by Tom Grace
“Always a good start. The dad’s the weak link?”
Jamison nodded. “Firing blanks. Zero motility according to the reports, but he is desperate for a biologic child. We have a good sample of his blood.”
Hawthorne picked up the cylinder and twisted open the seal. It hissed faintly and emitted a white puff of icy air. She set the top down on the table and extracted the test tube.
“Good packaging. It survived the trip intact. If they did as good a job with the eggs, I should have no problem helping this couple.”
“They will be very pleased.”
“And as usual you can’t tell me who the clients are.”
“Extreme privacy is part of the service, which is doubly important in protecting you.”
“I know, my miracle isn’t exactly government approved. But just once I’d like to know if the child would be in line for a throne or heir to some vast fortune.”
“I can’t speak to the former,” Jamison said, “but I assure you that the eager parents are well off enough that the offspring you whip up for them shall not suffer want for anything.”
“Gender preference?”
Jamison shook his head. “Happy and healthy—beyond that, they’ll gladly take what you and the good Lord provide.”
TWENTY-SIX
10:10 AM
The SUVs glided up to the curb in front of a hotel in Midtown. Toccare reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a prepaid cell phone.
“Keep this on you,” Toccare said as he handed the phone to Peng. “I’ll call when your package is ready.”
Peng slipped the phone into his pocket and nodded. He stepped out of the SUV and was greeted by both the bodyguard and a hotel doorman waiting with Peng’s suitcase. Toccare’s motorcade pulled away as the doorman led Peng into the hotel.
After checking in and setting his belongings into his room, Peng took a cab to the corner of Twelfth Avenue and Forty-Second Street—the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China. He produced his passport and was quickly given a visitor’s ID badge and escorted through the public business area into the consulate’s high security zone.
“What do you require, Mr. Peng?” the escort asked softly.
“Encrypted e-mail.”
The woman nodded and led him into a corridor lined with blank steel doors. A small flat panel display indicated the status of each room—occupied or not—and each had a card reader to control access. The escort waved her card past the reader to unlock the first unoccupied room and opened the door for Peng.
The room was a couple feet wider than the door and twice as deep. It had a work surface mounted to the back wall that held a flat screen monitor, keyboard and mouse, and a secure landline telephone. By way of furnishings, Peng saw an office chair and a wastebasket fitted with a document shredder. Peng’s escort handed him a business card.
“Dial my five-digit extension when you are done. Please remain in the cubicle until I come for you. Your credentials do not permit you to move about the consulate unescorted.”
“I understand,” Peng said. “Thank you.”
Peng entered the cubicle, and she closed the door. A magnetic lock buzzed, securing the door in place. He sat down and tapped the mouse. The monitor flickered on, displaying a view of China seen from space. Peng entered his unique ID and password, and the screen transformed into a duplicate of his computer desktop at the Ministry of State Security. A few mouse clicks later, he began to compose his report to Minister Tian.
I RECEIVED THE SAMPLES IN HONG KONG AND TRANSPORTED THEM TO NEW YORK WITHOUT INCIDENT. WAS MET BY LOCAL CONTACT PER AGREEMENT AND SAMPLES WERE DELIVERED. AWAITING RETURN OF PROCESSED SAMPLES.
Peng stared at the screen as he considered an addendum to his report. He then typed:
OBSERVED MAN AFFILIATED WITH OUR LOCAL CONTACT FOR CURRENT ASSIGNMENT IN CONVERSATION WITH TWO PERSONS OF POTENTIAL INTEREST. MAN IS THE INTERMEDIARY WITH LAB PROCESSING OUR SAMPLES. BELIEVE PERSONS OF INTEREST ARE NOLAN KILKENNY AND ROXANNE TAO. REQUEST INFORMATION ON CURRENT WHEREABOUTS OF KILKENNY AND TAO.
