Shadows and Spice

by Grady, D. R.

  He waited patiently as the computer genius worked his magic on the unit. Greg sincerely hoped his premonition wasn’t right, but staring at the minimized screen on his laptop, he had a good idea now why the Temites and others were so interested in Janine.

  “Yeah, here it is. A group that goes by... John Morris.”

  Greg suppressed a groan. Fears confirmed.

  “Any idea what this John Morris company does?”

  “Nope, not yet, but I expect they’re pretty big into arms dealing and drugs.”

  “That’s what I figured you’d say.”

  Newton slurped loudly, probably from a coffee mug or an energy drink can. “Yeah, that’s all I could find so far.”

  “Let me guess, the John Morris’ have been around since my first assignment?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “And they’ve been talking to the Temites?”

  “I think the Temites approached them.”

  “Is this a deal of brotherhood or battle?”

  Newton grunted. More slurping noises filtered over the line.

  Greg rephrased his question. “Are the Temites working together or are they battling for the same turf?”

  “Good question. I don’t know. Give me a few on that one.”

  “There’s also a site I want you to check out. I think it’s the same group. It’s a pirate site.”

  “I love pirate sites,” Newton said, glee in his voice.

  “Of course you do.”

  Newton would go in, conquer, wreak as much havoc to the site as possible, shut it down, and leave. But he’d also come away with much information. It was his version of game-play on the web.

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Nope. I’ll call you.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Greg replied and they hung up.

  He stared at his computer screen. John Morris. And this pirate web site, as well as the Temites.

  Greg punched in a series of numbers on his cell phone. Now he had a few questions for a few more individuals.

  If they could get to the bottom of this, he would be free to leave and be on his boat in the tropics by the end of the week. For some reason he couldn’t define, that picture didn’t hold as much appeal now as it did at the start of this little endeavor.

  Chapter 19

  When the phone rang, Janine contemplated allowing it to go to voice mail. After that nightmare she didn’t want to move from her nest to speak to someone. Privacy and isolation were familiar friends. She would also have to disrupt the covers, which were snuggled so perfectly around her.

  Whoever tried to call hung up before it went to voice mail. Right before her eyes drifted shut, the phone pealed again. Obviously this person knew she was home and didn’t mind bothering her.

  So she wouldn’t have a family member on her doorstep, Janine rolled and scooped up the phone. Cool air swirled around her and she shivered. She also entertained herself by envisioning dire consequences to whoever called.

  Why couldn’t people just leave her alone?

  She loved her family. Really. She just needed a little space at the moment and with all that was happening in her life right now, she didn’t feel that space was given. Her family instead seemed to rally around her, like she needed protection.

  So a car had blown up in her driveway. These things happened.

  So Greg’s instincts had saved him from being blown up with the car. He was a highly trained professional.

  That didn’t mean her family had to watch her like a baby just learning to walk. She could manage. She had for the last thirty five years. Survival came instinctively to her.

  She managed to survive her uncle, Johannesburg, and two tours of Kuwait unscathed. That had to count for something.

  “Hello?” Keep calm.

  “Have you been on a website,” and Greg rattled off the URL for the freaky John Morris website she had visited before climbing into bed. She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it briefly.

  When it didn’t further shock her, she replaced the device to her ear. “Yes.”

  “Have you been on that site before?” Greg sounded patient. Like he was willing to question her for hours. Janine glanced at the clock.

  “You do realize it’s one thirty a.m.?”

  “Yes. This is important.

  “I have to work in the morning,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint. She needed space, and Greg Gilmore crowding her at one thirty in the morning didn’t qualify.

  “Sorry. But I need to know this. I think I might have figured things out.”

  Janine sat up abruptly. “You remember?”

  “No. A friend of mine put together some facts and I think he hit on what’s happened.”

  “Tell me,” Janine invited. Answers – she wanted to roll the word around in her mouth and savor it.

  “If you’ve been on this particular John Morris website, you probably activated their interest, because they’re an arms dealership.”

  Only through training and willpower did Janine stifle a gasp. She had visited an arms dealer website? “How did I get on it? Shouldn’t it have been secure?” No wonder that site had made her so uncomfortable. Her instincts had been right.

  “Yeah, but your name might have given you accidental access. They’re a pirate website. Probably that’s to discourage people who stumble onto their site.”

  “I didn’t stay on long.”

  “Good. My friend will take care of the site.”

  “How?”

  “Does it matter?” The patience was still there, but it sounded strained now.

  Janine smiled. “No, I guess it doesn’t.” At least she managed to bug him. He had called extremely late at night, and by rights, she should have been asleep, rather than lying in her cocoon, wondering about retirement and Greg, and what she wanted from both of them. So far she hadn’t come up with anything usable.

  Throw in a man she couldn’t stop thinking about, sprinkle in some danger, and add a pinch of desires that had previously lain dormant, and Janine managed to cook up the recipe for disaster.

