Beyond Eden

by Sherer, B. K. ; Linnea, Sharon

  “My hands, they are so tired… I can’t…” The disappointment in his voice was clear.

  “That’s OK; we can take it from here.” Jimi stepped up and motioned for him to pass the cutters through the fence. The boy did so, then held the flashlight on the fence as Daniel and Jimi, together, squeezed the cutters over the thick wire. They both grimaced, but there was a resounding snap. They moved to another, then another, quickly cutting three more links. Then, with the boy outside pulling and them pushing, they bent back the fence enough to start crawling through.

  First went Ryan, then Inaba, who waited for Daniel to hand the toddler through to her arms. Then Daniel, followed finally by Jimi. He was free.

  February 27, 2006, 1:08 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  Eric Carlson stood about 25 meters down the snowy path from the fenced compound, waiting as each person crawled out from the cedars and made his or her way to the small glow that was his flashlight. As the last one approached, he couldn’t help but marvel at the motley nature of this little band of escapees. What common factor would have made them victims of kidnapping? Or was it just random chance… bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  On the surface, there was no commonality. Daniel had that gangly, growing look of a young man in his teens. He had fairly dark skin, but some of his facial features, nose, forehead, lips, looked more European than African. In stark contrast, the little toddler who was clinging to his leg looked like she was of Asian descent.

  Another, younger boy, maybe 12 or 13, stood next to Daniel. He was sturdy and blond, with his straight hair in a longish cut. He could be Scandinavian also, but from his speech, Eric pegged him as American, probably from the Northeast.

  And then there was the biggest surprise… that beautiful, petite, brown-skinned woman who had emerged from the trees. Her clothing was light and colorful, and her voice had a slight British lilt to it. She had large eyes that calmly took in her surroundings. How could she be so calm?

  Finally there was a man, tall, copper skin, maybe in his twenties, who had the look and air of a businessman. His accent was definitely British.

  “Everyone, this is Eric,” said Daniel, pointing to the Swede. “We’ll hold other introductions for later, but for now, he has some coats for us, but we better hurry.”

  Eric opened a large plastic bag at his feet and began handing out the coats it held.

  “I’m sorry, mister,” said the young boy to the businessman when the rest of the coats were distributed. “I couldn’t find any men’s winter coats. I hope this ski jacket of my mother’s will fit.”

  It was bitter cold out, and even though the man was stomping his feet in an attempt to keep warm, he seemed hesitant to don the lime green parka the boy was holding out. Then the need for warmth overcame the man’s pride, and he took the parka. He stuffed his arms into the sleeves, and his wrists came well out the ends. The man smiled and shrugged, mouthing, Thanks, to Eric.

  “What now?” said the man, turning to Daniel. In spite of his obvious elder status in the group, he seemed to defer to the teen as the key architect of this escape.

  “We’re on a small island,” he said, adjusting the weight of the toddler he held in his arms. She had been wrapped in a small child’s jacket and was laying her head on his shoulder as the warmth began to make her drowsy.

  “Eric is going to show us a path to the bridge that will take us to the mainland and, hopefully, to the police.”

  At that moment, in the direction of the compound, they heard the back door open and the shouting of the guards.

  “C’mon, we better get going,” said Eric, who turned and headed quickly down the path. No one needed any encouragement to follow.

  February 27, 2006, 1:09 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  “They’re gone.”

  Patsy Covington stood fuming over the guard who was sleeping on a cot by the desk in the watch room.

  “What?” he said drowsily as he sat up and tried to shake the sleep out of his eyes. “That’s impossible.”

  “You idiot, of course it’s possible!” She was down in his face now, and he didn’t like that. “I have just checked on the prisoners. Every cell was locked, and every cell was empty. Go wake up your worthless buddies. Now.”

  Patsy stalked out into the hallway while the hapless guard scrambled to put on his shirt and boots.

  How did they do it? she wondered. This was by no means a maximum-security prison, but the locks were sound, the walls were solid. Was it an inside job? Had one of the guards helped them get away?

  She heard mumbles and shouts come from the sleeping quarters as the other two sleeping men were roused. Soon the three came stumbling back out into the hall, boots only partially laced, shirts unbuttoned.

  Patsy was disgusted. These men had come with good references. They were supposed to be professionals.

  “Listen to me very carefully.” In a calm but deadly tone, Patsy now addressed the three guards. “You will find where and how the prisoners escaped, and return to me with that information. Your lives depend upon it. You have five minutes.”

  The men looked at one another for a moment, then scattered in three separate directions. One went back to the hall with the cells, another moved toward the front entry, and the third headed for the lab and the exercise yard.

  After about three minutes, the first man returned.

  “Well?”

  “It looks like one of them jammed some gum in the door so it couldn’t lock.”

  At this point Patsy didn’t care how they’d gotten the gum. She knew that one way or another it was due to the incompetence of these men.

  The second man returned from the front gate.

