by Tom Grace
“I don’t understand,” Iris sobbed. “Why is this happening?”
“I am so sorry that this hell from my past has found your family,” Deena said. “Byron Palmer, the man who hurt your husband and took your son, is Kirk’s biological father. Byron is obsessed with me. Twelve years ago, that obsession drove him to kill my fiancé and rape me. No child should ever know they are the offspring of a monster like Byron, or ever have him for a father. I’m so sorry that he found you.”
“But what does he want with my son?”
“Me,” Deena replied. “Byron couldn’t win my affection honestly or buy my love, so we think he’ll use your son as leverage to possess me. He’s betting that I’ll sacrifice myself for the child I love, and he’s right.”
“You love my son?”
“I love that boy so much that I hid him as far away from Byron as I could, which also meant as far away from me as well. I will do anything to protect him and bring him back to you.”
Nolan pulled out his cell phone. “As I thought—Palmer was jamming the phones. I have a signal now, and a few missed calls. Deena, call nine-one-one.”
As Deena turned on her phone, Nolan hit callback on the most recent attempt to reach him, and Roxanne picked up before the end of the first ring.
“We were right,” Nolan said dejectedly. “Byron Palmer is the Sandman. He just took Kirk Young.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
Nolan glanced over at Deena who was tending to her slowly reviving patient with Iris.
“Aside from a dead cow, nothing serious. We don’t know the boy’s condition. Last I saw, he was unconscious and slung over Palmer’s shoulder as he escaped.”
“Hopefully Palmer will stay true to form and not harm the boy. I have a CIA backchannel to the FBI ready to go.”
“Great, I’ll fill you in on what I’ve learned, and you can give them everything we got. Once Palmer confirms Kirk Young is his biological son—there’s no telling what he will do.”
FIFTY-ONE
From a safe distance, Peng and Toccare’s men watched Nolan and Deena’s arrival at the dairy farm and the inexplicable attack by the utility lineman.
“You guys sit tight while I talk with the boys,” Sal said as he stepped out of the SUV.
As he approached the first of the silver SUVs, the front passenger window slowly descended.
“What’s up?” Sal asked.
“Dunno,” the man replied. “Toccare just told me to grab some guys and give you a hand. Including me, I brought eight.”
Sal nodded and pulled out his phone. “I’ll give him a call and see what he wants me to do with all you guys.”
The phone rang three times before Toccare answered.
“You got the men I sent?” Toccare asked.
“Yeah, they got here just as world war three broke out.”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
Sal briefly described all that he’d witnessed. The flames from the burning tank ebbed as they consumed the gaseous fuel. The rest of the farm structures appeared undamaged.
“Jeez. Here’s what I want you to do: collect the couple you’re tailing and have the boys I sent bring ‘em out to the house for safekeeping.”
“What about Peng?”
“Drop him at his hotel. Then you and your guys are done for the day.”
“Got it.” Sal pocketed his phone and turned to the man in the SUV. “Get your men ready to do a snatch and grab while I talk with my guys.”
Sal ran back to his van and rapped his knuckles on the driver’s window. Lucca lowered the pane.
“Yeah?”
“New orders,” Sal said. “You and Angelo, stay with Mr. Peng. Keep him safe. Toccare wants me and the boys to head down to the farm and make a pickup.”
Sal slipped into the passenger seat of the lead SUV, which had pulled up beside him. The two SUVs then sped down the gravel road toward the Young farm and moved to cover both ends of the milking barn.
The two drivers remained with the vehicles, positioned to provide defensive fire, as Sal and the remaining six men fanned out. They were armed with a mix of pistols and short-bodied submachine guns. Two men took up supporting positions around the barn to prevent any attempt to escape through overhead doors or windows. A pair of men approached the door facing the farmhouse while Sal and the other pair skirted the wreckage of the exploded methane tank to reach the door on the opposite side of the barn.
One of Sal’s men pressed his back against the barn wall and slowly tested the doorknob. He felt the latch bolt retract—the door was unlocked. With a nod, the second man kicked the door open and Sal followed the pair in. He saw the man he had been following aiming a rifle at the two men entering the barn opposite of Sal’s team.
“Drop your weapons!” Nolan shouted.
Both men stopped in place but did not surrender their weapons.
“I said drop your weapons!”
“You first,” Sal growled from behind.
Sal held a steady aim with his Beretta pistol at Nolan’s head as he slowly approached. Nolan stood his ground, despite being outnumbered and outgunned. Neither man made any sudden moves.
“What do you want?” Nolan asked as Sal neared.
“We’re not here to hurt anybody, not if we can help it anyways,” Sal replied. “Just here to collect the doc and you.”
“Collect us? Why?”
“Think of it as protective custody. And after what just happened here, you both fricking need it.”
“And if we decline?”
“Not an option. My main concern is the doctor’s safety. Her father is tight with my boss. Collecting you lead-free is an option.”
Nolan considered the situation for a second, then slowly pulled his right hand away from the rifle’s trigger and lowered the weapon. “Good boy,” Sal said. “Doc, call your father and let him know you’re safe.”
