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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Truth and Consequences - by MMB
Chapter 10: No Respite
"Uncle!" Siskele barged straight into Ngawe's new hospital room without the courtesy of knocking. "I heard stories..."
"Get out!" the elderly African barked at the candy-striper replacing the ice water in his pitcher and replenishing the water for the flowers in the room. "Go!" he ordered, unmoved by her sudden doe-in-the-headlights expression. The girl rushed from the room, and he pointed to the door. "Close that!" His nephew hastened to do as he asked. "Where were you?" Ngawe demanded as soon as the door was shut. "We expected you..."
"We had to present our passports and identification at the entrance of the hospital, Uncle," Siskele related to the older man defensively. "AND we had to leave our weapons elsewhere. The government agents were frisking everyone entering."
"You mean you are unarmed?" Ngawe was incensed. "How can we expect to stay safe if our guards..."
"You have two federal agents standing guard just outside the door," Siskele told him in a slightly quieter voice. "They are checking the identification of all who even walk past in the hallway."
"It was a Yakuza move," Ngawe told his nephew in a calmer tone, keeping an eagle eye on the door in case another FBI agent was going to barge through. "We want additional security men brought in from Nairobi - we want all collected information on the Yakuza and it's global holdings. We are not going to rest..."
"Uncle," Siskele put up a hand. "I heard from Nairobi this morning. Agunde and M'basa are hearing from the Nigerian consortium that they would like to strip you of your position and select a new representative to the Triumvirate. Word of your raids on Yakuza holdings has reached Africa, and the consortium as a whole disagrees with the wisdom of your actions."
"We do not need permission," Ngawe bellowed, "We ARE the Triumvirate!"
"Last week, the Yakuza have closed the Japanese ports to all our shipments. That's enough to make the whole consortium sit up and take notice, Uncle. It's enough to get them to vote you out of office - or have you assassinated, if that's what it would take to calm things down and get back to business as usual." Siskele didn't like finding himself in the position of messenger of bad news, but he hoped that his inside scoop on what was going on at home would wake his uncle up in time before the man lost all prestige. Shipments of ivory and other delicate commodities - like diamonds - into Asia has been the backbone of Triumvirate revenue, AND it has been a cooperative Yakuza-Triumvirate operation for years. The Triumvirate as a whole had lost three hundred million dollars last week in those delayed shipments alone - more than enough to cause more conservative consortium members to consider a power shift in the ruling board.
Ngawe opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it again. "We just HAD a visit last night from an assassin - a Yakuza assassin at that!" he growled, his temper still red-hot. "He killed Ulembe without even batting an eye, leaving him to drown in his own blood and US without means to call for assistance. We have never been so..."
Siskele closed his eyes and decided that he'd best just hand over the rest of the bad news now rather than later. "Agunde has requested a meeting with the Yakuza Council of Clans, and he has M'basa's tacit approval of his plan..."
"He's done WHAT?" the elderly man bellowed again. "Without our permission?"
"Uncle, your war of revenge is endangering profits on all sides!" Siskele cried. "Our own people are beginning to worry that you endanger the consortium."
"Weaklings!" Ngawe pounded the mattress at his side impotently. "And here we sit while the spineless fools in Africa go hat in hand to the Asian devils that did us such grievous injury!" He glared up at his nephew. "And where is our ambassador? We demanded that he attend us immediately."
The younger man shook his head. "Ambassador Adinde sent his regrets and declines to come. He recommends that you find yourself a good American lawyer."
Ngawe stared up into the ebony eyes of his younger brother's son in consternation. "But we were promised immunity..." His nephew had nothing to say, and silence spoke eloquently of the value of politically motivated promises.
The old arms dealer pushed back into his pillows in agitation. He knew better than anyone the power that was vested in the titular head of the Triumvirate, and just how easily that power could be wrested away if the consortium as a whole so decided. All Triumvirate heads, from long since before the banker M'tumbo who had built the consortium into such a well-funded power broker, had never lost sight of that fact. He refused to be the first to make such a fatal mistake, Nor did he intend to be the first to end up behind American prison bars.
"Send a message to Nairobi. Tell them... we give permission for this meeting with the Yakuza. We want the name of the assassin that invaded our room last night, but other than that, we will consider the other matter..." He breathed in and sighed in very reluctant acquiescence, "...closed." He looked at his nephew sharply. "For all intents and purposes, that is. And do your homework, and find us a good lawyer."
~~~~~~~~
Stewart Berringer stared in uneasy concern at the huge man who had invaded his Centre accommodations that morning. Sam had a sweeper standing at the door while he had dragged a chair over to face the uncomfortable cot, which was the only other place to sit in the room besides on the open-to-the-world toilet. "I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated.
"I think you do," Sam replied in a dark tone that told the Nevadan that there was very little patience in the man to squander. "Duncan was your man - Raines had him sent to Flores. Flores reports that he was more than just a good sweeper for you, that you just kept him on the books that way."
"Gil Flores is..."
"...sorry he ever decided to cross swords with us, trust me," Sam finished with a thoroughly threatening grin. "Would you like to experience some of the interesting methods that we used on him to get him to talk?"
Something in the sparkle that suddenly lit the Delaware Security Chief's eyes made a cold shiver run down the former supervisor's spine. "No, thank you, I think I'd rather not," he answered as evenly as he could.
"Then I suggest that you begin to talk to me," Sam stretched back in his chair. "I don't have all day - and I assure you, our methods of extracting information are quite efficient and not at all pleasant."
Berringer sighed. "Duncan grew up in the hills of San Bernardino county, not far from Victorville. I can remember him talking about a ranch somewhere in the Victor Valley too - an uncle's place that he inherited, I think. If it's out in the middle of nowhere, it would be ideal for keeping hostages isolated and easy to guard."
"Talk to me about his gang connections."
"Mexican mob mostly, although he did run with the X-14's for a few years before he beat up his brother and landed in jail." Berringer shuddered. Sam was extremely well-informed for someone LOOKING for information. "What the Hell have Flores and Duncan done this time?"
Sam blinked. "What do you mean, THIS time?"
Berringer looked at the ex-sweeper in surprise. "You know so much already, I'm surprised you didn't already have this in your dossier on them - Flores and Duncan and a real low-life from a group called Los Cabrones used to be known in local circles as the Three Unholy Musketeers. They'd get bored, drive into Hollywood, go down near Hollywood and Vine, pick up a few hookers and... well... let's just say that most of the girls they picked up weren't in any shape to make much money when they were through with them."
"Shit!" Sam shuddered. And two of these monsters had their hands on Deb Broots! "Didn't they ever get caught?"
"Nope." Berringer shook his head. "But Raines knew about their exploits - whenever Lyle used to go on a tear and want some of his Asian “meat,” as he called it, Raines would ship him off to LA to oversee some Yakuza dealing and have Duncan or Cordoba go down into Chinatown and..."
"I get the picture!" Sam swallowed hard against the rising bile. Miss Parker had once told him all about her suspicions about her unsavory “twin.” "So where's this Cordoba now?"
"Last I heard he was spending one to five for assault at a state facility - but that was two or three years ago. He could be out now, for all I know..." Berringer glared at his inquisitor. "Now answer MY question: what the Hell has Duncan done?"
"Enough to get himself put behind bars permanently," Sam answered cryptically, "but only if the feds find him before Miss Parker and her Smith & Wesson does..."
~~~~~~~~
"Miss Parker, there's a Doctor Hightower for you on line three," Mei Chiang announced quietly.
"Thank you," she said, glancing over at the silent and dangerous Japanese man sitting like a statue in a chair in front of her desk. He hadn't even twitched to show that he was listening to anything at the moment - he was a study in meditative calm. Not entirely certain whether she should be encouraged or on guard, she pushed at a button on her phone to accept the call. "This is Parker."
"This is Gordon Hightower at Dover General. I'm just calling to let you know that Sydney Green is through his surgery and is now in recovery. The surgery was a success - I'm hoping for a complete recovery of stability and mobility - and he'll be ready for release after about one-thirty or so this afternoon. Will you be picking him up yourself?"
"Yes, of course." Miss Parker blinked and felt a deep pang of guilt that she hadn't even taken the time to worry about Sydney in the hospital again, so busy she'd been trying to get word on where the kidnappers had taken her son. "One-thirty you say?"
"I would like to have you come in a little earlier - say around noon. Dr. Green will be having CPM therapy administered at home during his recovery, and I'll need to instruct whoever will be responsible for his care in the workings of the machine. Will that be you as well?"
"No," she thought quickly. So much for Kevin working out of the Centre... "But I can bring that individual with me when I come."
"Very good," Dr. Hightower sounded satisfied. "I'll be seeing you at around noon then."
"Thank you, Doctor." She disconnected and immediately dialed an extension.
"Yes? Hello?" Kevin sounded as if he wasn't used to answering a telephone.
"It's me," Miss Parker announced very quickly. "Meet me in my office in about a half-hour - they're releasing Sydney and want you to come in early to be trained on the workings of some machine he'll have coming home with him. CPM, I think it was called..."
"Continuous Passive Motion therapy. I've heard of this," Kevin told her. "I'll be ready, Miss Parker." He paused. "Did the doctor say if everything went well?"
She smiled softly. Kevin was so dependent on Sydney at the moment - the two of them had been virtually inseparable since his rescue. "The doctor hopes for a complete recovery."
"Good!" Kevin's voice sounded both relieved and enthusiastic. "I'll be there in just a few minutes then."
She was hanging up the receiver when a sharp knock preceded Sam bursting through her door. "News?" she looked up expectantly.
"Berringer says that Duncan's original stomping grounds is San Bernardino County - around some place named Victorville. Also, seems that he inherited a ranch in the Victor Valley out there - Berringer says that if it's remote enough, it would be ideal for keeping hostages on ice." The ex-sweeper suddenly stopped, noticing for the first time the still Japanese in the chair. "What's this?"
Miss Parker rose. "Sam Atlee, I'd like you to meet Katsuhiro Ikeda, recently with the Yakuza."
Ikeda rose at the mention of his name and turned to bow to the huge man behind him.
Sam moved a little further into the room, feeling as if he needed to somehow move himself between his boss and this quiet man. "We're dealing with Yakuza again?" he asked almost challengingly. "When did we start picking up their rejects?"
"We're NOT dealing with the Yakuza again, Sam, and you know that," Miss Parker snapped at her Security Chief. "Besides, Mr. Ikeda is by no mean a Yakuza reject," she shook her head. "As a matter of fact, put on some decent manners and shake hands with the man that finally did us all a favor and removed Mr. Raines from our world."
"Oh yeah?" Sam turned back to the Japanese with a far less antagonistic expression. "Well, then..." he stuck out his hand and found it shaken with a strong and firm grip. "If Miss Parker didn't say so before, we're grateful. You did everybody a favor."
Ikeda merely bowed over the clasped hands. He had had no idea that the man the Yakuza had wanted removed was so thoroughly disliked even by his gai-jin colleagues. He had known that removing Raines had been essential to Miss Parker's eventual rise to power, but it was beginning to sound like the current administration of the Centre had been languishing under Raines' authority for a long time.
"Mr. Ikeda is a very special person, Sam," Miss Parker continued. "He is ninja - a highly trained assassin."
Sam blinked and turned to his boss sharply. "I thought we were out of that kind of business now," he charged with a slight frown.
"I assure you, I am capable of many things other than the art of killing, Atlee-san," Ikeda answered in softly accented but clear English. "These skills I have offered to Parker-sama, in hopes that she may find use for me."
"Tyler? Could you come in here for a moment, please?" Miss Parker spoke into the telephone receiver and then replaced it when the young man told her he was on his way. "I'm still working on ways to use Mr. Ikeda's unique skills to our best advantage," she told Sam as she motioned him to one of the remaining chairs.
"If you don't mind my saying so," her Security Chief said, taking a chance that this might be one of the few times that she'd actually be open to his idea, "having Mr. Ikeda take personal charge of YOUR safety would make ME feel a lot better."
Another quick knock resounded, and the door to her office pushed open again as Tyler stuck his head through. He took in the group already present. "What's up?" he asked with concern as he moved into the room more fully. "Where's Davy and Deb?" he demanded from Sam.
"According to Berringer, Southern California - either somewhere in the neighborhood of Victorville, or a ranch somewhere in the Victor Valley," Sam responded automatically.
"Gomen nasai, Parker-sama, but you still haven't told me what is going on," Ikeda reminded his new employer carefully. "Someone important is missing? Who are Davy and Deb?"
