Back to Manhattan. Jake always returned to the island city, like salmon swimming upstream to their spawning ground. The train pulled into Forty-second Street, Times Square, and the commuters released a collective sigh as the doors chimed open. Jake allowed the flesh and fabric tide to guide him onto the grimy platform, where he slowed to locate Martin. Bodies rushed around him. A woman bumped him. A man shoved him. Someone stepped on his left foot.
No sign of his quarry. He heard a jazz band playing offto his right and saw the feet of three teenage boys above the crowd as they performed acrobatics.
Where is he?
Jake whipped offhis sunglasses to see better and spotted the back of Martin’s head forty feet in front of him. Now it was his turn to make his way through the crowd, though he believed he did so with a great deal more grace than his fellow commuters.
Martin, and then Jake, joined a tributary of commuters rushing downstairs to the N and R platform.
West side or downtown, Jake thought as he reached the filthy lower platform. On the other side of a large metal garbage receptacle, Martin glanced in his direction. Jake’s body stiffened, but the boy peered down the tunnel, waiting for the next train. When an R train pulled in, they waited for the passengers to disembark. Jake watched Martin board the train and did likewise. Martin sat on a corner bench. Jake remained standing, even though he saw seats available, so he could turn his back to Martin. He observed the boy’s reflection in the glass pane of the door at the rear of the car. One stop later, at Thirty-fourth Street, Martin rose.
West side and downtown.
Jake exited the train a second after Martin and followed him upstairs, through the turnstiles, and up a flight of steps to street level. The scents of pretzels, salted peanuts, and fresh brewed coffee assailed his senses as he emerged into the daylight. Manhattan never smelled better to him than when he escaped the subway system. Traffic noise filled his ears, and Macy’s filled his vision. His heart sped up as he feared he had lost track of Martin again, but he spotted the boy up the block, heading toward Eighth Avenue.
Go west, young man.
At the intersection, Martin crossed Thirty-fourth Street, then Eighth Avenue, passing beneath the shadow of a tall granite building.
Jake followed at a distance, ignoring a young woman in hippie attire who handed out flyers at the corner. A man and two other women, each pushing twenty, distributed flyers on the other corners. Some kind of sale, Jake supposed.
“Watch the stars!” the hippie said, holding a flyer out to Jake, who noted small stars tattooed in a circle around her wrist.
Oh, Jesus, Jake thought.
Martin turned left, through the building’s revolving door, and Jake stopped in his tracks. With his eyebrows furrowed, he tilted his head back so he could see the top of an Art Deco structure, which rose thirty stories into the air. The Dream Castle, once a grand hotel, had been remodeled into an office building known for decades as the Manhattan Building and then converted into a residential hotel. But the building’s reputation had taken an altogether stranger twist over the last three years: the son of a deceased science fiction author had bought it, ostensibly to headquarter a production company and publishing house, Sky Cloud Dreams. Instead, he created a cult with its own worldwide social-networking website. During the last year, Manhattan had become ground zero for the Dreamers, and the Manhattan Building had become known as the Dream Castle.
Jake waited twenty seconds, then bolted across the street and pushed his way through the revolving door and emerged into a dark lobby with polished floors and a high ceiling. Boutique shops lined the walls: a bookstore, a magazine store, a DVD outlet, and a clothing store, all dedicated to the organization that owned and operated the building.
Jake crossed the lobby, his rubber-soled shoes squeaking, to a concierge behind a black marble station.
A pale-looking young man with wispy blond hair looked up at him with a curious expression. “Can I help you, sir?”
“A boy just came in here, thirteen years old. Where did he go?”
“I’m not allowed to share information about our visitors.”
Jake picked up a clipboard and ran his right pointer finger to the bottom of the list of signatures. Then he ran his finger sideways from Martin to Orientation.
“Sir!” The concierge reached for the clipboard, which Jake allowed him to take.
“Orientation for what?”
“I really can’t say.”
