“You think a kid is the source of the threat?” Stony asked.
“Kids make threats all the time,” Sly said.
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“Claire Jane is married to a Robert E. Lee Wells. Robert was recently released from the Texas prison system, after serving ten of twenty for aggravated armed robbery. Guards who processed his release tell us that he was picked up by a woman and a boy. His release took place several days before we got the first email.”
“That seems like enough to make him the number one suspect for the threat.”
“Yes, and it gets better. Wells joined the Aryan Brotherhood while in prison and he’s the leader of the National Socialist White People’s Party. He comes from good stock. His granddaddy was the founder.”
Akina reached across the table and tapped the page containing the second threat. “As Sly said, threats against the president are routine. The DTS gets informed as a matter of courtesy whenever the threat alludes to the use of magic. Doesn’t happen very often and magic-based threats aren’t considered serious.”
“For good reason,” Sly said. “If a kid really uses magic in an attempt to kill the president, they’ll die and the problem solves itself.”
“That’s cold, but I get it,” Stony said. But the T-Plague…” Her voice trailed off as she considered the implications.
“Exactly,” Akina said. She sat back in her chair. “Sly has agreed for you to lead the field team that he’s dispatching to Pecos.”
The secret service director frowned. “Agent Hill, I’ve agreed to accept you as team leader because of the special nature of this threat and your extensive field experience. But you may meet some initial resistance from the team members.”
He raised his hand to stop Stony before she could object. “Don’t worry. I’ve made damn sure they’ll follow you. But don’t be surprised if they’re grumpy about it. I advise you to build a relationship with Senior Special Agent Ron Hammer. You’re taking his usual role, but he insisted on staying with the group as your number two. He’s one of our best.”
“I’ll do that,” Stony said. She looked at Akina. “The DTS task force—”
“John and I will handle things for the few days that you’re gone.”
Sly glanced at his watch. “The Gulfstream leaves Andrews in seventy-five minutes. You don’t want to miss it.”
17
Pecos, Texas
GT shut down his laptop, closed the lid, and shoved it into the ancient Nike gym bag that he’d found long ago in the dumpster behind the exercise place on Bickley Avenue. He stuffed his clothes into the bag and used them to cushion the computer.
Robert Lee was standing just outside the bedroom door, arms across his chest, waiting.
“Where’s your stuff?” GT asked.
“Already in the car. Hurry your ass.”
“I need to get my toothbrush.”
GT started for the bedroom door, but Robert Lee pushed by him and grabbed the gym bag. “Leave it. I’ll get you a new one.” A cloud of alcohol filled the small room.
“What’s going on?” GT’s mother had appeared outside the bedroom door. She was barefoot and wearing the cotton robe that GT had given her three Christmases ago.
For a moment, the three of them froze.
GT’s fear—for himself and his mom—and the sight of the faded daffodils that covered her robe were too much. He started sobbing. “He’s taking me away.” He choked and swallowed gulps of air. “He’s gonna make me use magic to kill the president.”
“Kill the—? What do you mean he’s taking you away? Where?” The initial confusion on his mother’s face was supplanted by rising anger.
“Don’t worry about it,” Robert Lee grunted. He stomped from the room and shoved his way through the door.
GT’s mother screamed and lashed out, raking the snarling man’s face with her nails and drawing blood. “No! You’re not taking my baby anywhere!”
As sudden as a snake’s strike, the big man dropped the gym bag, grabbed GT’s mother by the throat, and slammed her against the hallway wall. “You want the boy to watch while I strangle you? Because I’ll do it. I swear to Christ I will.”
The gurgling sounds coming from his mother’s throat set GT’s mind on fire. He flew out of the bedroom and threw himself against Robert Lee, pummeling him with a flurry of punches and kicks. “I’ll kill you! Leave her alone!”
“Fuck!” Robert Lee released his grip on GT’s mother, punched her in the face, and whirled to swat GT away like an annoying mosquito.
GT landed on his ass back in the bedroom. His mother was sprawled on the hallway floor, blood streaming from a shattered nose and busted lip. She kept whimpering “no no no no,” like a prayer that she knew wouldn’t be answered.
Asshole knelt and bent next to her ruined face. “I have a job to do, Claire.” His voice was a quiet whisper. “I’ll bring your baby home, all safe and sound, after I’m done. But if anyone tries to stop me, I’ll bring your baby’s head back to you in a box.”
His head swiveled like an owl’s and he smiled at GT. “You do what I tell you to do, Son, or your mother will never see her next birthday. You believe me?”
GT shivered and nodded.
Robert Lee screamed. “Say it!”
“Yes, I believe you.”
“Kiss your mama good bye and let’s get the hell out of here.”
18
Ticonderoga, New York
“I’m sorry to intrude on your grief,” John said, “but I believe we’re dealing with some sort of corrupted Transition that could spread to other children. I need to try to understand how it moved from Natalie to Shin.”
He and Brian Forrest sat in two overstuffed chairs in a back room at the Main Cup coffee shop in downtown Ticonderoga. It was mid-day, the earliest that Forrest was available. Stony had left for Washington earlier that morning.