  “Nothing,” he said, breathless. “The door has not been messed with, no tracks. I don’t think they went that way.”

  Both men turned, expectantly, toward the direction of the yard, hoping their comrade would have something more to offer. They resisted the temptation to look at their watches, wondering if she was really serious about the five-minute rule.

  “I found it!” the third man yelled, bursting through the door from the exercise yard. “I found where they got out. There is a section of fence cut and bent. It looks like they headed down the path.”

  “Where does the path lead?”

  “I think it heads across the island, past the estate.”

  “Well,” she said with a half smile. “That will be all for now.”

  “Don’t you want us to help find them?”

  “No, I’ll take it from here. You can go back to sleep, all three of you. Might as well… no prisoners to watch.”

  The three men shrugged and headed back toward their sleeping quarters. They did not see the look of steel in the woman’s eyes, or notice that as they moved toward their beds, she followed them, with gun drawn.

  February 27, 2006, 1:11 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  “You’re not authorized to hurt her, are you?” Jaime asked, moving quickly around the table.

  “Who the hell are you?” Dolph spat.

  “It’s my guess that Mr. Villella still has urgent need of Ms. Sunmark, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, but I’m sure as hell allowed to shoot you,” he said, pointing his gun at Jaime instead of Britta. “Both of you, stand together. And tell me where your brat is,” he commanded the scientist.

  “Why? Is she here?” Britta asked, admirably not changing facial expressions when a stranger walked in the open kitchen door while Dolph was facing the other way.

  “Yes, the Good Mother is here. If you and Eric had just stayed put, everything would be fine—” And those were the nurse’s last words before Yani grabbed the back of his neck and rendered him unconscious.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Yani said. “You go.�
�

  “The compound is this way,” Britta said, running down to the front door and grabbing her wool coat on the way out the door.

  February 27, 2006, 1:18 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  It wasn’t easy to follow the path with only one small flashlight to guide the band of escapees. They dared not run, because it was slippery and they couldn’t see the footing very well. But they pushed it as fast as they dared, afraid that it was just a matter of time before their escape route was discovered.

  Daniel was walking with Jimi, who had taken the sleeping toddler to spell his aching arms.

  “How did you do it?” Jimi asked. “How did you get past the door lock?”

  Daniel smiled at the memory of his recent accomplishment.

  “With Inaba’s help,” he nodded toward the woman on the path ahead of them, “I plugged the lock hole with gum. I had hoped the guards wouldn’t notice and I would be able to just push the door open after they went to sleep. But when I checked the door, the lock had gone partway into the hole and it wouldn’t just push open. So I had to use the table knife from dinner to pry it open the rest of the way.”

  Daniel held his arms out to take the toddler back, and they passed off the sleeping child, whom he draped over his shoulder. He then noticed that Eric had come to a stop and dropped to one knee. Daniel moved quickly to his friend’s side.

  “No,” the boy was saying, holding his head. “No, not now.… Please, not now!”

  He had a funny look in his eyes, and his breathing was ragged. Daniel leaned over his friend and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t look good.”

  “I think I’m starting to get a migraine. A bad one,” whispered Eric, almost crying. “You’re going to have to take them the rest of the way.” He said this with such disappointment, it made Daniel’s heart ache.

  Inaba slipped up beside them and went to one knee so she could be at eye level with the young man.

  “Tell me your symptoms.” Her voice was calm, reassuring. She had the air of someone who would not be flustered in the face of medical problems.

  “Right now I see flashes before my eyes, and some tunnel vision.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be in this cold and under such exertions. Do you have medicine? How far is it to your home?”

  “There is a shot of something they usually give me. I live on Lillistra Estate, about 200 meters back that way.” He pointed back down the path the way they had come.

  “Then we should take you to—”

  “No!” said the boy emphatically. “They’ll be looking for you. You’ve got to head for the bridge.”

  “The rest can go; I’ll stay with you,” she said.

  “No,” said Daniel, once again taking charge of the situation. “I’ll stay with him. The rest of the group may need you before this is all over. Eric is my friend, and friends stick together. I’ll get him back to the estate and catch up with you.”

  Daniel handed the infant to Inaba, who reluctantly took the child. The baby stirred slightly with the exchange, then fell back to sleep.

  Jimi stepped forward. “Where do we go?”

  Eric, one hand to his head as if he was having trouble concentrating, pointed down the path. “It’s not much further. Just keep straight on this path. It’ll take you to the bridge, which is a wooden pontoon thing frozen right into the water. Cross it and you will be in Danderyd.”

  Jimi stepped over to Daniel, taking his hand in a firm grip. He started to say something but seemed at a loss for words.

  “Hurry,” was all he could manage.

  “Take my flashlight,” said Eric, holding it toward Jimi. “We can find our way without it.”

  And the little band, now smaller by two, continued on down the path.

  February 27, 2006, 1:15 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  “So who was that?” asked Britta about Yani’s surprise appearance as she jumped onto one of the snowmobiles in the garage of the estate.