TWENTY-SEVEN
XIYUAN, CHINA
11:25 PM
Tian carefully reviewed the report concerning Nolan Kilkenny’s recent movements, starting with a hastily scheduled flight to the United States from Rome following the installation of Kilkenny’s father as the U.S. ambassador to the Holy See. Only a few in the highest reaches of the Chinese government knew the hidden slight conveyed by that appointment—the indirect nod of gratitude by the Chinese pope to his liberator.
Kilkenny had crossed the Atlantic four times in little more than a week, the last three flights arranged on very short notice. The American spy Tao had accompanied him on all of those flights and a day trip from Rome to Paris. Tracking their cell phones confirmed that Kilkenny and Tao were currently in New York City. Kilkenny’s sudden transatlantic flights bespoke urgency—an alarm sounded while he was in Rome. As Tian considered what potential threat Kilkenny might pose to his operation, a light on his multiline phone began to flash. He picked up the handset.
“Yes,” Tian said.
“Minister, I have Roberto Spontini on the line,” his assistant replied.
“Put the call through.”
There was a faint click on the line, then Tian heard soft music playing distantly in the background as he was connected to the leader of the Cupola—the ruling board of the Sicilian mafia.
“Good evening, Signore Spontini,” Tian said, “thank you for taking my call.”
“It must be quite late in Beijing, minister. Is there a problem?”
“My agent has reported a troubling new development in our joint venture.”
“So soon?” Spontini asked. “What has happened?”
“Two of the individuals directly responsible for the situation we are jointly seeking to resolve are in New York. My agent observed both talking with a member of your project team.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Nolan Kilkenny and Roxanne Tao,” Tian replied. “Both are close to Pope Gousheng, as you are well aware. Their recent pattern of movements and sudden appearance in the midst of our operation is very suspicious.”
“Are they aware of our project?”
“Unknown. But something must have aroused the interest of Vatican Intelligence, which doubtless dispatched them to investigate.”
Spontini thought for a moment. “Did your man say who was talking with Kilkenny and Tao?”
“Yes, the intermediary between your men in New York and the laboratory. This man should be questioned.”
“Agreed. Do you want Kilkenny and Tao eliminated?”
“Not until we know the extent of the threat they pose to our project. They should be kept under surveillance at all times and dealt with as the situation warrants. My man is familiar with Kilkenny and should prove useful in determining his purpose.”
“Very well. I will contact my associates in New York to have them make the necessary adjustments to their security.”
“That would be in our mutual best interests,” Tian said.
After Spontini rang off, Tian considered his partnership with the Italians. He had little doubt that Spontini’s motive for restraining Pope Gousheng mirrored his own. The crime boss and his associates longed to restore the money laundering network that once flowed through the secretive Vatican Bank. This project promised the kind of leverage required to place a man the mafia could trust on the inside. The project had, in fact, originated with Spontini reaching out to Tian for his assistance in this subtle venture to make the best of a bad situation vis-a-vis the new pope. If there was a leak within the small team of people involved in the project, he was certain Spontini would find it.
Tian scrawled a quick response to Peng’s request for information and then pressed the intercom button on his phone.
“Yes, minister?” his assistant answered.
“I have a priority message ready to send.”
Peng returned to the consula
te around noon and was again escorted to a secure communications room. He logged onto the network and retrieved a response from the ministry.
CONFIRMED: SUBJECTS NOLAN KILKENNY AND ROXANNE TAO PRESENT IN NEW YORK CITY. AUTHORIZED TO USE CONSULATE TECHNICAL SUPPORT ONLY TO LOCATE SUBJECTS FOR SURVEILLANCE. LOCAL CONTACT TO PROVIDE SURVEILLANCE—YOU WILL ASSIST. DETERMINE IF KILKENNY AND TAO POSE A THREAT TO PROJECT. LOCALS TO ELIMINATE IF NECESSARY.
