“Because your son was kidnapped?”
Jeremiah nodded. “Partly, anyway.”
Lendra tilted her head and spoke softly: “How did the abduction happen?”
“Catherine got sick—food poisoning, maybe—went into the restroom and left him by the door.” Jeremiah glanced at Lendra, felt the unspoken judgment that Catherine should have taken the little boy inside the women’s bathroom with her—Catherine’s deadly burden. “She claimed she was inside for less than a minute, throwing up. When she stepped outside he was gone. She yelled for him, called security immediately. They locked the water park down no more than four minutes after it happened. But by then Joshua was already gone.”
Sorrow rose inside Jeremiah—a great tidal wave. It threatened to drown him. He blinked rapidly three times. A self-hypnotic trick. He visualized himself in a stone dungeon, free of all feeling, all pain. Centered. Insulated. It was a way of re-creating himself as nothing more than a machine. Cold steel. He sat on the metal cot and looked down at the brick floor, faintly illuminated by a torch on the wall. He knew every inch of this dungeon.
“Sounds almost like an inside job,” Lendra said.
“I thought of that. But I cleared all the employees.”
“I can imagine how you did that.”
“I didn’t torture them. I didn’t even have to question most of them.”
Lendra pursed her lips. “And they cut out his ID chip so you couldn’t track him.” Lendra leaned forward, exposing the rounded tops of her breasts. Her glass bulb necklace dangled between them, sparkling in the low light.
Jeremiah lifted his eyes to hers and nodded. She focused on him, her gaze penetrating.
Emotions hammered the dungeon. Anger. Sorrow. Lust. The walls shook; the door vibrated. Jeremiah stared at the dungeon’s door, wondering if it could sustain the assault.
“So after they took your son, Catherine killed herself?”
“Not right away,” Jeremiah said. “We kept hoping to hear from the kidnappers, but we never did. So I began to work later and later into the evenings, looking for any clue that might help me find him. And slowly Catherine withdrew from me. Or maybe I withdrew from her. A few months ago,” Jeremiah paused, “four months and sixteen days ago, I came home from work after midnight, as usual—saw her body on the bed, the clumsiness of the arms and legs. No one would choose to lie that way. I knew she was gone. She left a note on my nightstand asking me to forgive her, telling me she just couldn’t live with the pain anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Lendra said. “I didn’t realize it was that recent.”
A stone fell from the dungeon wall. Guilt and anger trickled in. Jeremiah again blinked three times, but another stone fell. It was an old dungeon, falling apart.
“And now you torture yourself over her loss,” Lendra added. “And over Joshua’s loss too.”
“Shouldn’t I?”
Lendra sat back and slowly swirled the wine around inside her glass. She studied the liquid for a moment, then met his eyes and said, “It’s a common reaction, as I’m sure you know. But you did nothing wrong. In time you’ll see that.”
“I should have been there when they took Joshua. But I was recuperating. I’d been on a mission with Julianna—our last mission together.”
“When she tried to kill you.”
Jeremiah nodded.
“You and she were lovers.”
“Before I met my wife, yes.”
“But not after?”
Jeremiah shook his head. “Julianna had all the tools. Cold, calculating, never shied away from violence. An almost ideal assassin. Better than me. Killing came easy to her.”
“Why do you think she tried to kill you?”
“I never got the chance to ask her. Money, power, who knows? It’s not important.”
Lendra tilted her head to the side. “Tell me about your last mission.”
“Our assignment was to eliminate the former dictator of a small African nation, who was living in exile in South America. He claimed to be a Devereauxnian, used that as an excuse to murder several thousand countrymen.”
“I remember reading about that. Mubarno, wasn’t it?” When Jeremiah nodded, she continued, “He said that Islam was a fraud that had to be wiped out.”
Jeremiah said, “When the international community began to converge on Mubarno, he slipped away one night, taking several billion dollars from the country’s treasury. Our job was to kidnap him, learn the whereabouts of the money, get it and then dispose of him.”
Lendra held Jeremiah’s gaze, one eyebrow arching slightly. Her dark hair framed her face. In the soft light her eyes appeared almost liquid.