“Am I?” Deena asked.
“With me and my boys here, you’re safer than with this mook.”
Sal holstered his pistol.
“Search him and zip-tie his wrists. And get his cell phone, too,” Sal ordered his men. He then turned to Deena. “Doc, you’re with me.”
“What have you done with my son?” Iris pleaded.
“Lady, I don’t know anything about what happened before we got here,” Sal admitted. “Or who that fuck was who took your kid. I hope you get him back, I really do, but it’s not my problem. After we leave, call the cops.”
FIFTY-TWO
Nolan and Deena were placed in separate vehicles. The two SUVs rejoined the van and Sal resumed his place with Peng and the others. Lucca executed a 180-degree turn in the middle of the road and took position at the end of the three-vehicle convoy. No one in the van spoke for a while, pondering all they had seen and Toccare’s response to it.
“To what purpose,” Peng said, breaking the silence, “did your superior direct you to apprehend the man and woman that we were following?”
“Why’d we take ‘em?” Sal translated back. “Damned if I know. Boss just wants them both on ice someplace safe. Don’t know what that guy snatching the kid was all about, but it’s got somebody up in a serious twist.”
The convoy transited the Pennsylvania countryside until it merged onto I-80 East and headed back toward New York City. Lucca fiddled with the radio, eventually settling on a rock station featuring music no older than 1990. Peng ignored the bass-heavy songs and read through several messages on his smartphone. The messages were in Chinese, so he had little worry of his companions gleaning anything from an askance peek.
Peng reported the taking of Dr. Hawthorne and Nolan Kilkenny to his superiors and wondered how this development might affect the outcome of his mission. If the doctor’s task involved the samples, then her absence from the clinic would likely be detrimental to his effort.
After crossing the Hudson River on the George Washington Bridge, Sal nudged Lucca and pointed toward the off-ramp that led to the southbound Henry Hu
dson Parkway. The two SUVs continued their eastward journey in the concrete canyon of I-95.
“Where are we going?” Peng asked.
“To your hotel,” Sal replied. “As pleasant as it has been, our time with you is at an end. My boss will be in touch when he’s ready to conclude his business with you. Sit tight, and you’ll be on your way home with what you came for real soon.”
As promised, Lucca brought the van to a stop at the main entrance of Peng’s hotel. Peng slid open the side door and stepped out onto the curb. The side door then closed, and Lucca pulled the van back into traffic. Peng watched it disappear down the street before pulling out his cell phone and selecting a preset number.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered—Peng’s number would appear blocked on her caller ID.
“Roxanne Tao?” Peng asked.
“Yes.”
“I have some information regarding Nolan Kilkenny.”
“Who are you?”
“We had dinner in Rome last November—I arrived with Kilkenny.”
Roxanne recalled Nolan’s clandestine exodus from China and the man who had accompanied him.
“What kind of information?” she asked.
“The situation is complex. It would be best if we met. Are you at your hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will meet you there shortly.”
Peng rang off and hailed a taxi.
FIFTY-THREE
WHITE PLAINS, NEW YORK
3:50 PM
After leaving the Young farm, Palmer headed north through the countryside before taking I-80 east. The boy lay quietly in the back of the van, secured to the floor with Velcro straps, restrained as the other children had been during their brief stays with him. The transdermal patch Palmer had affixed to the boy’s left hand maintained a steady state of unconsciousness. Palmer skirted the heart of the New York metropolitan area and crossed the Hudson River via the Tappan Zee Bridge and followed the snaking expressway into Westchester County. He tapped his GPS screen, navigated to Shopping from the Points of Interest menu and selected a nearby mall.
He circled the White Oaks Mall to get a feel for the ways in and out of the vast parking lot before selecting a space in a less densely utilized sector. Palmer donned gloves and checked on the boy. He found no sign of an adverse reaction to the chemicals in his blood stream. He then opened a sealed packet containing a sterile swab and collected a DNA sample from the inside of the boy’s cheek. Palmer inserted the swab tip into a small plastic test tube, ejected the tip, and sealed the tube.
Just looking at Kirk Young, Palmer saw unmistakable signs of the boy’s genetic heritage. The test was a necessary formality, if only to disprove the claim made by the man who stood between him and Deena. He would kill that man.
Palmer loaded the sample tube into an automated genetic testing apparatus. The device was preprogrammed with Palmer’s fully sequenced genome and would quickly search the boy’s strands of DNA for matching paternal markers. He gently tussled the boy’s hair.
“In a few hours, my son, the truth will be revealed.”
Returning to the driver’s seat, Palmer accessed one of the van’s many onboard computers and ran a location check on Deena Hawthorne. The system ran continuously in background mode and was programmed to alert him if she was near. That he hadn’t received such a warning when she arrived at the Young farm troubled him, but it might be nothing more than dead cell phone battery. He saw that the phone was again active.
He selected recent movements over the previous two hours, and the program traced an eastbound track from Pennsylvania through New York City and on to Long Island. Deena was still in motion on the expressway heading into Suffolk County.
