“I was just hoping that there might be something more,” he replied. “It’s difficult being out of the loop.”
“We’re moving as quickly as we can,” she added, “and you know as well as I do that to pinpoint three locations and set up surveillance in such a short time is pretty fast work.”
“I’m appreciative,” he said. “Please don’t think that I’m not.”
She said, “Signal the others, I know they’re watching.”
Logan, with his back to the window, stood and, no longer blocked by the signage, removed his jacket and placed it on his chair. When he sat, he was smiling. “I’m not that predictable, am I?” he asked.
“Gideon is,” she said, and then, in a show of normalcy, she motioned for the waitress and ordered coffee and facturas.
It took but a minute for Gideon and Heidi to enter the café. Gideon, in the lead, slowed when he caught sight of Bradford. The subtle pause was a good sign. That the others were, until now, unaware of Bradford’s involvement spoke volumes to the lengths Logan had gone to respect Munroe’s wishes.
As a matter of decorum, Munroe reintroduced Bradford to the group, although he already knew more about Gideon and Heidi than either could possibly imagine. The small talk was short. Perfunctory. The closest she would go to preliminaries and niceties.
Her primary purpose for coming had been simple: outline the progress, make sure they understood how easily it could be undone, reiterate that they needed to back off and let her do her job. As Bradford had done before, Munroe limited information to what was innocuous. She provided no locations and kept back the details of having entered the Haven Ranch.
In contrast to Logan and Heidi, who were by all appearances accepting, Gideon exuded aggression. He finally uncrossed his arms and, leaning forward, said, “Are you certain these places you’ve got under surveillance are really Havens?”
Munroe nodded. “One hundred percent.”
“You should let us be a part of this,” he said. “We’re insiders, we can verify what you can only guess, make sure you’re really on the right track. We know them, know the way they talk, know who these people are, and by not letting us be a part of this you’re taking a huge risk.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said.
“It’s not your decision,” Gideon said. His tone remained calm, but his body language spoke to his anger. “This is our project. You work for us, not the other way around. We hired you, we’re paying you.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t, you didn’t, and you’re not.”
She paused for effect, continuing before Gideon could say more.
“I’m here for Logan,” she said, “end of story. You have no idea what it takes to run a project like this, but I do. It’s what I do for a living. If you doubt me, ask Logan. Not only have I put more money into this than all of you combined, but it’s my neck on the line if something goes wrong.” She nodded toward Bradford. “At best, you’re paying for my rearguard, and good luck convincing him that he works for you. I’ve given you an overview. The play-by-play is provided on a need-to-know basis, and quite frankly, you don’t need to know.”
Gideon’s face reddened, but he said nothing. Munroe gauged him carefully. The provocation wasn’t meant as a way to establish rank or to throw her weight around—she didn’t need to waste words in order to achieve that—she was pushing in order to prove to Logan what she already knew.
Gideon wasn’t here for Hannah. He could claim it as much as he wanted, but she was merely a cover. Sure, getting the girl would be a huge upside, but there was more that he wanted, something that required access to the Havens, and Munroe had a pretty good guess as to what it was. Gideon, just like Logan, and possibly Heidi to a lesser degree, was using the others to get to what he was really after.
When this was all over she could sit back and reminisce over it, but at the moment Gideon was kindling to a fire, a match to gasoline, a danger to the assignment and, by implication, to her.
Munroe placed both hands on the table, shifted forward, and in a near whisper said, “Look, we’re all here to get a little girl back to her mother, right?”
The nods of agreement were reluctant, but there.
“Finding Hannah is why I’m here,” she said, “the only reason I am here.” She reached under her chair and retrieved a small envelope. She slid it across the table in Gideon’s direction. “This is me,” she said, “my professional life, facts that you won’t find in any Internet search.” She paused. “I deal in information. This is my area of expertise, and I have the backup manpower to get Hannah out once we find her.” Munroe paused and, with a hard stare in Gideon’s direction, said, “Provided she doesn’t disappear while we’re in the middle of this.”
