The Second Ship (37 page)

Chapter 84

Jack watched as the head of Carlton “Priest” Williams swung by the hair from his hand, the blue eyes momentarily locking with his own. Then the life in those eyes drained away.

Jack looked down at the bloody mess in the bathtub, a mess that extended in a rapidly coagulating trail out into the hallway. As his eyes shifted back to the headless body beneath his knees, his fascination grew.

Even in death, some vestiges of the unreal healing powers that had manifested themselves in Priest were apparent, trying to seal off wounds, working to repair torn tissue and broken bone. But those attempts at regeneration were now rapidly fading.

Whatever had been done to Priest, he had still retained the basic mortality that made him, at least marginally, human. Jack didn’t know what Priest’s blood workup was going to show, but he was quite sure Jonathan Riles would find the results more than mildly interesting.

Pulling the shower curtain from its hooks and laying it on the floor, Jack placed the body on it, rolling it into a tight bundle. The head he left in the bathtub.

Jack glanced at his watch, wiping it on his blood-soaked shirt to remove enough blood for the display to be readable. 17:35. He had placed the call to the rest of his team in Santa Fe as soon as he had gotten the message from Janet. That had been almost an hour ago. That meant they should be here to set up the fake federal crime scene lockdown at any time.

Moving to the sink to wash the slathering of Priest’s blood from his hands and arms, Jack was surprised to see his left elbow showed no sign of a laceration. He could have sworn that Priest's knife had cut into it as he had spun to deflect the knife attack.

Shaking his head, Jack walked back to the room where Janet and young Mark lay bound. Except for the gentle rise and fall of their chests, they had not moved since he first saw them, sleeping the untroubled sleep that only true innocence or tranquilizing drugs can bring.

Within seconds, he removed the tape that bound and gagged them. Then, removing his own blood-soaked shoes and socks, Jack carried first Mark and then Janet down to the den, laying Mark on the couch and Janet on the love seat.

Jack’s eyes lingered on Mark. What had the lad been doing here, and how much had he seen? Well, time enough to ask those questions once the drug wore off. In the meantime, he would leave the two of them sleeping comfortably while he got to work upstairs. It would certainly help the rest of his team if he got a head start on some of what needed to be done.

The first thing on Jack’s to-do list was to get his own blood sample from the thing that had once been Priest Williams. Getting the kit from his closet, Jack withdrew a needle and an empty plastic syringe. Stripping off the plastic covering, he fitted the needle on the end of the syringe, walked to the bathroom, partially unwrapped the body, and inserted the tip into Priest's left arm. A slow pull filled the syringe with blood.

Jack carried the blood sample downstairs to the kitchen, where he discarded the needle in the garbage, wrapped the syringe in a freezer bag, and placed it at the back of the freezer beneath several packages of hamburger and steak.

Then he moved to the second item on his mental checklist, getting himself cleaned up. By the time he finished his quick shower and got dressed in fresh clothes, Jack heard two cars pull up outside.

He met his three team members at the front door.

“Glad to see you, Bronson,” said Jack, shaking hands with the barrel-chested man in the lead. He nodded to the other two men wearing FBI windbreakers. “Bobby, George.”

“What have we got here, Jack?” Bronson asked.

Jack led the way, his briefing succinct as he showed the team through the house. The tour ended at the upstairs bathroom.

“Well, Jack, it might be possible for you to make a bigger mess of a man, but you’d really have to work at it.”

“Let’s just say the situation was…unusual. I want the body and head bagged separately and shipped back to the lab in separate containers. Take a couple of blood samples before you bag it and send those via a separate shipment.”

Bronson raised an eyebrow. “What was the guy on? Some new kind of drug?”

Jack nodded. “One we are very interested in analyzing. That’s why I don’t want to take any chances with this shipment.”

As Bronson turned to get the rest of the team started, Jack placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Be thorough, but be quick. I want the body out of here and the cleanup finished before the kid wakes up. You’ve got the cover story ready?”

“All set.”

“Good. Then I’ll get out of your way.”

The speed with which the team cleaned the upstairs, carried several bags out to the waiting unmarked cars, and departed was impressive, even to Jack. By six o’clock, only Bronson remained on site to pretend to conduct interviews with Janet and Mark. But his real purpose was to plant the cover story.

