The Keepers Page 17

  The man in the suit stepped inside, and the bars closed behind him. The guard backed away, then turned and walked back to the ward entrance.

  The man in the suit peered at DeShear. The light from the tiny window illuminated his face. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I was told a Magistrate was coming. The guard called you Your Honor.”

  “Very good.” The Magistrate nodded. “So you understand your life does indeed rest in my hands.”

  DeShear smirked. “Yours might rest in mine as well. I’m a murderer, according to these Defense Force people.”

  “Be that as it may, unless you are very stupid, right now I am as safe as if I were in my mother’s arms—and you don’t strike me as a stupid man. Crude, perhaps, but not stupid.”

  “And not a murderer.” He stood, clenching his fists. “I didn’t do what I’m accused of.”

  “You are a disgraced police officer. You were fired and lost your home and your pension. You became a private detective, hired by one cheating spouse to hide in the bushes and peek into hotel windows to catch the other cheating spouse. You lived in a mediocre apartment and could barely keep ahead of your bills. Not a very dignified life. Certainly not one that instills credibility to a court of law.” The Magistrate raised his chin. “Three billion dollars is a lot of money. Life changing money. The kind of money that buys dignity.”

  DeShear narrowed his eyes, glaring at the visitor. “I don’t know about any money like that. I got a $250,000 reward, that’s it. We spent about three thousand of it. Whoever does your research is mistaken if they think I’ve got more. I risked my life to save Jaden Trinn and a little girl named Constantine. Trinn will tell you that.”

  “I’m sure she will. If she lives. And the girl . . . there are several interesting stories about her. Some say you killed her. Others say she’s an heiress. What do you think?”

  “I didn’t kill Constantine,” DeShear said. “She’s out there, kidnapped, and I’m just about all she has in the world. She was only in The Bahamas because of me, so I’m the reason she’s in danger now.”

  The Magistrate peered toward the tiny window. The bars on the opening cast shadows of the bars across his face. “I believe you.”

  “You . . . you do?” DeShear stepped forward. “Then let me go. Help me look for her. I can pay you. I told you, I have almost $250,000. Why—”

  “There’s no need to look for Constantine. I know precisely where she is.”

  DeShear’s jaw dropped. “Then—take me to her. Please.”

  “Oh, I shall. As I said, three billion dollars is a lot of money. A life changing amount of money.”

  “You want money? Fine. Take what I have. You keep talking about three billion dollars. I don’t have anything like that.”

  “No, but you’re about to.” He stood, pacing back and forth in the tiny cell. “Constantine is the beneficiary of Dr. Hauser’s estate, and it seems he was a very wealthy man.”

  “But that’s not—I don’t control that.”

  “Unless you were named as the trustee of her funds until she becomes an adult.” He pointed at DeShear. “Then, you would.”

  “But I’m not!” DeShear held his hands out. “And it would be Constantine’s money, not mine. The probate courts will see that. I won’t have the money. Constantine will.”

  “Yes.” The Magistrate nodded. “If she lives.”

  “What?”

  “I’m an officer of the court, Mr. DeShear. I’m an expert in the law. As I said, the situation is as follows. When the child dies, the money will be yours to control.”

  “Why would you . . .” DeShear looked up. “Wait. ‘When she dies?’ You know she’s alive. So you know I didn’t kill her.”

  “I’m a simple Bahamian, but I watch the news.” McCullough stared at the prisoner, stroking his chin. “A chateau is swarmed by French and American officials who discover an illegal genetics program and organ harvesting operation. Days later, a young child from France suddenly shows up on my doorstep—complete with two American guardians and a special provision from the governments of France and Great Britain. We are a tiny island with a lot of eyes and ears. We don’t get a lot of visitors like that.”

  DeShear leaped up from the cot, grabbing the Magistrate by the collar and pinning him to the wall. “You took her!”

  McCullough grabbed DeShear’s hands. “I connected the dots and called some people. It’s what I do. People are interested in taking her—and for whatever reason, you. I’ve arranged that.”