DO NOT INVOLVE MINISTRY STAFF AT CONSULATE IN SURVEILLANCE EFFORT. MAINTAIN PROJECT SECURITY.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN
1:40 PM
Grin sat in his office inside the computer center at the Michigan Applied Research Consortium. A large flat screen monitor dominated the wall in front of his semicircular workstation, flanked by an array of smaller flat screens. Most monitored various aspects of the supercomputers humming in the climate-controlled computer room or MARC’s internal and external network connections. One tied directly into a personal computer that Grin used for work correspondence and related business.
Since the consortium’s founding by Sean Kilkenny as a bridge for intellectual property to move from university research laboratories into profitable use by the private sector, Grin’s staff had grown from just him to a small but very efficient cadre of computer professionals who kept the machines running and the users happy. That left Grin free to oversee operations and lend a hand with special projects. While the project he was working on for Sean and Nolan Kilkenny qualified as special, it was the kind of thing he logged onto his time sheet as research. Like a CIA or Pentagon black budget, the research portion of Grin’s departmental budget covered activities best not itemized in detail.
Grin tapped a few keystrokes and transmitted a command to a distant computer. In reality, his command passed through dozens of computers in several countries before arriving at the official government-owned computer in Florida. Grin sat back, sipped a mug of Earl Grey and waited.
“Show me some love,” Grin urged.
A spinning icon told him the computer in Florida was gnawing on his request, with the only question being whether it would swallow it or spit it back. The response came when a digitized image of an official birth certificate appeared on his screen. Grin picked up his cell phone and called Nolan.
“What’s the good word?” Nolan asked.
“I am so glad the world of public records has gone digital. Otherwise you’d have to break into the basement of some courthouse in Tallahassee to see what I’m looking at.”
“And just what are you looking at?”
“The sealed original birth certificate for your late younger brother,” Grin replied.
“Is my dad’s name on it?”
“Nope. Under baby daddy it says, Unknown.”
“And the mother?”
“Gloria Castillo of Bronx, New York.”
“My brother was born in New York?” Nolan asked.
“Yep.”
“Send me everything you can on Castillo. Our next move is for Roxanne and me to pay her a visit.”
TWENTY-NINE
BRONX, NEW YORK
2:30 PM
The GPS in the rental car guided Nolan flawlessly into New York City’s northernmost borough. He parked across the street from an older duplex with weathered, brick-patterned asphalt shingle siding. Castillo resided in a working class neighborhood of modest, well-kept homes.
“Does that look like the home of someone involved in a five million dollar scam?” Roxanne asked.
“Property values are pretty high here,” Nolan offered.
“Not that high.”
Nolan led the way up a narrow concrete walk to a small porch and rang the bell. A moment later, the inner door opened a few inches, and a woman with light brown skin and a head of graying hair tied back severely into a tight bun peered warily at them.
“Yes?” the woman asked with a Latin accent.
“We would like to speak with Gloria Castillo,” Nolan said politely. “Is she at home?”
“Who are you and why do you want to speak with her? Are you the police?”
“No, ma’am, we are not the police,” Nolan replied with a disarming smile. “We just want to ask her a few questions about a child she gave birth to a couple of years ago. A baby boy.”
The woman rolled her eyes in disgust.
“Mama, who is it?” a younger woman’s voice called from inside the house.
“Some people are here to talk to you about one of your babies. I think they are police.”
“Hush, mama,” the younger woman said, her voice closer to the door. “Let me talk to them.”
The older woman disappeared and was replaced by a younger, taller version.
“Gloria Castillo?” Nolan asked.
“Yes, and you are?”
“I’m Nolan Kilkenny and this is Roxanne Tao.”
Nolan detected no change in the woman’s facial expression, no hint of recognition at the mention of his last name.
“Did you give birth to a boy two years ago this past July?” Roxanne asked.
“I did.” Castillo replied. “Why do you ask?”
“There’s a genetic issue,” Nolan replied vaguely.
“I’ll tell you what I can,” Castillo said, “but I doubt I’ll be of much help. Please, come in.”