Miss Parker sighed and motioned to Tyler to take the last empty chair in the room. "You were correct when you speculated that some here at the Centre have not been particularly enthusiastic about the changes I'm trying to implement here, Ikeda-san. Last night, one of them ordered the kidnapping of people important to me personally as leverage to force me to resign my position. My eight-year-old son was taken - along with the daughter of one of my best friends and assistants." She sighed again. "We've just spent the better part of the night trying to find out where they were taken."
Ikeda's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "Do you have the identities of those who hold your son and this girl?"
Tyler leaned forward. "Wait a minute. Who IS this guy?" he demanded. "Why are you telling him everything?"
"Stop it, Tyler, he's with us," Miss Parker snapped at her young assistant, recognizing the defensive tone but having neither the time nor the energy to appreciate it. "Meet a new colleague, Katsuhiro Ikeda. Ikeda-san, this is Cody Tyler, my personal assistant."
Tyler took a moment and then extended his hand to the newcomer. "Sorry, Mr. Ikeda. I'm learning to be extremely cautious nowadays..."
"No offense taken, Tyler-san. Your loyalty to Parker-sama is commendable," Ikeda responded easily with a slight bow from the waist. He returned his calm gaze to his new employer. "Now, I was wondering if you had the identities of the ronin who did this?"
Miss Parker reached out to a conveniently placed folder and removed the photograph that sat in the front. "That man is the one the traitor contacted - his name is Andrew Duncan."
Ikeda took the photograph and studied it closely. "This meeting was a while ago, neh? Mayeda-san has put on several pounds since this was taken."
"Taken last year," Sam answered. "As for the other man, Berringer says that the most likely candidate is a scum named Cordoba from a Mexican gang." He let his dark eyes communicate his very real and sick worry. "You don't WANT to know what Duncan and Flores and Cordoba were best known as, or what they used to do - but leave it to say that they were Lyle's “suppliers” of Asian meats on the West Coast."
Miss Parker blanched and swallowed hard. "Shit!" she whispered, stricken.
"No shit," Sam responded dryly. "We GOTTA get those kids away from them!"
Miss Parker took a deep breath and straightened the cool exterior over her worries again. "We gotta let the FBI take point on this, too," she reminded them all pointedly. "Taking the kids over state lines makes it a federal case. What shape is Flores in - is he ready to turn over to Gillespie?"
Sam's smile was cold and didn't reach his eyes. "The marks on his legs look more like insect bites now than anything else - and his forehead just looks like he's breaking out in a zit."
"What the hell did you do to him?" Tyler asked, looking back and forth between the two.
"You really don't want to know," Miss Parker answered abruptly and turned back to Sam. "Good. Then call Gillespie and tell him who we got and what we got out of him - and give him Berringer for good measure as a material witness." She shook her finger at her Security Chief. "As soon as you have some idea what Gillespie's next move is, I want YOU on the next jet to LA to coordinate FBI involvement with the new Centre satellite staff there. I'll keep Ikeda-san with me here, and I'll stay with Kevin and Sydney, while you're gone - I promise," she conceded when she saw his concern jump at the pending traveling orders. She turned back to Ikeda. "You don't mind playing bodyguard for a while, do you?"
Ikeda bowed deeply from the waist even though he remained seated. "I am your servant in all things, Parker-sama. Use me as you wish."
She nodded, satisfied. "Tyler, I want you conducting in-depth interviews with the rest of our less-enlightened ex-supervisors, just to see if they know anything we haven't already learned from Flores and Berringer. Pass anything you learn along to Gillespie and Sam." Tyler nodded.
"Do you have living arrangements made?" she suddenly asked Ikeda.
"I know of a motel within a reasonable distance from here," the assassin replied. "I stayed there not long ago. I am hoping to get a room there again."
"Fine." Miss Parker looked down at her watch. "I've got to get moving and go to Dover with Kevin to pick up Sydney. Ikeda-san, take care of making whatever living arrangements you feel necessary and be back here, in my office, at three this afternoon." Ikeda bowed. She looked around the room. "That will be all, gentlemen, unless you have anything further to add?"
~~~~~~~~
Fujimori moved carefully down the hospital corridor, putting his weight on the one crutch to take the stress from his damaged ankle, and sighted in on the supply room door. He tried desperately to look merely like a patient ambling down the hall to build up stamina so that he wouldn't draw attention to himself, and then slipped carefully through the door the moment he figured the coast was clear.
Wearing two hospital gowns, one on normally and the other on backwards, was no way to try to leave the hospital - and there was no way that he was going to remain there any longer now than he absolutely had to. He flipped on the light and headed directly for the stack of folded blues and pulled a shirt and a pair of drawstring pants down for use. He moved quickly, setting the crutch aside and pulling the medical clothing on and then discarding the gowns into a darker corner. He stowed the crutch into the corner too, then found the supply of surgical booties to slip over his one bare foot and the cast on the other foot.
Even dressed more appropriately, he felt dreadfully naked and exposed. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of the hospital - away from the gai-jin law enforcement people and the menacing black bodyguards of Ngawe-sama. Once on the streets, hopefully he could find a supply of even more substancial clothing - and maybe even lower himself to mugging a drunk or two to get the money to make the call back to Japan and get his Yakuza brothers on their way to rescue him.
He'd spent the last day, when not being coddled by the nursing staff on a regular schedule or interrogated yet again by one of the gai-jin lawmen, practicing walking without a crutch. The cast on his foot wasn't meant to be walked on, but that couldn't be helped - it would last for as long as it would, and hopefully out into the greater world and maybe even back to Japan.
Almost ready to try his luck at just walking out the front door, he swept his eye about the tiny room one last time and discovered a real prize - a coat had been hung rather haphazardly from the top of a mop handle. Fujimori shrugged into the garment and smiled. The only thing that could possibly give him away now was his feet, lacking proper shoes beneath the booties. And the best defense against THAT was to simply meet as many of the people he approached as possible with a direct and piercing gaze of his own. Americans liked looking each other in the eye as they walked, he knew - and he could use that trait to his advantage.
He straightened and pulled open the supply room door and walked out brazenly, then turned and headed toward the nurse's station that was situated near the main hall that led all the way to the front lobby. With his head held high, he limped down the hall as if he knew his business, noticing that the others simply moved aside for him as they would for any other. He rounded the corner of the nurse's station and continued toward the front door, his heart pounding hard in his chest and banging painfully against extremely tender ribs.
Almost there.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod looked down at his watch - eight-thirty. It was almost noon back in Delaware, and he had a half-hour yet to wait before he could expect Sam to call again, bringing him up to date on developments there. It was a half-hour before his first appointment at the office as well, he remembered on second thought, and reached out to his coffee mug to finish the last few swallows of the caffeine. The newspaper, which he had long taken time to devour before heading off to work, sat still folded on the kitchen table - nothing in there was of interest, all he could think of was Davy and Parker.
The phone rang, making him jump, and he reached out a hand that was almost shaking in a combination of anticipation and dread for the handset. "Hello?"
"Is this Doctor Jarod Russell?" a terse woman's voice asked immediately.
"Yes," he replied, his anxiety clicking up another notch.
"This is the Child Protective Services Agency. There has been a problem in one of our foster homes, and we noticed that you had applied to become a foster parent to one of the clients placed in that home."
Jarod frowned. "Which home?" he asked, now suddenly very focused. Ginger?
"The home of a Susan Thatcher," the woman replied, obviously looking down at a paper. "There was a domestic disturbance and the police were called. Mrs. Thatcher was booked on assault and the children in her care were moved to a secured facility temporarily. Since you have expressed interest in one of the children, we thought we might expedite some of the paperwork and do the in-home interview and assessment as soon as possible, with an eye to placing the child with you within twenty-four to thirty-six hours." The woman paused, as if wondering something. "Would you consider taking more than one child..."
"I don't think so," Jarod answered quickly. "I can handle taking care of one child while at work - more than that would be impractical."
The woman sighed. "Very well, it never hurts to ask, though... We've so few quality foster homes to begin with..."
"So when do you want to do this?" Jarod decided to cut to the chase. If his schedule for the day was going to be completely trashed, starting the rescheduling process as soon as possible would be necessary.
"How does two o'clock this afternoon sound to you?"
Jarod nodded. That gave him plenty of time to rearrange things. "I'll be here then." He thought a moment. "How is Ginger? Was she hurt in this “domestic dispute”?"
"I have no report of any major injuries to any of the children," the CPS representative replied, obviously shuffling papers, "but I'm assuming that whatever happened involved at least one of the children."
"If I pass muster, when can I expect Ginger to be placed with me?" he inquired, leaning his brow into his fingers. This new development probably meant that there was no way that he could fly to Delaware to help out with the search for Davy. For the first time, he began to question his resolution to bring another child into his family situation.
"We don't like to keep the children in the secured facility any longer than necessary," the woman replied. "It isn't a healthy environment for them to be spending much time at all except under the most extraordinary circumstances. With any luck at all, Ginger could be placed with you by tomorrow noon. We still do need to make sure that we're placing her in a safe and supportive situation before that, however."
"Understood. Thank you." Jarod nodded.
"Good day, Dr. Russell." The woman hung up.
Jarod sighed and rose to his feet. His day just got more complicated. But he no more than got three steps from the table than the phone was ringing again. "What?" he answered slightly more abruptly this time.
"Jarod, this is Sam."
The Pretender retraced his steps to the table and sat down quickly. "Talk to me, Sam."
"I can't talk long - she's got me handing over Flores and the other mutineer to the feds as soon as Gillespie gets here. But she wanted me to tell you to sit tight, that she'd be calling you this evening and laying everything out for you."
"Damn it," Jarod swore. "Do you have any idea how hard it is just to sit tight, Sam?"
Sam's voice softened considerably. "You're doing a helluva lot better job at it that I would be in your place, Lab-rat," he admitted with a voice that shimmered with sincerity. "And there has been some information uncovered - still very iffy. Our, uh, “interrogation” of the one who ordered this mess was fruitful."
"As long as it was painful as well," Jarod grumbled, wishing he could have been there to add his own pressure.
"Trust me," Sam said with a particularly cold tone, "the man was NOT comfortable with the process."
"So, what did you find out?"
"I'll let Miss Parker tell you that, Jarod." Sam waved his hand to the FBI agent in charge who had stuck his head around the corner of the door, beckoning him into his tiny office. "Gillespie's here - I gotta go."
"No, wait! How's Sydney?"
"They did surgery on his knee this morning - Miss Parker and Kevin have already left to go pick him up in Dover." Sam watched the FBI agent calmly take a seat, unfortunately making it unwise to pass along some of the other information that Jarod really needed to hear. "Tell ya what - if you still want answers after you talk to Miss Parker this evening, give me a call. Not too late, mind you..."
"You can count on it, Sam," Jarod informed him very quietly. "Tell me one thing, and then I'll let you go."
"You got it."
"How good are our chances of getting Davy and Deb back?"
Sam was quiet for long enough that Jarod's heart began to pound. "Depends. I'll talk to you later." The Security Chief reluctantly hung up on the desperate man and smiled at the FBI agent. "Have we got something for YOU!"
~~~~~~~~
Miss Parker smiled coldly as the most senior sweeper from the car that had followed her closely from Blue Cove jumped from the vehicle and opened the door to her brand-new Mercedes. This escort had presented themselves in the parking garage and made a point of explaining to her that their presence was non-negotiable - the Security Chief had told them in no uncertain terms that they were to stick to her like glue. Miss Parker had sighed and climbed into the car, knowing that if she tried to argue, she would lose. Sam had tried to place an escort with her before and she'd declined - and look what had happened.
"Just keep a few paces back, gentlemen," she ordered briskly while waiting for Kevin to join her. She glanced at the young man. "Ready?"
"Yes, Miss Parker," he responded softly. This daughter of the mentor had been very uncommunicative in the car, and driven VERY fast down the highway to Dover. Her mood impenetrable, he had simply settled down to appreciate the obvious skill she wielded so easily in guiding her car around the curves. Miss Parker intimidated him at normal times - since the kidnapping, he hadn't known what to make of her. He couldn't imagine how any mother could function with the cold efficiency that she was demonstrating when so much in doubt of the fate of her young child.
"C'mon then," she waved impatiently and set off at a very brisk pace toward the front doors of the hospital. She knew eventually that Kevin had trotted briefly to catch back up with her - and that the sweeper team behind her had come swiftly behind, with trench coats billowing in the breeze.
She was halfway across the lobby floor when the incongruous sight of a man in blue medical scrubs and a grubby coat caught at the edge of her vision. She turned and looked - and skidded to a stop. "You!" she sighed as the man looked her in the eye - and blanched.
