Now, I thought.

I would jump up, use the broken glass like a prison shiv, and jam it into the Ghost's neck. I calculated quickly. Was I too far away? Probably. And what about the driver? Was he armed? Did I dare?

The Ghost spun back toward me. The moment, if there had ever been one, was over.

The computer was already on. The Ghost did some typing. He got online with a remote modem. He clacked some more keys and a text box appeared. He smiled at me and said, "It's.time to talk to Ken."

My stomach knotted. The Ghost hit the return button. On the screen, I saw what he had typed:

YOU THERE?

We waited. The answer came a moment later.

HERE.

The Ghost smiled. "Ah, Ken." He typed some more and hit the return.

IT'S WILL. I'M WITH FORD.

There was a long pause.

TELL ME THE NAME OF THE FIRST GIRL YOU MADE OUT WITH.

The Ghost turned to me. "As I expected, he wants proof it's really you."

I said nothing, but my mind raced.

"I know what you're thinking," he went on. "You want to warn him. You want to tell him an answer that's close to the truth." He moved over to Katy. He picked up the stick end of the lasso. He pulled just a little. The rope coiled against her neck.

"Here's the deal, Will. I want you to stand up. I want you to go over to the computer and type in the correct answer. I'll keep tightening the rope. If you play any games if I even suspect you tried to play any sort of game I won't stop until she's dead. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

He tightened the lasso a little more. Katy made a noise. "Go," he said.

I hurried to the screen. Fear numbed my brain. He was right. I had been trying to come up with a decent lie, something to warn him. But I couldn't. Not now. I put my fingers on the keys and typed:

CINDI SHAPIRO

The Ghost smiled. "For real? Man, she was a little hot tie Will. I'm impressed."

He let go of the lasso. Katy released a gasp. He moved back over to the keyboard. I looked back over at my chair. The broken glass was in plain view. I moved quickly back to my seat. We waited for the response.

GO HOME, WILL.

The Ghost rubbed his face. "Interesting response," he said. He thought about it. "Where did you make out with her?"

"What?"

"Cindi Shapiro. Were you at her house, your house, where?"

"Eric Frankel's bar mitzvah."

"Does Ken know that?"

"Yes."

The Ghost smiled. He typed again.

YOU TESTED ME. NOW IT'S YOUR TURN. WHERE DID I MAKE OUT WITH CINDI?

Another long pause. I was on the edge of my seat too. It was a smart move by the Ghost, turning the momentum around a bit. But more important, we really didn't know if this was Ken or not. This answer would prove it one way or another.

Thirty seconds passed. Then:

GO HOME, WILL.

The Ghost typed some more.

I NEED TO KNOW IT'S YOU.

A longer pause. And then finally:

FRANK EL BAR MITZVAH. GO HOME NOW.

Another jolt. It was Ken……

I looked over at Katy. Her eyes met mine. The Ghost typed again.

WE NEED TO MEET.

The answer came fast: NO CAN DO.

PLEASE. IMPORTANT.

GO HOME, WILL. NOT SAFE.

WHERE R U?

HOW DID YOU FIND FORD?

"Hmm," the Ghost said. He thought about that and typed: PISTIL LO

There was another long pause.

I HEARD ABOUT MOM. WAS IT VERY BAD?

The Ghost did not consult me for this one. YES.

HOWS DAD?

NOT GOOD. WE NEED TO SEE YOU.

Another pause: NO CAN DO.

WE CAN HELP YOU.

BETTER TO STAY AWAY.

The Ghost looked at me. "Should we try to tempt him with his favorite vice?"

I had no idea what he meant, but I watched him type and hit the return key:

WE CAN GET YOU MONEY. DO YOU NEED SOME?

I WILL. BUT WE CAN DO IT THRU OVERSEAS TRANSFERS.

And then, as if reading my mind, the Ghost typed:

I REALLY NEED TO SEE YOU. PLEASE.

I LOVE YOU, WILL. GO HOME.

Again, as if he were inside my head, the Ghost typed:

WAIT.

SIGNING OFF NOW, BRO. DON'T WORRY.

The Ghost let out a deep breath. "This isn't working," he said out loud. He typed quickly.

SIGN OFF, KEN, AND YOUR BROTHER DIES.

A pause. Then: WHO IS THIS?

The Ghost smiled. ONE GUESS. HINT: CASPER THE FRIENDLY.

No pause this time.

LEAVE HIM ALONE, JOHN.

I THINK NOT.

HE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS.

YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO PLAY WITH MY SYMPATHIES. YOU SHOW UP, YOU GIVE ME WHAT I WANT, I DON'T KILL HIM.

LET HIM GO FIRST. THEN I'LL GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT.

The Ghost laughed and clacked the keys:

OH PLEASE. THE YARD, KEN. YOU REMEMBER THE YARD, DON'T YOU. I'LL GIVE YOU THREE HOURS TO GET THERE.

IMPOSSIBLE. I'M NOT EVEN ON THE EAST COAST.

The Ghost muttered, "Bull." Then he typed frantically:

THEN YOU BETTER HURRY. THREE HOURS. IF YOU'RE NOT THERE, I CUT OFF A FINGER. I CUT OFF ANOTHER EVERY HALF HOUR. THEN I GO TO THE TOES.

THEN I GET CREATIVE. THE YARD, KEN. THREE HOURS.

The Ghost disconnected the line. He slammed the laptop closed and stood.

"Well," he said with the smile, "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

56

Nora called Squares on his cell phone. She gave him an abbreviated version of the events surrounding her disappearance. Squares listened without interruption, driving toward her all the way. They met up in front of the Metropolitan Life building on Park Avenue.

She hopped into the van and hugged him. It felt nice to be back in the outreach van.

"We can't call the police," Squares said.

She nodded. "Will was firm on that one."

"So what the hell can we do?"

"I don't know. But I'm scared, Squares. Will's brother told me about these people. They'll kill him, for sure."

Squares mulled it over. "How do you and Ken communicate?"

"Via a computer newsgroup."

"Let's get him a message. Maybe he'll have an idea."

The Ghost kept his distance.

Time was growing short. I stayed alert. If there was an opening, any opening, I was going to risk it. I palmed the broken bottle and studied his neck. I rehearsed in my mind how it might go. I tried to calculate what defensive move the Ghost might make and how I could counter it. Where, I wondered, were his arteries located? Where was he most vulnerable, his flesh the softest?

I glanced at Katy. She was holding up well. I thought again about what Pistillo had said, how adamant he had been that I leave Katy Miller out of this. He was right. This was my fault. When she first asked to help, I should have refused. I had put her at risk. The fact that I was indeed trying to help her, that I understood better than most how much she craved closure, did little to ease my guilt.

I had to find a way to save her.

I looked back at the Ghost. He stared at me. I did not blink.

"Let her go," I said.

He faked a yawn.

"Her sister was good to you."

"So?"

"There's no reason to hurt her."

The Ghost raised his palms and in that hushed lisp, he said, "Who needs a reason?"

Katy closed her eyes. I stopped then. I was just making it worse. I checked the clock. Two hours to go. "The yard," a spot where pot smokers used to gather after a fun-filled day at Heritage Middle School, was no more than three miles from here. I knew why the Ghost had picked it. The site was easy to control. It was secluded, especially in the summer months. And once in, there would be little chance of getting out alive.

The Ghost's cell phone rang. He looked down at it as if he'd never heard the sound before. For the first time, I saw something that might have been confusion cross his face. I tensed, though I did not dare reach for the broken glass. Not yet. But I was ready.

He flicked on the cell and put it to his ear. "Go," he said.