  “I wonder if you going on that site didn’t trigger a chain of events.”

  Janine frowned. “What?” Maybe she should concentrate on the conversation at hand.

  “How long ago did you visit that URL?”

  “At the start of my search, probably around the time you first came to town.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Greg, what does this mean?”

  “I think it means that John Morris, the arms dealer group, already had suspicions as to my survival, or Michael Lamont’s survival. Then, they discover the attending physician, Janine Morris, on their web site.”

  “They wouldn’t know that I’m searching for a long lost relative.”

  “No. It is coincidence you managed to find that site. It’s not open to the general public.”

  “So if Lainy or Emma, who’ve been helping, had visited that site instead of me, your rental car would still be intact?”

  “Probably.”

  “This is a big mess.” She shoved a barely shaking hand through her hair. But she was grateful for the answers, nonetheless.

  “Why are you looking for John Morris again?”

  “We believe he’s the link between Ben and me being related biologically to the Morrisons.”

  “You think you’re related through genetics?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine with this search. Aunt Tilly remembers a long lost brother who disappeared one day during a family outing.”

  “He could be your great grandfather or something?”

  “Possibly. We don’t have much to go on at this point.”

  “That’s why you’re searching every John Morris site.” Greg’s voice held interest and something Janine couldn’t identify.

  “There’s no guarantee we’ll find him, but we’re hoping to get lucky.”

  “Wouldn’t he be long dead and gone by now?”
<
br />   “Probably. But then, Aunt Tilly is still kicking.”

  “True, but what’s the possibility he has a website?”

  She scratched her nose. “We don’t think he does, as he’s likely not alive, but we hope one of his family members will. We’re just looking for information.”

  “How will you know he’s your relative, as opposed to someone else’s?”

  “His history is unique.”

  “I see.”

  “We don’t necessarily have to find him. We just need to find his descendants.”

  “Um, Janine?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you and Ben are his great grandchildren, you’re his descendents.” She heard the irony in his voice and suppressed a grin.

  “We doubt we’re his... legitimate descendents.”

  “I see.”

  “We’re just hoping that his legitimate children will be willing to donate samples for DNA analysis so we can determine for certain we are Morrisons.”

  “Odd that you’re checking out John Morris sites. Why not John Morrison?”

  “My last name is Morris, and it was my mother’s. We believe he dropped the on part of his name – we don’t know why.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. What if you don’t find anything?”

  “Then we’ll likely start looking for John Morrison. But I think we’re more likely to locate our ancestor through the John Morris name.” Janine paused and stared at the shadows playing across her ceiling. “It’s odd that my ancestor and an arms dealership would bear the same name, isn’t it?”

  “Not so strange. You said yourself there are thousands of John Morris’ in the world. If you wanted to hide in plain sight, wouldn’t you choose a name that lots of other people had?”

  “I suppose. It just seems odd that my search for my great grandfather set a series of events that would lead people to suspect that Michael Lamont is still alive. And then your car gets blown up, someone harmed my tree, and the possibility of my family being in danger is wide open.”

  “We’re assuming some of this.” Although his car was definitely totaled, and her tree was the worse for wear.

  “Yes. It’s hard to grasp.”

  “Maybe we’ll actually have some answers soon.”

  “When?”

  “My buddy is looking in to things. He might provide some closure.”

  “Okay.” Janine yawned and Greg must have heard her.

  “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

  “Thanks for calling.”

  “I needed to warn you about that site. Stay off it for now.”

  “Will your friend leave it up?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. I’ll still steer clear of it anyhow.”

  “That’s good. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Janine hung up the phone and nestled back under the covers. Her instincts had been spot on about that site, but for some reason, it didn’t offer her much comfort. Did her ancestor have something to do with this arms dealership? The pieces could fit if he did. What had John Morris done during his life? Would his actions come back to haunt her?

  The thought of coming from such unsavory roots bothered her. But then why it did was a mystery. She certainly hadn’t lived a civilian life by any standards until a year ago. Now that she enjoyed living in the lap of family and had settled into the first “normal” existence she’d ever known, everything was poised to implode before her very eyes.

  She hoped there were enough pieces left to fit back together again.

  Greg lunged from the tangle of covers, gasping and panting as the last of the nightmare slid away into the shadows surrounding his bed. The acrid stench of burning wood, human flesh, and molten metal drifted out of his memory along with the salty sea air. The screams of dying men faded as he returned to full consciousness.

  He breathed deeply, sucking in lungfuls of the crisp Hershey air, willing away the last of that nightmare. It visited him regularly. That night so long ago on the docks of one of countless seaside warehouses that had erupted into fiery death in milliseconds. It was odd that his very first assignment haunted him while his last one didn’t seem to faze him at all.

  The last mission had been the hardest, the first the easiest, but the first still occupied his dreams. Why? That night so long ago howled through him, and the underworld vines always crept forth, like they could capture him unawares whenever he relived that night. Icy winds called and beckoned, while ice sleeted through his veins every time.

