Xerondar filled the glass with ice cubes before pouring the Dr. Pepper into it. Over the past few years, he’d become accustomed to drinking his carbonated beverages American-style, with lots of ice. The ice cut down on the sting of the carbonation and kept it cold. Glancing at his watch, he tucked his laptop computer under one arm, held his sandwich between his teeth, and carried his drink outside.
The house he’d bought had a covered front porch large enough for a comfortable wicker arm-chair and a small end table. He plugged his laptop’s AC adapter into the electrical outlet behind his chair to save the battery and settled into the chair. He glanced at his watch. 7:22. He had about forty minutes of free time. He opened up the laptop and turned it on, taking a bite of his sandwich while he waited for it to load his operating system.
Xerondar smiled. The miracle of refrigeration had transformed the way he ate. In his hand he held two slices of bread, a thin layer of mayonnaise, a little squirt of ketchup, and a thick slice of cold leftover meatloaf from his cooking experiment the night before. He’d been teaching himself how to cook the kinds of meals that were common to households in this region of the world. If, after he had Nira with him, she might one day have a sudden craving for meatloaf, he was now fully prepared to make it for her. He took a sip of his drink and opened his internet browser.
First the world news. A bombing in Israel. A shooting in Colombia. These weren’t the kinds of things he really wanted to think about this early in the morning. He sighed. Why was it that bad things were always reported in the news, but good things always seemed to go unrecognized?
Xerondar pulled up a search engine. He typed a name into the search box, then hesitated. This was something he had been thinking about for over a month now. He knew that if he ran a search of this name, there was no going back. He would be found. But he was tired of being alone here, and there weren’t many people he could trust.
He knew he couldn’t get involved with Aterat’s people or Shepetheleh’s people. They would be easy to find, but Nira wanted nothing to do with either of them, and he agreed with that decision. Let them sort things out on their own.
Then of course there were several independents who were neutral, like he and Nira were. But most of them were simply out of the question. Nadina was tied to that sociopath M’boku, so he didn’t want anything to do with her. Finbar had too many of his own problems. Alexei . . . well, no one really knew much about him, but from what Xerondar did know, that guy was pretty badly screwed up. So that left only one person that Xerondar could think of.
He sighed. What was he so afraid of? It was no big deal. He pressed the Enter key and slumped back into his chair. A list of search results populated on his screen. Nothing that concerned him. A few pictures of people he didn’t know. The lyrics to a song. A link to some kid’s school project. Of course he never expected to get any actual results from the search. The point was the search itself.
He set the laptop down on the table beside him and took another bite of his sandwich. What had he done? Had he just endangered them both? No. He wouldn’t think about that now.
He glanced at his watch. Any minute now. He turned toward the street corner, waiting.
Every weekday, after her other two children left for school, the carrier would get dressed, bundle Nira into her stroller, and go for a brisk walk. She was obviously trying to walk off those extra pounds she’d gained during pregnancy.
Since the carrier had started her new exercise routine, Xerondar had started a new morning routine of his own. Every weekday morning around this time, he could be found sitting in this chair on his front porch, harmlessly eating his breakfast and either reading a book or doing something on his laptop. He made sure to always wear something that made him seem completely non-threatening. Today it was a pullover sweatshirt, some flannel pajama pants, and a pair of fuzzy house-slippers. He had also pulled his dark, curly hair back into a tight ponytail and given himself a good, clean shave. He didn’t want to appear scruffy or wild. Just friendly.
Ah, there she was. He saw the stroller rounding the corner, the carrier power-walking behind it. Xerondar took a sip of his drink to wet his throat and pulled the computer back into his lap. Sometimes it was difficult to keep himself from rushing down to the side of the road to greet her.
He waited until she was in front of his own house, then he smiled and waved. "Good morning!" he called out.
"Morning!" the carrier replied with a smile and a nod. The greeting made her slow down a little.
"I could swear that baby of yours gets a little bigger every day!" he commented. The remark about Nira made the carrier look a little nervous, so he flashed a big smile to set her at ease. She smiled back and continued on her walk.
Once they were out of sight, he relaxed back into his chair. It was over. The carrier’s route went in a loop around the neighborhood and ended back at her house without doubling back. She wouldn’t pass by him again. Not until tomorrow. He took another bite of his sandwich. Nira had looked healthy.
He heard a soft ping sound from his computer and looked down. An instant message popped up in the corner of the screen.
Hello, Xerondar. Long time, no see.
Xerondar’s heart skipped a beat. That was a lot faster than he had expected.
That’s a nice house you’ve got there. How’s Texas?
12/27/12
12/15/12
20- Karl
Karl was doing his best not to show his discomfort, but Fortitude had been staring at him for over an hour now. Neither of them had said much of anything since Jacob had gone upstairs to take a shower and change clothes. Honestly, Karl wasn’t sure what to say to her. It wasn’t normal, how slowly she was regaining her memories. According to Jacob, she’d begun her awakening two months ago. Ordinarily, she’d be back to her usual self within a few weeks. He had to wonder if perhaps something had happened to her.
Karl glanced toward the stairs. Jacob was taking his own sweet time up there. Most likely, he was taking the opportunity to go through his entire grooming regimen. Jacob did a lot when he washed– cleansing, exfoliating, toning, conditioning, moisturizing . . . all those extra steps that, from what Karl could tell, really didn’t do much of anything. As for himself, Karl just got in the shower, sudsed up his hair with some shampoo, then used the lather from the shampoo to scrub down the rest of his body, and rinsed it all off. And he never felt like he was any less clean than Jacob was. But all those bottles of fancy soaps and lotions seemed to make Jacob happy, so Karl usually refrained from expressing his personal opinion about it. Besides, he still remembered how horrified Jacob had been when he’d found out that Karl just washed everything with shampoo.
Karl laughed silently at the memory, then turned to look at Fortitude again. She was still staring at him. Perhaps his face reminded her of something? Some memory that was just beginning to return to her, or maybe . . . Or maybe she’d been practically catatonic since she’d arrived, and had been staring at people and objects almost constantly for days now. Karl sighed.
She was most comfortable, and most alert and active, when Jacob was with her. That was understandable. The two of them had a connection that went deeper than mere memory and knowledge. But when Jacob left the room, it was like all the life went out of her and she became this creepy, staring doll. It was unsettling. Jacob insisted that she was okay, that this time was just taking longer than usual, and that she would be herself again soon. Karl and Hespah weren’t so sure. They had both expressed their worries to each other, and when Karl mentioned it to Jacob, he could tell that even though he would never admit it, Jacob was a little frightened by it too.
Fortitude took a breath, as if she were about to say something, but then she stopped, and frowned, and exhaled.
Karl perked up and watched her carefully.
She took another breath and held it. Then, finally, she said, "Hilde."
Karl smiled. This was the first time she’d mentioned her friend since she’d gotten back. "Yes?" he coaxed her, "Do you remember Grushilde?"
She peered at Karl as if trying to make out his features through a heavy fog. "You . . . are Hilde’s."
"Yes," Karl nodded, leaning forward eagerly. This was the longest conversation they’d had since Fortitude had returned. "I am Grushilde’s."
Fortitude’s large, dark green eyes darted around the room. "Where is Hilde?"
Karl hesitated. He wasn’t sure if she would understand this, or if it would just confuse her. "She . . . hasn’t awakened yet. She’ll come here when she’s ready."
"Is she . . ." She squeezed her eyebrows together and bit her lip in concentration. Karl could tell she was formulating a question in her mind, but it seemed to be one that she herself didn’t quite understand. Or perhaps it was that she understood the question but was having trouble comprehending some of the thoughts behind the question. "Is she . . . here?"
Karl blinked. "Here, in this house, you mean?"
"No . . ." Fortitude glanced away for a moment, then looked straight at Karl, her eyes begging him to understand what it was that she wanted to say, but didn’t quite know how to express. "Here . . . alive . . . ?"
Karl smiled knowingly. That was always the hardest concept to accept, when they first awakened. The idea of death and life, and of rebirth. "Yes," he said. "Grushilde is alive, in this world. She’s in Australia, for now. She hasn’t awakened yet."
"Oh."
Karl touched Fortitude’s hand, gently. "Do you understand what we’re talking about?"
"Yes . . . yes. She doesn’t . . . know."
"That’s right. She doesn’t know. Not yet, but she will. Just like you."
Fortitude sighed and looked out the window. "How soon? For her?"
Karl thought about that. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then gave the answer that felt right to him. "Soon. Maybe a year, or maybe two years, I think. Not much more than that." He looked at her. "She’s only about a year younger than you, this time."
Fortitude’s small, colorless lips spread into a calm smile.
Karl heard a door slam upstairs, and a moment later, Jacob appeared at the top of the stairs. "You two been getting reacquainted?" he asked cheerfully. A long shower always left him feeling extra chipper.
Karl grinned. "Actually, Fortitude here was just asking me about Grushilde."
Jacob paused at the foot of the stairs and looked at Fortitude, who met his gaze and smiled brightly. "Is that so?"
Karl glanced toward the stairs. Jacob was taking his own sweet time up there. Most likely, he was taking the opportunity to go through his entire grooming regimen. Jacob did a lot when he washed– cleansing, exfoliating, toning, conditioning, moisturizing . . . all those extra steps that, from what Karl could tell, really didn’t do much of anything. As for himself, Karl just got in the shower, sudsed up his hair with some shampoo, then used the lather from the shampoo to scrub down the rest of his body, and rinsed it all off. And he never felt like he was any less clean than Jacob was. But all those bottles of fancy soaps and lotions seemed to make Jacob happy, so Karl usually refrained from expressing his personal opinion about it. Besides, he still remembered how horrified Jacob had been when he’d found out that Karl just washed everything with shampoo.
Karl laughed silently at the memory, then turned to look at Fortitude again. She was still staring at him. Perhaps his face reminded her of something? Some memory that was just beginning to return to her, or maybe . . . Or maybe she’d been practically catatonic since she’d arrived, and had been staring at people and objects almost constantly for days now. Karl sighed.
She was most comfortable, and most alert and active, when Jacob was with her. That was understandable. The two of them had a connection that went deeper than mere memory and knowledge. But when Jacob left the room, it was like all the life went out of her and she became this creepy, staring doll. It was unsettling. Jacob insisted that she was okay, that this time was just taking longer than usual, and that she would be herself again soon. Karl and Hespah weren’t so sure. They had both expressed their worries to each other, and when Karl mentioned it to Jacob, he could tell that even though he would never admit it, Jacob was a little frightened by it too.
Fortitude took a breath, as if she were about to say something, but then she stopped, and frowned, and exhaled.
Karl perked up and watched her carefully.
She took another breath and held it. Then, finally, she said, "Hilde."
Karl smiled. This was the first time she’d mentioned her friend since she’d gotten back. "Yes?" he coaxed her, "Do you remember Grushilde?"
She peered at Karl as if trying to make out his features through a heavy fog. "You . . . are Hilde’s."
"Yes," Karl nodded, leaning forward eagerly. This was the longest conversation they’d had since Fortitude had returned. "I am Grushilde’s."
Fortitude’s large, dark green eyes darted around the room. "Where is Hilde?"
Karl hesitated. He wasn’t sure if she would understand this, or if it would just confuse her. "She . . . hasn’t awakened yet. She’ll come here when she’s ready."
"Is she . . ." She squeezed her eyebrows together and bit her lip in concentration. Karl could tell she was formulating a question in her mind, but it seemed to be one that she herself didn’t quite understand. Or perhaps it was that she understood the question but was having trouble comprehending some of the thoughts behind the question. "Is she . . . here?"
Karl blinked. "Here, in this house, you mean?"
"No . . ." Fortitude glanced away for a moment, then looked straight at Karl, her eyes begging him to understand what it was that she wanted to say, but didn’t quite know how to express. "Here . . . alive . . . ?"
Karl smiled knowingly. That was always the hardest concept to accept, when they first awakened. The idea of death and life, and of rebirth. "Yes," he said. "Grushilde is alive, in this world. She’s in Australia, for now. She hasn’t awakened yet."
"Oh."
Karl touched Fortitude’s hand, gently. "Do you understand what we’re talking about?"
"Yes . . . yes. She doesn’t . . . know."
"That’s right. She doesn’t know. Not yet, but she will. Just like you."
Fortitude sighed and looked out the window. "How soon? For her?"
Karl thought about that. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then gave the answer that felt right to him. "Soon. Maybe a year, or maybe two years, I think. Not much more than that." He looked at her. "She’s only about a year younger than you, this time."
Fortitude’s small, colorless lips spread into a calm smile.
Karl heard a door slam upstairs, and a moment later, Jacob appeared at the top of the stairs. "You two been getting reacquainted?" he asked cheerfully. A long shower always left him feeling extra chipper.
Karl grinned. "Actually, Fortitude here was just asking me about Grushilde."
Jacob paused at the foot of the stairs and looked at Fortitude, who met his gaze and smiled brightly. "Is that so?"
12/12/12
19- Tsu Lai
After three hours, the canvas remained blank. He had washed it in a soft golden hue, a good base tint for a painting full of her favorite colors. But beyond preparing the canvas, Tsu Lai had made no progress. He set the brush down and sighed. After his complete failure in Switzerland, Aterat had been furious. He had expected to be beaten, or perhaps locked in a dark cell for a few days. But the penalty she had chosen for him was far worse than anything he had anticipated.
Tsu Lai was banned from her presence. He was free to wander the compound, but he was not permitted to come within range of her sight or hearing for any reason, until she decided otherwise. In addition, he was not allowed to enter any room or corridor which was adjacent to a room or corridor in which she was present, and that included the gardens. It had been months, and still she had not called him, had not sent him any message, had not lifted his punishment. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. It was trying his sanity.
He had done his best. He didn’t know what else he could have done to complete his mission, without risking his own life and hers. She knew this, but Aterat cared only for results, and a failure was a failure.
More than anything, he longed for her forgiveness. He couldn’t stand knowing that she was angry with him, and it was painful to be apart from her for so long.
He had been working hard to please her since his punishment began. He couldn’t approach her or speak to her, so instead he had been creating things for her.
He had torn up an older corner of her garden that had begun to bore her, and had remade it into beautiful grotto, with a shady canopy of flowering vines, a painted wooden swing, a carpet of soft green moss, and a hedge of her favorite bright pink flowers. He had heard that, since he had finished it, Aterat had taken quite a liking to that part of the garden and was frequently found rocking in that wooden swing with a book in her hands. Still, she had not forgiven him.
Since then he had spent each day trying to find new ways to win back his place by her side. He had written her poetry, prepared her favorite foods, arranged splendid bouquets of fresh flowers . . . he had even ordered a custom recreation of a favorite gold bracelet that had been lost in the chaos of a riot during the Sepoy Mutinies. He knew she was pleased by these gifts. He could feel how happy they made her. But even so, she hadn’t yet ended his punishment.
Well, she had always been strong-willed. Beautiful, intelligent, powerful . . . and very proud, and very stubborn. He suspected that she had already decided on a minimum amount of time for this separation, and that no action on his part could persuade her to reduce his sentence. However, so long as he continually pleased her and did nothing to upset her, he was certain that she would not be inclined to extend the period beyond her pre-set minimum. And there was a low, selfish, stubborn part of himself that wanted her to fully regret exacting such a harsh punishment when he had clearly done nothing wrong.
Tsu Lai shook his head and chuckled quietly at himself. Their disagreements always seemed to go this way. She would get angry and chastise him for daring to question her opinions, while he would remain silently indignant and secretly hold on to his belief that it was only her pride that prevented her from seeing that his opinion was, in fact, the correct one. If he stepped outside himself for a moment and tried to look at these situations objectively, it would be clear that both of them were being ridiculous. They deserved each other. Proud, obstinate, completely unyielding. That description could be applied to either of them.
And he knew that she was probably regretting her decision to banish him, even now. They needed each other, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Today he had locked himself in his room with canvas and paint, determined to produce something spectacular that would make her forget her anger and call him to her. It was an ambitious endeavor, and three hours later he still hadn’t formed an adequate image in his mind. All he could think of was how painfully this separation was torturing him.
A soft, cool breeze drifted in through his open window, carrying the scents of the garden and the pond. He moved to the window and looked out over the grounds. Glancing toward the new grotto, he caught a glimpse of the hem of Aterat’s favorite yellow silk skirt following her in. He couldn’t see her through the canopy of vines, and he found himself wishing that he had come to the window just a moment sooner, so that he could have seen her. It filled him with fresh longing. He needed to be by her side.
Suddenly an image began to form in his mind’s eye. Tsu Lai returned to his easel and began mixing blue and gray paint. This punishment couldn’t possibly last forever. Surely she would need him again soon, and she would have to forgive him then.
Tsu Lai was banned from her presence. He was free to wander the compound, but he was not permitted to come within range of her sight or hearing for any reason, until she decided otherwise. In addition, he was not allowed to enter any room or corridor which was adjacent to a room or corridor in which she was present, and that included the gardens. It had been months, and still she had not called him, had not sent him any message, had not lifted his punishment. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. It was trying his sanity.
He had done his best. He didn’t know what else he could have done to complete his mission, without risking his own life and hers. She knew this, but Aterat cared only for results, and a failure was a failure.
More than anything, he longed for her forgiveness. He couldn’t stand knowing that she was angry with him, and it was painful to be apart from her for so long.
He had been working hard to please her since his punishment began. He couldn’t approach her or speak to her, so instead he had been creating things for her.
He had torn up an older corner of her garden that had begun to bore her, and had remade it into beautiful grotto, with a shady canopy of flowering vines, a painted wooden swing, a carpet of soft green moss, and a hedge of her favorite bright pink flowers. He had heard that, since he had finished it, Aterat had taken quite a liking to that part of the garden and was frequently found rocking in that wooden swing with a book in her hands. Still, she had not forgiven him.
