by Lynn Viehl
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Drew put down the ghastly picture. “I’d like to help with your investigation, but my priority is to find the Americans who were kidnapped.”
“You have not heard… . Of course, you have been traveling.” She put away the photos. “Last night Señor Tacal was killed in front of dozens of people on the public docks, not far from where the boat was abandoned.”
So that was the connection. “Do you think he was killed because he saw the sniper and his victims?”
“I cannot say why he was murdered.” She hesitated before adding, “But the descriptions of Tacal’s killers match those of the man and woman whom you claim were kidnapped in San Francisco.” She checked her own notepad. “Samuel Taske and Charlotte Marena. We have issued warrants under those names for their arrest.”
Drew felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “These people were kidnapped, Agent Flores. If they killed anyone, it was in self-defense, probably while trying to escape. This Tacal must have been the sniper who abducted them.”
She shook her head. “According to our witnesses, Tacal was unarmed and begged for mercy. The American male—presumably Taske—bludgeoned him until Tacal lost consciousness, at which time his female companion shot him in the head. They then stole another boat.”
“This is bullshit.” Drew shoved out of his chair and began pacing the length of the room. “Samuel Taske can barely walk, much less beat a man unconscious. Charlotte Marena is a paramedic and the first responder to reach the victims on the bridge.” He turned and looked at her. “Neither of them would harm anyone.”
“Perhaps not until last night.” Agent Flores averted her eyes as her tone became brisk. “You can examine the sketches made by our artist; they are based on the descriptions of the witnesses and match the photos that were sent to us from the San Francisco police. I will also arrange for you to see the statements collected by the police. They, too, are very detailed.”
“I’m sure they are, but I don’t read Spanish any better than I speak it.” Drew dragged a hand through his hair. “What are your people doing to find Taske and Marena?”
“My agency has sent two of our patrol boats to search the islands and the waters surrounding the archipelago,” she said. “We have also radioed all the ships in the area and asked them to report any sighting of the stolen vessel.”
“How long will this take?”
She shrugged. “Days, perhaps weeks. Assuming the suspects remain in the search area.”
“Two kidnap victims don’t turn into murderers overnight,” Drew said finally. “I’ll need to talk to these witnesses myself. In person, Gracie.”
She eyed him. “Then it is regrettable that you don’t speak Spanish, Marty.”
Before Drew could reply, Detective Ortega lumbered in and spoke sharply to Agent Flores, who said very little in return. Drew noted how the older cop’s eyes kept drifting south toward Gracie’s sternum, and the casual way he reached down to adjust his package.
As soon as Ortega left, Gracie turned her attention back to him. “I am instructed to tell you that Chief Ruiz has personally taken over the investigation.” Her voice remained calm, but anger simmered in her eyes. “Our assistance, while appreciated, is no longer required by the department.”
“They’re kicking both of us off the case?”
“So it would seem.” She gathered up her files and replaced them in her suitcase. She glanced at him, hesitated, and then added, “I can recommend a reasonably priced hotel down by the water if you would like to rest for a day before returning to the United States.”
He took hold of her wrist. “What I would really like, Gracie, is to find out what the hell is going on here. To do that, I need your help.”
His touch seemed to shock her into stillness, and she stared at his hand as her face turned pink again. “I am sorry, Agent Frasier, but I am in no position to disregard the expressed orders of my superiors.” She started to say something else, and then pressed her lips together and tugged her wrist free. “I hope you have a pleasant journey back to the States.”
“Wait.” He got to his feet. “I think I will stay a day or two. You’ve got your own car here, right?” She nodded. “Great, then can I follow you to this hotel you recommend?” Before she could refuse, he added, “I get lost pretty easy, even in my own country.”
“Very well, Agent Frasier,” she said after a long, silent look. “Come with me.”
Chapter 5
Watching Andrew Riordan while his former employee charmed Agraciana Flores was almost as tedious for Jonah Genaro as the time and effort required to have the PROFEPA agent removed from the case. It would have taken even more time to acquire the kind of leverage needed to bring Flores under his control, however, and Genaro already had the chief of police and most of his men to do his bidding. As for Riordan, after being exposed as a spy he never should have walked out of GenHance headquarters alive, but he’d preplanned his escape. That, combined with the extensive sabotage he’d committed just before escaping, had allowed him to do the impossible.
Now Andrew was here in Mexico, unaware that he would never leave it alive.
It had taken too much time to trace the stolen ambulance to Monterey, where the sniper had escaped capture again by charter boat. Genaro had replaced the only witness at the marina with one of his own men, primarily to stall the police and the media. Fortunately his operative had spotted and recognized Andrew Riordan before he had come to question him, and had called Genaro directly for instructions.
“He’s talking to one of the cops in the parking lot,” the operative had said after snapping a shot of Riordan on his phone and forwarding it to Genaro. “Should I take care of him, sir?”
Another man would have told the operative to kill the traitor, but Genaro was more interested in why Riordan would risk exposing himself in order to find Samuel Taske and Charlotte Marena. After spying on GenHance for years, Riordan had destroyed valuable equipment and caused irreparable damage to their database before successfully fleeing Atlanta and disappearing completely off the grid.
