She began to shake uncontrollably and in a small childlike voice she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of, said, “Please, please don’t hurt me.”
The apparition stood by the side of her bed looking down at her. She could now see it was a man dressed in black. She knew it was a man because she could see glinting off the rise in the pant fabric stretched tight over his erection.
Trembling, she looked up and saw that the white was gauze wrapped completely around the person’s head. The eyes, left uncovered, were recessed. Now, closer, she saw the whites of his eyes were red, the skin around them swollen and black. There were wet shiny black stains on the cheek area of the gauze.
Lisa realized this person had been in a terrible accident. The rise and fall as he’d approached had been a limp, the black stains were areas where blood had soaked through the gauze.
She felt naked and helpless, but the evidence of his injuries gave her hope she might fight her way out of the apartment.
He stood over her, staring intently, and suddenly something clicked inside of her and she relaxed and stopped shaking.
She whispered, “Please don’t hurt me. I have a lot of money here in the apartment and I’ll give it all to you.”
With lightning speed he grabbed the sheet and angrily pulled it off of her. He whipped it against the wall where it hit and fell lifelessly to the ground.
He stood for a full minute admiring her body, the sensual contours accentuated by the red glow of the clock’s light.
Cold and exposed, Lisa’s body was covered with goose bumps, her nipples erect, labia contracted, primordial triggers for a woman who thinks she’s about to be raped.
Suddenly he sprang and in one quick motion was on top of her, straddling her, forcing his weight onto her chest before she could move.
As she struggled to breathe, he reached around to his back pocket and she saw the flicker of something shiny in his hand.
A knife blade?
She began to kick and buck wildly, hitting him with her arms and elbows. Just when she started to think she was making an impact he raised slightly, put his left knee on the right side of her rib cage and pressed down with all his weight.
The pressure was immense and she heard and felt her ribs caving and cracking, one by one, under his weight. The fractured bones stabbed and cut into her muscle, slicing their way down to her vulnerable lungs.
The pain was excruciating and she stopped fighting and began to scream as loud as she could.
His arm went up, she glimpsed the shiny object once more, then felt an explosion on the right side of her head. With it came a startling burst of orange and red light, and then she lost consciousness.
Chapter 49
After tearing apart the guest room in fit of rage, looking for any clue Bertram might have left, McAlister, after finding nothing, became physically sick.
It was only after he’d tried and found all three of Bertram’s numbers disconnected—home, cell and office—that he resigned himself to the fact that he’d been tricked.
He wondered about Bertram’s motivations. But that was easy. Bertram had studied Tibet and Tibetan medicine his entire life. Aside from the Dalai Lama, who was a person, the Blue Beryl was the single greatest treasure ever to emerge from Tibet. Unlike the Dalai Lama, the Blue Beryl was worth money. If it did have healing powers, if even one of the hundreds of cures worked, its value was beyond measure. Priceless. And both he and Bertram had seen a page from the Beryl at work in the mountains of Tibet.
An Egyptologist possessing the Blue Beryl had probably been too much for Bertram to stomach. Maybe later that day he’d go over to Bertram’s office at NYU, where they’d first met, and see if he could get any clues to where he might’ve gone.
It was likely Bertram had become overcome by the power and money the Blue Beryl represented. Maybe someday he’d find out. It didn’t matter now. It was gone.
He went down to the pay phone in the lobby and shut himself inside the small privacy booth. The light clicked on when he shut the door. He dialed the number on the card the Undertaker had given him.
A man answered, “Yes?”
“This is Thomas McAlister calling.”
“Why, yes, Mr. McAlister, it’s me we met in Taylor’s living room. I’m the man who was with you when this started. I’ve been expecting your call.”
“I had it. I acquired it yesterday. I planned to call you today and give it to you, but it was stolen from me last night.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. The man who’s been helping me, the man who helped me find it, stole it in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. Dr. Bertram. He took it.”
McAlister couldn’t have known the Undertaker and Uri were both employed by Sam Mortimar. Mortimar had hired Uri as insurance in case McAlister would not agree to Undertaker the book or if he tried to run with it. Uri had been shocked when Elmo had exited the building with an object that looked like the book, but at 3a.m. he was clearly stealing it, so Uri attacked him, not knowing DJ was watching the whole thing unfold.
“I am aware of that. We were ready in case something like that happened. We tried to take the book from Dr. Bertram, but someone who was helping him intervened, and we were . . . unsuccessful.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“We don’t know. We’re relying on you to figure it out.”
“What? Me? I have no idea. I was asleep during all of this.”
“Who do you think Bertram might have been working for?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. Frankly, I don’t think he was working for anyone. I think he decided to take it for himself. If that book contains even one cure it would be worth millions.”
“Dr. McAlister, I told you. We had an operative outside the building last night. We took the book from Bertram. Our man had it. Then someone took it from him. Someone who had been watching. Someone with a gun. It was organized.”