Gideon took the envelope and stuffed it into a pocket. He stood. “I’ll read it when I have a chance,” he said, “but unless you have something further to add, I’m finished here.”
Munroe placed her hands on the table. Folded them. “It’s all I’ve got,” she said.
Leaving the table, Gideon passed Munroe, brushing close against her as he did. Too close. Her reaction came in a nanosecond of calculation. Instinct before thought. He was still in midstep when Munroe stood, caught him at the wrist, twisted so that she had the advantage of position, and yanked his pinkie back nearly hard enough to break it. It was a movement so sudden that Heidi jumped.
In a voice low enough that only those at the table could hear it, Munroe said, “You really have no fucking idea what you’re dealing with, do you?”
Chapter 18
Gideon’s mouth formed into the shape of an O, and he began to lower as a way to lessen the pain. She bent with him, her mouth following his ear, and she whispered so that only he would hear. “I don’t want to kill you,” she said. “I won’t kill you, but if you continue to fuck with me, you’ll wish I had.”
Munroe’s respect for Gideon had gone up a notch with his attempt at placement—he’d been swift and smooth, and had it been anyone else that he’d tried to mark, he would have surely succeeded. But professional admiration could never stand in the way of the need to assert dominance. Alpha to alpha, Gideon must never forget his place.
Logan and Bradford sat motionless, eyes wide, and it wasn’t until Munroe pried the tracking device from Gideon’s palm and slapped it on the table that the rest of them understood what had taken place in the space of those few seconds.
Gideon’s face was red, his jaw clenched, and Munroe readied for retaliation. Instead, he straightened, turned, and left the café.
There was silence as they watched him go.
“Many of us don’t take well to any form of imposed control,” Heidi said. “Ours was a totalitarian life, and we’re allergic to authority now.” She paused. “He’s a good person,” she added, “just thought you should know.”
“I’m in no position to judge,” Munroe said. “If circumstances were different we’d probably get along fine, but right now my world revolves around getting to Hannah and defending the process. I do that by taking advantage of opportunities and protecting them from threats.”
Heidi nodded, and then paused in the slow hesitation of someone who wanted to say something but was worried about doing so.
Whatever tumbled inside Heidi’s head, Munroe needed to hear it, and with time at a premium, she needed it fast. In an immediate downshift and instant role change, Munroe dropped her shoulders, became visibly smaller, and followed this with a relaxation of facial muscles, all of it culminating in a wistful smile.
The response was as expected, a reciprocal relaxation on Heidi’s part, and with the easing of tension, Heidi’s struggle ebbed. “I was wondering,” she said, “if on any of the surveillance you’ve done, you’ve come across a guy named Malachi. Well, maybe it’s Malachi, maybe it’s Elijah.”
Munroe said, “Who?”
Heidi reached into her purse and pulled out an aged photo. She slid it across the table. “This guy,” she said. “I
don’t know for certain what name he uses now, but the last time I saw him he’d just switched to Elijah.”
The photo showed an unmistakable blond, mustachioed, much younger, guitar-playing version of the Elijah that Munroe had spoken with yesterday at the Haven Ranch.
Munroe studied the photo and after a moment slid it back. “The information is still pooling,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to go through it all yet.”
She’d given the truth, if not the answer.
Heidi put the photo back and nodded, disappointment written on her face. “He’s my dad,” she said. “I haven’t had any word from him in about six years. We used to be close. In spite of all of the insanity and the times we were kept away from each other, he always found a way to make sure that I knew he was there for me. He was a good dad. That’s probably the most painful thing in all of this—being cut off from my family. Not just my dad, you know. I used to take care of my brothers and sisters—well, half brothers and sisters—I was more their mom than my stepmom was.”
