by Jan Thompson
No, they were not tall tales. After all, Benjamin had been ten years old when Dad disappeared the first time, shortly after Dad gave Benjamin one of his old fountain pens.
Was this where Dad sat through all those missing years?
She looked past Big Man and his cohorts. There were books on the shelves, sculptures, an old radio from the 1940s, and several closed boxes. She wondered what was in some of the lacquer and mother-of-pearl boxes, but she was afraid to provoke anyone by rushing there to peek in.
Yes, she would like to survey the house, to see what was left of it that Philomena hadn’t sold.
Another man came into the office and placed a laptop on top of the desk.
Beatrice held the chair and scooted forward. As she was doing so, she glanced under the desk to see where her legs and feet were going.
That was when she spotted it.
No one would have seen it except that the waning sun was shining into the room. To begin with, if a person worked here in the afternoon, they’d have to close the curtains to prevent glare on the laptop screen.
However, thanks to the sunshine, Beatrice spotted a distressed leather pouch hanging down from the underneath the table. Perhaps it had loosened from its position or something.
Surely this wasn’t a big find.
Still…
Curiosity got the better of her, and she palmed the leather as she was pretending to adjust the office chair so that she was comfortable in it. She slid it into one of her cargo pockets.
Oddly enough, Big Man hadn’t emptied out her pockets. That told Beatrice that they had something bigger in mind.
The lost Amber Room, perhaps?
The audio on the laptop crackled.
Okay, it didn’t crackle like in the days of old, but Beatrice imagined it could have, considering how the old-world ambiance in this office.
The video screen was blank. Only Beatrice’s face showed up on a rectangle in the top right-hand corner of the laptop screen.
“Amber Wright,” Molyneux said.
Beatrice didn’t answer.
“I’m still Imogen Wright to you.”
Was that a confession?
Beatrice hadn’t spoken to this woman in twenty-five years. At five years old, she could hardly recall the adoptive mother who was never home. In fact, she remembered Philomena more than anyone else. The nanny was always with Beatrice and Benjamin—even as they had different names then.
When Beatrice still didn’t answer, Molyneux continued. “Your father wanted to name you ‘Beatrice.’ We fought over what to name you, and he finally saw things my way.”
Did he?
“Looks like once he entered WITSEC, he named you what he wanted.”
“You could have tracked us down. Why didn’t you?” Beatrice asked. “Twenty-five years.”
“I made a promise to your father to leave you children out of our quarrels.”
“A promise among thieves?” Beatrice asked.
“Look who’s talking. You stole the three-amber brooch from Philomena right under our noses.”
Technically, Raynelle took it. But Beatrice kept it.
Yeah, she had to return it soon. Her conscience wouldn’t permit it.
Beatrice wondered what would happen to her and her team if they discovered the brooch in her cargo pocket.
“What do you want from me?” Beatrice asked.
“Nothing. You were in the way.”
Who was she after? It could not be Kenichi and Raynelle since they had come in late in the game.
Jake? “In the way of what? Of whom?”
“I won’t take betrayal sitting down,” Molyneux said.
“Someone betrayed you?”
“Let it be a lesson for everyone.” Molyneux’s tone was one of disappointment.
Beatrice wondered if that was meant more for Big Man and his people rather than for Beatrice sitting there, chatting with her long-lost adoptive mother at large.
Was it theatrics?
“Why don’t I just shoot him already?” Molyneux asked.
“I don’t know.” Beatrice wasn’t sure where the conversation was going, but she was almost sure she knew who Molyneux was taking about.
“Too quick and painless. Did you hear that, Oswald?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Big Man nodded.
Oswald, huh? Beatrice filed that away.
“So you torture him?” Beatrice asked.
“The visuals are astounding.”
With Dad’s dagger. Beatrice frowned.
“You don’t approve?” Molyneux asked.
“Of any killing, no.”
“But of torture?”
“Not my cup of tea.”
Molyneux laughed. “You’re so grown up. Sorry I didn’t check on you. Been busy, you know. In fact I would’ve left you alone if only you’d stopped following that FBI agent.”
“Former. He was fired.”
“Thanks to me. Good. Now I won’t feel bad if we work him over some.”
“Work him over how?” Beatrice asked.
“You’ll find out. Meantime, let me ask you one question. Why are you looking for the Amber Room?”
Beatrice wasn’t sure how to answer that. She didn’t want to give away anything that would cause Molyneux to go after Benjamin.
“Are you trying to finish what your father and I started?” Molyneux asked.
“Well…”
“Then join me.”
Thought you’d never ask. “I’d rather be independent. Thank you, though.”
“You are your father’s daughter.”
“I was adopted.” Beatrice knew Molyneux didn’t need the reminder, but she said it for her own assurance that she hadn’t inherited any genetic traits from them.
“Yes, but sometimes children take on the characteristics of their adoptive parents.”
That did not sound good to Beatrice at all. The last thing she wanted was to take after Molyneux—even if she had been once Imogen Wright, history scholar.
