The Empress's Tomb (21 page)

“Do you have an appointment?” she demanded in a far less friendly tone.

“No,” I said. “We're looking for the parents of Phineas Parker. We're friends of his.”

“Hold on.” Shiva turned her back to us and spoke
quietly into a walkie-talkie.
“Artie,
there are three girls here who say they know Phineas…. Okay … May I take them to the waiting room? … Oh,
Artie,
you're so brilliant…. Okay … Thank you,
Artie.”
The way she said
Artie
made me nauseous. I wondered what
Jane
thought about it.

When Shiva spun back around, her fake smile had returned. “Follow me, guys, and I'll show you to the waiting room. Jane and Artie are with a client right now, but they'll be out soon.”

She guided us down a hallway that had been painted a child-pacifying shade of green. Dozens of paintings lined the walls, each a perfect copy of a masterpiece, only with a detail or two altered to amusing effect. Rembrandt's famous self-portrait showed the artist with a finger shoved up his nose. The
Mona Lisa
wore a pair of brass knuckles.
The Girl with a Pearl Earring's
upper lip was curled into a snarl.

“Here you go.” Shiva held a door open for us. “Have a seat. It will be a couple of minutes. Just make yourselves comfortable.”

We entered a cluttered, windowless space. Wooden chairs in primary colors huddled around three little tables. Each of the tables was piled with books with titles such as
The Burden of Genius, Einstein's Tears, Coping with Mediocrity,
and
The Fountainhead.
A chalkboard with a long mathematical equation scrawled from top to bottom stood in one corner of the room. Two little feet peeked out beneath it.

“What kind of shrinks are the Parkers?” Betty asked before she knew we had company.

“They specialize in helping gifted children,” I said. “There's one hiding behind the chalkboard.”

I rolled one side of the chalkboard away from the wall and peered down at a young boy crouched in the corner, hugging a stuffed bear with his legs folded against his chest.

“Hi there,” I said. “My name is Ananka. Why are you hiding?”

The boy looked up at me with big brown eyes that were neither sad nor scared. He said nothing, but blinked rapidly for half a minute.

I tried again. “Why don't you come out and sit with us? There's nothing to be frightened of. We're all very nice.”

The boy dropped his bear and made a series of lightning-quick signs with his hands.

“I think he may be deaf,” I told DeeDee and Betty.

The boy sighed with frustration and pulled a pen and a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket. He scribbled furiously for a few moments, then handed me a note.

APPARENTLY YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND MORSE CODE OR SIGN LANGUAGE. I AM NOT HIDING FROM YOU, NOR AM I DEAF. I AM UNDER SURVEILLANCE. THE ROOM IS EQUIPPED WITH TWO VIDEO CAMERAS. THIS IS A SOCIAL EXPERIMENT. MY DOCTORS WANT TO OBSERVE MY INTERACTIONS WITH NORMAL CHILDREN. I HAVE NORHING AGAINST YOUR KIND. I'M SIMPLY NOT IN THE MOOD TO BE STUDIED TODAY.

GEOFFREY

“Lovely penmanship,” I said softly. “Where are the cameras?”

Geoffrey pointed to two small boxes mounted near the ceiling. They looked quite innocent aside from the cluster of wires that led from the back of the boxes into the wall.

“Hey, DeeDee,” I said, walking toward one of the boxes. “Give me a leg up.” DeeDee shot me a suspicious look but bent down with her hands locked together. When she lifted me into the air, I grabbed hold of the wires and yanked them out of the box. “One more,” I told her, heading for the other corner.

“They won't be pleased,” warned Geoffrey from behind the chalkboard.

“I don't care if they're pleased,” I said, speaking directly into the second camera. “It's illegal in New York to videotape people and record their conversations without their permission. And I don't recall being asked to sign any release forms.” With that, I pulled the wires from the second box.

“You can come out now,” I told the little boy. “The cameras are off.”