“I’m not sure what I could tell you that I haven’t already, but I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Forrest’s complexion was sallow, his red-rimmed eyes underscored by dark smudges. “Thanks for understanding about meeting here. I don’t think I could handle talking about Nat if we were at the house. Too many memories.”
“Of course,” John said. “I’ll need to visit your home, but I can do that alone and follow up with any questions.”
Forrest nodded and looked around, as if surveying a familiar and comfortable space. “Mildred is a fixture in this town. She makes this available for anyone who needs privacy. I’ve used it more than once for personnel meetings when I wanted to avoid gossip at the plant.”
Mildred was the shop’s owner, a tall, thin, serene woman who looked to be in her eighties. She’d hugged Brian, led them to the room, and pulled the door closed behind her as she left. The walls were covered by overlapping planks of barn siding; the undulating floor was made from dark, lustrous planks of pine. The chairs shared the room with an antique coffee roaster that looked like it was still in use. The sharp aroma of burned beans saturated the air.
John cleared his throat, started a pocket recorder, and placed it on a small table next to his chair.
“How long ago did you start preparing Natalie for Transition?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe since she was three or four. Her mother took the emotional approach. I’ve been a geek all my life so I used science and numbers. But it was the same message from both of us. It’s normal and okay to be curious about magic, but she knew she’d die if she tried it. Nat was more like me than her mom. I think the statistics about deaths were convincing. I never had to worry about her.”
“Once Natalie saw that her Transition was different, could she have rethought using magic?”
Forrest appeared surprised. “What are you asking? That she would think it was okay to use magic because her eyes were black? Absolutely not. Never.”
Jesus, the certainty of a father’s love.
John moved on. “Natalie’s medical records look typical for a kid he
r age. Prior to this last week, her most recent doctor visit was six months ago for a checkup. Is that right?”
“Yeah. She’s…” Forrest’s voice caught. “She was a healthy kid.”
“She have anything health-related, no matter how minor, going on in the last month?” John asked.
“She’d had her first period about a month ago, but she handled that like everything else. ‘Not a biggie,’ she’d said.”
“No sniffles or a cold?”
“None.”
“Headaches?”
“Huh-uh.”
“Did she experience cramps with her period?”
“No.”
“Would she have told you?” John asked. “From what I understand, girls can be a little uncomfortable talking to their dads about those kinds of things.”
Forrest laughed quietly and wiped a tear from his cheek. “Sometimes I wished she’d been a little more uncomfortable. Even since her mother died, she started telling me everything. Boys, kissing, the whole nine yards. Never bothered her nearly as much as it did me.”
“Brian, I have a few questions that are damned intrusive, but I’ve got to ask them. They could be important.”
“Like what?”
“How sexually active was she?”
“Christ, what’s that got to do with how she died? She was only twelve, for God’s sake.” Forrest’s challenge almost seemed perfunctory, like he felt obligated to push back, but had little interest in the response.
“Maybe nothing. But Transition and sexual maturation are linked, obviously. I’m searching for any clue into why this happened.”
“Sounds like you’re a blind man searching for light in a dark room.”
“I can’t argue that,” John said and paused for a moment. “How sexually active was she?”
"Does kissing a boy count? I think she'd done that once. That's it." Forrest flushed. "She told me that she'd masturbated, which was when I told her that I didn't need that much information."
John continued to ask questions about Natalie, her friends, her schoolmates, and her activities for another hour. Rather than grow more tired, Brian Forrest seemed to gain energy from talking about his daughter’s life.
The recording would be transcribed and codified by the data techs at DTS headquarters, but John heard nothing that sounded significant. He wasn’t discouraged. He knew that something that appeared trivial now might prove essential later, when he knew more.
“Anything I haven’t asked that you want to mention?”
Forrest seemed puzzled. “I can’t imagine what. You know more about my daughter’s last few weeks than I do.”
“I doubt that. Not even close. Let’s switch gears and talk about you.”
“Me? I work, I take care of my daughter. I have no life beyond that. I didn’t want any life beyond that.”
“Carlos Gonzales works for you, right?”
“Yes, along with several hundred other men and women at the plant.”
“When’s the last time you saw Mr. Gonzales?”
“Saw? You mean the last time we were actually together?”
“Yes.”
Forrest thought a moment before answering. “It wasn’t at the hospital. He was going to bring Shin and come visit, but Nat got sick so quickly that I asked him not to. So the last time was at the plant, the day before she woke up with the eyes. We had a sales guy in to do a presentation about new motor technology. Carlos and I were both in the meeting.”
“I’ll need a list of everyone who was in that meeting. Do you recall the exact date?”
“Hang on.” Forrest took his phone from his pocket and tapped the surface a half-dozen times. “The morning of August third.” More tapping. “I just sent you a copy of the agenda. It has the names of everyone who attended.”
“Great, thanks. So the meeting happened the day before Natalie woke up with black irises. Do I have that right?”
“Yeah. Why, do you think there’s a connection?” Forrest tensed and leaned forward in his chair.
