The Belial Stone (The Belial Series) (13 page)

CHAPTER 26

A
n hour later, Laney and Patrick walked out of the guesthouse into the bright morning sun.  Last night, she’d been in no state to take in their surroundings.  Today, as she stepped out onto the front porch, she realized their guest cottage was nestled in a row of similar cottages on what looked like a residential street.  “This is beautiful.”

Patrick smiled.  “You missed all this last night.  The Chandler estate dates back to the 1800s.”  He gestured down the street.  “These used to be sharecropper homes.  They were renovated when Henry Chandler took over.  Now, they’re a mix of guest houses and offices.  They call it Sharecroppers Lane.”

She was enchanted.  All the small cottages had porches with overflowing flower boxes. Many of them had stone face.  It looked like something out of a fairy tale.

A golf cart rolled down the street towards them.  Solar panels covered its roof, explaining its silent approach.  It came to a stop in front of them, with Jake at the wheel.  “How’d you sleep?”

Laney climbed in behind him, allowing Patrick the other front seat.  “Like a log.”

“I’m not surprised.  You were dead to the world when I carried you to your room last night.”

Laney felt her face grow hot.  “You carried me?”

Jake grinned.  “We’re a full-service enterprise, here at Chandler.”

“Great,” she mumbled. 

A few minutes later, her embarrassment was a distant memory as she looked on with amazement at the grounds.   Nestled into the rolling hills of the Maryland countryside, the headquart
ers sat on five hundred acres.

“Henry appreciates privacy and history,” Jake explained.  “He wanted his headquarters to reflect that.  So, instead of situating his headquarters in the middle of a city, he renovated the family estate into his work center.”

Henry Chandler’s “appreciation” for privacy was a well-known fact. He’d never been photographed by the press.  Only seen from a distance.  His client list, believed to be a who’s who of world leaders, was a closely guarded secret.  And his projects were equally hush-hush.  Word got out occasionally, though, and helped build a reputation for cutting-edge thinking and innovation.

Jake pointed to the eight-foot iron fence that surrounded the property.  “While Henry might appreciate the past, there’s nothing outdated about his security measures.  That fence not only has video cameras, but pressure sensors that record even the slightest amount of applied force.  If a sensor is triggered, a security unit is immediately dispatched.

Laney was struck by the familiarity of the design.  “Just like the fence separating the West Bank and Israel.”

“Actually, this fence was the prototype for that fence, although we’ve kept that information under wraps.

“You’re kidding,” Laney said.  She’d been to the Israeli fence.  It was quite an undertaking.  It had also been quite effective at reducing the number of suicide bombers traveling from the disputed lands into Israel.  She’d never, however, read anything about the Chandler Group’s involvement.

“You’ll find the Chandler Group has their fingers in a lot of pies.  We just tend to kee
p that quiet.

“What about the security personnel?” Patrick asked, glancing at the security outpost by the front gate

“We have twenty full-time individuals in the security force.  All former military.   They continually monitor both the buildings and grounds.”

Giving her uncle’s shoulder a squeeze, Laney said, “Well, as far as safety goes, I don’t think we could do any better.”

Patrick looked over his shoulder at her.  “I have to agree.”  He smiled, but Laney could read the concern in his eyes. 

“We’ll be okay, Uncle Patrick.”

He reached back and patted her hand, but didn’t reply. 

Laney watched him for a moment, struggling to come up with something to say that would reduce his fears.  She was at loss.  How could you convince someone they were safe when a man with incredible fighting and healing skills might still be after them?  Answer: You couldn’t.

Shoving her concerns aside, she focused on the scenery.  It was a surprisingly easy task. 

“This place is something out of storybook,” she said, as they turned onto the tree-lined main drive and drove for another half mile.

The cart finally came to a halt at a large circular drive in front of the main house.  A giant fountain of marble and gold adorned the center of the drive. 

Stepping out, the full view of the main house left her awestruck yet again.  It had been modeled after Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello estate, but built on a much larger scale.  The brick mansion towered three stories high, with pillars supporting the rounded roof.  The windows were adorned with heavy black shutters.

Laney stopped counting the windows when she reached twenty.   She glanced at her uncle as he walked up the marble steps next to her.  “Cozy, huh?”

He grinned back at her.  “Yup.  Just a
cozy little country cottage.”

Relief flowed through her at the sight of his smile.  She stepped into the house feeling lighter.  And it was like she was stepping back in time.  A giant crystal chandelier hung in the front entryway.  It highlighted the three-story circular staircase and the polished black and white marble tiles.  The white wainscoting and crown molding of the entryway stood in stark contrast to the deep hunter green of the walls.

The home had, of course, all the modern conveniences.  They were all cleverly hidden, though, so as not to distract from the historical beauty.  Light switches were found on the underside of chair rails, and outlets and heating ducts were similarly hidden within the architecture of the walls.  An elevator had even been built into the wall and covered with paneling.  It was accessed through a switch plate also hidden. 

Laney gaped as she turned a full circle in the entry hall.

“Pretty nice, huh?”  Jake asked, a smile playing across his lips. 

“Nice?  My little vegetable garden is nice.  This place is…”

“Phenomenal?” her uncle offered.

She grinned.  “That'll work.”

Jake led them up the stairs.  He’d offered the elevator, but Laney wanted to see more of the place.  After checking out the second floor, they arrived at Henry’s office.  It took up a full third of the top floor.

Jake led them through the two large oak doors.  Built-in bookcases dominated the room, covering every inch of three walls.  A quick perusal offered a glimpse of first-edition literary masterpieces – James Joyce, Mark Twain, and Ernest Hemingway – as well as tomes on a range of international issues.  The back wall, however, was entirely made of glass, offering a spectacular view of the rolling hills of the estate. 

