Dark to Mortal Eyes (64 page)

“Next.” The woman looked up, uninterested.

“Hi.” Josee glanced around. Her escort was the bank’s only other customer. In a corner to the left, at a desk in front of wing chairs, another woman typed at her computer while hugging a phone to her ear. Behind them, posted near the door, an elderly security guard flashed the relaxed smile of one who has lived life to the fullest and feels no need to hurry it along. With lips together, she smiled back.

“Are you ready, ma’am?”

“Yeah.” Josee spread out her birth certificate and box key. “I’m here to get into my safe-deposit box. It’s my first time. My grandfather willed its contents to me.”

“Well, what a kind gesture. Uh, why is the number filed from the key?”

“Greedy relatives. Coming outta the woodwork.”

The teller gave a knowing look.

“The number’s 89,” Josee clarified.

The woman tapped at her keyboard, scanned the monitor through fashionably oversize glasses. “Yes, I see it here. Granddaughter of … Chauncey Dean Addison?”

“That’s me.”

“And your full name?”

Josee wrinkled her nose. “Josee Melinda Walker.”

“A nice name”—the teller perused the birth certificate—”nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. Need to see your photo ID.”

Josee provided her Washington State driver’s license.

The teller compared the picture to the real thing, seemed satisfied. “Been a long time since anyone opened that box. I’ll need to have you sign in at the register.”

Josee added her signature with an unexpected sense of pride.

Josee M. Walker
. A member of the Addison family.
I belong
.

Then, as she followed the guard into the vault area, the suspicions planted by Trudi sprouted again. An inheritance—is that all her parents sought? Were they merely using her? Would the contents of the box shatter her newly discovered sense of place?

“Hitler’s breeding program?” Marsh specified.

“Ja.”
Trudi ran a hand along the canister and up through her hair. “I resigned myself to the task, to carry children in my womb, raising them for the good of my country and for
mein Führer
. The children were to be my contribution to the rise of the Third Reich. I felt, at least, that I’d been given a part in the unfolding drama.”

“But you were barren. There’s no excuse for the things they did to you. None.”

The helicopter’s whine indicated it was not far off.

Trudi’s eyes twitched with uncertainty. “Ha, what do you know?”

“I know it’s possible to put this to rest,” Marsh said. “You can move on past the turmoil you’ve put up with. You hear what I’m saying, Trudi? You’ve done so much for Kara and me at the manor. You’ve proven yourself to be a reliable worker, and I’m sure a judge would consider your case with leniency. You know me, Trudi. You know how I like to deal in facts, in tangible proof. Well, these past few days have been an eyeopener. I’m willing to accept that maybe I can’t fit all my ideas into a box. What about you? Are you ready to break free?”

Trudi looked away. Around her, the recruits stood motionless, gas masks hiding their faces. An icy gust swatted at the cliff, and Marsh noticed that Kara was shivering in her damp jeans. He, too, was cold.

In a frail voice, Kara said, “Trudi, God is merciful. He knows what you suffered.”

“Too late for that!”

With her sleeve, Kara brushed the wine from her chin. “He sees your heart—”

“Precisely. Therein lies the problem.”

“I’ve got my own burdens, Trudi. Things I regret, things I’m still dealing with. But he sees past all that. That’s the hope that keeps us going.”

“Enough! You’ll say anything to try to save your daughter.” Trudi turned from their pleas to the unfathomable recollections of an SS barracks. Her pale lips spit words with Teutonic precision. “In the eyes of my leaders, I was
unfruchtbar
, infertile, of no purpose to the Fatherland. I became no better than the
Untermenschen
. And who was going to stop the men of the SS from violating a mere subhuman? My own father would not come to my defense.
Es macht nichts
. The past is the past. Must it linger with us always?”

“No,” said Marsh.

“
Yessss!
It
mussst!
” Her eyes glowed, and her face grew livid, a map of twisted memories. Her hair bristled. “That’s the whole point. I could not bear
children. Despite my faithfulness, I became worthless. I gave and they took—till there was nothing left.”

“But this happened long ago—”

“In whose mind, Marsh? Yours? You self-centered fool, you weren’t even born yet. I’ve been patiently holding on for this opportunity to be
fruchtbar
, to be fruitful. And in so doing I’ll let others eat of their own dark fruit. I am
hastis humani generis.
”

“The enemy of mankind?” Kara translated. “Only one deserves that name.”

Trudi’s face hardened. “Beware, the House of Ubelhaar shall no longer crouch in the corners.”

“The House of Ubelhaar?”

