The Breakthrough

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “Save that, Boone. Not a word about it until you come back with your boy.”

  Boone rushed back to the interrogation room.

  “Anything else?” he said.

  “We were kind of waiting for you,” Jack said.

  “All right, DeWayne,” Boone said, “give me the rest of it as fast as you can. What happened? How did you point them to Max?”

  “Well, that night you saw me, I was hoping I’d get to see him. You know I made up that story about wanting some of Haeley’s settlement for a business thing. I knew I wouldn’t need that if I could make this happen. But you weren’t buying it, so I borrowed Shane’s car, and luckily it had Illinois plates on it, so no suspicion, you know.”

  “Get on with it.”

  “So I followed Haeley and Max to church. I didn’t realize they don’t even go there any more, except when you’re busy or something. But I saw them talking to the black lady, Mrs. Quigley.”

  “And you were doing all this because Jammer told you to?”

  “No, once he decided Max was going to be his next target—”

  The word pierced Boone. He silently prayed for control. Killing Mannock right there would be the end of any hope of finding Max.

  “—he turned me over to Johnnie. We met at this strip club in Merrillville, Gents or something like that. I gotta tell ya, I couldn’t concentrate watchin’ the show, so later we talked in his car in the parking lot. Johnnie told me how to follow ’em, how to find out things, and he wanted every detail I could remember about Haeley’s family, the sitter, the church, all that. Truth is, Johnnie’s a con man. It’s what he does. But he’s real smart and thorough and careful. That’s what he told me.”

  “He came up with the GI returning home story?”

  “Yup. Buzzed off his hair, worked out more, found the clothes. I’m not sure how he got himself sunburned, whether he just laid out in the sun or went to one of those tanning places, but he sure fooled me. He really looked the part.”

  “Yeah, we’re all impressed by how he was able to fool everybody, DeWayne. How’d you get paid up front? That makes no sense.”

  “I was surprised too! I guess Jammer needed to hide some cash, so I was supposed to hold it for him. It wasn’t really supposed to be mine until he got paid on the other end, but what was I gonna do, have that much cash around and not do anything with it?”

  “Any idea how Johnnie got Max onto a flight?”

  “I guess that was the easy part. After he left the car for me, he was gonna get Max’s head shaved. Then he had stashed some van that had hair dye in it and clothes and stuff for Max. Visa and passport too in a different name. All Johnnie had to do was shoot a picture of Max with his new haircut and dye job. He dyed black what was left of Max’s hair, in case his picture went out on the news or something. Then Johnnie gave him some kind of medicine, not the kind that puts you to sleep but the kind that makes you not want to talk and not remember anything.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “They swore on a stack of Bibles it wouldn’t hurt him. Johnnie told Max it was some kind of a game and that his mom had called and wanted to see him at the airport and take a plane ride with him.”

  “So when she wasn’t there?”

  “Johnnie was supposed to tell Max he misunderstood, that Haeley was going to meet him at another airport he would fly to with a friend of hers. She would sit with him on the plane. By then he was supposed to be so mellow that this woman was just gonna tell the customs guys that it was past his bedtime and isn’t he cute and he’s going to see his mommy in China, that kind of thing.”

  “So who’s the woman?”

  Mannock shrugged. “Jammer’s assistant. I guess she does a lot of deliveries for him on both ends. She’s brought girls here, delivered boys there. Johnnie told me Jammer says she’s the best he’s ever worked with.”

  “So what was she supposed to tell Max?”

  “Max wasn’t supposed to kind of wake up until it was normally time for him to go to bed. Even then he would be all sleepy. The woman would tell him his mother was waiting for him, excited to see him, couldn’t wait, all that. He’d have his dinner and ice cream and then sleep, and when he woke up they would soon be there to see Mommy.”

  “We need a name, DeWayne,” Boone said, barely able to contain his rage. “Who is she?”

  “I know nothing about her. Never even saw her. Johnnie would know.”

