Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

  “Why should I care about your name?”

  Sam cocks one eyebrow. “Because I’m Samuel Roth. You’ll believe me because you’ll actually get information on what just happened before you interrogate me again. I shot seventy-nine people out there while on the move, and not a single one died. No one you know could do that. The five men you have holding guns on my friend wouldn’t be enough to stop me from killing you, if you did something stupid like shooting her.”

  The tall young man blanches, and leaves the room for a few minutes. When he returns, he’s much more deferential. “Mr. Roth, we’ve notified King Solomon. He’ll be here shortly.”

  A very thin man in a black suit enters with a tray. It holds a pitcher of water and two glasses. He sets it on the floor and the men all file out quietly after him.

  “What was that about?” I ask.

  “My dad leads the Unmarked,” Sam says. “Solomon knows that, and he’s probably heard some of the things I can do. In case he didn’t believe the person he’s holding really was Samuel Roth, now he has reasonable evidence. I’m pretty sure Dad’s been communicating with Solomon, at least a little bit, for years.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Sam clenches his jaw. “I wish. I saw a letter from a David Solomon to my dad last Christmas. He wouldn’t give me any information and seemed angry that I mentioned it at all.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “It is,” Sam says, “but if it keeps us alive, it’ll be the first favor my dad’s ever done for me.”

  22

  The good looking young man in the gray uniform returns twenty minutes later to lead Sam into the next room. Sam doesn’t object, but it annoys me to be left behind. Why don’t I get to meet this King?

  David Solomon, what a pretentious name.

  He can’t be named after one famous Biblical king? He needs to be named for two? Pretentious, bloodthirsty, and nefarious. He wiped out the US government, after possibly releasing Tercera to begin with. And he’s planning to wipe out the kids who managed to survive his decimation of the world. Sam’s in the room with him while I’m stuck twiddling my thumbs.

  I’d especially like to meet him, because if he did release Tercera, odds are good he knew my dad. Maybe he knows Jack, or perhaps he’s actually the partner. There’s no way he was born with the name David Solomon, and then happened to become some bizarre religious icon.

  I may not be face-to-face with him myself, but maybe I can hear what they’re saying anyway. I run to the wall and press my ear against it. The words I make out now and again are too muffled to comprehend. I shift around and find a spot that’s a little better, but I still can’t understand most of what’s said. I look around the storage closet and see the tray with the water. I pick up one of the glasses and press it to the wall. This should help, if my understanding of acoustic coupling isn’t completely wrong.

  I hold my ear to the glass and grin. I may not be able to shoot eighty people, but science is awesome in its own way.

  Sam says, “I already told you. The girl lives or there’s no deal.”

  A light baritone voice I assume belongs to King Solomon responds. “I have eighty injured people, Sam. Eighty! It’s not about me. Surely you understand that. I have to give them something. Eighty people are going home with gunshot wounds. They have arms, legs, and shoulders that don’t work right anymore because of you. You haven’t even told me why.”

  Sam says, “The girl is the only reason it stopped when it did. Believe me, you can’t punish her and not me. The reason for our presence isn’t mine to tell, but I’m here for her. She lived here Before, and needs something of her father’s. I can’t tell you more than that. If you’ll let me retrieve it with her, I promise you my father will pay a handsome fee for my safe return.”

  “It must be valuable for you to risk your life and hers, not to mention the lives of all those people.” King Solomon lowers his voice and I can barely make out what he says next. “Especially since you could’ve had your dad send me a message about it instead. That means it’s either valuable, or it’s something you don’t want me to know about.”

  Sam says, “If you think I’d ask my dad to do me a favor, you don’t know him very well.”

  “Meet me halfway Sam. Tell me what you came to retrieve. I’m going to see it anyway if I let you go. Where’s the harm?”

  “I already told you. You don’t listen very well. It’s not my decision to make.”

  “You still maintain you’re the muscle, and she calls all the shots?” King Solomon laughs. “Your dad likes to brag you know. I’ve seen your aptitude tests, and you’re more than a sharpshooter. More than a gifted warrior. Your mind works differently than most people, but it’s faster, and quicker, just like everything else.”