Heidi paused, looked toward the table, and said, her voice lower this time, “I guess I hoped that maybe in the course of all of this, someone might spot him, might be able to tell me if he was still in Argentina. I’d really like to connect with him again, to see my brothers and sisters again.”
“What about your mom?” Munroe asked.
Heidi shrugged. “It wasn’t the same.”
Munroe understood the ache of separation and, with true compassion, said, “When all is said and done, if they’re here, I’ll let you know.”
Heidi’s return smile was warm and trusting, an almost childish acceptance that contrasted with her extreme intelligence and yet was completely sincere. It was difficult not to like Heidi, and the idea of being able to fulfill such a simple hope as a by-product of finding Hannah was a pleasant one.
“Will they let you in?” Munroe asked.
“Maybe,” Heidi said. “It’s worth a try.”
Munroe turned to Logan and said, “Walk with me for a moment, will you?”
Logan stood and grabbed his coat. To Bradford, Munroe said, “I’ll be back in ten.”
Outside the café, the sky was overcast and the humid chill of yesterday had taken on the aspect of a misty rain just wet enough to coat everything in a layer of teardrops, yet not quite enough for umbrellas.
Munroe took Logan’s hand and led him away from the entrance until they were out of sight, and there, under a storefront awning, she sank back against the wall. He followed suit, and together, in comfortable silence, they watched pedestrian traffic.
Finally she said, “Do you still think Gideon is here to help find Hannah?”
“If that’s all he wanted, he’d be content to let you do your job,” Logan said. “Especially now that he knows you’re capable of it.”
“He wants inside,” Munroe said. “I’m going to venture that the only thing holding him back from making a break and attempting to find them on his own is the risk of screwing things up for Hannah—for Charity. He wants it bad, Logan.” She looked off in the distance for a moment and then turned back to him. “What’s Gideon’s relationship with Charity?”
“He’s been in love with her for years,” Logan said.
“Are they a couple? An item?”
“If Gideon had his say they would be, but Charity’s not interested in him in that way.”
“He doesn’t know about the two of you?”
“Nobody knows,” Logan replied. “Except for me, Charity, you, and”—he paused—“well, now Miles.”
She nodded. “Miles is my rearguard, Logan, you know the drill.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know how it goes.”
Munroe stared off in the direction that Gideon had walked. “Logan, it’s important that you realize the situation you’re in. As of right this moment, Gideon is the biggest threat we’re facing in getting to your daughter. He came down here for a reason, his time is running out, and he’s not going back until he gets what he wants. If they spook because of something he does, Hannah’s gone again. You know that, right?”
Logan nodded. Kicked a leg back against the wall for support.
“I know you all think that Charity needs to keep her name out of this,” Munroe said, “but if you’re serious about getting it done, I need you to buy me time. If Gideon will do what Charity wants, you need to get her involved.”
“It won’t be a problem,” Logan said. “I talk to her at least once a day, sometimes more. She’s biting her nails even more than I am right now.”
“Tell me about Gideon,” Munroe said. “What’s his story?”
“Kind of like mine,” Logan said. “He was tossed out of The Chosen when he was fifteen. He’d never been to the States before, had never even met his grandparents, and then one day he was dropped off on their doorstep. He tried going to school, was too far behind academically to keep up with his peers, couldn’t adjust, couldn’t relate, started getting in trouble, and before long his grandparents kicked him out.”
Logan paused, and Munroe motioned for him to continue.
“He ended up on the streets,” Logan said. He chuckled. “Remind you of anyone?”
She smiled. Logan grinned.
“I was lucky,” he said. “Eric’s dad took me under his wing and put a roof over my head, even if it wasn’t much. Gideon didn’t fare as well. He was in nonstop trouble and twice narrowly missed a term in juvie. He saw the military as a way out, and when he was seventeen tried to enlist. He couldn’t without a guardian’s signature. His grandparents had already disowned him and his parents treated him like a pariah and refused. Some love, huh? They’d rather have their son out on the streets than break with The Prophet’s antigovernment worldview. So he survived by picking up odd jobs, eventually got into the Marine Corps, did his time, and then moved on from there. That’s Gideon in a nutshell.”