Fujimori felt his triumph at nearly making it outdoors without a single challenge pop like a fragile soap bubble. Miss Parker had recognized him - as well she should. He had been present when she'd been introduced to the younger Tanaka and at every interview when the elder Tanaka had been present as well. It had been his job to ever so subtlely throw the two younger scions of power together, in the hopes that a stronger allegiance between Centre and Yakuza could be forged from the union. "Parker-san," he sighed in defeat, coming to a halt and bowing.
"Where the hell do you think YOU'RE going?" she asked in cold, hiss-filled Japanese.
He could read the obvious answer to her question in her ice storm grey eyes. "I'm no longer certain," he admitted back. The gods had truly deserted him, to see him this close to freedom only to put him back under the jurisdiction of someone other than Yakuza.
"Chet," Miss Parker crooked a finger at one of the sweepers behind her, "take this man out to your car and make him comfortable. He'll be coming back to the Centre with us."
"Yes, ma'am," the ex-football lineman said immediately and then came up to take the Japanese man's arm.
"Don't let him fool you," Parker cautioned her sweeper. "He's a martial arts expert and high man on the Yakuza totem pole. He's not delicate, and he's not helpless. He's dangerous, understand?"
Chet dropped the man's arm and simply gestured for the man to lead the way into the parking lot. With a quick glare that Miss Parker would expose his abilities in that manner, Fujimori once more began limping in the direction the big man indicated.
Miss Parker watched them for a moment, then turned back to Kevin. "Let's go get Sydney," she said with little inflection and once more set a brisk pace into the hospital.
~~~~~~~~
The aging brown Cadillac sedan pulled to a stop in front a dilapidated old ranch house, and the dust that had been stirred up in its arrival swirled lazily in the early morning sun. "This is the place," Duncan announced as he climbed from behind the wheel.
"Ain't nobody gonna find us here," Cordoba pronounced with some satisfaction as he climbed out of the passenger seat and peered around him the barren and desiccated landscape. "This is way the Hell-and-gone out in the middle of Nowhere."
"You didn't believe me," Duncan accused sarcastically.
"I was too tired to know what to believe, cabrón," the Hispanic bristled back. "Is it open?"
"Nope," Duncan shook his head and tossed his confederate the key ring. "I may be dumb, but I ain't stupid. I put a new Schlage lock on this place just before I picked you up to come back East with me. Hurry it up, so you can help me with these two."
Cordoba obediently trotted up on the creaking porch and slid the newest looking key into the ridiculously shiny doorknob assembly, then pushed the door open with a loud and complaining creak to expose the darkness within. He looked around inside for a moment then walked back to the car. "Real luxury digs you got here, Andy."
"Good enough for what we need to do," Duncan said with a nonchalant shrug, then caught the keys the Hispanic tossed back at him and opened the trunk. He looked down into wide grey eyes in the boy that blinked in the sudden sun and a pair of cerulean blues in the girl. "You take the girl, I got the kid. Follow me."
"I am so there," Cordoba grinned like a kid given a treat while he waited for Duncan to sling the boy over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "It's just you and me, honey," he said in a low voice with a simmering hot gaze that swept down Deb's body like a wash of acid, and she flinched as she felt him reach for her and submit her to similar treatment that Davy had gotten. "Don't worry none, though, I'll have you real comfortable in a moment, sweet thing," her captor told her, putting an overly warm hand on her buttock and running it slowly down her thigh.
Deb was in a position where the only thing she could do was watch the heels of the man's feet flip up in her direction with every step he took with eyes that had quickly filled with tears of fear and loathing. Just having him touch her made her feel dirty, and from what he was saying to her, touching sounded like the least he intended for her. She moaned her protest and began to struggle a little, only to find herself swatted rather harshly on the butt by his big hand and then have it thrust between her legs to get a more secure hold on her.
"You just keep on like that, baby," her captor said in that low and dangerously dirty voice of his. "I like it when they struggle and scream." His other hand caught at the back of her legs and gave that invasive hand the freedom to wander... into private places that made her squeak protest again. "Just you wait, sweet thing - we're gonna have us some FUN..."
Deb's protest moan ended in a terrified squeak
~~~~~~~~
"Good morning, Ethan."
Ethan looked up from his coffee into the face of his foster mother. "Morning, Mom." He looked back down into the dark brew and continued stirring it slowly and systematically. Jarod was right - the figure eight was infinity turned on end.
Margaret moved behind her foster son and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You look like you didn't sleep well. I heard you talking on the phone late last night. Is everything alright?"
Ethan let go of the spoon and let it clatter against the side of the coffee cup with a ceramic tinkle. "Not exactly," he admitted.
"What is it, son," she pressed gently, ruffling his hair and then shuffling behind him for a coffee cup of her own on slippered feet. "One of your patients?"
"No." He debated how to break the news to her. "There were some problems back East last night - serious ones."
Margaret's eyes narrowed. "I'm getting so DAMNED tired of every conversation in this family starting to be about Delaware or the people there," she spat as she seated herself across the table from her foster son. "You'd think they'd be able to take care of their own problems without calling here and bothering..."
"They didn't call, Mom." Ethan closed his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood for this - the voices had been worrying in the back of his mind at him about his half-sister for the greater share of the night. "I... just knew..."
"Knew what?" She sipped at her coffee, utterly unaffected. "Did poor little Miss Parker stub her toe or something?"
"Stop it." Ethan looked up at her with his chocolate brown eyes - so like his older brother - filled with frustration. "You keep forgetting that she's my half-sister - that I care about her too." He picked up his spoon and began the stirring process again. "Besides, considering what did happen, you'd think you'd be a little more understanding."
"What did happen, then? Stop being so mysterious and melodramatic!" she sighed with her own frustration.
"Her son was kidnapped."
Margaret stared at her younger son. Of all the possible answers she had quickly entertained, this was the last one she expected. "Jarod's son?"
"Parker's boy IS Jarod's son, Mom. Remember?"
"My grandson?" The hand holding her coffee cup trembled visibly.
"Yeah." Ethan looked down again. "Davy and another girl - the daughter of a friend - were both taken."
"My..." Margaret's blue eyes glazed in panic. "Does... does Jarod know?"
"Yeah. He was pretty upset." Ethan had been debating calling his brother to see if he'd had any news yet, and figured if there had been any, Jarod would have called HIM. "I don't know that he might not be getting ready to go back to help with the search."
"Go back... THERE?" Margaret was aghast. "But... he can't..."
"If it was your son, wouldn't YOU want to go back and help?" Ethan shot at her pointedly.
She frowned, her blue eyes clear and accusing. "Of course I would. But..."
Ethan picked up the coffee cup and took a long drink of the tepid liquid before rising and dumping the rest into the sink and rinsing the cup. "Jarod feels exactly like that," he told her archly. "And Parker... I can feel her despair. She's terrified that she'll never see her son again."
"Now she'll know what I felt like all those years," Margaret blurted out.
He pinned her with those eloquent dark eyes of his. "Helluva way to get payback, Mom," he commented bitterly, then reached for his sports jacket. "I'm off to work."
Margaret looked away and didn't say anything more while he stomped from the kitchen and then from the house. She just stared into her coffee cup.
Another family member, stolen! Surely the Centre... She caught herself. Davy was right there with his mother intimately involved with the Centre - supposedly running the place. She wouldn't have stolen her own son. But if not the Centre, then who...
~~~~~~~~
Duncan led the way down the short hall and kicked open one of the bedroom doors. He bent and let Davy's body roll from him and thud painfully into the dusty carpet that covered the long-abandoned floor. "Bring her in here," he called to Cordoba, then frowned when he hear noises from the next room. He shook his finger at Davy's wide eyes. "Stay put," he ordered and went hunting for his associate.
"Oh lookie what we got here!" Cordoba said as he bent over Deb's form and began unbuttoning the pajama top she was wearing to expose her chest. "Cute little thing, aren't you?" he grinned at her with a thoroughly chilling expression in his eyes before he grasped a breast in each hand and squeezed them hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Holding her frightened gaze in his, he lowered his mouth down to nip hard at one of the tight little nipples painfully and then lick the trickle of blood with a lazy tongue. His smile grew as he saw the tears begin to trickle down the side of her face. "And what else do you suppose we got here to play with?" he asked and reached for the elastic of her pajama trousers.
"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Duncan barked at him, then surged forward to drag him back and away from the trembling girl on the floor, who then tried to roll away from them both.
"Fuck off, Andy. It's been a long time, and El Guapo doesn't intend to go unsatisfied much longer," Cordoba shook off Duncan's hand on his arm.
"You pick her up and bring her in with the boy right now," Duncan ordered in a low and dangerous voice that Cordoba had heard only once or twice before - and then only before the men being spoken to had gotten themselves seriously messed up. "We haven't got time for this shit."
Cordoba glared at his confederate, then reached for the girl with rough hands. "We'll continue this in a bit, sweet thing," he promised her coldly, then hefted her over his shoulder again with a hand conveniently and lewdly inserted between her thighs again. This time he dumped her on the floor with deliberate disregard. Deb's head hit the thinly carpetted surface hard and was knocked unconscious again. Cordoba grinned maliciously at the little boy lying a short distance away, whose eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of the girl's attire being so disassembled and leaving her so exposed. "Look your fill, kid," he growled and then ran his hands over her breasts and body again, moving beneath elastic.
"Move it, asshole," Duncan grabbed Cordoba's shirt collar and hauled him erect again. "Get back out to the car."
"Go take a flyin' leap, goddammit. I moved her, like you said." Cordoba squared off with Duncan dangerously. "But I done told you, I want me a piece of this white meat - and I ain't leavin' without..."
"If you want to get your money, you'll do as I say," Duncan interrupted with a shrug. "So just keep it going with this little bitch, and I'll leave your ass behind out here while you're doing her. Tell me, cabrón, you wanna WALK all the way back into town?"
Davy watched as the expression on the face of the man that had been mauling Deb flowed through several ugly and negative emotions to reluctant capitulation. "You gonna owe me," Cordoba spat as he finally began moving to do as he was asked.
"Shit - you got twenty large coming atcha for doin' this MY way," Duncan reminded him pointedly and pointed toward the front door. "You and I can discuss what can and can't happen to the bitch outside." He cast an eye down at the terrified boy on the floor. "Or the kid. God knows we've had our share of both kinds in our time..."
Cordoba's glare slowly eased until he was almost smiling again. "Now you're talkin'," he stated cautiously and moved more willingly toward the bedroom door.
Duncan leaned down. "Good night, kid," he said in an almost conversational tone, and then balled up his fist and hit him.
~~~~~~~~
"Guess it's a good thing that I've been gone long enough that I still don't have a full day's schedule yet, eh?" Jarod commented, peering over Cindy's shoulder at his appointment calendar for the day.
"Not that I haven't been trying to fill your day, Doctor Jarod," she shrugged, an act that set the beads in her hair to swaying slightly.
"Just keep this afternoon clear," Jarod chuckled at her as he straightened. "I have some official business at home I have to take care of." He looked up as Ethan came through the front door of the office. "There you are."
"Hey there!" Ethan eyed his older brother carefully. The signs of worry and stress were readily apparent - Jarod probably had gotten little if any sleep after their last phone call. "Any news?"
Jarod shook his head silently. "None to speak of. Sam told me that Missy would call and bring me up to speed this evening." He moved from behind the desk and toward his office door. "I hate just sitting around and waiting."
"I figured I'd find you in here completely clearing your calendar again so that you could make a mad dash back East again," Ethan admitted.
"Can't," Jarod told him tersely. "Between your gut feeling and a call from Child Protective Services earlier, I have to stay here at least another day."
"CPS?" Ethan was confused. "What the Hell did THEY want?"
Jarod's face grew stony. "Seems the cops got called out to a domestic disturbance at the Thatcher home - and the kids all got themselves jerked into temporary shelter. Since my application in regards to Ginger is already going through channels..."
"You gonna take that little girl, Doctor Jarod?" Cindy chirped from behind the desk. "Way to go!"
"Don't start the cheering yet," Jarod said, aiming his words as much at her as his brother. "They're doing the in-home interview and inspection this afternoon. If - and only if - I pass muster, then I may have custody by tomorrow sometime."
"Have you discussed Ginger with Parker yet?" Ethan asked quietly, taking Jarod's arm and pulling him into his own office.
"Some... she wasn't overly thrilled..." Jarod admitted. "And now, with the stuff going on with Davy and Deb, this isn't going to be the time to open the subject."
"And you're going ahead anyway?"
Jarod peered intently into eyes of the same liquid chocolate brown as his own. "She needs a safe home, Ethan - mine or someone else's that I'll find for her later. But she's out of that dragon lady's den at least. I suppose you should call and see if you can get into the shelter to do an assessment on her - the abrupt move probably hasn't done her any good."
