“The check is in the mail.”
“Are you sure it has the correct postage?” Jan replied.
There was a brief pause. Then the young voice asked, “How may I be of service?”
“A Korean man, murdered, beheaded two weeks ago in Mosul,” Jan said. “His name was Soo Kwon. Where is his body now?”
Another pause.
“His body is in Jordan waiting to be claimed. I am sorry to report his head was not recovered.”
Jan thought a moment, then said, “The man’s parents will claim his remains within two weeks. It is imperative that you find his head. I don’t care if you have to dig up every inch of the desert. Do you understand?”
After a short pause, the young voice replied, “Yes, I understand, but it will not be easy. Bribes must be paid. How much money may we spend?”
“Do whatever it takes,” Jan answered. “I don’t want his mother to see him mutilated. I’ll be sending over a reconstructive cosmetologist. I want personal confirmation when it’s done. I don’t have to tell you to make sure they have the right head.”
“Very well. It will be as you say.”
A soft click signaled the end of the conversation. Jan stepped to the fog-rimmed window and looked out over the river toward the shimmering cathedral. He shoved his shoulder into the window jamb and reflected on the irony of the Korean boy’s name. Soo. Long life.
Jan rested his forehead on the cool glass.
Tim, you never told me it would be this hard.
Amal stood at the open door to the study. He overheard Jan’s side of the phone conversation. He stepped back into the hallway and thought, How could I not serve him?
Three
Philadelphia
New Year’s Eve
JAN sat staring into the hot fireplace. A full day of heavy falling snow masked the normally bright lights that outlined the Ben Franklin and Walt Whitman suspension bridges spanning the broad Delaware River. A faint glow defined them against the black sky.
Inside, high above the swirling storm-tossed water of the river, all was peaceful and silent. Outside, howling wind flung sharp sheets of snow against the massive bulletproof glass windows that made up three of the four living room walls. The loft home Michael had decorated in Asian simplicity provided a muted refuge from nature’s fury. Harbor buoys strung along the ragged New Jersey shoreline were no match for the nor’easter pounding the river port. As a result, the Coast Guard, fearing errant buoys, would mislead the river pilots guiding ships into the Port of Philadelphia, ordered all shipping on the river stopped. The city of Philadelphia had placed powerful floodlights along the waterfront to aid the few tugboats that stood by in the event of a breakaway barge. The wind-driven snow shredded the strong light beams into pale, shifting phantoms.
Jan stood, walked to the window, and watched motionless as ice floes formed, broke apart, and reformed in the pitching waves. He gazed at a huge barge loaded with cargo as it rode out the storm, its bulky, rust-streaked hull straining against its heavy anchor chain.
Michael was returning from Hong Kong tonight. He had worked hard putting the final changes on an eight-year contract that would ensure him a lasting presence in the Asia-Pacific import business. Jan was miserable when they were apart, and they were apart much of the time. It was four o’clock. Michael would be home soon, but not soon enough. Jan ached for Michael’s body.
Returning to his leather club chair near the fire, Jan mulled over the phone call he had received earlier in the day from Sebastian Faust. Once again, what should have been a well-planned Mundus operation had gone awry. The search for Soo Kwon’s head not only succeeded, it also netted Hamid Al-Razi, an al Qâdi lieutenant. Revenge for the capture of Hamid Al-Razi, however, had been swift and horrifying in the execution style murder of the man with the thick accent Jan had spoken to from Paris. The young man, Jan learned, was just eighteen and engaged to be married in the spring. A note pinned to the man’s naked breast read, “We know who you are. Your house will be pulled down, and you will weep for your lost sons.”
“Jan,” Sebastian said in the recent phone conversation, “I wouldn’t put too much stock in that note. These desert terrorists are excitable types, don’t you know. They’re easy on threats but low on resources.”
Jan was not reassured by what he considered Faust’s cavalier attitude for his safety. After all, an assassin had tried to kill him once before. Still, ice-bound Philadelphia was worlds away from the sands of Arabia.
