t even like to stand on a ladder or a step-stool. Climbing stairs can be a challenge sometimes, but most of the time I can manage. An elevator doesn’t bother me, because I can’t see how high I am. It’s also another trait I shared with my mom, like me, she was also afraid of heights. My dad said she flew for work all of the time, but had to take a pill to calm her nerves. Even if I could get a hold of something like that, there’s simply no time.

  It’s the last thing I want to think about or deal with now, of all times. I pick up the phone. “Alexa?”

  “Kit, what the—”

  “Sorry.” My hand is shaking, but I think of Jason, wherever he might be. Maybe, just maybe he is still safe. If I could make it to him in time and help him, everything will be okay. Together we could figure this thing out, I’m sure of it.

  “What are you going to do?” Alexa asks. I can hear the worry in her voice. I know she thinks I’ve lost my mind.

  I start the engine of my car without a second thought. “I’m going to London.”