Once a Hero

by Jan Thompson

  “Why not take us with you and Philomena?”

  “On the run? I didn’t think would work. Eugene was ten and you were five, and both in school.”

  “You could have homeschooled us.”

  “No. We were living in an RV traveling from state to state. We were off the grid and under the radar.”

  “For twenty-five years.”

  “Twenty. We ended up in California, loved it, and bought a cabin with cash.”

  “Then you ghosted Philomena?” Beatrice asked. For once, she felt sorry for that woman—whom Dad said was her biological mother.

  “After her cancer scare, she wanted to visit her nieces and nephews. We made her a fake passport, but she was antsy to say goodbye to everyone. Of course, she didn’t die. The cancer went away, and we went back to our cabin in the woods.”

  “However, your travels put you on Molyneux’s radar.”

  “Not to mention all the different government agencies around the word.”

  “So you fled town to protect Philomena?” Beatrice didn’t feel a thing as she said her name. She did not feel anything at all about who her real mother was.

  She would need proof, and now wasn’t the time.

  “I gave her strict instructions to stay inside the cabin. I spent the next three years looking for Molyneux.”

  “What do you think happened to Philomena while you were gone?” Beatrice asked. Perhaps he had been stuck in this cave for too long.

  “She should be fine. I left her plenty of money and supplies. Told her to stay in the cabin until I get home.”

  “Philomena went to Cannes six months ago to sell jewelry to the FBI.” Beatrice could see the shock registered on Dad’s face. “A couple of weeks ago, she showed up in San Francisco with two brooches to sell. Who did she sell the third brooch to?”

  “Brooches? As in the key?” Dad groaned. “I hid it.”

  “In the cabin you shared with her. She found them and tried to sell them.”

  “That can’t be her. She would never sell my stuff.” Dad shook his head. “It had to be an impostor.”

  “She died of poisoning in a café that night. There were no records of her on file anywhere. They called her an undocumented immigrant.”

  Beatrice waited to see how Dad would react. His reaction was slow. There was no shock on his face. Only resignation.

  Finally, he nodded. “I told her not to leave the cabin. Told her I’d be back. It just took time, that’s all.”

  “Three years. How was she going to support herself, being an illegal resident of the country?”

  “I left her money and supplies.”

  “Sometimes we need more than money and things.”

  “Don’t judge me, Amber.” His hung his head.

  “Beatrice.”

  “Whatever. Don’t judge your old man.” Tears fell from his eyes.

  Beatrice wanted to hug him, but she did not.

  “Part of me did not expect Imogen to get to Philomena,” Dad said.

  “Why not? She’s killing everyone.”

  “Because they’re cousins.”

  “Are you kidding me? Cousins?” Ah, that would explain why Jake had thought Beatrice looked like Molyneux. “Yikes. That means Molyneux is my flesh-and-blood aunt?”

  “There’s always a black sheep in the family.”

  “So you dated two cousins?” Incredible.

  “Not at the same time.”

  “Does that make it better?”

  “I didn’t know at the time. Both of them hid the fact from me. I had no idea they were rivals in everything, and they each wanted what the other had.”

  “And you were the pawn in the middle of two queens,” Beatrice said.

  “Still, I thought Imogen would spare her own cousin. That she would be safe in the cabin.” Dad shrugged. “You were never supposed to go there.”

  “Well, we did. Did you leave me a pouch with a postcard and a key in it?”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  His answer was too quick. Beatrice realized Molyneux was probably listening to their conversation. She decided to ask him later if they had another opportunity.

  “You can’t keep running.” Beatrice felt sorry for him.

  He lifted his face. “I’m not running anymore.”

  “You can’t run even if you want to.” Beatrice waved her hands. “Look at where we are. This is a literal dead end. A tomb.”

  “We’ll take care of this one once and for all,” Dad announced.

  “Is that even possible?”