Palmer considered his options. He was certain the boy was his son, so there was no need to spend time making arrangements to return the child safely without placing his own freedom at risk. Caution and thorough preparation had served him well on this quest, and his brief surrender to impulse nearly put Kirk Young beyond his reach. Yet he had to concede that impulse also allowed him to surmount that unanticipated obstacle and succeed. With his offspring surely found, the next phase of the plan was acquiring Deena. Logically, he must begin a closer observation of her and begin preparations for their reunion.
Palmer studied the map and decided to mirror Deena’s eastward journey across Long Island in Connecticut and cross over to the island by ferry from New London. He booked passage for himself and the van online with payment to be made in cash upon arrival at the dock.
FIFTY-FOUR
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
As Roxanne ended the call with Peng, her cell phone chimed with an incoming call from the CIA headquarters in Langley.
“This is Tao,” she answered.
“I have FBI Special Agent Patrick Hunley on the line for you. Please hold while I transfer the call.”
Roxanne waited and heard a click, then the silence was replaced by several conversations going on at once in a conference room.
“Good afternoon, Miss Tao. I have you on speakerphone, if that’s all right. We’re all understandably interested to hear what information you have regarding the Sandman abductions.”
“It’s fine, Agent Hunley. In the course of an unrelated line of inquiry that I am not at liberty to discuss, my team inadvertently crossed paths with the person responsible for the Sandman abductions. The theory we developed linking this person to the crimes was confirmed this morning with the abduction of Kirk Young from his family home in eastern Pennsylvania.”
Roxanne heard murmuring in the background and a rustling of papers.
“I have a report in from the Forks Township police regarding a possible child abduction attributable to the Sandman. The MO doesn’t fit with the eight previous kidnappings—this one occurred in broad daylight and just two days after the release of the last child.”
“Members of my team were there when Kirk Young was kidnapped. We had a theory regarding the Sandman’s method of selecting his victims and Kirk was next. It turned out we were right. We now know who the Sandman is, what he’s after, and why.”
“Lay it out for me,” Hunley said.
“Byron Palmer is the Sandman. He was responsible for a murder and rape in Boston about twelve years ago, but was found not guilty by reason of insanity.”
“But he got out.”
“Released six months ago,” Roxanne confirmed. “Palmer is also an off-the-charts genius. The woman he raped became pregnant as a result of that encounter. She carried the child to term in secret and immediately put the boy up for adoption. This woman is the focus of Palmer’s universe—she is his obsession and motivation. We think he wants to use their child as some kind of leverage to reunite with the woman.”
“The woman got a name?”
“She currently goes by Deena Hawthorne. She changed her last name shortly after the attack.”
“I’ll get one of our profilers to chew on this, but you think Palmer’s trying to get mommy, daddy, and baby all back together?”
“In a nutshell,” she replied.
“So what’s he doing with the kids?”
“Paternity tests—Palmer wants to find his offspring.”
“How’d you and your team stumble across him?” Hunley asked.
“Yesterday evening, a member of my team had dinner with Hawthorne. She’s a physician living in New York. Palmer was stalking her and spotted the pair. After she left, he attacked my associate—drugged and beat him in an alley.”
“Drugged and beaten,” Hunley repeated. “Was your man taken to Saint Luke’s Hospital, last name Egan?” Hunley asked.
“Yes.”
“Your stock just went up a hundred percent. The chemical agent used to incapacitate your associate matches the chemical signature of what we found in much smaller amounts in all of the kids. Go on.”
“Something Palmer said before my associate lost consciousness coupled with the revelation that the Sandman’s last victim was eleven and
adopted allowed Hawthorne to connect the dots.”
“But most of the kids weren’t adopted,” Hunley countered.
“Noise to obscure what Palmer was after. Three, now four, of the victims were adopted and have birthdays close to when Hawthorne would have given birth. All four were also adopted either directly through Heartland Family Planning or indirectly through an affiliate. That’s where we think Palmer got his list.”
“Heartland?” Hunley said, puzzled. “Excuse me for a moment, Miss Tao.”
“Certainly,” Tao replied.
“You, “Hunley said to someone in the FBI conference room, “pull up mugs shots or whatever photos you can find of Byron Palmer. And you, get me the ID photo of the missing security guard from the Heartland bombing. A guy named Sparks. Sorry about that, Miss Tao.”
“What’s that about a bombing?”
“Heartland Family Planning works both sides of the street—adoption and abortion. Their main office in New York was bombed last December. It looked like the work of some anti-abortion extremist but, from what you’re telling me, it may have been staged to hide a different crime.”
“I found it,” a woman’s voice called out.
“Ditto,” a male voice added.
“Up on the big screen, people,” Hunley commanded. “I’ll be damned.”
“Is it a match?” Roxanne asked.
“Miss Tao,” Hunley replied, “You just placed Byron Palmer in the Heartland offices on the night of the bombing, which must be where he got his list. Six days later, the Sandman snatched his first kid. Is the Young boy the one Palmer’s looking for?”
“Yes, and once he confirms that fact, we can only guess at what his next move will be.”
“I’d appreciate it very much if you’d send me everything you have connecting Palmer to these crimes.”