  “And do you know Max’s fake name?”

  “I don’t. I swear.”

  “Any idea where we find Johnnie Bertalay?”

  Mannock shrugged, as if he’d been asked what time dinner was. “I’m pretty sure he’s from Indiana, but I don’t know where. Hey! Wait a minute!” He whirled and glared at Jack. “You said Johnnie was already bein’ questioned, blaming it all on me! You guys lied to me! None of this counts! I’ll deny it all.”

  Boone knelt in front of Mannock, making the man recoil. “You know you’re the scum of the earth, don’t you, DeWayne?”

  Mannock looked over Boone’s shoulder to Keller. “Come on, man!”

  “I’m not finished,” Boone said. “You know you’re a worthless excuse for a man, don’t you?”

  “I was just lookin’ out for myself. I wouldn’ta done it if I thought anything would happen to Max!”

  “You don’t think anything’s happened to him? Do you have no recollection what it was like to be a young boy?”

  DeWayne shook his head. “When I was his age I was knocked around a lot. He’s not being knocked around. He’s gonna be living with multimillionaires, man! It’s not like he’s going to suffer.”

  Boone shook his head and rubbed his face with both hands. “He’s been kidnapped, DeWayne! Ripped from his parents, from his home, from everything he knows! He’s been sold!”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Boone could control himself no longer. From his crouch he leapt at Mannock, grabbing his shirt in both hands at the chest and tipping his chair back. Mannock clamped onto Boone’s wrists to keep from toppling, and Boone pulled him close to his face.

  “Killing you right here and now would be too good for you,” he growled.

  The squawk box came alive, and Heathcliff Jones’s voice came through. “Keller, stop him!”

  From behind him, Boone heard Jack say casually, “Stop what, Commander? We’re almost through here.”

  And with that the door burst open and officers poured in, big Antoine Johnson yanking Boone off DeWayne Mannock with Heathcliff Jones’s help. Boone tried to wrestle free and wasn’t sure what he would have done if Johnson had let him go.

  Jones led DeWayne from the room, intoning in his deep voice, “I agree the time has finally come for you to lawyer up, son.”

  “Wait till my lawyer sees what he just did to me!” Mannock railed.

  “What who just did to you?” the commander said.

  “You saw it! You saw him!”

  “I saw nothing, son. And I don’t believe anyone else did either.”

  “You’ve been recording the whole thing! It’ll be on the tape.”

  “Hmm,” Jones said. “My guess is there ain’t nothing on that tape after your last question and answer.”

  29

  Rags

  “Ronette!” Keller called out from the interrogation room. “A word, please?”

  Ronette entered shyly, stealing a glance at Boone, who slouched in a chair, panting.

  “Chief Drake and I will be chatting in here for a minute. All recordings off, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And as for that last . . . exchange?”

  “Oh, we missed that, sir.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, sir. My fault.”

  “Nothing past the last question and answer?”

  “No, sir. I’ll do better next time.”

  “See that you do. I’d hate to have to write you up.”

  “N
o, sir. Wouldn’t want that in my file.”

  Ronette left, closing the door without a sound.

  “So, Boones, I s’pose you think you’re going to China.”

  “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

  “Can’t let you do that, buddy.”

  “Jack, if you think there’s a one-in-a-million chance you can keep me from it, you don’t know me like I thought you did.”

  “I’d hate to have to write you up.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t want that on my record.”

  “So, we’re clear, right, Boones? You’re telling me you’re too close to this case, too emotionally invested, feel bad about what you almost did to the arrestee, and have decided to take a leave of absence and stand vigil by your wife for the time being.”

  “We’re clear if you understand you won’t be seeing me for a few days, or however long it takes to bring Max—”

  “To see your wife start to rally. Sure, I understand. That could take a while, and no one—least of all me—would have a problem with that. You take the time you need. I’ll manage the Major Case Squad and remain the lead on this investigation. And we’ll keep in touch.”