  “We’ll take care of it.” Dad began to weep softly. “We’ll take care of it, Philomena.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Jake stirred when turbulence hit the Gulfstream. He climbed out of his small bed and splashed warm water on his face. He brushed his teeth while still groggy from the interrupted sleep.

  He ambled out of his private cabin, and made his way to the main sitting area.

  Benjamin was already awake, sitting upright in his leather seat, his seat belt strapped in. He pointed to the empty seat across from him.

  “I still cannot believe a total stranger persuaded me to leave my house,” Benjamin said.

  “I can’t take all the credits.” Jake sat down. “We have to find your sister. All hands on deck.”

  “I’m not a coward.” Benjamin drew a deep breath.

  “No one says you are.”

  “I don’t have a fear of flying.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’d rather stay home.”

  “We’ve established that.”

  “But someone has to go rescue my sister.”

  “You’d be worried sick if you stayed home,” Jake said.

  “Probably. She’s my only family.” Benjamin ordered another sandwich.

  The flight attendant was cordial, but Benjamin gave her no time of day. He was stoic, yes, but to Jake, he almost behaved like a grumpy old man.

  “Besides, Beatrice needs a chaperone from the likes of you.” Benjamin pointed with his sandwich.

  “Better me than the likes of Molyneux,” Jake riposted.

  Benjamin stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. “Careful. I might start liking you over Bee’s other boyfriends.”

  “What other boyfriends?” Jake decided to be cool about it, but inside he was all jumping jacks.

  “Exes.”

  “Ah, okay.” Whew. “Say, that looks like some sandwich. Roast beef?”

  “Triple layer of cheese with horseradish. You want one, they can make it for you.” He motioned for the flight attendant to take Jake’s orders.

  When he was done, Jake checked his phone for the right time zone. “When do we land in Paris?”

  “We’re not going to Paris.” Benjamin swiped his tablet. “While you were sleeping, the fake brooch box sent a signal. Kenichi tracked it to Kraków.”

  “Kraków, Poland?”

  “We arrive in five hours.”

  “Five.” That meant Jake had slept for almost ten hours. He must be exhausted.

  “Ansel is preparing his team.”

  “Will they let him bring his weapons into town?”

  “Who says we’re bringing our own weapons?” Benjamin smiled. “We have contacts on the ground—private militia. Costs me a fortune, but this is my sister we’re talking about. I pray she is still alive.”

  “She has to be. I don’t think Molyneux wants her dead yet.”

  “Why do you say that?” Benjamin crossed his legs.

  “They made plans for tea.”

  “Seriously? I’d be surprised if a tea party prevents a murderer from murdering.”

  “I think Molyneux likes Beatrice and wishes she were her real daughter.”

  Benjamin frowned. “I want to see Molyneux up close, see what kind of a person would steal Dad’s heart and then kill him.”

  “She’s complex,” Jake said. “The last time I saw her, I was surprised at how ordinary she looked. Even as she was torturing me,
she looked like the woman next door who walks her dog and talks to strangers.”

  “Huh. As she was torturing you?” Benjamin drew a deep breath. “How can you even talk about it objectively?”

  “By the grace of God, I survived. Your sister called for help.”

  “Sounds like something she’d do.”

  “However, when I was inside Molyneux’s organization, she had hollow eyes, looking over her shoulders all the time. Drugged out or something.”

  “Sin will find you out.”

  Jake was surprised at the verse that Benjamin just cited. “Numbers 32:23.”

  But if ye will not do so, behold, ye have sinned against the Lord: and be sure your sin will find you out.

  “God is my guide.”

  “Same here.” Jake thanked the flight attendant for the roast beef sandwich.

  “Let’s pray that God will protect my sister and that we will all return alive.”

  “How about we pray now?” Jake asked. “I need to thank God for my food.”

  “Go ahead.”

  And so Jake did. Except he got carried away praying for Beatrice. He choked up a little when a fleeting thought raced through his mind, the thought that his suspicion might be wrong, that Molyneux would not spare her adopted daughter, and that he might never see Beatrice again.

