Beyond Eden

by Sherer, B. K. ; Linnea, Sharon

  As she opened the first door, she heard footfalls crunching on the snow and looked up in time to see the shape of one large hulk of a man round the corner.

  She quickly shut the trapdoor and moved into the black shadows of the house. But it seemed he’d heard something. He moved toward the coal chute doors and actually stood there, studying the padlock, which was now on the ground, for a minute before he opened the door. It was as he pulled it open that he looked up and saw her.

  He stood a long moment, surprised, and then he said, “Who teaches the errant father?”

  “Excuse me?” she said, which was apparently the wrong answer. The hulking man pulled a Luger, black in his hand against the black of the night.

  As he came closer, Jaime saw that his hair was thick and blond. His neck was thick also, and she would lay money on the size of the biceps under the heavy parka.

  She pretended to be frightened, pulling in on herself, but as he got closer, she suddenly came to life and kicked the weapon from his hand. He roared and lunged at her, grabbing her foot, pulling her to the ground. Then he kicked her hard, as she again scrambled to her feet. She had been trained in hand-to-hand combat and in unarming an opponent. But he was thinking differently, as if he was distracted.

  She decided to make a run for it while he tried to find his gun in the snow. But he lunged and managed to grab her by her jacket. Thinking fast, she managed to slip out of it and stood, shivering in the dark night. Just as quickly, he grabbed her, saying, “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t have time for you.”

  He spun around on his heel while she was still planning her next move, took three steps forward, and dropped her over the side of another rock wall. This one was waist-height and circular. And as she fell straight down into air that got ever colder, she realized it was a well.

  February 27, 2006, 12:40 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  Eric was tempted to laugh at the image he must have presented as he shuffled down the wooded path toward the research complex, carrying his trash bag of coats.

  I look like a Swedish tompte, he thought, picturing the little gnomelike man who filled in for Santa. It was a moonless night, and the boy carried a small flashlight in his free hand to illuminate his path. His breath was clearly visible and Eric could feel the chill through his gloves.

  When he had slipped out of his room, Eric had seen no sign of his nurse. Eric had noticed, though, that his mother was still working in her office, and really hoped she wouldn’t stop by to check on him before she went to bed.

  In the dark, the path seemed much longer than it had that afternoon. Everything looked so different, even eerie, as trees loomed on the outer edge of the flashlight glow. He began to wonder if he had taken a wrong turn somehow and tried to calculate how long it had been since the last turn he had made.

  Suddenly the light shone on a clump of fir trees directly across his path. This was it, the stand of trees shielding the chain-link fence! He dropped his burden and shone the light across them to find the largest opening between the trees. He found one spot that seemed a bit larger than the others, pushed between the branches, and dropped to his knees.

  Quickly the boy had the wire cutters out and began to work on the bottom-most link of the fence. Eric squeezed the handles together as hard as he could but could not snap the link in two. With both hands he tried to press even harder. Still nothing.

  Next he tried clamping the tool down on the wire, then rotating it back and forth in a sawing motion. This began to leave an indent in the link—a small one, but it was a start.

  For five minutes Eric rotated the cutters back and forth, squeezing hard with his fists clamped down on the handles. Finally, the link snapped. He sat back, shook his tired, sore hands, and looked at his watch.

  He knew that if it took that long to cut every link, he wouldn’t be ready when they came out!

  His arms were shaking from the effort to cut the first link, but he leaned back in and started to cut on the next one, putting the whole force of his upper body into his work.

  February 27, 2006, 12:43 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  Jaime had been expecting to hit water, so she was surprised when she landed on a hard surface instead. He’d dropped her in feet first and she’d managed to land correctly, but her feet still throbbed, and she had really scraped her left arm in her attempt to right herself. Oddly, the Teutonic icon who had so casually tossed her down had also tossed her coat down after her. She had the feeling he was parking her somewhere out of the way until the night’s events transpired, and then they’d haul her up for questioning of a not-friendly nature.

  She pulled her parka on gratefully and put her gloveless hand on the hard surface below. The well couldn’t be that deep. Beneath her hand was solid ice, several inches thick. At least it had broken her fall and was now holding her up.

  Looking up, she couldn’t see the sky. There must be a small roof built over the well. The rounded stones from which it was built were small, and she wasn’t going to bet she could successfully climb out. There was a rope with a bucket up above, but the bucket had been pulled out of the well. It was probably sitting on the ground beside the well. In any case, the sturdy rope was well out of reach. She sat down and sighed, took out her handheld, and called Yani.

  It took only a couple of minutes before his head appeared over the top of the well.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Shhh,” she said. “Is Dolph around?”

  “Don’t see anybody.” Yani was looking over the rear of the well, farthest from the house, from where he would have the most expansive view of the yard.

  “So?” she said. “Can you help me outta here?”

  “Oh. Didn’t know if you needed help. Didn’t want to presume.”

  “Well?”

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well, what?”

  “Do you need help? I wouldn’t want to rush in, if you have it handled.”