McAlister was silent. He was thinking back over his experiences with Bertram. Few things stood out. There was the time he’d removed the handcuffs in Tibet. That had seemed odd, but they’d been on the run and he hadn’t had time to ask Bertram to fully explain.
The other outstanding thing was how quickly he’d been able to trace Hai Cai’s ancestral roots. It seemed like that would’ve required access to governmental databases as well as exceptional computer skills. How many college professors had both?
“I don’t know. I just don’t know. Bertram was humble and he was a follower. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him to steal it.”
“But he did, Doctor.”
“You must have some enemies. Is there anyone who would do this to you out of hatred or revenge?”
“There’s only one person in this world who I believe truly hates me, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in a year. For all I know, he’s gotten over it by now.”
“Who is it?”
“An FBI agent named DJ Warrant. But it wasn’t him. Dr. Bertram was a professor. He had no affiliation with the government.”
“Well, Dr. McAlister, you’d better figure this out. And you’d better figure it out fast. We’re giving you an additional twenty-four hours.”
“What? What do you mean? I’ve done my part. I have no idea, no clue who took it or where it might be.”
“Your part was to deliver the book. You did not do your part.”
“I’m an archeologist. I was supposed to find the book. I found it. You’re the ones who lost it!”
“You will find it again. You have twenty-four hours or we release the virus.”
“No! You can’t do that.”
“We can and we will.”
Silence.
“What if I tell you I don’t care. Release it and let the CDC deal with it. They’re supposedly prepared.”
“I thought you might say something like that, Dr. McAlister.”
McAlister could sense another threat was coming. Once again, they were one step ahead. Would he ever
catch up?
“What now?”
“I have a two little pieces of information that might motivate you.”
McAlister sighed. “What?”
“You need to call the hospital. Taylor’s condition had been downgraded. He’s back to critical. It seems his condition is worsening.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Call right after we finish.”
“I will.”
“And Dr. McAlister, the second thing?”
“Yes.”
“Taylor is old and has had a good life. Wouldn’t you agree?”
McAlister said nothing.
“One could say that it might not be such a terrible calamity if he passed away. He’s had a very rich life. A good life. But Lisa. Now Lisa’s another matter. So young. So vibrant. So . . . beautiful. And a promising marine biologist. It would be a shame to lose such a wonderful creature as Lisa over a lack of effort on your part, wouldn’t it?”
The instant McAlister heard Lisa’s name he was enraged.
“Hear me now, fat man. There will be no place for you to hide if anything happens to Lisa. I’ve seen your face, I know who you’re associated with, and there will be nowhere you can go. I will find you and I’ll skin you alive. I swear it.”
“You’re too late, McAlister. Something has already happened to her. In fact, a lot has happened. Find the book in the next twenty-four hours or more will happen, and I’m afraid you won’t like the ending.” There was a clicking noise and the line went dead.
McAlister slammed the phone down into the cradle and then picked it back up and dialed Lisa’s number. No answer. It was the first time her answering machine had not picked up.
He knew in his heart they had her. He should have sent her away.
He didn’t want to think about what she was going through. He prayed they hadn’t hurt her. How could they? How could anyone hurt Lisa?
He opened the door of the booth and stepped out. He had to find the book. He had to find it and he had to find it fast, and nothing would stand in his way. Nothing.
The only problem was he had absolutely no idea, and no clue, where to start looking.
Not one.
Chapter 50
When McAlister got back upstairs after speaking to Undertaker, there was a cryptic message on the answering machine from someone named Joel Wasserman claiming to be CEO of Cabbot Pharmaceuticals, a large pharmaceutical company.
The message was for Thomas McAlister and it told him that he was being watched and warned him not to leave the house with “anything of value that he might have recently obtained.” He’d left an emergency number for Thomas to call to get in touch with him.
McAlister doubted the caller’s authenticity, but regardless of whether it was legitimate or not, Wasserman’s offer for help had come too late. McAlister wrote the number on a Post-it, made a mental note to call Joel Wasserman, and jammed the note into his back pocket.
He needed to find Bertram, but Bertram could be anywhere. The Blue Beryl could be anywhere.
He felt tired. This day was supposed to be triumphant. The day he’d worked non-stop to reach. Instead it had become a disaster.
He slumped down in his favorite leather chair, put his feet up and laced his hands across his chest. How much could he have prevented? Had he been so wrong to trust?
The last time he went after treasure, he’d trusted Arturo. That had worked out. This time he had needed to trust Bertram. Once he made the decision, he’d trusted Bertram fully. No second-guessing or vague suspicions. No need for extraordinary precaution. He thought.
This was ending badly and it was driving McAlister crazy. He was wanted on multiple felony charges. Taylor was sick and dying. Lisa kidnapped. The one thing that could save them all had been stolen right out from under his nose.
McAlister literally did not know what to do next. He decided to take thirty minutes to absorb the events of the past three days. He’d been working too hard, thinking the hard work would end today. He needed time to get ideas flowing again.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the leather chair and let his head sink back into the soft cool leather. He was tired of looking for things. Tired of thinking about looking for things. Tired of himself. Taylor was dying in a hospital less than a mile away and there was nothing he could do about it. Lisa was missing and he had no idea where to look.
