by M. Z. Kelly
“Where is he?” Joe asked, going over to the girl.
“The window...” she managed to say, before breaking down.
Joe walked over to the open window, with me following. Below us, a winged figure was moving quickly across the yard, but it slowed for an instant, craning its head back toward us. In that moment, the Angel looked more like a mythic monster than a heavenly being. His mouth turned up in a half smile, confirming our awareness that he was insane.
“Let’s move,” Joe said. “This ends tonight.”
Eva stayed behind to tend to Vivian Cox while the rest of us bounded down the stairway and out into the yard. We caught sight of Alexander Parker as he headed across a field toward the river bordering the estate. He stopped on a bluff as we closed in on him, apparently realizing the river dropped off into a steep gorge. There was nowhere to run.
The Angel turned back to us, raising his knife in a threatening gesture. Joe seized the opportunity to unload his service weapon. The insane monster, fashioned in the image his mother had created, was pushed back by the impact of the rounds piercing its chest. We saw the surreal image of an angel stumbling back and falling into the gorge below us.
We walked over, seeing his dead body on the rocks. Joe put his weapon away and looked back at us. “I guess he should have tried flapping those wings.”
SIXTY-EIGHT
“Hayden Kinnear was a sperm donor for a clinic in Illinois back in the early eighties,” Joe told us at breakfast the next morning. “Crazy Anne Parker was one of their clients and became impregnated by him. She must have later obtained the records showing he was her son’s biological father. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“Kinnear spent the past several years trying to find the Angel,” Eva said. “I wonder when he realized Alexander was his son.”
Joe put his coffee cup down. “We took a closer look at some paperwork found in his apartment. About five years ago, he hired a private lab and confirmed his DNA was a match to Alexander’s.”
“But how do you suppose he originally made the connection that Alexander was his son?” Olivia asked.
Eva looked at Joe. “Anne told him, didn’t she?”
He nodded. “We found evidence they’d been in touch over the years. That’s probably why he hired the lab.”
“Why do you suppose she would contact him?” I asked.
A shrug. “Who knows? Maybe it had something to do with her crazy belief he would return to her make-believe world and steal her power.”
“Do you think Kinnear was giving her inside information on our case, including us closing in on her son at his house in Long Beach, and the whereabouts of Agent Collins and her daughter?”
Joe shrugged. “It’s possible. Maybe, on some level, he wanted to form a relationship with Alexander and stop what he was doing.”
“And maybe stop his mother, as well,” Eva suggested.
“Maybe, but we’ll never know for sure. I’ll never fully understand the mind of a killer. Or the minds of women, for that matter.”
Eva playfully punched his arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means just what I said.” Joe stood. “I need to make a call. Back in a minute.”
After he was gone, we chatted about our case for a couple minutes, Eva telling us, “I’m just glad Vivian Cox survived. She was reunited with her parents early this morning.”
“They’ll probably never let her out of their sight again.”
Olivia agreed. “I guess we now know what happens when a child’s fairytale never comes true, and, in fact, turns into a nightmare.”
“It’s terribly sad,” Eva agreed.
I tried to be encouraging. “A musician named Leonard Cohen once said something about there being cracks in everything so the light can get in. I know it’s of little solace, but maybe it helps explain the world.” I finished my coffee, then met Eva’s brown eyes. “What are your plans from here?”
She took in a breath and released it slowly. “I think I need some time off to regroup. I have a cabin in Maine, so maybe I’ll spend some time there.” She regarded me and Olivia. “And you two?”
Olivia and I exchanged glances. “I guess it’s back to Hollywood,” I said. “I have a little follow-up about a missing girl on a case we were working.”
“Not so fast,” Joe told me, returning to the table. “Finish your breakfast. We have a plane to catch.”
“What’s going on?”
“The Rylands are in jail in Brazil. They told the authorities there’s only one person in this world they will talk to, and I’m looking at her.”
***
I went back to my room and packed for my trip to Brazil. I was both dreading seeing the Rylands and curious about why they wanted to see me. I consoled myself with the thought that maybe I would finally get some answers to the questions that felt like they had been haunting me forever.
After packing, I decided to call my friends and explain what was happening. When I got Natalie and Mo on FaceTime, I asked about Bernie.
“Otto took him for a walk,” Natalie said. “Them two have become pretty good buddies.”
I was happy, knowing that our butler could use a friend. “How is Otto doing?”
“He still seems a little down,” Mo said. “Baby sis and me are thinkin’ ‘bout finding him a new guy.”
“I think he needs one of them house whisperers,” Natalie agreed. “Maybe a fussy decorator type that will make sure his pipes are workin’, if you know what I mean.”
I assured her I knew exactly what she meant, then told them about my trip to Brazil to see the Rylands.
“Why do them two crazies wanna see you?” Mo asked.
“Maybe they’re gonna tell you ‘bout what happened with your two daddies,” Natalie suggested.
“I hope I’ll finally get some answers,” I said. “I’m just glad they’re behind bars.”