"You're changing the subject, big brother," Ethan informed him with eyebrows raised.
"You noticed," Jarod quipped back tiredly. "I can't step back - not now."
"Even for Davy?"
"Hell!" Jarod exploded. "Nobody's telling me anything, Ethan! I don't know what information they managed to get out of Flores - only that they got some. I don't know what they did to get it, only that it wasn't pleasant for the jerk - which is better than he would have had if I'd been there!" He threw up his hands and headed for his desk. "I've got you giving me hunches that I'd be in the best position to help by staying right here - and now I've got CPS ready to give me my little girl ahead of schedule."
"YOUR little girl?" Ethan repeated with dramatic emphasis, and Jarod settled himself into his chair with a tired flop. "And “ahead of schedule?” How carefully have you SIMmed things through? Did you get anywhere with it last night after I talked to you?"
"No." The admission was both reluctant and frustrated.
"Well, I took care of one problem for you this morning." Ethan decided he'd best let his brother know of the conversation he'd had with his mother - in case Margaret took it into her head to call the office.
"What was that?"
"I told Mom what was going on."
"Oh great." Jarod's tone was anything but thrilled.
"Give her a chance," Ethan suggested quietly. "It took her aback a bit to think that her other grandson was the one who was stolen this time. I honestly think that maybe this will be the key to her accepting the inevitable. She's talked to Davy, you know..."
"I know. I just don't think the idea of a grandson will balance against all the resentment and anger she feels toward Missy and all the rest back there." Jarod sighed. "I'm afraid that in the end I'll have to make a choice between my mom and my own family with Missy and Davy and Ginger - and at that point, you KNOW what my choice will be."
"We'll see," Ethan turned and opened the office door. "She feels the ties of blood just as much as you ever did, big brother. Give her a chance to have that reality settle in." He stepped aside to allow Jarod's first little patient through and then smiled at his own patient coming down the hallway. "Jimmy! Good to see you!"
~~~~~~~~
Jay stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee before he noticed his mom sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space. "Mom?" he asked, suddenly very concerned. "Mom? You OK?"
Margaret shook her head. "I don't think so," she told her youngest and then leaned her chin into the palm of her hand.
"What's wrong?" Jay seated himself just around the corner of the table from her and put a comforting hand on her upper arm. "Talk to me, Mom - you're scaring me."
She turned confused blue eyes to him. "Am I wrong to want to keep my family together?"
"No, of course not. What the Hell is going on?" he responded immediately.
"Jarod's little boy has been stolen - and it wasn't the Centre." She shook her head as soon as she finished the sentence. "I can hardly believe..."
"What do you mean, his son has been stolen?" Jay frowned and moved back, picking up his hot coffee and taking a good sip and grimacing as the hot liquid nearly scalded his tongue. "Who told you this?"
"Ethan. He said that Jarod is on the verge of taking off to go back there and help with the search." Margaret picked up her own coffee cup and sipped at it, apparently not tasting the brew at all. She didn't notice the expression of frustrated sympathy that crossed her son's face.
"Are you surprised?" he asked her gently.
"On one level, no," she admitted. "As a matter of fact, on that level, I'd be willing to forget that I despise his mother for as long as it would take to get him back. But..." She looked up again, and this time her eyes were swimming. "I can't get past the idea that this is just another step away - that everything that happens that concerns those people back there, for good or ill, pulls Jarod away from me that much faster."
"Mom," Jay sighed, "you know you can't hang onto him forever."
"But it's so far away - Delaware," she complained.
"It's where Miss Parker and his son are," he reminded her gently. "We're his family, but they're his family too now."
"Am I being selfish?" she asked tearfully. "I just want to keep things... Charles hasn't even been dead..."
"Mom," Jay stood and moved to bend over her and give her a hug. "I'm going off to school in just a day or so - and you never know where I'll end up working once I finish my dissertation. None of us are little kids to have hang onto your hand or skirt when we cross streets anymore." He kissed her cheek gently and then sat down again. "I hate to say it, but if Jarod decides he needs to go back and help look for the boy, I can't think of much by way of argument to keep him here." He gazed at her gently. "When Jarod was stolen, YOU tried everything to stay where you needed to in order to find him, didn't you?"
"Until the Centre made Charles and me split up, yes," she admitted. "And then I had Em to take care of all by myself - so I had to find a hole and crawl into it until she was old enough that I could start to look again."
"We've had seven years as a complete family," Jay told her softly. "And we're not looking over our shoulders anymore. Even if Jarod goes to the other side of the country, nothing says that he won't come back to visit - or have you over there to visit..."
"I don't want to go back there," she interrupted with a sour look. "I never want to set foot in Delaware again."
"Even if it meant you'd never get to meet your other grandson?" Jay tossed out the pointed question and let it set without adding to it.
Margaret settled her chin back into her hand. "What if my grandson is dead, Jay? What if the ones who took him never intend to give him back?"
"Jarod seems to love Miss Parker as much as Dad ever loved you. Would you really force him to stay away from her at this time?"
"I hate this..." Margaret mused in frustrated sullenness.
Jay reached out and patted her upper arm against sympathetically and rose to get himself some breakfast.
~~~~~~~~
Davy rolled onto his side and then opened his eyes and groaned at the pounding headache that had been triggered by even that little movement. Deb was still asleep or unconscious - he wasn't sure which - lying on her side just a few paces away. The boy pushed himself painfully up on an elbow and looked around him. The light, stronger than he remembered, was streaming in a rather dirty-looking window with the tattered remains of flimsy curtains hanging forlornly askew.
The room was unfurnished, and the floor was wooden with a thin carpet covering that was worn in places, showing the raw wood beneath. The door was an unfinished and old-fashioned looking casement door that was shut - Davy suspected it to be locked. It smelled of old dust and dirt, and the silence was profound. He could hear nothing - nothing from outside, no voices from elsewhere in the house. He listened harder for any sign that their kidnappers were close, but all he could finally discern was the buzz of lazy insects somewhere.
He lay his head back down on the dusty carpet and closed his eyes to think for a minute. What would be the best move for him to make at first? If anything were to be done, he'd have to be able to communicate with Deb - so getting the duct tape away from their mouths would be first priority. Once they could talk, they could begin to cooperate. That was it then.
With movements that reminded him of the way a snake would crawl across the ground, he scooted himself over to Deb's side and then past her head until his hands behind his back were even with her face. Then, moving back carefully, he reached out his imprisoned fingers until he had a small purchase on the duct tape that covered her mouth and pulled hard.
That woke her up. Deb jerked back and away from Davy's fingers, but as she came awake realized what he was up to and moved back to where he could again grab the tape and pull as she jerked back again. The tape didn't come completely off, but it peeled back and away from her mouth far enough that she could speak. "OK - roll over and let me do the same for you," she directed with a dry whisper.
Both did their share of squirming, and then tugging. Finally Davy's gag was peeled back away from his mouth as well. "You OK?" Deb asked him.
"Yeah. You?"
"Swell," she answered dryly, looking down at her disarranged clothing and deciding she could do nothing at the moment to protect her modesty. Her mind rebelled utterly at the idea of contemplating the reason behind her disarray. "Are they gone?"
"I think so," Davy answered after another listen. "I can't hear anything but bugs."
"Where are we, do you think?"
"California..." Davy said rolling so that he could look his unofficial cousin in the face.
"California!" Deb was agape. "How did you know?"
"I heard them talking earlier, when we got on the plane," he explained quickly.
"God, Davy, what are we going to do?" Deb asked in a dry voice made shaky with fear. "What are they going to do with us?" That question was asked even more softly as she remembered the feel of that man's hands on her body and the way he'd looked at her...
"Look, we can't give up. Grandpa always told me that as long as I used my mind creatively, I would never be helpless," Davy repeated the words that had been the bulwark of his grandfather's “games,” finding the memory of his grandfather's gently accented cliché oddly comforting and encouraging. "We have to use our heads, and we have to be ready to act when the time comes."
"Yeah, well I doubt Grandpa expected us to be hog-tied with duct tape when he told you that," Deb commented in a brittle whisper. "What is there to think about other than the fact that we're trapped here - and..." No, she really didn't want to think of what that man had obviously intended for her.
"We're only trapped as long as we're tied up," Davy said in a determined voice. "But if we work together, we can get out of this just like we got that tape off our faces."
"Davy, what if they come back?" Deb asked quietly.
"We still have the tape on our faces. If we move our heads properly, we can push it back so that it looks like it did before we messed with it. But we need to get loose now. Roll over and see if you can pick at the end of the tape and get my hands loose."
"Why don't you see if you can pick at the end of the tape on my hands?" she asked perversely.
"Because you're the one with fingernails like claws," Davy retorted, reminding her of one of their long-ago fights and the scratch that she'd given him that had earned her a stern chewing-out from every adult in her family. "I bite mine, remember?"
"I don't know that this is going to work, Davy," she commented warily even as she rolled as he had suggested. "They make jokes about how duct tape is like The Force and holds the universe together."
"C'mon. If it can be put on, it can be taken off again," Davy stated solemnly. "I can see it in my mind. Try, Deb. Right now, I really don't think we have anything to lose."
And he could begin to feel her fingers traveling over the span of duct tape that held his wrists together, searching for that end that could be pulled or picked at.
~~~~~~~~
Jack Crandall picked up the phone. "FBI, Crandall..."
"Jack, it's Tom Gillespie."
The blonde agent leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his crew-cut hair. "Tom! Twice in so many days has GOT to be a record! What's up?"
"Did you guys finish the raid on the Centre offices there yet?" Gillespie stared out the window of his office at the street, trying to imagine...
Crandall looked around himself at the pile of plastic and cardboard boxes - not to mention the computer sitting in the forensics lab down the hall. "You oughta SEE the stuff we pulled from that place, Tommy! Seems this guy, Flores? He was up to his elbows in junk that falls under RICO and a whole lot of other categories. He was about as dirty as... Say!" Crandall sat up and leaned on his desk. "Word has it that the one to turn him in was his boss back East. That true?"
"Gospel, Jack. But listen, I have something else for you while you sift through the paperwork..."
"Lay it on me."
Gillespie looked down into the folder that he now held. "We've got a kidnap situation here. Information received through an independent interrogation suggests that the victims have been transported out your way."
"Who are the vics?" Crandall began taking notes.
"First one is Deborah Ann Broots, age 19, Caucasian female, blonde, blue eyes, five foot three inches, one hundred and fifteen pounds, last seen wearing pajamas - no description of clothing other than that. Second victim is David Thomas Parker, age 8, Caucasian male, dark brown, grey eyes, approximately four feet, eighty pounds, last seen wearing Spiderman pajamas. Both were taken from Blue Cove, Delaware last night between midnight and two AM." Gillespie put down the paper he was reading from. "The Parker boy is the son of the head of the Centre - seems the kidnap was an extortion attempt to force her into resigning her position."
"What about the perps?"
"We got two names for you that should ring a few bells. Andrew Duncan, age 37, white male, brown hair and eyes, five foot ten, two hundred pounds give or take..." Gillespie was reading from his report again.
"I remember that one," Crandall interrupted, picking up some of the initial information from the Centre office that he was just beginning to sift through. "Duncan - isn't that Flores' second in command?"
"You got it. The other one is Jesús Cordoba, 32, Hispanic male, black hair and eyes, five foot eight, two hundred twenty-five pounds, out on parole for assault. Scuttlebutt from our sources say that these two together are a very bad pair - angels they ain't."
Crandall nodded. "Both of 'em from these parts?"
"Yup," Gillespie nodded too. "Duncan used to run with a gang called the X-14's, and Cordoba's Mexican Mob - he belongs to a group that calls themselves “Los Cabrones” or something like that."
"Oh, THEM." Crandall began to chuckle. "We got ourselves a whole pack of those turkeys locked up in the county jail, you know - they were the ones who came for that shipment of dope we cornered in Long Beach the other night."
"I have a feeling that we're about to understand just how intertwined all that crap has been all these years," Gillespie commented dryly. "Anyway, the one lead we have is that Duncan inherited a ranch out somewhere around Victorville. Chances are that's where he's stashed the Parker boy and the Broots girl."
"I'll have my men out there checking it out right away," Crandall was already waving to one of his other agents. "Duncan didn't mastermind this, did he?"
"Nope," Gillespie answered. "Flores is behind this too, along with all the stuff you're going to be charging him with once you finish your bedtime reading."
"I'll call you the minute I have news from Victorville."