Since then he had spent each day trying to find new ways to win back his place by her side. He had written her poetry, prepared her favorite foods, arranged splendid bouquets of fresh flowers . . . he had even ordered a custom recreation of a favorite gold bracelet that had been lost in the chaos of a riot during the Sepoy Mutinies. He knew she was pleased by these gifts. He could feel how happy they made her. But even so, she hadn’t yet ended his punishment.
Well, she had always been strong-willed. Beautiful, intelligent, powerful . . . and very proud, and very stubborn. He suspected that she had already decided on a minimum amount of time for this separation, and that no action on his part could persuade her to reduce his sentence. However, so long as he continually pleased her and did nothing to upset her, he was certain that she would not be inclined to extend the period beyond her pre-set minimum. And there was a low, selfish, stubborn part of himself that wanted her to fully regret exacting such a harsh punishment when he had clearly done nothing wrong.
Tsu Lai shook his head and chuckled quietly at himself. Their disagreements always seemed to go this way. She would get angry and chastise him for daring to question her opinions, while he would remain silently indignant and secretly hold on to his belief that it was only her pride that prevented her from seeing that his opinion was, in fact, the correct one. If he stepped outside himself for a moment and tried to look at these situations objectively, it would be clear that both of them were being ridiculous. They deserved each other. Proud, obstinate, completely unyielding. That description could be applied to either of them.
And he knew that she was probably regretting her decision to banish him, even now. They needed each other, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Today he had locked himself in his room with canvas and paint, determined to produce something spectacular that would make her forget her anger and call him to her. It was an ambitious endeavor, and three hours later he still hadn’t formed an adequate image in his mind. All he could think of was how painfully this separation was torturing him.
A soft, cool breeze drifted in through his open window, carrying the scents of the garden and the pond. He moved to the window and looked out over the grounds. Glancing toward the new grotto, he caught a glimpse of the hem of Aterat’s favorite yellow silk skirt following her in. He couldn’t see her through the canopy of vines, and he found himself wishing that he had come to the window just a moment sooner, so that he could have seen her. It filled him with fresh longing. He needed to be by her side.
Suddenly an image began to form in his mind’s eye. Tsu Lai returned to his easel and began mixing blue and gray paint. This punishment couldn’t possibly last forever. Surely she would need him again soon, and she would have to forgive him then.
12/8/12
18- Nadina
". . . sieben, acht, neun, zehn."
"Good," Nadina said, then pointed to the number one again. "Cantonese."
Four-year-old M’boku, who still preferred to be called John, rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and took a deep breath. "Jyut, yee, saam, say, mm, lok, czat, baat, gau, sap."
"Excellent. Your pronunciation is getting much better," Nadina smiled and moved back to the number one. "Portuguese."
M’boku heaved a big sigh. "I want to go plaaay nooow," he whined.
"When we finish our numbers, we can go to the park. Now, say them in Portuguese."
He huffed and hunched his shoulders, then recited, "Um, dois, tres, quatro, cinco, seis, sete, oito, nove, dez. Are we done yet?"
Nadina laughed and mussed up his hair. "Okay. Get your shoes on. But when we get back, we’re practicing our hanzi."
Hooting and shouting, he ran out of the room to find his shoes.
Nadina carefully folded the number board and put it back in its designated place on the shelf, then took down the beginner hanzi flash-cards and arranged them in a neat stack on the table for when they returned. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was just past noon now. She would let him play for four-and-a-half hours, then maybe surprise him with a treat afterward, if he was good. Smoothing down the wrinkles from the front of her shirt, she turned to look out the window.
By law, citizens of the UK may enter Macau without a visa for up to 180 days. However, China is also a member country of Interpol, so Nadina had decided not to risk using the same British passports that they had used to leave England. Fanzou had charged her a ridiculous sum for the new documents, but he had managed to get her not only two Canadian passports, but also a visa that would allow her to stay in Macau for two years, if she so chose. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know how he had managed that.
For some reason, they’d had no brushes with law enforcement, no close-calls with the police, not even so much as a stalker since they had left Europe. Nadina had no idea why they’d been so lucky for the past several months, but she very much appreciated it. It was as if some guardian angel had been sent to watch over them. So far, Nadina had refrained from trying to figure out who it was. If indeed, someone were helping them, she wasn’t about to scare them off by looking into it too closely. She would express her gratitude when, or if, that person ever came forward.
M’boku ran back into the room, wearing the rather roughed-up pair of velcro sneakers that Nadina had designated as his "playing outside" shoes, and carrying a toy bulldozer under one arm. "READY!"
"Where is your jacket?"
"It’s not cold outside."
"Let’s not argue, my love. It might get cold later, and if you don’t have your jacket, we might have to come home early."
"Okay, I’ll get it!" He put down his bulldozer and sprinted back to his bedroom.
Living in Macau wasn’t as expensive as in some of the other places she’d lived in, so Nadina had been able to get them a comfortable two-bedroom apartment in one of the safer parts of the city, just two blocks away from a small community park. It was the perfect place to hide. They were just two people lost in a densely-populated city with a heavy tourist trade, on the opposite side of the globe from where they had started. And despite her initial doubts, it was turning out to be an excellent place for little M’boku to spend his early childhood.
Of course, she still worried about the effect their prolonged close proximity would have on him. She had decided that when he was old enough, she would send him to a private boarding school. That way he could not only have the best possible education, but also he would be in a safe environment, surrounded by children his own age, and they could avoid the dangers of too much close contact before his awakening. She just hoped that their current situation wouldn’t be enough to cause him any harm. It would only be for a few years.
M’boku ran back out with his red jacket knotted around his head like some sort of makeshift turban, jumped over the toy bulldozer where he’d left it on the floor, and landed in an exaggerated super-hero pose. "Ooookaaay! Let’s gooo!"
Nadina laughed. "You are a silly boy. Alright, off we go." She slipped on her outdoor shoes, folded her sweater over her arm, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.
After locking up, she reached down and waited for him to wrap his little hand around two of her fingers before they marched off in the direction of the park. She told herself that holding hands was necessary when walking through the crowded city streets, but she knew that the real reason she always made him do it had more to do with her personal longing for closeness than any kind of pedestrian safety precaution. Soon enough, he would be away at school, and then once he awakened, he would be back to his old self, and she knew they would never be this affectionate again.
"Good," Nadina said, then pointed to the number one again. "Cantonese."
Four-year-old M’boku, who still preferred to be called John, rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and took a deep breath. "Jyut, yee, saam, say, mm, lok, czat, baat, gau, sap."
"Excellent. Your pronunciation is getting much better," Nadina smiled and moved back to the number one. "Portuguese."
M’boku heaved a big sigh. "I want to go plaaay nooow," he whined.
"When we finish our numbers, we can go to the park. Now, say them in Portuguese."
He huffed and hunched his shoulders, then recited, "Um, dois, tres, quatro, cinco, seis, sete, oito, nove, dez. Are we done yet?"
Nadina laughed and mussed up his hair. "Okay. Get your shoes on. But when we get back, we’re practicing our hanzi."
Hooting and shouting, he ran out of the room to find his shoes.
Nadina carefully folded the number board and put it back in its designated place on the shelf, then took down the beginner hanzi flash-cards and arranged them in a neat stack on the table for when they returned. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was just past noon now. She would let him play for four-and-a-half hours, then maybe surprise him with a treat afterward, if he was good. Smoothing down the wrinkles from the front of her shirt, she turned to look out the window.
By law, citizens of the UK may enter Macau without a visa for up to 180 days. However, China is also a member country of Interpol, so Nadina had decided not to risk using the same British passports that they had used to leave England. Fanzou had charged her a ridiculous sum for the new documents, but he had managed to get her not only two Canadian passports, but also a visa that would allow her to stay in Macau for two years, if she so chose. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know how he had managed that.
For some reason, they’d had no brushes with law enforcement, no close-calls with the police, not even so much as a stalker since they had left Europe. Nadina had no idea why they’d been so lucky for the past several months, but she very much appreciated it. It was as if some guardian angel had been sent to watch over them. So far, Nadina had refrained from trying to figure out who it was. If indeed, someone were helping them, she wasn’t about to scare them off by looking into it too closely. She would express her gratitude when, or if, that person ever came forward.
M’boku ran back into the room, wearing the rather roughed-up pair of velcro sneakers that Nadina had designated as his "playing outside" shoes, and carrying a toy bulldozer under one arm. "READY!"
"Where is your jacket?"
"It’s not cold outside."
"Let’s not argue, my love. It might get cold later, and if you don’t have your jacket, we might have to come home early."
"Okay, I’ll get it!" He put down his bulldozer and sprinted back to his bedroom.
Living in Macau wasn’t as expensive as in some of the other places she’d lived in, so Nadina had been able to get them a comfortable two-bedroom apartment in one of the safer parts of the city, just two blocks away from a small community park. It was the perfect place to hide. They were just two people lost in a densely-populated city with a heavy tourist trade, on the opposite side of the globe from where they had started. And despite her initial doubts, it was turning out to be an excellent place for little M’boku to spend his early childhood.
Of course, she still worried about the effect their prolonged close proximity would have on him. She had decided that when he was old enough, she would send him to a private boarding school. That way he could not only have the best possible education, but also he would be in a safe environment, surrounded by children his own age, and they could avoid the dangers of too much close contact before his awakening. She just hoped that their current situation wouldn’t be enough to cause him any harm. It would only be for a few years.
M’boku ran back out with his red jacket knotted around his head like some sort of makeshift turban, jumped over the toy bulldozer where he’d left it on the floor, and landed in an exaggerated super-hero pose. "Ooookaaay! Let’s gooo!"
Nadina laughed. "You are a silly boy. Alright, off we go." She slipped on her outdoor shoes, folded her sweater over her arm, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.
After locking up, she reached down and waited for him to wrap his little hand around two of her fingers before they marched off in the direction of the park. She told herself that holding hands was necessary when walking through the crowded city streets, but she knew that the real reason she always made him do it had more to do with her personal longing for closeness than any kind of pedestrian safety precaution. Soon enough, he would be away at school, and then once he awakened, he would be back to his old self, and she knew they would never be this affectionate again.
12/6/12
17- Jacob
Jacob opened the car door and offered his hand to help Fortitude out. She tentatively placed her hand in his and swung her legs out of the car, but didn’t stand up. She sat on the edge of the seat, staring up at the huge mansion and its majestic surroundings.
"Do you remember this house?" he asked her softly.
She glanced at him, then back at the house. "I . . . think so . . ."
Jacob knitted his brow for only a moment, then smiled warmly at her and gently tugged at her hand. "Don’t worry," he said, "You’ll remember everything soon enough. Come inside– everyone is eager to see you."
Fortitude nodded and stepped out of the car. Jacob smoothed down the back of her skirt and arranged a lock of her wavy, gray-blonde hair so that it fell neatly in front of her shoulder. She was lovely, if a little delicate-looking. Average height and slender, with good posture and graceful arms. Thick waves of dusty, ash-blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face and fell heavily down her back. Her complexion was pale, but with olive undertones, and her small, pouty mouth was colorless and blended in with the rest of her pallid features. She would be considered plain, if not for her large, round, heavily-lidded eyes– dark green, with little gold flecks around the pupil. Last time she had been a robust Armenian with dark curls and dimples. This incarnation looked completely different, but it was still her. She will look amazing in dark green now, he thought to himself as he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back and led her to the front door.
When they reached it, the door flung open and a petite, muscular woman with spiky tomato-red hair and impossibly green eyes grabbed Fortitude by the arm and yanked her over the threshold. "Fucking cold outside," the woman grunted. "Get your asses in the house."
Jacob smiled. "Hespah, I almost didn’t recognize you with that face."
Hespah scowled at him, then turned her attention back to Fortitude. "You hungry?"
Fortitude stared hard at Hespah, obviously trying to place her.
"You won’t recognize her by sight," Jacob told her, "She’s had some work done since you last saw her, but this is Hespah."
Fortitude looked back at Jacob.
"Do you remember Hespah?"
". . . maybe . . ."
Hespah frowned at Fortitude, then glanced at Jacob. Then she shrugged. "Give it a couple days."
"That’s right," Jacob nodded, "Don’t worry, everything will come back to you soon enough." He took off Fortitude’s coat, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "You go with Hespah and get something to eat. I’ll go get our things settled."
He trotted back out to the car and helped the driver pull the luggage out of the trunk. Hefting one Luis Vuitton suitcase in each hand, he marched back into the house and mounted the nearest staircase.
Fortitude’s rooms were a little different from the way they’d been the last time she’d occupied them, but Jacob had done his best to keep her favorite things intact during the remodeling. The bathrooms had been upgraded and they had added a new walk-in closet at Jacob’s behest. The floors had been replaced, the linens were all new, and there was a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Everything else had merely been polished and maintained, waiting for her return. Jacob placed the luggage on the floor in front of the 16th century teak armoire and glanced around, making sure that everything was perfect. She’ll settle more easily once she’s back in her old rooms, he told himself.
His own bags could wait. Jacob left Fortitude’s suite and tapped on the door across from it. Hearing a muffled response, he opened the door and poked his head in.
"Jacob," Karl called, "Finally. Get over here."
He moved to seat himself on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better. I’m still using a support when I walk, and the doctor says I still need lots of rest, but I should be back to normal in a week or two."
Jacob felt his face heat up. "I’m going to kill him for this," he muttered. "You weren’t his target; he had no reason to do this to you."
Karl chuckled softly. "Well, I was shooting at him at the time."
"Even so . . ." Jacob smiled and smoothed down Karl’s messy hair. Karl hadn’t shaved in a while and his body had gotten thinner since Jacob had left, and his beautiful blue-gray eyes had puffy little bags under them. But he still looked great, somehow. "I’m glad you’re alright."
"And you . . . I’m glad you’re back. Fortitude has finally awakened? What took so long? When you left, you said you already felt it coming. I was expecting you back in a few weeks, but it’s been what . . . eight months?"
Jacob glanced at the door. "This awakening has been progressing a little more slowly than I expected. She still hasn’t quite gotten all of her memories back yet. But being back in this house with everyone should help speed up the process."
Karl nodded. "Where is she now?"
"Hespah dragged her off to raid the kitchen."
Karl laughed. Jacob had missed Karl’s laugh. It just wasn’t the same, hearing it over the phone. After a moment, he groaned and pressed a hand to his stomach. "Still hurts a little when I laugh," he explained.
Jacob looked away and sighed. "I wish I’d been here."
Karl shrugged. "You were with Fortitude. That’s more important."
Jacob nodded. "I’d better get back to her."
"Yeah. We can’t let Hespah corrupt her too much."
Jacob chuckled and stood up. As he was turning toward the door, he felt Karl’s warm hand close around his wrist and he glanced back at him over his shoulder.
"Jacob . . ." Karl’s pale blue-gray eyes caught him with a look that nearly made him forget where he was going. "You were gone too long."
Jacob grinned. "I know," he said, and he turned away to go find Fortitude.
"Do you remember this house?" he asked her softly.
She glanced at him, then back at the house. "I . . . think so . . ."
Jacob knitted his brow for only a moment, then smiled warmly at her and gently tugged at her hand. "Don’t worry," he said, "You’ll remember everything soon enough. Come inside– everyone is eager to see you."
Fortitude nodded and stepped out of the car. Jacob smoothed down the back of her skirt and arranged a lock of her wavy, gray-blonde hair so that it fell neatly in front of her shoulder. She was lovely, if a little delicate-looking. Average height and slender, with good posture and graceful arms. Thick waves of dusty, ash-blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face and fell heavily down her back. Her complexion was pale, but with olive undertones, and her small, pouty mouth was colorless and blended in with the rest of her pallid features. She would be considered plain, if not for her large, round, heavily-lidded eyes– dark green, with little gold flecks around the pupil. Last time she had been a robust Armenian with dark curls and dimples. This incarnation looked completely different, but it was still her. She will look amazing in dark green now, he thought to himself as he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back and led her to the front door.
When they reached it, the door flung open and a petite, muscular woman with spiky tomato-red hair and impossibly green eyes grabbed Fortitude by the arm and yanked her over the threshold. "Fucking cold outside," the woman grunted. "Get your asses in the house."
Jacob smiled. "Hespah, I almost didn’t recognize you with that face."
Hespah scowled at him, then turned her attention back to Fortitude. "You hungry?"
Fortitude stared hard at Hespah, obviously trying to place her.
"You won’t recognize her by sight," Jacob told her, "She’s had some work done since you last saw her, but this is Hespah."
Fortitude looked back at Jacob.
"Do you remember Hespah?"
". . . maybe . . ."
Hespah frowned at Fortitude, then glanced at Jacob. Then she shrugged. "Give it a couple days."
"That’s right," Jacob nodded, "Don’t worry, everything will come back to you soon enough." He took off Fortitude’s coat, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "You go with Hespah and get something to eat. I’ll go get our things settled."
He trotted back out to the car and helped the driver pull the luggage out of the trunk. Hefting one Luis Vuitton suitcase in each hand, he marched back into the house and mounted the nearest staircase.
Fortitude’s rooms were a little different from the way they’d been the last time she’d occupied them, but Jacob had done his best to keep her favorite things intact during the remodeling. The bathrooms had been upgraded and they had added a new walk-in closet at Jacob’s behest. The floors had been replaced, the linens were all new, and there was a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Everything else had merely been polished and maintained, waiting for her return. Jacob placed the luggage on the floor in front of the 16th century teak armoire and glanced around, making sure that everything was perfect. She’ll settle more easily once she’s back in her old rooms, he told himself.
His own bags could wait. Jacob left Fortitude’s suite and tapped on the door across from it. Hearing a muffled response, he opened the door and poked his head in.
"Jacob," Karl called, "Finally. Get over here."
He moved to seat himself on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better. I’m still using a support when I walk, and the doctor says I still need lots of rest, but I should be back to normal in a week or two."
Jacob felt his face heat up. "I’m going to kill him for this," he muttered. "You weren’t his target; he had no reason to do this to you."
Karl chuckled softly. "Well, I was shooting at him at the time."