  Sam doesn’t speak.

  King Solomon changes tactics. “Does your father know you’re here?”

  I don’t hear anything, so I assume Sam shakes his head.

  “How do you know he’ll pay me anything to rescue you from an unsanctioned mission?”

  Sam says, “I’m all he has.”

  “But the girl,” King Solomon says. “He won’t pay for her?”

  “She’s not important to anyone but me.” I have to admit, that stings a little, probably because it’s true. “Allow us to grab her dad’s belongings and I promise you, my dad will compensate you for your men’s injuries.”

  “I’m afraid we’re at an impasse. I obviously can’t make any deal without knowing what I’m giving up, and no matter who owned it Before, all of Galveston belongs to me now.”

  Sam growls. Two chairs scrape the floor as both men stand.

  “Only my girlfriend can decide whether to tell you about her dad.”

  I inhale sharply, but doubt anyone can hear me. I wish I’d been there to see his face the first time he called me his girlfriend. My heart leaps against my ribs, and I realize that for all my indecision, I’ve already decided about Sam. I want him as much if not more than he likes me.

  “Fine. Let’s ask her, then.” Footsteps sound in the other room. My eyes widen. They’re coming for me.

  I scramble away from the wall, but don’t have time to put the glass down before the door opens. The same five men with guns enter the room and circle me, firearms trained at my head again. It’s getting old. There’s barely any room left in the storage closet with us, but somehow Sam fits, and after him, another man does, too.

  The other man isn’t as tall as Sam, but he’s tall by anyone else’s standards. He isn’t old, and he isn’t young. He isn’t fat, but neither is he thin. He doesn’t have blonde hair, but it’s lighter than most people with brown. He has freckles on his nose, but nowhere else on his face. His large, straight teeth, and angry blue eyes stare straight at me.

  He’s a fairly memorable looking man, but I wish I could forget him the moment I see him. Unfortunately, he’s not someone I’ll ever forget.

  “What’s your name, girl?” he asks me.

  I recognize the voice as the man from the other room, the man I assumed was King Solomon. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize the voice earlier. I should have.

  Sam must sense my confusion, because he says, “Ruby, this is David Solomon, the king of World Peace Now.”

  I want to do something. I want to yell at him, or better yet, pull a gun and point it at his head. I’ve imagined this meeting over and over, dreamed of it even, but never under these circumstances.

  With five men pointing guns at me, instead of doing what I want, I mutter, “Nice to meet you.” I train my eyes on the floor so he won’t see the hatred burning in them.

  “I’m pleased to meet you Ruby. Sam’s been telling me all about you, and how you came to retrieve your dad’s old belongings. I thought you might be able to fill me in a little more. What’s worth risking both your lives, and shooting close to a hundred of my best people?”

  My mouth’s drier than sand in the desert, and my vocal chords knot up painfully. My hand
s ball into fists tight enough that my nails dig into the soft part of my palms.

  “Well, won’t you share? A successful compromise requires both parties to give a little.”

  When I finally look up at King Solomon, my chest fills with a rage I’ve never before felt. Sam’s expecting me to beg him to let me look for my dad’s journal. Or perhaps he thinks I’ll tell him how I thought my dad might’ve been on the cusp of a cure to Tercera.

  I don’t beg, and I won’t. Not if I stand here for a hundred years.

  Five men ready to shoot an unarmed girl. Seems like overkill, which doesn’t surprise me, not with him. I should be polite. I should be deferential, but I can’t. Not now, not looking into the eyes of this person, the one person I hate more than anyone else in all the world.

  Instead, I do the most measured thing I possibly can. My hands shake, my blood boils, and I say, “Go to Hell.”

  Sam’s eyes fly wide and King Solomon’s mouth falls open. The men with guns shift and mutter, and Sam tenses.

  “Excuse me?” King Solomon’s surely unused to people speaking to him this way.

  I clear my throat. “You didn’t understand me?” I look him right in the eyes this time. “I’ll enunciate. I told you to Go To Hell.”

  King Solomon turns to Sam. “Your girlfriend has lost her mind.”

