The Huguenot Thief

by L. K. CLEMENT

  Frank didn’t move, even when what felt like a bird-sized mosquito dug into his back trying to find a repellent-free spot of skin. “I’m Detective Frank Edson of the Charleston

  Police. You can’t get out of here. You’re literally surrounded by cops.”

  Sadat didn’t speak for a moment, and then he asked, “How many are out there?”

  The men were standing at the edge of the black water swampy pond. The fan-like leaves of the palmetto trees looked like green umbrellas lined up next to the water. The mass was thick enough so that unless someone passed immediately beside them, as the Awendaw deputy had, the two of them would be invisible. He could hear the blue jay, and high-pitched whining he knew was the mosquito army preparing to attack.

  “Can I swat the giant mosquito on my back that’s sucking me dry?” If Sadat allowed him to move his hand, he could reach his gun.

  “No. Put your gun, your cuffs, and your radio on the ground. Then I want your hands on your head.”

  Frank complied. Sadat kicked the detective’s gun into the impenetrable underbrush.

  “Tell me how many officers are out there, and exactly where they are.”

  The detective took a fractional step backwards, and spoke louder. Somebody would hear it.

  “Come on, Sadat. You must have heard on the radio your guys confessed. Walked right into the police station. Surrender, end it.”

  “You raise your voice again, Detective, and I’ll shoot you.” Sadat motioned with his gun. “We’re going to walk out of here. Now turn around and get back to the road. I’ll be right behind you with my gun in your back.”

  Sadat squinted at him, and at that moment, a monster mosquito, the size of a quarter, alighted on the hand holding the gun. It was a gallinipper, and Frank knew when the bug bit, it would feel like a knife had stabbed Sadat’s hand.

  Frank mumbled under his breath, “Come on, come on, bite him, bite him.”

  Sadat let out a yell and dropped his weapon.

  Frank dove to the ground, grabbed the gun, and pointed it at Sadat. He sprang up, kicking his feet sideways into the deep brush to locate his own weapon. No luck. Sadat turned and dove into the pond.

  “You can’t escape this, Sadat,” yelled Frank.

  The detective waded knee deep into the water, and stopped dead when he saw a ripple on the black surface. An atavistic shudder ran through his entire body. Reptilian eyes blinked. He screamed. “Get out of the water.”

  Sadat rose from the water, sputtering, green plants stuck to his head.

  Frank released the safety on the Beretta, braced his right hand with his left and fired the unfamiliar weapon three times—pop pop pop. Sadat stopped, the sour-smelling pond water streaming from his face, and put his hands up, yelling, “I surrender. Stop shooting.”

  The detective was frantic now, trying to move closer, his feet making sucking sounds as he tried to run through the quicksand-like mud at the bottom of the pond. He pulled the trigger again. The gun clicked. It was out of bullets.

  “I’m not shooting at you. Get out of the water!” The detective threw himself backwards out of the stinking pond and clawed his way back to where Sadat had kicked his police-issued Glock. He began frantically beating the brush. He glanced back at the pond. “Goddamn it, Sadat, get out of the water! It’s a gator!”

  Sadat turned and opened his mouth.

  For the rest of his life, Frank would remember the primordial scream that poured out of Sadat’s open mouth, a high-pitched unnatural sound, a scream that was abruptly ended by the gargantuan alligator leaping five feet out of the water with its monstrous jaws open. Its mouth slammed shut on Sadat’s throat. A spray of blood jetted six feet, spraying Frank’s face with the contents of Sadat’s jugular vein. Man and alligator disappeared under the water, an immense splash of the five-foot tail the last sight anyone would have of either one.

  Frank leaned over and vomited. He wiped his mouth, rubbed Sadat’s blood off his face with his sleeve, and crawled over to where his handcuffs and mike lay.

  “Detective Frank Edson here. Those gunshots were mine. I found Sadat.”