Finally, he got up and sifted through Taylor’s LP collection and pulled out a very old Lighting Hopkins album. He put the album on, trudged into the kitchen, and turned Taylor’s little clock to face the wall. He filled a large glass with ice, then half vodka, the other half orange juice.
He listened to a side of Hopkins playing alone with his guitar and sipped the screwdriver. After flipping the album, he sat Indian style on the window ledge overlooking the Park with his drink beside him. He dredged up everything he could remember about positive thinking.
There was a lot of crap, but one phrase kept coming back to him. It was one he liked. One he generally believed, but couldn’t apply to this situation. Chicago insurance tycoon Clement Stone had said that as a result of each negative thing that happens, there is an equal or greater positive outcome.
It would be a long time before he could figure out what the positive outcome of this situation was.
Could anything good come from Dr. Bertram stealing the Blue Beryl? How could it? Surely Taylor was going to die. He had no doubt they would release the virus, as they’d threatened, and now they had Lisa. God knew what they would do to her.
The phone rang. The display on the portable said “Private Caller” so he let it go to the answering machine.
The machine clicked on. “Hello, Dr. Taylor. I haven’t spoken with you in quite some time but I hope you’ll remember me. This is Ann Davenport. I’m calling because I’m trying to find Thomas McAlister. Dr. Taylor, if you get this message, please get my contact number to Thomas. I don’t have any idea how to reach him but I have some information that can help him. If you know where he is, please give him my number, it’s . . . .”
McAlister pressed the talk button and slid down off the ledge.
“Hello? Ann?” McAlister hurried to mute the stereo and turn the answering machine off.
“Thomas, is that you?” He heard her voice crack; she was holding back tears.
“Yes, Ann, it’s me. I’m here, staying at Taylor’s. He’s very sick. They’ve got him in quarantine at St. Vincent’s.”
“Thomas, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry to hear about Taylor. But I really need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes?”
In a strange and unsettling way, it was good to hear Ann’s voice. It had been over a year since she’d betrayed him, and he’d wondered about her often. The way he’d ended their relationship had been sudden and unnatural, though necessary.
McAlister smiled sardonically. “Yes, I have time now.” Plenty of time, he thought.
“Thank God. I thought I’d never get a hold of you. Listen, Thomas, I know you well enough to know that you’ll never forgive me for what I did. I understand that and can live with it.”
“Okay.”
“But that doesn’t mean that I can’t try to make it up to you.”
“Ann, you don’t need to go out of your way to try to do anything for me. What happened is in the past. I’ve moved on. I hope you have too. Besides, right now is a bad time. You’ve probably heard about what’s happened on the news. I’m working on something that would’ve helped Taylor get well, and helped me get out of trouble, but last night the person I was working with stole it from me. I have absolutely no idea where he is and no way to find him. So if you can’t help with that, then there’s not much you can do for me right now. I don’t mean to--”
“I can help.”
“What did you say?”
“I can help you get the Blue Beryl back. It’s why I’m calling.”
McAlister’s chest tightened. He was short of breath. How could Ann possibly know about the Blue
Beryl?
“What are you talking about, Ann? How do you know about any of this?”
There was a pause, and then she said, “Don’t forget, Thomas, I also work for the FBI, and DJ Warrant is my father.”
“Yes, of course. Why didn’t I think of that? So you think you can help me?”
Ann cleared her throat. “The man who took the book from you. You knew him as Dr. Bertram, correct?”
“Yes. His name was Dr. Bertram. He works, or used to work, at NYU. Once he sells a cure or two out of the book he stole, he won’t need to work another day for the rest of his life. How did you know his name?”
“His name is not Bertram. His name is Elmo Fisher. He works with my father.”
“What?”
“It’s true, Thomas. He’s is my father’s partner.”
“You mean the computer geek your father worked with last year?”
“Yes.”
“You’re saying that Dr. Bertram was Elmo in disguise?”
“Yes. Undercover.”
Previously McAlister had never met Elmo; he’d only seen glimpses of him through a the window of a helicopter on a highway in Mexico. Dust had been flying everywhere and the reflection of the sun had created a glare on the window. He’d never gotten close enough to see Elmo clearly.
“Do you remember him?”
“Vaguely. I never really saw him, I just knew he was there. How could your father be involved in this, Ann? I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. Elmo was undercover. You knew him as Dr. Bertram. They picked the name Bertram because it contained the name of another famous Sesame Street character. That was my father’s way of letting you know that had you been smart enough, you might’ve figured it all out yourself.”
McAlister shook his head. “My God,” he whispered. “Elmo. Bert. Bertram.”
He shook his head. “I found Bertram, or Elmo as you call him, perfectly convincing.”
“Ironically, from what I understand, Elmo was able to use his computer skills to gather data from a secure database that helped you locate Hai Cai.”
Book of Cures (A Thomas McAlister Adventure 2) Page 21