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Harvest House Publishers - Sigmund Brouwer

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110 pages

English

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William King and Blake Watt have just settled into their senior year of high school when they receive a call for helpthe authorities need to use their computer skills to track down a father who has failed to make child-support payments. The invitation to become cyber bounty hunters is so tempting, they don't stop to ask why they were chosen for this assignment.As they learn more about the man they are searching for, they discover the true nature of their missionto help the founder of a Seattle-based software company prove that he is innocent of a much different charge. But the scariest things they learn are why they were chosen and why they were supposed to remain in the background.You'll love following the surprising twists and turns in this fast-paced young-adult thriller from a gifted storyteller who has nearly three million books in print.

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Publié par	Harvest House Publishers
Date de parution	01 mars 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780736963060
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0480€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover by Left Coast Design, Portland, Oregon
Cover photo PlusONE / Shutterstock
NOWHERE TO HIDE
Copyright 2015 Sigmund Brouwer
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Brouwer, Sigmund
Nowhere to hide / Sigmund Brouwer.
pages cm
Sequel to: Dead man s switch.
Summary: High school senior computer experts William King and Blake Watt are picked up by the authorities to help them track down a father who has failed to make child-support payments, but as they learn more about the man they are searching for, they discover the true nature of their mission and learn the scary reason why they were chosen.
ISBN 978-0-7369-1748-3 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6306-0 (eBook)
[1. Computers-Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B79984No 2015
[Fic]-dc23
2014034676
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other-without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author s and publisher s rights is strictly prohibited.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
End Notes
Also from Sigmund Brouwer and Harvest House Publishers
About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1
On the morning that William Lyon Mackenzie King was betrayed by his father, drizzle blanketed the island, softening the light that filtered through the windows of his mother s workshop. She sat at a potter s wheel, working clay, molding it with wet hands, humming to herself as if King weren t sitting across from her on a cane-backed chair, leaning forward on his knees.
King felt as if the drizzle pressed a sanctuary upon them. Here on McNeil Island, it was quiet. Across the cold, deep waters of the southern end of Puget Sound, the Tacoma urban sprawl clawed its way north to connect with Seattle-a fabric of asphalt weaving frenzied lives, clusters of houses and apartments, and the endless signs of commercial properties competing for attention. There were no scheduled ferries from McNeil Island, no towns there, and only a few roads connecting the forty or so families who lived in identical houses overlooking identical gardens.
Yet McNeil Island was not the perfect sanctuary.
The houses were provided to employees of the prison on the island, which held some of the most violent men in the federal system. King wished he could believe the prison would always remain secure, protected as it was by massive walls, electronic surveillance, and thermal scanners.
He knew better. His mother, Ella, had nearly died because of the prison and the violent people in it. Since then, King could no longer walk carefree among the woods and pastures that had once seemed so idyllic. Only in Ella s workshop at the back of the house-where he could watch her at the wheel and listen to her hum in contentment-was King truly soothed of anxiety.