“Maybe I’ll be ahead of you, retrieve those amber panels first, and then I can offer to sell them to you for a price,” Beatrice said.
At first Molyneux was silent.
Was she stunned?
Then Molyneux broke into a laughter so carefree and wild. “If Chisolm couldn’t find it after all those years, would you able to?”
“Speaking of Dad, what happened to him?”
“I killed him two years ago.”
“You…” Beatrice couldn’t speak.
Somewhere deep in her heart, she had held out hope that Dad was still alive, hiding somewhere in the world, keeping an eye on Benjamin and her.
“I don’t believe you,” Beatrice said.
“You don’t want to believe me. I’m your only parent left. But I tell you, he’s dead.”
Somehow, the way Molyneux said it seemed mendacious.
Beatrice decided to try another angle.
“All those years when he was alive, he never called.” Beatrice wanted to get Molyneux’s sympathy, but the grief in her heart reminded her that it was her own pain that was exposed right now.
What if Dad is really dead?
“What kind of father would disappear for over twenty years and start a new life with someone else?”
“Do they have children?” Beatrice asked.
“Not Chisolm’s. Don’t worry, dear. He didn’t share his fatherly love with other people.”
Beatrice remembered the photos on the mantelpiece. Perhaps those were nieces and nephews.
“Besides, I took care of him. I punished him for you. He is really dead this time. End of story.”
Tears pooled in Beatrice’s eyes. Somewhere in her heart she was hoping—praying—that she could see Dad again.
Still, her heart felt at peace. God was with her, as He had been through her fatherless days on earth. She tried to recall Psalm 68:5.
A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.
Beatrice knew she had to move forward. Looking back for a moment had caused her to grieve again, but looking forward, there was much work to be done yet.
“What are you going to do with us?” Beatrice asked.
“We’ll have the cup of tea you wanted.” Molyneux’s voice was cheerful. “After we bury Jake Kessler, also known as Grady Northcutt when he was in my employ.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jake prayed for Beatrice, who had been gone a long time. He had no idea where they had taken her. They had left him tied to the chair, gaping wounds on one thigh and multiple cuts on the other. What were they trying to do to him?
He couldn’t even remember the man’s name. Joe? Jim? John Doe then.
Oswald he remembered, because the was in charge of the entire battalion that sneaked into Mendenhall Retreat some three years prior. Oswald was ex-military who ran his own mercenary militia.
Molyneux paid them well.
Still, they had abandoned the fishing vessel like everyone else when the storm came and capsized the boat, leaving Jake to die.
Beatrice had come to his aid then. At least he believed she had been the anonymous caller.
Today, she had once again rescued him from certain death. What kind of a woman would put her own life on the line for a stranger?
Perhaps they were not strangers any longer.
They were on the same side now.
Together.
God brought us together.
He had heard what Beatrice said. What did she mean by that? She blushed at some unexpected suggestion.
If he had previously thought of her as potentially Molyneux’s adopted daughter, tonight confirmed it. Something she said to Oswald.
She’s been looking for me for twenty-five years.
She purposely put herself on the railroad track for Molyneux to run over. Why?
Jake wiggled his wrists to see if he could loosen the rope a bit, but the movement caused him to pull some muscles—what was left of them—in his legs, and he cried out in pain.
He wondered if he’d ever walk again with all his leg muscles so messed up.
Already, titanium rods held his legs together.
He closed his eyes to wait for the pain to subside. “Please, God.”
Then he remembered his Savior on the cross, carrying on His shoulder the sins of the world. Feet and hands pierced, Jesus Christ died on the cross for him.
For me.
What unbearable pain did Jesus suffer at the cross?
At the cross, at the cross…
The old hymn penned by Isaac Watts in the eighteenth century returned to his mind. He could see himself in church as a little boy with his four brothers and one sister, singing this song with his parents.
At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away,
It was there by faith I received my sight,
And now I am happy all the day!
He couldn’t hear himself sing it aloud because of the duct tape over his mouth, but he hummed it until the pain in his legs went away. Or at least until he forgot about it.
The door creaked open again.
“Someone ought to oil this door.” Oswald’s voice was followed by multiple boots pounding on the steps.
Beatrice was not with them.
Where is she?
Jake prayed that she was still alive.
Without a word, Oswald ordered his men to untie Jake. As they headed toward the stairs, Jake felt a blow to his head.
He fell to the ground, seeing stars.
“Traitor!” Oswald spat at him and walked up the stairs first. “Get him to the driveway.”
Driveway?
Were they going somewhere?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Seeing Beatrice on the driveway was like having a cool drink on a hot summer’s day. Jake didn’t know why he felt that way, but he just did. He wanted to say something to her, but she was facing away from him. Her hands were tied behind her back.
At least she was still standing.
On the grass nearby, Raynelle was groaning next to an unmoving Kenichi. They looked like they had been beaten up badly.
Surrounding them were Oswald, John Doe, and their merry men and women of ill repute.
