SHADOW HARVEST
A Sydney Rye Mystery, #7
Emily Kimelman
Copyright ©2015 by Emily Kimelman Gilvey.
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook can be used or
reproduced in any manner without written permission. 1st Edition
Cover Illustration by Autumn Whitehurst
Author’s Note:
All the characters and events in this story are fiction. However, the atrocities described are real and on going.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Shadow Harvest (Sydney Rye, #7)
Shadow Harvest (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #7)
Acknowledgments
Out of the Fire
Into the Flames
Run to Rest
A Problem
Another Journey
Getting in Trouble
Grief
Returning to the Scene of the Crime
A Live Lead
On the Road Again
Making Plans
Making Scenes
Hijacked
Following Orders
Blood Flows
Decisions, decisions.
Picking Locks
Escape
Redux
Mission Impossible
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Shadow Harvest (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #7)
The Sydney Rye series of mysteries feature a strong female protagonist and her dog, Blue. It is recommended for the 18+ who enjoy some violence, don't mind dirty language, and are up for a dash of sex.
On a private island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Sydney Rye is studying hard, learning about the structure of the the vigilante network Joyful Justice and their active missions. Finally comfortable being the inspiration of the organization, she is preparing to take her place as their leader.
However, when Sydney Rye’s good friend and fellow Joyful Justice council member, Merl, goes missing in Shanghai, she and her faithful dog, Blue, rush to the People’s Republic to track him down. Following Merl’s trail leads Sydney to probe deep, dark corners of corruption where she witnesses atrocities that make her already cold blood freeze.
With time running out and powerful forces closing in on her, Sydney is willing to risk everything to save her friend, but will everything be enough? Find out in “Shadow Harvest”.
For my Dad, Donald Kimelman, who helps me be the best writer I can be. I love you Da.
Acknowledgments
None of my books are possible without the help of so many people.
My best friend, Mette Hansen-Karademir, is the first person to read my stories and helps me to form them into what you all read. I don’t know what I would do without her guidance.
My father, Donald Kimelman, helps my prose sing.
My Street Team goes through and double checks that there are no typos and that I have not run off the rails anywhere. They are the awesomest, bestest, coolest readers on the planet. Their amazingness makes me make up words I love them so much!
Autumn Whitehurst created the illustration for my cover and I think you’ll all agree it’s pretty awesome.
My husband, Sean, puts up with my mood swings, makes me dinner, tells me I’m wonderful and generally takes care of me, understanding that sometimes my head is in Sydney Rye’s world instead of our own.
Out of the Fire
The plane was small and my mind was full. Full of memories, plans, plots, and worries. Anxiety - a creeping menace slithering across my skin, preying on my nerves, forcing my mind to bend to its will, to hide from the truth and stare at lies. I shook myself, letting my short hair fall over my face in an attempt to banish it all.
The hair tickled the scars around my left eye. My bangs brushed the fainter of the two, which ran just above my eyebrow and disappeared into my hairline. The tips of my chin-length locks grazed the thicker of the two. A deep pink line, it puckered the soft flesh under my left eye, following the arch of my cheekbone. My scars were a reminder of what mad men will do if you don't stop them.
My dog, Blue, raised his head from where it had been resting on my knee. looking at me with his mismatched blue and brown eyes and raising his brows in question. "Everything is okay," I said, resting my hand on the top of his head. Blue closed his eyes, the dark lashes forming a stark outline against the white fur of his muzzle.
A giant of a dog, Blue was a mutt I'd adopted over four years ago. As tall as a Great Dane with the body of a wolf, markings of a Siberian Husky, long elegant muzzle of a Collie and instincts of a German Shepherd, Blue was my rock. Without him I was just a drifting mess of a woman.
Blue had saved my life countless times. I depended on him. A spike of anxiety stabbed through me again as I thought about his age, his inevitable death. I pushed the thought away, breathing in through my nose and slowly out of my mouth.
Blue rested his head on my knee again. I could feel his warm breath through the light linen pants. I'd been traveling for almost twenty-four hours, leaving my clothing wrinkled. My body, used to physical activity, felt tightly coiled. All this sitting in planes was probably partly responsible for the anxiety coursing through my veins.
I looked out the window. Nothing but clouds beneath us. White and undulating, like a whipped cream pie. There were eight seats on the plane, but I had the passenger area to myself. I could see the captain and co-pilot. The co-pilot's hair was jet black while the captain’s showed sprays of gray. I didn't know either of the men personally but they were members of Joyful Justice, the vigilante network named after me, inspired by a lie.
The two pilots, the people I was on my way to see, all of the recruits of Joyful Justice around the world, thought I'd killed my brother's murderer. That when the police and politicians made it clear there wouldn't be justice I proved them all wrong. But I didn't. I arrived too late. When I got to Kurt Jessup's office in New York City’s mayoral mansion he was dead. I shot his corpse, left my fingerprints, did everything stupid a killer could do. I set myself up. That's why I'd run away and changed my name from Joy Humbolt to Sydney Rye, transforming my life in the process.