"Even so . . ." Jacob smiled and smoothed down Karl’s messy hair. Karl hadn’t shaved in a while and his body had gotten thinner since Jacob had left, and his beautiful blue-gray eyes had puffy little bags under them. But he still looked great, somehow. "I’m glad you’re alright."
"And you . . . I’m glad you’re back. Fortitude has finally awakened? What took so long? When you left, you said you already felt it coming. I was expecting you back in a few weeks, but it’s been what . . . eight months?"
Jacob glanced at the door. "This awakening has been progressing a little more slowly than I expected. She still hasn’t quite gotten all of her memories back yet. But being back in this house with everyone should help speed up the process."
Karl nodded. "Where is she now?"
"Hespah dragged her off to raid the kitchen."
Karl laughed. Jacob had missed Karl’s laugh. It just wasn’t the same, hearing it over the phone. After a moment, he groaned and pressed a hand to his stomach. "Still hurts a little when I laugh," he explained.
Jacob looked away and sighed. "I wish I’d been here."
Karl shrugged. "You were with Fortitude. That’s more important."
Jacob nodded. "I’d better get back to her."
"Yeah. We can’t let Hespah corrupt her too much."
Jacob chuckled and stood up. As he was turning toward the door, he felt Karl’s warm hand close around his wrist and he glanced back at him over his shoulder.
"Jacob . . ." Karl’s pale blue-gray eyes caught him with a look that nearly made him forget where he was going. "You were gone too long."
Jacob grinned. "I know," he said, and he turned away to go find Fortitude.
11/22/12
16- Xerondar
Forty-seven minutes past midnight, the twelfth of September. Seven pounds, two ounces. Ten fingers, ten toes, and a healthy sounding cry. The most beautiful sound in the universe, at least to Xerondar’s ears. She was born with a thick head of wispy dark hair and delicate pink skin. The doctor had been surprised to find four teeth already in her mouth, and she began to open her intelligent-looking blue-gray eyes just twenty-one hours after her birth. She was perfect.
Modern hospitals have a special room where they keep the newborn babies. This one had a large window where friends and relatives could look in and see them. Xerondar stood outside that window almost constantly. He watched over her as she slept and cried and had her diaper changed. Every few hours they took her to see her "mother", the carrier, and that was when he would eat, walk around, talk to the staff.
Her birth was healthy and uncomplicated, so she would be leaving the hospital in a few days, when the carrier was fully recovered. Then he would not be seeing very much of her, not for some time. All he could do for now was to treasure these few short days when he could stare for hours at her tiny face.
The carrier’s husband was also frequently found at this window, which made Xerondar feel slightly uncomfortable. He watched the man as he grinned proudly at her, as if she belonged to him. This was the man that Nira would think of as her father for the next several years. Xerondar always felt a little jealous of the fathers for some reason. This plump, balding man would hold her in his arms, kiss her baby face, make her laugh, teach her to walk and talk and tie her shoes. He would earn her love and trust before Xerondar could even be permitted to introduce himself to her.
But he had loved her first. Long before this man had even been born, Xerondar had been there to love her, to care for her and shelter her, to protect her and teach her and serve her. And he would continue to serve her, even after this man’s life had faded from all memory.
He turned back to where she lay sleeping. They called her Caroline. A nice enough name, as many of her childhood names had been. Xerondar longed for the day when he could remind her of her true name. He whispered it to her through the glass. "Dellanira."
After several hours, a nurse touched him on the shoulder. Visiting hours were over for the day. Sighing, he glanced at her one more time, then made his way to the elevator. He had a room at a hotel just a block away from the hospital, so that he could be there constantly whenever visitors were permitted. It wasn’t until he stepped outside that he realized how hungry he was. He had only eaten small snacks during the brief periods when Nira was taken out of the viewing room, anxious not to waste any time when they might bring her back at any moment. He placed a hand on his empty stomach and glanced around. There was a Tex-Mex restaurant between here and the hotel that was open 24-hours. Xerondar had gone there the night before and had the best puffy tacos he had ever tasted. Or maybe they had just tasted that way to him. Everything in this world seemed a thousand times better, now that she was born, now that he had finally been able to see her face after all this time.
He entered the restaurant and was seated at a small table. A pretty young waitress appeared with a basket of warm tortilla chips and a bowl of fresh salsa. "Are you expecting friends, or is it just going to be you tonight?" she asked.
"No, I’m alone," he replied. He thought about that as she took away the extra place setting on the table and left to fetch him a Dr. Pepper. It would be nice if he had someone to share this with, someone who understood all of this, whom he could talk about it with. He wondered what it was like for the others, those who had maintained connections with each other.
He remembered the years that he and Nira had spent with Aterat and Tsu Lai, before Nira had decided to break away from them. No, even back then there hadn’t been much friendship between them. Tsu Lai had been nice enough, and Xerondar had gotten along with him fairly well. But Tsu Lai wasn’t a very social person. He was always so quiet, with that far-off look in his eyes, as if he were contemplating the universe or something, which made for a lot of rather awkward, one-sided conversations. And Aterat . . . well, she had always hated Xerondar, and only tolerated him because he was necessary for Nira.
He’d heard that most of Shepetheleh’s followers were a pretty tight-knit group. Some of them even lived together. When they had first set out on their own, Nira had briefly considered going to him, but she had decided against it, choosing instead to be independent and neutral. Xerondar respected her decision, and even agreed with it. But he did sometimes wish that there were more independents like them, others that he could perhaps keep in contact with. He’d like to be able to call one of them now, and share his excitement over Nira’s birth.
Of course, he and Nira weren’t the only pair that was on their own– there were a few others that had also decided to choose independence and neutrality over the constant fighting. There was Finbar, but his situation was just too depressing. It just wouldn’t feel right for Xerondar to talk to him about how happy he was, when that man’s own life held such little joy. Nadina was another independent, but no way in hell would he ever want anything to do with M’boku and his sick games, and to get involved with Nadina would be to get involved with M’boku. Then there was Alexei, but Xerondar really didn’t know him very well, and from what he’d seen of him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
And so here he was, sitting in a restaurant alone, eating his puffy taco in silence, and keeping his excitement to himself. In just a few short years, he wouldn’t be alone anymore. He would have Nira with him. After all this time, they would finally be together again. He could hardly wait.
Modern hospitals have a special room where they keep the newborn babies. This one had a large window where friends and relatives could look in and see them. Xerondar stood outside that window almost constantly. He watched over her as she slept and cried and had her diaper changed. Every few hours they took her to see her "mother", the carrier, and that was when he would eat, walk around, talk to the staff.
Her birth was healthy and uncomplicated, so she would be leaving the hospital in a few days, when the carrier was fully recovered. Then he would not be seeing very much of her, not for some time. All he could do for now was to treasure these few short days when he could stare for hours at her tiny face.
The carrier’s husband was also frequently found at this window, which made Xerondar feel slightly uncomfortable. He watched the man as he grinned proudly at her, as if she belonged to him. This was the man that Nira would think of as her father for the next several years. Xerondar always felt a little jealous of the fathers for some reason. This plump, balding man would hold her in his arms, kiss her baby face, make her laugh, teach her to walk and talk and tie her shoes. He would earn her love and trust before Xerondar could even be permitted to introduce himself to her.
But he had loved her first. Long before this man had even been born, Xerondar had been there to love her, to care for her and shelter her, to protect her and teach her and serve her. And he would continue to serve her, even after this man’s life had faded from all memory.
He turned back to where she lay sleeping. They called her Caroline. A nice enough name, as many of her childhood names had been. Xerondar longed for the day when he could remind her of her true name. He whispered it to her through the glass. "Dellanira."
After several hours, a nurse touched him on the shoulder. Visiting hours were over for the day. Sighing, he glanced at her one more time, then made his way to the elevator. He had a room at a hotel just a block away from the hospital, so that he could be there constantly whenever visitors were permitted. It wasn’t until he stepped outside that he realized how hungry he was. He had only eaten small snacks during the brief periods when Nira was taken out of the viewing room, anxious not to waste any time when they might bring her back at any moment. He placed a hand on his empty stomach and glanced around. There was a Tex-Mex restaurant between here and the hotel that was open 24-hours. Xerondar had gone there the night before and had the best puffy tacos he had ever tasted. Or maybe they had just tasted that way to him. Everything in this world seemed a thousand times better, now that she was born, now that he had finally been able to see her face after all this time.
He entered the restaurant and was seated at a small table. A pretty young waitress appeared with a basket of warm tortilla chips and a bowl of fresh salsa. "Are you expecting friends, or is it just going to be you tonight?" she asked.
"No, I’m alone," he replied. He thought about that as she took away the extra place setting on the table and left to fetch him a Dr. Pepper. It would be nice if he had someone to share this with, someone who understood all of this, whom he could talk about it with. He wondered what it was like for the others, those who had maintained connections with each other.
He remembered the years that he and Nira had spent with Aterat and Tsu Lai, before Nira had decided to break away from them. No, even back then there hadn’t been much friendship between them. Tsu Lai had been nice enough, and Xerondar had gotten along with him fairly well. But Tsu Lai wasn’t a very social person. He was always so quiet, with that far-off look in his eyes, as if he were contemplating the universe or something, which made for a lot of rather awkward, one-sided conversations. And Aterat . . . well, she had always hated Xerondar, and only tolerated him because he was necessary for Nira.
He’d heard that most of Shepetheleh’s followers were a pretty tight-knit group. Some of them even lived together. When they had first set out on their own, Nira had briefly considered going to him, but she had decided against it, choosing instead to be independent and neutral. Xerondar respected her decision, and even agreed with it. But he did sometimes wish that there were more independents like them, others that he could perhaps keep in contact with. He’d like to be able to call one of them now, and share his excitement over Nira’s birth.
Of course, he and Nira weren’t the only pair that was on their own– there were a few others that had also decided to choose independence and neutrality over the constant fighting. There was Finbar, but his situation was just too depressing. It just wouldn’t feel right for Xerondar to talk to him about how happy he was, when that man’s own life held such little joy. Nadina was another independent, but no way in hell would he ever want anything to do with M’boku and his sick games, and to get involved with Nadina would be to get involved with M’boku. Then there was Alexei, but Xerondar really didn’t know him very well, and from what he’d seen of him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
And so here he was, sitting in a restaurant alone, eating his puffy taco in silence, and keeping his excitement to himself. In just a few short years, he wouldn’t be alone anymore. He would have Nira with him. After all this time, they would finally be together again. He could hardly wait.
11/14/12
15- Jack
Jack sat in the hotel lobby, sipping at the bitter coffee in his travel cup and rubbing at the aching muscles in the back of his neck. He had been bent over his computer all night, trying to put everything together in his head. Nothing made sense.
The local cantonal police were investigating an attempted murder at the hospital they had visited, and since it had involved the two witnesses they had recently questioned, Jack and the four specialists he was working with had been informed of the details. The attacker, a tall Asian male with long black hair, had sneaked into Hespah Stille’s room with what witnesses described as a short sword. Somehow Ms. Stille had been forewarned of this attack, and had previously hidden herself in a different room. Then, as if this whole situation were not bizarre enough, Ms. Stille’s personal lawyer, Karl Waiblingen, appeared on the scene and confronted the man with a handgun. According to witnesses, Mr. Waiblingen managed to shoot the attacker multiple times, and yet the man was somehow still able to get all the way downstairs and into a waiting car. Mr. Waiblingen himself suffered several lacerations, including a life-threatening stab wound in his abdomen, but was immediately treated by the doctors and nurses on staff at the hospital, and was expected to make a full recovery.
The most puzzling part of this whole story was that Ms. Stille and Mr. Waiblingen both refused to assist the police with their investigation into this matter, and neither of them wished to take any legal action against the man. Even though it was obvious that they both knew the man who had attacked them, and had even known beforehand that he was coming, they refused to provide any information about him.
The Swiss were currently checking into the validity of Ms. Stille’s and Mr. Waiblingen’s passports and identifying documents. After the discovery of Nadina Jones’s false identity, and based on a few comments made by Stille and Waiblingen during Jack’s interview, there was reason to suspect that their documentation might be false as well. Personally, Jack was willing to bet on it.
These people had a secret. Jack knew they must be involved in something big, and now it was clear they would go to any lengths to cover it up. Some kind of international organized crime group, or . . .
Jack jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, sloshing lukewarm coffee onto his sleeve. He looked up and found one of his colleagues standing over him. It was that Eastern European fellow, Kostya something-or-other. The one who gave him the audio-recorder at the hospital.
"I’m sorry to have scared you."
"No, it’s alright, I was . . . lost in my thoughts. Did you need something?"
Frowning, Kostya sat in the chair across from him and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I want to talk to you about this investigation."
Jack looked at him. This was the first time any of them had sought him out to discuss the case. "Okay. . ."
"Why are you here with us?"
Jack felt his face grow hot. He knew the others had no respect for him as a detective– he’d sensed it from the start. But none of them had come right out and admitted it to his face. "I– I shouldn’t have to defend my right to be on this investigation! I– "
Kostya held up a hand. "Please, Inspector. Please do not misunderstand. I’m sure you have many qualifications and experiences. But you did ask to join this team, am I right? You made a special request to come here. Why did you do that?"
"Well, I . . . I feel very strongly about this case. I’ve been connected to it from the start. I want to see it through. You weren’t there . . . I saw the bodies. The mother and her boyfriend. Photographs can’t– you can distance yourself, just looking at pictures, but . . . And this boy, he’s only three years old. I can’t explain . . . It– It’s my case. I just feel like I have to be a part of this investigation, I . . ."
"So then follow the case from home. Everything we find, we are sharing with your people back in London. You would be able to do the same thing that you are doing here, you could do this from home. So what is the point of being here? Why did you want to come with us?"
Jack narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you saying, exactly?"
"I’m saying that there are two investigations on this case right now. Ours, and yours. We go over all of our information together, we talk about it, we share everything and work as a team to track this killer. All except you. You sit in the corner. You make your own copies of everything and you keep your thoughts to yourself. Right now, we have all been upstairs discussing the implications of the attack at that clinic and its importance in relation to our case, and you are sitting down here in the lobby, as you said, lost in your thoughts. Why are you on this team if you refuse to work with us?"
Jack stared at the man. "Me? I refuse? I– You have all made it quite clear that I am not welcome among you. This entire time that we’ve been in Switzerland, no one has ever asked me for my opinion. Not once. In fact, no one has said more than two words to me this entire time, aside from you."
Kostya shook his head, then gave Jack a condescending, pitying smile. "Inspector, have you ever seen any of us ask for anyone’s opinion? I tell you, Durand, Landin, Claes . . . none of them have ever asked me for my opinion. No one says, ‘What do you think, Demko?’ No. We all just offer our thoughts to the group, because that is why we are here. And you. Have you ever asked any of us for our thoughts? Do you come to me and ask what I think? Do you hold my hand and ask me to join you in your lonely little corner to help you in your investigation? Is that what you expect from us?"
Kostya stood up and stretched his back, then looked back down at Jack. "It’s almost noon. None of us have slept yet, and we are all getting hungry. In about an hour, we will probably order some food and discuss all of our theories while we eat. If I were you, I would come upstairs and help us decide what food to order."
Jack watched Kostya walk back to the lift. He felt somewhat like a foolish child who had just been scolded. It was humiliating, and yet a part of him– the part that wasn’t busy agonizing about how embarrassing it was– that part of him was happy. It was as if he were a little boy who had finally been invited into the club. Even though Kostya had made it clear that he had been acting like a complete ass all this time, he was determined to prove to everyone just why he was here.
When he entered the room, any thoughts of food had been pushed aside. His four colleagues were all crowded around a single computer screen. For a moment, he considered pulling up whatever it was on his own computer, but he decided against it. Pretending it was perfectly natural, Jack squeezed in with the others to see what they were looking at.
The local police had finally managed to obtain photographs of Ms. Hespah Stille prior to her operations. She had been a patient at that clinic three times before in the past two years. Apparently she was having some rather drastic changes done, and the police had requested documentation so that they could run a search on her old face to check for prior criminal involvement. The clinic had handed over records from each surgery, along with "before" and "after" photographs and detailed descriptions and diagrams of what had been done, and notes on her recovery.
The whole team gawked at each set of pictures, starting with the "before" photo from her most recent operation. As they looked over the work that had been done, a few people wondered aloud why she had to go to such lengths to change her appearance. What could she be hiding? She’d had implants under the top of her scalp to change the shape of her head. Implants on her chin and cheekbones to make them fuller and rounder. The bones in her forehead had been filed down and sculpted, her nose had been completely transformed, her jaw had been reshaped, her lips, her teeth . . . nearly everything had been altered.
Then they opened the last set of photographs. The original "before" pictures.
"Oh, my god," Jack heard himself mutter.
The woman in the photo was unlike any he had ever seen before, outside of textbooks. Long, matted, crayon-red dreadlocks framed a pale, wild-looking face. A low hairline sat just above a pair of jutting eyebrows. Her brilliant green eyes were set deep into the shadows of her huge brow, and beneath them she had almost no cheekbones at all. Her nose was big– wide and bulbous but somehow shorter than it should be, causing her mouth look like it hung too low beneath it. Her lips were huge and wide, and her teeth stuck out oddly– in fact, from the side-profile and x-rays it was clear that her entire mouth jutted forward from the rest of her face. And then her chin was just a weak little slope that seemed to just melt back into her neck.
Durand pointed to the x-ray, tracing the top of the skull with her finger. "Her head is so flat on top," she observed.
"She’s like a Neanderthal," Kostya agreed. " The Missing Link."
The Belgian officer cleared his throat. "I’ve seen all I need to see. We should not mention these pictures if we speak to Ms. Stille again."
The other fellow– Jack was fairly certain his last name was Landin, but he wasn’t sure where the man was from or what his rank was– nodded his head and was the first to turn away from the computer. "Well, now we know why she wanted to change her face, and we know that it has nothing to do with our investigation." He sat at the table in the center of the room and pulled out his phone. "I am ordering something to eat. Who else is hungry?"
