“I wonder why I can handle this box and read the book, but I wasn’t able to help Beau with it.”
Kelly shrugged. “I have a feeling there are many things we don’t yet know about these boxes.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Sam thought.
“Take the book with you to the hospital,” Kelly suggested, “and the box. You need something to take your mind off staring at those monitors endlessly, and maybe you’ll find something in here that can help—both with Beau’s situation and for the long term.”
Long term. Sam couldn’t think beyond the moment when Beau would open those beautiful blue eyes of his and give her one of the smiles that had first melted her heart. He had to. He simply had to. And if she could find help in this book—anything—she’d take it. Afterward—the long term—that remained to be seen. It was tempting to consider destroying the two boxes, burning the book, whatever it took to get Marcus Fitch and that OSM group to leave her alone. And the sooner that could happen, the better.
“Okay, you’re getting antsy, Mom. I’ll take you back.” Kelly placed the box and book in Sam’s backpack purse, and they briefly discussed which items to take to the hospital and which to leave in the hotel room. Sam settled on her makeup bag and one fresh shirt.
On the way out to Kelly’s car, she said “On less urgent matters, I got Riki to watch Ranger and Nellie at her place, until you get home. They were both really happy with that solution; they love her.”
“I’m sure they were. I can picture the way those dogs get all waggy and excited.”
“Oh, no, they actually told me.” Kelly grinned over the roof of the car. “I looked Ranger in the eyes and he said, quote ‘I love Riki’ unquote.”
Sam knew Kelly wanted to cheer her up, so fine. She gave the smile her daughter wanted to see. By the time they returned to the hospital Sam was eager to get to the ICU and check on Beau. Kelly insisted she take a moment to show Sam where her truck was parked, even though Sam swore she wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Jen wants to give you a call sometime,” Kelly said as they rode the elevator. “She says everything’s fine at the bakery and chocolate factory. She just wants to hear your voice and check on you. I thought that was really sweet.”
“It is nice. I’ll give her a call tonight.”
But the higher the elevator carried her, the more remote her everyday life seemed. This was her world now. It almost felt as if she’d traveled to a foreign country where they spoke a different language, and she had lost all touch with home. But that was how it would be until Beau could leave here.
She emerged from the elevator to be met by a handsome man in a dark suit.
“Rick Gonzales, FBI. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Chapter 52
Marcus struggled to wakefulness through a veil of pain. When he raised his arm to get a look at his watch, a bolt of hot lightning shot into his side. The watch said 7:28. Was it morning or night? The dim light inside the camper provided not much clue.
Unless he’d slept twenty-four hours it must be evening. There’d been a convenience store, a broken window, an excruciating walk, all remembered as a blur. Mind-boggling pain as he doused his wound in alcohol and taped on a bandage. The handful of aspirin must have permitted the long sleep. He rolled toward the edge of the too-narrow couch bed and nearly fell off, his breath catching in a small, girly shriek.
He was dying to pee, but it took a good five minutes to get himself standing and to shuffle to the back of the camper and the phone-booth-sized bathroom. He relieved himself, holding his breath against the growing stench. Too bad he couldn’t risk the use of the water pump to flush the thing. If he could get back to his car he should bring back extra bottled water for the purpose.
Thinking of the car reminded him that he likely had received a ticket for failing to pay another park fee in the new area where he’d left it. He hoped he could remember where that was. He used a thin terry cloth towel and wiped sweat from his face and neck.
On the table sat the stolen first aid supplies and his remaining half bottle of drinking water. He tipped a handful of aspirin into his hand and swallowed them. Now he had about a quarter cup of water. Yeah, he had to get back to the car—and soon. But he had to wait until the campground activity settled for the evening. Three more hours or so.
He let out a ragged breath and sat on the edge of the couch-bed, noticing his wound had oozed during his sleep, and the tan plaid upholstery had a circle of red on it. He looked down at his side.