  “What’s your next move, Jack?”

  “We’ll get someone on the passenger logs out of O’Hare to Beijing Saturday night. Has to be a woman and a young boy together. We’ll at least get their pictures and aliases from the database. Then I want to get a warrant to toss the Pitts place and round him up. And of course, Kevin Kenleigh is next.”

  “And you’ll get me whatever you find?”

  “So you can think about it and study it as you sit by your wife’s bed in ICU, sure.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Got it.”

  “Jack, I need a car.”

  Keller hesitated, then leaned close. “Listen, Boones, we can be all cute and sly about this, but we both know that if I’m going to officially be under the impression that you’re at Mount Sinai, you’re going to have to be in your own car.”

  “Then run me to it right now because I’ve got to, you know, check in—”

  “About Haeley.”

  “Right.”

  “Wait in my car,” Jack said, handing him the keys. “I’m going to tell Heathcliff and Johnson you decided to stay away from all this for a few days.”

  As Jack drove him home to pick up his own car, Boone fell silent and checked his messages.

  “Hope you’re taking advantage of Rags,” Jack said.

  Boone looked up. “Hmm?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  The message from Margaret read, All quiet, all the same. Docs are encouraged. Praying. Stand firm.

  The message from Sosa read, Deuteronomy 29:29.

  “Francisco and his Old Testament verses,” Boone muttered.

  “What?”

  “‘The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law.’”

  “Deep,” Jack said. “Not sure I got it all, but he sure seems to know what you need when you need it.”

  “I just hope God will reveal to me whatever’s secret.”

  The other message bore no sender name or number. It read merely, The Night Visitor, 4 p.m. Ask for Sven. It included an address on North Wells.

  Jack followed Boone into the house and upstairs, where Boone grabbed a duffel bag and began filling it with everything he could imagine needing in Beijing. “You will keep in touch, right?” Jack said.

  “Of course. I’m going to need to know everything.”

  “Believe me, I’ll let you know. I hope to have messages waiting for you as soon as you get there. I assume Rags will be able to tell me how to contact you—securely, I mean.”

  “I imagine.”

  Boone lugged his bag down the stairs with Jack trailing. When he got to the back door he sensed Jack had something on his mind. “Anything else, Chief?”

  “Yeah, uh, this is gonna sound strange, but before I chicken out—”

  “What?”

  “I was just wonderin’ if you minded if I, ah, prayed for you.”

  Boone was momentarily speechless. “Well,” he managed finally, “sure. If you want to.”

  “I kinda do.”

  “By all means.”

  Jack suddenly looked as if he had already thought better of the idea. “You know I don’t do much of this.”

  “It’s all right, Jack. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  “Okay, here goes.” He intertwined his fingers before him, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. Boone was so stunned by the gesture that he just stood there staring.

  “Um, God, dear God, this is Jack. I just want to say, to pray, that, ah, you would help Boones. He’s goin’ into a country with a billion people looking for one little boy, a boy we all love and want back. Amen.”

  Boone’s eyes filled and he turned away quickly, exiting the house and hurrying to his car. He couldn’t remember having heard a sweeter prayer as long as he’d lived, and he couldn’t even find the voice to thank Jack. He waved as he pulled away, and Jack waved back.

  Boone flew past the Night Visitor but saw the sign in time to pull into the next alley and backtrack to park behind the tiny Middle Eastern eatery. He entered between two massive, smelly dumpsters, swinging open a heavy, bent, and dented metal door. He moved from the sickly sweet rotting cabbage stench of the alley to the rich aroma of cooked meat and spices. Boone hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  A mustachioed man in a turban and apron grabbed the two-sided menu and said, “One?”

  “Actually, is Sven here yet?”

  “Right this way.”