"Good. I have a very worried mother here who doesn't deserve this." Gillespie had seen Miss Parker in the parking garage as he and several other agents had been escorting Flores and Berringer out to the cars. She had been pale and very, very tightly controlled - far colder and brutally efficient than she had been any of the other times they had spoken - and was accompanied by a pair of bodyguards husky enough to make even the FBI agent nervous. Obviously she had been spooked by the kidnapping and was taking no more chances with her personal safety.
Berringer had kept his gaze on the ground, but Flores had begun ranting the moment he laid eyes on her. He'd had the nerve to accuse her of torturing him for information - a charge that was so patently ridiculous as to not even merit consideration. A slightly red spot on the forehead and a couple of bug bites on the leg was simply not enough to rattle anybody's cage. She hadn't even acknowledged the commotion, and Gillespie had taken great pleasure in shoving a still ranting Flores into the back of his car and slamming the door on the sound of whining. Then and only then had Gillespie's eyes connected with Miss Parker's, and he had been amazed at the pain that floated behind that tight control.
"Understood. Talk to you in a few," Crandall disconnected the call and handed his notes to the young black agent who had approached at his superior's beckon. "Run this guy, find out all the property he owns out in the Victorville area. We have us a probable kidnapping in progress here..."
Chapter 10: No Respite
"Uncle!" Siskele barged straight into Ngawe's new hospital room without the courtesy of knocking. "I heard stories..."
"Get out!" the elderly African barked at the candy-striper replacing the ice water in his pitcher and replenishing the water for the flowers in the room. "Go!" he ordered, unmoved by her sudden doe-in-the-headlights expression. The girl rushed from the room, and he pointed to the door. "Close that!" His nephew hastened to do as he asked. "Where were you?" Ngawe demanded as soon as the door was shut. "We expected you..."
"We had to present our passports and identification at the entrance of the hospital, Uncle," Siskele related to the older man defensively. "AND we had to leave our weapons elsewhere. The government agents were frisking everyone entering."
"You mean you are unarmed?" Ngawe was incensed. "How can we expect to stay safe if our guards..."
"You have two federal agents standing guard just outside the door," Siskele told him in a slightly quieter voice. "They are checking the identification of all who even walk past in the hallway."
"It was a Yakuza move," Ngawe told his nephew in a calmer tone, keeping an eagle eye on the door in case another FBI agent was going to barge through. "We want additional security men brought in from Nairobi - we want all collected information on the Yakuza and it's global holdings. We are not going to rest..."
"Uncle," Siskele put up a hand. "I heard from Nairobi this morning. Agunde and M'basa are hearing from the Nigerian consortium that they would like to strip you of your position and select a new representative to the Triumvirate. Word of your raids on Yakuza holdings has reached Africa, and the consortium as a whole disagrees with the wisdom of your actions."
"We do not need permission," Ngawe bellowed, "We ARE the Triumvirate!"
"Last week, the Yakuza have closed the Japanese ports to all our shipments. That's enough to make the whole consortium sit up and take notice, Uncle. It's enough to get them to vote you out of office - or have you assassinated, if that's what it would take to calm things down and get back to business as usual." Siskele didn't like finding himself in the position of messenger of bad news, but he hoped that his inside scoop on what was going on at home would wake his uncle up in time before the man lost all prestige. Shipments of ivory and other delicate commodities - like diamonds - into Asia has been the backbone of Triumvirate revenue, AND it has been a cooperative Yakuza-Triumvirate operation for years. The Triumvirate as a whole had lost three hundred million dollars last week in those delayed shipments alone - more than enough to cause more conservative consortium members to consider a power shift in the ruling board.
Ngawe opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it again. "We just HAD a visit last night from an assassin - a Yakuza assassin at that!" he growled, his temper still red-hot. "He killed Ulembe without even batting an eye, leaving him to drown in his own blood and US without means to call for assistance. We have never been so..."
Siskele closed his eyes and decided that he'd best just hand over the rest of the bad news now rather than later. "Agunde has requested a meeting with the Yakuza Council of Clans, and he has M'basa's tacit approval of his plan..."
"He's done WHAT?" the elderly man bellowed again. "Without our permission?"
"Uncle, your war of revenge is endangering profits on all sides!" Siskele cried. "Our own people are beginning to worry that you endanger the consortium."
"Weaklings!" Ngawe pounded the mattress at his side impotently. "And here we sit while the spineless fools in Africa go hat in hand to the Asian devils that did us such grievous injury!" He glared up at his nephew. "And where is our ambassador? We demanded that he attend us immediately."
The younger man shook his head. "Ambassador Adinde sent his regrets and declines to come. He recommends that you find yourself a good American lawyer."
Ngawe stared up into the ebony eyes of his younger brother's son in consternation. "But we were promised immunity..." His nephew had nothing to say, and silence spoke eloquently of the value of politically motivated promises.
The old arms dealer pushed back into his pillows in agitation. He knew better than anyone the power that was vested in the titular head of the Triumvirate, and just how easily that power could be wrested away if the consortium as a whole so decided. All Triumvirate heads, from long since before the banker M'tumbo who had built the consortium into such a well-funded power broker, had never lost sight of that fact. He refused to be the first to make such a fatal mistake, Nor did he intend to be the first to end up behind American prison bars.
"Send a message to Nairobi. Tell them... we give permission for this meeting with the Yakuza. We want the name of the assassin that invaded our room last night, but other than that, we will consider the other matter..." He breathed in and sighed in very reluctant acquiescence, "...closed." He looked at his nephew sharply. "For all intents and purposes, that is. And do your homework, and find us a good lawyer."
~~~~~~~~
Stewart Berringer stared in uneasy concern at the huge man who had invaded his Centre accommodations that morning. Sam had a sweeper standing at the door while he had dragged a chair over to face the uncomfortable cot, which was the only other place to sit in the room besides on the open-to-the-world toilet. "I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated.
"I think you do," Sam replied in a dark tone that told the Nevadan that there was very little patience in the man to squander. "Duncan was your man - Raines had him sent to Flores. Flores reports that he was more than just a good sweeper for you, that you just kept him on the books that way."
"Gil Flores is..."
"...sorry he ever decided to cross swords with us, trust me," Sam finished with a thoroughly threatening grin. "Would you like to experience some of the interesting methods that we used on him to get him to talk?"
Something in the sparkle that suddenly lit the Delaware Security Chief's eyes made a cold shiver run down the former supervisor's spine. "No, thank you, I think I'd rather not," he answered as evenly as he could.
"Then I suggest that you begin to talk to me," Sam stretched back in his chair. "I don't have all day - and I assure you, our methods of extracting information are quite efficient and not at all pleasant."
Berringer sighed. "Duncan grew up in the hills of San Bernardino county, not far from Victorville. I can remember him talking about a ranch somewhere in the Victor Valley too - an uncle's place that he inherited, I think. If it's out in the middle of nowhere, it would be ideal for keeping hostages isolated and easy to guard."
"Talk to me about his gang connections."
"Mexican mob mostly, although he did run with the X-14's for a few years before he beat up his brother and landed in jail." Berringer shuddered. Sam was extremely well-informed for someone LOOKING for information. "What the Hell have Flores and Duncan done this time?"
Sam blinked. "What do you mean, THIS time?"
Berringer looked at the ex-sweeper in surprise. "You know so much already, I'm surprised you didn't already have this in your dossier on them - Flores and Duncan and a real low-life from a group called Los Cabrones used to be known in local circles as the Three Unholy Musketeers. They'd get bored, drive into Hollywood, go down near Hollywood and Vine, pick up a few hookers and... well... let's just say that most of the girls they picked up weren't in any shape to make much money when they were through with them."
"Shit!" Sam shuddered. And two of these monsters had their hands on Deb Broots! "Didn't they ever get caught?"
"Nope." Berringer shook his head. "But Raines knew about their exploits - whenever Lyle used to go on a tear and want some of his Asian “meat,” as he called it, Raines would ship him off to LA to oversee some Yakuza dealing and have Duncan or Cordoba go down into Chinatown and..."
"I get the picture!" Sam swallowed hard against the rising bile. Miss Parker had once told him all about her suspicions about her unsavory “twin.” "So where's this Cordoba now?"
"Last I heard he was spending one to five for assault at a state facility - but that was two or three years ago. He could be out now, for all I know..." Berringer glared at his inquisitor. "Now answer MY question: what the Hell has Duncan done?"
"Enough to get himself put behind bars permanently," Sam answered cryptically, "but only if the feds find him before Miss Parker and her Smith & Wesson does..."
~~~~~~~~
"Miss Parker, there's a Doctor Hightower for you on line three," Mei Chiang announced quietly.
"Thank you," she said, glancing over at the silent and dangerous Japanese man sitting like a statue in a chair in front of her desk. He hadn't even twitched to show that he was listening to anything at the moment - he was a study in meditative calm. Not entirely certain whether she should be encouraged or on guard, she pushed at a button on her phone to accept the call. "This is Parker."
"This is Gordon Hightower at Dover General. I'm just calling to let you know that Sydney Green is through his surgery and is now in recovery. The surgery was a success - I'm hoping for a complete recovery of stability and mobility - and he'll be ready for release after about one-thirty or so this afternoon. Will you be picking him up yourself?"
"Yes, of course." Miss Parker blinked and felt a deep pang of guilt that she hadn't even taken the time to worry about Sydney in the hospital again, so busy she'd been trying to get word on where the kidnappers had taken her son. "One-thirty you say?"
"I would like to have you come in a little earlier - say around noon. Dr. Green will be having CPM therapy administered at home during his recovery, and I'll need to instruct whoever will be responsible for his care in the workings of the machine. Will that be you as well?"
"No," she thought quickly. So much for Kevin working out of the Centre... "But I can bring that individual with me when I come."
"Very good," Dr. Hightower sounded satisfied. "I'll be seeing you at around noon then."
"Thank you, Doctor." She disconnected and immediately dialed an extension.
"Yes? Hello?" Kevin sounded as if he wasn't used to answering a telephone.
"It's me," Miss Parker announced very quickly. "Meet me in my office in about a half-hour - they're releasing Sydney and want you to come in early to be trained on the workings of some machine he'll have coming home with him. CPM, I think it was called..."
"Continuous Passive Motion therapy. I've heard of this," Kevin told her. "I'll be ready, Miss Parker." He paused. "Did the doctor say if everything went well?"
She smiled softly. Kevin was so dependent on Sydney at the moment - the two of them had been virtually inseparable since his rescue. "The doctor hopes for a complete recovery."
"Good!" Kevin's voice sounded both relieved and enthusiastic. "I'll be there in just a few minutes then."
She was hanging up the receiver when a sharp knock preceded Sam bursting through her door. "News?" she looked up expectantly.
"Berringer says that Duncan's original stomping grounds is San Bernardino County - around some place named Victorville. Also, seems that he inherited a ranch in the Victor Valley out there - Berringer says that if it's remote enough, it would be ideal for keeping hostages on ice." The ex-sweeper suddenly stopped, noticing for the first time the still Japanese in the chair. "What's this?"
Miss Parker rose. "Sam Atlee, I'd like you to meet Katsuhiro Ikeda, recently with the Yakuza."
Ikeda rose at the mention of his name and turned to bow to the huge man behind him.
Sam moved a little further into the room, feeling as if he needed to somehow move himself between his boss and this quiet man. "We're dealing with Yakuza again?" he asked almost challengingly. "When did we start picking up their rejects?"
"We're NOT dealing with the Yakuza again, Sam, and you know that," Miss Parker snapped at her Security Chief. "Besides, Mr. Ikeda is by no mean a Yakuza reject," she shook her head. "As a matter of fact, put on some decent manners and shake hands with the man that finally did us all a favor and removed Mr. Raines from our world."
"Oh yeah?" Sam turned back to the Japanese with a far less antagonistic expression. "Well, then..." he stuck out his hand and found it shaken with a strong and firm grip. "If Miss Parker didn't say so before, we're grateful. You did everybody a favor."
Ikeda merely bowed over the clasped hands. He had had no idea that the man the Yakuza had wanted removed was so thoroughly disliked even by his gai-jin colleagues. He had known that removing Raines had been essential to Miss Parker's eventual rise to power, but it was beginning to sound like the current administration of the Centre had been languishing under Raines' authority for a long time.
"Mr. Ikeda is a very special person, Sam," Miss Parker continued. "He is ninja - a highly trained assassin."
Sam blinked and turned to his boss sharply. "I thought we were out of that kind of business now," he charged with a slight frown.
"I assure you, I am capable of many things other than the art of killing, Atlee-san," Ikeda answered in softly accented but clear English. "These skills I have offered to Parker-sama, in hopes that she may find use for me."
