Then in the half-light I see the face of the man holding my phone. I bite back a gasp. This man isn’t Patrick. This is not the man who attacked me in my hotel room. Panic jolts through me. There’s more of them. Does Mark know? Where is Patrick? I chance a glance behind me but the wood is deathly silent. Has Patrick gone? Has he done his part and left, or is he out in the darkness somewhere, keeping watch? Mark and the man stand and wander over to another patch of the clearing. This new man is taller than Mark, his dark hair peppered with gray; beneath his overcoat I catch a glimpse of a suit and tie. Expensively dressed—even as he slowly kneels near Mark and continues to search in the dirt and leaves. He reminds me of Eddie, but with a continental slant. This must be the man who was on the other end of the phone, I’m sure of it. Patrick has delivered my phone to him and they’ve been looking for the USB ever since. My phone app must have led Mark straight to them and now he’s been forced to take part in their search too.
Now I can see Mark’s features, grim and determined, as he scratches around on the forest floor. Is he wondering where I am? Is he scared? He’s hiding it well but I can still see the fear playing across his face. I know him so well: I know he’s using all his will to hold it together. Maybe he has a plan. I remember the way he fooled the receptionist at the Four Seasons just a couple of weeks ago, how good he was at playing his character. He’s smart; he’ll have a plan. God, I hope he has a plan.
I scan the clearing, desperate to come up with my own plan, but what can I do? I have no gun. I can’t just charge in. I’d end up getting us both killed. I need to think of something. I have to stop what’s happening, before they find the USB and Mark becomes dispensable. Before Patrick comes back, if indeed he’s out there. We can do this together, Mark and I, if I just think.
I decide to crawl nearer to the USB. I’ve been able to use the darkness as cover, but the light is relentlessly building and I’ll be exposed soon. I wriggle awkwardly back down the slope and toward the second GPS spot, to the tree I’d picked yesterday as my landmark, where the USB is buried. Their voices fade away and I pray I’m right that the tall man won’t do anything to Mark at least until they’ve found the USB. I find a spot out of sight, in the sunken hollow behind my tree. A perfect view of the GPS location.
There’s movement now, snaps of twigs, footsteps coming closer. I press flat against the hard, cold ground; I can just see them over the crest of the ditch. They have given up in the first spot and are moving toward the second set of coordinates. They head right for me and sink to the ground to continue their search. They start digging in silence. Mark’s so close to me now. I want to scream, “Run, Mark, please run!” but I know our lives depend on me not doing something stupid like that. What’s his plan? I don’t know what to do. This is all my fault. God, he must be so worried about me. Where does he think I am? Does he think they have me? That they’ve killed me? He’s almost close enough to touch. I could just reach out, let him know that I’m here—
It’s then that Mark finds the USB. I see it happen in slow motion.
He palms it and throws a glance over his shoulder to the tall man, who continues searching, still oblivious. Good work, honey, I think. Come on, drop it in your pocket, buy us some time. Hit him when he’s not looking.
But he doesn’t do that. Mark doesn’t do that. Because what Mark does next astonishes me.
Instead of pocketing the USB, he laughs. He laughs and holds it up! A child with treasure. His smile broad and genuine. Delighted, he stands, brushing the leaves and muck off his knees. What is going on? The tall man nods. His face breaking into a tight smile, he tosses my iPhone down into the leaves near Mark’s feet. He doesn’t need it now; he’s got what he wanted. Mark bends to pick it up.
The tall man reaches into his pocket and I strain to see what he’s reaching for, praying not to see a familiar glint of gun metal. “No copies of the files?” he asks Mark.
I notice I’m trembling; the leaves around my arms rustle ever so slightly.
Mark shakes his head. “No copies,” he says as he slips my phone safely into his pocket.
Is Mark acting? I don’t get it. I don’t understand what’s going on.
The tall man nods, pleased.
Something about Mark’s tone of voice. His posture. This is not right. He doesn’t sound scared. He doesn’t even sound worried. What is he doing? Doesn’t he know they will kill him?
Oh my God. I think Mark’s plan is to try to do the deal. How has he managed that? What happened before I got here; what have I missed? Why would they do the deal when they already hold all the cards?
The other man is on the phone now, talking in a language I don’t understand, his tone curt. When he seems satisfied, he hangs up.
“Done. Check your account,” he tells Mark.
Mark pulls out another phone now, slowly, demonstratively, showing that it’s not a weapon. He looks calm, fully in control. Every inch the businessman. Not one part of him scared, or panicked. I have this disconcerting thought. The two men look the same, the tall man and Mark. The same breed.
The man looks off into the treeline. “Where is she? Your wife?” he asks conversationally.
I catch my breath. Careful, Mark. Don’t be fooled. That man knows exactly where I am, where Patrick left me. Mark has no idea what they’ve done to me. No idea that Patrick attacked me and took everything. He knows they had my phone, though. He knows that’s how he ended up here; he tracked it here. He’ll know this is a trick question. Don’t let them trap you.
Mark scrolls and taps on the phone. He looks up briefly. “She doesn’t know anything. I’ve taken care of her. Trust me. She won’t be a problem anymore.” His voice is bored. His eyes flick lazily back down to the phone. That’s right, Mark. Well played. God, he’s good at this. I watch him as he scrolls away at his phone waiting for the payment to come through. So calm, so together.
But wait, hang on. Something’s wrong here. Why are they paying him? Why would they attack me and steal the coordinates and then still pay us? They have everything they want. Why pay Mark? I mean, Mark’s not pointing a gun at them or anything; why would they give him the money?
A depth charge of sadness surges through me, leaving in its wake an emptiness the likes of which I’ve never known. And all at once it all starts to make sense.
Mark didn’t come here to save me. He came here to stop me from making the deal. To take over the deal. He doesn’t care what they’ve done to me. He doesn’t care that they’ve hurt me. He doesn’t care about me at all. And now he’s doing the deal with them behind my back. Oh God. Mark has made the trade for just himself.
I want to cry out, I want to scream; I slap my gloved hand over my mouth. Because this man, standing here in the woods, is Mark, but it’s not my Mark. This man is a stranger.
My mind races over the facts. Who is this man I married? How long has he been lying to me? How did he do this? My mind retraces everything that’s happened over the past month. When did this start? Mark was the only one who saw inside the plane. What did he see in the wreckage? It was Mark who left a trail that led to the Sharpes. He’s the reason those people are dead. It was Mark who sent me to set up the bank account, sent me to meet with Charles. Mark insisted no one was looking for us or for the bag. He wanted to dump the diamonds. So he could sell them himself? He kept the voicemails about the USB a secret. He hid the USB from me. He wanted it for himself. He’s been covering his own tracks since we left Bora Bora, setting everything up so I’ve been the front man all along, but he can still access all the money without me.
I’m numb with shock. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. I never even noticed. I never noticed any of it. But I loved him, I trusted him, he’s my husband, and we were supposed to be in this together. But then, I never really was very good at reading people, was I? And he always, always, was. Silly me. Silly Erin. I feel my heart thrashing in my throat as I realize. I don’t know this man at all. The man I thought I knew, the man I fell in love with, the man I married: he never really existed.
“It’s gone through,” Mark says, nodding, and he pockets the phone. The money has hit our Swiss account.
“Flash drive,” he says, holding it out at arm’s length to the tall man.
“You don’t mind if I check too?” the man asks, indicating the drive. He wants to make sure it works. He doesn’t trust Mark. But then, why should he? I don’t trust Mark now and I’m married to him.