  Jake wondered if he could carry on if that happened.

  And that was the moment he knew he had fallen deeply in love.

  “Please, Lord, let Beatrice be alive and well,” Jake whispered with his eyes shut. “Let her know that we’re coming to get her. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”

  “Amen.” Benjamin looked up. “She knows we’re coming.”

  “How?”

  “We’ve discussed potential scenarios over the years,” Benjamin explained. “And the last thing she did—the Trojan horse brooch box—might be a lifesaver.”

  “Wow. Romans 8:28.”

  And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

  “You know your Scripture,” Benjamin said.

  “Does that mean you’ll treat me like family?” It was worth a shot. Jake waited.

  “Nope.” Benjamin frowned again. “Like I was saying, the fake brooch box might have arrived in Molyneux’s web, and finding it might take us to Bee.”

  “You’re thinking that the brooch box and Beatrice might be at the same location.”

  “We know from Molyneux’s activities the last couple of weeks that she’s firing all cylinders to get to the Amber Room—or what’s left of it. That means she’s closing in or she has leads. Either way it also says that she’s running out of money. When was the last time you heard of a terrorist attack attributable to her?”

  “Not in at least six months.”

  “Exactly. Ever since many of her income streams dried up due to governments clamping down on her activities, she has been increasingly desperate.”

  “You’ve been following the news.”

  “I have to. She’s a danger to all of us.”

  Jake nodded. However, the problem remained. “What if you’re wrong about where the brooch box is?”

  “Then Beatrice is in grave danger. Or dead.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Behold, the door.” Molyneux stood in front of an old steel door so unusually located in the catacombs that Beatrice suspected it had been transported here from somewhere else.

  When was the last time she had seen a steel door installed two floors beneath an old unused church in the middle of nowhere?

  Not once.

  Beatrice wanted to ask about the history of the door, but she felt constricted. The vest tied around her chest was ridiculously heavy and loaded down with enough C-4 explosives to take out half the church above. She wanted to sit down on the floor, but she was afraid of setting something off.

  Molyneux seemed unperturbed by her discomfort. She kept talking, kept swinging that remote control in her hand.

  What if she dropped it?

  Beatrice started to sweat, but it was nothing like Dad. Kneeling at the door, trying to get it to open, his hands started to shake. He was sweating bullets. His hair was all matted.

  Only twelve hours before, Dad had seemed normal. Now he looked pale and ill.

  “Dad needs a break,” Beatrice finally said.

  “He gets one when he gets the door opened.”

  “Obviously you need a key.”

  Dad panted. “Or we can blow it up.”

  “You know the church will cave in and whatever is behind that door will be gone.” Molyneux wasn’t smiling. “If you want to go that route and kill us all, go ahead.”

  “It’s an idea.” Dad paused to catch his breath. “This vest is heavy, Imogen. Must you?”

  “You were taking too long,” Molyneux said. “Chatting with your daughter when you two should be working.”

  Beatrice believed she had heard their conversation at the far end of the catacombs. Then again, Molyneux already knew almost all the things that Dad had said.

  In fact, Beatrice suspected that Molyneux was responsible for Philomena’s death. If Dad found out, would he do something irrational or drastic?

  Dad turned to Beatrice. “Want to give it a go?”

  “Me? I’d rather not.” Beatrice wanted to stretch time. That could give Benjamin an opportunity to send Ansel to Poland—wherever they were. Flight from Charleston to Poland would take at least ten or twelve hours, she figured.

  So, yeah, the longer they waited, the greater the chance they’d be rescued.

  Dad sat down.

  Molyneux pointed to the door. “Now.”

  Beatrice didn’t move.

  Once again, the guards came and hauled her over.

  She glanced at Dad. He had a twinkle in his eye. Did he approve something?