Jack glanced at Kostya, then turned to Landin. "I’m famished," he said with a smile, "What are we ordering?"
The local cantonal police were investigating an attempted murder at the hospital they had visited, and since it had involved the two witnesses they had recently questioned, Jack and the four specialists he was working with had been informed of the details. The attacker, a tall Asian male with long black hair, had sneaked into Hespah Stille’s room with what witnesses described as a short sword. Somehow Ms. Stille had been forewarned of this attack, and had previously hidden herself in a different room. Then, as if this whole situation were not bizarre enough, Ms. Stille’s personal lawyer, Karl Waiblingen, appeared on the scene and confronted the man with a handgun. According to witnesses, Mr. Waiblingen managed to shoot the attacker multiple times, and yet the man was somehow still able to get all the way downstairs and into a waiting car. Mr. Waiblingen himself suffered several lacerations, including a life-threatening stab wound in his abdomen, but was immediately treated by the doctors and nurses on staff at the hospital, and was expected to make a full recovery.
The most puzzling part of this whole story was that Ms. Stille and Mr. Waiblingen both refused to assist the police with their investigation into this matter, and neither of them wished to take any legal action against the man. Even though it was obvious that they both knew the man who had attacked them, and had even known beforehand that he was coming, they refused to provide any information about him.
The Swiss were currently checking into the validity of Ms. Stille’s and Mr. Waiblingen’s passports and identifying documents. After the discovery of Nadina Jones’s false identity, and based on a few comments made by Stille and Waiblingen during Jack’s interview, there was reason to suspect that their documentation might be false as well. Personally, Jack was willing to bet on it.
These people had a secret. Jack knew they must be involved in something big, and now it was clear they would go to any lengths to cover it up. Some kind of international organized crime group, or . . .
Jack jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, sloshing lukewarm coffee onto his sleeve. He looked up and found one of his colleagues standing over him. It was that Eastern European fellow, Kostya something-or-other. The one who gave him the audio-recorder at the hospital.
"I’m sorry to have scared you."
"No, it’s alright, I was . . . lost in my thoughts. Did you need something?"
Frowning, Kostya sat in the chair across from him and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I want to talk to you about this investigation."
Jack looked at him. This was the first time any of them had sought him out to discuss the case. "Okay. . ."
"Why are you here with us?"
Jack felt his face grow hot. He knew the others had no respect for him as a detective– he’d sensed it from the start. But none of them had come right out and admitted it to his face. "I– I shouldn’t have to defend my right to be on this investigation! I– "
Kostya held up a hand. "Please, Inspector. Please do not misunderstand. I’m sure you have many qualifications and experiences. But you did ask to join this team, am I right? You made a special request to come here. Why did you do that?"
"Well, I . . . I feel very strongly about this case. I’ve been connected to it from the start. I want to see it through. You weren’t there . . . I saw the bodies. The mother and her boyfriend. Photographs can’t– you can distance yourself, just looking at pictures, but . . . And this boy, he’s only three years old. I can’t explain . . . It– It’s my case. I just feel like I have to be a part of this investigation, I . . ."
"So then follow the case from home. Everything we find, we are sharing with your people back in London. You would be able to do the same thing that you are doing here, you could do this from home. So what is the point of being here? Why did you want to come with us?"
Jack narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you saying, exactly?"
"I’m saying that there are two investigations on this case right now. Ours, and yours. We go over all of our information together, we talk about it, we share everything and work as a team to track this killer. All except you. You sit in the corner. You make your own copies of everything and you keep your thoughts to yourself. Right now, we have all been upstairs discussing the implications of the attack at that clinic and its importance in relation to our case, and you are sitting down here in the lobby, as you said, lost in your thoughts. Why are you on this team if you refuse to work with us?"
Jack stared at the man. "Me? I refuse? I– You have all made it quite clear that I am not welcome among you. This entire time that we’ve been in Switzerland, no one has ever asked me for my opinion. Not once. In fact, no one has said more than two words to me this entire time, aside from you."
Kostya shook his head, then gave Jack a condescending, pitying smile. "Inspector, have you ever seen any of us ask for anyone’s opinion? I tell you, Durand, Landin, Claes . . . none of them have ever asked me for my opinion. No one says, ‘What do you think, Demko?’ No. We all just offer our thoughts to the group, because that is why we are here. And you. Have you ever asked any of us for our thoughts? Do you come to me and ask what I think? Do you hold my hand and ask me to join you in your lonely little corner to help you in your investigation? Is that what you expect from us?"
Kostya stood up and stretched his back, then looked back down at Jack. "It’s almost noon. None of us have slept yet, and we are all getting hungry. In about an hour, we will probably order some food and discuss all of our theories while we eat. If I were you, I would come upstairs and help us decide what food to order."
Jack watched Kostya walk back to the lift. He felt somewhat like a foolish child who had just been scolded. It was humiliating, and yet a part of him– the part that wasn’t busy agonizing about how embarrassing it was– that part of him was happy. It was as if he were a little boy who had finally been invited into the club. Even though Kostya had made it clear that he had been acting like a complete ass all this time, he was determined to prove to everyone just why he was here.
When he entered the room, any thoughts of food had been pushed aside. His four colleagues were all crowded around a single computer screen. For a moment, he considered pulling up whatever it was on his own computer, but he decided against it. Pretending it was perfectly natural, Jack squeezed in with the others to see what they were looking at.
The local police had finally managed to obtain photographs of Ms. Hespah Stille prior to her operations. She had been a patient at that clinic three times before in the past two years. Apparently she was having some rather drastic changes done, and the police had requested documentation so that they could run a search on her old face to check for prior criminal involvement. The clinic had handed over records from each surgery, along with "before" and "after" photographs and detailed descriptions and diagrams of what had been done, and notes on her recovery.
The whole team gawked at each set of pictures, starting with the "before" photo from her most recent operation. As they looked over the work that had been done, a few people wondered aloud why she had to go to such lengths to change her appearance. What could she be hiding? She’d had implants under the top of her scalp to change the shape of her head. Implants on her chin and cheekbones to make them fuller and rounder. The bones in her forehead had been filed down and sculpted, her nose had been completely transformed, her jaw had been reshaped, her lips, her teeth . . . nearly everything had been altered.
Then they opened the last set of photographs. The original "before" pictures.
"Oh, my god," Jack heard himself mutter.
The woman in the photo was unlike any he had ever seen before, outside of textbooks. Long, matted, crayon-red dreadlocks framed a pale, wild-looking face. A low hairline sat just above a pair of jutting eyebrows. Her brilliant green eyes were set deep into the shadows of her huge brow, and beneath them she had almost no cheekbones at all. Her nose was big– wide and bulbous but somehow shorter than it should be, causing her mouth look like it hung too low beneath it. Her lips were huge and wide, and her teeth stuck out oddly– in fact, from the side-profile and x-rays it was clear that her entire mouth jutted forward from the rest of her face. And then her chin was just a weak little slope that seemed to just melt back into her neck.
Durand pointed to the x-ray, tracing the top of the skull with her finger. "Her head is so flat on top," she observed.
"She’s like a Neanderthal," Kostya agreed. " The Missing Link."
The Belgian officer cleared his throat. "I’ve seen all I need to see. We should not mention these pictures if we speak to Ms. Stille again."
The other fellow– Jack was fairly certain his last name was Landin, but he wasn’t sure where the man was from or what his rank was– nodded his head and was the first to turn away from the computer. "Well, now we know why she wanted to change her face, and we know that it has nothing to do with our investigation." He sat at the table in the center of the room and pulled out his phone. "I am ordering something to eat. Who else is hungry?"
Jack glanced at Kostya, then turned to Landin. "I’m famished," he said with a smile, "What are we ordering?"
11/9/12
14- Tsu Lai
"A warrior shows no pain on his face, nor does he cry out when he is wounded, for he knows pain well, and greets it with calm serenity, as he would an old friend."
The ancient memory of those words flitted through Tsu Lai’s mind as he screamed through clenched teeth.
It was true, he did know pain very well. All kinds of pain, and in varying degrees. They had been long acquainted. But despite everything, he was still human, at least by his own definition. And for all his efforts, he simply could not greet the bullet lodged in his hip with calm serenity. Nor could he look upon Jean’s twisting, groping tweezers as an old friend.
He had passed out once, but Jean had woken him up, insisting that he remain conscious because of his head wound. And so, deprived of the bliss of sleep, he concentrated on the sound of his own screaming. It distracted him from the pain of his injuries, which in turn distracted him from worse thoughts.
He had failed.
Aterat had given him one task: to kill Shepetheleh’s anchor. And he had failed. He had come all this way. But when he’d entered the room, Hespah was already gone. He had searched only a few of the other rooms, and then the pretty blond man had found him. Most likely he was the guardian of one of Shepetheleh’s retainers, but Tsu Lai didn’t know him.
The first bullet had grazed his ear, the second had just barely missed, the third had found his left shoulder. In return, Tsu Lai had sliced open the man’s right arm and part of his chest, disabling his dominant hand and forcing him to drop his gun. Then in one quick movement, he had closed the remaining distance between them to shove his blade through the man’s abdomen. The pretty man had collapsed, and Tsu Lai had turned to continue his search for Hespah.
But he had apparently underestimated his opponent. Even as he lay bleeding on the floor, the blond man had somehow managed to grasp his weapon in his shaky left hand and squeeze off two more shots before losing consciousness. The first had missed by a wide margin, but the second had landed in his hip.
Tsu Lai stopped his screaming for a moment, struggling to catch his breath as Jean held up the offending bullet in his bloody tweezers. "Got it," he announced, dropping it onto a napkin and setting down the tweezers.
The last wound had hobbled him, and that was when Tsu Lai had known for certain that his mission was a failure. He was wounded and bleeding, and considerably slowed by that fact. Any further fighting was too great a risk. All he could do was escape with his own life.
"A warrior does not fear death. He happily sacrifices himself to protect those he serves."
Those words no longer applied to him. That particular part of his warrior’s creed had long since been replaced by a very different rule.
"Never allow yourself to die."
Hespah had said that to him, so long ago that he almost wondered how it was that he remembered it so clearly. He had been young and naive then, holding a baby girl who made him feel things that he’d never have believed possible. Back then he had soaked up every word of advice that Hespah and Shepetheleh had offered him, so desperate not to be overwhelmed by this incredible new world that he had just entered. "You must stay alive at any cost," she had told him, "Even if you have to choose between saving her life and saving your own, you must always save yourself."
That had seemed a strange way to serve someone, putting one’s own life before theirs. It had been Shepetheleh who had explained it to him. "Her life is bonded to yours," he had said. "You are the anchor that keeps her safely tethered to this world. If she dies, she will simply be reborn, and you will find her and serve her in her next life as you do in this one. But if you die, she can never return, and the fate she would suffer is worse than anything you can imagine."
That had been countless lifetimes ago, long before this endless fighting had begun. It was depressing to think of those early times, when today he had attempted to destroy them both. It was not my choice, he wanted to tell them. But he knew that was only half true. He knew very well that even if Aterat had given him the option to refuse, he would still have done the same. It was what she wanted.
Tsu Lai hissed loudly as Jean poured antiseptic over the burning hole in his flesh and dabbed away the excess blood with a wad of gauze.
"Try to breathe normally," Jean insisted for the third time. "I can’t allow you to faint again."
He nodded, which set everything spinning again, making him nauseous. But he regained control of himself once more and began concentrating on his breathing.
In his retreat, he had been limping heavily from the bullet in his hip. That, combined with the light-headedness from his significant blood-loss, had caused him to lose his footing in the stairwell. He had tumbled down an entire flight of stairs and had hit his head twice in the fall. By the time he had reached the ground floor, his body was so badly beaten that it was a miracle he had not been apprehended by the handful of security officers that had scrambled after him on his way out.
Luckily, Tsu Lai had thought to prepare for such an exit. Jean had been waiting for him in the back of the car, just in case. Now, if only there were a way to prepare himself before speaking with Aterat about all of this.
He had failed, and she would not be pleased.
The ancient memory of those words flitted through Tsu Lai’s mind as he screamed through clenched teeth.
It was true, he did know pain very well. All kinds of pain, and in varying degrees. They had been long acquainted. But despite everything, he was still human, at least by his own definition. And for all his efforts, he simply could not greet the bullet lodged in his hip with calm serenity. Nor could he look upon Jean’s twisting, groping tweezers as an old friend.
He had passed out once, but Jean had woken him up, insisting that he remain conscious because of his head wound. And so, deprived of the bliss of sleep, he concentrated on the sound of his own screaming. It distracted him from the pain of his injuries, which in turn distracted him from worse thoughts.
He had failed.
Aterat had given him one task: to kill Shepetheleh’s anchor. And he had failed. He had come all this way. But when he’d entered the room, Hespah was already gone. He had searched only a few of the other rooms, and then the pretty blond man had found him. Most likely he was the guardian of one of Shepetheleh’s retainers, but Tsu Lai didn’t know him.
The first bullet had grazed his ear, the second had just barely missed, the third had found his left shoulder. In return, Tsu Lai had sliced open the man’s right arm and part of his chest, disabling his dominant hand and forcing him to drop his gun. Then in one quick movement, he had closed the remaining distance between them to shove his blade through the man’s abdomen. The pretty man had collapsed, and Tsu Lai had turned to continue his search for Hespah.
But he had apparently underestimated his opponent. Even as he lay bleeding on the floor, the blond man had somehow managed to grasp his weapon in his shaky left hand and squeeze off two more shots before losing consciousness. The first had missed by a wide margin, but the second had landed in his hip.
Tsu Lai stopped his screaming for a moment, struggling to catch his breath as Jean held up the offending bullet in his bloody tweezers. "Got it," he announced, dropping it onto a napkin and setting down the tweezers.
The last wound had hobbled him, and that was when Tsu Lai had known for certain that his mission was a failure. He was wounded and bleeding, and considerably slowed by that fact. Any further fighting was too great a risk. All he could do was escape with his own life.
"A warrior does not fear death. He happily sacrifices himself to protect those he serves."
Those words no longer applied to him. That particular part of his warrior’s creed had long since been replaced by a very different rule.
"Never allow yourself to die."
Hespah had said that to him, so long ago that he almost wondered how it was that he remembered it so clearly. He had been young and naive then, holding a baby girl who made him feel things that he’d never have believed possible. Back then he had soaked up every word of advice that Hespah and Shepetheleh had offered him, so desperate not to be overwhelmed by this incredible new world that he had just entered. "You must stay alive at any cost," she had told him, "Even if you have to choose between saving her life and saving your own, you must always save yourself."
That had seemed a strange way to serve someone, putting one’s own life before theirs. It had been Shepetheleh who had explained it to him. "Her life is bonded to yours," he had said. "You are the anchor that keeps her safely tethered to this world. If she dies, she will simply be reborn, and you will find her and serve her in her next life as you do in this one. But if you die, she can never return, and the fate she would suffer is worse than anything you can imagine."
That had been countless lifetimes ago, long before this endless fighting had begun. It was depressing to think of those early times, when today he had attempted to destroy them both. It was not my choice, he wanted to tell them. But he knew that was only half true. He knew very well that even if Aterat had given him the option to refuse, he would still have done the same. It was what she wanted.
Tsu Lai hissed loudly as Jean poured antiseptic over the burning hole in his flesh and dabbed away the excess blood with a wad of gauze.
"Try to breathe normally," Jean insisted for the third time. "I can’t allow you to faint again."
He nodded, which set everything spinning again, making him nauseous. But he regained control of himself once more and began concentrating on his breathing.
In his retreat, he had been limping heavily from the bullet in his hip. That, combined with the light-headedness from his significant blood-loss, had caused him to lose his footing in the stairwell. He had tumbled down an entire flight of stairs and had hit his head twice in the fall. By the time he had reached the ground floor, his body was so badly beaten that it was a miracle he had not been apprehended by the handful of security officers that had scrambled after him on his way out.
Luckily, Tsu Lai had thought to prepare for such an exit. Jean had been waiting for him in the back of the car, just in case. Now, if only there were a way to prepare himself before speaking with Aterat about all of this.
He had failed, and she would not be pleased.
11/2/12
13- Hespah
Scratching on or under the bandages was forbidden, but Hespah had discovered that if she scratched at the skin around the very edges, it actually helped to relieve the incessant itching quite a bit. It also helped that she was no longer wrapped up like King Tut. Gradually the nurses had been making the dressings smaller as she healed, and now they only covered the incisions. The ones along her jaw, around her nose, above her eyes, beside her ears, and along the edge of her hairline were the only bandages remaining. The one on her head irritated her the most, because in addition to the itching of scabs and fresh scars, her hair was growing back where they’d had to shave it. She wanted to rip the damned thing off and just claw the entire area raw. But she didn’t.
At least it no longer hurt as much. The nurses were all amazed at how quickly she was healing. Most of the swelling had gone down, and the flesh around the implants had almost completely healed. The areas where they’d had to file and sculpt her actual bones were the slowest to recover, and she was still on pain medication for those, but they’d lowered the dosage, so she was able to think more clearly now.
As she healed, she watched her transformation in the hand-mirror on her bedside table. As the bandages were removed, and the bruises faded and the swelling went down, a new face began to emerge. It was one she didn’t recognize, but she knew she would eventually get used to seeing it every day. Or even if she never got used to it, the new face wasn’t bad. Even now, when she still sort of looked like she’d been bitch-slapped by an express train, she was much prettier than she’d been before. What will Shepetheleh think, when he returns to find me like this? She hoped he would understand; she hadn’t done it for vanity. It was a necessary change. She just couldn’t go around looking like that anymore. And with the advancements in cosmetic surgery over the past few years, she knew it was safe enough.
Hespah sighed and set the mirror back down on the little table. The thought of his reaction made her nervous, and she didn’t want to dwell on it. She picked up the book in her lap and found the place where she’d left off. Karl had been kind enough to bring her a box of her recent favorites, and she’d been reading and rereading them for the past week, since the nurses had decreased her painkillers and she was now able to concentrate on something for more than three seconds. She read almost constantly here– what else was there to do?