On this morning, the drizzle provided an extra layer of comfort. It shielded King from thoughts of the prison inmates and the imperfect men who guarded them. It buffered him from the world across Puget Sound, where Ella had spent weeks in a hospital in a coma. Here, King could see that his mother was safe, and he could cherish the illusion that the world outside did not exist.
The muted sound of cuckoo clocks from the house reached them, and Ella stopped humming, cocked her head, and smiled. King smiled with her. The cuckoo clocks were her idiosyncrasy. During the long weeks while she was across Puget Sound and alone in a coma, King and his father had let the cuckoo clocks wind down. During her absence, the cheerful sounds had been unbearable reminders of their shared loss.
Cuckoo clocks, Ella said to King. She pushed back wisps of blonde hair that had fallen across her forehead. That s something you won t hear at college. I m going to miss you a lot. But you know that, right? I tell you that every day.
King had been homeschooled, a necessity because of the small population of the island. He d been working hard to finish high school a year early. Everyone on the island knew of his vow to escape the island and chase big dreams.
I ve been thinking, King said. You re able to do what you want from here on the island. Maybe that wouldn t be such a bad thing for me.
Ella made pottery, decorated and glazed it, and then offered it for sale online. She shipped her orders once a week and collected her money through PayPal. The Internet, as she said, put the whole world at her fingertips, and customers from Hong Kong to Amsterdam had proven her right.
King, she laughed, you d go crazy if you stayed here.
He was beginning to believe the opposite was true, but he didn t dare tell her.
You re too much like your dad, she said. Mack was a wild one-needed to ramble and roam for a while.
That was part of the family legend, how Mack had been tamed by falling instantly in love with her.
All his life, King had loved thinking he would grow into the same strength and stubbornness that Mack possessed. Lately, however, that had felt like a burden. He needed to be himself, and if that meant delaying for a while the dreams of going out and tackling the world
Those thoughts brought a physical reaction that King was learning to dread. His heart rate started climbing, and his lungs emptied of air. He drew in shallow gasps, hoping his mother wouldn t notice.
That s when Mack knocked on the door and walked in without waiting for an answer. Broad face. Broad shoulders. Mackenzie William King-Mack to everyone, including King, who d been calling his dad Mack ever since King could swing a small baseball bat at the lobs Mack had loved tossing in the backyard.
Mack usually had a broad grin too. But not this morning.
King would realize later that the small twist of expression on Mack s face was a result of a father about to betray a son. But that realization would come too late for King to avoid the consequences.
King, Mack said. There s a helicopter on the way. Evans says your friends need you in the city.
A helicopter.
The skin at the base of King s throat began to tingle and then burn. He knew it was yet another symptom he would have to hide because both of his parents were watching to see how he would react to the news.
CHAPTER 2
King willed his exterior into stillness. Inside, however, his heart began to rev in an all-too-familiar pattern. A numbness began to run up the inside of each of his legs, and his abdomen began to tighten so hard he felt as if it would cramp.
Helicopter, King repeated. He leaned back against his chair and faked a casual pose. That took effort because he remembered the last time he d been in a helicopter-with a CIA guy named Evans-and the reason for it. Before his mother came out of her coma. An invisible hand seemed to tighten the grip around his throat.
Rats, King said. Just when this pottery was getting interesting, Evans decides to drop by.
The last few words came out in a gasp.
You okay? Ella asked.
King coughed and made a joke of it. Hair ball.
Ella turned to Mack. Are Blake and MJ in trouble? Considering the way all of them had met Evans, it was a logical question.
This probably isn t anything to panic about, Mack said to Ella.
King doubted his father realized the irony of those words. King had googled the symptoms he was fighting, so he knew he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.
All Evans said was that Blake and MJ needed you, Mack continued, showing no awareness of what was hitting King. For all I know, they re planning a surprise birthday party for you at a bowling alley.
Blake and MJ were King s friends. Since it was summer and school was out-even homeschoolers took a break-Blake and MJ had been off the island for a few days.
Evans was Central Intelligence Agency. More specifically, Evans was from the Special Operations Group division of the CIA. How weird that his family thought it was perfectly normal for someone from SOG to be on his way across Puget Sound by helicopter from Joint Base Lewis-McChord US military installation, just south of Tacoma. JBLM was a training institute and mobilization center. Evans served there as an instructor because SOG drew from the elite of the elite of the military divisions, including the Delta Force and SEAL teams.
Great, King said, not meaning it. This small workshop was the perfect place to spend a contented, misty morning. He struggled to hide his efforts to pull air into his lungs.
Thought you might like that, Mack said. It seems like weeks since you ve left the island. You must be going stir-crazy. And a helicopter, not a ferry. How cool is that?
Actually, twenty-seven straight days on the island. King kept track. He d been hoping to make it another twent