“It didn’t take long to find him,” Jeremiah continued. “I turned Julianna loose on him. I could have taken his bodyguards out, but Julianna wanted to use a finesse approach. She talked with Mubarno for three days, quizzing him on Devereauxnianism.”
“Why do you think she took so long?”
“I don’t know. She’d already gained his confidence by the end of the first day. He invited her back to his room. She waited a couple more days before accepting. At that point I took care of his bodyguards. Everything was proceeding smoothly, but what I didn’t know was that Julianna had sold Mubarno to his successor.”
“El-Awhari?” Lendra asked.
“Yes. A strict Muslim. He got to execute Mubarno publicly. That solidified his position as the new dictator, which was all he cared about. What he really wanted was the opportunity to rob his people just as Mubarno had. So in the end, not much changed. We weren’t the saviors I’d hoped we’d be. Except that El-Awhari knows we’re out there, so he’s much more careful about killing his subjects. In that sense, I suppose, we did all right. Fewer people have died under his regime than under Mubarno’s.
“Anyway, when I went up to Mubarno’s room, she had him on the bed—drugged. As I turned to congratulate her, she pulled a knife and planted it in my gut. Never saw it coming. Never expected her to betray me. Made no attempt to stop her. Just stood there. Lucky she didn’t hit a vital organ. But the knife was coated with a neural tranquilizer. Instant paralysis. I couldn’t move. She bent down and put a QuikHeal bandage on me. Don’t know why. All she said was: ‘Sorry, darling.’”
Jeremiah managed a laugh that came out as a snort. “Then she brought in a couple of men, loaded Mubarno into a trunk and walked away. God, I wanted to kill her.” Jeremiah noticed tension building in his hands. Before they could clench into fists, he straightened the fingers and placed his palms flat on the table.
Lendra reached across the table and settled her hand on his. “So Julianna didn’t really want you dead. Why did you leave her?”
Jeremiah glanced down, surprised at the warmth of her hand. Was the heat generated by the neo-dopamine? He searched Lendra’s face. She seemed fascinated by his story. Again he wondered if Eli had something to do with her attentions. Jeremiah slid his hand free, allowed the cooling night air to wash over it.
“A few years before the Mubarno job, we had one in Columbia. Terminate a druglord who’d bought off a judge. Simple. The only catch was that we had to do it in front of the judge. To warn him. So we snatched the druglord and took him to the judge’s home. Julianna rounded up the judge’s wife and three little girls, forced them to watch her kill the druglord. Then she turned and blew the kids away.”
“My God!”
More stones fell, the dungeon collapsing on itself.
“I was out back,” Jeremiah spoke mechanically, as if he could detach himself from the horror of the memory, “preparing our getaway. Didn’t realize what she was doing until too late. Killing the girls triggered an alarm set to their brainwaves. So Julianna killed the judge and his wife too. We barely got out alive.”
“Did she say why she did it?”
“She said it was a more effective warning. W
asn’t the first time she altered a plan mid-operation. Anyway, that’s when I left her. And I never worked with her again until the Mubarno job.”
“You think she might have been involved in taking your son?”
“No,” Jeremiah said. “If Julianna was involved, she’d have left me a message.”
“You still have feelings for her.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to kill her.”
Looking out from the shambles of a dungeon around him, the stones strewn about his feet, the torch flickering, Jeremiah took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
“Where is she now?” Lendra asked.
“I don’t know. Eli says she became a freelancer, selling her services to the highest bidder. I suppose if I really wanted to know, I could ask Eli. He probably knows. Hell, you might too.”
Lendra smiled briefly. “Is Julianna the reason you’re not interested in me?”
Jeremiah took a sip of water. It somehow tasted cleaner than the water back east. He concentrated on its purity and said, “So what about you? Tell me a little about yourself.”
“Not even going to acknowledge my question?”
Jeremiah just stared at her.
Lendra opened her hands. “Okay, if you want to play it that way…I studied neuro-psychology and computer science, did a little hacking on the side. I was doing a post-graduate fellowship when Eli offered me the job. Sounded more interesting than academia. And I’ve enjoyed it. I learn all manner of interesting things, and I get to meet unusual and powerful people.”