  Gritting his teeth, DeShear let the magistrate go and turned away. “You want money? Okay. I’ll sign whatever you want, just help me get Constantine back.”

  “I want dignity and respect.” McCullough stood up straight and smoothed his shirt. “The kind that doesn’t come from decades of fighting to keep a low-level magistrate’s salary, sweeping drunken tourists and disenfranchised vagrants from the streets, to receive the reward of a meager pension. But what if? What if there were a benefactor who created parks and fountains? Who carried money from the tourist centers to the hillsides where the residents live in ramshackle huts with tin roofs? What if better schools were built, and hospitals, and prime educators were brought in to wean the economy off the wallets of fat American tourists? Then, we’d have real change. And the person who made all that happen would be admired and respected. If you were to turn over the entire estate to me, I could make that happen and live a life of luxury.”

  “Where is Constantine while all this is happening?”

  “Gone. To wherever such unlucky children go—eventually. First, she will reside in a place where people will dissect her and draw her stem cells and bone marrow until she can’t walk or think. Then they’ll harvest whatever eggs she gives up when she comes of age. But as soon as they use her up, they will dispose of her. Maybe someone in her new home will see her on a milk carton and call the authorities—if she’s still recognizable.”

  “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

  “It’s done. She has already arrived at her new home to start her new life. Most children in such circumstances last about six months before they give up. Very few see the age of twelve because they’ve committed suicide long before . . .”

  DeShear rammed the magistrate up against the wall, pinning him with a forearm to the throat. “No!”

  “Either way,” McCullough gasped, “she’s gone now. And you’ve been sold to the same people who bought Constantine. In fact, a bit of a bidding war has broken out. I’ve been assigned the role of an insurance policy. One set of buyers wants me along to ensure his safety. The other agreed. But when delivery is made, neither will have use for me—or you, I presume. So it seems we need each other.”

  Breathing hard, DeShear stepped away again, his eyes fixed on the magistrate.

  “I shall keep you alive for now,” McCullough said. “And you’ll do exactly what I say, when I say it. That is the only way you’ll see Constantine alive again. But I’m no fool. My estimation is, soon after the exchange is made, it’ll be every man for himself. I might be able to slip away, but for how long? If some foolhardy American with a grudge is after me . . .”

  “You ordered Moray to get rid of me, didn’t you?” DeShear pointed at McCullough. “You knew I wasn’t a murderer.”

  “You were an unfortunate liability who has now become a possible asset.”

  “You know I’m innocent!”

  “Yes, you are. What of it?” The Magistrate folded his arms. “A day ago, you were worth a lot of money to me if you were dead. Now, you’re worth a lot of money to me if you’re alive. Your innocence has nothing to do with it one way or the other.”

  “They’ll kill me—you said so yourself.”

  “Probably. And quite frankly, that’s a good result for me. A disgruntled man with several billion dollars might one day come to The Bahamas looking for revenge. I can’t be looking over my shoulder the rest of my days, can I? I’m a respected citizen of this community.” He walked to the cell
door. “Guard!”

  “Wait,” DeShear said. “I don’t care about the money. You can have all of it, however much there is. Just get Constantine back and let us all go.”

  “And thus the reason for my visit tonight—to assess your vulnerabilities.” The Magistrate sneered. “These are the words of a desperate man. One who’d say anything—but then as soon as he’s released, would sic the Governor’s corruption task force on me. Possibly just kill me in my sleep one night. No, that won’t do.” He faced the bars. “Guard!”

  The door at the end of the hallway opened. A soldier walked toward DeShear’s cell.

  DeShear dropped to his knees, clasping his hands together. “Please. Help me save Constantine.”

  The Magistrate sighed. “Unfortunately, Mr. DeShear, you’re much too agreeable right now. But I fear that won’t last, and that your anger will return. No, you need to be dead or so broken that you would never, ever consider turning on me—like Lieutenant Moray, or so many others I’ve put under my thumb. But breaking a man requires more time than I have at the moment, and as I say, I stand to make a lot of money from delivering you to your new owners. So, enjoy your brief reunion with the child, and then your speedy death.”