"Tyler? Could you come in here for a moment, please?" Miss Parker spoke into the telephone receiver and then replaced it when the young man told her he was on his way. "I'm still working on ways to use Mr. Ikeda's unique skills to our best advantage," she told Sam as she motioned him to one of the remaining chairs.
"If you don't mind my saying so," her Security Chief said, taking a chance that this might be one of the few times that she'd actually be open to his idea, "having Mr. Ikeda take personal charge of YOUR safety would make ME feel a lot better."
Another quick knock resounded, and the door to her office pushed open again as Tyler stuck his head through. He took in the group already present. "What's up?" he asked with concern as he moved into the room more fully. "Where's Davy and Deb?" he demanded from Sam.
"According to Berringer, Southern California - either somewhere in the neighborhood of Victorville, or a ranch somewhere in the Victor Valley," Sam responded automatically.
"Gomen nasai, Parker-sama, but you still haven't told me what is going on," Ikeda reminded his new employer carefully. "Someone important is missing? Who are Davy and Deb?"
Miss Parker sighed and motioned to Tyler to take the last empty chair in the room. "You were correct when you speculated that some here at the Centre have not been particularly enthusiastic about the changes I'm trying to implement here, Ikeda-san. Last night, one of them ordered the kidnapping of people important to me personally as leverage to force me to resign my position. My eight-year-old son was taken - along with the daughter of one of my best friends and assistants." She sighed again. "We've just spent the better part of the night trying to find out where they were taken."
Ikeda's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "Do you have the identities of those who hold your son and this girl?"
Tyler leaned forward. "Wait a minute. Who IS this guy?" he demanded. "Why are you telling him everything?"
"Stop it, Tyler, he's with us," Miss Parker snapped at her young assistant, recognizing the defensive tone but having neither the time nor the energy to appreciate it. "Meet a new colleague, Katsuhiro Ikeda. Ikeda-san, this is Cody Tyler, my personal assistant."
Tyler took a moment and then extended his hand to the newcomer. "Sorry, Mr. Ikeda. I'm learning to be extremely cautious nowadays..."
"No offense taken, Tyler-san. Your loyalty to Parker-sama is commendable," Ikeda responded easily with a slight bow from the waist. He returned his calm gaze to his new employer. "Now, I was wondering if you had the identities of the ronin who did this?"
Miss Parker reached out to a conveniently placed folder and removed the photograph that sat in the front. "That man is the one the traitor contacted - his name is Andrew Duncan."
Ikeda took the photograph and studied it closely. "This meeting was a while ago, neh? Mayeda-san has put on several pounds since this was taken."
"Taken last year," Sam answered. "As for the other man, Berringer says that the most likely candidate is a scum named Cordoba from a Mexican gang." He let his dark eyes communicate his very real and sick worry. "You don't WANT to know what Duncan and Flores and Cordoba were best known as, or what they used to do - but leave it to say that they were Lyle's “suppliers” of Asian meats on the West Coast."
Miss Parker blanched and swallowed hard. "Shit!" she whispered, stricken.
"No shit," Sam responded dryly. "We GOTTA get those kids away from them!"
Miss Parker took a deep breath and straightened the cool exterior over her worries again. "We gotta let the FBI take point on this, too," she reminded them all pointedly. "Taking the kids over state lines makes it a federal case. What shape is Flores in - is he ready to turn over to Gillespie?"
Sam's smile was cold and didn't reach his eyes. "The marks on his legs look more like insect bites now than anything else - and his forehead just looks like he's breaking out in a zit."
"What the hell did you do to him?" Tyler asked, looking back and forth between the two.
"You really don't want to know," Miss Parker answered abruptly and turned back to Sam. "Good. Then call Gillespie and tell him who we got and what we got out of him - and give him Berringer for good measure as a material witness." She shook her finger at her Security Chief. "As soon as you have some idea what Gillespie's next move is, I want YOU on the next jet to LA to coordinate FBI involvement with the new Centre satellite staff there. I'll keep Ikeda-san with me here, and I'll stay with Kevin and Sydney, while you're gone - I promise," she conceded when she saw his concern jump at the pending traveling orders. She turned back to Ikeda. "You don't mind playing bodyguard for a while, do you?"
Ikeda bowed deeply from the waist even though he remained seated. "I am your servant in all things, Parker-sama. Use me as you wish."
She nodded, satisfied. "Tyler, I want you conducting in-depth interviews with the rest of our less-enlightened ex-supervisors, just to see if they know anything we haven't already learned from Flores and Berringer. Pass anything you learn along to Gillespie and Sam." Tyler nodded.
"Do you have living arrangements made?" she suddenly asked Ikeda.
"I know of a motel within a reasonable distance from here," the assassin replied. "I stayed there not long ago. I am hoping to get a room there again."
"Fine." Miss Parker looked down at her watch. "I've got to get moving and go to Dover with Kevin to pick up Sydney. Ikeda-san, take care of making whatever living arrangements you feel necessary and be back here, in my office, at three this afternoon." Ikeda bowed. She looked around the room. "That will be all, gentlemen, unless you have anything further to add?"
~~~~~~~~
Fujimori moved carefully down the hospital corridor, putting his weight on the one crutch to take the stress from his damaged ankle, and sighted in on the supply room door. He tried desperately to look merely like a patient ambling down the hall to build up stamina so that he wouldn't draw attention to himself, and then slipped carefully through the door the moment he figured the coast was clear.
Wearing two hospital gowns, one on normally and the other on backwards, was no way to try to leave the hospital - and there was no way that he was going to remain there any longer now than he absolutely had to. He flipped on the light and headed directly for the stack of folded blues and pulled a shirt and a pair of drawstring pants down for use. He moved quickly, setting the crutch aside and pulling the medical clothing on and then discarding the gowns into a darker corner. He stowed the crutch into the corner too, then found the supply of surgical booties to slip over his one bare foot and the cast on the other foot.
Even dressed more appropriately, he felt dreadfully naked and exposed. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of the hospital - away from the gai-jin law enforcement people and the menacing black bodyguards of Ngawe-sama. Once on the streets, hopefully he could find a supply of even more substancial clothing - and maybe even lower himself to mugging a drunk or two to get the money to make the call back to Japan and get his Yakuza brothers on their way to rescue him.
He'd spent the last day, when not being coddled by the nursing staff on a regular schedule or interrogated yet again by one of the gai-jin lawmen, practicing walking without a crutch. The cast on his foot wasn't meant to be walked on, but that couldn't be helped - it would last for as long as it would, and hopefully out into the greater world and maybe even back to Japan.
Almost ready to try his luck at just walking out the front door, he swept his eye about the tiny room one last time and discovered a real prize - a coat had been hung rather haphazardly from the top of a mop handle. Fujimori shrugged into the garment and smiled. The only thing that could possibly give him away now was his feet, lacking proper shoes beneath the booties. And the best defense against THAT was to simply meet as many of the people he approached as possible with a direct and piercing gaze of his own. Americans liked looking each other in the eye as they walked, he knew - and he could use that trait to his advantage.
He straightened and pulled open the supply room door and walked out brazenly, then turned and headed toward the nurse's station that was situated near the main hall that led all the way to the front lobby. With his head held high, he limped down the hall as if he knew his business, noticing that the others simply moved aside for him as they would for any other. He rounded the corner of the nurse's station and continued toward the front door, his heart pounding hard in his chest and banging painfully against extremely tender ribs.
Almost there.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod looked down at his watch - eight-thirty. It was almost noon back in Delaware, and he had a half-hour yet to wait before he could expect Sam to call again, bringing him up to date on developments there. It was a half-hour before his first appointment at the office as well, he remembered on second thought, and reached out to his coffee mug to finish the last few swallows of the caffeine. The newspaper, which he had long taken time to devour before heading off to work, sat still folded on the kitchen table - nothing in there was of interest, all he could think of was Davy and Parker.
The phone rang, making him jump, and he reached out a hand that was almost shaking in a combination of anticipation and dread for the handset. "Hello?"
"Is this Doctor Jarod Russell?" a terse woman's voice asked immediately.
"Yes," he replied, his anxiety clicking up another notch.
"This is the Child Protective Services Agency. There has been a problem in one of our foster homes, and we noticed that you had applied to become a foster parent to one of the clients placed in that home."
Jarod frowned. "Which home?" he asked, now suddenly very focused. Ginger?
"The home of a Susan Thatcher," the woman replied, obviously looking down at a paper. "There was a domestic disturbance and the police were called. Mrs. Thatcher was booked on assault and the children in her care were moved to a secured facility temporarily. Since you have expressed interest in one of the children, we thought we might expedite some of the paperwork and do the in-home interview and assessment as soon as possible, with an eye to placing the child with you within twenty-four to thirty-six hours." The woman paused, as if wondering something. "Would you consider taking more than one child..."
"I don't think so," Jarod answered quickly. "I can handle taking care of one child while at work - more than that would be impractical."
The woman sighed. "Very well, it never hurts to ask, though... We've so few quality foster homes to begin with..."
"So when do you want to do this?" Jarod decided to cut to the chase. If his schedule for the day was going to be completely trashed, starting the rescheduling process as soon as possible would be necessary.
"How does two o'clock this afternoon sound to you?"
Jarod nodded. That gave him plenty of time to rearrange things. "I'll be here then." He thought a moment. "How is Ginger? Was she hurt in this “domestic dispute”?"
"I have no report of any major injuries to any of the children," the CPS representative replied, obviously shuffling papers, "but I'm assuming that whatever happened involved at least one of the children."
"If I pass muster, when can I expect Ginger to be placed with me?" he inquired, leaning his brow into his fingers. This new development probably meant that there was no way that he could fly to Delaware to help out with the search for Davy. For the first time, he began to question his resolution to bring another child into his family situation.
"We don't like to keep the children in the secured facility any longer than necessary," the woman replied. "It isn't a healthy environment for them to be spending much time at all except under the most extraordinary circumstances. With any luck at all, Ginger could be placed with you by tomorrow noon. We still do need to make sure that we're placing her in a safe and supportive situation before that, however."
"Understood. Thank you." Jarod nodded.
"Good day, Dr. Russell." The woman hung up.
Jarod sighed and rose to his feet. His day just got more complicated. But he no more than got three steps from the table than the phone was ringing again. "What?" he answered slightly more abruptly this time.
"Jarod, this is Sam."
The Pretender retraced his steps to the table and sat down quickly. "Talk to me, Sam."
"I can't talk long - she's got me handing over Flores and the other mutineer to the feds as soon as Gillespie gets here. But she wanted me to tell you to sit tight, that she'd be calling you this evening and laying everything out for you."
"Damn it," Jarod swore. "Do you have any idea how hard it is just to sit tight, Sam?"
Sam's voice softened considerably. "You're doing a helluva lot better job at it that I would be in your place, Lab-rat," he admitted with a voice that shimmered with sincerity. "And there has been some information uncovered - still very iffy. Our, uh, “interrogation” of the one who ordered this mess was fruitful."
"As long as it was painful as well," Jarod grumbled, wishing he could have been there to add his own pressure.
"Trust me," Sam said with a particularly cold tone, "the man was NOT comfortable with the process."
"So, what did you find out?"
"I'll let Miss Parker tell you that, Jarod." Sam waved his hand to the FBI agent in charge who had stuck his head around the corner of the door, beckoning him into his tiny office. "Gillespie's here - I gotta go."
"No, wait! How's Sydney?"
"They did surgery on his knee this morning - Miss Parker and Kevin have already left to go pick him up in Dover." Sam watched the FBI agent calmly take a seat, unfortunately making it unwise to pass along some of the other information that Jarod really needed to hear. "Tell ya what - if you still want answers after you talk to Miss Parker this evening, give me a call. Not too late, mind you..."
"You can count on it, Sam," Jarod informed him very quietly. "Tell me one thing, and then I'll let you go."
"You got it."
"How good are our chances of getting Davy and Deb back?"
Sam was quiet for long enough that Jarod's heart began to pound. "Depends. I'll talk to you later." The Security Chief reluctantly hung up on the desperate man and smiled at the FBI agent. "Have we got something for YOU!"
~~~~~~~~
Miss Parker smiled coldly as the most senior sweeper from the car that had followed her closely from Blue Cove jumped from the vehicle and opened the door to her brand-new Mercedes. This escort had presented themselves in the parking garage and made a point of explaining to her that their presence was non-negotiable - the Security Chief had told them in no uncertain terms that they were to stick to her like glue. Miss Parker had sighed and climbed into the car, knowing that if she tried to argue, she would lose. Sam had tried to place an escort with her before and she'd declined - and look what had happened.
"Just keep a few paces back, gentlemen," she ordered briskly while waiting for Kevin to join her. She glanced at the young man. "Ready?"
