by Dinah McCall
“Did you know?” Jasper asked.
David gasped in dismay. “No! Of course not. Did you?”
The others denied knowledge, as well, leaving them to ponder the lengths with which Samuel Abbott had been willing to go to see his work come to fruition.
“What do you think we should do?” David asked.
“We can’t give them back,” Rufus said. “We’d have to explain how we got them, which would lead to why, and, well…you know.”
“Did you catch the monk’s name?” John asked.
David frowned. “Yes. Why?”
“Do you remember the Silvia woman?”
David nodded. “I’m not likely to forget.”
“The name they plan to give their baby if it’s a boy…didn’t the husband say they were going to name him Bartholomew, after his grandfather?”
“Yes. So?”
“The bones. They belonged to a monk named St. Bartholomew.”
There was a moment of shock, followed by a buzz of voices.
“Hush!” David said quickly. The he looked at John. “What are you thinking?”
“That it’s a sign to proceed.”
Even though the vote had already been taken to proceed, David sensed ambivalence within the group.
“Rufus…I can tell you’re having reservations.”
Rufus nodded, absently rubbing his paunch as he paced.
“More than one, yes, more than one.”
Thomas Mowry took off his glasses, then blew his nose. “He’s not the only one,” he said, and sat down with a thump. “I can’t believe we’re going to try this again—and after all these years. I don’t care if this is a sign. If we’ve learned anything from the other projects, it’s that they did not succeed.”
“They didn’t all fail,” David said.
They looked at each other, then nodded.
“That one was different,” Jasper said.
Thomas shook his head. “That’s the point. The one successful implant was different, but we don’t know why.”
“Samuel said—“
“Samuel is dead,” Thomas said shortly. “And so is Frank. I think nature is trying to tell us something here, but we’re not listening. We have had only on success out of twenty projects. That is not good odds.”
“But Samuel said he had perfected the process, remember?”
Thomas slapped his hand on his knee. “How many times must this be said? Samuel is not here. Do you know enough about what he was doing to replicate it?”
David nodded. “Yes…and we have already found the perfect woman. The woman John referred to before.”
Jasper and Thomas looked startled. “But how—“
“It was fate,” David said. “Ask John and Rufus.”
The pair of men looked at each other and then turned to the others.
“It’s true,” John said. “We talked to her only a short while ago. She has an appointment with David at three o’clock this afternoon. If she’s physically able to carry a child, then I say, yes.”
Rufus nodded in agreement, then leaned forward and lowered his voice.
:She has promised her child to God.”
Jasper frowned. “She what?”
“She says she prayed to God to five her a child, and in payment, she will raise the child to live its life in the service of God’s teachings…sort of like the disciples.”
“Is she nuts?” Thomas asked.
David smile. “No. Just determined.”
They sat, absorbing the news and weighing the obstacles. Rufus got to his feet and stared at the wooden box on the floor, weighing what he knew it contained against what they’d been told. Finally he turned to the others.
“If we’re going to make this work, we need to get busy. John, you get one end of that box, and, Jasper, you get the other. And be careful with the contents. We don’t have much to work with.”
David locked his door from inside, putting on the safety chain as well as a dead bolt, then gathered up an armload of lab coats and led the way into his bedroom. He opened the door to the walk-in closet, shoved aside a large stack of sweaters and pressed down on the shelf. Instantly a large panel of wood separated itself from the closet and slid inward into a pocket in the wall.
“After you,” he said quietly.
Then, one after the other, the men stepped into the opening. David was the last to enter, pressing another switch as he did. The wall slid back into place, and the hidden elevator car in which they were standing began a near-silent descent. Moments later, it stopped. The door opened, and the five men walked out into a tunnel and headed toward a phalanx of battery-powered carts lined up against the wall.
They got in without comment, two to a cart, with David taking the lead cart alone. With a turn of the key, he drove forward, guided by recessed lights in the ceiling and the familiarity of having come this way before. The others followed, silent now, as they traversed the tunnel, their thoughts on the task ahead.
Their journey ended a mile from the elevator, deep within the bowels of White Mountain. They got out of the carts and proceeded to a massive steel door. There were no windows or knobs through which to gain access. Only a small black box with a keypad of numbers that had been mounted on the wall. David punched in the access code, and immediately the door swing inward. As it did, the room was illuminated, light spreading from an array of fluorescent fixtures suspended from the ceiling.
The stood for a moment, eyeing the different lab station they had long ago created, as well as the state-of-the-art equipment on gleaming, stainless steel tables.
David was the first to move. He hit a power switch that turned on all the computerized equipment then handed each of the men a lab coat.
“You know what to do,” he said. “I’ll be back later, after I’ve met with Maria Silvia.”
“What if she—“
“It’s too late for what-ifs,” David said. “Just get started. Something tells me we’re running out of time, and in more ways than one.”
When he left, the others were bent over a lab table, watching Rufus removing two ancient bones from the oblong wooden box. David shut the door behind him and then took a cart back to the hotel. He didn’t want to be late for his appointment with Maria.