Situated directly in front of the windows was the biggest desk Laney had ever seen.  Made of handcrafted mahogany, it was L-shaped.  On closer inspection, she noticed cherubs painstakingly crafted into the trim.  There were also three sleek leather chairs positioned in front of it.              

The other side of the room had a large conference table, capable of seating twelve.  

“Just like my office at the University,” she said.

Patrick stared out the windows at the lush back lawn.  “I can’t believe this is actually a place of business.”

“Henry believes that a good environment means a productive environment,” Jake replied.

“Well, then this must be the most productive place on the planet,” Laney said.

“I like to think so,” said a voice behind her.

“Hey, Henry,” Jake said.

Laney turned to see the elusive Henry Chandler, the man Forbes magazine had dubbed the most analytical thinker of his generation.  He walked toward her and she gaped yet again.  Casually dressed in a light blue oxford and jeans, she noted his unusual eyes.  They were a rich violet, an arresting combination with his pitch black hair.

She was sure, however, that his unusual eyes were not what grabbed most people’s attention when they first met him.  Henry was easily over seven feet tall, and his head and hands were disproportionately large for his body.  She immediately diagnosed him as suffering from some form of gigantism.  With all the media coverage on the Chandler Group, why hadn’t she ever read reports on this? 

Realizing her rudeness, she snapped her mouth shut and extended her hand.  “Dr. Chandler, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Henry gently dwarfed her hand in both of his.  Obviously, he was accustomed to the impact his size had on people.  “The pleasure is all mine, Dr. McPhearson.  And please, call me Henry.  I’m glad to see you’re all right after your adventures.”

“It’s been a rough twenty-four hours.  Thank you for letting us stay here.”  She glanced over her shoulder at her uncle, who had walked up behind them.  “This is my uncle, Father Patrick Delaney.”

Henry extended his hand.  “Father, I’m glad you could join us.  Your archaeological expertise may be invaluable in the next few days.”

Patrick smiled as he shook Henry’s hand.  “I’m not sure how all of our intrigue is going to be of help to you.  I think we may just be distracting you from more realistic leads in finding Jake’s brother.”

“Well, we have a strong belief the two are related.”  Henry gestured behind him to a young boy, who looked no more than ten.  He reminded Laney of Elliot from E.T., with his dark hair, big eyes, and freckles.   Her focus on Henry, she hadn’t even realized he was there.

“This is Danny Wartowski, our top analyst,” Henry said.

Laney couldn’t hide her surprise.  “Wartowski?  Not the Daniel Wartowski who was up for a Nobel Prize in physics last year?” 

Henry’s smile seemed to reach from one end of his face to the other.  “That’s our Danny.”

“Impressive.” Laney smiled at the young man.  She’d read about him, but meeting the thirteen-year-old prodigy was something else.  He was just so young-looking, it was hard to reconcile the child-like image with the incredibly mature brain.

Danny glanced up, his hazel eyes meeting Laney's for only a second before they resumed their inspection of the carpet.  “Not really.  It’s just physics.”

Laney wanted to hug him.   His introversion had been mentioned in the articles she’d read, but it was painful to witness.  He seemed as if he was waiting for a blow, his shoulders hunched up around his ears.  She’d never read anything on his early history, just his lightning-quick mind.  But it was obvious his childhood had not been an easy one.  The aftereffects were stamped all over his small frame. 

Henry led everyone over to the conference table on the right hand side of the room. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Henry took his position at the head of the table and everyone arranged themselves around one end.  Danny took his seat next to him, placing his own laptop on the table.

As Laney pulled out a chair, she realized that monitors had been built into the table.  A wireless keyboard was on a shelf just under it.

Henry hit a button and a large projection screen descended from the ceiling.  “Okay.  So here’s what we know:  Tom went missing five days ago, which lines up with when other parolees have gone missing in New York state.  Their disappearances coincide with regular cargo flights underwritten by a political action group.”

Laney looked at the slides that Henry displayed on the screen.  Parolees had been disappearing from New York State for almost a year, at the beginning of each month.  It looked like on average they were losing anywhere between twenty and thirty every month.  Tom had disappeared in that same time period.  Obviously, something was happening to them.  But this couldn’t be related to Drew and the attacks on her.  What were they doing here?

Patrick interrupted, as if reading her thoughts.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t see how any of this is connected to the attacks on Laney or Drew’s death.”

Henry nodded.  “I didn’t notice it, either.  Danny’s the one who made the connection.”

All eyes turned to Danny.  Laney was amazed at the transformation in the boy.  He looked confident, in charge, and years older.  Apparently, his shyness only applied to social settings, not to his professional life.

“I linked regular cargo plane runs by a group called Americans for Progress with the same time period.”

Laney started at the name.  “Americans for Progress?  They’re the political group?”

Danny nodded.  “You know them?”

“I asked Drew once about the funding for his research.  He mentioned them.  I remember thinking at the time that it was an odd project for them to be interested in.”

“Well, Dr. Priddle disappeared shortly after Dr. Drew Masters’…”  Danny stumbled over the name. He looked at Laney and Patrick, his face apologetic. 

Laney gave him a small smile.  “It’s okay, Danny.  Go ahead.”

He nodded.  “Dr. Priddle disappeared after Dr. Masters was found.  And then Laney was attacked a short time after she received an email from Dr. Masters.  An email that someone attempted to rescind after Dr. Masters had died.  The likelihood that these events are unrelated is less than two percent.”

Laney sat back, stunned.  Priddle was missing?  And the group funding Drew's research was connected to the missing cons?  What the hell was going on?