  “No. Help me get her out of there.”

  The guard put the key in the lock.

  “Goodbye Mr. DeShear.”

  “Help me please. Help me bring her back.”

  The cell door opened, and the Magistrate stepped out. “Perhaps you’ll need to be bound and gagged for the flight.” As the guard locked DeShear’s cell, McCullough glanced at the third cell in the ward. “Your lady friend is already sedated. Maybe that’s the way to go.” He smiled, walking away. “After all, you’re a murderer. Everyone knows it. Perhaps sedation, chains and a gag will be seen as merely a good precaution, even on the back of a cargo plane.”

  “Don’t let them hurt Constantine.” On his knees, DeShear gripped the bars of the cell. “I’ll do anything. Just help me get Constantine back.”

  McCullough waved as he waited to exit the ward. “In due course you’ll see this was the only way.”

  “No!” DeShear shook the bars. “Bring her back!”

  Chapter 25

  Ari Hiles stepped onto the sidewalk outside Gretchen’s apartment. Agent Flynn followed him.

  “So?” Ari asked. “What do you think?”

  “My professional opinion of Dr. Kittaleye?” Agent Daxx shut the front door of the building and folded his arms. “She’s nuts. She said some truly bizarre things, and our information shows her background is a little sketchy.”

  Ari frowned. “She studied parapsychology in college. Big deal. I think her information warrants looking into. And Jaden Trinn is a co-worker of yours. Doesn’t that matter?”

  “We have procedures,” Daxx said. “This doctor might have gotten all her information off the internet. Since the Angelus Genetics thing went down in France, we’re inundated with conspiracy theories. But here’s what we know. Trinn hasn’t been reported overdue or anything else. We’re here because this headshrinker doctor made phone calls, not because Jaden Trinn is missing.” He looked at his coworker. “Flynn, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Yeah, some things happened to this doctor, but does any of it rise to the level of an investigation by the Bureau of Diplomatic Security? Not at the moment. She says somebody tried to snatch her in Paris, but she got away—okay, then that’s a matter for the Paris police. If there’s something there, she’s an American citizen, so maybe the FBI gets involved.” He shrugged, glancing at the Israeli Intelligence agent. “We have to refer it to them, Ari. As far as the information the doctor says she heard from an elderly lady about Agent Trinn, she made a few phone calls—so we’re here now—but she doesn’t know much, and she doesn’t appear to be a threat.” He shook his head. “There’s not really much hard information here. We’ll send someone to look for the warehouse she says the kidnappers took her to. We’ll see about the vehicles she says they used. Right now, we’re swamped with a million other calls about Angelus Genetics—people insist their neighbors are genetically engineered drones and are going through their trash looking to send them to the mother planet! It’s crazy, and this doctor’s story is close to the top of my list for oddball claims I’ve heard this week. I say we file a 302 and follow up to see what pans out. If Trinn is missing, okay—Dr. Kittaleye will be our starting point. Otherwise, I agree with Daxx. That story she spun about telepathic machines . . . that’s pretty out there.”

  Daxx looked at the Israeli Intelligence officer. “Ari?”

  “I just—I know Jaden Trinn.” Ari sighed. “She’s a field agent, level three, reporting right to the President.”

  “You want us all to go back in and talk to her some more?” Daxx said. “Let’s do it. Her story is thin at best and crazy at worst, but we’ll do our job.”

  “No.” Ari looked down. “I take your point.”

  “Look, Flynn and I will check into it from our end, you check into it on yours. Your agency supported Trinn on the Angelus Genetics situation. You played a key role in their takedown, so Mossad might have a lot more flexibility here than we do. If you find out anything else, call us. We’ll send in the Marines, no problem. Otherwise, I think this one’s done for now.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Ari said. “Thanks.”

  The agents shook hands. Daxx pointed to his agency vehicle. “Can we give you a lift?”

  “Nah.” Ari walked backwards, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “I think I’m gonna walk for a while and clear my head. I’ll get a cab.”

  “Okay.” Daxx waved. “Catch you later, Mossad.”