  Chapter 74

  Thompson and Amarintha were still standing close together when his phone rang. It was Frank. Imran Sadat was dead. The reliquary had been found and would be returned to the monsignor. Kate Strong was on her way home, and Frank would be there in a few hours to pick them up.

  The detective sounded weary, and his voice was hoarse. Thompson knew better than to ask any questions; the story of how Imran Sadat came to be dead would have to wait.

  Getting through dinner without smiling too much was difficult. Jack and Sara were clearly elated, barely able to eat as they waited for Detective Edson to retrieve them and take them to Charleston. Thompson felt an unfamiliar sense of belonging when he looked at Amarintha and Ava sitting opposite him. Fannie and Richard were at the end of the table discussing whether living in Charleston was better or worse than thirty years before, and for the first time, Thompson heard Fannie laugh.

  The reliquary was found; Amarintha knew he was Ava’s father, and Kate Strong was safe. He ignored the fact that not everything had been neatly wrapped up; that law enforcement still didn’t know what Bunin was up to, and that the story of the reliquary was not yet complete.

  An hour after dinner, Thompson went to the porch and waited. Frank finally pulled into the driveway and got out of the police car.

  The detective had mud stains on his uniform, and festering bug bites were visible on his forehead. Thompson said, “What happened to you?”

  Frank gave Thompson the brief, but gory details of Sadat’s death.

  “What a horrible way to die,” said Thompson.

  Their conversation was interrupted by Jack and Sara running down the stairs. “I’ll tell you more later. I need to get back to Charleston, as you can see.”

  Jack walked up to the detective and grasped his arm, shaking his hand. “When does the plane land?”

  Frank looked at his watch. “Around ten. Kate will be taken to Trident Hospital in North Charleston.” Jack and Sara climbed into the car.

  The detective turned to Thompson. “I’d suggest the rest of you stay here tonight. Richard can take the Sims family home on the boat tomorrow, and I’ll send a car for you, Thompson, around 6:00 a.m. Everything’s almost back to normal downtown, but we still have a good bit of work to do.” Frank looked pointedly at Thompson, likely referring to the prep work the team would need to do before questioning Kate Strong.

  The detective got back into the car, waved, and drove off.

  Thompson sat down in one of the porch rockers. He had an endless list of questions that perplexed him. Why had the Russian let Kate go? What had she been doing for four weeks? He thought he was alone but then heard the creak of a rocker nearby. It was Fannie.

  She said, “So I heard on CNN that they’ve caught the men who did the bombing and found the reliquary. The news is calling it a ‘religious object’ of some value, mainly because of the red diamond on top of it, and saying that’s the motive for the bombing.” Fannie scoffed. “I guess we’ll never hear about it again now that the Vatican is going to get it back.”

  Thompson didn’t reply.

  “Amarintha and Ava are still watching the news in the parlor. I think Richard went to bed.”

  Both rockers moved, emitting soothing, creaking sounds.

  “Thompson, I can tell you care for my daughter.” Fannie raised a hand to keep him from replying. “She’s one of a kind. Never had a boyfriend. Ever. Her father scared the tar out of her when she was just ten years old telling her she’d die early. I was so mad that he told her about the Alzheimer’s, I could hardly look at him. We lived with that ax over our heads for many years, until Amarintha decided to be tested again. She didn’t have the gene. Neither does Ava.”

  Thompson wondered what he was supposed
to say and still said nothing.

  “I just want to tell you how special she is,” Fannie said. “I believe she’s cured of her cancer; yes, I do. And if she is, well, now might be the time for the right man to come along.”

  Before Thompson could utter a word, she said, “Good night,” and moved inside. He heard her climb the stairs, her footsteps slow but steady.

  Thompson sat on the porch another hour, thinking first of what questions he wanted to ask Kate Strong, and then, as his professional hat began to slip, of questions he wanted to ask Amarintha. Had she ever told Ava her father was a sperm donor? Would she want to tell Ava that he was the donor? Either way, he’d be ok. She’d probably want him to do a DNA test just to make sure. He laughed softly as he realized that he’d essentially do anything Amarintha asked him to do.