They went on, giving me their opinions about the Rylands, including Natalie telling me not to trust them and that the whole trip would be a waste of time. I then got the latest on Fred and Nana.
“It looks like Fred’s gonna move in with Nana right after our lip sync war,” Mo said. “And I think that’s a good thing.”
“It can’t happen a minute too soon,” Natalie said, “even though Fred wants to do a stand-up routine with me after our Club Chub performance.”
I laughed. “You’re kidding. You two on stage together could start another riot.”
“Or make us a wad of quid. I’m gonna give it some thought.”
There was a knock on my door, and I told my friends I would see them in a couple days. I opened the door and found Joe standing there with four men in combat gear, carrying automatic weapons.
“Ready to go?”
I got my suitcase. “Who are your friends?” I asked, after joining him.
We walked to the car, with the soldiers following us. “Just your babysitters.”
“You think this could be dangerous?”
He glanced at me. “We’re going to a foreign country, with an unstable government, and meeting with the most dangerous terrorists in the world. You tell me.”
SIXTY-NINE
Our flight to Rio took just over ten hours. After landing, we were escorted to Alcacuz Prison in the northeast part of the country. Along the way, Joe told me about the facility.
“The place is basically controlled by the drug cartels. Some parts of the prison are off limits, even to the guards.”
“You mean the inmates are running the place?”
“You got it. There are underground tunnels that bring the prisoners everything from guns to knives. Not to mention drugs.”
“And the Rylands are in the middle of this?”
“In a high security section, away from the general pop. We’re hoping to get them extradited, but we’ve got to work through the country’s legal system, so that could take weeks, if not months.”
“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing, having t
hem in a foreign country in lockup.”
“Maybe.”
Despite Joe’s warnings about the prison, I was unprepared for what I saw when we pulled up to the main gate. The two-tiered Spanish style prison looked like a war zone, surrounded by high fences and barbed wire. Graffiti covered the walls, and several sections of the prison appeared abandoned, or maybe those were the areas the guards wouldn’t patrol.
After checking in with security staff, we were told we would be allowed entrance to the secure perimeter of the facility on the condition that our military escort waited outside. There was a lengthy discussion with the prison commander before Joe came back over to me.
“We either turn around and go home, or we go in without our escort,” he said. “I don’t like this.”
My eyes shifted, taking in the dreary, forbidding facility, a feeling of dread overwhelming me. I pushed that down and said, “We’ve come a long way. Let’s go ahead.”
He held on my eyes for a long moment, then nodded.
The secure section of the prison appeared newer, with none of the graffiti that we’d seen earlier, but it was still intimidating. After checking in with the administrative staff and making our way through several checkpoints, we were led down a corridor to a locked door.
“You wait here,” the guard told Joe in surprisingly excellent English. “Only she is authorized.”
“Not on your life, hot shot,” Joe said. “I go where she goes.”
The guard stood his ground and shook his head. “The conditions of interview were made explicit. The prisoners will only see her.” He cut his dark eyes to me. “No exceptions.”
Joe and the guard went at it, before it was obvious the only way I was going to see the Rylands was alone. I took a step away from the guard and called Joe over, wondering if he could hear my heart beating against my ribcage as I thought about being locked in a room with the terrorists.
“Let me do this,” I said. “It’s the only way.”
“It’s too risky. You’ve seen what they’re capable of doing.”
“I’ll make sure we’re separated by bars or glass, so they can’t try anything.” I held on his pale eyes. “I’ve faced down a lot of bad people before, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“But this is the Rylands.”
I smiled. “Evil is still flesh and blood.” I touched his arm. “I’ll be okay.”
His gaze moved off as he exhaled. He finally looked back at me and relented. “I’ll be right here.”
After nodding to the guard, he unlocked the door and led me into a room with a series of interconnected bars. It gave me the impression of being locked in a cage connected to another cage. After having me take a seat at a table, he explained how the meeting would go.
“The prisoners will be in the cage next to yours. Stay back, away from the bars. No contact is allowed. If you need assistance, push this button.” He handed me what looked like a garage door opener with a red button, then left.
I waited several minutes before I heard a series of doors opening and closing somewhere inside the prison. My anxiety was on meltdown, my heart beating like a drum, as a door to the cell adjacent to mine opened, and the Rylands entered.
Harlee Ryland and her grandfather took seats in the cell across from mine, never breaking eye contact with me. They sat in silence for several seconds, before Harlee finally spoke.
“Nice to see you. How does it feel to be marked for death?”
SEVENTY
“What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice even.
Harlee laughed, glancing at her grandfather. “I think we got her attention.”
“Forgive my granddaughter,” Harlan Ryland said, his voice thin and raspy. “Social pleasantries have never been her forte.”
The elder terrorist was in his eighties, with a visage that was a darker, more menacing version of Pablo Picasso. A sprinkling of white hair on his otherwise bald head reminded me of snowflakes on a desert landscape. Empty, dark eyes, studied me, as a predator might size up its prey.
