kiDNApped (A Tara Shores Thriller)

by Chesler, Rick

  Just as Dave finished talking, Tara saw a man and woman walking on the sand past the row of tables, looking around. When the woman turned to look her way, Tara held out her badge. “Kristen Archer?” she called. She recognized Kristen and Lance from photos in the William Archer case file.

  Kristen nodded, and she and Lance made their way into the patio area to join Tara.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kristen said, offering her hand.

  Tara stood and shook Kristen’s hand. “I wish it were under better circumstances,” she said. She then shook hands with Lance, who spent more time visually appraising Tara’s outfit than did his sister. Tara wasn’t wearing the stereotypical FBI dark suit, but rather a conservative business outfit, Hawaiian style with a floral print top. Lance thought she looked like a banker, maybe a CPA, except for the pistol on her hip. “Please have a seat,” Tara said, waving them over to two empty chairs at the table.

  “I’m confused,” Dave said, looking up at Tara. “Why are they here?”

  “They're here for their own, unrelated case, and this was the only time I could meet them.” Tara explained. Then she added, “However, their case also involved an unusual boating incident in these waters, and although I don't in any way mean to insinuate that the two cases are connected...”

  “What is it that happened?” Kristen cut in as she and Lance took seats at the table.

  Dave recounted the events of the day yet again for Kristen and Lance, while Tara took the opportunity to check his story for inconsistencies. She found none.

  “Where are you two from?” Dave asked the Archers. Kristen told him they were from Los Angeles.

  “Ah, mainlanders. Well, I shouldn’t be too harsh. I was from there once, too,” Dave said. “And it looks like I’ll be going back again soon, the way things are going.”

  “Why’s that?” Kristen asked. Lance had settled into a seat opposite Dave and was now eyeing several full beers on the table that appeared to belong to no one.

  “I was hoping that my new job was going to pay for me to live here long enough to find something more permanent. But now my boss is dead, so this new gig is out the window.” Dave appeared sullen for a moment, but then perked up after watching Lance.

  “Hey, bud, help yourself to a brew—people keep bringing them to me because they saw me on TV, but they’ll be warm before I can get to ‘em all. Same for you, miss…or is it Mrs.?” Dave said, looking at Kristen, who had taken a seat beside him.

  “Actually, it’s Doctor,” she said, not wanting to get too personal. “And no thank you, I’ll take an iced tea if the waitress ever comes around.” Dave waved at an attractive female server some distance away who smiled and approached their table.

  Lance was tipping back his beer, enjoying the scenery. Clearly he would be of no help here, Kristen thought.

  “Doctor, as in medical doctor?” Dave asked.

  “No, PhD,” she said. Cutting off the chance for more small talk, Kristen turned to Tara, who was silently absorbing the details of the conversation ]

  The waitress arrived with the iced tea for Kristen. Tara declined the offer of anything to drink.

  “I did notice one small thing,” Tara said, “which is why I thought it appropriate to meet with you at the same time as Mr. Turner here,” Tara said, nodding in Dave’s direction.

  “And that is?” Kristen asked. Dave also looked on with interest. Lance guzzled his beer and gawked at a passing waitress.

  “It isn’t much,” Tara began, “but I have copies of the ship’s log from the R/V Tropic Sequence, and I noticed that they stopped to collect water samples at coordinates very near the ones where the Honu was anchored,” she said.

  Kristen said, “You actually think this incident may be related to our father's case?”

  “I'm not saying that,” Tara said, not wanting to falsely inflate the Archers' hopes. “I'm only pointing out an observation. It may mean nothing at all.”

  “But two boating incidents in the same area within three months? That isn't normal around here, is it?” Kristen said.

  “No,” Tara said. And before she had a chance to continue, Kristen interjected.

  “So Dave,” Kristen said, turning her attention to the diver, “do you really think it was a ring that you were looking for down there today?”

  From time to time in the course of her career, Tara had been confronted with family members of victims who fancied themselves amateur sleuths. They were more annoying than anything else, but they could be time wasters and, occasionally, even dangerous.

  Dave answered before she could regain control of the conversation. “Like I said, I was told I was looking for a wedding ring,” he said, before quickly adding, “not mine—for the guy who hired me—the dead guy, Johnson. He said he dropped it off his boat,” he concluded with a frown. “But now I’m not so sure,” Dave said, finishing off a beer and starting in on another. “I mean, like I told the cops, I find it hard to believe that someone would kill for a stupid ring.”

  “What about the boat?” Kristen asked. Tara continued to appear bored, looking out over the water from behind dark sunglasses.

  Dave laughed. “Nah. Don’t get me wrong—I’d love to have a little boat like that, but the Honu’s not worth killing over.”

  “Honu?” Kristen asked.

  “That’s the name of my boss’s—former boss’s—boat. It means—”

  “Sea turtle,” Lance interjected, setting his empty bottle on the table and sequestering another.

  “There ya go,” Dave said. “Not bad for a tourist. So no, nothing I saw was worth killing over. All I can think of is that Johnson must have been involved in some bad sh—stuff that I didn’t know anything about. It’s not like I really knew the guy.”