The bullet had entered a couple of inches below his ribcage and exited straight through the back. He supposed he should be thankful it wasn’t inside him, but even the relatively clean wound was already showing the violent red and puffiness of infection. If he could get into a pharmacy he might be able to make off with some antibiotics … but those places had much better security and locks than the rinky-dink place last night. Better if he could get to the OSM airplane and have them fly him back to the big, anonymous city where no one was looking for him.
A new thought occurred. He could make it back to his car, drive far enough to get a cell signal, and call the pilot. He’d seemed like a regular guy, helpful. If he said the right things and offered enough cash, someone could drive down here, pick him up and drive him through the checkpoints, or at least the pilot could fly the plane to a closer airport. The plan comforted him and the aspirin seemed to be taking the edge off the pain. He leaned into the cushions and drifted back into an uneasy sleep.
When he woke, it was pitch dark. He struggled to sit and then stubbed his toe when he began fumbling around to find the flashlight. By its narrow beam he could see that his wound was bleeding worse. Maybe the aspirin hadn’t been such a great idea.
He gritted his teeth while he ripped off the bloody bandages and replaced them with clean. He hoped that sheriff really was dead. It would be a pisser to go through this and find out the guy’s Kevlar vest had taken the shots. At least he could take a little pride in having gotten off the first shot. There was no lawman who would have missed Marcus’s heart by this far unless he’d been knocked off balance first.
Water. More bandages. Stronger pain killers. The plane. His life depended on his getting out of here. He started for the camper door. Wait—he told himself he wasn’t thinking straight. Where was the flashlight? Oh yeah. And his jacket to cover the massive red place on his shirt, and his gun, just in case. Oh, and he’d be nowhere without his phone and car key.
Marcus staggered out of the small RV, wishing he believed in a God who would save him, the way his cousin Maurilio did. Unfortunately, in the real world outside the Vatican, a man had to look out for himself.
Chapter 53
Rick Gonzales was one of the good guys. Beau had talked about him. He had honest eyes and a sympathetic manner as he sat across from Sam in an empty waiting room they’d found on the surgical floor. Kelly had gone along to the ICU, where she would try another session with the box and a hands-on treatment for Beau’s wounds.
Rick asked first about Sam, how she was coping, and she gave the answer he wanted to hear. She would be okay, Beau would be fine.
“We’re on the trail of this Marcus Fitch,” he told her. “We know he’s wounded. There were blood drops leading away from your house. Every hospital and medical facility in the area has been notified and he hasn’t shown up.”
Sam felt a small measure of pride that at least one of Beau’s shots had hit the mark. She would have been happy to hear Gonzales say that Fitch had been found dead nearby. Something stopped her from voicing it aloud.
“When we traced his movements, he didn’t show on any commercial flight manifest. The last charge on any of his credit card accounts was for a rental car in Colorado Springs. We got the car information and there’s a BOLO on it.”
“How—?”
“Private jet. We checked the general aviation facilities at COS—Colorado Springs—and learned a Learjet registered to an organization called OSM had landed ther
e, stayed overnight, but left again this morning. The flight plan said it was going to San Francisco. Do you have any ideas about that?”
“Not really. I’m aware of this OSM group, but Marcus Fitch is the only member of it I’ve had any firsthand contact with. I understand they have offices in Washington, DC.”
“That’s our understanding, but it’s really low key and doesn’t seem to be a part of the US government or any lobbying group that we’ve been able to trace.”
“No, it isn’t. From what I’ve been told, it’s some kind of group with an interest in artifacts.” Sam paused, choosing carefully what to reveal. “There’s another organization, a non-profit called The Vongraf Foundation, in Alexandria, Virginia. Isobel St. Clair is the director, and she can tell you more about OSM, probably even give you the names of OSM’s leaders.”