“Thank you.” Geoffrey looked as relieved as a dog let out for its morning walk. “But I'm afraid their experiment was useless anyway. Given your knowledge of New York State law, I can see that you're hardly
normal.
Your IQ must be well above average.”

“I'm not a genius,” I said. “I just read a lot.”

“How do you think geniuses become geniuses?”

“Do the doctors experiment on you often?” asked Betty.

“It's Shiva. She's the worst. I'm her graduate school project. It's my own fault, really. I wanted to fit in with
other people my age, but my parents think it's abnormal to want to be normal. This is my punishment. I'll be here until I can accept that I'm different.”

“That's terrible,” Betty commiserated. “Why don't you pretend to be cured?”

Geoffrey sighed. “Nobody needs to tell me I'm different. I've known it all my life. But I refuse to let Shiva think she's won. She'll never graduate if I have anything to do with it.”

Shiva barged into the room, and Geoffrey scurried back to his hiding place.

“Those cameras were expensive, you little brats!”

“That's the price of breaking the law,” I said. “Who do you think you are, anyway, Jane Goodall?”

“I'd
rather
work with gorillas. They have better manners,” Shiva snarled.

“Yeah, and they can't stand up for themselves. Look. We didn't come here to take part in your sick experiments. Are we going to see the Parkers or not?”

“Fine,” Shiva growled through clenched teeth. “Follow me. I'm through with you anyway.”

•     •     •

Drs. Parker and Parker shared an office that resembled an art gallery. The walls were painted a blinding white and decorated with a series of paintings that showed animals staring mournfully from behind bars.

“Hello,” said a man with a closely trimmed red goatee. He was wearing the sort of outfit that was meant to look thrown together but was probably assembled by a team of experts and cost more than an average car. “I'm
Dr. Arthur Parker. This is my wife, Dr. Jane Parker.” His wife stepped forward to shake our hands. Everything about her appearance—from her belted sweater to her colorful glasses—was meant to convey warmth and trustworthiness. But something in her manner made me suspect that she didn't care much for children.

“Shiva tells us you know Phineas,” the male Parker said. “Do you mind if we ask how you met him?”

“His squirrels attacked one of our friends in Morningside Park,” I replied.

“Oh.” Dr. Parker frowned. He walked to the other side of his desk and pulled out a checkbook. “How much do you need to cover the damages?”

“We're not here for money,” said Betty. “We're here to find Phineas. We're worried about him.”

“Why would
you
be worried about
him?”
asked Kaspar's mother as if it were the most ridiculous statement she'd ever heard.

“Someone kidnapped him from Central Park this morning,” I informed them. “We're wondering if you had anything to do with it.”

“First of all,” said Kaspar's father, as if he were trying to talk some sense into a dim-witted goat, “if we were responsible, it wouldn't be kidnapping. We
are
his parents.”

“We spoke to a friend of his a few minutes ago,” I said. “He saw Phineas being dragged away by a man with slicked-back hair and a fancy suit.” An epiphany followed the image that flashed through my mind, but I didn't dare share it.

Kaspar's parents traded a secret smile. “Yes, that's how he ran away from home. He hired a homeless man to
make his disappearance look like a kidnapping. It was a month before we discovered he was living in the park. You see, Phineas is different. He's not like you. He's
special.”

Kaspar's father jumped in with a phony smile. “Now, Jane, I'm sure they're all special in their own ways. It's just that our son is gifted in ways that you wouldn't understand.”

“Try us.” DeeDee was sick of having her intelligence questioned.

“Dear
…,” warned Arthur Parker.

“If you insist,” said Kaspar's mother, as if she'd been hoping we would ask. “Look around you. Our son is responsible for all of the paintings in this room. Others in the same series have been sold at auction for more than thirty thousand dollars. Impressive, wouldn't you say?” We all agreed. “Okay. What if I told you they were painted when he was five?”