Amal, unaware of his master’s uneasy mind, busied himself cleaning the kitchen. He had been with Jan for many years, attaching himself like a protective barnacle. Shortly after project Scimitar nabbed the slave trader known as the Pasha, Jan hired Amal to drive him deep into the Israeli desert of Zin. There, Jan ascended four hundred feet to the Monastery of the Holy Angels while, unknown to him, Amal had remained below all through the blue, cold night, waiting for his return. For reasons he could not or would not admit, Amal felt bound to the strange, troubled man from America. Amal’s loyalty and commitment impressed Jan. When he returned to find Amal waiting in the parched wastes of Zin, he asked casually, “Amal, how would you like to come to America?”
Over time, Amal learned about Jan’s life as the sole owner of the prestigious Philadelphia law firm, the Templars of Law. He learned too, about Jan’s secret life as North American Master of the Mundus Society. Jan’s behind-closed-doors relationship with his lover, Michael Lin, also troubled Amal, yet he loved his master too well not to serve him. Although he had a room of his own in the sprawling loft, Amal chose instead to sleep on a cot just outside Jan’s bedroom door. He never complained. Amal rarely spoke, and even now he remained silent as he placed a glass of Campari liqueur at Jan’s elbow, then stepped back into the shadows and watched as Jan lifted the glass to his lips, yet did not drink. Something was troubling his master.
Jan put the untouched drink on a rosewood side table and in a worried voice said, “Amal, I’m expecting a visitor before Michael arrives home, around five thirty or so. A woman. When she arrives, please make her comfortable.”
“I will make her Turkish coffee, Effendi. A warm drink would be most welcome in this weather.”
Jan thought of what he knew of this woman. “Better make it scotch.”
Jan returned to the window and studied the barge moored in the river channel. His mind wasn’t on the battered craft. He hadn’t spoken to his ex-wife, Angela, for almost fifteen years. Now, her sister, Elaine, was on her way to see him, in a blizzard no less. What could she possibly want? She wouldn’t say over the phone, only stating that it was urgent. He had never liked the woman. Elaine was prone to melodrama, so in her mind, urgent could mean anything from a house fire to a hangnail. Still, she sounded serious.
A SOFT buzzing sound pulsed at regular intervals in each room of the loft apartment. Someone or something had tripped the intruder alarm. Amal went to the house security monitors and watched a tall woman and what looked like a small man hurrying from the parking pad, across the frozen lawn, through heavy snow, and up to the arched doors leading to the ground floor entry. This must be the woman. He wondered if he should tell his master that the woman was not alone. Better be safe.
Returning to where Jan stood sipping his drink, Amal said, “Effendi, your guest is here. The woman is not alone.”
Jan thought a moment. Now what? Then said, “All right, Amal, let them in.”
The young Arab turned on a silent heel and left his master deep in thought.
Jan walked to the fireplace and stood close to the flames. He had suddenly grown cold. In a few minutes, he would face his past once again. His mind flooded with the memory of his ex-wife Angela and her last words to him, words strung out in a fury of reproach. You son of a bitch! Tim Morris! That’s who you’ve been running off to, isn’t it? You’re breaking my heart. Why did you marry me if you’re gay? You bastard! I hate you!
Jan turned as Amal entered with Angela’s sister, Elaine. His ex-sister-in
-law was once an elegant, tall, and slender woman. Now she was merely tall. She had aged in a way women who covet looks often do. She wore make-up in quantities good taste would have forbidden. Her swing coat of Siberian Fox, while chic, was cut for a much younger figure. Jan mused that this must be a special occasion because she sported a red shoulder-length wig that the unkind wind had blown askew. Elaine had a young boy with her.
“Sir, Mrs. Brogan to see you.”
Before Jan could speak, Elaine pranced across the long room dragging the boy toward him. She had her shoulders thrown back, and her feet pointed out in a strut that she clearly thought attractive. All that was lacking was a pair of twirling batons and an accompanying marching band. Jan offered a wondering smile as he looked at the snow-covered boy shedding water on the gleaming oak floor, a mirror image of himself at that age.