“No, I’m just making sure I have the dates straight. All the heroes on TV talk about how much they don’t believe in coincidences. Truth is, coincidences happen all the time and mean absolutely nothing.”
Forrest nodded and leaned back in the wing-backed chair.
“How often do you see Mr. Gonzales at work?” John asked.
“Two or three times a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Depends on what’s going on.”
“At the sales meeting—did you two touch in any way? Or drink from the same glass or water fountain?”
“We probably shook hands, I don’t remember. Carlos is a touchy-feely guy.”
“When was the last time Natalie saw Shin or any other member of the Gonzales family?”
After a long pause, Forrest shook his head. “I’m sorry, I just don’t recall. But it’s been months. Maybe at the company Christmas party.”
John pressed on. Forrest’s voice softened and his face started to sag with exhaustion as he sketched an organization chart of the key managers at Global Paper’s Ticonderoga plant. Together the two men developed a list of Forrest’s acquaintances and a calendar of his social events over the last month. They weren’t long lists.
He wasn’t exaggerating when he told me that his life revolved around Natalie and work.
“Any illnesses or unusual medical events in the last few weeks?” John asked. “No matter how trivial.”
Forrest paused before answering. “I don’t get sick, knock wood. I had a cold maybe a year ago. That’s it. Unless you want to know about my ingrown toenail or how the dust in the converting room at the mill irritates my eyes. Even my medical history is boring.”
John smiled. “Doesn’t sound like you have time to be sick. It can’t be easy raising an energetic young girl that’s on the cusp of becoming a woman,” John said. “I’ve never had any kids, so I can only imagine how demanding it must be.”
Tears streaked Brian Forrest’s cheeks. “You know what isn’t easy? It’s picking out a casket for your little girl. I left the funeral home to come here. I thought I was holding myself together, doing okay. Then they took me to a special display room for children’s caskets, for me to pick one.” He choked and paused. “They were so small, so perfect.” He started sobbing. “Why couldn’t I have died with my little girl?”
John pulled the door to the private room closed behind him and walked into the central room of the Main Cup. Mildred, the shop’s owner, looked up and smiled as he entered the main part of the store. There were no customers sitting at the half-dozen small tables.
“Mr. Forrest wanted a little time alone,” John said. “He’ll be out shortly.”
“Of course.”
John couldn’t imagine the depths of Forrest’s anguish, but his own mind was unsettled by Natalie’s death. The interview with Forrest had been emotionally wrenching.
The next one isn’t going to be any easier.
Mildred seemed to sense his disquiet. “One of my dear friends runs a small diner. If you have the time, go ask her to make you a milkshake. She uses local milk from Jersey cows; they give the richest milk ever. Her shakes cure just about anything.”
John checked his watch. He had an hour before his meeting with Shin’s parents. He wasn’t hungry, but the idea of a cold, creamy drink was surprisingly appealing.
“You should work for the local chamber of commerce. I think I’ll do that.”
Mildred’s laugh was as soft as her voice. “Her place is called Burleigh’s Luncheonette.” She gave John directions. “Why don’t you leave your car here and walk for a bit?”
Forrest had said Mildred was a town fixture.
More like town saint.
The Gonzales Cape Cod was on the outskirts of town. A grove of trees surrounded and dwarfed the home, giving it a fairy-tale appearance, like Heidi’s home in the Swiss Alps.
John turned off the car and leaned back against the seat. He opened all the windows and breathed in th
e fragrance of grass and green leaves.
What a wonderful place to grow up.
By this time, he’d expected to be joined by an agent from the Centers for Disease Control. While John was having the best milkshake of his life, the agent had called with the news that he was going to be delayed. Rather than drive upstate from the LaGuardia airport, the idiot had scheduled a puddle-jumper to Ticonderoga. That flight had been canceled after a three-hour delay, so the guy was now in a car, headed north. John had been tempted to tell him to go home, but the investigation needed the perspective that the CDC would bring to the table.
He got out of the car and walked to the front door, tapping his cane on each of the bluestone slabs that formed the front walk. They were placed like small islands in the sea of jade-colored grass.
Carlos Gonzales opened the door before John got there. “We’ll use the kitchen table, if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine.”
Gonzales led him to a breakfast nook that opened off the kitchen, jutting out from the house. Waist-high windows divided into a grid of small glass panes paraded around the perimeter of the cozy room. Sunlight and shadows danced across the table’s surface as Gonzales pointed John to a chair and then took one on the opposite side.
Shin’s father looked to be about five-four. He was heavily built, but solid, like a human version of an immovable object. His black hair and dark eyes lent his face a natural intensity that was softened by a mosaic of smile lines. Now his features seemed dulled by pain.
“My wife may join us a bit later. She’s uh… She’s having a very difficult time.”
John wanted to interview both parents. But forcing the issue could trigger hostility that would interfere with getting useful information. Besides, the connection with the Forrest family ran through Carlos, not his wife.
I’ll let it ride for now. I can always question the wife later.
“I understand. I apologize if my visit has made things more difficult. ”
Gonzales shrugged, saying nothing.
The Ebony Finches: A Transition Magic Thriller Page 13