  “To look for the ring,” Kristen said, “what kind of equipment did you use?”

  Dave explained in detail the diving setup and the metal detector, then finished by relating how his detector had just locked onto a solid signal when Johnson’s body had come plummeting down.

  “So whatever it was that was down there…”

  “…should still be down there,” Dave finished for her, his eyes taking on an intense gleam.

  A moment of silence ensued as the four of them contemplated this, sipping their drinks. Tara appeared slightly more interested.

  Despite the trade winds blowing in from the ocean, the detective felt a trickle of sweat slide down the back of her neck; almost ninety degrees, and humid, but she wasn’t sure if the weather was responsible. She was certain the weather wasn't responsible when she heard Kristen say, “Let’s go get it!”

  … CGGA11TTGC...

  The sound of Dave Turner’s laughter mixing with the music from the band flowed across the table. Lance also laughed, but his was tinged with a certain edginess. He knew his sister was serious. When the mirth subsided a bit, Dave asked Kristen, “Did you just say, ‘Let’s go get it?’”

  “Yes!”

  Dave smiled at her before looking away, picking up his beer again, and then looking at Tara. “Can we do that? Or is it FBI jurisdiction now or something like that.”

  Tara shrugged. “Do you feel that you’d be able to recover the object?”

  “Probably, as long as we had a boat, some dive equipment…oh, and an underwater metal detector.”

  Kristen’s features took on an accepting expression. “I can rent us a boat for tomorrow morning, scuba gear too. I’m pretty sure I’ve got my C-card,” she said, fishing out her wallet and removing from it a scuba certification card. “I’m not an advanced diver—I’ve got less than fifty dives overall, but I’m competent. The metal detector, though,” she said, flipping her card onto the table for Dave’s inspection, “I thought you already had one of those.”

  Dave paused for a moment. His eyes were locked onto the scuba card, but Tara could see that the young man’s thinking now focused on the logistical matters Kristen had so unexpectedly introduced. Dave set his beer back on the table wi
thout having taken a sip since the last time he picked it up.

  Tara studied Kristen while the conversation unfolded. The marine microbiologist was highly intelligent. Kristen very well might convince Dave to help her find whatever it was that he was looking for, on the off chance it had something to do with her missing father. Tara decided that any collaboration between the two of them was good for the FBI in that it made it that much easier to keep tabs on two cases at once. She continued to listen.

  “The one I was using should still be down there, I guess,” Dave was saying.

  “You guess?” Kristen asked, perhaps a little more forcefully than she’d intended. But Dave seemed not to notice.

  “Well, I told the police I was using one, and I thought they would have taken it along with Johnson’s body, but they said they never saw it. Probably they just left as soon as they got the body. So it must still be down there. It's heavy enough not to drift away.”

  “And what about the site location—did you mark the anchor position with GPS?”

  “Yeah, I know the coordinates by heart because we made a bunch of trips out there. I don’t have an actual GPS unit, though—I was using the one on the Honu.”

  “I have a handheld GPS with me,” Kristen said matter-of-factly. Lance rolled his eyes and started in on another beer. It occurred to Tara that Kristen Archer was the kind of person to be prepared for anything—the kind who brings a GPS unit to go looking for her father.

  “Okay,” Dave began. Then, “Hey, wait a minute…Who are you two, anyway? I mean, I know you told me your name, and you’re a diver,” Dave said, tipping his head at Kristen’s card still on the table, “but why are you so interested in all this?” Then he looked to Tara. “Are you investigating them?” He nodded at Kristen and Lance.

  Tara shook her head. She could detect the uncertainty in Dave’s voice. After the near death experience as a result of a poorly chosen job, he wasn’t one hundred percent trusting of anyone. “As I said, I’ve been investigating the case of their missing father. I came here to help them in any way I could before the case is closed in two days when he is declared legally dead—presumed lost at sea along with his entire crew.”

  Kristen took a deep breath. She dug the folded pages of the magazine article she’d read on the plane from her purse and smoothed them out on the table. “This is our Dad.”

  Dave’s eyes bugged out when he saw the article’s front page. “Holy crap, you’re Dr. William Archer’s kids?”

  The siblings both nodded.

  Dave continued. “I’m a marine biologist, myself,” he said, looking at Kristen. He explained how he had just earned his bachelor’s degree from the University of Hawaii. Kristen congratulated him and then he turned his attention back to the article on the table.

  “I remember that,” Dave said. It was all over the news here for like a week. They never found him?”

  Tara, Kristen and Lance all shook their heads.

  “And you think this has something to do with what Johnson was into?” Dave asked, his tone incredulous, looking around the restaurant to see if anyone had overheard.

  “Probably not,” Tara said.

  “But since there’s nothing else to go on,” Kristen said, “and because I’ve always wanted to dive Hawaii, I think we should try and bring up whatever it was that you found this morning. Would you want to come along, too?” This latter question she addressed to Tara.

  “If you do make a trip, I’d like to come along,” the special agent said. Keep tabs on my two cases at once.

  Dave grinned and swallowed some more beer. “I dunno,” he said. “After today, I could use a break from the water, and now I need to start looking for a new job, too.”