Mark was the first to come out of the drug-induced sleep, although it took several minutes before he was sufficiently coherent to carry on a conversation. Somewhere during that time, Janet joined him in the land of the conscious.

Jack moved over to sit with them. He took Janet’s hand.

“Hey, babe. How you feeling?”

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes so convincingly Jack thought she could have had a brilliant career on Broadway had she not had a taste for a more dangerous pastime.

“Oh, Jack. Thank God you’re here. I was so frightened.”

“It’s okay, darling. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I didn’t see much. I was dropping off papers in the office. A man was hiding up there, and he shot me with some sort of dart. I don’t remember anything else.”

Jack turned toward Mark. “Mark, what brought you here?”

The young man’s face grew red as he fumbled his words. “Ah, I came by to ask Mrs. Johnson a question about tomorrow’s assignment. The front door was open, so I stuck my head in. That’s when I heard someone fall. I called out, but when there was no answer, I ran upstairs. The man with the gun was waiting for me. I guess I was lucky it was only a tranquilizer gun.”

Agent Bronson strode up as Mark finished.

“Young man, you would not have been lucky if my team hadn’t arrived before the man abducted or murdered you.”

Mark’s eyes locked on the “FBI” stenciled onto the windbreaker.

For the next forty-five minutes, Special Agent Bronson questioned the three of them, taking notes on a small pad. By the time he was done asking questions and responding with information of his own, the story had been planted.

The FBI had been tracking a terrorist cell headed up by a man known as Abdul Aziz. Yes, it was the same man who had reportedly killed the scientist and his family a few months back. One of Abdul Aziz’s men had stumbled onto the FBI team this morning and then fled into the surrounding neighborhood.

The FBI team had tracked him to this house, where they discovered Mark and Janet had been taken hostage. Jack had arrived back home as the FBI special team moved into position, but had been forced to wait outside until the situation was resolved.

Luckily, that resolution had come very quickly. A federal agent managed to come in through a second-floor window and incapacitate the terrorist with a Taser stun gun.

Agent Bronson’s eyes hardened as he looked at Jack, Janet, and finally Mark.

“We’ve taken the terrorist suspect into custody, and he has been moved to a more secure location for interrogation. But I want you to understand something. Through no fault of your own, you have become involved in a matter of national security and the ongoing war on terror. Suspects of this importance are not handled through normal channels. We need to extract any information he has before his accomplices discover he’s missing. Therefore, I must inform you that everything associated with this incident must receive the highest level of security classification. You are not to speak of this to anyone else. Not to the press. Not to the police. Not to your families. Not even to each other. Any violation of this order will subject the offender to federal espionage charges, the penalty for which is imprisonment for a term of not less than thirty years. Do I make myself clear?”

“Wait just a minute,” said Jack. “We have the right to consult with an attorney about all of this.”

“No. As a matter of fact, you don’t. You are not under any sort of arrest. If, however, you decide to consult with an attorney, or anyone else, about this matter, then you will very much need an attorney. The counter espionage laws tend to paint such breaches of protocol in broad strokes of black and white. Mostly black. Do you each understand me?”

Agent Bronson shifted his gaze to Janet, who swallowed hard, but nodded. The agent turned his attention to Mark.

“Yes, sir,” said Mark.

“I understand,” said Jack, through clenched teeth.

“Good. Then I won’t belabor the point.”

Agent Bronson put his notebook into his coat pocket and then paused for a moment.

“Folks, I’m sorry to have to treat you like this. After all, you are the victims here, and you have been through a significant trauma. But there are bigger things at stake.”

Agent Bronson walked to the door, then paused and turned back toward them.

“Remember what I said.”

With that, he walked outside, got into his black Buick, and drove away.

Jack stood beside Mark and Janet, watching as the car disappeared around the bend. Turning to look at Mark, Jack asked, “Can I give you a ride home?”

Although Mark looked physically drained, he shook his head. “No, but thanks. It would just make my folks wonder why I didn’t come back home on my own.” Mark glanced at his watch, his eyes widening as he saw the time. “Crap. Oh, sorry. I have to get going. I’m already late to the family barbeque.”

Mark’s lips moved as if searching for something else to say. He shrugged instead, heading out the door and up the driveway.

Jack watched him go. It seemed odd that Mark hadn’t ridden his bike to the house, but it was probably nothing.