  When the entire mansion was quiet, he went to his first floor room and took a long shower. Had it actually only been twelve or so hours since the explosion? Thompson flopped into the antique four-poster bed, not noticing the intricate carvings of rice plants on the posts, and instantly fell asleep.

  Sometime later, he felt a touch on his shoulder and bolted up. “It’s ok,” said Amarintha, sitting on the bed. “It’s only me.” Moonlight spilled into the room, and he could see light reflecting from her body, which he realized, was naked. A robe lay on the foot of the bed.

  As she pulled back the covers of his bed and climbed in, she said, “I thought we might practice making babies in the more traditional way.” Then she kissed him.

  Charleston

  Chapter 75

  Sitting in Trident Hospital’s waiting room, Jack fidgeted. Sara, just as restless, bounced her legs against the chair. Trident Hospital was just outside the area still cordoned off by law enforcement, and still it had taken Detective Edson almost three hours to reach the hospital from

  the B&B in Georgetown, a trip that should have taken half that time.

  Agent Reynolds, now sitting on the other side of the waiting room, talking on her phone, had warned him when they arrived that his reunion with Kate would be short. “We have to debrief her, Mr. Strong. You may speak with her, but only for

  a moment, and you will not be in her room while we conduct the interview.”

  He had opened his mouth to protest, but Sara had put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Daddy, it’s ok. The sooner the FBI speaks to her, the sooner we can take her home.”

  Now they were just waiting. Brook Reynolds stood up, put her phone in her pocket, and walked over. “Kate will be here soon.” Jack rubbed his mouth and took his daughter’s hand.

  They both stared at the doors of the ambulance bay, willing them to bang open. Five minutes later, the doors did just that, and Kate whisked by on a stretcher, along with an IV pole held by a paramedic. Jack got a glimpse of his wife’s face—thin and pale, her eyes closed. Double doors down the hall marked “Restricted” banged shut behind the stretcher. Sara clutched him as he stared at the doors.

  “The doctor on board the flight said she would be ok,” said Agent Reynolds behind them.

  Jack wiped his face. “Are they sure?”

  “You may as well sit down,” Brook said. “No one can see her until they get her settled in a room and examined.”

  Jack returned to the waiting room, Sara trailing him. Agent Reynolds went back on her phone. After thirty minutes, a doctor came into the waiting room. “Agent Reynolds?” he said to Brook.

  “Yes.”

  “Is this the family?” the doctor said, gesturing to Jack and Sara.

  “Yes. May they see her?”

  The doctor motioned Jack and Sara to join him in a small room. Brook followed, not giving Jack a chance to exclude her.

  “Sit down, please,” said the doctor. Jack and Sara pulled chairs close to each other and leaned over the small table. Agent Reynolds sat in another chair behind them.

  “I’m Dr. Rushing. I’ve done a preliminary examination of your wife. We have blood samples being tested, but I’m almost certain that your wife was given some type of hallucinogen fifteen or so hours ago. She is in and out of consciousness. Her vitals are decent, but she is malnourished and has numerous marks on her arms. We have her medical records, and I’ve had a chance to read her history.” He paused.

  “I’m assuming that she has not had a dose of lithium for some time. Has she marked her arms before?”

  Jack nodded. Sara made a cry and put her hands over her face.

  Dr. Rushing looked at Brook. “I understand the importance of the FBI speaking to her, but until we know what she was drugged with, I’m limited as to what treatment I can give. The tests will take another two hours or so.”

  “I understand, Dr. Rushing,” said Brook. “I need to put one of my agents in the room until we can question her.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Jack.

  “Mr. Strong, you and Sara can be in the room, but my agent will be there also.”

  The doctor stood up. “We have her in a private room upstairs. All of you can fit. Room 512.”

  He left the three of them in the small room. Jack said, “Agent Reynolds, is it really necessary that your agent be in the room? Surely you can wait a few days before you question Kate.”