“What were things like for him while he was in The Chosen?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Logan said. “I only knew him when we were younger—seven—eight—didn’t live with him when we were teenagers, and these days he doesn’t talk about it much. That’s how some of us deal, you know? Pretend it didn’t happen.”
“Anybody in particular he might have a vendetta against?”
Logan paused. Looked directly at her. “You think that’s why he wants in?”
“Gideon’s got a big chip on his shoulder,” she said. “He’s got something to prove to someone, and he doesn’t strike me as the type to want to prove it with words—maybe he wants to pound some issues out.”
“I’ll ask around,” Logan said. “See what I can find.”
When they returned to the café, Bradford and Heidi were talking. There was an intimacy to their conversation, both of them leaning in toward each other, steady eye contact, and Heidi’s face was flushed in a way it hadn’t been when they’d left.
It was hard not to like Heidi.
Munroe slowed. Her face burned hot. The café ambience faded. The reaction, instant as it was, came as a surprise. In split-second intervals Munroe studied Bradford. Studied Heidi. And then turned concentration inward.
Emotion on an assignment could get a person killed. She pushed it back. Each step toward the table was a conscious rejection of the intensity that had set her heart racing, each step a return to the focus on the tasks at hand. By the time she and Logan had joined the others, it was as if the moment had never happened.
The good-byes were brief, the promises short, and the return to the hotel made in silence.
For Munroe the transit was downtime, transition from one role back into another, and Bradford, aware of how she worked, seemed content to allow her the space she needed.
It was late afternoon by the time Munroe approached the Haven Ranch. The sky had brightened, and scattered rays of sunshine gave rise to the illusion of warmth. She rolled the Peugeot to a stop at the gate, stepped out for the push-button, and then returned to the car to wait. Gaining entry
for this round should, by all expectations, be straightforward.
This time it wasn’t Esteban who made the long walk to let her in but a teenage boy. She guessed him to be around fifteen or sixteen, still in that awkward stage between child and man, with limbs longer than they should be and blemishes where they shouldn’t be.
When he had swung the gate wide, Munroe lowered the window and eased the car forward a few feet.
“I’m Miki,” she said.
He didn’t reply, merely nodded and met her eyes shyly.
“I can drive you to the house,” she said, “and save you the cold walk back.”
He shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said.
His reaction was a good gauge. They trusted her enough to send a teenager but not enough to allow him to ride with her.
Munroe parked in the same space that Bradford had the last visit, although today hers was the only vehicle. She stepped out of the car to wait, and when the boy approached, she held out her hand. “I didn’t catch your name,” she said.
He paused and then reached to shake it. His touch said that shaking hands wasn’t an everyday occurrence. “I’m Dust,” he said. Their conversation had so far been in Spanish and the English word was a jarring contrast.
Dust for Dustin or Dust for dirt? Given the nature of the rest of The Chosen names thus far, Munroe guessed dirt.
“Is Esteban here?” she asked.
Dust shook his head but offered nothing else, and not wanting to make him more uncomfortable, Munroe stayed silent, following him to the room in which she’d sat the day before.
“Elijah asked me to tell you he’ll be here in just a minute or two,” he said.
This was the longest string of words the boy had yet to offer, and although from his Scandinavian looks he was clearly not from here, his accent was perfectly local. He’d been in Argentina for a while.
Dust’s dichotomy was part of what made The Chosen what it was. Not Argentine, nor wholly American, the group and the people within it were a hodgepodge of races and cultures homogenized into the culture of The Prophet. From Romania to Zimbabwe, Chile to Finland, The Chosen were different faces, different Havens, functioning as shell organizations under a myriad of names, but behind closed doors the lifestyle was the same: the culture of The Prophet.
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