“Take me to that boy or bring his ass out here.”
The concierge cocked one eyebrow. “You don’t look like his father. Are you a police officer?”
Not anymore. Jake controlled his temper. “No,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. Now, before I call security.”
Resisting the urge to say, I’ll be back, Jake turned on one heel and strode outside, where he flipped open his cell phone and struck autodial.
Jake pulled off his cap, peeled away his fake mustache, and stuffed them both into his pockets as a short Hispanic woman with curly brown hair approached him. She wore tight slacks and a short jacket that did little to de-emphasize her figure, and her gold hoop earrings gleamed in the gray morning light. “Okay,” Maria Vasquez said with a degree of challenge as she chewed her gum. “Here I am. What’s wrong with Martin?”
Jake looked Maria over. She appeared as lovely and as lively as she had been on their one and only dinner date six months earlier. Like Jake, she had been Edgar’s partner in NYPD’s Special Homicide Task Force. Unlike him, she had no idea what had happened to Edgar and blamed Jake for his disappearance.
Jake nodded at the Castle. “He’s in there. The Dreamers have him.” Maria aimed a sideways glance at the building. “Are you fucking kidding me? How do you know?”
“Joyce called me so I tailed him.”
Now she looked him over. “Did you try to pull him out?”
“Tried, failed. I don’t carry a shield anymore, remember? That’s why I called you.”
“Come on.” She pushed through the revolving door, Jake following. Inside the lobby, she flashed her gold shield at the concierge. “You got a kid in here named Martin Hopkins. Take me to him now.”
The concierge blanched. “Do you have a warrant, Officer?”
“It’s detective. And I don’t need a goddamned warrant. You got a minor in here somewhere, his mother is worried sick, and if you don’t take me to him this minute I’m going to haul your ass to jail.”
“But—but I’ll get in trouble!”
“More trouble than if I charge you with kidnapping? That’s a federal crime.”
“Right this way.” He led them to the elevators and summoned one, then gestured inside it. “You want the auditorium on the fourth floor.”
Maria seized his collar and pulled him into the elevator with her. “You’re insulting me. Do I look stupid? Get your ass in here.”
“I can’t leave the lobby unattended!”
“Don’t make me pull my gun out of its holster.”
Stepping beside them, Jake thumbed the fourth-floor button. As the door closed, he couldn’t help but notice the sweet smell of Maria’s perfume. “Nice moves.”
She shot a sharp look at him. “I’m doing this for Martin.”
“Understood.”
They exited on the fourth floor, a long, wide corridor that led to double wooden doors. Maria shoved the concierge forward, and he stumbled over his own feet. Jake really liked her style. The concierge faced the doors, took a deep breath, and pulled them open, revealing a darkened auditorium with seating for a hundred.
Perhaps two dozen people watched the speaker on the stage, a man in his thirties standing at a lectern, the holographic images of planets, solar systems, and galaxies projected around him. A giant light box in the center of a black void gleamed, Watch the stars! The speaker shifted his gaze in their direction and stopped speaking in midsentence.
Maria tapped Jake’s arm. “You s
tay here.”
As she strode forward, the concierge tried to slip away, but Jake clamped one hand on his shoulder and the man relented.
“Lights!” Maria waved her shield over her head.
“What is this?” the speaker said in an indignant tone.
“Turn the lights on before I stick a flashlight up your rectum and illuminate your cavities.”
The man toggled a switch on the lectern, and the house lights came up. At the same time, the holographic universe winked out.
Scanning the audience, Jake spotted Martin sitting up with his eyes locked on Maria.
“Let me see your ID,” Maria told the man.
“I demand to know what you’re doing here—”
“I’m ready to call in a strike force if you don’t produce some paperwork.”
As the man took his wallet from his back pocket, Martin sprang out of his seat and ran up the aisle, freezing when he came face-to-face with Jake, who guided the concierge into a chair.
Maria glanced in his direction, then held the speaker’s wallet closer to her face. “You see that young man, Mr. Prewitt?”