  The unseen, answered Jaime to herself, climbing onto the other. “Another friend of Jorgen Edders,” she said aloud.

  “Good timing,” said Britta.

  “Listening device,” said Jaime.

  Both engines gunned to life, and Britta flew forward first, heading out the open front gate. It was a three-minute ride to a walled compound. A heavy chain-link fence surrounded a parking lot—for snowmobiles, Jaime guessed, as cars weren’t permitted on the island—in front of a low building. Britta had a key card out to push into the standing lock device, but the tall door was standing open.

  She roared to a stop and jumped off the snowmobile, Jaime pulling up beside her.

  Britta used the card to open the heavy metal door to the building. She ran and pulled open a door down a hall, but it was empty. “The girl is gone,” she said. “Dear God.”

  She was shaking like a leaf, but she checked all the holding cells in which the kids had been kept. All the cells were empty.

  Then, trembling even harder, she opened the door to the guards’ bedroom. All three guards were dead inside, one by the doorway with a clean shot to the back of the skull, one shot in the chest and sprawled across a bed, the other shot in the back, seemingly while making a run for it. Britta screamed, then covered her own mouth with her hand to stifle the sound. Obviously, the assassin was here. It was happening.

  “Which way?” Britta asked wildly.

  Outside in the hall, Jaime noticed that the door to an outside compound had not clicked shut all the way. She pushed it open and looked outside, allowing herself to use the high-beam flashlight feature of her handheld.

  “Look at this,” Jaime said. When the researcher joined her, she pointed the beam of light to where the fence was cut and bent back.

  “I know where they must have gone. The snowmobiles will be our best chance to catch up.” And Britta raced back to climb onto hers to lead the way.

  February 27, 2006, 1:28 a.m.

  Tranholmen Island

  Stockholm, Sweden

  * * *

  “We should be there by now!” said Eric in frustration.

  The two boys had left the path, hoping to take a shortcut to the estate. But after twice stopping for Eric to throw up, they had lost all sense of direction. Now, for the third time, Daniel stood by as Eric retched into the snow.

  “I’m sorry,” said the young boy as he knelt, waiting to see if he would continue to vomit. “But I can’t help it. When my head hurts this bad it makes me sick to my stomach.”

  He was so embarrassed that his friend had to witness this, this total weakness. Why couldn’t he be like other boys? Why couldn’t he be strong and athletic? Now, because of him, they were lost in the woods.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again for the umpteenth time. “It’s all my fault. You should be on your way to the bridge.”

  “Stop it!” said Daniel angrily, not wanting his friend to keep beating himself up. “Just stop it. Without you, we never would have made it past the fence. You saved our lives.”

  Sensing that Eric had finished vomiting for the time being, Daniel reached down and pulled him up, placing the boy’s arm over his shoulder. As he supported Eric around the waist, they staggered through the dark woods like a couple of drunken sailors.

  They both raised their heads as they heard a mechanical whirring in the distance.

  “Snowmobiles,” said Eric. “Hey, do you really think they were going to kill you?” he asked as they stumbled around logs and bushes in the dark.

  “For sure!” Daniel’s breathing was becoming labored as he bore the weight of two persons. “These were some bad people, and they weren’t going to want us alive to identify them later. The only one who seemed to have a heart was the lady scientist, but she was too focused on all those blood tests to care.”

  “Lady scientist?”

  N
o, I won’t believe it. I can’t believe it.

  “Yeah, some blond-haired lady, always wearing this white lab coat.”

  The tears started running down Eric’s face now. He couldn’t stop them.

  Daniel noticed his friend’s distress and said, “Is the headache that bad?”

  “Uh, yeah… it’s that bad.”

  As he said this, they stepped through the trees and found themselves back on a path. But which path? Where did it lead?

  “You know, Eric, if we stick to the path, we could move faster.”

  “You’re right. But where are we?”

  “I was about to ask you that. Now think. You’re a smart guy. How can we find your place?”

  “Think,” said Eric. His eyes glazed over as he tried to work past his own personal distress and his throbbing head and find a way out of their predicament.

  “Daniel, lay me down on the path,” he said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Just do it!”

  “You really are weird!” laughed Daniel as he helped his friend stretch out on the flat surface. “If you start making snow angels, I’m outta here!”

  That made Eric chuckle for a moment, which he followed with, “Just shut up for a sec.”

  Little me. Big God. He closed his eyes and focused on the mantra, blocking out the snow, the pain, the sounds from the distance.

  “Little me. Big God,” he whispered quietly, over and over.

  Daniel watched in awe as his friend’s entire body seemed to relax right before his eyes. After a short while, Eric stopped chanting and slowly opened his eyes. Looking up into the sky, he did not move from his position on the ground. He simply raised one arm and pointed straight up at the few stars visible through the trees.

  “Aha!” said the boy triumphantly. “The Big Dipper! I can’t see the North Star, but I know exactly where it is.”