“Like the President?”
Lendra smiled. “And you.”
Jeremiah rubbed his face. “I’m not worth knowing.”
Lendra frowned. “The things you’ve done for our country. The sacrifices you’ve made. Eli showed me some of your file. And I think you deserve happiness. Except you believe that would be a betrayal of your son. Am I right?”
“We should probably head back to the room. You’ll want to get your interface up and working again.”
“You’re not a robot,” she said, climbing to her feet. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to face your emotions.” As he stood, she came unsteadily around the table and wrapped her arm around his, the liquor and the medication apparently catching up with her. Jeremiah met the waiter’s eye until the man looked away, then walked Lendra out, her head on his shoulder.
The warmth of Lendra’s body infused him with desire as they rode the elevator to their floor. Jeremiah steeled himself. He refused to get involved with this girl, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much she threw herself at him.
When they entered the room, Jeremiah activated the alarms. He turned and found Lendra blocking his way to the beds. She walked into him, wrapped her arms around him. And for a moment he simply stood there, allowing her to hug him, enjoying the feel of her supple body, the scent of her perfume. Then he gently disengaged himself, held her at arm’s length and said, “Did Eli put you up to this?”
Lendra stiffened. “What do you think I am? A whore?” She reached for her interface and the small repair kit she’d placed on the desk, then entered the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. The click of the lock sounded loud in the sudden quiet.
Jeremiah lay on the bed nearest the door and closed his eyes. He’d thought the person he longed for was Catherine—kind and thoughtful Catherine, sensitive Catherine, who could no longer take the pain of this world. But after his conversation with Lendra he realized that wasn’t completely true. He mourned Julianna too. Julianna, who had somehow evolved from a gifted assassin into a psychopathic killer. Catherine and Joshua and now Julianna. What was Julianna doing tonight? Almost against his will he found his finger tracing the faint scar she’d left behind. The visible wound.
Then, as happened every night, he wondered about Joshua. Was the boy lost, scared, alone? Was he still alive? Did Marschenko know the answer?
Jeremiah rolled over to his side and pulled the pillow over his head. Stone by stone he began to rebuild his dungeon, even though the mental exercise no longer seemed reliable. With every nightmare the stones weakened, eroded by fear and sorrow—by imagination. He’d seen so many horrors in this life, so many things that could go wrong. His mind tormented him with those possibilities now. It used to be so easy to separate himself from pain and fear.
Now pain and fear were all he knew. All because he’d decided to work one last mission with Julianna. One stupid final mission. He’d known Julianna was on edge. Why had he agreed to work with her? Why hadn’t he seen her betrayal coming?
And then the kidnapping changed everything.
Jeremiah was not one to harbor false hopes. After four years, the likeliest scenario was that his boy was dead. He told himself he could accept Joshua’s death. But his emotional core hungered for his son to be alive.
Chapter Six
Sister Ezekiel kept her face centered on the PlusPhone’s camera so that her lawyer, Ahmad Rashidi, would be able to see her clearly. She had changed her habit—not that the bloodstains bothered her, but she knew they upset others. Ahmad, visible from the waist up, wore one of the fashionable shimmer coats that changed color whenever the light shifted. His coat, however, looked more gray than silver—too dirty to work properly now. A bushy beard covered the shirt underneath his jacket. Bloodshot eyes stared back at her and his dark hair, with its graying sideburns, stood out in all directions. “I’m sorry to call you at such a late hour,” she said, “but we have soldiers here.”
Ahmad frowned. “Is that a TopDog 2000? They make the best PlusPhones.”
“Focus, Ahmad. They want to arrest Cookie Monster and install a DNA scanner. They think we’re harboring Walt Devereaux.”
Ahmad chewed a couple times, his cheek bulging with khat, then shook his head. “Devereaux? When did you get a TopDog 2000?”
“It came last week,” Sister Ezekiel said. “An anonymous gift. Concentrate, please. They want to set up this scanner to locate Walt Devereaux.”
“Walt Devereaux,” Ahmad said. Then his eyes opened wider and he said, “The Walt Devereaux? Evil incarnate?”