Harlee, on the other hand, was in her late thirties and attractive, with dark eyes and shoulder-length black hair. I knew, both from experience and reading her bio, that she was a sociopath and an expert marksman. I was also aware that she and her elderly grandfather were equally dangerous.
“Why did you want to see me?” I said, doing my best to keep my voice even.
Harlee put her hands on the bars of their cell and leaned forward, even though we were several feet apart. “We’ll get to that soon enough.” She smiled. “The last time we spoke, we left things unresolved.”
A few weeks back, before their latest terrorist attack, Harlee had held me at gunpoint at my mother’s house, saying something about us being related.
“I’m listening,” I said.
She looked at her grandfather. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”
A thin smile found the elder Ryland’s lips. “It’s my understanding that you recently learned about your father’s son, Daniel.”
“I know that you stole the money my father left him in an offshore account.”
The smile was gone. “That was my money, stolen by that bastard you called your father. Daniel had no right to it.”
“When you say my father stole from you, what exactly do you mean?”
“Your father was a worthless cheat,” Harlee spat, answering for him. “He extorted millions from my grandfather in exchange for not telling his superiors about his business dealings.” She smiled. “He also abandoned his own son, so I’d say that both he and Daniel got exactly what they deserved.”
If what they were saying was true, it meant that my worst fears about my adoptive father were confirmed: he had been instrumental in covering up the Rylands’ drug trade. It sickened me to realize that he’d failed to honor his oath as a police officer and had been complicit in the death of hundreds, if not thousands of people, who had lost their lives because of illegal drugs.
“We digress,” Harlee said, smiling. “Let’s get back to the mystery I hinted at the last time we spoke.”
Harlee had told me that she and I were related, making me think her grandfather might be my bio-dad. That thought was horrifying. I braced myself, dreading what she might say.
“You mentioned something about our relationship,” I said, hearing the angry edge in my voice.
She nodded. “Daniel and I have the same mother, so I guess you could say that we’re related by family, rather than biology.”
I exhaled, feeling strangely relieved by what she’d said. “Do you know where Daniel is?”
She chuckled. “The last I heard, he was homeless, living on the streets. Why do you give a shit?”
“It’s obvious that you don’t.”
“In some cases, that old adage about blood and water doesn’t hold true. This is one of those cases.”
I ignored her, looking at her grandfather. “You had Ryan Copper kill my adoptive father, didn’t you?”
His sickening smiled returned. “Things happened many years ago that cost him his life. He was a traitor and a cheat, that’s why both he and your biological father went away.”
“My biological father, who is he?”
“Maybe you should ask your friend who’s spent the last few weeks snooping into things.”
“Pearl Kramer? Where is he?”
“Dead, I hope. He deserves to die, just like the rest of your rotten society. Maybe you don’t realize it, but your world has reached a tipping point. No one is safe from those in power. Society must be brought down, returned to the people.”
“You mean returned to your people—the Swarm.”
Harlan smiled. “If you say so.”
“What’s going to happen? What are you planning?”
Harlee chuckled. “The planning is all done. We’re just waiting...”
There was a loud explosion from somewhere behind me, shaking the building.
“What’s going on?” I demanded
.
Harlee’s dark eyes bore into me. “Didn’t I already tell you that you’ve been marked for death?”
I heard the prison staff shouting as the power dimmed, leaving us in almost total darkness. I stood as another loud explosion rocked the building.
“The end is near!” Harlan Ryland yelled, his tone ominous and threatening. He was now standing, along with his granddaughter.
Behind me, I heard Joe calling out, the urgency in his voice obvious. “Kate! We have to go right now!”
I looked back at the Rylands. “Who is my biological father?”
Harlan Ryland said something that was drowned out by another loud explosion and the sound of gunfire. Joe was at my side now, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the cage. “Move!” he yelled. “This place is under attack!”
We managed to make our way past the guards, who were in a gun battle with someone in the courtyard of the administrative wing. I glanced out the window, seeing that our military escort was also returning fire. The entire prison was a war zone.
I turned to Joe. “What should we do?’
He picked up a gun one of the guards had dropped and tossed it to me before pulling out his own weapon. “We kick ass and take names, then we get the hell out of Dodge.”
SEVENTY-ONE
“Any word on the Rylands?” I asked Joe.
We were back on the plane after a two-hour gun battle with those who had tried to take over Alcacuz Prison by force. We’d managed to escape, only after losing two of our own in the assault.
“Our people think it was an inside job to free them. Harlee and her grandfather were last seen leaving in a jeep after a perimeter wall was blown up and breached.”
“Do we have any idea where they went?”
“Probably in a tunnel somewhere. That’s where rats go when you destroy a sewer.” He exhaled. “What was this all about?’
“I’m sorry?”
“The Rylands. What did they want from you?”
“It might sound strange, but I think they wanted to make this personal. Harlee told me that I’m marked for death and that society is at a tipping point. Her grandfather made it sound like an apocalypse is coming.”