  Beatrice looked at the brooch box on the floor. It was the same box that Kenichi had worked for six months to prepare. The one they had paid a lot of money to the now-deceased jeweler to reproduce.

  The all-important fake box.

  A Trojan horse.

  However, they were underground. There was no way the signal would work from here.

  Beatrice prayed that the signal had worked upstairs when Molyneux’s people transported the box from wherever it came from to this unused church.

  On the floor, Dad had placed a large piece of paper—a butcher paper—with lines crisscrossing it. At various intersections, he had placed the amber cabochons he had extracted from the two fake brooches and one real brooch. Surrounding the paper were assorted permanent markers and

  A mix of natural and manufactured amber pieces.

  Slowly, Beatrice sat down on the floor.

  She had no idea how they were going to make this work. The only thing she could do was pray to God for wit to stall Molyneux until help arrived.

  At the back of her mind, she wished that Dad was working undercover for some government entity with enough firepower to take out Molyneux. What if Dad were working for the Catherine Palace that currently housed a reproduced version of the Amber Room? Or the Russian Consulate?

  Now would be the time to come and help us!

  As Beatrice stared at the diagram Dad had drawn, she recalled seeing a familiar pattern at her Charleston laboratory office. The floor rug. A gift from a client.

  Who could the client be? Had it been Dad?

  “I’ve seen this pattern before,” Beatrice said.

  Dad raised an eyebrow. He waited.

  “Even if I have, I still don’t know what to do with it.”

  “It flows,” Dad said. “Like a circuit board.”

  Circuit board.

  The fact that Dad even mentioned it made Beatrice suspect that he was the one who had taped the old leather pouch to the table in his California cabin in the woods.

  Or did he?

  “What do you know about the circuit board?” Beatrice asked.

  “I’ve
seen it before. Sometimes Philomena made jewelry out of old boards.”

  Ah. Philomena must have played a bigger role than Beatrice expected.

  The bad news was that Beatrice had handed the circuit board to Kenichi and Benjamin. She hadn’t paid enough attention to the board, and even if she had, she did not possess a photographic memory.

  All she remembered was the pattern on the rug inside the lab office because she had walked over it for years.

  She closed her eyes.

  She couldn’t see the rug now.

  She closed her eyes tighter. Placed her fingers on her forehead as if that could help her remember.

  “You have a headache, girl?” Molyneux asked.

  “No. I’m just thinking. Shhh.” Beatrice felt brave.

  Slowly bits and pieces of the pattern on the rug appeared. She picked up a red marker from the pile of markers on the floor, and attempted to complete the pattern on the butcher paper taped to the floor with masking tape.

  She hoped that whoever Benjamin sent would bring the circuit board and golden key. They might be useful.

  It was odd that Dad would leave such an important piece of clue in the cabin, but fortuitous that Beatrice had picked it up when she did before the cabin burned down.

  If Dad had left it, he would have known to get it before he came here.

  Unless he didn’t know about the stash.

  Could Philomena have left the pouch for her? Or for anyone?

  Twelve hours prior, Dad had mentioned that Philomena was a “fellow treasure hunter.”

  Could Philomena have found the lost Amber Room, but not tell anyone, not even Dad?

  “Hurry up!” Molyneux barked into Beatrice’s ears.

  “If you push me, I’m going to blank out, and then we will get nowhere,” Beatrice said.

  “You’re weaker than your birth mother!”

  “She’s dead, so I’m doing better than she is, am I not?” What Beatrice said threw off Molyneux.

  “You’re more like I am than Philomena,” Molyneux said. “How can it be?”

  “You raised me until I was five years old, remember? You adopted me and cared for me as a mother would.”

  Molyneux went silent. Her eye softened. Perhaps she thought she had a daughter after all.

  It wouldn’t be Beatrice’s intention to reestablish a mother-daughter relationship. She just wanted to make sure Molyneux didn’t set off the C-4 in her vest and that of her dad’s.