  Boone followed the man from the back hallway to the dining area, which featured a black concrete floor, black-painted brick walls, and a black ceiling with the venting ducts exposed. Somehow it proved exotic and strangely inviting, though the ornate lamps seemed to be losing a war with the darkness. Boone could see just enough to make out the textures and avoid the pillars.

  The man led him inside a curtain to a private booth that proved brighter than the main dining room—but not much. Garish, colorful fabric covered overstuffed seats. An Aladdin’s lamp graced the table.

  Dr. Waldemarr rose when Boone entered and uncharacteristically offered a fist, which Boone bumped, and they sat across from each other. A thin leather attaché lay next to the doctor.

  “Scandinavian cuisine?” Boone quipped.

  Waldemarr smiled. “I hope you’re hungry. Can you eat?”

  “Feel guilty about it,” Boone said, “but I’d better.”

  “Yes. You’ll get good food on the plane too, but you never know what you might get in Beijing. You’ll need your strength. And your rest. Do you have anything for that?”

  “Got some stuff last night that works.” Boone showed him the bottle, and Waldemarr nodded as he read the name.

  “We’ll get to that, but let’s not waste time. I recommend the falafel in a pita.”

  “Works for me,” Boone said, and Waldemarr parted the curtain and signaled the man, whispering their order.

  “The owner,” Waldemarr said as the curtain closed. “An old friend. Well, anyway, I’ve been busy. Called in a few favors, shelled out a few bucks—”

  “You’re keeping track of every penny, I hope.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m so grateful, Doc.”

  “I told you, stop that now. Some things are worth doing. This is one. Let’s save the congratulatories for the other end.”

  Ragnar Waldemarr put the attaché in his lap and slid from it a thick manila envelope.

  “Sure I’ll even need the pills, Doc? I’m pretty wiped out.”

  “Use ’em anyway. As soon as you’ve eaten dinner, tell them you don’t want to be awakened until the last meal before landing. Then stretch your bed out flat and—”

  “I’m flying business class?”

  �
�First; sorry. All they had.”

  “That’s gonna cost me.”

  “Almost fifteen grand, but you said—”

  “Price was no object. Of course it’s not.” Boone realized he was going to have to dip into Max’s education fund. He couldn’t imagine Haeley would hesitate for a second.

  “Anyway, stretch out, wrap yourself in a blanket, strap yourself in with the belt showing so they don’t have to wake you to make sure it’s fastened when there’s turbulence. There rarely is, but you don’t want to be bothered. You’re going to get to Beijing a little before midnight tomorrow, and strangely, you’ll find yourself tired enough to sleep again a few hours later. Which is all right, because my guy is going to need that time to take you to a few places under cover of darkness.”

  “Such as?”

  “Where you’ll stay. To get your weapon. That kind of a thing.”

  “Where’m I staying?”

  “I didn’t ask. I assumed you didn’t want to be conspicuous, so the big chain hotels are out. Feng will take care of you.”

  “Feng?”

  “Feng Li. Former People’s Liberation Army officer. Has your weapon.”

  “What’s that look like?”

  “I’ll show you after we’re served. Don’t want anyone walking in on that.”

  Dr. Waldemarr casually flipped the envelope over when a waiter came in and poured tea.

  As soon as they were alone again, Waldemarr pulled the Aladdin’s lamp to the middle of the table and tipped the envelope until several more items slid into his hand. He spread them on the table. The passport and Illinois driver’s license looked anything but new, and there was Boone’s picture, his date of birth (off by one day), and a Chicago address he didn’t recognize. The license was laminated but soiled and bent, set to expire in just over a year, so it looked appropriately used and abused. Same with the passport. It came with visa stamps in the back that showed the bearer had been out of the country six times in the past three years. Along with all that was an American Airlines ticket and a pristine Chinese visa, which Boone knew normally took weeks to acquire.

  “Dean Booker?” Boone said. “How’d you arrive at that name?”

  “Needs to be easy for you to remember. You see why it is?”

  “I’d noodle it if I was in the mood.”