"Ms. Rye," came the captain's voice over the PA system. I could see his jaw muscles moving. "We'll be starting our descent now. We'll have you down in about twenty minutes."
I nodded even though neither of them was looking at me. I stared out the window as we descended into the soft white swirls. The small plane shook, bumping along through the rough air. I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth.
Blue scooted closer, offering his weight as a comfort. I played with one of his velvety ears as we came out of the clouds. The waters of the South Pacific appeared below us, aquamarine over white sand. I could see the island ahead of us. It looked unpopulated, just a jungle of green. The volcano, dipped in the center where thousands of years ago molten lava had burst from the sea, was dormant now. It was comforting to think that such violence had created this peaceful looking place. Did all peace bloom from mayhem?
I let my mind wander to Dan as we circled the runway, a strip of black in a field of green. A founding member of Joyful Justice and a computer genius, Dan was a man I thought I had loved. Whom I imagined I could be happy with if I wasn't so fucked up. A sweet smile, broad shoulders and tapered waist, Dan looked at me like I was some kind of hero, someone he would die for.
But I doubted all that now. I suspected he'd betrayed me. That he'd been telling my secrets for years to the one
person I'd tried to hide them from, Robert Maxim. Bobby to his friends. And now, weirdly enough, I could count myself as a friend of Bobby Maxim. After years of hating him, of blaming him for taking my revenge from me. After knowing, for sure, for absolute sure, that Robert Maxim was the worst kind of man, I had now let him join Joyful Justice. I'd decided to trust him.
So Dan had betrayed me to Robert Maxim, but I'd found out after I'd decided to trust Robert Maxim. So how pissed should I be? I laughed out loud. Blue raised his head and checked my face, letting his tail tap against the floor. I smiled down at him and scratched under his chin. He tapped his tail louder. "What do you think?" I asked him. "What should I do about this betrayal?"
As usual Blue did not have a response.
Wind battered the plane. I could hear it whistling around the small vessel and see the pilot's forearms strain to hold the plane steady. As we neared the ground one wing dipped for a moment. Then we touched down with a jolt that knocked all other anxiety out of my mind, sharpening my vision and pumping me full of adrenaline. The wind continued to push against the plane but we were down. We were safe.
When the plane came to a stop, I stood, grabbed my small bag from the seat next to me and waited as the co-pilot opened the door. The stairs unfolded and met the tarmac as an open-topped Jeep Wrangler pulled alongside the plane. Dan was at the wheel. His hair was longer than the last time I'd seen him. It covered his ears and brushed the neckline of his worn cotton green T-shirt. His beard was shaggy, bleached from the sun and wild-looking. Dan smiled as he looked up at me. I couldn't help but return the grin.
Dan jumped out of the Jeep. Blue and I made our way down the steps. Dan embraced me. He smelled like sunscreen, salty sea, and a whiff of coconut. Blue tapped his feet next to us, waiting impatiently for his own greeting. I wrapped my arms around Dan's neck and pushed my face into his chest, breathing in his intoxicating scents Enjoying this moment before I exploded our relationship.
Blue, patience all used up, pushed his muzzle between us and we broke apart laughing. Dan knelt down and gave Blue a good scratching while my dog closed his eyes and made noises expressing his gratitude. Dan stood up and took my bag. "It's good to see you, Sydney, you look well."
I nodded. "I'm great," I said. Dan had reason to worry about me. It had been less than six months since he found me in the Everglades, out of my mind after being dosed with the hallucinogen Datura. I was lucky to survive. I had lingering effects, sometimes I saw lightning that wasn't there and heard thunder that did not exist. But I'd learned to see those things for the hallucinations they were. It was possible I'd have to live with them for the rest of my life, or they may just fade away.
Dan threw my bag into the back seat and Blue jumped in next to it. I went around to the passenger side and climbed in, clicking my seatbelt into place. Dan turned us around and headed back down the runway. At the end of the strip of pavement we entered a dirt track that wound through the thick foliage. I held onto the side of the Jeep as we bumped along. "I'm excited to show you around," Dan said. "We've been hard at work. I'm so glad you've decided to join the council."
He was referring to the Joyful Justice council. It consisted of the founding members of the organization with one new addition. The original members included: Dan, Mulberry, a police detective I'd met in New York and convinced to help me escape the city and exact my revenge; Merl, a martial arts trainer Mulberry sent to me when I was drinking my life away on a beach in Mexico, a man who convinced me to fight, to live for something; and Anita, a former reporter whose life I saved in India and who'd introduced me to the terrifying and seemingly unconquerable world of human trafficking.
Then there was Malina. I'd met her in Mexico right after Merl started training me. We had a friend in common who was brutally murdered like so many women on that treacherous border. Malina had been gunned down a couple of months earlier in Costa Rica. I saw it happen and the memory ripped at my soul, it split the calluses I'd formed over emotions that were best kept under wraps. They made me weak.
Malina was in charge of recruiting spies, assets as she called them. When Malina was killed, her friend, Lenox Gold, took over. He was a gigolo originally from Senegal who now ran an international operation of male escorts. Like Malina, he abhorred the human trafficking in his industry and was willing to spend his fortune and risk his life to stop it.