  “I have not,” I say. “You may not recognize me, but I can’t say the same. Ten years ago, I hid in a closet. Ten years ago, I did nothing when you broke into my home with threats and a gun. I watched you murder my father more than a decade ago, but I’m not a little girl this time. My name is Ruby Behl. Does that name mean anything to you? I may not be able to shoot you now that you’ve disarmed us, but at least I can tell you to go to where you belong, with the demons and the fire and the never-ending penance.” I want to spit in his face, but . . . guns.

  I don’t know what kind of reaction I’m expecting, but it isn’t a smile.

  I flail like a fish when King Solomon pulls me tight for an embrace. I shove him off and clock him on the head with the glass I’m still holding in my hand. He slumps forward, and then stumbles back.

  The stockiest of the five men grabs me by the back of my neck and shoves a gun against my temple. The rest happens so quickly, I can’t follow it, but one minute there’s a gun pressed to my head, and the next, Sam has disarmed the guards, knocked three of them out cold and is holding a gun on King Solomon, who’s pressed against the back wall.

  I’m not sure my brain can process much more when the door to the storage closet flies open and a woman walks inside. She’s short with curly blonde hair and dark blue eyes. She has fine features, a small, pert nose, and a tiny frame. She wears a fitted blue pantsuit and a simple strand of pearls around her neck. Tiny crow’s feet crimp the corners of her eyes.

  Wrinkles aside, she looks exactly like me.

  “David, the perimeter guards turned up another intruder just off the bridge to the island. He’s young, too. He won’t tell us his name.” She glances around the room and her hand flies to her mouth. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t worry,” King Solomon says. “It’s all a misunderstanding.” He smiles at the woman brightly. “Ruby’s alive!”

  23

  Sam still holds a gun to King Solomon’s head.

  “It’s not a misunderstanding,” I say to Sam. “I hate him.” I look at the gun in Sam’s hand. I hear bootsteps thundering toward us in the hall. This might be my only chance.

  “Give that to me.” I hold out my hand to Sam.

  “Are you sure?” he asks me. “I can do it.”

  I shake my head. “It has to be me.” He hesitates for a split second before handing it over. It’s a large gun and it’s heavy in my hand. I press it to King Solomon’s head. “You deserve this. You shot my dad.”

  “I probably deserve it,” he agrees. “But I didn’t shoot your father.”

  My voice comes out high and squeaky. “You deny shooting Donovan Behl?”

  Several more guards have reached us, and they’re yelling at me to put the gun down. With nine people already crammed into the small space, there isn’t any way for them to reach King Solomon, at least not without shooting us and stepping over our corpses. They’re thinking about doing exactly that, but they’re hesitating. Why?

  I can’t quite suppress a smile when I realize why. “They’re worried if they shoot me, I’ll press this trigger as a reflex.”

  The man standing nearest the door snarls. “We will shoot you little girl. Put the gun down now.”

  “Stop,” King Solomon yells. “No one shoots her, not even if she shoots me. Leave us alone.”

  No one turns to leave or even lowers a gun.

  Solomon’s face flushes and his nostrils flare. “GO!”

  “Your Highness, she—”

  King Solomon turns his head slightly, and his eyes spear the gray-haired guard. “Leave.”

  The guard grunts, but he turns and leaves. The other guards grab the unconscious ones and within thirty seconds, they’re all gone. Only the woman remains, a bewildered look on her face.

  King Solomon glances back toward me. “I shot the man you knew as Donovan Behl, Ruby, but he wasn’t your father.”

  The gun shakes in my hand. “That makes no sense.”

  “Ruby, Donovan Behl wasn’t even his real name. His name was Donald Carillon and I know he wasn’t your father because. . . I’m your real father.”

  The small woman standing in the doorway sobs.

  King Solomon frowns at her. “She was there, Joey. She saw me shoot Donovan that day. She was hiding in a closet.”

  I lower the gun. I don’t know what else to do. The woman looks exactly like me. It was the first thing I thought when she walked in.

  I barely hear the words she whispers, “Do you have a birthmark?” Her eyes shine through unshed tears.

