F Paul Wilson - Novel 04

by Deep as the Marrow (v2. 1)

  He could relax. Just drive back to Falls Church and transfer the kid to the house and— Oh, shit! Poppy! He’d forgot about her. She was going to go bug-fuck nuts when he showed up with this kid.

  The worst part over? Not even close.

  17

  It took John a while to extricate himself front the area around the White House. When he finally reached HHS, he had to wade through a seemingly endless gauntlet of friends, colleagues, and vaguely remembered bureaucrats stretching from the lobby, into the elevator, and down the halls, each with an opinion about last night’s announcement.

  Finally he reached the relative sanctuary of his office.

  Phyllis, his secretary, handed him a cup of coffee and said, “Where do you want me to begin?” She was fiftyish, thin, with very black skin. She wore her hair in a short, frizzy natural style that framed her narrow face. Despite regular lectures from John, Phyllis still smoked—on the coldest day of the year she’d be out in the courtyard on her break sucking on a butt. She rarely smiled and usually looked as if she’d just bitten into a lemon. This morning she looked as if she’d found a particularly sour one.

  “How about with anything that hasn’t to do with decriminalization? Like OPC, maybe?” The main thrust of his post here at HHS was a program called Operation Primary Care. Its purpose was to stimulate medical schools to emphasize primary care in their curricula and encourage medical students to enter family practice and general internal medicine training programs. So far it was being well received.

  “Well…” she said slowly, shuffling through the blue message slips in her hand, “a couple of schools that have been on the fence about having you speak to their stuents have called, looking to firm up a date.”

  “Now there’s some good news.”

  “But they want to know if you’ll also address the issue of drug decriminalization.”

  “Yikes.” He rubbed his jaw. Like it or not, he too was caught in the spotlight. “All right,” he said. “Sort them out and set up the dates.”

  “And about drug decriminalization?”

  “Be as vague as you can. Just set the dates.” He’d duck those. He was no expert on drugs or drug laws. He had no business talking about the issue. What he did want to talk about was the crying need for primary-care physicians, and to do that he’d shoehorn himself into these medical schools anyway he could.

  John dropped into his desk chair and found his monitor on and waiting for him. Good old Phyllis—the soul of efficiency. The e-mail envelope was blinking in the lower right corner of the screen. That was the one thing Phyllis couldn’t check for him.

  He punched in his password and found thirteen letters waiting. Let me see if I can guess what they’re all about. He ran quickly through the queue: no surprises. They all had one thing on their minds…

  Except the last. This wasn’t internal. It came off the Internet…

  Item 4321334 10:31

  From: DAEMON@ANON.NONET.UK Internet Gateway

  To: J.VANDUYNE01 John Vanduyne

  Sub: Katie

  From daemon@anon.nonet.uk

  Received from: anon.nonet.uk by relayl with SMTP (1.37.109.11/15.6) id AA0803 80591; 16:13:11 GMT

  Return-Path: Received: by anon.nonet.uk (5.67/1.35) id AA 26085; 10:31:16 +0200

  From: daemon@anon.nonet.uk

  Message-Id: <9502271831AA26085@anon.nonet.uk>

  To: vanduyne01@hhs.com

  Subject: katie

  We have Katie. She is being well cared for. We do not want money. We merely wish you to perform a service. If you perform that service, Katie will be returned unharmed.

  !!!BUT!!! You will be unable to perform this service if anyone knows that you are under duress. Therefore, no one must know that Katie is missing.

  !!!NO-ONE!!!

  Is this clear??? We sincerely hope so. If you inform any local or federal authorities of your plight, you will no longer be of value to us. And, subsequently, neither will your daughter. And we will dispose of her like any other useless object.

  ***ARE WE MAKING OURSELVES CLEAR?***

  Please do not doubt our determination or resolve. Your daughter’s life depends on it. Don’t do anything stupid. We’ll know.

  You will be contacted again soon.

  Snake

  END

  John sat staring at the screen. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, it was not funny. Who the hell—?

  He checked the return address and noted the UK suffix.

  It had been sent from England. Who did he know in England with a sick sense of humor?

  And then he realized that the message had come through one of those anonymous remailers he’d read about. E-mail routed through the remailer server was stripped of its origin data and forwarded anonymously.

  A chill washed through his arteries. He grabbed his phone and hit the speed dial for Katie’s school. When the receptionist answered, John said he wanted to check on his daughter.

  “Oh, she was picked up a while ago,” she told him.

  His office tilted. He had to clutch at his desk to keep from toppling backward. He tried to speak but could not find a sound that even approximated the horror that filled him. Every vowel and consonant had deserted him.

  “Dr. Vanduyne?” the receptionist said. “Is anything wrong?” When he still couldn’t answer, she said, “I’ll get Sister Louise.”

  On hold, he sat and trembled, gasping for breath. His heart seemed to have quadrupled in size and threatened to burst from his chest.

  One thought raced through the circuits of his brain in an endless loop: Not my Katie! Please, God. Not my Katie!