It was eighteen minutes after three in the afternoon when Jack reached what amounted to a small plateau on the valley side of White Mountain. He’d been hiking for the better part of five hours and still hadn’t come across anything that would convince him the man he was looking for had been hiding in the hills. Added to that, the altitude was killing him. His heart was pounding, and his vision kept going in and out of focus. No matter how badly he wanted to continue, this was obviously as high as he could go. Cursing himself for not thinking to pack a portable bottle of oxygen, he sat down on a boulder, shrugged off his backpack and lowered his head between his knees.
Slowly his heart rate regulated itself and his vision steadied. As he sat, he heard a shrill cry from high above him in the sky. He looked up to see and eagle circling. He watched the great bird’s wings fan in perfect symmetry, catching the air currents, then riding them higher and higher.
“So I’m not the only one out hunting today,” he said, then picked up his backpack and pulled out a bottle of water.
He drank long and heartily, then set it aside, popped a few nuts in his mouth and began to chew. Slowly his equilibrium began to return. Satisfied that he was ready to start down, he repacked his things and shouldered his pack. He started to retrace his steps and then stopped. He’d come this far without finding anything. It seemed a waste of time to go back the way he’d come, knowing full well there was nothing there that would help his case. He pulled out the map of the hiking trails that Isabella had given him and calculated his approximate location. At that point he realized if he went a quarter of a mile east he would cross the other trail that she’d marked. Even if his hunch had been wrong in thinking the killer had taken to the woods, at least he would see new territor
y on the way down.
Checking his compass, he aligned himself in the correct direction and started walking. Within thirty minutes he had found the other marked hiking trail and started down, guessing that he would arrive back at the hotel just before dark.
About an hour later he stopped to take a drink, and as he did, he realized that he could see the roof of the hotel from where stood. Curious, he took out his binoculars, adjusted them to his sight and began to scan the area. Within a couple of minutes he saw a tiny figure emerge from a shed and knew it must be the gardener, Victor Ross. Frowning, he watched until the man had gone into the back of the hotel, then replaced the binoculars in his pack and resumed his trek.
Later, he would think back, knowing that if his shoelace hadn’t come untied, he never would have seen the small bit of shiny metal half-hidden in the leaves. Curious, he brushed aside the debris and found a small pocketknife, similar in style to what was commonly referred to as a Swiss Army knife. There was a multitude of small blades suited for different purposes, even one that served dual duty as a can opener and a screwdriver. It wasn’t until he began closing the blades that he noticed an odd, unfamiliar mark. He tilted the knife sideways for a better view, and within seconds his head came up and he pivoted sharply. He neither saw nor heard anything that would lead him to believe he was being watched, but that didn’t settle his thoughts. The knife that he’d found wasn’t remarkable, but the manufacturer certainly was. It was Russian made, and the likelihood that the knife had been lost by someone other than the man he was looking for was nil. Jack Dolan wasn’t a gambler, and he didn’t like the odds. Finding this knife changed everything. A possibility had just turned into a probability, which meant he needed to contact Washington at once.
He pulled out his cell phone, but to his disgust no signal was available. Anxious to notify the director of what he’d found, he started down White Mountain in haste, mentally sifting through everything he knew so far, which wasn’t much.
As he came out from beneath a canopy of trees a large bird flew across his line of vision in a steep, unyielding dive. He didn’t know what it was, but from the speed and the size, it looked like a falcon. Knowing their propensity for hunting, he could only pity whatever target the falcon had fixed upon.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost five o’clock. In an hour or so, it would be dark. Not wanting to be caught on White Mountain at nightfall, he lengthened his stride.
To his left, he saw a blur of feathers and realized the falcon had caught its prey. Within seconds of the thought, a memory surfaced and his heart skipped a beat.
“Hawk! Not a falcon—a Hawk. Oh God…that was what he’d been trying to remember ever since he’d seen Victor Ross.
Back in the sixties, there had been a famous Soviet spy known only as Hawk. He had been relentless and personally responsible for the deaths of many, including ten American agents during a government cleansing. To this day, it was a mystery as to how he’d learned their names. There had been only one known photograph of him, taken at an airport in France. The image had been faint and grainy, but the Slavic bone structure of his face had been as remarkable and unique as a fingerprint.
Jack’s stomach turned. If he was right about Victor Ross’s identity, this was bigger than any of them had suspected. Settling his pack more securely, he started to run.
David Schultz took a sip of coffee, then picked up the lab tests and bloodwork they’d just done on the Silvias. His initial examination had been hopeful, even more so than he’d expected. Years ago Maria had had a bout with endometriosis, but her scarring was minimal, definitely not enough to preclude her as a candidate for implantation. He leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself as he continued to read. It kept getting better and better. She was thirty-nine years old, enjoyed good health and, if what she said was true, lived a healthy lifestyle, eating foods that were good for her and exercising regularly. Her family health history wasn’t so great. Both her parents had died young, of heart disease, but obviously Maria had taken measures to see that she didn’t repeat their fates.