  “I would appreciate some help,” she said.

  “How do you ask nicely?”

  Oooh, she could smack him. “Please. Please help me out.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty please,” she said. He would pay for this later. She’d make sure.

  Yani checked the rope for strength; he cut the bucket off and threw the rope down. Once she had it, it was a couple-minute climb up the rocky side.

  “I’ve heard falling down a well can traumatize a person for life. Hope you can muddle through,” he said casually.

  I’ll muddle you, she wanted to say, but as they both looked toward the house, they both saw it at the same time—a petite woman, short blond hair, turned on a light in a large downstairs room. It was the kitchen.

  “Think that’s Britta?” Jaime asked.

  “Let’s find out,” Yani replied.

  And again, he was gone.

  February 27, 2006, 12:55 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  Patsy Covington walked onto Tranholmen Island like she was striding onto the main set of a movie about her latest job. Commanding the stage. All eyes on her. All energy radiating from her, drawing other, weaker humans in her wake.

  She would be so glad to have this job finished. But this was the thrilling part. Actually getting to kill people, for money. People who needed to be gone.

  The drama of it was so much fun. The emotion was so high. Most people had to go to amusement parks or horror films to manufacture the thrills. But she lived it. She saw the terror, heard them beg, smelled the gunpowder and the blood, tasted the victory, felt the adrenaline surge. You think chocolate gives you an endorphin surge, sweetheart? Try killing people who would rather not be dead.

  Patsy was on foot, her sleek Volvo waiting near a pub just across the bridge. She knew exactly where she was going and tha
t it would take her exactly sixteen minutes to get there.

  Sixteen minutes to get there, half an hour to do her work (as the compound was purposely built close to the dock), sixteen minutes to walk back, and voilà! She would be back in Switzerland for the breakfast buffet.

  She hummed to herself as she marched swiftly into the dark, providing her own sound track for the drama that was her life.

  February 27, 2006, 12:55 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  Jaime fingered the lock pick in her hands and looked at the back door. There were three steps up to a small outdoor alcove with a single bulb burning above. Estate house in the middle of nowhere, chances were good it would be alarmed. And the last thing she wanted was for Dolph to show up again and decide he wouldn’t throw her down the well; he’d kill her and be done with it.

  If an alarm did go off, she’d hide out of sight and, as quickly as possible, enter either by a door that had been opened or by breaking a window in a room that had been left unattended.

  There wasn’t time for hand-wringing. She climbed the steps, used the lock pick, then stood a moment, waiting for the alarm, ready to jump down, out of sight.

  Nothing. She opened the door a couple of inches. Still nothing. She walked into the back hall and closed the door behind her. The hall lights were not on, but light from rooms in the front of the house allowed her to see.

  The paneled door to her left must be the kitchen they had seen from outside. She opened it and stepped in.

  It was a large, old-fashioned kitchen, the kind servants used to bustle around in, with a large fireplace at one end and a long worktable running down the middle.

  The door swung shut, and the woman who had been the sole occupant of the kitchen turned around. Jaime had never seen terror like the terror in her eyes.

  “How did you get in?” she asked. Her white-blond hair was shaped around her face, and she was dressed in brown slacks and a brown-weave sweater.

  No point in being coy. Jaime held up the lock pick.

  “Why are you here, in the house?” the woman cried. “The research is going well! Allende still needs me, certainly!”

  “Are you Britta?” Jaime asked.

  “Yes.” This, too, was anguished.

  “I’m a friend of Jorgen Edders.”

  “Is it done? Have you fin—you’re what?”

  “A friend of Jorgen Edders.”

  “Then you’re not… her?”

  “It seems clear whoever she is, I’m not who you were expecting.”

  Britta crumpled against the center table, a cry escaping from the very center of her being. “This is not what I meant to have happen at all!”

  “Look, I don’t know what Dr. Edders told you, exactly—”

  “I wish he hadn’t! All I ever wanted was to save my son. What mother wouldn’t want that? The rest—living forever—that’s craziness. Who would want that? This world is nothing but pain and betrayal—why would you stick around? Why?”

  “I’m sure you had the best of motives.”

  “When the brain tumor got worse, Dr. Edders began to talk… he always talked to me, of course; I was his assistant; we hit it off… but he began saying incredible things, about people with a strain of mitochondrial DNA that didn’t break down as early as most, and could be useful in the design of a recombinant strain—”

  Jaime stalked over to Britta. “Listen. We can discuss it later. Right now, I’m here because my dear friend’s fifteen-year-old son is about to be murdered. Where are they? Where are the kids?”

  “Your friend’s son? Fifteen? Which one—?”

  “Daniel. So please, tell me where they are. You don’t even have to come.”

  “I can’t.” She slid down to the floor, against one leg of the long center table. “I can’t, or they’ll kill me. I know they will.”

  “I thought you just said that dying sounded good!”

  Britta glared at her. “I have a son. I can’t leave my son.”

  “Tell me where they are. No one will ever know how I found out. You can stay here with your son. Please. You seem like the kind of person who doesn’t want the deaths of five kids on her conscience.”