  Brook looked at him without speaking. “Sara, get us some drinks, honey,” said Jack. Sara scampered out the door, closing it behind him.

  “You people never did tell me the whole story, did you?” Jack moved his finger along the cracks in the small wood table. “I knew that two days ago when I met you. You don’t think I had anything to do with the bombing anymore, do you?”

  “Mr. Strong, I apologize. No, I don’t believe you were involved in the bombing, and yes, I did withhold information. Your wife was not kept to do appraisals. She was kept because her kidnapper was likely looking for biological material to make into a weapon.”

  Jack whipped his head up, a smartass reply on his lips. Brook Reynolds gazed back at him and nodded. “My God. Why would Kate know anything about that kind of thing? She’s a religious scholar, for God’s sake.”

  “That’s what we need to find out. I’ve asked Thompson Denton to participate in the debriefing of your wife—whenever we can carry that out. Do you have any objections to that?”

  Jack snorted. “What if I did? Would it matter?” He sighed. “No, better Thompson than people I don’t know. Who else will be involved?”

  “We will have someone recording the conversation, myself, Agent Denton, and Detective Edson. You and Sara cannot be present. There may also be things that your wife tells us that she cannot tell you. Please do not put pressure on her to share information with you.”

  Sara came back in with drinks and crackers and sat down at the table without speaking.

  Agent Reynolds stood up and held out her hand. “See you upstairs. I sincerely hope your wife makes a quick recovery.”

  Chapter 76

  Kate opened her eyes. Seeing a whiteboard, for a long moment she thought she was in the workroom at the castle, but the writing on the whiteboard was not hers. The writing said something about a nurse and “call, don’t fall.” She saw the word “Trident” on the board and turned her head towards a window where the light from a street light illuminated a lump on a chair. Someone dressed in white stood by her bed. For a moment, she couldn’t focus on anything. She pushed herself up off the bed and croaked, “Where am I?”

  She saw movement by the window and said again, louder, “Help me.”

  Kate fell back on the bed and felt her left arm being held. The lump moved, and she saw Jack spring up from the chair and rush to the bed. A young woman in a suit also stood up, then left the room. Jack was here?

  “Oh, Kate, oh Kate,” he said, kissing her head, and holding her right hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kate cried. Another lump moved, and Sara rushed over. Sara?

  “Mama, Mama.�
��

  “Sara, baby, I’m so sorry,” Kate said again, as Sara crouched by her bed.

  The three of them cried for some time before the nurse said, still holding her left arm, “You are at Trident Hospital in North Charleston. You’ve been here about five hours, since around ten last night.”

  “I’m not in Istanbul?”

  “No, honey, you’re home,” said Jack.

  “Oh, my God, you need to get the police here, Jack. Something terrible is going to happen.”

  Chapter 77

  Amarintha awoke in Thompson’s bed. She turned on the light, sat up, and found a note on his pillow, written on the B&B’s stationery.

  I had to go to Charleston to speak with Kate Strong.

  She picked up her phone and noted that it was just after 5:00 a.m. She had felt so safe that she hadn’t even awakened when he left. Lying back down, she thought she should go back to her own room before Ava and Fannie got up. She almost laughed, thinking of their faces if they saw her come out of Thompson’s room and decided to stay.

  Why had her life suddenly turned from grim to glorious? What had she done to deserve it? Wrong question, she thought. Shit happened, and whether you deserved it or not had nothing to do with it. She couldn’t deny that touching that reliquary had marked a point, a harbinger that announced an uptick in her cancer- centric life. And, finding out that Thompson was Ava’s father? The odds of that had to be millions to one.

  Years before, she had thought about trying to find out who her sperm donor was. Surreptitious searches on her home computer had slammed that door—donors were protected. Ava had been told when she was a teenager how she had come to be born, and thought her mother brave for being willing to bear and raise a child before succumbing to an awful degenerative disease. Had she been brave?