“How will they know it’s you?”

“Because we’ll be in one of the vans your hired killers came in.” Luke was pleased to give Stackhouse this information, hoping it rammed home the point: Mrs. Sigsby had swung and missed.

“We don’t see the pilot and co-pilot and they don’t see us. We land where the plane took off, and they stay inside the cockpit. With me so far?”

“Yes.”

“Third. I want a van waiting for us, a nine-seater, just like the one we drove out of DuPray.”

“We don’t—”

“Bullshit you don’t, you’ve got a motor pool in that little barracks town of yours. I saw it. Now are you going to work with me on this, or should I just give up on you?”

Luke was sweating heavily, and not just because the night was humid. He was very glad for Tim’s hand on his shoulder, and Wendy’s concerned eyes. It was good not to be alone in this anymore. He really hadn’t realized how heavy that burden was until now.

Stackhouse gave the sigh of a man being unfairly burdened. “Go on.”

“Fourth. You’re going to procure a bus.”

“A bus? Are you serious?”

Luke decided to ignore this interruption, feeling that it was warranted. Certainly Tim and Wendy looked amazed.

“I’m sure you have friends everywhere, and that includes at least some of the police in Dennison River Bend. Maybe all of them. It’s summer, so the kids are on vacation, and the buses will be in the town’s municipal lot, along with the plows and dump trucks and all the other stuff. Have one of your cop friends unlock the building where they keep the keys. Have him put the key in the ignition of a bus that seats at least forty. One of your techs or caretakers can drive it to the Institute. Leave it by the flagpole in front of the admin building with the keys in it. Do you understand all that?”

“Yes.” Businesslike. No protests or interruptions now, and Luke didn’t need Tim’s adult grasp of psychology and motivation to understand why. This, Stackhouse must be thinking, was a child’s harebrained plan, only half a step removed from wishful thinking. He could see the same thing on Tim’s face, and on Wendy’s. Mrs. Sigsby was in earshot, and she looked like she was having trouble keeping a straight face.

“It’s a simple exchange. You get the flash drive, I get the kids. The ones from Back Half, and the ones in Front Half, too. You have them all ready for their field trip by 2 AM tomorrow morning. Officer Wendy keeps her mouth shut. That’s the deal. Oh, you also get your piece-of-shit boss and your piece-of-shit doctor.”

“Can I ask a question, Luke? Is that permissible?”

“Go ahead.”

“Once you have somewhere between thirty-five and forty children crammed into a big yellow school bus with DENNISON RIVER BEND on the side, where do you plan to take them? Always remembering that the majority have no minds left?”

“Disneyland,” Luke said.

Tim put a hand to his brow, as if he had developed a sudden headache.

“We’ll be staying in touch with Officer Wendy. Before we take off. After we land. When we get to the Institute. When we leave the Institute. If she doesn’t get a call, she’ll start making calls of her own, starting with the Maine State Police, then moving on to the FBI and Homeland Security. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Last thing. When we get there, I want you there. Arms outstretched. One hand on the hood of the bus, one hand on the flagpole. As soon as the kids are on the bus and my friend Tim is behind the wheel, I hand you Maureen’s flash drive and get aboard myself. Clear on that?”

“Yes.”

Crisp. Trying not to sound like a man who’s won the big jackpot.

He understands that Wendy might be a problem, Luke thought, because she knows the names of a bunch of missing kids, but that’s a problem he thinks he can solve. The flash drive’s a bigger deal, harder to dismiss as fake news. I’m offering it to him pretty much on a silver platter. How can he refuse? Answer: he can’t.

“Luke—” Tim began.

Luke shook his head: not now, not while I’m thinking.

He knows his situation is still bad, but now he sees a ray of light. Thank God Tim reminded me of what I should have thought of myself: it doesn’t end with Sigsby and Stackhouse. They have to have their own bosses, people they answer to. When the shit hits the fan, Stackhouse can tell them it could have been much worse; in fact they should be thanking him for saving the day.

“Will you be calling me before you take off?” Stackhouse asked.

“No. I trust you to make all the arrangements.” Although trust wasn’t the first word that came to mind when Luke thought of Stackhouse. “The next time we talk will be face-to-face, at the Institute. Van at the airport. Bus waiting by the flagpole. Fuck up at any point and Officer Wendy starts making her calls and telling her tale. Goodbye.”

He ended the call and sagged.

7

Tim handed Wendy the Glock and gestured at their two prisoners. She nodded. Once she was standing guard, Tim drew the boy aside. They stood by the fence, in a blot of shadow cast by one of the magnolias.

“Luke, it will never work. If we go there, the van may be waiting at the airport, but if this Institute is what you say it is, the two of us will be ambushed and killed when we get there. Your friends and the other kids, as well. That leaves Wendy, and she’ll do her best, but it will be days before anyone shows up there—I know how law enforcement works when something comes up outside of normal protocol. If they find the place, it will be empty except for the bodies. They may be gone, too. You say they have a disposal system for the . . .” Tim didn’t know exactly how to put it. “For the used kids.”

“I know all that,” Luke said. “It’s not about us, it’s about them. The kids. All I’m buying is time. Something’s happening there. And not just there.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m stronger now,” Luke said, “and we’re over a thousand miles from the Institute. I’m a part of the Institute kids, but it’s not just them anymore. If it was, I never could have pushed up that guy’s gun with my mind. Empty pizza pans were the best I could do, remember?”

“Luke, I just don’t—”

Luke concentrated. For a moment he had an image of the telephone in their front hall ringing, and knew if it was answered, someone would ask, “Do you hear me?” Then that image was replaced by the colored dots and a faint humming sound. The dots were dim rather than bright, which was good. He wanted to show Tim, but not hurt him . . . and hurting him would be so easy.

Tim stumbled forward into the chainlink fence, as if pushed by invisible hands, and got his forearms up just in time to keep from dashing his face.

“Tim?” Wendy called.

“I’m okay,” Tim said. “Keep your eyes on them, Wendy.” He looked at Luke. “You did that?”

“It didn’t come from me, it came through me,” Luke said. Because they had time now (a little at least), and because he was curious, he asked, “What was it like?”

“A strong gust of wind.”

“Sure it was strong,” Luke said. “Because we’re stronger together. That’s what Avery says.”

“He’s the little kid.”

“Yes. He was the strongest one they’ve had in a long time. Maybe years. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I’m thinking they must have put him in the immersion tank—given that near-death experience that enhances the Stasi Lights, only with none of the limiting injections.”

“I’m not following you.”

Luke didn’t seem to hear him. “It was punishment, I bet, for helping me get away.” He tilted his head toward the van. “Mrs. Sigsby might know. It might even have been her idea. Anyway, it backfired. It must have, because they mutinied. The Ward A kids have got the real power. Avery unlocked it.”

“But not enough power to get them out of where they’re trapped.”

“Not yet,” Luke said. “But I think they will.”

“Why? How?”

“You got me thinking when you said Mrs. Sigsby and Stackhouse must have their own bosses. I should have figured that out for myself, but I never looked that far. Probably because parents and teachers are the only bosses kids have. If there are more bosses, why wouldn’t there be more Institutes?”

A car came into the lot, passed them, and disappeared in a wink of red taillights. When it was gone, Luke continued.

“Maybe the one in Maine is the only one in America, or maybe there’s one on the West Coast. You know, like bookends. But there might be one in the UK . . . and in Russia . . . India . . . China . . . Germany . . . Korea. It stands to reason, when you think of it.”

“A mind race instead of an arms race,” Tim said. “That’s what you’re saying?”