The Hound of Rowan by Henry H. Neff Page A

McDaniels’s big yellow shirt.
    â€œAll right, Max. Here’s where I say good-bye.”
    Max nodded.
    â€œYou’re just the best, you know. The best boy a father could ask for.”
    Max felt his father’s arms wrap tightly around him. Max shut his eyes and promised to call and write and say prayers for his mother. When his father finally let him go, Max walked stiffly to where Nigel was waiting. He did not look back.
    Nigel left Max to his own thoughts until they were through security.
    â€œWell done,” he said at last. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
    â€œWas that
another
test?” asked Max thickly.
    â€œNo,” said Nigel. “A precaution. This airport’s a very busy place today. We need to avoid anything too
real.
”
    â€œWhat do you—”
    Max cut his own question short as he saw a boy who looked very much like himself walking in the opposite direction. Max blinked. The boy did not just look like him—it looked
exactly
like him.
    â€œTry not to stare,” said Nigel casually, increasing their pace a step. “They’re on our side.”
    Max passed himself several more times. He noticed that the boys were always accompanied by one or two serious-looking adults.
    â€œYou must be tired,” said Nigel quietly as they finally took their seats on the crowded plane. “I bet you had no idea you’ve been taking over a dozen flights a day for the past three days….”
    â€œBut—”
    Nigel held up a finger to quiet him.
    â€œAgents. Decoys. We can talk more when we get to Rowan,” said Nigel, procuring a bar of chocolate and a deck of cards from his briefcase. “We’re not quite out of the woods.”
    Max nibbled the chocolate and listened to the plane’s engines as Nigel dealt the cards.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    Several hours later, the plane set down. Nigel led Max out of the plane, along the moving walkways, and down toward baggage claim.
    Nigel had just swung his duffel off the carousel when Max saw someone step out suddenly from behind a nearby pillar.
    It was the man from the train—the man with the dead white eye.
    His coat was just as dirty and his eye just as unsettling as Max remembered. He stood as still as a stone between them and the exit while people filed past.
    â€œHe’s here,” Max whispered.
    Nigel appeared not to hear as he fumbled with Max’s duffel.
    â€œHe’s here!”
shouted Max, clutching Nigel’s arm.
    Nigel shot him a puzzled glance before squinting past him.
    His face went white.
    The Recruiter immediately gripped Max by the collar and spun him around. Nigel marched him back up the stairs they had just descended. As they swam against a tide of startled faces, Max tried to look behind them, but there were too many people.
    Nigel was speaking rapidly into a slim phone at his ear, but Max could not hear what was said. They crossed over to the next terminal, where Nigel hurried Max out the sliding doors and into a limousine that had screeched to a sudden halt at the curb.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    The car sped onto the highway and made its way north while Nigel typed text messages into his phone, looking uncharacteristically grim. Over an hour passed in tense silence before they suddenly veered off the interstate and merged onto a smaller road. They were very near the coast; tall grasses swayed by the roadside as they wound their way past small farms and towns. Weathered signs advertised public beaches, fresh lobster, and clamming excursions. It all seemed very alien.
    Nigel glanced out the back window. The road behind them had been empty for miles. Apparently satisfied, he pressed a button and rolled down the window. The warm summer air rushed in, fragrant and heavy with salt.
    â€œHow are you feeling?” he asked, his serious expression softening to a smile.
    â€œI’m fine now. It was him, you know—that man at