“I think we’ve already gotten that far. The director is an older man, Elias Swift, and our agents have spoken to him. On the surface he seems to be somewhat cooperative. Claims Fitch has ‘gone rogue’ and is not following any OSM orders.”
It was the second time Sam had heard the term and the second time OSM had denied knowing of Fitch’s actions. Could it be true? Or was it just the official line, in order to keep scrutiny away from the organization itself?
She found that she didn’t care. As long as Beau’s life hung in the balance, her attention would be fully on him. She felt herself becoming itchy to go back to his side, and the FBI man picked up on it. He wished her well and said he would be back in touch.
Kelly was standing at Beau’s bedside when Sam walked in.
“Any change?” Sam knew her voice almost sounded desperate.
Kelly shook her head. “The, um—” she glanced up to be sure none of the medical staff was near. “The box worked as before. My hands are warm.” She touched Sam’s arm to demonstrate. “But he still doesn’t respond. I don’t know what else to do.”
Sam hugged her daughter and felt a soothing warmth settle into her own body. She’d needed that. “You go back to Scott. I’ve got some phone calls to make, and I’m going to try to actually sleep tonight. The shower and fresh clothes were a good idea, Kel. Thanks.”
She walked Kelly to the door and watched as she said good night to the nurses at their desk. A glance at the time told her it wasn’t too late on the east coast. She dialed Isobel St. Clair’s personal number and recapped briefly what Rick Gonzales had said.
“He called this morning and I tried to be helpful,” Isobel said, “without giving away too much. He asked about the motive for Marcus Fitch to come out west and why he would be tracking you down. I just said OSM was interested in some old artifacts and believed you had one of them.”
“Thanks for that. I’ve been trying to avoid specifics. Hard to explain magic to a straight-up agent like that. It’s not the kind of thing law enforcement puts much stock in.”
“Right. Anyway, he has the name of the OSM director and has talked to him. I got the distinct feeling Mr. Gonzales was willing to listen to Elias Swift’s disclaimers, but that he still doesn’t fully trust anyone there.”
“Neither do I,” Sam said.
“You should be skeptical. Apparently Swift’s story is that they simply want to talk to you about purchasing this old box you own and Fitch was originally sent to negotiate that. The others claim to know nothing about the lengths he’s going to.”
And none of them knew Kelly had the second box yet. Sam would see to it that secret was kept safe. What she said to Isobel was, “I don’t care how much they offer—with my husband lying here at death’s door, I’m not parting with it.”
It was the first time she’d said it aloud, the acknowledgement that Beau really could die. She barely got through saying goodbye to Isobel.
There were other calls to make but she needed to get herself together first. She stashed the wooden box out of sight in her bag and walked to the nurses’ station. The night nurse looked up in sympathy.
“You look tired, Mrs. Cardwell. Can I get you anything?”
“Is there some place to get a cup of tea without having to go down to the cafeteria? I’ve already been away too long.”
The young nurse looked as if she wanted to deliver a little lecture on caring for oneself, but all she did was smile. “I’ll take care of it for you. Go, give your husband a hug. I’ll be right back.”
Behind one of the anonymous doors on the ward there must be an employee lounge, Sam guessed, because the nurse returned less than five minutes later with a tall cup of hot water and two tea bags on a tray. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want regular or chamomile.” She handed over the small tray and gave Sam’s shoulder a pat.
Sam dunked the chamomile bag into the cup. Although she would have loved the caffeine hit from the black tea, she knew everyone was right. She really did need to sleep tonight. She took Beau’s hand, staring at his face and then the monitors. Nothing had changed. She spoke softly to him, assuring him of her love and the good wishes of all their friends. Not a flicker behind the eyelids, but she felt in her heart—she knew—he surely must be able to hear her.
Kelly said Jen had asked about them. Everyone at the bakery was worried. Sam picked up her phone and dialed. She sipped her tea while Jen went through a list of assurances that all was going along all right at the bakery.