Dusk was coming soon, but there was sunlight left. Jake hoped that Beatrice wouldn’t be too freaked out at the sight of him. Perhaps the nightfall would cover up how bloodied he might look.
He had no idea what her tolerance level was, but he didn’t want her to see him like this—
What am I thinking?
No, he wasn’t falling in love with the woman who had saved his life at least three times.
Or was he?
He shuffled forward, held up by two strong men. They hadn’t bothered to tie up Jake’s hands because the had beaten him to a pulp. There was no way he was going to defend himself or anyone else in this state.
Beatrice must have heard him coming because she turned. Her eyes widened. “Jake!”
She tried to go toward him, but John Doe held her back.
She cares.
Interesting.
“So you are really together?” John Doe touched Beatrice’s chin with his gloved hand. Ran his finger down her neck to her check—
Jake tried not to react.
React? Huh. That’s surprising.
But there was more. Reacting was what he had been doing of late. Reacting. Running. Hiding.
Molyneux had many steps ahead of him. Them.
How?
Was Beatrice correct when she said that there was a spy inside the FBI? Who was it?
Raynelle rose from the grass.
Immediately weapons pointed at her.
She didn’t seem to care. “You touch her. You die.”
“Ooh. A rash champion.” John Doe walked toward Raynelle. “Who might you be?”
Jake waited.
“Let’s do a headcount, shall we?” John Doe said. “There are dozens of us. There are two of you still standing—not counting your Asian friend on the grass and Grady over there.”
Jake wondered if Kenichi was playing possum. He hoped that they hadn’t beaten him up too much. He remembered how Kenichi and Raynelle had helped him fight off Molyneux’s other men back in the forest.
When was that?
The night before?
Then again, there were only four assailants coming at them that night. This time, Oswald had brought reinforcements.
Jake hated to think he had no control over his circumstances, but here he was on the ground, unable stand up on his own, let alone run to anyone’s aid.
“Why are we still waiting here?” Beatrice asked.
John Doe turned his attention away from Raynelle.
Oswald spoke on his phone. “They’re almost here.”
“Who?” Beatrice asked.
“You wanted an audience with Molly. You got it.” Oswald laughed. “You’ll wish you never had the opportunity.”
Being taken captive alone was one thing, but Jake could not let them take Beatrice.
“Hey, Oswald,” Jake called out. “How much is Molyneux paying you?”
Oswald laughed. “More than you can ever pay me.”
Beatrice glanced at Jake. It seemed to be the opening she needed.
She turned to Oswald. “Did she offer you a piece of the Amber Room like she offered my dad?”
Oswald’s eyes lit up.
“No?” Beatrice smiled. “You know she will never give up any part of it. Not even a small chunk of the smallest panel.”
Oswald didn’t say a word.
“You know she will kill you like she killed her own husband.”
“I thought they were divorced?” John Doe chimed in.
Beatrice ignored him. “My dad wanted the Amber Room too. It was going to be their nest egg. Millions of dollars earned if sold in the black market.”
Oswald grunted.
“You signed
a contact with Molyneux, didn’t you?” Jake asked. “You’ll honor your part, of course. You’re an honorable man. But she won’t honor hers. Look what she did to me.”
“You were a traitor.” They had gotten Oswald talking.
“I wasn’t earning enough in the bureau. I told you that three years ago, didn’t I? I wanted some extra money for a new Lambo.”
“No kidding.” John Doe bought it all.
Well, Jake wouldn’t mind driving a Lamborghini, and it worked well as a cover story when he had applied for the job on Oswald’s team.
Beatrice made a face at Jake, as though she couldn’t believe he was that shallow.
Jake had to keep up the story. “When Molly found out I was pretending to be undercover, she couldn’t believe I actually cashed the money and bought a Lambo.”
“She doesn’t believe anyone.” Beatrice waited for Oswald to say something. “She’s a liar all the way.”
Oswald straightened up. “You may be lying yourself. Like mother, like daughter.”
“Adoptive mother. Biologically unrelated. I don’t know who my mother is.”
“You poor thing.”
“But I learned a thing or two about Molly.” Beatrice straightened up. “I don’t work for her. In fact, I’m her rival.”
It made Oswald chuckle.
“She wants me because she wants the map to the final resting place of most of the panels from the original Amber Room,” Beatrice said. “Do you know how much that is worth? And don’t think you’re going to get any of it. Have you ever seen anyone selfish become suddenly generous?”
Even in the small light above the driveway, Jake could see that Beatrice had cast doubt in Oswald’s mind.
She seemed to be good at this.
It made Jake wonder if she might be related to Molyneux after all. Or at least, she would make a great undercover agent.
No, I’m not recruiting her.
“You do know that the map is hidden in a three-piece brooch collection,” Beatrice continued, not that she had Oswald’s attention. “One brooch is in San Francisco in a safe deposit box. I have the third brooch in my right pocket.”
“No, Bee!” Jake shouted. “Why did you bring it with you?”