Castillo unchained the door and allowed Nolan and Roxanne to enter. She led them into the living room off the front entry and offered them the sofa. Castillo was an attractive Latina in her mid-twenties, dressed in a colorful pair of loose-fitting pajama pants and a hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with the New York Yankees logo. And she was clearly two-thirds of the way through another pregnancy. Castillo sat in a worn leather recliner and faced them. Senora Castillo stood cross-armed in the kitchen doorway with a disapproving look on her face.
The living room was neat and clean—ready for company as Nolan’s grandmother would say. The furnishings were dated but of good quality and well treated. A triangular wooden box containing a folded American flag sat on the mantle over a small fireplace. A pair of shadow boxes hung on a nearby wall, one containing campaign ribbons and naval awards and the other displaying a collection of military unit challenge coins. In addition to personal photographs, he noted some religious elements, including a prominent crucifix, a framed papal blessing from the previous pope commemorating a thirtieth wedding anniversary, a photograph of the current pope, and a reproduction of the revered icon Our Lady of Guadalupe.
“How did you get my name?” Castillo asked.
“You’re listed on the original birth certificate as the boy’s mother,” Nolan replied.
He brought up an image of the birth certificate issued by the state of New York on his iPad and handed the device to Castillo.
“Is the information on this birth certificate correct?” he asked.
“Yes, but it’s not right,” Castillo said, confused.
“You just confirmed that you gave birth to this boy,” Roxanne said.
“I did, but the agreement was that the parents’ names would be on the birth certificate, not mine.”
“But you are the birth mother, are you not?” Nolan asked.
“I only gave birth to the child,” Castillo explained, “but I am not his mother.”
“Ai!” Senora Castillo exclaimed, raising her hands in exasperation. She then waggled an accusing finger at her daughter. “This thing you do is a sin!”
“Be quiet, mother!” Castillo snapped back. “What I do is a good thing.”
Senora Castillo recrossed her arms and turned up her nose up indignantly.
“I apologize. My mother is old-fashioned. You said there is a genetic issue—what is the problem?”
“There was a problem with the child’s liver, a genetic defect,” Roxanne said. “He died.”
Castillo covered her mouth with her hands as if to keep her gasp from escaping. Her mother looked up at the crucifix and crossed herself, offering a silent prayer for the child
.
“Because of this defect, we’re trying to find the boy’s biological parents.”
“As far as I know,” Castillo said, “the boy’s parents are his biological parents.”
“This is all becoming quite confusing,” Nolan admitted. “I suggest we step back for a second and review some basics. Maybe that will help us figure this all out. Agreed?”
All but Senora Castillo nodded their assent. The older woman continued to glower from the doorway.
“Nine months before you gave birth,” Nolan continued, “did you attend a conference in Denver and, while there, have a one-night stand?”
Castillo shook her head. “The farthest west I’ve ever been is Chicago, and I’ve never had a so-called one-night stand.”
“Yet you are listed as the mother of this boy on the birth certificate?”
“As I said, I gave birth to this child, but I am not his mother.”
“I think we’re talking past each other,” Nolan said. “By mother, I mean, is this child your biological offspring?”
“I understand the distinction, which is why I said that the birth certificate is wrong,” Castillo explained. “Yes, I gave birth to this boy, but we are not blood related. He is biologically the child of his biological mother and father—their names should be on that document, not mine.”
“The only real parents this boy ever knew were the ones who adopted him when he was just two months old.”
“He was put up for adoption?” Castillo asked, stunned. “Why would a couple go through all the trouble and expense to have a baby only to give him away?”
“What do you mean?” Roxanne asked.
Castillo rubbed her swollen belly. “I am not this child’s mother. I have given birth to three other children, and I was not their mother either. In fact,” Castillo said with a glance toward her mother, “like Our Lady, I am still a virgin.”
“You are nothing like Our Blessed Lady!” Senora Castillo snapped back. “She did not sell her womb!”