Then there was me. I wasn't a founding member of Joyful Justice. I found the whole idea of an organized vigilante network absurd. Especially the idea that I was the impetus for it. That I'd inspired these amazing people to take on the biggest, most intractable problems in this big bad world, was hard for me to take on. But after spending months recovering and denying my place in this organization, I'd embraced it. Now I had come to this island to understand the scope of our operations. At least that's what Dan thought. I was also here to make sure I could still trust him. I wasn't sure yet how I'd figure that out.
The path came to an abrupt end. A steep hillside covered in vines of small, shiny and dark green leaves rose before us. Dan hopped out. I went to follow but he waved for me to stay in the Jeep. Dan pushed aside the vines, revealing a keypad hidden in the foliage, and entered a code. The vines separated like curtains on a stage to reveal a metal door that was rolling up into the rocks above.
"Very cool," I said as Dan got back behind the wheel. He looked over at me and grinned, proud and cute.
"I thought you'd like that," he said as we pulled forward into a cement hall wide enough for two cars to fit in side by side. The metal door closed behind us with a clunk that echoed in the long cement chamber. Fluorescent tubes hung from the ceiling and the space smelled of gas and tires. Brown muddy tracks showed where vehicles had gone before us.
We drove for a few minutes through the subterranean passage before Dan pulled into a wider space that served as a parking lot. There was another Jeep, two vans with off-road tires, and a mud splattered quad.
We climbed out of our ride. Blue hopped down to the ground and stretched before falling in line at my hip. Dan led the way to a metal door with another keypad next to it. "A lot of security," I said.
"You can never be too safe."
I smiled at the irony and nodded my head even though Dan was not looking at me. I watched as he entered the code and committed it to memory. "How many people are here?" I asked.
"Twenty-five right now," Dan said as he pushed through the door. "I'll show you to your room. Do you want a shower or anything before we begin? Are you hungry?"
I shook my head. "I'd like to get to work."
Into the Flames
We entered a cement hall, this one narrower, made for humans instead of vehicles. When we came to a door with another keypad Dan entered a different code then led us through to what looked like a hotel lobby. A woman with long blonde hair pulled back into a low braid smiled at us from behind a bamboo counter.
Wicker chairs with floral-patterned cushions faced each other around the room, seating areas for departing and arriving guests. Muzak played low through speakers mounted in the walls. "Welcome," the woman said, her accent Australian.
I smiled at her as we crossed the room. "Hi Bella," Dan said. She nodded and returned the greeting. "Ms. Rye is going to come straight down to control with me. Please arrange to have her bag taken to her room."
"Yes, sir," she said, smiling over at me. Bella was about twenty-five, tan, pretty, wearing a white button-down shirt with a crisp collar and a simple gold chain around her neck, the pendant disappearing into the collar of her blouse.
"Thanks," I said, pushing the bag onto the counter.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" she asked.
"Water please," I said. "And a bowl for Blue."
Bella ducked down behind the counter for a moment and returned with a bottle of water. Then she picked up the phone and requested a bowl of water be brought down to the control room for Blue. We headed to the elevators and Dan pushed the "down" button as I scanned the lobby. "This is kind of stra
nge," I said to Dan, keeping my voice low enough that Bella would not overhear.
Dan smiled. "I know, but it works."
The elevator arrived and we entered the small space. Blue sat between us, his tail tapping rhythmically on the carpeted floor as we descended another five stories. "What was this place?" I asked.
"A billionaire's lair."
"Excuse me?"
"A corn mogul with serious fears about Armegeddon. He lived in Ohio and built this place as an ultimate refuge after falling in love with the island. He died before it was complete so we got it cheap."
The doors opened and we were in a large, curved room twice the size of the lobby. It was buzzing with activity. A large screen curved along one wall. It was broken up into sections: a jerky video stream from somewhere in a desert, aerial footage of a village surrounded by thick forests, maps with colored dots moving across them. In front of the screen men and women sat in tiered rows of workstations wearing headphones and typing away on computers. "Welcome to the control center," Dan said, his face lighting up.
"Wow," I said. "This place is amazing,"
"Thanks, I'm so excited to be sharing it with you. Come into my office and I'll explain what we're doing here." Dan turned to his left and started up a flight of spiral steps to an office that looked down on the control center. He pushed open the glass door and held it for Blue and me. The office was large. A wide glass table covered in computer equipment faced the floor below. Beyond it lay a couch and two chairs and, between them, a coffee table covered in files and empty coffee mugs.
Dan passed me and started to tidy up, his cheeks growing rosy for a moment. "Dan, I know you're kind of a slob," I said with a smile.
He stopped and smiled, pushing hair off his forehead. "It's gotten worse," he said.
"Guess you don't find much time for gardening these days," I said. When we'd lived in Goa, Dan had nurtured a patch of vegetables behind our hut. He'd smoked hash and weeded while I read crinkled paperbacks, enjoying the sun and the soft sounds of the river that ran by the property. Now look at us, I thought, underground, surrounded by industrious people armed with the latest technology, fighting for a cause. What a change.
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