“Elaine, I….”
“Well, Jan, it’s just like you to have me announced like you’re some Persian potentate.”
Gesturing to Amal, who was dressed in his galabiya, she asked sarcastically, “Where’d you find Ali Baba?”
Jan set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, trying hard not to break the tranquility of his home. He spoke to Elaine, but his eyes were fixed on the boy, who kept his head down as he dripped melted snow from long blond lashes.
Exasperated with the woman and the intrusion, he asked, “Elaine, what do you want? We haven’t seen each other in years. Couldn’t we have kept it that way?”
“No.”
She slipped behind the boy and grabbed his shoulders. Pushing him forward, she snapped, “This is your kid. He’s yours. You take care of him.”
As if on cue, the boy looked up at Jan, staring with the same startling cobalt-blue eyes Jan’s mother once had.
Past and present collided in one single look. Jan began to shake.
What is she saying? This can’t be!
Seconds ticked away as Jan stared at the boy.
Fearing his master’s reaction, Amal stood very still, ready to intervene if the woman became abusive.
Suddenly, the youngster shuddered with a stifled cry as Elaine shoved him into Jan’s arms. Jan gently shifted the boy aside and grabbed Elaine’s arm as she turned to leave.
“Ouch! That hurt!”
Jan ignored her complaint.
“Hold it right there. You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.”
As she struggled to free herself from Jan’s hard grip, Amal quickly positioned himself between the retreating woman and the door. At that moment, Jan reached out and pushed a button on a nearby control panel. A shoji screen, hidden in a slot in the wall, rolled out, bisecting the living room, leaving him with Elaine on one side and Amal and the boy on the other. Jan heard the youngster’s voice for the first time as he yelled, “Aunt Elaine!”
Four
ELAINE despised gay men and everything they stood for, rejection of her sagging charms chief among them. She loathed the idea that any handsome man would prefer another man to her. Her emotions alternated between hate and envy. In moments of reflection, she would jokingly admit to herself, Well, one out of the seven deadly sins ain’t so bad.
She once confided to her therapist, “As much as I hate the picture of two guys together, what really galls me is they can be happy. Those sick bastards are actually happy! You know that’s just crazy!”
That Jan could be happy while her sister died a broken woman made Elaine furious.
She whirled around at Jan. “You faggot SOB! Let me outta here!”
“Believe me, Elaine, I want you out as soon as possible, but not until I get answers, so sit down!”
Elaine frantically looked for a way out. The living room door lay a few tantalizing steps beyond the paper wall that held her prisoner. Instinctively, she knew a breakout, however easy it looked, was bound to fail. She flopped onto a low bench in the center of the sparsely furnished space, scowled at Jan, and said, “Make it quick.”
As she waited for Jan to speak, a tense calm settled between them. Elaine stroked the sleek blue silk fabric on which she sat, resenting its luxury, luxury she envied with every inch of her soul.
Jan watched the woman, detesting her even more than he had before she stepped over the threshold of his home. Sweat poured down his back, rolling a warm creek into the waistband of his shorts. God, I wish I’d finished that drink!
“Right,” he said. “Now, start at the beginning.”
Elaine craned her neck to look at her onetime brother-in-law.
“What’s to begin, Jan? It’s plain to a blind man. Angela was pregnant when you walked out on her. Colin’s your son. Just look at him, all pale and blond. He looks like he was picked out of your ass, for God’s sake!”
Jan thought, Colin. My son’s name is Colin.
He liked it. As far as he knew, no one on either side of their families had that name. There’d be no unhappy associations to dog him or his son.
“I wish I had known. I wish I had been with her when she named him,” he muttered.
Elaine widened her eyes in mock sympathy. “Oh, poor, poor Jan. Well, life’s just tough all round! Huh?”
Eyeing the ebony lath and rice paper wall, she asked, “Can he hear us?”
“Not if we speak in a normal tone, but if you’ve noticed, you haven’t been doing that.”
Elaine shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He knows the story anyway.”