  He couldn’t seem to shake the images from his memory. Even when he lay dying on Janine’s operating table, he had relived that terrible night. How could something that happened so long ago still haunt him today?

  Why was the twenty year old memory still fresh? Greg reached across the bed and scooped up the bottle of water he’d set there earlier. He drank deeply, wanting to wash the memories from his mind.

  He recapped the bottle and settled back into the pillows. Greg turned and stared out the window, but kept his mind solely on the contents beyond his bedroom. He refused to think about the dream. He had lived through it, why revisit that terrible place and time?

  Janine’s insistence the night of the Morrison family gathering slid through his mind. She wanted him to speak about his past because she thought it might hold clues to their future. And she’d been right. He sat up abruptly, all thoughts of the beckoning shadows outside dissipated as he searched inward. What if that dream, what if that night remained with him because he had left unfinished business?

  His first assignment. He most definitely lacked the experience then to make certain all the loose ends tied up perfectly in the end. He’d only learned to make certain nothing could come back to bite him with training and experience. With each mission, he learned to be more efficient, more steadfast, more cunning.

  But that first one, he’d had no clue. He had finished the job, yes. The papers his government had requested were delivered, a little late, smoke infused, and wet, but were handed over to the proper grateful authorities. Yet the whole affair had played out in a way he’d never expected or planned.

  The building should not have caught on fire. A freak accident? Or something more?

  So many men died that night. As far as he knew, the warehouse was still an empty, burned out shell. Twenty years later. The owner had died that night, and his wife and children had not bothered to sell the building.

  Wife and children.

  Greg rolled out of bed and padded to his laptop. He booted up the machine and typed out a few commands. The processor ran through a series of screens before Greg lost himself in the information. His memory was sketchy, but because the nightmares kept the incident fresh in his memory, he recalled the data he needed faster than usual.

  The screen flashed before him and Greg set some alarms on various sites. Alarms that would tell him of the activities of certain individuals.

  If the family suspected him, they might be the source of his problems. If they suspected him. Greg couldn’t remember using the name Michael Lamont for that mission. He had used his own name. He’d only been a dock worker then. Greg Gilmore, painter and dock worker. And beginner spy.

  It wouldn’t matter if Michael Lamont was dead. This family wouldn’t care. They would want Greg Gilmore. That made sense. More sense than someone hunting down Lamont, who had the documents to prove he was dead and gone.

  But how did the Temites figure into this? The screen winked into another site and Greg stared. The widow of the warehouse owner had died recently. A warehouse owner whose last name was Morris.

  Her children, a boy and a girl, outlived her. Greg leaned closer and reread her obituary. Yes, she was the owner’s wife. He barely remembered her, but this was the lady.

  He couldn’t remember the kids at all, but thought they hadn’t quite been teenagers when their father died. Twins. Yes, that was correct. Greg scratched his chest as he processed the information. How did this information help him? He clic
ked onto the next screen. Normally he would have ignored these pages, the society gossip sections, but he’d discovered lately that gossip wasn’t always a bad source of information. Now he glanced at the pictures of some lavishly clad men and women before turning his attention to the contents of the page.

  The writing was fluffy at best, but he learned the brother and sister enjoyed a pampered life in paradise. Their father had left them with plenty of money to blow through and now with the death of their mother, they apparently were to receive the extent of her wealth. Upper class brats. They’d attended the finest schools, actually he and KC shared in their educated status, as they had graduated from the same prep school near Philly.

  The brother had graduated from Harvard, the sister from the University of Pennsylvania and some fancy school in France. These were kids of a former arms and drug dealer? Greg frowned as he read the rest of the data. Where had they earned such money? He tried to remember whether the late owner had flaunted such wealth.

  Greg couldn’t recall whether the man had or not, but it appeared his children had no such trouble. He delved deeper into the file and learned that their father had made plenty of money. Upon his death, a hefty insurance policy had been quietly paid to the widow.

  One who didn’t appear to overly grieve for her dead husband. The gossip columnist mentioned, almost cattily, that she had carried on a bit indiscreetly with several men in the community. Nice way to raise kids. Maybe his and KC’s childhood hadn’t been so bad. Their parents would have never carried on such indiscreet affairs. Everything in the Gilmore home was done with the finest discretion and extraordinary taste. Or so their parents had reminded them.

  The Ivy League graduates pulled his attention back to the screen. He saw they inherited quite a sum from their mother. Apparently she had made some good investments over the years, despite the inability to keep her interpersonal habits to herself. Clicking on the next link, Greg saw another large insurance payout would be granted them, also, once their mother’s estate was finalized.

  Both children held the power of attorney for their mother’s estate, but an actual lawyer would oversee the proceedings. A family friend, and Greg clicked back several pages, yes there it was. The lawyer was one of the alleged men the deceased mother had carried on with after her husband had died. Interesting.