“I thought you weren’t religious.”
“This ain’t about religion, Sister. It’s a cultural thing. Religion helps define culture, and the absence of religion can destroy it.”
“And is culture why you chew khat?”
Ahmad chuckled. “It’s not illegal when used for medicinal purposes.”
Sister Ezekiel frowned. “I didn’t know you had a medical condition.”
“I’m a lawyer,” Ahmad said, struggling to hold back the laughter, “so I haven’t got a heart.” Now the dam burst and he erupted in great guffaws. Sister Ezekiel offered him a patient smile and waited for the laughter to subside. When Ahmad chewed khat, he laughed easily.
Finally he pulled himself together and said, “How do you feel about Devereaux?”
“Very sad. For every person who leaves the Church, Jesus weeps. And I feel the same way.”
That seemed to sober Ahmad up a bit. He raised a thick eyebrow, his jaw working slowly. Then he said, “And what’s this about soldiers wantin’ to arrest Cookie Monster?”
“He attacked one of them.”
“What did the soldier do, steal his cookies?”
“It’s complicated,” Sister Ezekiel said. “I realize it’s a long drive from Minneapolis. But can you come down here?”
“Of course,” Ahmad replied, rubbing his eyes.
“In the meantime, is there anything we can do?”
Ahmad lifted his hands. “You could make me a decent breakfast. I’ll be there in a while. I wish I could study the documents on the way down—too bad they’re locked to that tablet. I guess it doesn’t matter. I can’t wake Judge Moline this early or she’ll lock me up and throw away the key.”
“What about this DNA scanner?” Sister Ez
ekiel asked. “What do we do about that?”
“They probably got the writ by claiming a national security issue.”
“And that means?”
“It means you’re probably gonna hafta wait ‘til I get there to look over the paperwork. And more than likely, there’s nothin’ we can do about it.”
“And Gray Weiss is coming here too.”
“The Attorney General? Holy cow, Sister! When you make enemies, you don’t go halfway, do you?”
“Please, Ahmad. I’m not in the mood for your jokes right now.”
“Sorry, Sister. Just trying to lighten the mood. Isn’t there a price on Devereaux’s head? Didn’t your pope put a bounty on him?”
Sister Ezekiel cringed. “He did no such thing.”
“Well,” Ahmad shrugged, “not officially. But didn’t he offer a great reward to anyone who could deliver Devereaux to justice? And I believe there were quite a few cardinals or bishops who offered monetary rewards.”
“The Pope was talking about spiritual rewards. As for the cardinals and bishops, well, there are always a few radicals in every religion. As I recall, there are a few ayatollahs or imams out there who put a fatwa on Devereaux.”
“All right, Sister.” Ahmad chuckled. “My radicals probably outnumber your radicals. But my radicals are right.”
Sister Ezekiel shook her head. “Everything always has to be a joke with you. When can you be here?”
“A few hours,” Ahmad said. “Remember, I want a good breakfast.”
“And if Walt Devereaux is here, will you help me protect him, perhaps grant him asylum?”
“Why the heck would you wanna do that, Sister?”
“It’s what Jesus would do, Ahmad. It’s the right thing.”
“You’re amazing, Sister. You’re somethin’ else. So kind, so caring. Okey dokey.” He pointed at her. “You find him, we’ll save him.”
“I knew I could count on you,” Sister Ezekiel said.
* * *
Gray Weiss, the Attorney General of the United States, carefully closed his umbrella as he entered the Tessamae Shelter. Outside, the lights atop his famous mobile command center flashed through blue, green, yellow and red. Sister Ezekiel had seen the large truck featured on numerous broadcasts—home of the roving Attorney General, the man who wandered the country keeping in touch with the people. Weiss wore a staid blue suit and moved imperiously, like he owned the place and everyone in it. He noticed everyone in the room, made eye contact with them all, shook hands with a half-dozen soldiers and nodded to the homeless men. He had charisma, Sister Ezekiel conceded. He probably wasn’t acting, either. Sister Ezekiel had seen many phony people in her day. Weiss seemed genuine.
The Susquehanna Virus Box Set Page 7