  King Solomon smiles. “You had a small red mark behind your left ear when you were born. It looked exactly like a ruby. That’s why we named you as we did. Well, that and Proverbs 31:10.”

  None of this makes sense. I know my dad, of course I do. This man killed him.

  I shake my head and lift the gun again. “I watched you fight with him, and then shoot him. You killed my dad.”

  “Actually, my gunshot wasn’t what killed him. Didn’t you know about the fire? When I left, I called 911. They were en route and Don would’ve been fine. But by the time they got there, someone had lit his body on fire. They put out the fire, but Donald Carillon didn’t survive.”

  “Carillon?” I shake my head. “I’ve never even heard of a Donald Carillon.”

  The small woman takes a gulping breath. “He took the name Donovan Behl when he stole you from me. His real name was Donald Carillon. Carillon means bell tower in French.”

  “No.” It can’t be true. My father is Donovan Behl. He tucked me in every night, read to me, and fed me. I know he loved me. His name was Donovan Behl. This man killed him. “You’re lying.”

  “Check her ear,” King Solomon says to Sam. “You’ll see the birthmark.”

  Sam glances at him and then turns back to me. “Do you want me to check?”

  I don’t want him to do anything. I want to shoot this man, go and get the cure and go home. I shake my head. “No.”

  The woman who looks like me stares with undisguised longing in her face. “You look and talk just like Anne Carillon, his twin sister. Tell me, is she alive?”

  My heart stops and I’m the one taking gulping breaths. It can’t be true. It can’t. She can’t be my mother. I close my eyes and think back on the photo, the one photo I have.

  It’s her. The woman in front of me is the same woman holding Donovan Behl’s hand in that photo. My aunt and uncle lied to me about my dad, about his death, and his creation of Tercera. And about my mom being dead. Could they have lied about this, too? Was Donovan Behl a kidnapping monster?

  “Wait.”

  Sam holsters one gun.

  “Chec
k,” I say.

  Sam takes one step toward me and gently moves my braid out of the way. He shifts my ear and his exhale, a tiny breath I normally wouldn’t even notice, guts me.

  There must be a birthmark, like they said there would be.

  “Your name’s Joey?” I ask the woman. I look at her, her eyes, her hair, and her small frame. I’m so much smaller than Rhonda and Job, smaller than my aunt and my uncle, smaller than my tall, broad shouldered father. So much smaller than everyone else in my family. But not smaller than her.

  “I’m Josephine Solomon. Before I became Josephine Solomon, I was married to Donald Carillon.”

  King Solomon grunts.

  She touches his shoulder. “I was married to Donald when I met your father. I fell in love with David, and divorced Donald. When he found out I was pregnant, he claimed the child was his. He didn’t believe that you were David’s. He went crazy over it, but no one guessed he might abandon his job and flee his entire life to kidnap a child who wasn’t even his. It took me completely by surprise when he showed up at the hospital. We searched for you everywhere.”

  I lower my hand, and King Solomon stands up and brushes off his pants.

  Sam gently takes the gun out of my hand and whispers in my ear, “Maybe it’s better if I hold on to this.”

  I want to curl up in his lap and pretend none of this happened. Except I can’t do that. “You didn’t search everywhere, obviously.”

  King Solomon says, “We tried milk cartons, news programs, every police station in the area. When you were five years old, almost six, we got a call. Donald’s business partner, a man named Jack, told me where you were.” King Solomon glances at Sam, and then back at me. When neither of us speaks, he continues. “He figured out who Donovan Behl really was, and felt we should know the location of our daughter. Donald threatened to release a deadly virus he’d created in the process of developing some kind of super vaccination, unless Jack kept your location secret.”

  Drums pound inside my head, and I can’t think straight. King Solomon knows my dad’s partner was named Jack. He knows Dad made Tercera. I bite my lip hard. I need to think this through. Aunt Anne always refers to Dad as Don, never Donovan. My dad and my aunt both have straight, dark brown hair. I knew my hair color came from my mom, and Rhonda and Job got their light hair from their dad, but now I don’t know what I know.