She was just getting to one of her favorite parts when her cell phone went off, ringing and vibrating noisily on the table beside her bed. It was Jacob. "What do you want?" she grumbled.
"Hespah, it’s Jacob. Listen, Tsu Lai is in Switzerland. We think he might be coming for you. Karl is on his way."
"What?" Hespah sat up straight. "Where is he now?"
"I don’t know. Fanzou sent Karl an e-mail."
"Shit. I’ve got to get out of this fucking room." She hung up and tossed her phone down onto the table, then flung her book across the room, threw off her blankets and leapt out of bed.
She paused, and placed a hand on the chair by her bed to steady herself as a wave of dizziness overcame her. She wasn’t exactly in peak condition, and getting up so suddenly had thrown off her equilibrium. She blinked and looked around the room. Her usual bare-handed fighting style wouldn’t be much use right now. She needed a weapon. She fumbled through the small tub of bandages and supplies that the nurses kept on her bedside table and found a small pair of sharp scissors. It would have to do.
Hespah put a robe on over her pajamas and dropped her cell phone into one of the pockets. Luckily the nurses had removed her I.V. a few days ago so she didn’t have that to bother with. She slipped quietly out of her room and crept down the hall, careful to avoid any of the staff.
She took the back stairway to the next floor down and sneaked into the first vacant room she found. She crouched on the floor between the bed and the window and closed her eyes for a moment while she took slow breaths and waited for her heart rate to calm down. Just this little bit of excitement had her head pounding. The doctors hadn’t been exaggerating when they told her she wasn’t ready to be out of bed yet. How the hell was she supposed to defend herself in this condition? As humiliating as it was, Hespah knew she was right in choosing to hide from this fight. She took her phone out and dialed Karl’s cell.
"This is Karl."
"Jacob just called me. Where are you?"
"I’m on my way but Tsu Lai is probably already there. The receptionist said he left, but I don’t think he gave up. You need to get out of that room, if you can."
"I’m in an empty room on the third floor."
"Good. Stay hidden. I’m almost there."
The phone went silent, and Hespah put it back into her pocket. She pulled out her scissors and waited, crouching in the corner, watching the door, and the window, and listening for any sign of activity in the hall. He would look for her in her own room first, and when he didn’t find her there, he would start searching the other rooms.
Her head hurt. It was almost time for her medicine, and the excitement was only making it worse. Where the hell was Karl? She pried the scissors apart so that she had two sharp little knives, one in each hand.
After what felt like hours, she heard voices in the hall, and people on the stairs. Something was happening on the floor above her. Hespah tightened her fists around the broken pair of scissors and leaned forward, onto the balls of her feet, letting one knee rest on the floor for balance. She tucked her hips forward and hunched her shoulders, curling her spine like a cat preparing to pounce.
More shouting in the hall. More feet pounding on the stairs.
And then thunder. Three loud cracks of gunshot from somewhere above. Someone screamed outside the door. Then two more shots, farther apart than the first three.
Hespah instinctively looked up at the ceiling, but there was nothing there to see. She realized she was holding her breath and let it out all at once. There was more shouting, and running. A door slammed, and she heard a loud crashing noise on the stairs. But no more gunshots. After several minutes, things began to quiet down, and Hespah finally relaxed.
When the nurses found her three hours later, she was asleep, slumped against the wall with the broken pair of scissors still clutched tightly in her hands.
At least it no longer hurt as much. The nurses were all amazed at how quickly she was healing. Most of the swelling had gone down, and the flesh around the implants had almost completely healed. The areas where they’d had to file and sculpt her actual bones were the slowest to recover, and she was still on pain medication for those, but they’d lowered the dosage, so she was able to think more clearly now.
As she healed, she watched her transformation in the hand-mirror on her bedside table. As the bandages were removed, and the bruises faded and the swelling went down, a new face began to emerge. It was one she didn’t recognize, but she knew she would eventually get used to seeing it every day. Or even if she never got used to it, the new face wasn’t bad. Even now, when she still sort of looked like she’d been bitch-slapped by an express train, she was much prettier than she’d been before. What will Shepetheleh think, when he returns to find me like this? She hoped he would understand; she hadn’t done it for vanity. It was a necessary change. She just couldn’t go around looking like that anymore. And with the advancements in cosmetic surgery over the past few years, she knew it was safe enough.
Hespah sighed and set the mirror back down on the little table. The thought of his reaction made her nervous, and she didn’t want to dwell on it. She picked up the book in her lap and found the place where she’d left off. Karl had been kind enough to bring her a box of her recent favorites, and she’d been reading and rereading them for the past week, since the nurses had decreased her painkillers and she was now able to concentrate on something for more than three seconds. She read almost constantly here– what else was there to do?
She was just getting to one of her favorite parts when her cell phone went off, ringing and vibrating noisily on the table beside her bed. It was Jacob. "What do you want?" she grumbled.
"Hespah, it’s Jacob. Listen, Tsu Lai is in Switzerland. We think he might be coming for you. Karl is on his way."
"What?" Hespah sat up straight. "Where is he now?"
"I don’t know. Fanzou sent Karl an e-mail."
"Shit. I’ve got to get out of this fucking room." She hung up and tossed her phone down onto the table, then flung her book across the room, threw off her blankets and leapt out of bed.
She paused, and placed a hand on the chair by her bed to steady herself as a wave of dizziness overcame her. She wasn’t exactly in peak condition, and getting up so suddenly had thrown off her equilibrium. She blinked and looked around the room. Her usual bare-handed fighting style wouldn’t be much use right now. She needed a weapon. She fumbled through the small tub of bandages and supplies that the nurses kept on her bedside table and found a small pair of sharp scissors. It would have to do.
Hespah put a robe on over her pajamas and dropped her cell phone into one of the pockets. Luckily the nurses had removed her I.V. a few days ago so she didn’t have that to bother with. She slipped quietly out of her room and crept down the hall, careful to avoid any of the staff.
She took the back stairway to the next floor down and sneaked into the first vacant room she found. She crouched on the floor between the bed and the window and closed her eyes for a moment while she took slow breaths and waited for her heart rate to calm down. Just this little bit of excitement had her head pounding. The doctors hadn’t been exaggerating when they told her she wasn’t ready to be out of bed yet. How the hell was she supposed to defend herself in this condition? As humiliating as it was, Hespah knew she was right in choosing to hide from this fight. She took her phone out and dialed Karl’s cell.
"This is Karl."
"Jacob just called me. Where are you?"
"I’m on my way but Tsu Lai is probably already there. The receptionist said he left, but I don’t think he gave up. You need to get out of that room, if you can."
"I’m in an empty room on the third floor."
"Good. Stay hidden. I’m almost there."
The phone went silent, and Hespah put it back into her pocket. She pulled out her scissors and waited, crouching in the corner, watching the door, and the window, and listening for any sign of activity in the hall. He would look for her in her own room first, and when he didn’t find her there, he would start searching the other rooms.
Her head hurt. It was almost time for her medicine, and the excitement was only making it worse. Where the hell was Karl? She pried the scissors apart so that she had two sharp little knives, one in each hand.
After what felt like hours, she heard voices in the hall, and people on the stairs. Something was happening on the floor above her. Hespah tightened her fists around the broken pair of scissors and leaned forward, onto the balls of her feet, letting one knee rest on the floor for balance. She tucked her hips forward and hunched her shoulders, curling her spine like a cat preparing to pounce.
More shouting in the hall. More feet pounding on the stairs.
And then thunder. Three loud cracks of gunshot from somewhere above. Someone screamed outside the door. Then two more shots, farther apart than the first three.
Hespah instinctively looked up at the ceiling, but there was nothing there to see. She realized she was holding her breath and let it out all at once. There was more shouting, and running. A door slammed, and she heard a loud crashing noise on the stairs. But no more gunshots. After several minutes, things began to quiet down, and Hespah finally relaxed.
When the nurses found her three hours later, she was asleep, slumped against the wall with the broken pair of scissors still clutched tightly in her hands.
10/24/12
12- Karl
Karl poured himself a cup of strong black coffee, dropped a dollop of thick sweetened cream into it, and carried it to his desk. There were bills to pay, lists to make, account books to update. Fortitude’s new papers had arrived. He would need to send Jacob her new passport via overnight post. They should be needing it soon. He opened his laptop and took a careful sip of his hot coffee while he waited for it to turn on.
Six new e-mails. Two were junk. One was an alert from the bank. Two were from Fanzou. Karl deleted the spam and opened the mail from the bank. The transfer to Brazil had been completed. Fanzou had gotten his money. Karl deleted the e-mail and was just about to open the message from Fanzou when his back pocket started vibrating.
He took out his phone and looked at it. Jacob’s cell. He smiled as he answered it, leaning back in his chair. "This is Karl."
"Karl, it’s Jacob."
"Good morning, Jacob. How’s the weather in Malta today?"
"Beautiful. Warm. I’m thinking of going for a swim this afternoon."
"Damn you. I’m freezing here. And it’s snowing."
Karl closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of Jacob’s laughter. He’d been alone in this enormous house for over a month now. The sense of freedom he’d enjoyed for the first two weeks had gotten stale, and now he longed to have everyone at home again.
"How is everything?" Jacob asked.
"Boring without you," Karl replied. He took a sip of his coffee. "Hespah’s scheduled to come home next week."
"I’ll be home soon too. Fortitude’s almost ready. It won’t be long now."
A soft chime from his laptop indicated a new e-mail. Karl glanced at the little pop-up before it disappeared. A third message from Fanzou. That was unexpected. Karl had told him not to bother sending him details or updates on this mess with Nadina. So why all the mail? He opened Fanzou’s first e-mail as he listened to Jacob detailing the initial progress of Fortitude’s awakening.
"Jacob. . ."
"Hm? What?"
"I just got an e-mail from Fanzou. Tsu Lai arrived in France this morning."
Jacob was silent for a moment. "Is Aterat with him?"
"Wait, there’s another message. Give me a moment."
Karl stood up, knocking his cup over and spilling coffee all over his desk. "He’s on his way here. Jacob, I have to go."
"Karl, be careful."
"I will." He hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket as he rushed up to his room. He didn’t know when Tsu Lai would arrive, but he needed to be ready.
He strapped on his vest and buttoned a warm flannel shirt over it, then unlocked his bedside table and pulled out the box that held his favorite Beretta, a classic 92FS with a custom grip. The weight of it in his hand was very reassuring. He also made sure he had a good knife on his belt, just in case.
He was just lacing up his hiking boots before leaving the house when his cell phone went off again.
"This is Karl."
"Mr. Waiblingen? This is Sophie at the– "
"Yes? What is it? What’s happened?" He’s already there, he thought as he slid into his car and put the key in the ignition. He’s got Hespah.
"You requested that we call you if any unauthorized visitors came to see Ms. Stille. . . ."
"Who is it? Don’t let him in. Wait for me, I’m coming."
"The gentleman has already left. I informed him that we needed your consent before we could let him see her, and he said he would come back later. He didn’t give me his name. He said you would know who he was?"
"Describe him."
"He’s tall, with really long hair. He looks Asian, but with gray eyes. Do you know him, Mr. Waiblingen?"
He did.
Six new e-mails. Two were junk. One was an alert from the bank. Two were from Fanzou. Karl deleted the spam and opened the mail from the bank. The transfer to Brazil had been completed. Fanzou had gotten his money. Karl deleted the e-mail and was just about to open the message from Fanzou when his back pocket started vibrating.
He took out his phone and looked at it. Jacob’s cell. He smiled as he answered it, leaning back in his chair. "This is Karl."
"Karl, it’s Jacob."
"Good morning, Jacob. How’s the weather in Malta today?"
"Beautiful. Warm. I’m thinking of going for a swim this afternoon."
"Damn you. I’m freezing here. And it’s snowing."
Karl closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of Jacob’s laughter. He’d been alone in this enormous house for over a month now. The sense of freedom he’d enjoyed for the first two weeks had gotten stale, and now he longed to have everyone at home again.
"How is everything?" Jacob asked.
"Boring without you," Karl replied. He took a sip of his coffee. "Hespah’s scheduled to come home next week."
"I’ll be home soon too. Fortitude’s almost ready. It won’t be long now."
A soft chime from his laptop indicated a new e-mail. Karl glanced at the little pop-up before it disappeared. A third message from Fanzou. That was unexpected. Karl had told him not to bother sending him details or updates on this mess with Nadina. So why all the mail? He opened Fanzou’s first e-mail as he listened to Jacob detailing the initial progress of Fortitude’s awakening.
Got the cash. Thanks. Now commencing Operation Save The Jackass. – FReally, this message was more than Karl had expected. What else was there to say? He clicked on the second message.
Thought you should know. Tsu Lai just landed in France. – FKarl stared at the message. What the hell was Tsu Lai doing in Europe?
"Jacob. . ."
"Hm? What?"
"I just got an e-mail from Fanzou. Tsu Lai arrived in France this morning."
Jacob was silent for a moment. "Is Aterat with him?"
"Wait, there’s another message. Give me a moment."
TL is in Switzerland. Coming your way. Who is with H? – F
Karl stood up, knocking his cup over and spilling coffee all over his desk. "He’s on his way here. Jacob, I have to go."
"Karl, be careful."
"I will." He hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket as he rushed up to his room. He didn’t know when Tsu Lai would arrive, but he needed to be ready.
He strapped on his vest and buttoned a warm flannel shirt over it, then unlocked his bedside table and pulled out the box that held his favorite Beretta, a classic 92FS with a custom grip. The weight of it in his hand was very reassuring. He also made sure he had a good knife on his belt, just in case.
He was just lacing up his hiking boots before leaving the house when his cell phone went off again.
"This is Karl."
"Mr. Waiblingen? This is Sophie at the– "
"Yes? What is it? What’s happened?" He’s already there, he thought as he slid into his car and put the key in the ignition. He’s got Hespah.
"You requested that we call you if any unauthorized visitors came to see Ms. Stille. . . ."
"Who is it? Don’t let him in. Wait for me, I’m coming."
"The gentleman has already left. I informed him that we needed your consent before we could let him see her, and he said he would come back later. He didn’t give me his name. He said you would know who he was?"
"Describe him."
"He’s tall, with really long hair. He looks Asian, but with gray eyes. Do you know him, Mr. Waiblingen?"
He did.
10/16/12
11- Xerondar
The room was filled with bright, warm sunlight. Xerondar groaned and laid his arm across his eyes. Perhaps curtains wouldn’t be such a bad idea. He’d chosen his new home for its windows, as well as for its location. It had an open floor plan and lots of front-facing windows, so that from nearly every room in the house he could, with just a glance, have a clear view of the beige brick house up the street. Still, the sunlight streaming into the front bedroom at seven o’clock every morning was not always welcome.
Xerondar stretched and rubbed at his face, blinked a few times, sat up, and unzipped his sleeping bag. This afternoon he would visit an actual furniture store for the first time in years. A college student living in an efficiency apartment with nothing but a bed and a chair was normal enough, but a single young man living alone in a four-bedroom house in a suburban neighborhood whose only furniture was a sleeping bag and an old trunk was a bit conspicuous. And now that he knew where she was, he could allow himself to settle down a little.
But before he went in search of dining sets and bedroom suites, he had another task. Every weekday morning, after she dropped her two children off at school, the carrier returned home, changed her clothes, and went out on her errands. She left home at almost exactly 8:20 every day. And Xerondar was almost always a comfortable distance behind her. He waited in his car while she went shopping, or dropped by her husband’s office, or had her nails done. Thankfully she had stopped her weekly spray-tan appointments when she discovered she was pregnant.
The only time he went in with her was when she had her doctor visits. Her obstetrician’s practice was in a large building full of doctors’ offices, and always had people coming and going. He would enter the building a minute or two after the carrier, then take the stairs to the fourth floor while she rode the busy elevator. By the time she arrived, he was settled into one of the comfortable chairs in the central waiting room that her OB/GYN shared with a dentist, a psychiatrist, and two pediatricians. Dr. Silva also had her own waiting room in her office, with three chairs and some fake plants, so the carrier naturally chose to wait there before her appointments. Xerondar would gladly have sat in that room as well, but he would never have been able to explain his presence there. He couldn’t really even explain it to himself. He couldn’t hear what the doctor said, couldn’t sit in for the ultrasounds, couldn’t do anything to help. All the same, he felt like he had to be there.
Xerondar laughed at himself. After all this time, he still bothered to ask himself why he did these things. The answer was simple. It was just part of who he was, and who she was, and what she was. It was the connection they had. He would always do these things that made no sense, and he would never be able to fully explain it to himself, or to anyone else. And really, he didn’t have to.
Xerondar stretched and rubbed at his face, blinked a few times, sat up, and unzipped his sleeping bag. This afternoon he would visit an actual furniture store for the first time in years. A college student living in an efficiency apartment with nothing but a bed and a chair was normal enough, but a single young man living alone in a four-bedroom house in a suburban neighborhood whose only furniture was a sleeping bag and an old trunk was a bit conspicuous. And now that he knew where she was, he could allow himself to settle down a little.
But before he went in search of dining sets and bedroom suites, he had another task. Every weekday morning, after she dropped her two children off at school, the carrier returned home, changed her clothes, and went out on her errands. She left home at almost exactly 8:20 every day. And Xerondar was almost always a comfortable distance behind her. He waited in his car while she went shopping, or dropped by her husband’s office, or had her nails done. Thankfully she had stopped her weekly spray-tan appointments when she discovered she was pregnant.