“A sponsor of the arts, Kara. Private art lessons have been our means of weeding through young, malleable recruits. With simple fliers in grocery stores, we’ve harvested people with a common vision throughout the Northwest, training them to drive away the oppressors who attempt to shape us for their own self-serving devices. I’ve instructed some within the very walls of your own manor—”

“At Addison Ridge?”

“All in the name of the arts.”

“Your weekly lessons—”

“Yes. In cauda venenum: Beware of what you cannot see. Indeed, we shall demand payment for the wrongs society inflicts.”

Cresting the northerly crags as though responding to the old woman’s threats, a helicopter beat the air with powerful rotors. The sound grew louder. As the metal bird approached, the engine hiccuped, and the entire thing dipped. The pilot was coaxing every last bit of elevation from his machine, climbing, climbing from the chasm over the sea. Beside him, a large man was seated.

Sergeant Turney? Could it be?

Marsh’s thoughts raced. What had transpired at the monument?

Behind the door of reinforced steel bars, the vault was still and cold. Tomblike. The guard’s shoes clicked on the marble floor as he directed Josee
and her escort toward the appropriate box. He inserted the master bank key into the left slot, let her turn hers in the right. The reinforced door opened as though this were a daily occurrence.

Over Josee’s shoulder, the ICV escort was intent upon her actions.

“I’ll be just outside,” said the guard. “Lemme know when you’re finished.”

“Actually, sir?” She set her chin at a demure tilt as the guard turned back around. “I’d like to view the contents alone. Do you mind if …” She blinked twice.

“Yes?” he said.

Through her sweatshirt, the ICV man was pinching her back.

She put this to use, allowing a tear to well in her eye. Every word she spoke was true. “Well, not trying to hurt anyone’s feelings, nothing like that. It’s just that … this is private. My grandfather’s gone”—she saw the guard’s eyes soften—”and this is all that he left to me. I’m … I just need a moment, if it doesn’t sound too silly.”

“Of course not, dear. We’re closing up just now, but don’t let that hurry you. I can let you out, no problem.” The guard took the ICV recruit by the arm. “Come along, young man. Certainly we can understand a lady’s request for privacy.”

Her escort shot her a look as the guard led him back into the lobby.

Alone in the cryptlike chill, Josee carried the safe-deposit box from the locker to a viewing table. She set the carpetbag alongside, noticed overhead cameras recording the moment. She lifted the top and peered into the rectangular space.

Josee left one item in the deposit box, shoved another into the front of her jeans. She clipped shut the carpetbag and slid the box back into its slot. Closed the door, heard it click. She was turning for the security guard’s assistance when a fierce tug on her wrist caught her unawares.

“Follow me, you little wench!” The ICV escort dragged her along the floor. He was wielding his revolver. “Think you’re real clever, huh? Well, take a look at gramps over there. You proud of yourself now?”

In a sitting position against the wall by the entry, the older man had his head on his chest. His palm was turned outward at his side, his hat upturned on the floor.

Josee shoved at her captor, tore from his grip. “You didn’t have to hurt him!”

“What’s done is done. Come on.”

Josee saw the teller peek around the counter, undoubtedly with her finger on a silent alarm. It was a minute past six. Closing time. The accounts manager was hiding, invisible save her high heels protruding from the side of the desk.

Her escort grabbed the keys from the fallen man and unlocked the door. She trailed him outside to the waiting Buick. The other recruits breathed sighs of relief.

“Get it all?” The escort plucked the carpetbag from her hands, looked inside.

“Should be twelve vials. In that padded tray.”

The car carried them to a side road on the north end of Florence, ferried them through puddles to the edge of a lake. There, under cover of dusk, a dozen vehicles of all makes and colors crouched in waiting. With little fanfare, the Buick’s driver visited each one, distributing the vials and instructions. She saw one of the contacts stretch from a window, unscrew a thermoslike container, and slip the vial in before capping it.

The entire maneuver took less than five minutes.

One by one, the vehicles went out the way they’d come in, dispatched to their clandestine tasks. Josee thought of escaping into the lakeside trees, but the two men in the back relieved her of that idea. The driver returned and yanked open her door.

“You did it, cutie. All there, no tricks.”

He called Trudi to let her know they were heading back and the vials had been sent forth. “No, Professor,” he said before hanging up. “Haven’t done that part yet.”

Josee thought she saw movement in the trees.

“Okay, Josee.” The driver’s snub-nosed revolver appeared in his hand and directed her to exit the car. “Appreciate the help, but it’s time for your treat.”