“I also talked to Benjie this afternoon,” Jen said, “and he’s got it all under control at the chocolate factory. They sent a big shipment out today for Book It Travel’s charter jet clients.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your checking on everything for me.”
“Sam, you know if there is anything, anything at all … You have so many friends in this town, and everyone wants to help if they can.”
Sam nodded, tears blurring her vision again. “I know. I can’t think what to ask for. Just prayers, I suppose.”
“Everyone is doing that,” Jen said with a small chuckle. “They’re even writing them down and bringing them to the shop. You have quite a collection of good wishes and cards already.”
“Thank you. Tell everyone …” Her mind went black. What would she tell everyone? “Just tell them thanks.”
Jen’s words and descriptions ran through her mind after she hung up, but Sam had a hard time putting herself back into the world of the bakery. Right now, the universe revolved around this tiny glassed-in room and the man who was the center of her life.
Chapter 54
Marcus gritted his teeth against the pain as he limped to his car, where he’d left it deep in the forest. It had rained during the afternoon, and he hoped the vehicle wouldn’t become mired in mud. He hadn’t dared to leave it parked on any of the paved or graveled roadways. His wound was leaking again, despite the new bandages he’d applied just before leaving the camper tonight.
A jolt of pain shot through him as he edged into the driver’s seat. He started the car to give his cell phone battery a charge while he took a few minutes to catch his breath. Dammit, dammit, dammit!
He concentrated on breathing and brought the pain slightly under control. He must get to that airplane! He put the car in gear and backed up, thick bushes scraping the side of the car. Couldn’t anything go in his favor? He drove the same route he’d taken two nights ago, bypassing the convenience store where surely his little midnight raid had been discovered. The place didn’t seem to be swarming with cops, but no doubt it was on their watch list now.
A couple miles farther along he spotted a Forest Service office on the left. No lights, no vehicles, but there were a couple of buildings. He could get out of sight behind them while he made his calls.
The pilot’s number rang four times and Marcus was sure it would go to voicemail when a grumpy sounding voice answered. He explained that he’d been delayed.
“So, can I get you to fly into another airport? The map shows one just outside Raton, New Mexico.” He couldn’t very well say he didn’t dare get on the interstate and head for Colorado.
“You’re kidding, righ
t?” said the pilot. “You didn’t show and we got another call. Took off early yesterday morning. The aircraft is in San Jose right now, and we’re scheduled for Omaha in the morning.”
“Wait a minute—I had you booked.” Marcus’s head was beginning to throb.
“Yeah, three days ago. An airplane on the ground ain’t earning any money, bub.”
“Hey! Show some respect. OSM pays you very well. You need to get back here and pick me up.”
“Too freaking bad. The head office called and rescheduled us. I don’t know what you did to piss them off, but you aren’t my client anymore, and I don’t like being waked up in the middle of the night.” The line went dead.
The organization will disavow any knowledge of you …
A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Where could he turn?
He thought of Maurilio. They were blood—surely Maury wouldn’t let him down. It had to be mid-morning in Europe by now. He tapped the private number of his cousin’s Vatican office.
“Maury, I’m in trouble in New Mexico.”
“Marcus—what are you—?”
“Wait, just listen. That wooden box you gave me … I needed to get the others … I just wanted to talk with the lady that has one. But then the sheriff of Taos—” He realized he wasn’t making sense, but his fevered mind couldn’t think straight. He began to sob. “Maury, can you come get me?”
“Marcus. Listen to yourself. How would I just ‘come get you’? I’m in Vatican City. The Holy Father has an appearance before a huge crowd in just a few hours. I couldn’t come if I wanted to.”
If he wanted to? “But we’re cousins. Blood means more than—”
“It used to, Marcus. It used to. But you’ve used me too many times. This last time, switching passports with you, giving you something that rightfully belongs in the archives here—you’ve pushed it too far. I have to answer to God for those things, and you need to beg His mercy and get some help.”
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