He took another sip of coffee, then kicked back in his chair, contemplating the necessary sequence of events. The day after tomorrow, he would recommend taking Maria into surgery where they would stimulate her ovaries, then harvest the eggs. After that it would be a matter of collecting Leonardo’s sperm and then proceeding from there. Tonight he would know for certain if Rufus had been able to gather any viable DNA from the bones. Until that time, what would happen with Maria and Leonardo Silvia was anybody’s guess.
Isabella kept looking at herself in the rearview mirror on the drive back home. It was the same face that had always been there, but the hair was definitely a change. Instead of the long straight sweep that she’d worn most of her adult life, the beautician had cut it short to her chin, then layered it all over, leaving her with a ragged, slept-in look that she wasn’t sure she like. She kept thinking that she looked as if she’d just gotten out of bed and dressed without combing her hair. The short, layered ends caught the breeze coming through the partially opened windows, whipping them madly as she drove, but the farther she went, the freer she felt. It was as if, in cutting her hair, she’d cut her ties with the past. Part of who she’d been was buried with her father and her Uncle Frank. Some more of her had been left behind on the beauty shop floor. Now it was up to her to discover exactly who was left. With one last glance in the rearview mirror, she accelerated swiftly, leaving a wild trail of dust in her wake.
About two miles from the hotel, she saw a man walking toward her on the side of the road.
John Running Horse. Bless hi heart, what could he be doing all the way out here?
She slowed down, then stopped and rolled down her window.
“John…it’s me, Isabella. Do you want a ride back to town?”
He shook his head, almost in slow motion, peering at her through the curtain of hair falling over his face.
“Can’t go with you. I’m going to Memphis. Gotta find my momma.”
“I wouldn’t take long,” she said.
“Can’t go,” he repeated. “Do you have a guitar?”
“No, I don’t, John. I’m sorry”
“I can sing,” he said. “If I had a guitar, I would sing. My momma likes to hear me sing.”
“All right, then,” Isabella said. “Goodbye.”
She accelerated slowly, unwilling to stir up any dust until she was farther away. She glanced once in the rearview mirror before she turned the curve. John was just a tiny speck in the distance, but she could tell he was still moving.
It hurt her heart to think of a man that strong in body who had the mind of a child—and a lost one, at that.
11
Isabella turned off the road into the parking lot of Abbott House and then drive her car around back, parking it in the unattached garage. She grabbed her purse as she got out and slung the shoulder strap over her neck, leaving her hands free to carry her other purchases. She had just shut the door and was turning around when Victor Ross Suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Victor! You startled me,” Isabella said.
“I’m sorry. May I help you carry your purchases, Miss Abbott?”
Isabella smiled. “Yes, that would be great. Thanks.”
She handed him the heavier of the two bags and, together, they started toward the service entrance of the hotel.
“So, Victor, have you given any more thought to staying on here?”
“Yes, I am still considering it,” he said. “It was a most generous offer.”
She smiled again. “You’re doing a most remarkable job.”
Victor nodded. “Thank you.”
They entered the hotel through the kitchen, then proceeded through the lobby.
“Where do you want me to put this?” Victor asked, as the paused at the registration desk.
“Would you mind carrying it a bit further? The family quarters are on the ground floor, just beyond the staircase.”
<
br /> “I would be honored.”
Isabella laughed. “I’m afraid it’s not much of an honor to be carrying toiletries, but it is much appreciated.”
He almost smiled, leaving Isabella with the impression that smiling was not something that came naturally to him.
“Here we are,” she said, and took out her ring of keys, then fumbled and dropped it before she could get the key in the lock.
“Allow me,” Victor said, and had the keys in hand before she knew what was happening.
To her surprise, he flipped through the keys and chose the right one without asking, then slid it into the lock and gave it a turn. The tumblers clicked silently as the door swung inward.
Victor took the key from the lock and then stepped aside.
“You first, miss,” he said.
Isabella was so taken with his manners that she walked inside without retrieving her keys. She was all the way into her small kitchen when she realized Victor was not behind her. She turned around. He was still standing in the doorway, holding her sack.
“Just put it on that chair over there,” she said. “And thank you very much for you help.”
“You’re most welcome, Miss Abbott,” he said, and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Isabella cried.
Victor stopped cursing his luck. He hadn’t had time to slip her room key from the ring.
“Since you’re here,” Isabella said, “I might as well give you your pay. I assume you would prefer it in cash, since you don’t have an account with a local bank?”
He turned around. “Yes, miss.”
The moment she turned her back to go to her desk, he slipped the room key from the ring and into his pocket, then laid her keys on a small table by the door. As he waited for her to count out his money, he scanned the layout of the apartment for future reference.
When she turned around with his money, he was looking at a painting hanging by the door.
“Do you like that?” she asked.