  His darting eyes found his monitor and locked on the e-mail message still on his screen… one particular paragraph seemed to expand in size:

  You will be unable to perform this service if anyone knows that you are under duress. Therefore, no one must know that Katie is missing.

  !!!NO-ONE!!!

  Sister Louise came on the line. Concern was etched in her voice.

  “Dr. Vanduyne? Is something the matter? Isn’t Katie home yet? It’s been more than half an hour since your driver left with her.” John swallowed quickly, trying to find a little moisture.

  He had to be very careful, but he had to say something.

  “My driver…”

  “Yes. That Anderson fellow from Reliance Limousine.

  I called you about him just before he left. That was you I spoke to, wasn’t it? Great heavens, don’t tell me—“

  He wanted to scream at her: How could you let her go?

  “No-no!” he said quickly. “Everything’s fine. My… my allergies are just kicking up.”

  “Thank the Lord. For a moment there… but she should be home by now, shouldn’t she? If you want I can call the police and ask them—”

  Oh, Christ don’t do that!

  He forced a laugh that must have sounded ghastly.

  “Well, what do you know… here she is now… just pulling in the driveway. Must have got stuck in traffic. Thank you. Sister. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No trouble. I’m just glad she’s safe. And have a safe trip to Atlanta.”

  “Yes… thank you.” John fumbled the receiver back into its cradle and leaned on his desk.

  Atlanta… Atlanta?

  He stared at his monitor screen. Despite the e-mail, despite what Sister Louise had said, he still couldn’t believe it. This whole thing had an unreal feel about it. He had to be dreaming. That had to be it. Soon he’d wake up and— He jumped as his phone rang. He snatched it up.

  “What?”

  “Secretary Grahmann is on twenty-two. He wants—”

  “Tell him I’ll call him back.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’ll call him back, Phyllis.” He wanted to scream at her. How could she disturb him now? “And hold all my calls. I’m not speaking to anyone right now.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “No calls!”

  “Yes, sir.”

/>   John lurched from his chair and staggered around his desk. He had a strange, floating sensation. His office seemed to have shrunk. The walls pressed in on him.

  Katie. Oh, God, Katie. Where was she? What were they doing to her? What did they want with her? What did they want from him?

  He rushed back to the screen and reread the message.

  We do not want money. We merely wish you to perform a service. If you perform that service, Katie will be returned unharmed.

  A service. What kind of service? What did that mean? He didn’t have any special skills. What could they want?

  But he couldn’t think about that. All he could think of was Katie, alone, surrounded by strangers, terrified…

  Christ, if he lost her…

  He stopped at his window, looking up at the overcast sky. Hasn’t she already been through enough, God?

  He needed help. He had to call the FBI. They were headquartered right down on Pennsylvania Avenue. Hell, he could call Tom and Tom would call the director and the whole goddamn agency would be combing the country for this Snake creep.

  But then another section of the message burned into his retinas.

  If you inform any local or federal authorities of your plight, you will no longer be of value to us. And subsequently, neither will your daughter. And, we will dispose of her like any other useless object.

  But he couldn’t handle this alone. What did he know about dealing with kidnapers? Maybe with Tom’s help he could keep the FBI’s involvement ultrasecret.

  Don’t do anything stupid. We’ll know…

  And that was the really chilling part. We’ll know. Obviously this Snake already knew plenty about Katie’s schedule, and about his own. He knew John’s e-mail address and—what had Sister Louise said? “I called you about him just before he left.” That meant this Snake had been able to intercept a call to him from Holy Family.

  Was his line tapped? Did they know everything? What about… ?

  A sudden thought struck him like a sledge hammer: Katie’s Tegretol! She needed it twice a day. If she didn’t get it—

  “Oh, Christ!” he said, and dropped back into his chair.

  He hit the function key for reply mail and banged in a message. He wanted to spew every obscenity he knew at this scum, but he held back. If he angered Snake, who would suffer the brunt of that anger?

  Be calm, he told himself. Be cool. Think this out. Don’t let the bastard know he’s made a basket case out of you. Stroke the slimy son of bitch.

  Snake— Your message received and understood. I have told no one. I will follow all your directions to the letter. You are in control. Please do not hurt Katie. But please listen. THERE IS SOMETHING YOU MUST KNOW! Katie has a seizure disorder. A form of epilepsy. She needs medicine twice a day, every day. If not, she will start convulsing. She’ll have one convulsion after another until she’s…

  His fingers paused over the keys, balking at the next words. He forced them to type on.

  brain dead.

  You must believe that what I am saying is true. I am not playing games with you. You have my daughter. She is the most important thing in my life. I have no idea how I can be of use to you or anyone else, but I will do exactly as you say, do anything you want, but you must get her some of this medicine. I can arrange to send you some, leave some somewhere, or call any pharmacy you choose and have a supply waiting there. You must believe that THIS IS NOT A TRICK!!! THIS IS A VERY SERIOUS MEDICAL PROBLEM !!!

  John sat back and searched his panic-scrambled memory for what he knew about the psychology of kidnapers. He remembered reading that many of them tended to depersonalize their victims. He tried to add something that would make Katie a person to this madman.