“No,” Genaro had replied. “Tell him exactly what the old man said. Be convincing.”
Giving Riordan just enough information to send him to Mexico had created the bait. Now that he was here Genaro expected to reel in more than one catch.
“He sounds like a federal agent,” Manzanillo Chief of Police Manuel Carasegas said as he watched Riordan through the two-way mirror. “I think you may have the wrong man.”
“No,” Genaro told him. “I don’t.”
“I did have his credentials checked, señor.” Chief Carasegas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Agent Frasier is on active duty, and works for the FBI in Sacramento.”
“I have no doubt there is an agent named Frasier in Sacramento, but this man is not him.” As Agent Flores accompanied Drew Riordan out of the interview room, Genaro turned away from the mirror. “My team is not yet in place. Send two of your men to keep them both under surveillance.”
The chief’s bushy brows rose. “You do not wish me to arrest this man for impersonating a federal officer?”
“Not yet.”
Carasegas used the phone on the wall to call down to the squad room and dispatch two men. As he did, Genaro checked the time. He had brought with him several disposable cell phones, the purchase and use of which could not be traced back to him or GenHance, but the call he needed to make in five minutes also had to come from inside the police department, to add to the chain of evidence Genaro would use against Carasegas should the Mexican ever decide to run his mouth or otherwise renege on their agreement. “Do you have a secure line in this building?” he asked when the chief hung up the wall phone.
Carasegas nodded. “You may use the private line in my office.”
Genaro knew Carasegas probably kept the line tapped so he could acquire whatever blackmail he used to stay in power. A quaint tactic, one that had been obsolete for forty years on the other sid
e of the border, but that, too, would serve Genaro’s purposes.
“Very well.” He picked up the only bag he had brought with him from the States. “I’ll need the line and your office for the next thirty minutes.”
“I should tell you that this additional surveillance will be expensive,” the chief warned, his expression more calculated now. “For such sensitive work, I can use only certain men, and they expect to be paid well.”
“Here is five thousand U.S.” Genaro removed two bundles of bills from his jacket and dropped them into the chief’s hands. “I will provide another five thousand when Taske and Marena have been recovered, and the final ten thousand when you place them and the man claiming to be Agent Frasier in my custody.”
“You are very generous, Señor Genaro.” The money vanished into the chief’s jacket. “Come, I will show you to my office so you can make your call.”
Charlie’s legs didn’t want to stay vertical anymore, so she walked up to where the sand was dry and sat down, hugging her knees with her arms. After a moment Sam came to sit beside her, and they both watched the waves as they rolled in.
“How long have you known who I am?” she heard herself ask.
“I don’t know who you are.” When he saw her face, he added, “Until a few moments ago, I thought you were an ordinary woman caught up in a scheme to abduct me, or that you had been brought along only to provide me with whatever medical attention I needed.”
A surge of bitterness made her smile. Of course he thought of her existing only to serve his needs. He probably thought the rest of the world did, too. “What changed your mind?”
“The shooting on the bridge, being brought to this island, and the manner in which we’re being treated now suggest that we were both deliberately targeted for reasons other than my wealth and your skills,” he said. “This man knew we were Takyn.”
“How could he have known that?” Charlie demanded. “And if he doesn’t work for GenHance, then what possible reason could he have for snatching us?”
“I don’t know.” He picked up a shell and tossed it at the water. “But until we have those answers, we will have to be cautious.”
Samuel knew more than he was telling her. Charlie had spent years treating patients who deliberately concealed things out of embarrassment or fear; she knew when someone was holding out on her. At least she wouldn’t have to play friends to coax it out of him. As soon as the sun set she was going to find out exactly what Samuel Taske was thinking, and there was no way on earth he could stop her.
“I’ve already met Aphrodite, Vulcan, and Delilah in real life,” Samuel said tentatively. “I doubt you’re Sapphira; I believe she lives somewhere in Canada.” He leaned forward, trying to catch her eye. “Are you going to keep me in suspense?”
She wanted to put him in traction for the next six months. “You were right about that new Melissa Ether-idge CD.” She studied his face. “I loved it.”
At last he looked as stricken as she felt. “You’re Magdalene.” Unbelievably his expression went from shocked to amused. “You’re nothing like I imagined you’d be.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “I expected you to be a little bald guy with horn-rimmed glasses and a pocket calculator.”
“Well, in my mind you were a freckled, ponytailed, much younger version of Julia Child.” He tried to charm her with another of his slow smiles. “You are a remarkable cook. I could happily live on nothing more than your dessert recipes.”
“You’d just become a type-two diabetic.” To keep from punching him in the face, she turned her head back to watch the waves.
“Have you met any of the others?”
“In real life?” She shook her head. “You’re the first, and if we get out of this, you’ll be the last.” Disgusted with herself and him, she got up and dusted off her legs.
“You’re upset,” Sam said as he followed her up to the stone path. “Am I such a disappointment in person?”
“Not at all. You don’t have to impress me, Sam. Just help me get back home, and I’ll adore you forever.” She stopped outside the front entrance to the villa. “Maybe we should try walking the beach, see if we can spot any boats out there.”