  Britta put her head down on her knees and knotted her fists. When she looked up, she whispered, “OK. But you can’t tell anyone I told you.”

  No sooner had she spoken those words than the hall door burst open once again, and the body-builder type Jaime had labelled Dolph stood there, this time not confused at all but in a rage.

  “Your freakin’ kid is gone!” he bellowed at Britta.

  “What? No!” she screamed, and scrambled to her feet.

  “What is he up to? Did you put him up to this?” The large man strode to Britta and grabbed her arm.

  “What are you talking about? How can he be gone? You and I both know he can’t be outside in this kind of weather! And you’re his nurse, dammit, get your hands off me!”

  Somehow, this had snapped Britta back to herself. She pulled free from the large man and looked at Jaime. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll take you there.”

  “How stupid are you, lady?” roared the nurse, pulling out a pistol. “You’re not going anywhere! And wherever your damn kid is, you’d better get him back here, or I’m not responsible for what happens!”

  “You work for Villella,” Britta said. “I should have known.”

  “I somehow don’t see a Nobel in your future,” he said, and pointed the gun between her eyes.

  February 27, 2006, 1:00 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  Jimi started as he heard the lock to his door flick open. He had dozed off on his bunk, losing track of time. He looked up to see the boy, Daniel, peeking around the door and quietly motioning him to come out into the hall.

  So he did it! Somehow the kid had figured a way to get his door open.

  The teen held his finger up to his lips and whispered, “I don’t think they leave a guard awake at night, but we’d better be careful just in case.”

  There was a convex mirror up in the corner of the ceiling at the end of the hall. It was used by the guards to watch for movement down this hall, but in the same manner, it also allowed someone in this hall to look back in the other direction. Jimi could see there was no action near the guard room and sleeping quarters.

  Daniel slipped quickly across the hall to the door opposite Jimi’s, flicked open the lock, and disappeared into the room.

  “What… ?” Jimi heard the muffled surprise of its occupant.

  “Shhhh!” Jimi heard a quiet interchange, then Daniel reappeared, followed by a boy a few years younger than himself. The three first escapees huddled in the hall like a football team planning their next play.

  “I’m Ryan,” whispered the new addition to the group, wide-eyed and excited at this great upturn in his circumstances.

  “Jimi.”

  “Daniel,” whispered the teen, completing the circle. “Now here’s the trick. The last door down there is in full view of the guard station. But when they first brought me in, it was the middle of the night, and it looked like the guard had been sleeping by the desk. Let’s hope he’s doing that now.”

  “We’d better lock these cell doors behind us,” whispered Jimi. “That way, if the guards make a quick check later tonight, they might not realize we’re gone.”

  Daniel nodded agreement, and Jimi and Ryan started locking doors. Daniel peeked carefully around the corner to check for any sign of guards, then quickly moved to the last, unopened cell. He unlocked the door and slipped inside.

  A few moments later the teen emerged with the toddler in his arms, followed by the most exotically beautiful woman Jimi had ever seen.

  Wow. That must be Inaba.

  Daniel quietly closed the last cell door and locked it, joining the rest of the group who huddled out of view of the guard station.

  “So far so
good,” he whispered. “Now, I’m assuming you need some sort of password or key to get out through the main exit, so we’re heading for the exercise yard. We need to slip past the guard room and the sleeping quarters. I think we’d better crawl one at a time, in case one of the men is awake.”

  At the teen’s mention of the exercise yard, Jimi tried to puzzle why they would escape into a locked yard. He started to speak up, then thought better of it. Daniel seemed to have a plan. There must be a reason for heading that way.

  “I’ll go first,” Jimi offered, and Daniel nodded. Jimi dropped to his knees and peeked around the corner. Holding up his hand with crossed fingers for all to see, he disappeared down the hall. Looking up in the convex mirror in the corner, Daniel could watch as Jimi crawled safely past the guard station and sleep room, then stood and motioned for the next person to try. Daniel sent Ryan around the corner, followed a few moments later by Inaba. Finally, with the toddler held firmly in one arm, Daniel crawled around the corner and down the hall to join the rest of the crew.

  They were now standing in the kitchenette and waiting area outside the lab. On the side wall was the door to the exercise yard, with one of those quick-release “panic” bars often used on exit doors.

  Jimi knew they should waste no time loitering here, near the guards’ sleeping quarters, but he had this sudden fear that some sort of alarm system would trigger when they opened the door. He held his breath as Daniel stepped over to push the bar, and was relieved to be met with silence as it swung open and they passed through into the yard.

  As they quietly closed the door, cutting off any light from inside the building, the group could see a small flashlight moving outside the fence on the opposite side of the enclosure. Daniel hurried over, and the rest followed quickly. There they found a young boy, with a panicked look on his face, frantically trying to cut the fence. He was using a very small pair of wire cutters and had only managed to sever four links in the fence. Jimi could see it was in no way big enough for them to crawl through.