The only time he went in with her was when she had her doctor visits. Her obstetrician’s practice was in a large building full of doctors’ offices, and always had people coming and going. He would enter the building a minute or two after the carrier, then take the stairs to the fourth floor while she rode the busy elevator. By the time she arrived, he was settled into one of the comfortable chairs in the central waiting room that her OB/GYN shared with a dentist, a psychiatrist, and two pediatricians. Dr. Silva also had her own waiting room in her office, with three chairs and some fake plants, so the carrier naturally chose to wait there before her appointments. Xerondar would gladly have sat in that room as well, but he would never have been able to explain his presence there. He couldn’t really even explain it to himself. He couldn’t hear what the doctor said, couldn’t sit in for the ultrasounds, couldn’t do anything to help. All the same, he felt like he had to be there.
Xerondar laughed at himself. After all this time, he still bothered to ask himself why he did these things. The answer was simple. It was just part of who he was, and who she was, and what she was. It was the connection they had. He would always do these things that made no sense, and he would never be able to fully explain it to himself, or to anyone else. And really, he didn’t have to.
10/2/12
10- Tsu Lai
The wind was gentle tonight, and carried the scents of fresh water and flowers– the bright pink flowers that pleased Aterat. Azaleas. It was not the season for those blossoms now, but Aterat was not one to wait when there was something she wanted, so Tsu Lai had erected a glass house to grow them in, so that her garden always had a few of these shrubs in bloom. Tsu Lai sighed, a faint hint of a smile settling on his long, oval face. Those flowers suited her, no matter how he thought about it. The thinking-of-home bush. Bright and beautiful and deadly toxic, the little flowers craved warmth but thrived best in shadows.
Tsu Lai followed the winding garden path to the small pond, slipped his shoes off, and sat on the grass at the edge, letting his feet dip into the cool water. He tilted his head back and gazed up at the stars, his smooth, straight, knee-length black hair splayed on the grass behind him. He remembered the stars as they had been, when all of them were visible. Those days were long past. Even here, hours away from the nearest city, he couldn’t see them all. The lights from Aterat’s compound shone just brightly enough that only the strongest stars would dare show themselves.
He was just starting to fall asleep in his tranquil meditations on the brightness of stars when his heart suddenly began to beat faster. Something has excited her, he thought as he observed the surge of adrenaline racing through his veins, causing a nervous energy to build in his stomach. He sighed and glanced back toward the main house, waiting to see if she would need him.
And there it was. The little tug in his chest, the instinctive desire to go to her.
Tsu Lai slowly stood up and brushed the grass from the backs of his long legs and the ends of his hair, then took his time pulling his shoes back onto his feet. It was interesting, he thought, how strongly his soul felt the need to go now. He often hesitated like this, testing the limits of his obedience, not out of any kind of rebellion, but simply to taste the thrill it gave him deep inside, and to see how strong he was. The longer he took in coming to her, the more intensely he felt the pull, until he felt he couldn’t control himself anymore and he wanted to break into a run. He had done that once. He’d waited until he could no longer hold himself back and then had sprinted to her side. Aterat had been disgusted with him and had told him that he looked ridiculous, flushed and out of breath as he was. Since then he’d not pushed himself quite that hard.
Tonight he restrained himself only a little. He took slow, smooth steps, but because of his height his stride was still so long that he moved more quickly than most men would at that pace. He didn’t allow himself to cut across the grassy lawns and flowerbeds, but instead forced himself to follow the lazy trail of stone pavers that meandered through Aterat’s garden. He paused to wipe the dirt and grass from his garden slippers before he entered the sun-room, then stopped again to exchange them for the soft shoes that Aterat preferred he wear when in the main house. He calmly made his way through the corridors that led to her private study, where he instinctively knew her to be. When he arrived at the door, he knocked and waited for her to respond before he quietly entered the room.
Aterat was at her desk, her petite frame sitting perfectly straight as always, her hands clasped atop the polished wood desktop. She was smiling, a smug look of victory glistening in her large brown eyes. She was magnificent and glorious– Tsu Lai could feel the power radiating from her. He bowed briefly and moved to her side.
"I have him," she declared triumphantly. "That cave troll he’s bound himself to has allowed herself to be weakened and exposed at a time when I am in full power and he is not even here!"
This was good news. Tsu Lai allowed the shadow of a smile to ripple across his placid features. Perhaps now this fight will finally come to an end, he thought to himself.
"The brainless oaf managed to get her name mentioned on a police report, of all things!"
He knelt beside her chair, almost bringing himself down to her eye level. "What will you have me do?" he asked softly.
"I want him destroyed," she replied. She handed him a piece of paper with an address on it. "Go. Kill the troll. Then return immediately."
Tsu Lai closed his eyes and bowed his head, clutching the paper to his chest. "As you wish," he whispered, then he stood and quietly left the room.
Tsu Lai followed the winding garden path to the small pond, slipped his shoes off, and sat on the grass at the edge, letting his feet dip into the cool water. He tilted his head back and gazed up at the stars, his smooth, straight, knee-length black hair splayed on the grass behind him. He remembered the stars as they had been, when all of them were visible. Those days were long past. Even here, hours away from the nearest city, he couldn’t see them all. The lights from Aterat’s compound shone just brightly enough that only the strongest stars would dare show themselves.
He was just starting to fall asleep in his tranquil meditations on the brightness of stars when his heart suddenly began to beat faster. Something has excited her, he thought as he observed the surge of adrenaline racing through his veins, causing a nervous energy to build in his stomach. He sighed and glanced back toward the main house, waiting to see if she would need him.
And there it was. The little tug in his chest, the instinctive desire to go to her.
Tsu Lai slowly stood up and brushed the grass from the backs of his long legs and the ends of his hair, then took his time pulling his shoes back onto his feet. It was interesting, he thought, how strongly his soul felt the need to go now. He often hesitated like this, testing the limits of his obedience, not out of any kind of rebellion, but simply to taste the thrill it gave him deep inside, and to see how strong he was. The longer he took in coming to her, the more intensely he felt the pull, until he felt he couldn’t control himself anymore and he wanted to break into a run. He had done that once. He’d waited until he could no longer hold himself back and then had sprinted to her side. Aterat had been disgusted with him and had told him that he looked ridiculous, flushed and out of breath as he was. Since then he’d not pushed himself quite that hard.
Tonight he restrained himself only a little. He took slow, smooth steps, but because of his height his stride was still so long that he moved more quickly than most men would at that pace. He didn’t allow himself to cut across the grassy lawns and flowerbeds, but instead forced himself to follow the lazy trail of stone pavers that meandered through Aterat’s garden. He paused to wipe the dirt and grass from his garden slippers before he entered the sun-room, then stopped again to exchange them for the soft shoes that Aterat preferred he wear when in the main house. He calmly made his way through the corridors that led to her private study, where he instinctively knew her to be. When he arrived at the door, he knocked and waited for her to respond before he quietly entered the room.
Aterat was at her desk, her petite frame sitting perfectly straight as always, her hands clasped atop the polished wood desktop. She was smiling, a smug look of victory glistening in her large brown eyes. She was magnificent and glorious– Tsu Lai could feel the power radiating from her. He bowed briefly and moved to her side.
"I have him," she declared triumphantly. "That cave troll he’s bound himself to has allowed herself to be weakened and exposed at a time when I am in full power and he is not even here!"
This was good news. Tsu Lai allowed the shadow of a smile to ripple across his placid features. Perhaps now this fight will finally come to an end, he thought to himself.
"The brainless oaf managed to get her name mentioned on a police report, of all things!"
He knelt beside her chair, almost bringing himself down to her eye level. "What will you have me do?" he asked softly.
"I want him destroyed," she replied. She handed him a piece of paper with an address on it. "Go. Kill the troll. Then return immediately."
Tsu Lai closed his eyes and bowed his head, clutching the paper to his chest. "As you wish," he whispered, then he stood and quietly left the room.
9/25/12
9- Jack
The place seemed to be trying to pass itself off as some kind of fancy spa. It was a beautiful chalet in a rather remote part of Switzerland, and if Jack didn’t know it was actually a cosmetic surgery clinic and recovery hostel, he might have even considered sending his mother here on vacation. After riding for hours over the snow-covered Swiss countryside, the traditional alpine architecture of the front lobby was cozy and inviting. A waiting area with plush furniture and a huge wood-burning fireplace beckoned from one side, and on the other side was a rustic-looking wood and stone reception desk, where a man was arguing loudly in German with the flustered middle-aged woman on the other side.
Jack studied the two. Not knowing a word of the German language, he could only guess at what the man’s problem was. He was very well-dressed. Expensive-looking beige jumper over a crisp cream-colored oxford shirt and a pair of perfectly-tailored brown pants and matching shoes. He had a nice-looking wool coat over one arm too. Obviously either one of the well-to-do patients or, more likely, a relative of one. The man had a very handsome face, if a bit scruffy. Probably one of those fashionable types who kept a bit of stubble on his face and messed up his hair on purpose, trying to look like Russell Crowe. Sand-colored hair, lightly tanned, blue-grey eyes. Perfect teeth. The man was probably an actor or a model of some sort. Real people didn’t look like that.
Jack and three of his colleagues approached the desk. The man fell silent and looked suspiciously at their group. They all presented their identification and the officer from Belgium, whose name Jack hadn't bothered to remember since the man had never even spoken to him, introduced them all and explained their business. They were tracking a dangerous criminal and had reason to believe she had recently visited a patient here. After studying their badges and making a quick phone call, the receptionist grudgingly handed over the guest book.
She hadn’t even bothered to use a different name. "Nadina Jones" was printed neatly and clearly. She’d been there just three days ago, and she’d had the boy with her. Jack smirked. They were catching up with her. "We’ll need to speak with the person she came to see," he told the receptionist. Then he remembered that the conversation had been all in German so far. The other officers all shot him annoyed looks.
But the woman smiled and said, "Of course. Let me just inform Ms. Stille that she has guests, and I shall have someone show you up."
Jack smiled at her. God bless the Swiss for being so well-educated. Her English was flawless.
The man who had been arguing with her flushed red when he saw what room she was calling. "Why do you need to speak with her?" he asked Jack in English. "Your criminal has already left. Go after her!"
The Belgian stepped forward. "We need more information about our suspect," he explained brusquely. "If you know this person, we may need to speak with you as well."
The man glared at them, staring at each officer in turn, finally resting his eyes on Jack. "Fine," he said. "One of you may come and speak with her. And that same one may interview me too. The rest of you can wait here. If you will agree to this, I will cooperate with you, and I will convince Hespah to cooperate with you as well. Otherwise neither of us will be able to remember anything."
Jack’s companions all looked at each other, then the Belgian nodded his head. "Very well," he said, "I’ll go."
The man seemed to be sizing him up as he looked him over, then said, "No. I want the Indian."
Jack looked around. There was only one person here of Indian descent. "I assume you mean me."
The man smiled for the first time and held out his hand. "Karl Waiblingen," he said.
"Detective Chief Inspector Jack Bannerjee, British Police," Jack replied as he took Mr. Waiblingen’s hand in a firm shake.
One of Jack’s colleagues, an Eastern European fellow that the others simply called Kostya, placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. "Take this," were the first words this man had ever directed at him as he handed Jack a small recording device. Jack had come prepared with his own tape recorder, but he took Kostya’s too, pleasantly surprised at the comradely go-get-em look in Kostya’s eyes. It still felt somewhat condescending, but at least it was a friendly sort of condescending. Jack placed the extra recorder in his pocket and turned both of them on.
"Come, I’ll show you to her room," Mr. Waiblingen offered politely, waving a hand toward the lift in the corner.
Once they were inside and heading for the fourth level, Jack decided to start the conversation. Jack prided himself on his interviewing method. Instead of a cold, uncomfortable interrogation, he preferred to gently bring his subjects into a friendly conversation, to make them feel at ease. He found that most people were more eager to give information that way, and he had often gotten crucial details out of witnesses during cross-questioning that other officers had failed to get simply because their methods made people nervous. He smiled warmly at the man in front of him. "So, Mr. Waiblingen, are you a close relative of Ms. Stille?"
"Call me Karl," he said, returning the smile, "Everyone calls me Karl. My surname is only for official documents, and means nothing to me. You’ll find Hespah’s the same way. If you call her Ms. Stille, she’s likely not to even answer to it. Just call her Hespah."
"Thank you, Karl. I’ll keep that in mind."
"Of course. As for my relationship to Hespah . . . well, you could say I manage her estate and take care of various business and legal issues for her."
"You’re her lawyer?"
"Yes, that would be accurate." He cast a sidelong glance at Jack and continued, "I’ve been with her for a very long time. She’s like an older sister to me. So I apologize if I seem a bit over-protective."
"It’s understandable," Jack assured him as they stepped out of the lift and began walking down the corridor.
"She recently had a visit from a very dangerous person, as you know. That is why I am here today. That person should never have been allowed in."
Jack perked up. "What do you know about the woman who goes by Nadina Jones?"
Karl smirked slightly. "Nadina is her real name. The Jones, like my Waiblingen, is irrelevant."
Jack nodded thoughtfully. He got the feeling that these were strange people he was dealing with.
"Well, here we are. I shall go in first, to prepare her. I’ll call you in when she’s ready." Karl entered the room, leaving the door open. Jack obediently waited in the doorway. He heard some low murmuring, but couldn’t make out what was being said, or even if they were speaking a language he could understand. Then he heard Karl call out to him. "Please come in, inspector. We are ready for you."
Jack stepped into the room and looked around. Two small armchairs had been arranged beside the bed. Karl sat in one, and gestured for Jack to take the other seat. In the bed was a very heavily-bandaged woman. Her entire face was wrapped in gauze bandages, and at the very top of her head he could see a short, uneven growth of bright red hair sticking out in all directions. It was such a brilliant red color that it couldn’t possibly be natural, but he had trouble imagining the nurses here unwrapping her bandages so that they could dye it. Her eyes, though uncovered, were so swollen and bruised from her recent surgery that they could barely open, but through the slits he could just barely catch a glimpse of green. Her mouth, too, had been uncovered, but it also looked rather badly bruised, so that he almost felt guilty for having to question her. Obviously it would be painful to speak with that mouth.
Jack introduced himself to the woman, remembering Karl’s tip and addressing her as "Hespah" instead of "Ms. Stille," and briefly explained the reason behind his visit before he began the interview.
She didn’t seem to have much to say about Nadina Jones. Several questions were answered with a mere grunt or a shrug. What answers she did give were short, and not at all helpful.
"Please, Hespah," Jack insisted, leaning forward in his chair. "If you know anything– anything at all– it could help us save that little boy’s life."
To Jack’s complete shock, the woman in the bandages laughed. Bewildered by this reaction, he looked to Karl, but he also seemed to be suppressing a snicker.
Hespah recovered herself and somehow managed to flash Jack a pitying look through her swollen eyelids. "That boy is in the safest place he could possibly be," she declared. "As long as he’s with Nadina, no one can touch him."
Karl nodded. "It’s true," he said. "As much as I dislike that woman, and as dangerous as she is . . . I know she would do anything to protect that child."
Jack wasn’t sure how to counter that statement. "Well . . ." He blinked, thinking fast. "Well, I’m very glad to hear that. We are all very worried about him. His father especially. Surely you agree that, no matter how safe he is with, ah, Nadina . . . It would be best to return him to his family." Jack took note of the quiet, mysterious smirks on both of their faces before he continued, "Please, if you know anything about this woman, we need your cooperation."
Hespah grunted. "I don't know where she's going."
"Do you know why she took him?"
Karl shrugged. "Because she loves him, and he was not in a safe place." He said it as if it were the obvious answer to a stupid question.
Jack was getting frustrated. Most of his questions had gone unanswered, and those few answers he got only bred more questions. "If she loves him so much, then why would she murder his mother?"
Hespah answered. "For neglecting him, for putting him in danger."
"And his mother's boyfriend?"
Karl's eyes narrowed. "The man was beating him," he explained, his voice suddenly cold and hard. "I probably would have killed him too, if it were my . . . loved one." He and Hespah exchanged a look, and Karl dropped his gaze to the floor.
Jack thought of the boy's mother, of the bruises and scars that had covered her body. And the way the boyfriend had been killed, so much more painful and cruel than the mother's death. It was vengeance . . . But again, that bred another question.
"None of the family's acquaintance seemed to know anyone meeting Nadina's description. But you say she loves the boy. How does she know him?"
Again, Karl and Hespah looked at each other, but this time neither of them said anything. Hespah grunted and shook her head. Karl shrugged. Both looked somewhat uncomfortable.
Very well. He obviously wouldn't get that answer today. "Do you know why she came here? What did she need from you?"
Hespah sighed. "She asked me for help," she said. "Don’t know why. We’re not friends."
"She must have been very desperate," Karl added, "She and Hespah have always avoided each other, and she knows Hespah has hated her for . . . a long time."
Hespah shrugged. "I couldn’t help her. Just wished her luck. That’s all. I have no clue where she is now, or what she'll do next."
Jack frowned. "If you’ve always hated her, why would you wish her luck?"
Karl answered for her. "You don’t have to like someone to sympathize with their situation," he explained. "I think we’ve told you everything we can. I’ll walk you back to the lobby."
Jack didn’t argue. It was obvious these two were hiding something, but it was also very clear that he wouldn’t get any more information out of either of them today.
When they were back in the lift, Karl turned to him. "Inspector," he said quietly, "You seem like a good man. I want to give you some advice."
Jack looked at him warily.
"Some mysteries are best left unsolved. You’d do well to get yourself off of this case. Go home before you end up too deeply involved in things you won’t understand."
Jack opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t know what to say to that. The man’s words sounded almost threatening, but the tone he used was genuine. He seemed to be sincerely warning him out of kindness, or pity.
But it didn’t work. As they parted ways outside the lift, Jack felt a new resolve building up inside him. There was a lot more going on here than this one murder and kidnapping incident. He was determined to figure out just how all these people were connected, and exactly what it was that they were hiding.