"Yes, Miss Parker," he responded softly. This daughter of the mentor had been very uncommunicative in the car, and driven VERY fast down the highway to Dover. Her mood impenetrable, he had simply settled down to appreciate the obvious skill she wielded so easily in guiding her car around the curves. Miss Parker intimidated him at normal times - since the kidnapping, he hadn't known what to make of her. He couldn't imagine how any mother could function with the cold efficiency that she was demonstrating when so much in doubt of the fate of her young child.
"C'mon then," she waved impatiently and set off at a very brisk pace toward the front doors of the hospital. She knew eventually that Kevin had trotted briefly to catch back up with her - and that the sweeper team behind her had come swiftly behind, with trench coats billowing in the breeze.
She was halfway across the lobby floor when the incongruous sight of a man in blue medical scrubs and a grubby coat caught at the edge of her vision. She turned and looked - and skidded to a stop. "You!" she sighed as the man looked her in the eye - and blanched.
Fujimori felt his triumph at nearly making it outdoors without a single challenge pop like a fragile soap bubble. Miss Parker had recognized him - as well she should. He had been present when she'd been introduced to the younger Tanaka and at every interview when the elder Tanaka had been present as well. It had been his job to ever so subtlely throw the two younger scions of power together, in the hopes that a stronger allegiance between Centre and Yakuza could be forged from the union. "Parker-san," he sighed in defeat, coming to a halt and bowing.
"Where the hell do you think YOU'RE going?" she asked in cold, hiss-filled Japanese.
He could read the obvious answer to her question in her ice storm grey eyes. "I'm no longer certain," he admitted back. The gods had truly deserted him, to see him this close to freedom only to put him back under the jurisdiction of someone other than Yakuza.
"Chet," Miss Parker crooked a finger at one of the sweepers behind her, "take this man out to your car and make him comfortable. He'll be coming back to the Centre with us."
"Yes, ma'am," the ex-football lineman said immediately and then came up to take the Japanese man's arm.
"Don't let him fool you," Parker cautioned her sweeper. "He's a martial arts expert and high man on the Yakuza totem pole. He's not delicate, and he's not helpless. He's dangerous, understand?"
Chet dropped the man's arm and simply gestured for the man to lead the way into the parking lot. With a quick glare that Miss Parker would expose his abilities in that manner, Fujimori once more began limping in the direction the big man indicated.
Miss Parker watched them for a moment, then turned back to Kevin. "Let's go get Sydney," she said with little inflection and once more set a brisk pace into the hospital.
~~~~~~~~
The aging brown Cadillac sedan pulled to a stop in front a dilapidated old ranch house, and the dust that had been stirred up in its arrival swirled lazily in the early morning sun. "This is the place," Duncan announced as he climbed from behind the wheel.
"Ain't nobody gonna find us here," Cordoba pronounced with some satisfaction as he climbed out of the passenger seat and peered around him the barren and desiccated landscape. "This is way the Hell-and-gone out in the middle of Nowhere."
"You didn't believe me," Duncan accused sarcastically.
"I was too tired to know what to believe, cabrón," the Hispanic bristled back. "Is it open?"
"Nope," Duncan shook his head and tossed his confederate the key ring. "I may be dumb, but I ain't stupid. I put a new Schlage lock on this place just before I picked you up to come back East with me. Hurry it up, so you can help me with these two."
Cordoba obediently trotted up on the creaking porch and slid the newest looking key into the ridiculously shiny doorknob assembly, then pushed the door open with a loud and complaining creak to expose the darkness within. He looked around inside for a moment then walked back to the car. "Real luxury digs you got here, Andy."
"Good enough for what we need to do," Duncan said with a nonchalant shrug, then caught the keys the Hispanic tossed back at him and opened the trunk. He looked down into wide grey eyes in the boy that blinked in the sudden sun and a pair of cerulean blues in the girl. "You take the girl, I got the kid. Follow me."
"I am so there," Cordoba grinned like a kid given a treat while he waited for Duncan to sling the boy over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "It's just you and me, honey," he said in a low voice with a simmering hot gaze that swept down Deb's body like a wash of acid, and she flinched as she felt him reach for her and submit her to similar treatment that Davy had gotten. "Don't worry none, though, I'll have you real comfortable in a moment, sweet thing," her captor told her, putting an overly warm hand on her buttock and running it slowly down her thigh.
Deb was in a position where the only thing she could do was watch the heels of the man's feet flip up in her direction with every step he took with eyes that had quickly filled with tears of fear and loathing. Just having him touch her made her feel dirty, and from what he was saying to her, touching sounded like the least he intended for her. She moaned her protest and began to struggle a little, only to find herself swatted rather harshly on the butt by his big hand and then have it thrust between her legs to get a more secure hold on her.
"You just keep on like that, baby," her captor said in that low and dangerously dirty voice of his. "I like it when they struggle and scream." His other hand caught at the back of her legs and gave that invasive hand the freedom to wander... into private places that made her squeak protest again. "Just you wait, sweet thing - we're gonna have us some FUN..."
Deb's protest moan ended in a terrified squeak
~~~~~~~~
"Good morning, Ethan."
Ethan looked up from his coffee into the face of his foster mother. "Morning, Mom." He looked back down into the dark brew and continued stirring it slowly and systematically. Jarod was right - the figure eight was infinity turned on end.
Margaret moved behind her foster son and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You look like you didn't sleep well. I heard you talking on the phone late last night. Is everything alright?"
Ethan let go of the spoon and let it clatter against the side of the coffee cup with a ceramic tinkle. "Not exactly," he admitted.
"What is it, son," she pressed gently, ruffling his hair and then shuffling behind him for a coffee cup of her own on slippered feet. "One of your patients?"
"No." He debated how to break the news to her. "There were some problems back East last night - serious ones."
Margaret's eyes narrowed. "I'm getting so DAMNED tired of every conversation in this family starting to be about Delaware or the people there," she spat as she seated herself across the table from her foster son. "You'd think they'd be able to take care of their own problems without calling here and bothering..."
"They didn't call, Mom." Ethan closed his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood for this - the voices had been worrying in the back of his mind at him about his half-sister for the greater share of the night. "I... just knew..."
"Knew what?" She sipped at her coffee, utterly unaffected. "Did poor little Miss Parker stub her toe or something?"
"Stop it." Ethan looked up at her with his chocolate brown eyes - so like his older brother - filled with frustration. "You keep forgetting that she's my half-sister - that I care about her too." He picked up his spoon and began the stirring process again. "Besides, considering what did happen, you'd think you'd be a little more understanding."
"What did happen, then? Stop being so mysterious and melodramatic!" she sighed with her own frustration.
"Her son was kidnapped."
Margaret stared at her younger son. Of all the possible answers she had quickly entertained, this was the last one she expected. "Jarod's son?"
"Parker's boy IS Jarod's son, Mom. Remember?"
"My grandson?" The hand holding her coffee cup trembled visibly.
"Yeah." Ethan looked down again. "Davy and another girl - the daughter of a friend - were both taken."
"My..." Margaret's blue eyes glazed in panic. "Does... does Jarod know?"
"Yeah. He was pretty upset." Ethan had been debating calling his brother to see if he'd had any news yet, and figured if there had been any, Jarod would have called HIM. "I don't know that he might not be getting ready to go back to help with the search."
"Go back... THERE?" Margaret was aghast. "But... he can't..."
"If it was your son, wouldn't YOU want to go back and help?" Ethan shot at her pointedly.
She frowned, her blue eyes clear and accusing. "Of course I would. But..."
Ethan picked up the coffee cup and took a long drink of the tepid liquid before rising and dumping the rest into the sink and rinsing the cup. "Jarod feels exactly like that," he told her archly. "And Parker... I can feel her despair. She's terrified that she'll never see her son again."
"Now she'll know what I felt like all those years," Margaret blurted out.
He pinned her with those eloquent dark eyes of his. "Helluva way to get payback, Mom," he commented bitterly, then reached for his sports jacket. "I'm off to work."
Margaret looked away and didn't say anything more while he stomped from the kitchen and then from the house. She just stared into her coffee cup.
Another family member, stolen! Surely the Centre... She caught herself. Davy was right there with his mother intimately involved with the Centre - supposedly running the place. She wouldn't have stolen her own son. But if not the Centre, then who...
~~~~~~~~
Duncan led the way down the short hall and kicked open one of the bedroom doors. He bent and let Davy's body roll from him and thud painfully into the dusty carpet that covered the long-abandoned floor. "Bring her in here," he called to Cordoba, then frowned when he hear noises from the next room. He shook his finger at Davy's wide eyes. "Stay put," he ordered and went hunting for his associate.
"Oh lookie what we got here!" Cordoba said as he bent over Deb's form and began unbuttoning the pajama top she was wearing to expose her chest. "Cute little thing, aren't you?" he grinned at her with a thoroughly chilling expression in his eyes before he grasped a breast in each hand and squeezed them hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Holding her frightened gaze in his, he lowered his mouth down to nip hard at one of the tight little nipples painfully and then lick the trickle of blood with a lazy tongue. His smile grew as he saw the tears begin to trickle down the side of her face. "And what else do you suppose we got here to play with?" he asked and reached for the elastic of her pajama trousers.
"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Duncan barked at him, then surged forward to drag him back and away from the trembling girl on the floor, who then tried to roll away from them both.
"Fuck off, Andy. It's been a long time, and El Guapo doesn't intend to go unsatisfied much longer," Cordoba shook off Duncan's hand on his arm.
"You pick her up and bring her in with the boy right now," Duncan ordered in a low and dangerous voice that Cordoba had heard only once or twice before - and then only before the men being spoken to had gotten themselves seriously messed up. "We haven't got time for this shit."
Cordoba glared at his confederate, then reached for the girl with rough hands. "We'll continue this in a bit, sweet thing," he promised her coldly, then hefted her over his shoulder again with a hand conveniently and lewdly inserted between her thighs again. This time he dumped her on the floor with deliberate disregard. Deb's head hit the thinly carpetted surface hard and was knocked unconscious again. Cordoba grinned maliciously at the little boy lying a short distance away, whose eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of the girl's attire being so disassembled and leaving her so exposed. "Look your fill, kid," he growled and then ran his hands over her breasts and body again, moving beneath elastic.
"Move it, asshole," Duncan grabbed Cordoba's shirt collar and hauled him erect again. "Get back out to the car."
"Go take a flyin' leap, goddammit. I moved her, like you said." Cordoba squared off with Duncan dangerously. "But I done told you, I want me a piece of this white meat - and I ain't leavin' without..."
"If you want to get your money, you'll do as I say," Duncan interrupted with a shrug. "So just keep it going with this little bitch, and I'll leave your ass behind out here while you're doing her. Tell me, cabrón, you wanna WALK all the way back into town?"
Davy watched as the expression on the face of the man that had been mauling Deb flowed through several ugly and negative emotions to reluctant capitulation. "You gonna owe me," Cordoba spat as he finally began moving to do as he was asked.
"Shit - you got twenty large coming atcha for doin' this MY way," Duncan reminded him pointedly and pointed toward the front door. "You and I can discuss what can and can't happen to the bitch outside." He cast an eye down at the terrified boy on the floor. "Or the kid. God knows we've had our share of both kinds in our time..."
Cordoba's glare slowly eased until he was almost smiling again. "Now you're talkin'," he stated cautiously and moved more willingly toward the bedroom door.
Duncan leaned down. "Good night, kid," he said in an almost conversational tone, and then balled up his fist and hit him.
~~~~~~~~
"Guess it's a good thing that I've been gone long enough that I still don't have a full day's schedule yet, eh?" Jarod commented, peering over Cindy's shoulder at his appointment calendar for the day.
"Not that I haven't been trying to fill your day, Doctor Jarod," she shrugged, an act that set the beads in her hair to swaying slightly.
"Just keep this afternoon clear," Jarod chuckled at her as he straightened. "I have some official business at home I have to take care of." He looked up as Ethan came through the front door of the office. "There you are."
"Hey there!" Ethan eyed his older brother carefully. The signs of worry and stress were readily apparent - Jarod probably had gotten little if any sleep after their last phone call. "Any news?"
Jarod shook his head silently. "None to speak of. Sam told me that Missy would call and bring me up to speed this evening." He moved from behind the desk and toward his office door. "I hate just sitting around and waiting."
"I figured I'd find you in here completely clearing your calendar again so that you could make a mad dash back East again," Ethan admitted.
"Can't," Jarod told him tersely. "Between your gut feeling and a call from Child Protective Services earlier, I have to stay here at least another day."
"CPS?" Ethan was confused. "What the Hell did THEY want?"