“What story?” Jan asked. He felt as if his stomach were tying itself into a fancy knot, much like the one he needed to tie at his Boy Scout initiation.
“How you married my sister under false pretenses and then left her without a backward glance. He knows all about your prostitute past and all the men who’ve had you. Lucky for him he’s a red-blooded boy. No queer shit for him. We all saw to that!”
Elaine waited silently for the outburst any man would make, even a fag.
Dazed, Jan walked to the wide window and peered out at the silver-capped black water of the Delaware River.
How could this happen. Fourteen, almost fifteen years, and I didn’t know. Not even a hint. They cheated me out of years with my son. Rotten bastards! I could wring their lousy necks. Well, I’ve got him now!
Jan was not a violent man, far from it, but if any time was ripe for murder, it was now!
“Where’s Angela?” he whispered as he stared out into the darkness.
Elaine shook her head at Jan in disbelief.
“She’s dead, of course! Do you think you’d get your hands on Colin if she wasn’t?”
Jan hung his head and stood still. Once again, Angela’s voice filtered back to him. Not the angry voice of loss and despair, but the fresh, sweet murmur of their early days. He shook off the memory. Now was not the time—later perhaps, when, or if, Colin asked him about his relationship with his mother.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Where, umm, I mean how….”
Elaine frowned at Jan. She hated retelling the story, but if it would get her out of Jan’s sight, she could do it one more time.
“Angela was with Mom and Dad at the cabin on Thunderclap Mountain. Some idiot forest ranger started what they call a backfire to burn out underbrush. Of course, the fire got out of hand. By the time the fools realized what was happening, it was too late. No one made it out.”
Jan pulled up a chair, sat, and leaned forward.
“What about Colin? Where was he when all this was going on?”
Elaine glanced back at the closed shoji screen and lowered her voice.
“He was on his way up there for the weekend with a neighbor and her son when the state police turned them back. Colin was hysterical for days. After the funeral, I took him in, but it was supposed to be only temporary. I’ve had him for six months now, Jan, and I’ve got a life that doesn’t include a kid, not even him.”
Jan slipped his hands under his thighs to keep from hitting the woman.
They sat in silence for a while; then Elaine said, “Look, is that all? I have to get back
to my hotel. They’re having a midnight champagne party in the penthouse, and I’ve got a taxi outside with the meter running!”
A New Year’s Eve party. So that’s what brought her out in a blizzard, not the boy, Jan thought, as he tried to contain his fury.
“So you’re just going to leave him like an unwanted pet?”
“Yep. He’s not my responsibility, and you’re the only one left, unless you want the state to take him, Daddy!”
Jan stood and walked away. He needed to put space between them. He jammed his hands into his pockets and turned to face Elaine.
“I assume you brought his birth certificate with you, his school and medical records, that kind of thing?”
“What? Still don’t believe me?” Elaine sneered.
“Don’t fight me on this, Elaine. I can get what I need myself,” Jan shouted.
Elaine picked up a purse and rummaged through what looked more like a trash bag than a woman’s accessory.
“Here, asshole! I brought everything, just so I never have to see your sorry ass again. That is, if it’s all right with you!”
“Oh yeah!” Jan sneered.
Elaine stood and flung the documents on a side table. They slid off, splashing onto the polished oak floor. She stood, unsure if she should retrieve the papers and hand them to Jan. Confused, she turned to make her way out but realized once again the shoji wall blocked her retreat.
She asked, “How the hell do I get out of this place?”
Jan walked to the wall and opened a polished bronze door.
“This leads to a hall. There’s an elevator to the outside. Follow the walkway around to the front. You’ll know you went the wrong way if you fall into the river,” Jan said with unmasked sarcasm.
“Bastard! I never liked you!” Elaine spat.
With those parting words, Elaine pushed passed Jan and raced toward the elevator. Jan closed the door, locked it, and went to the security monitor. He watched as Elaine left the building, beating a hasty retreat across the snow-covered ground to a waiting taxi.
Sons Page 4