Jack studied the two. Not knowing a word of the German language, he could only guess at what the man’s problem was. He was very well-dressed. Expensive-looking beige jumper over a crisp cream-colored oxford shirt and a pair of perfectly-tailored brown pants and matching shoes. He had a nice-looking wool coat over one arm too. Obviously either one of the well-to-do patients or, more likely, a relative of one. The man had a very handsome face, if a bit scruffy. Probably one of those fashionable types who kept a bit of stubble on his face and messed up his hair on purpose, trying to look like Russell Crowe. Sand-colored hair, lightly tanned, blue-grey eyes. Perfect teeth. The man was probably an actor or a model of some sort. Real people didn’t look like that.
Jack and three of his colleagues approached the desk. The man fell silent and looked suspiciously at their group. They all presented their identification and the officer from Belgium, whose name Jack hadn't bothered to remember since the man had never even spoken to him, introduced them all and explained their business. They were tracking a dangerous criminal and had reason to believe she had recently visited a patient here. After studying their badges and making a quick phone call, the receptionist grudgingly handed over the guest book.
She hadn’t even bothered to use a different name. "Nadina Jones" was printed neatly and clearly. She’d been there just three days ago, and she’d had the boy with her. Jack smirked. They were catching up with her. "We’ll need to speak with the person she came to see," he told the receptionist. Then he remembered that the conversation had been all in German so far. The other officers all shot him annoyed looks.
But the woman smiled and said, "Of course. Let me just inform Ms. Stille that she has guests, and I shall have someone show you up."
Jack smiled at her. God bless the Swiss for being so well-educated. Her English was flawless.
The man who had been arguing with her flushed red when he saw what room she was calling. "Why do you need to speak with her?" he asked Jack in English. "Your criminal has already left. Go after her!"
The Belgian stepped forward. "We need more information about our suspect," he explained brusquely. "If you know this person, we may need to speak with you as well."
The man glared at them, staring at each officer in turn, finally resting his eyes on Jack. "Fine," he said. "One of you may come and speak with her. And that same one may interview me too. The rest of you can wait here. If you will agree to this, I will cooperate with you, and I will convince Hespah to cooperate with you as well. Otherwise neither of us will be able to remember anything."
Jack’s companions all looked at each other, then the Belgian nodded his head. "Very well," he said, "I’ll go."
The man seemed to be sizing him up as he looked him over, then said, "No. I want the Indian."
Jack looked around. There was only one person here of Indian descent. "I assume you mean me."
The man smiled for the first time and held out his hand. "Karl Waiblingen," he said.
"Detective Chief Inspector Jack Bannerjee, British Police," Jack replied as he took Mr. Waiblingen’s hand in a firm shake.
One of Jack’s colleagues, an Eastern European fellow that the others simply called Kostya, placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. "Take this," were the first words this man had ever directed at him as he handed Jack a small recording device. Jack had come prepared with his own tape recorder, but he took Kostya’s too, pleasantly surprised at the comradely go-get-em look in Kostya’s eyes. It still felt somewhat condescending, but at least it was a friendly sort of condescending. Jack placed the extra recorder in his pocket and turned both of them on.
"Come, I’ll show you to her room," Mr. Waiblingen offered politely, waving a hand toward the lift in the corner.
Once they were inside and heading for the fourth level, Jack decided to start the conversation. Jack prided himself on his interviewing method. Instead of a cold, uncomfortable interrogation, he preferred to gently bring his subjects into a friendly conversation, to make them feel at ease. He found that most people were more eager to give information that way, and he had often gotten crucial details out of witnesses during cross-questioning that other officers had failed to get simply because their methods made people nervous. He smiled warmly at the man in front of him. "So, Mr. Waiblingen, are you a close relative of Ms. Stille?"
"Call me Karl," he said, returning the smile, "Everyone calls me Karl. My surname is only for official documents, and means nothing to me. You’ll find Hespah’s the same way. If you call her Ms. Stille, she’s likely not to even answer to it. Just call her Hespah."
"Thank you, Karl. I’ll keep that in mind."
"Of course. As for my relationship to Hespah . . . well, you could say I manage her estate and take care of various business and legal issues for her."
"You’re her lawyer?"
"Yes, that would be accurate." He cast a sidelong glance at Jack and continued, "I’ve been with her for a very long time. She’s like an older sister to me. So I apologize if I seem a bit over-protective."
"It’s understandable," Jack assured him as they stepped out of the lift and began walking down the corridor.
"She recently had a visit from a very dangerous person, as you know. That is why I am here today. That person should never have been allowed in."
Jack perked up. "What do you know about the woman who goes by Nadina Jones?"
Karl smirked slightly. "Nadina is her real name. The Jones, like my Waiblingen, is irrelevant."
Jack nodded thoughtfully. He got the feeling that these were strange people he was dealing with.
"Well, here we are. I shall go in first, to prepare her. I’ll call you in when she’s ready." Karl entered the room, leaving the door open. Jack obediently waited in the doorway. He heard some low murmuring, but couldn’t make out what was being said, or even if they were speaking a language he could understand. Then he heard Karl call out to him. "Please come in, inspector. We are ready for you."
Jack stepped into the room and looked around. Two small armchairs had been arranged beside the bed. Karl sat in one, and gestured for Jack to take the other seat. In the bed was a very heavily-bandaged woman. Her entire face was wrapped in gauze bandages, and at the very top of her head he could see a short, uneven growth of bright red hair sticking out in all directions. It was such a brilliant red color that it couldn’t possibly be natural, but he had trouble imagining the nurses here unwrapping her bandages so that they could dye it. Her eyes, though uncovered, were so swollen and bruised from her recent surgery that they could barely open, but through the slits he could just barely catch a glimpse of green. Her mouth, too, had been uncovered, but it also looked rather badly bruised, so that he almost felt guilty for having to question her. Obviously it would be painful to speak with that mouth.
Jack introduced himself to the woman, remembering Karl’s tip and addressing her as "Hespah" instead of "Ms. Stille," and briefly explained the reason behind his visit before he began the interview.
She didn’t seem to have much to say about Nadina Jones. Several questions were answered with a mere grunt or a shrug. What answers she did give were short, and not at all helpful.
"Please, Hespah," Jack insisted, leaning forward in his chair. "If you know anything– anything at all– it could help us save that little boy’s life."
To Jack’s complete shock, the woman in the bandages laughed. Bewildered by this reaction, he looked to Karl, but he also seemed to be suppressing a snicker.
Hespah recovered herself and somehow managed to flash Jack a pitying look through her swollen eyelids. "That boy is in the safest place he could possibly be," she declared. "As long as he’s with Nadina, no one can touch him."
Karl nodded. "It’s true," he said. "As much as I dislike that woman, and as dangerous as she is . . . I know she would do anything to protect that child."
Jack wasn’t sure how to counter that statement. "Well . . ." He blinked, thinking fast. "Well, I’m very glad to hear that. We are all very worried about him. His father especially. Surely you agree that, no matter how safe he is with, ah, Nadina . . . It would be best to return him to his family." Jack took note of the quiet, mysterious smirks on both of their faces before he continued, "Please, if you know anything about this woman, we need your cooperation."
Hespah grunted. "I don't know where she's going."
"Do you know why she took him?"
Karl shrugged. "Because she loves him, and he was not in a safe place." He said it as if it were the obvious answer to a stupid question.
Jack was getting frustrated. Most of his questions had gone unanswered, and those few answers he got only bred more questions. "If she loves him so much, then why would she murder his mother?"
Hespah answered. "For neglecting him, for putting him in danger."
"And his mother's boyfriend?"
Karl's eyes narrowed. "The man was beating him," he explained, his voice suddenly cold and hard. "I probably would have killed him too, if it were my . . . loved one." He and Hespah exchanged a look, and Karl dropped his gaze to the floor.
Jack thought of the boy's mother, of the bruises and scars that had covered her body. And the way the boyfriend had been killed, so much more painful and cruel than the mother's death. It was vengeance . . . But again, that bred another question.
"None of the family's acquaintance seemed to know anyone meeting Nadina's description. But you say she loves the boy. How does she know him?"
Again, Karl and Hespah looked at each other, but this time neither of them said anything. Hespah grunted and shook her head. Karl shrugged. Both looked somewhat uncomfortable.
Very well. He obviously wouldn't get that answer today. "Do you know why she came here? What did she need from you?"
Hespah sighed. "She asked me for help," she said. "Don’t know why. We’re not friends."
"She must have been very desperate," Karl added, "She and Hespah have always avoided each other, and she knows Hespah has hated her for . . . a long time."
Hespah shrugged. "I couldn’t help her. Just wished her luck. That’s all. I have no clue where she is now, or what she'll do next."
Jack frowned. "If you’ve always hated her, why would you wish her luck?"
Karl answered for her. "You don’t have to like someone to sympathize with their situation," he explained. "I think we’ve told you everything we can. I’ll walk you back to the lobby."
Jack didn’t argue. It was obvious these two were hiding something, but it was also very clear that he wouldn’t get any more information out of either of them today.
When they were back in the lift, Karl turned to him. "Inspector," he said quietly, "You seem like a good man. I want to give you some advice."
Jack looked at him warily.
"Some mysteries are best left unsolved. You’d do well to get yourself off of this case. Go home before you end up too deeply involved in things you won’t understand."
Jack opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t know what to say to that. The man’s words sounded almost threatening, but the tone he used was genuine. He seemed to be sincerely warning him out of kindness, or pity.
But it didn’t work. As they parted ways outside the lift, Jack felt a new resolve building up inside him. There was a lot more going on here than this one murder and kidnapping incident. He was determined to figure out just how all these people were connected, and exactly what it was that they were hiding.
9/19/12
8- Karl
Karl had the house to himself. He’d given the servants a small vacation. They would need the rest. Things were going to be livening up around here soon. Hespah would be coming home in about a month. Jacob had left for Malta a week ago to watch over Fortitude, who would be awakening soon. When he returned with her, there would be a lot of activity in this place. And Grushilde would be awakening sometime within the next few years, too.
At least Shepetheleh hadn’t returned to this world yet.
Karl froze at that thought and glanced around nervously, as if Shepetheleh were there and could hear his thoughts. He laughed at himself. Honestly, it wasn’t as if he didn’t like the guy. Hespah and Shepetheleh had always been good friends to him, and reliable allies. Here he was, living in Shepetheleh’s mansion while the man himself was between lives. He and Jacob were lucky to have such a generous friend. But it was also true that, once he returned, their lives were going to get very busy.
He stepped out of the shower and quickly began rubbing himself dry with the first towel he could reach. He stopped and smiled to himself when he saw the fancy blue "J" embroidered on the corner. He’d meant to grab one off of the stack of "K" towels. Oh, well, what Jacob didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He let out an evil-sounding laugh as he finished drying himself with it, and then used it to mop up the water he had dripped on the floor. He started to reach for his shaving kit, then decided against it, running a hand over the rough sprinkling of blonde stubble that had appeared on his chin over the last two days. He chuckled again and deliberately mussed up his short sandy-blonde hair before striding naked into the bedroom.
Where had he hidden them? If he remembered right, he’d stashed them in a box in the back of his closet. Karl rummaged through the clothes and shoes until he found it. He grinned and shook his head. He’d had the house to himself for almost two days, and he was only just now digging these out? Glancing around as if afraid someone might catch him, he opened the box and lifted out its contents. Jammed in there, in a crumpled heap, were a pair of old, worn out, hideous orange sweat-pants and an oversized, thread-bare t-shirt in a radioactive shade of yellow that hadn’t been produced since the 1980's. He pulled these on without bothering with underwear, pulling the drawstring on the pants since the elastic had died years ago. Reveling in the soft, loose cotton, he did a few clumsy pirouettes and flopped onto the rumpled, unmade bed.
Ah, yes. It had been a long time since he’d had the house to himself. If Jacob could see him now, he’d probably die right then and there. Karl laughed again. For someone who had been raised Puritan, Jacob cared an awful lot about clothes.
He must have fallen asleep, because when his cell phone went off, he had no idea how long he’d been lying there. Karl fumbled for his phone on the night-stand and peered at the caller ID.
Hespah’s room at the clinic. Now he was awake. He answered it immediately. "This is Karl."
"Karl, I need you to do something."
This was rare. Hespah hated asking for favors. "What is it?"
"Nadina’s got M’boku and she has Interpol on her ass."
"M’boku’s awakened already?" Shit.
"Not yet. She took him early. Long story."
Well, that was a relief. If they’d had to deal with that guy’s antics, now of all times . . . . "So what do you want me to do?"
"Help her."
. . . Huh? Karl wasn’t sure he’d heard right. "You want to help . . . M’boku?"
"Hell no. I wouldn’t lift a fucking finger for that bastard. I want to help Nadina."
This was confusing. Wasn’t it the same thing? But then, if M’boku hadn’t awakened yet . . . He supposed Nadina couldn’t help whom she’d gotten stuck with. She wasn’t all that bad by herself. Karl sighed. "I’ll see if I can locate Fanzou. Last I heard, he’s become quite the hacker in his spare time."
"Good. Pay him if you have to. And don’t go overboard. A couple months head-start or something. Not like I owe her anything."
"I understand. You get some rest. I’ll take care of everything."
"Right. Rest. That’s all I can do in this fucking hell-hole." She hung up.
Karl sighed and slumped back down on the bed. So much for his stress-free vacation. He rubbed at his temples. Since when were Hespah and Nadina such good friends, anyway?
Wait. How had Hespah found out about Nadina’s problem in the first place?
That damned clinic! He’d chosen the place because it was supposed to be all high-security, complete anonymity. No visitors without prior permission. They didn’t give out their patient list. It was a place where celebrities and politicians and the social elite could go to have a little work done without anyone knowing about it. He and Jacob were the only two people in the world who were allowed to have contact with her there. But obviously their security was far more relaxed than they claimed.
Karl bolted out of bed and stormed out of the room. He was going to go down there right now and have a few choice words with their director! This was outrageous! What if Nadina hadn’t needed Hespah’s help? What if she’d been there to eliminate a future threat? Or what if it had been someone else? What if it had been Aterat instead? Hespah could have been killed! Shepetheleh would be gone! And then what would the rest of them do? People like him and Jacob who had been under Shepetheleh’s protection all this time?
He stormed back into the bedroom and pulled off the ridiculous-looking yellow t-shirt. He would change clothes first. The people at the clinic would take him more seriously if he were wearing one of the outfits Jacob had bought for him. He pulled out a hanger that Jacob had labeled "Winter Casual" and started putting on the brown and beige ensemble that looked like it had been stripped right off of a male runway model.
He glared defiantly at the mirror. "I’m still not shaving!" he declared, daring his scruffy reflection to argue. He mussed up his hair again and, grabbing his coat, slammed the door behind him.
At least Shepetheleh hadn’t returned to this world yet.
Karl froze at that thought and glanced around nervously, as if Shepetheleh were there and could hear his thoughts. He laughed at himself. Honestly, it wasn’t as if he didn’t like the guy. Hespah and Shepetheleh had always been good friends to him, and reliable allies. Here he was, living in Shepetheleh’s mansion while the man himself was between lives. He and Jacob were lucky to have such a generous friend. But it was also true that, once he returned, their lives were going to get very busy.
He stepped out of the shower and quickly began rubbing himself dry with the first towel he could reach. He stopped and smiled to himself when he saw the fancy blue "J" embroidered on the corner. He’d meant to grab one off of the stack of "K" towels. Oh, well, what Jacob didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He let out an evil-sounding laugh as he finished drying himself with it, and then used it to mop up the water he had dripped on the floor. He started to reach for his shaving kit, then decided against it, running a hand over the rough sprinkling of blonde stubble that had appeared on his chin over the last two days. He chuckled again and deliberately mussed up his short sandy-blonde hair before striding naked into the bedroom.
Where had he hidden them? If he remembered right, he’d stashed them in a box in the back of his closet. Karl rummaged through the clothes and shoes until he found it. He grinned and shook his head. He’d had the house to himself for almost two days, and he was only just now digging these out? Glancing around as if afraid someone might catch him, he opened the box and lifted out its contents. Jammed in there, in a crumpled heap, were a pair of old, worn out, hideous orange sweat-pants and an oversized, thread-bare t-shirt in a radioactive shade of yellow that hadn’t been produced since the 1980's. He pulled these on without bothering with underwear, pulling the drawstring on the pants since the elastic had died years ago. Reveling in the soft, loose cotton, he did a few clumsy pirouettes and flopped onto the rumpled, unmade bed.
Ah, yes. It had been a long time since he’d had the house to himself. If Jacob could see him now, he’d probably die right then and there. Karl laughed again. For someone who had been raised Puritan, Jacob cared an awful lot about clothes.
He must have fallen asleep, because when his cell phone went off, he had no idea how long he’d been lying there. Karl fumbled for his phone on the night-stand and peered at the caller ID.
Hespah’s room at the clinic. Now he was awake. He answered it immediately. "This is Karl."
"Karl, I need you to do something."
This was rare. Hespah hated asking for favors. "What is it?"
"Nadina’s got M’boku and she has Interpol on her ass."
"M’boku’s awakened already?" Shit.
"Not yet. She took him early. Long story."
Well, that was a relief. If they’d had to deal with that guy’s antics, now of all times . . . . "So what do you want me to do?"
"Help her."
. . . Huh? Karl wasn’t sure he’d heard right. "You want to help . . . M’boku?"
"Hell no. I wouldn’t lift a fucking finger for that bastard. I want to help Nadina."
This was confusing. Wasn’t it the same thing? But then, if M’boku hadn’t awakened yet . . . He supposed Nadina couldn’t help whom she’d gotten stuck with. She wasn’t all that bad by herself. Karl sighed. "I’ll see if I can locate Fanzou. Last I heard, he’s become quite the hacker in his spare time."
"Good. Pay him if you have to. And don’t go overboard. A couple months head-start or something. Not like I owe her anything."
"I understand. You get some rest. I’ll take care of everything."
"Right. Rest. That’s all I can do in this fucking hell-hole." She hung up.
Karl sighed and slumped back down on the bed. So much for his stress-free vacation. He rubbed at his temples. Since when were Hespah and Nadina such good friends, anyway?
Wait. How had Hespah found out about Nadina’s problem in the first place?