“I think we should first try to establish communications with our captor,” he said as he reached for the door latch. “I may also be able to pick up some information from the interior.”
“May?” She glanced down at his hands. “On the Internet you said you had to wear gloves to keep from picking up everything about everything.” Or did you lie about that, too?
“My ability isn’t working as it has in the past. Here it seems to be limited, or perhaps muted. I’m not sure.” He didn’t sound concerned. “If it is fading, I certainly won’t complain, but I should use what I have left to see what I can learn about the man who brought us here.”
She heard the unasked question in his voice, but there was no way in hell she was confiding in him now. “My ability isn’t going to help us.” She walked inside.
He closed the door behind her. “I don’t wish to pry, Charlotte. I know how personal our talents are. But if there is anything you can do to improve our situation—”
“There’s nothing.” It wasn’t her fault she got stuck with the one ability that had absolutely no value on a deserted island, so why did she feel guilty? “Come on; I’ll give you a tour of the place.”
Inside the villa she took him to the large, well-equipped kitchen and showed him the generous quantities of food that had been stored for them. “No freezer, and no prepackaged or canned stuff in the pantry, but there’s a tank over there with live lobsters and maybe some oysters or clams.”
He sorted through the vegetables and fruit in the refrigerator bins. “Garlic, asparagus, gingerroot, avocados, peppers, carrots, peppers, pineapples, strawberries. Odd assortment.”
“The bins in the cabinets are filled with root vegetables,” she told him as he removed a gallon-size plastic container filled with an amber liquid and opened the lid. “What’s that? Apple juice?”
He sniffed the contents. “Honey.” He frowned. “This doesn’t make any sense. What other foods have you found?”
“I haven’t found any sugar or flour or baking stuff, but there’s a cabinet filled with spices over here.” She opened the cabinet. “They’re not labeled, but looks like lots of seeds, some dried herbs, different types of pepper.” She took out a plastic bag packed with what looked like long black bean pods and another filled with purple and reddish brown beans. “Either of these look familiar to you?”
“The long pods are vanilla bean, I believe.” He eyed the other bag. “The other might be cocoa.” When he put the container back in the fridge he took a black fig from the bin and began to break it open.
“No,” she said, taking it away from him and dropping it back in the bin. “We don’t know what’s in this stuff.”
He frowned. “It looked like a fig to me.”
“A fig that this wacko could have injected with more sedatives, or some kind of hallucinogen.” She closed the door to the fridge.
“I’m sure it hasn’t been tampered with,” he assured her, showing her his hands, and then looked up at the four large glass dome light fixtures. “Charlotte, are all the lights in the house electric?”
“Everything I’ve seen is.” She caught on to what he meant. “How do you have power on a deserted island?”
“If there were generators, I think we would have heard them when we were outside.” He studied the primitive pottery displayed in the glass-fronted niches above the cabinetry, and then the empty counters below them. “You didn’t find any cookware, did you?”
“No. All the dishes and utensils are plastic or foam, so cleanup will be easy.” She wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but even a whisper might be picked up by hidden mics or the security camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Come on; you’ve got to see the living room in this place.”
Charlie led him out of the kitchen and across the hall
to the large room she had mentally dubbed “the pit.” Bright orange, purple, and blue wall murals imitated a tropical sunset, and made a dramatic backdrop for three different pit groups in matching colored velvet, suede, and raw silk. Swags of metallic ribbons and silk flowers hung down over wide windows offering different views of the greenery outside.
“If it were any brighter in here, I’d probably develop instantaneous cataracts.” Charlie picked up one of the intricately embroidered pillows that had been scattered around the cushions. “How are you supposed to take a nap in a room like this?”
“I don’t think napping was the decorator’s intention.” Sam reached out and ran his hand over the purple velvet before turning his head to look back through the door at the kitchen. “Are the other rooms like this?”
“Some variations on the theme, but basically, yes. Nice furniture, bright colors, lots of fancy fabrics. No televisions, stereos, or other electronic gadgets that could tell us where the hell we are, but art on all the walls and plenty of color-coordinated fruit.” She eyed the basket of pomegranates, tangerines, and plums on the low table in the center of one pit group. Something about the fruit nagged at her, but she didn’t know why.
“Let’s have a look at that speaker in the bedroom,” Sam suggested.
Before they went into the bedroom upstairs, Charlie showed Sam the exam room.
“It’s got everything you’d find in a treatment room in any trauma center,” she said as she sat on the end of the exam table. “I could even run labs in here.”
“Indeed.” Sam peered into one cabinet. “Why would you need to?”
“I don’t know, but this is the weirdest thing.” She showed him the blood in cold storage. “Twenty-eight pints—enough to transfuse a dozen patients—but not a mark on one of them. I can’t even tell if it’s human blood unless I run some tests.”
Sam walked around the exam table. “What are these?” he asked, touching one of the corner universal socket clamps.
“We use them to attach add-ons and extensions to the table, like arm boards, IV pools, stirrups, that kind of thing.” She bent over to open one of the drawers under the table. “He stowed the extensions under here.”