  “What if I paid you a thousand dollars cash, plus all expenses, to take me diving?” Kristen asked.

  … TTCA12TTTC...

  June 14, 8:15 PM, Waikiki

  Lance cringed at the annoying Japanese pop music playing as he entered the sushi bar on Kalakaua Avenue—the main beachfront street in Waikiki. He ordered a large Asahi beer and sat down to wait for his associates who had requested the meeting. Lance hoped to take care of business quickly and still have time for a solo night on the town. His sister planned to turn in early. He was irritated that Kristen had set up a morning scuba dive with that college kid, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to sleep in. He was more than irritated that the FBI agent would be accompanying them.

  Lance was watching various pieces of raw seafood pass by on a rotating conveyor when two men of Asian descent, both wearing casual business outfits, took seats on either side of him at the bar. One of them spoke in rapid Japanese to the sushi chef who, after raising an eyebrow and asking a few questions, nodded and set to work preparing a dish that was not on the conveyor. A waitress brought the men waters. They politely refused the offer of alcohol.

  “Good evening, my American friend,” the man on Lance’s right said, without looking his way. Lance merely nodded. “We have taken the liberty of ordering a special dish for you, of which we shall all partake. Are you hungry?”

  “Actually—” Lance started. He was not a fan of sushi and wished to expedite this meeting.

  “No matter,” the man said, dismissing his reply. “It is a small morsel, far from a full meal, but quite satisfying all the same.”

  Lance nodded, acquiescing. He looked around the establishment, which had been chosen by his companions. It bustled with patrons, mostly tourists, and none of them seemed to pay any attention to the American sitting at the bar between the two Asian businessmen. The loud music further helped to screen their conversation.haole in shorts, T-shirt and sandals

  “So,” the man on Lance’s right said, “the day after tomorrow is the day of the declaration.” Again, Lance merely nodded in reply, keeping his interaction with the men as subtle as possible, which he knew they would also appreciate. He took a pull off the Asahi and set it back down. In two days his father, the gene hunter, would be declared legally dead.

  “And after that it should only be a couple of weeks or so before your share of the estate is disbursed.”

  Lance again nodded. Then Dad will be free to go, Kristen will give him back her share of the money, as will the other few beneficiaries, but I’ll be gone with mine. All I need forever. Thanks, Dad.

  “Your sister’s visit here concerns us,” the man on his left, this time, said. Lance did not know the real names of either man. “You were unable to persuade her not to come?”

  Lance shook his head. “Believe me, I tried. But it doesn’t matter. She won’t find anything. Even I don’t know where he is right now, remember?” Lance finished.

  The man on his left nodded. “True,” he said.

  “How is he?” Lance asked, referencing his father.

  “He has been cooperative thus far,” the man on Lance’s right replied. Then he lowered his voice a bit more before adding, “He thinks our motivation for holding him is to learn his technology for the global warming bugs. To help pass the time until he is declared legally dead so that you can pay us from your share of the inheritance he leaves you, we pretend that that is all we are interested in.”

  “As if you have to pretend to be interested in GREENBACK,” Lance said dryly.

  Both men chuckled. The one on Lance’s right continued. “At first he refused to tell us anything, insisting that someone would come for him, but after two weeks went by, he began to go into some detail on his procedures in the lab we built for him on board.”

  “You built him a lab?” Lance asked, surprised.

  “He needs to have something to do,” the man on his left said, shrugging.

  Lance felt a twinge of concern and tried to drown it with the last of his Asahi. He hadn’t thought about exactly what his father would be doing while held captive by these men he had invited to abduct him—to hold him long enough to be considered lost at sea and declared legally dead. But he certainly hadn’t anticipated him being put to work in a laboratory. Must be a
big boat...a ship, Lance thought as an aside.

  But he knew what the presence of a lab meant. They want more than just the two million I promised them which represents half of my share of the inheritance...they want GREENBACK, to patent it for themselves. That’s worth up to a billion according to industry reports. Damn it, I should have known that corporate thieves would want more than just a couple million to share among themselves...

  Then a server appeared, taking Lance’s empty bottle and asking him if he’d like another. He nodded and waited for the waitress to leave before addressing the man on his left. “How is he, though? I mean, he’s being treated well, as I insisted as a condition of our agreement, right?” Lance wanted his father’s money, but wished him no physical harm.

  “He is having an excellent time,” the man on Lance’s left said. Then Right added, “Three gourmet meals a day, prepared by our shipboard chef, and his own private suite.” Which is kept locked whenever he’s in there alone, Lance knew. “Just as long as he’s not mistreated,” Lance said. “That was part of our agreement.”

  “We will keep our part of the bargain,” Right said. Then he indicated the approaching sushi chef. “It seems our food is ready.”

  The chef set a platter in front of them which was covered in clear pieces of sashimi, or thin slices of raw fish. There was also a pile of white material, as well as the traditional ginger and wasabi. The chef gave a formal bow and retreated behind the counter.

  “Do you know this dish?” Left asked Lance. Lance shook his head.

  “This is fugu,” Right chimed in. “A kind of pufferfish.”

  “If not prepared correctly,” Left took over, “it is deadly poisonous.”