That damned clinic! He’d chosen the place because it was supposed to be all high-security, complete anonymity. No visitors without prior permission. They didn’t give out their patient list. It was a place where celebrities and politicians and the social elite could go to have a little work done without anyone knowing about it. He and Jacob were the only two people in the world who were allowed to have contact with her there. But obviously their security was far more relaxed than they claimed.
Karl bolted out of bed and stormed out of the room. He was going to go down there right now and have a few choice words with their director! This was outrageous! What if Nadina hadn’t needed Hespah’s help? What if she’d been there to eliminate a future threat? Or what if it had been someone else? What if it had been Aterat instead? Hespah could have been killed! Shepetheleh would be gone! And then what would the rest of them do? People like him and Jacob who had been under Shepetheleh’s protection all this time?
He stormed back into the bedroom and pulled off the ridiculous-looking yellow t-shirt. He would change clothes first. The people at the clinic would take him more seriously if he were wearing one of the outfits Jacob had bought for him. He pulled out a hanger that Jacob had labeled "Winter Casual" and started putting on the brown and beige ensemble that looked like it had been stripped right off of a male runway model.
He glared defiantly at the mirror. "I’m still not shaving!" he declared, daring his scruffy reflection to argue. He mussed up his hair again and, grabbing his coat, slammed the door behind him.
9/11/12
7- Xerondar
San Antonio, Texas. Xerondar had finally found the carrier in a supermarket, buying groceries for her family. He casually followed her through the store as she shopped, studying her curiously.
She herself didn’t even seem to be aware yet that she was pregnant. She had two children already: a boy, about nine, and a six-year-old girl. The two seemed healthy enough, if a little spoiled and poorly behaved. The woman herself was average height, with a healthy figure, dark brown hair, and grey eyes. The carrier had a slightly orange-looking tan which had probably come from a bottle and not from the actual sun, but from the look of her youngest child, he could guess that under the tan she probably had very fair skin– the type to freckle easily.
Xerondar watched how she interacted with her children.
The boy had a Gameboy with him, and played it as he walked, often getting in the way of the other people in the store. The carrier occasionally grabbed her son by the back of his neck and steered him out of the way of particularly annoyed-looking customers, apologizing for him, but she didn’t hurt him, and neither did she scold him or tell him to watch where he was going. In fact, the child barely looked up at all when she pulled him about like that. He seemed only remotely aware of where he was, just instinctively following his mother down the aisles of the store. It was as if he were walking in a parallel universe, and the only part of him that was in this plane of existence was the image of a boy and the sound of the Zelda theme playing from the device in his hands.
The girl, unlike her brother, seemed to be a very social child. She had an opinion about every item that went into the shopping cart. The carrier had opened a box of Goldfish crackers and her daughter was snacking on them as they moved through the store. Whenever she made eye-contact with anyone, the girl would cheerfully announce, "I’m Samantha and I’m six!" She wanted cookies with no nuts in them. She wanted breakfast cereal with colorful marshmallows in it. She did not approve of the canned beets that the carrier insisted on putting in the cart "for daddy", nor did she think Flintstones vitamins were a necessary purchase, but she cheered when six boxes of macaroni and cheese were tossed into the cart.
To avoid suspicion, Xerondar picked up a few things for himself as he went along, selecting items that he would be able to keep and prepare in a motel room for the next few days, until he could arrange a more permanent residence. He made his purchases at the same time that the carrier made hers, and by the time she had loaded her groceries into the back of her minivan and corralled her two children into the backseat, he was in his car and ready to follow her.
The house was pleasant enough. It was one of hundreds that looked almost exactly like it in a sprawling suburban neighborhood. Two stories, beige brick with white wood trim. The double garage door dominated the facade, but that seemed to be a trend these days. There was a swing-set in the back yard. Three bedrooms, a small dog, flowerbeds. An elementary school within walking distance, and lots of young families living nearby. Xerondar parked around the corner and went for a walk through the neighborhood, making sure to pass by the carrier’s house once every half-hour, hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband when he got home.
Finally a beige SUV pulled up beside the carrier’s grey minivan and a man in a suit got out. He had a bald spot in the middle of his short, light-brown hair, and he wore rectangular wire-framed glasses. He appeared healthy, but for a bit of a round belly, and his face seemed pleasant and friendly, even though he was obviously worn out from a long day at work.
Xerondar would get background checks on the entire extended family later. For now, he drove around the neighborhood and took note of all of the houses for sale in the area, writing down the names and phone numbers of the real estate agents. The next day he would start calling, and hopefully by the end of the month he would be living within two blocks of her.
Of course it would be several months before she would be born. Sometime around August or September was most likely. And it would be years before he could safely approach her. Still, he felt comforted by the knowledge that she was finally back in this world, and that she was nearby. After all this time apart, just that was enough to satisfy him.
She herself didn’t even seem to be aware yet that she was pregnant. She had two children already: a boy, about nine, and a six-year-old girl. The two seemed healthy enough, if a little spoiled and poorly behaved. The woman herself was average height, with a healthy figure, dark brown hair, and grey eyes. The carrier had a slightly orange-looking tan which had probably come from a bottle and not from the actual sun, but from the look of her youngest child, he could guess that under the tan she probably had very fair skin– the type to freckle easily.
Xerondar watched how she interacted with her children.
The boy had a Gameboy with him, and played it as he walked, often getting in the way of the other people in the store. The carrier occasionally grabbed her son by the back of his neck and steered him out of the way of particularly annoyed-looking customers, apologizing for him, but she didn’t hurt him, and neither did she scold him or tell him to watch where he was going. In fact, the child barely looked up at all when she pulled him about like that. He seemed only remotely aware of where he was, just instinctively following his mother down the aisles of the store. It was as if he were walking in a parallel universe, and the only part of him that was in this plane of existence was the image of a boy and the sound of the Zelda theme playing from the device in his hands.
The girl, unlike her brother, seemed to be a very social child. She had an opinion about every item that went into the shopping cart. The carrier had opened a box of Goldfish crackers and her daughter was snacking on them as they moved through the store. Whenever she made eye-contact with anyone, the girl would cheerfully announce, "I’m Samantha and I’m six!" She wanted cookies with no nuts in them. She wanted breakfast cereal with colorful marshmallows in it. She did not approve of the canned beets that the carrier insisted on putting in the cart "for daddy", nor did she think Flintstones vitamins were a necessary purchase, but she cheered when six boxes of macaroni and cheese were tossed into the cart.
To avoid suspicion, Xerondar picked up a few things for himself as he went along, selecting items that he would be able to keep and prepare in a motel room for the next few days, until he could arrange a more permanent residence. He made his purchases at the same time that the carrier made hers, and by the time she had loaded her groceries into the back of her minivan and corralled her two children into the backseat, he was in his car and ready to follow her.
The house was pleasant enough. It was one of hundreds that looked almost exactly like it in a sprawling suburban neighborhood. Two stories, beige brick with white wood trim. The double garage door dominated the facade, but that seemed to be a trend these days. There was a swing-set in the back yard. Three bedrooms, a small dog, flowerbeds. An elementary school within walking distance, and lots of young families living nearby. Xerondar parked around the corner and went for a walk through the neighborhood, making sure to pass by the carrier’s house once every half-hour, hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband when he got home.
Finally a beige SUV pulled up beside the carrier’s grey minivan and a man in a suit got out. He had a bald spot in the middle of his short, light-brown hair, and he wore rectangular wire-framed glasses. He appeared healthy, but for a bit of a round belly, and his face seemed pleasant and friendly, even though he was obviously worn out from a long day at work.
Xerondar would get background checks on the entire extended family later. For now, he drove around the neighborhood and took note of all of the houses for sale in the area, writing down the names and phone numbers of the real estate agents. The next day he would start calling, and hopefully by the end of the month he would be living within two blocks of her.
Of course it would be several months before she would be born. Sometime around August or September was most likely. And it would be years before he could safely approach her. Still, he felt comforted by the knowledge that she was finally back in this world, and that she was nearby. After all this time apart, just that was enough to satisfy him.
9/5/12
6- Jack
Interpol was decidedly a much less friendly institution than the Metropolitan Police. It had been four days since Jack had obtained special permission to continue working on the John Andrews kidnapping investigation after the case had gone international. Once he had managed to be placed on the team, he had immediately introduced himself to his new colleagues and begun sharing his thoughts on the investigation, but his opinions had been dismissed, along with his whole existence. It was very clear that they considered him to be nothing more than a diplomatic concession, added to the team as the token British detective, there for no other reason than that the crime had originally taken place on British soil. His input was not needed, and his presence seemed to be tolerable to some, quaintly amusing to a few, and irritating to others.
Well, damn them all. He didn’t go to all the trouble of getting himself on this team just to sit in the corner and watch. While they were busy tracing passports and bank accounts, he was taking notes. Making charts. Putting the information together in his own head. They had photographs of the crime scene and transcripts of the interviews he had done with the neighbors, but Jack had actually been there. He had seen it, touched it. He’d heard the inflections in the neighbors’ voices, the expressions on their faces.
He’d seen the boy’s bedroom. The pile of junk on the bed: picture books, coloring pages, loose crayons, small toys, a plastic bag half-full of stale crackers, a diaper, a few colorful rocks, and a spill-proof child’s cup that held the remains of what must once have been fruit juice of some sort. All of this was lumped together in a neat little pile on the bed, as if it had been tightly packed into a container and then dumped out all at once. It was also obvious that someone had hurriedly gone through the boy’s belongings. Toys, clothing, toiletries.
After they’d had the bodies removed and the master bedroom cleaned out, Jack had brought in the babysitter, a 16-year-old girl who lived in the same building, to see if she could tell him what had been taken. After searching about, she’d said the only things that were missing were a few of the child’s favorite toys, his favorite blanket, a pair of shoes, and the car-seat that had always sat, unused, in the bottom of his closet. She had also identified the pile on the bed as the usual contents of the boy’s knapsack, which was also missing.
This would normally indicate that the person who took John Andrews was someone who knew him. Someone who knew about his favorite toys and the blanket he never left without. Someone who cared enough about his safety to take the car-seat along. This person had gone through his things and packed all of his favorite items into his bag. They had made sure he had his shoes. They had strapped him carefully into a car. Jack had trouble reconciling this person with the psychopath who had brutally murdered the boy’s mother and her boyfriend.
But according to the neighbors, there had been only one person to go in or out of that flat on the day of the murders. Three of the women who lived in the building had been outside gossiping that morning when a shiny silver car had pulled up. A tall, thin, pretty black woman in a nice-looking grey suit had gotten out of the car, carrying a large briefcase. The woman had smiled and greeted them politely, then marched straight up to the third flat on the second floor. They said she seemed all business. She’d tapped on the door, and after a few words, Carrie had let her in. A little over an hour later the woman had come back out, carrying little John, who appeared to be asleep and strapped securely into a car-seat, with his little red bag slung over one arm and her briefcase hanging from a shoulder-strap on the other arm. One of the witnesses remembered offering to help her carry something, but the woman had politely declined, flashing a pretty smile. They had watched her curiously as she carefully strapped his child-seat into the middle of the backseat of her car. They distinctly remembered her waving and telling them to "Have a nice day" in a slightly foreign-sounding accent before she herself got into the car and drove away. They had gossiped about it afterward, thinking that she must have been a social worker. Everyone knew Avery was abusive, and he was always screaming and throwing things about at all hours. And it was fairly well-known that Carrie was a drugs addict. The whole neighborhood had been expecting the child to be taken away by the LSCB sooner or later.
It hadn’t been until late that evening– when an acquaintance of Avery Spencer’s had dropped by and, having gotten no response at the door, had looked in the window and seen Carrie Andrews’s body on the kitchen floor and called the police– that anyone knew that the couple had been murdered.
Jack shook his head and rubbed at the tired skin under his eyes. He had spoken with the victims’ friends and relations, but no one knew anything about a child welfare investigation, and none of their acquaintance could think of any woman who matched the description provided by the neighbors.
The case would have gone cold had it not been for the cameras. A tall woman in a suit, with a complexion the color of black coffee, had been caught on video at a local shop, carrying a small boy who could easily be identified as John Andrews, buying children’s clothing, food, diapers, and first aid supplies. From there they had managed to track her using traffic cameras, following the silver sedan to a hotel, where she paid cash, and then the next morning to the airport.
The airport was where they had finally gotten some identification. Nadina Jones and her son M’boku Jones were the names listed in the two British passports she had supplied when she booked the flight to Switzerland. However, upon further investigation, it had been discovered that both identities were false. Unfortunately, by the time this had been verified, Ms. Jones and little John had both arrived safely in Switzerland.
Who was this woman, and what was her connection to Carrie Andrews and her son? What was her motive in killing Ms. Andrews and Mr. Spencer? Where was she taking John, and for what purpose? Obviously she was no ordinary kidnapper. The exotic murder methods aside, she would have to be quite well-off and well-connected to have false identities of such sophisticated quality that they were even listed in the national database. There were birth and medical records, education and employment verification, bank accounts . . . It was like something out of a film or a spy novel.
Of course, once she left British soil, they needed help to pursue her internationally. Which was why Jack was stuck with these condescending snots on a plane bound for Switzerland. Well, he’d show them. This was his case, dammit. He would make himself useful in this investigation, whether they wanted him there or not.
Well, damn them all. He didn’t go to all the trouble of getting himself on this team just to sit in the corner and watch. While they were busy tracing passports and bank accounts, he was taking notes. Making charts. Putting the information together in his own head. They had photographs of the crime scene and transcripts of the interviews he had done with the neighbors, but Jack had actually been there. He had seen it, touched it. He’d heard the inflections in the neighbors’ voices, the expressions on their faces.
He’d seen the boy’s bedroom. The pile of junk on the bed: picture books, coloring pages, loose crayons, small toys, a plastic bag half-full of stale crackers, a diaper, a few colorful rocks, and a spill-proof child’s cup that held the remains of what must once have been fruit juice of some sort. All of this was lumped together in a neat little pile on the bed, as if it had been tightly packed into a container and then dumped out all at once. It was also obvious that someone had hurriedly gone through the boy’s belongings. Toys, clothing, toiletries.
After they’d had the bodies removed and the master bedroom cleaned out, Jack had brought in the babysitter, a 16-year-old girl who lived in the same building, to see if she could tell him what had been taken. After searching about, she’d said the only things that were missing were a few of the child’s favorite toys, his favorite blanket, a pair of shoes, and the car-seat that had always sat, unused, in the bottom of his closet. She had also identified the pile on the bed as the usual contents of the boy’s knapsack, which was also missing.
This would normally indicate that the person who took John Andrews was someone who knew him. Someone who knew about his favorite toys and the blanket he never left without. Someone who cared enough about his safety to take the car-seat along. This person had gone through his things and packed all of his favorite items into his bag. They had made sure he had his shoes. They had strapped him carefully into a car. Jack had trouble reconciling this person with the psychopath who had brutally murdered the boy’s mother and her boyfriend.
But according to the neighbors, there had been only one person to go in or out of that flat on the day of the murders. Three of the women who lived in the building had been outside gossiping that morning when a shiny silver car had pulled up. A tall, thin, pretty black woman in a nice-looking grey suit had gotten out of the car, carrying a large briefcase. The woman had smiled and greeted them politely, then marched straight up to the third flat on the second floor. They said she seemed all business. She’d tapped on the door, and after a few words, Carrie had let her in. A little over an hour later the woman had come back out, carrying little John, who appeared to be asleep and strapped securely into a car-seat, with his little red bag slung over one arm and her briefcase hanging from a shoulder-strap on the other arm. One of the witnesses remembered offering to help her carry something, but the woman had politely declined, flashing a pretty smile. They had watched her curiously as she carefully strapped his child-seat into the middle of the backseat of her car. They distinctly remembered her waving and telling them to "Have a nice day" in a slightly foreign-sounding accent before she herself got into the car and drove away. They had gossiped about it afterward, thinking that she must have been a social worker. Everyone knew Avery was abusive, and he was always screaming and throwing things about at all hours. And it was fairly well-known that Carrie was a drugs addict. The whole neighborhood had been expecting the child to be taken away by the LSCB sooner or later.
It hadn’t been until late that evening– when an acquaintance of Avery Spencer’s had dropped by and, having gotten no response at the door, had looked in the window and seen Carrie Andrews’s body on the kitchen floor and called the police– that anyone knew that the couple had been murdered.
Jack shook his head and rubbed at the tired skin under his eyes. He had spoken with the victims’ friends and relations, but no one knew anything about a child welfare investigation, and none of their acquaintance could think of any woman who matched the description provided by the neighbors.
The case would have gone cold had it not been for the cameras. A tall woman in a suit, with a complexion the color of black coffee, had been caught on video at a local shop, carrying a small boy who could easily be identified as John Andrews, buying children’s clothing, food, diapers, and first aid supplies. From there they had managed to track her using traffic cameras, following the silver sedan to a hotel, where she paid cash, and then the next morning to the airport.
The airport was where they had finally gotten some identification. Nadina Jones and her son M’boku Jones were the names listed in the two British passports she had supplied when she booked the flight to Switzerland. However, upon further investigation, it had been discovered that both identities were false. Unfortunately, by the time this had been verified, Ms. Jones and little John had both arrived safely in Switzerland.
Who was this woman, and what was her connection to Carrie Andrews and her son? What was her motive in killing Ms. Andrews and Mr. Spencer? Where was she taking John, and for what purpose? Obviously she was no ordinary kidnapper. The exotic murder methods aside, she would have to be quite well-off and well-connected to have false identities of such sophisticated quality that they were even listed in the national database. There were birth and medical records, education and employment verification, bank accounts . . . It was like something out of a film or a spy novel.
Of course, once she left British soil, they needed help to pursue her internationally. Which was why Jack was stuck with these condescending snots on a plane bound for Switzerland. Well, he’d show them. This was his case, dammit. He would make himself useful in this investigation, whether they wanted him there or not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)