The speaker nodded. “Yes, I see him.”
“He’s a minor. He’s got no business being here.”
“Our doors are open to everyone.”
Maria gestured to the other people seated in the auditorium. “These other idiots are adults. You want to teach them to worship spaceships, or whatever the hell it is you’re about, you go right ahead. But you stay away from children.” She handed the wallet back to him. “That boy belongs in school. He’s truant, and you’re contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”
Prewitt’s face darkened. “This is religious persecution. Maybe I should ask for your ID, Officer—?”
“Detective Vasquez.” Maria snatched the wallet, then took a business card out of her jacket pocket, inserted it into the wallet, and pressed the leather back into the man’s hand. “You want to call my principal, knock yourself out. But I promise, if you try to indoctrinate any other kids into this wacky cult of yours—”
“Religious order.”
“—I’ll bring a shit storm of trouble raining down on you and this whole organization. You think I’m just a cop? Wrong. I belong to a brotherhood. And that brotherhood has ties to other brotherhoods, like the FBI and the IRS. You like those letters? I got more of them for you, like DOJ. Shall I continue, or do we understand each other?”
Prewitt drew his lips into a tight smile. “We understand each other . . . Detective.”
“Good.” Maria returned up the aisle. Facing Jake, she slid one hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Outside the building, Martin shrugged Maria’s hand off. “Let go of me.”
Maria looked him in the eye. “You want me to kick your skinny little ass? Because I’ll do it.”
Martin glared at Jake. “Why’d you have to bring her?”
Before Jake could answer, Maria said, “Because he can’t do shit when it comes to the law. He’s just a private dick. But me, I carry weight, at least to fuckwads like those losers in there. What the hell’s the matter with you, getting involved with those people? Don’t you know they’re crazy?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Either of you.”
Maria glanced at Jake. “Makes you glad you don’t have kids, doesn’t he? What are you going to do with him now?”
“Joyce is waiting for him at home,” Jake said. “How about a lift to Queens?”
“Do I look like a taxi driver?”
“You think he’s actually going to take two trains back with me? Like you said, I can’t do anything in this situation. I need the long arm of the law at my side.”
Maria studied Martin’s angry features. “Okay, let’s go. I’m parked on the next block.”
“Wait a minute.” Jake jogged over to the nearest flyer distributor. “Give me a couple of those.”
The freckle-faced girl’s dark eyes brightened. “Watch the stars, brother!”
“Yeah, yeah. Live long and prosper.”
CHAPTER
3
Maria parked her Toyota in front of the Jackson Heights house.
Joyce opened the front door and ran down the steps as Martin got out of the car. The boy had listened to his iPod during the whole drive to Queens, refusing to speak to Jake in the backseat.
“My God, where did you go?”
Ignoring his mother, Martin strutted into the house.
Jake and Maria got out at the same time.
“What happened?” Joyce said.
“It’s okay,” Jake said. “At least he’s not slinging.”
With a relieved look, Joyce hurried after her son. “Martin!”
Maria motioned to the Nissan Maxima. “I take it this is yours?”
“Need to see my paperwork?”
Maria followed Joyce inside.
“A cult?” Joyce stared at Martin.
“It’s a religious order,” Martin said, looking down at the living room coffee table.
“They worship space aliens,” Jake said.
Martin jerked his chin in Jake’s direction. “What do you know?”
“Enough.” Jake handed one of the flyers to Joyce. It depicted childlike drawings of people of different ethnicities holding hands, a giant planet earth behind them. At the top, Watch the stars. At the bottom, contact information.
“At least you don’t have to worry about him going back there,” Maria said. “They won’t let him in. I promise you that.”
Martin’s eyes filled with fury. “I hate you both!”
“That’s enough, Martin,” Joyce said.
Martin jumped up, knocking his chair over. “I hate you, too!”
“Your father would kick your butt for saying that,” Jake said.
