“Perhaps. But I can hide long enough to achieve my goal. That is unless you want to visit your precious husband lying in a morgue. I can’t stop Declan’s guys from getting trigger-happy.”

Wyl glared at Ailbe.

“Now, if a certain roadblock is removed from my program, I’ll consider dropping you two off in a remote location, unharmed, of course.”

“Now that you have me, let Rod go,” Wyl said.

“What guarantee do I have that you’ll release your lock on the program?” Ailbe asked.

“Having Rod here won’t give me any incentive. Letting my darlin’ go will allow you and me to be together like we discussed.”

Rod tensed. What the fuck? Wyl and Ailbe together? Wyl wanted to fucking get rid of his darling? Then, the safe word sank in. Darlin’. Wyl played the game. Rod didn’t like it. Not one bit. But survival depended on keeping up the pretense.

Wyl glanced at Rod, whose stern glare included anger and shock.

"Your precious husband isn’t happy with that little statement,” Ailbe said. “I think I’ll let him go before he witnesses us two going at it.”

He motioned to the two toughs. “Tie his hands behind his back, blindfold him, and gag him so he can’t shout. Then lead him to the middle of the bridge down the street, tie his ankles together, and lay him down crossways. It’s late. Some drunk driver will hit him and put him out of his misery. It’s tragic when people wander into the street and become a fatality.”

“Ailbe,” Wyl said. “If you tie his ankles and he is hit, Garda will call it murder. It's best to let him wander. Have them spin him around three or four times first so he loses his bearings.”

Rod seethed. Wyl wanted his little darlin’ dead!

The two muscle guys duct taped Rod’s wrists behind his back, tied a cloth over his eyes, then taped his mouth. They muscled Rod out of the room. Wyl watched his husband disappear out the door. Stay safe, Rod. They’ll come for us.

* * *

“I didn’t think you would consider leaving your husband,” Ailbe said.

“If you’re kicking Declan out, there’s room for me, right? Does he know you’re planning to dump him once your scheme is complete?” Wyl figured to press that irritating wedge a bit further between the two. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the shaky status of their relationship.

“You’re spoiling my surprise, Sterling,” Ailbe said.

Wyl glanced at Declan’s face, now full of doubt.

"Go to the computer on the table in the back corner. The maintenance folks use it to pull work tickets. I connected it to my office computer, where the project resides, waiting for a command to run. You need to do your job, Sterling. Make it run.”

Wyl glanced at Declan again, then back at Ailbe. He walked over and sat at the computer, lifting his hands to the keyboard. He didn’t want to make this easy by entering the 3-space code. Instead, he would take the time to modify the code itself to remove the command.

"Changing the code will take a while,” Wyl said. “Once I finish, pressing Enter will activate your program.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Ailbe said. “It’s feckin’ dark thirty on Sunday morning. Nobody is on campus. We have all day.”

* * *

Sunday morning at 6:30, the van approached Waterford. The three men in black saw the blue flashing lights of Garda patrol cars as they came upon the city's outskirts. A checkpoint stopped all vehicles before the first roundabout. The line of vehicles delayed their progress.

“We best toss this package,” one of the toughs held up the plastic bag containing Wyl’s cell phone and wristwatch. “This will connect us to the abduction.”

“Give it to me,” the goon in the left passenger seat said. He opened his window and flung the package over a stone fence and into a field alongside the road. “No more evidence.”

* * *

“They stopped, probably at the checkpoint.” Glenn kept his eye on the stationary flashing icon on Chief O’Brien’s computer screen.

"Waterford Gardaí should call any minute,” O’Brien said.

“Zoom in on that icon, Chief,” James said. “It’s been still for a while.”

“If Garda impounded the, it wouldn’t be moving.” Chief O’Brien said. “I’ll call Waterford and find out what’s going on.”

O’Brien placed a call to Chief Kerry of Waterford Gardaí. Nothing to report. They started inspecting at 2:00 a.m., checked twelve automobiles, five vans, and four lorries, and found nothing suspicious or unusual.

“Feck,” O’Brien muttered as he zoomed in on the flashing icon. It appeared to be ten metres off the motorway's side. He called Chief Kerry back to search the area a quarter of a mile from the roadblock and east of the road, Thirty minutes later, Kerry called back to confirm they found a plastic bag containing a cell phone and watch.

O’Brien’s office phone rang.

“O’Brien, here,” he answered.

“Chief, Seamus Kane here. I have General Steinberg on the line with me.”

“Chief O’Brien, I think I can help,” General Steinberg said. “We’ve been monitoring activity on MacGowan’s office computer, showing he’s logged in now. Have your men check his office. If he’s gone, I’m willing to bet he’s somewhere on campus logged in remotely.”

“General, sir, thank you,” O’Brien said. “I’ll send my men to his office now.”

“His office computer must be powered down to stop any installed programs from running,” Steinberg said. “Shoot it if you have to.”

“Got it, General,” O’Brien said. “We’ll be careful.”

* * *

After the two toughs released him in the middle of the bridge, Rod stood still, afraid to move. If they released him where Ailbe said, it was on a roadway. But in the middle of a lane or between lanes? One false move could mean certain death. On the other hand, standing still might have the same result. A car approached and honked. He jumped, but the driver shouted eejit as the car passed. He prayed for the best. Another car approached. This one stopped with a squeal of the brakes. The engine idled, and the door opened. “What the feck are you doing?”

Rod mffd and tried to talk, but the duct tape kept him from making coherent sounds.

“I’ll pull off the tape, but don’t try anything funny.”

Rod nodded. He must immediately notify the police about Wyl. The tape tugged at the stubble on his face as it peeled off, leaving stinging heat behind. He flexed his jaw and his lips to recover. “I need to contact the police.”

“Can I ask your name?” The guy spun him around to untie his mask and untape his wrists.

“Rod Sterling. I was kidnapped, and my husband Wyl is being held by the kidnappers. We need the police immediately.”

The untied mask fell to the ground. The tape unwound from his wrists left the same stinging sensation. He whirled around. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“I’m Chief Inspector O’Brien.” He said, phone to his ear. “Where are they?”

“In the basement of the technology building.” Rod glanced around, then took off on a dead run down the street toward the building.