  When their car was out of sight, Ari turned around and went back to Gretchen’s apartment. As she let him in, Kitt got up from the couch. “They think I’m crazy, don’t they?”

  He shrugged. “They’re . . . getting a lot of extremely unusual calls since Angelus Genetics made the news.”

  “Great.” Kitt looked at her friend. “What about you, Gretch?”

  “You had a scare.” Gretchen walked to Kitt, putting her hands on Kitt’s shoulders. “I don’t disbelieve you, but you have to admit, it was a wild story.”

  “And you?” Kitt glared at Ari. “Why aren’t you gone?”

  Ari put his hands on his hips, frowning. “Because I know Jaden Trinn. I’ve worked with her. She’s got a direct line to President Brantley for a reason—she’s helped him in the past. He trusts her. So, whatever Jaden needs, he’ll have it ready. Plus, I’ve seen first-hand some of the things Dr. Hauser and his people can do. There are no coincidences when it comes to them. Trinn told me things about Helena and Constantine, too. If Helena said she has visions, and you saw it on a computer monitor . . . that’s good enough for me. If things solidify, the American agents will be right there with us.”

  Kitt flopped onto the couch. “Thank goodness somebody believes me—and doesn’t think I’m a nut.” She faced Ari. “So what happens now?”

  “I don’t know.” Ari took out his notepad. “Let’s go over your story again. Then we’ll make a call to Jaden’s boss. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.”

  Kitt gasped. “But . . . the other agent said her boss is the President of the United States!”

  “Yep.” Ari pulled out his phone. “Does that change things for you?”

  “Wow.” She put her hands on her hips, taking a long, deep breath. “Wow, wow, wow.”

  “Kitt . . .” Gretchen put her hand to her lip. “The—the President of the United States?”

  Kitt stared at Ari’s phone, rubbing her brow. “Okay, let’s do it. I’m not crazy. Let’s . . . let’s call the President.”

  Chapter 26

  The vehicle ceased its jolting and jarring drive, coming to a stop. The engine shut off, Constantine’s seatbelt was unclipped and her blindfold removed. She squinted in the bright sunlight.

  A dark-haired man with a short beard opened her car door. He was relatively handsome, and
fairly young, maybe twenty standard years old, but he looked angry. “This way, girl.”

  Warm air rushed across Constantine’s face. Not as warm as it had been in The Bahamas, nor as humid. It was moderate, and nice. She slid out of the car seat and jumped down onto the smooth, dark gray surface.

  Constantine’s two male captors walked ahead of her, towards a run-down wooden building with a crumbling brick fireplace. She glanced around the desolate area. It was mostly smooth gray stone with large ruts and gullies, and practically no vegetation. The clear blue skies and wispy clouds met a charcoal horizon. No other buildings seemed to be within eyesight. There was nowhere to run to or hide in. If it hadn’t been for the wind and sun, it might have been the surface of the moon.

  Constantine gazed at the smooth surface under her feet.

  Volcanic stone.

  The female in the group of kidnappers nudged her five-year-old hostage from behind. “Walk, little one.”

  The captors’ accents were French. They spoke in broken English to Constantine, but she understood the conversations in their mother tongue. No one had apparently told them she could speak other languages, and she let it remain a secret, but there hadn’t been much talking since she’d awakened.

  She remembered pulling the wooden door shut in the front berth of the fishing charter, and the hand that rushed forth when she opened the door again after changing her clothes. The rag squeezed her nose and mouth, its pungent, solvent-like smell burning her lungs and sinuses—then there was darkness.

  The sore, red dot on her arm indicated a syringe had been administered at some point.

  “There is water in the house,” the woman said. “Rinse your mouth and drink as much as you can. I will bring you a toothbrush later, and some of the little crackers.”

  “Thank you.” Constantine marched up the path. “I did warn you, though.”

  “Oui, you did.”

  Constantine glanced over her shoulder at the woman. She knew her captors’ voices, but hadn’t seen any of their faces yet. The woman was also young, and very pretty, with blonde hair in a ponytail.