  Katie’s had it tough so far in her six short years. I know that sounds hard to believe. How tough could a doctor’s daughter have it, right? Believe me, fate has not been kind to Katie. Her epilepsy is only part of the story.

  Please don’t make it any tougher on her. Please don’t hurt her. Please. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt her.

  He heard a noise… like a sob… and realized it was his own voice.

  He was crying.

  Quickly he wiped his eyes, added his name to the bottom, then hit the function key that would send the message—queue it into the Internet, route it back to the remailer that would forward it to Snake… whoever he was.

  To the U.K. and back? How long would that take? Ten minutes? An hour? Two? He had no idea. He didn’t know that much about the Internet. It was all so big, so anarchic.

  One thing he did know: He couldn’t stay here. He’d go crazy waiting around for his e-mail icon to start blinking. He—

  That reminded him. He had to keep this secret. What if Phyllis knew his password and decided to help him out by checking his e-mail? She’d find out about Katie. He returned to his desk and changed his e-mail password from katie to… what? He couldn’t think. He looked at the message still on the screen and could think of only one word, one that would be almost impossible to forget.

  He typed in snake.

  Then he grabbed his coat and fled, averting his face as he passed Phyllis.

  “Dr. Vanduyne,” she said. “Are you leaving?”

  “Yes,” he said without turning.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’ll be on the beeper.” He hurried along the hall, avoiding eye contact with everyone. When he saw a cluster of people waiting for the elevator he ducked into the stairwell and galloped down.

  Minutes later he was driving through downtown D.C., heading for home… but not directly. He had to cook up a cover story for his mother. Not only because of what the message had said— no one must know that Katie is missing. !!!NO ONE!!! but also because he didn’t know how she’d react. He had a vision of her clutching her chest and keeling over.

  But John wished he could tell someone. Just one person, so he could share the burden, talk about it.

  Never in his life, not even during the darkest hours when Katie had been hospitalized in PICU three years ago and it wasn’t yet clear she was going to live, had he felt so alone.

  Why Katie? Because of me? What have I got that anybody wants? What kind of “service” requires someone holding my daughter captive?

  He heard horns blaring behind him and looked up. The light was green. He hit the gas but after a hundred yards realized he couldn’t go any farther. He pulled onto the shoulder, leaned his head against the steering wheel, and began to sob uncontrollably.

  What if Katie was already dead?

  18

  Paulie had left the garage door open, so now he just guided the panel truck into the narrow space, turned off the engine, got out, and pulled the door down. Dark. Safe. Quiet.

  But not for long. Not after Poppy saw the kid.

  He could get tough, of course—tell her to shut up and live with it. But when Poppy wasn’t happy, somehow neither was he. He’d never been like that with anyone else. He didn’t get it.

  But no sense in putting it off. Sooner or later he was going to have to face the music. Might as well be sooner.

  He opened the rear doors, lifted the blanket-wrapped package in his arms, and headed through the door into the house. Another one of Mac’s touches: always a house with an attached garage.

  “Oh, honeeeee!” he called, being careful not to use her name, but trying to keep things light. “Here I am, home from a tough day at the office.” He found her standing in the middle of the living room waiting for him.

  She was grinning, as he’d hoped she’d be.

  “Hey, honey, yourself,” she said. “Did everything go… ?” Her grin faded as her eyes took in the bundle he was carrying. “What the hell is that?”

  “It’s the package.” Her face got a funny look as she backed away a couple of steps, like he’d just told her he had AIDS or something.

  “Oh, no. Oh, God, no. Not a kid. Don’t tell me that’s a kid!”

  “Yeah. It’s a kid. Six years old
.”

  “Oh, shit, Paulie. Shit!”

  “Hey, keep your voice down. And don’t use my name. She’s out cold now, but she could wake up any minute.”

  “Take her back! Tell your good buddy you don’t want to have anything to do with snatching a kid.”

  This was stupid. He wasn’t going to stand here jawing with Poppy and holding the kid. She was starting to get heavy. He stepped into the “guest room” and gently placed her on the bed. The longer she stayed out, the better.

  “She’s already snatched,” he said. “I can’t undo that. So we’re stuck with her, like it or not.”

  Poppy was standing at the guest room door, her gaze nicking from Paulie to the blanket-wrapped lump on the bed and back to Paulie. Her shocked expression was gone, replaced by red-faced anger.

  “I can’t believe you never told me!”

  “I didn’t know. How could I tell you if I didn’t know myself? He hit me with it this morning when I went to pick up the limo.”

  “I don’t want any part of this.”

  “I don’t like it any more than you do, but we’re stuck with it.”

  “What do you mean’we‘? I didn’t sign on to babysit no kid. I’m outta here.” She turned and headed toward the other bedroom.

  This was awful. Paulie hurried after her and grabbed her arm. He wanted to shout but kept his voice down to a harsh whisper.

  “You can’t walk out on this. Poppy.”

  “Watch me.”

  “We made a deal!”

  Her eyes flashed. “The deal didn’t include no kid! This could turn out like that Limbaugh thing.”

  “Lindbergh.”