“Do you think Bronson sold the story?” Janet asked, sliding her hand under Jack’s arm.

“I think so.”

“Good, then let me lead you inside and you can fill me in on what really happened.”

With one more glance after Mark, Jack turned and followed Janet back into the house, unconsciously rubbing his left elbow as he went.

Chapter 85

As Jennifer spun the tires of her bike in her haste to get out of her driveway, her father’s van pulled in, cutting her off. He pulled to a stop beside her and rolled down the window. Gil McFarland waved at her from the passenger seat.

“Hey, sweetheart. Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Dad, I’m going to check on Heather. She was supposed to be back from Raul’s house by now, so I got worried about her.”

“Raul?”

Mr. McFarland interrupted. “You remember Ernesto Rodriguez’s boy.”

“Oh, yeah, from the hospital.” Her dad turned back to her. “Give us a second to unload the grill from the van and we’ll all ride over to get her.”

“Not necessary, Dad. I’ll enjoy the ride. Heather and I’ll be back before you have dinner ready.”

Her father grinned. “Just offering. Have a fun ride, but don’t be late.”

When she slid to a stop in the Rodriguez driveway, Jennifer noticed that a number of cars had parked along the side of the street. Of course. Heather had mentioned that Raul’s Bible study group met today.

Jennifer’s gaze drifted toward the porch where Heather’s bike leaned on its kickstand near the front door. Dismounting, she moved up the front steps, rang the bell, and waited. Hearing no response, she rang it a second time, before moving to the window and peering inside. Where the heck was Heather?

Jennifer briefly entertained the notion that Heather had joined in on the Bible study in Raul’s guesthouse. No way.

So where the hell was she?

Jennifer tried the front door, the knob twisting easily in her hand. Poking her head through the opening, she called out. “Hello. Anyone home?”

No answer. Jennifer stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and listened—really listened, letting her neural augmentations process the auditory data at full capacity. Five separate clocks ticked at different points in the house. She could hear the buzz of the refrigerator motor, the hum of a computer’s CPU cooling fan. But no sounds to indicate anyone else was in the house.

What was she thinking? If anyone was in the house, they would have answered. Jennifer stepped back out onto the porch, paused momentarily to stare at Heather’s bike, then made her way around the side of the house toward the small cottage where Raul was holding his Bible study. Much as she didn’t want to, it looked like she was just going to have to go knock on that door and ask if anyone had seen Heather.

But something about that idea felt wrong. The feeling increased as she approached the cottage. It wasn’t a cottage—at least, not anymore. It had been turned into a chapel, complete with stained-glass windows and a Jesus cross on the front door. Jennifer knew her best friend like she knew herself. Heather wouldn’t have gone in there and interrupted the service. She would have waited until Raul finished.

Bypassing the cottage, Jennifer’s feet carried her around the back of the main house. The Rodriguez backyard was lovely, patio furniture and a barbeque grill neatly arranged beneath the overhanging branches of a large shade tree. Lots and lots of comfortable spots to sit and wait, but no Heather.

Could Heather have gone for a walk in the woods to kill some time? A shiver started in her hands and worked its way up her arms, all the way to the top of her head. Something was wrong here. Feeling a slow panic rise up in her chest, Jennifer once again weighed the idea of interrupting the Bible study. But if she was wrong, Heather would be furious with her.

Suddenly a new idea blossomed in her brain. The night that the Rag Man had kidnapped Heather, both she and Mark had heard her in their minds. Even before that, there had been a couple of oddly similar instances, one where they had shared the same dream and another where Heather had heard Jennifer’s thoughts at the breakfast table. Maybe if she sat down and concentrated, she could consciously make a connection. If not, maybe she could at least get something that would guide her to her friend.

As insane as the thought seemed, only two choices presented themselves: try the meditation, or knock on the door to the chapel. What the hell? If this didn’t work, she could always interrupt Raul’s group.

The pine needles formed a nice comfortable place right up against the trunk of the large tree, and Jennifer settled into a meditative posture. She pulled to the front of her mind the perfect memory of the connection she had felt on the night of the Rag Man abduction. All around Jennifer, the Rodriguez yard, and even the daylight, faded away.

And into the darkness, her mind whispered, Heather? Please answer. I need you.