I focused on one of the paintings. It showed a monkey slumped forlornly in the corner of a cage. Its limbs were limp and its head rested against its chest. Outside the cage, a leering crowd had gathered. A burly man's arm was pulled back as he prepared to hurl a peanut at the little creature. It was an impressive piece of work for a five-year-old.

“I'd say it makes me want to cry,” said Betty. It didn't take much to make her cry, but I was feeling a little teary eyed myself.

Kaspar's mother beamed. “Yes, it can be painful to find yourself faced with such superior talent.”

“Our son first began to show promise as a toddler,”
said Arthur Parker. “He was little more than two when he used his crayons to copy the Picasso drawings we have hanging in our home. Some have even suggested he improved on Picasso's work. After that, scholars from all over the world traveled to New York to observe him. Asia's foremost expert on gifted children spent more than six months with Phineas, testing the limits of his talent. According to his report, there are no limits.”

“That's what inspired us to leave our jobs in advertising and help other children like Phineas realize their potential,” said Jane Parker. “Coping with genius isn't easy. Phineas has always been more sensitive than other children.”

“Yes,” her husband agreed. “These paintings, for instance, were done after an outing to the zoo. While the other children giggled and pointed at the animals, Phineas cried. He couldn't bear to see the animals being gawked at in their cages.”

“He's always adored animals,” said Jane Parker. “That's why we gave him the squirrels. Other children have dogs and cats, of course. Phineas needed something a little more unique. But he refused to keep his pets locked up. He insisted they run wild. You should see what damage a giant squirrel can do to an antique coatrack.” She and her husband chuckled at the memory.

“The point is,” Arthur Parker said, “we want our son back. If he remains in the park, the loss to science will be incalculable. But please, let
us
worry about him. Don't search for him yourselves. I don't want you to be hurt if you discover he doesn't want you to find him. He's always
had young women chasing after him. Some of them have even been geniuses in their own right.”

“What my husband is saying is that if you keep chasing Phineas away, we may never be able to bring our son home,” Jane Parker told us.

“You're both insane, aren't you?” asked DeeDee. She had been fuming throughout the entire speech, and by the time it was over I'd never seen her so angry. “We just told you that your son's in danger, and you act like we're a bunch of silly groupies?”

Kaspar's father smiled placidly. “You see, Jane, I knew they wouldn't understand. I think it's time we got back to work. You girls can leave now.”

“Well, you know what you can do?” DeeDee started. I grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the office

“You can go to …” Betty finished DeeDee's thought in a calm, clear voice before she closed the door behind us.

•     •     •

“Can you believe those people?” DeeDee raged as we slipped back into the park. “No wonder the kid lives in the park! No wonder he sets all the animals free!”

“Calm down, DeeDee,” I said.

“Calm down?” she shouted. “I was trying to help their brilliant son, and all I got in return were a bunch of veiled insults.”

“Maybe his parents were right,” Betty mumbled. “Maybe Kaspar is avoiding us. What if the Eau Irresistible wore off and he decided he didn't want to make good on our date?”

“Howard
saw
Kaspar get kidnapped,” I argued.

“Howard's sweet, but he hangs out with a chicken. He might not be the most credible witness,” Betty said.

“He's a lot more reliable than those two kooks. I suggest we start thinking about what to do next,” DeeDee insisted.

“I thought of something when I was describing the guy who took Kaspar,” I said. “Slicked-back hair, fancy suit, sadistic tendencies. You know who that sounds like?”

Betty looked at me and DeeDee and shook her head. “Who?” she asked.

“Sergei Molotov.”

“Livia's henchman? The guy who shot Verushka? Why would he want to kidnap Kaspar?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. “But I've got to talk to Kiki. I'm going down to her house right now.”

“We'll come with you,” Betty said.

“I'm sorry,” I told them. “I need to go alone.”

“Why can't we come?” DeeDee demanded to know.

“It's a … secret.” I didn't have to look at them to know how they felt about my answer.

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