“Well, he isn’t here, is he? You’re the worst one of all, because you’ve forgotten what it means to belong to something. You were a cop until you screwed up.” He charged upstairs.
Joyce’s voice softened. “Martin . . .”
“Let him go,” Jake said. “He needs to work things out.”
Martin’s bedroom door slammed shut, and they heard him thump across the floor.
Joyce shook her head. “Back onto his computer . . .”
Maria said, “Joyce, the Dreamers communicate through a social-networking site—”
“He spends his time on a sci-fi forum called HyperSpaceBook.”
“Either he’s misleading you, or there’s a link between them,” Jake said. “You need to put a block on that computer. Also, he probably subscribes to a newsgroup of some kind. Make sure he has no way of communicating with these people.”
“I don’t believe it,” Joyce said. “I know he’s hurting over Edgar’s disappearance, but I had no idea he would do anything like this. I can’t watch him around the clock.”
Jake’s gaze settled on the iPod that Martin had left on the coffee table. He picked it up, positioned the earphones, and switched the player on.
A soothing female voice with a British accent intoned, “Imago will return to earth, and on that day we can all shed our human forms . . .”
Jake pulled the phones out of his ears and set the player before Joyce. “You need to figure out exactly what this wacky cult is all about and what they want from their members.”
Joyce stared at the iPod with realization growing in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Joyce. I should have kept a better eye on him. I didn’t expect anything like this to happen.”
Joyce refused to touch the player. “There was nothing to see. He was always in his room on his computer or playing video games. Or reading. He’s always loved science fiction.”
Maybe too much, Jake thought.
Outside, as Jake unlocked the door to his Maxima, Maria said, “This doesn’t change anything between you and me. I’m still watching you.”
Jake offered a slight smile. “Good. I like that.”
“You may think you
’re cute, but I don’t. I know you know more about Edgar’s disappearance than you told Missing Persons and IAB. They may be satisfied with your story, but I’m not. I’m going to find out what happened to my partner and what you had to do with it.”
Jake did not respond. Instead, he watched Maria walk to her Toyota. Then he slid behind the Maxima’s wheel and keyed the ignition.
Sitting at his office computer, Jake located the website he sought: Sky Cloud Dreams, Spiritual Enlightenment for the 21st Century. Stars glowed, quasars pulsed, and galaxies beckoned on the screen. As he tracked over the celestial images, hidden menu buttons appeared for a message board, a social-networking site, current events, teachings, global outreach, and a bookstore.
Navigating the home page, he clicked on the button for “About Sky Cloud Dreams.” An image appeared of a smiling, gray-haired man with dark sideburns, who wore a turtleneck and a blazer and stood beside a desk, two fingers touching its surface. A globe on the desk and a library behind him conveyed a friendly, academic demeanor.
His teeth are bleached or the photo’s been doctored, Jake thought. So much for sincerity. He read:
Sky Cloud Dreams is the culmination of decades of research, exploration, and development by Benjamin Bradley, son of the late, acclaimed science fiction author Campbell Bradley.
“My father used his fiction to encourage people to question their beliefs, to open their minds to the infinite possibilities of the unknown, and to look within themselves for truth,” says Benjamin. “He instilled in me the philosophy of interiorization, the powers of the mind, and mankind’s connection to the universe. I’ve spent my life developing these spiritual principles and scientific methodology into mental technology that can bring you peace and fulfillment. I hope you’ll take the time to explore what Sky Cloud Dreams has to offer you. Visit our forums and social-networking site. Speak to our members and find out what you have in common with them and how they can help you discover truth within yourself.”
Sky Cloud Dreams is a global network of spiritually minded individuals dedicated to universal truth and enlightenment. Universal truth. Jake frowned. Interiorization. Mental technology. No reference to space aliens, but buzzwords designed to captivate and mislead people desperate for guidance. Enlightenment.
Cosmic Forces: Book Three in The Jake Helman Files Series Page 3