Jarod's face grew stony. "Seems the cops got called out to a domestic disturbance at the Thatcher home - and the kids all got themselves jerked into temporary shelter. Since my application in regards to Ginger is already going through channels..."
"You gonna take that little girl, Doctor Jarod?" Cindy chirped from behind the desk. "Way to go!"
"Don't start the cheering yet," Jarod said, aiming his words as much at her as his brother. "They're doing the in-home interview and inspection this afternoon. If - and only if - I pass muster, then I may have custody by tomorrow sometime."
"Have you discussed Ginger with Parker yet?" Ethan asked quietly, taking Jarod's arm and pulling him into his own office.
"Some... she wasn't overly thrilled..." Jarod admitted. "And now, with the stuff going on with Davy and Deb, this isn't going to be the time to open the subject."
"And you're going ahead anyway?"
Jarod peered intently into eyes of the same liquid chocolate brown as his own. "She needs a safe home, Ethan - mine or someone else's that I'll find for her later. But she's out of that dragon lady's den at least. I suppose you should call and see if you can get into the shelter to do an assessment on her - the abrupt move probably hasn't done her any good."
"You're changing the subject, big brother," Ethan informed him with eyebrows raised.
"You noticed," Jarod quipped back tiredly. "I can't step back - not now."
"Even for Davy?"
"Hell!" Jarod exploded. "Nobody's telling me anything, Ethan! I don't know what information they managed to get out of Flores - only that they got some. I don't know what they did to get it, only that it wasn't pleasant for the jerk - which is better than he would have had if I'd been there!" He threw up his hands and headed for his desk. "I've got you giving me hunches that I'd be in the best position to help by staying right here - and now I've got CPS ready to give me my little girl ahead of schedule."
"YOUR little girl?" Ethan repeated with dramatic emphasis, and Jarod settled himself into his chair with a tired flop. "And “ahead of schedule?” How carefully have you SIMmed things through? Did you get anywhere with it last night after I talked to you?"
"No." The admission was both reluctant and frustrated.
"Well, I took care of one problem for you this morning." Ethan decided he'd best let his brother know of the conversation he'd had with his mother - in case Margaret took it into her head to call the office.
"What was that?"
"I told Mom what was going on."
"Oh great." Jarod's tone was anything but thrilled.
"Give her a chance," Ethan suggested quietly. "It took her aback a bit to think that her other grandson was the one who was stolen this time. I honestly think that maybe this will be the key to her accepting the inevitable. She's talked to Davy, you know..."
"I know. I just don't think the idea of a grandson will balance against all the resentment and anger she feels toward Missy and all the rest back there." Jarod sighed. "I'm afraid that in the end I'll have to make a choice between my mom and my own family with Missy and Davy and Ginger - and at that point, you KNOW what my choice will be."
"We'll see," Ethan turned and opened the office door. "She feels the ties of blood just as much as you ever did, big brother. Give her a chance to have that reality settle in." He stepped aside to allow Jarod's first little patient through and then smiled at his own patient coming down the hallway. "Jimmy! Good to see you!"
~~~~~~~~
Jay stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee before he noticed his mom sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space. "Mom?" he asked, suddenly very concerned. "Mom? You OK?"
Margaret shook her head. "I don't think so," she told her youngest and then leaned her chin into the palm of her hand.
"What's wrong?" Jay seated himself just around the corner of the table from her and put a comforting hand on her upper arm. "Talk to me, Mom - you're scaring me."
She turned confused blue eyes to him. "Am I wrong to want to keep my family together?"
"No, of course not. What the Hell is going on?" he responded immediately.
"Jarod's little boy has been stolen - and it wasn't the Centre." She shook her head as soon as she finished the sentence. "I can hardly believe..."
"What do you mean, his son has been stolen?" Jay frowned and moved back, picking up his hot coffee and taking a good sip and grimacing as the hot liquid nearly scalded his tongue. "Who told you this?"
"Ethan. He said that Jarod is on the verge of taking off to go back there and help with the search." Margaret picked up her own coffee cup and sipped at it, apparently not tasting the brew at all. She didn't notice the expression of frustrated sympathy that crossed her son's face.
"Are you surprised?" he asked her gently.
"On one level, no," she admitted. "As a matter of fact, on that level, I'd be willing to forget that I despise his mother for as long as it would take to get him back. But..." She looked up again, and this time her eyes were swimming. "I can't get past the idea that this is just another step away - that everything that happens that concerns those people back there, for good or ill, pulls Jarod away from me that much faster."
"Mom," Jay sighed, "you know you can't hang onto him forever."
"But it's so far away - Delaware," she complained.
"It's where Miss Parker and his son are," he reminded her gently. "We're his family, but they're his family too now."
"Am I being selfish?" she asked tearfully. "I just want to keep things... Charles hasn't even been dead..."
"Mom," Jay stood and moved to bend over her and give her a hug. "I'm going off to school in just a day or so - and you never know where I'll end up working once I finish my dissertation. None of us are little kids to have hang onto your hand or skirt when we cross streets anymore." He kissed her cheek gently and then sat down again. "I hate to say it, but if Jarod decides he needs to go back and help look for the boy, I can't think of much by way of argument to keep him here." He gazed at her gently. "When Jarod was stolen, YOU tried everything to stay where you needed to in order to find him, didn't you?"
"Until the Centre made Charles and me split up, yes," she admitted. "And then I had Em to take care of all by myself - so I had to find a hole and crawl into it until she was old enough that I could start to look again."
"We've had seven years as a complete family," Jay told her softly. "And we're not looking over our shoulders anymore. Even if Jarod goes to the other side of the country, nothing says that he won't come back to visit - or have you over there to visit..."
"I don't want to go back there," she interrupted with a sour look. "I never want to set foot in Delaware again."
"Even if it meant you'd never get to meet your other grandson?" Jay tossed out the pointed question and let it set without adding to it.
Margaret settled her chin back into her hand. "What if my grandson is dead, Jay? What if the ones who took him never intend to give him back?"
"Jarod seems to love Miss Parker as much as Dad ever loved you. Would you really force him to stay away from her at this time?"
"I hate this..." Margaret mused in frustrated sullenness.
Jay reached out and patted her upper arm against sympathetically and rose to get himself some breakfast.
~~~~~~~~
Davy rolled onto his side and then opened his eyes and groaned at the pounding headache that had been triggered by even that little movement. Deb was still asleep or unconscious - he wasn't sure which - lying on her side just a few paces away. The boy pushed himself painfully up on an elbow and looked around him. The light, stronger than he remembered, was streaming in a rather dirty-looking window with the tattered remains of flimsy curtains hanging forlornly askew.
The room was unfurnished, and the floor was wooden with a thin carpet covering that was worn in places, showing the raw wood beneath. The door was an unfinished and old-fashioned looking casement door that was shut - Davy suspected it to be locked. It smelled of old dust and dirt, and the silence was profound. He could hear nothing - nothing from outside, no voices from elsewhere in the house. He listened harder for any sign that their kidnappers were close, but all he could finally discern was the buzz of lazy insects somewhere.
He lay his head back down on the dusty carpet and closed his eyes to think for a minute. What would be the best move for him to make at first? If anything were to be done, he'd have to be able to communicate with Deb - so getting the duct tape away from their mouths would be first priority. Once they could talk, they could begin to cooperate. That was it then.
With movements that reminded him of the way a snake would crawl across the ground, he scooted himself over to Deb's side and then past her head until his hands behind his back were even with her face. Then, moving back carefully, he reached out his imprisoned fingers until he had a small purchase on the duct tape that covered her mouth and pulled hard.
That woke her up. Deb jerked back and away from Davy's fingers, but as she came awake realized what he was up to and moved back to where he could again grab the tape and pull as she jerked back again. The tape didn't come completely off, but it peeled back and away from her mouth far enough that she could speak. "OK - roll over and let me do the same for you," she directed with a dry whisper.
Both did their share of squirming, and then tugging. Finally Davy's gag was peeled back away from his mouth as well. "You OK?" Deb asked him.
"Yeah. You?"
"Swell," she answered dryly, looking down at her disarranged clothing and deciding she could do nothing at the moment to protect her modesty. Her mind rebelled utterly at the idea of contemplating the reason behind her disarray. "Are they gone?"
"I think so," Davy answered after another listen. "I can't hear anything but bugs."
"Where are we, do you think?"
"California..." Davy said rolling so that he could look his unofficial cousin in the face.
"California!" Deb was agape. "How did you know?"
"I heard them talking earlier, when we got on the plane," he explained quickly.
"God, Davy, what are we going to do?" Deb asked in a dry voice made shaky with fear. "What are they going to do with us?" That question was asked even more softly as she remembered the feel of that man's hands on her body and the way he'd looked at her...
"Look, we can't give up. Grandpa always told me that as long as I used my mind creatively, I would never be helpless," Davy repeated the words that had been the bulwark of his grandfather's “games,” finding the memory of his grandfather's gently accented cliché oddly comforting and encouraging. "We have to use our heads, and we have to be ready to act when the time comes."
"Yeah, well I doubt Grandpa expected us to be hog-tied with duct tape when he told you that," Deb commented in a brittle whisper. "What is there to think about other than the fact that we're trapped here - and..." No, she really didn't want to think of what that man had obviously intended for her.
"We're only trapped as long as we're tied up," Davy said in a determined voice. "But if we work together, we can get out of this just like we got that tape off our faces."
"Davy, what if they come back?" Deb asked quietly.
"We still have the tape on our faces. If we move our heads properly, we can push it back so that it looks like it did before we messed with it. But we need to get loose now. Roll over and see if you can pick at the end of the tape and get my hands loose."
"Why don't you see if you can pick at the end of the tape on my hands?" she asked perversely.
"Because you're the one with fingernails like claws," Davy retorted, reminding her of one of their long-ago fights and the scratch that she'd given him that had earned her a stern chewing-out from every adult in her family. "I bite mine, remember?"
"I don't know that this is going to work, Davy," she commented warily even as she rolled as he had suggested. "They make jokes about how duct tape is like The Force and holds the universe together."
"C'mon. If it can be put on, it can be taken off again," Davy stated solemnly. "I can see it in my mind. Try, Deb. Right now, I really don't think we have anything to lose."
And he could begin to feel her fingers traveling over the span of duct tape that held his wrists together, searching for that end that could be pulled or picked at.
~~~~~~~~
Jack Crandall picked up the phone. "FBI, Crandall..."
"Jack, it's Tom Gillespie."
The blonde agent leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his crew-cut hair. "Tom! Twice in so many days has GOT to be a record! What's up?"
"Did you guys finish the raid on the Centre offices there yet?" Gillespie stared out the window of his office at the street, trying to imagine...
Crandall looked around himself at the pile of plastic and cardboard boxes - not to mention the computer sitting in the forensics lab down the hall. "You oughta SEE the stuff we pulled from that place, Tommy! Seems this guy, Flores? He was up to his elbows in junk that falls under RICO and a whole lot of other categories. He was about as dirty as... Say!" Crandall sat up and leaned on his desk. "Word has it that the one to turn him in was his boss back East. That true?"
"Gospel, Jack. But listen, I have something else for you while you sift through the paperwork..."
"Lay it on me."
Gillespie looked down into the folder that he now held. "We've got a kidnap situation here. Information received through an independent interrogation suggests that the victims have been transported out your way."
"Who are the vics?" Crandall began taking notes.
"First one is Deborah Ann Broots, age 19, Caucasian female, blonde, blue eyes, five foot three inches, one hundred and fifteen pounds, last seen wearing pajamas - no description of clothing other than that. Second victim is David Thomas Parker, age 8, Caucasian male, dark brown, grey eyes, approximately four feet, eighty pounds, last seen wearing Spiderman pajamas. Both were taken from Blue Cove, Delaware last night between midnight and two AM." Gillespie put down the paper he was reading from. "The Parker boy is the son of the head of the Centre - seems the kidnap was an extortion attempt to force her into resigning her position."
"What about the perps?"
"We got two names for you that should ring a few bells. Andrew Duncan, age 37, white male, brown hair and eyes, five foot ten, two hundred pounds give or take..." Gillespie was reading from his report again.
"I remember that one," Crandall interrupted, picking up some of the initial information from the Centre office that he was just beginning to sift through. "Duncan - isn't that Flores' second in command?"
"You got it. The other one is Jesús Cordoba, 32, Hispanic male, black hair and eyes, five foot eight, two hundred twenty-five pounds, out on parole for assault. Scuttlebutt from our sources say that these two together are a very bad pair - angels they ain't."
Crandall nodded. "Both of 'em from these parts?"
"Yup," Gillespie nodded too. "Duncan used to run with a gang called the X-14's, and Cordoba's Mexican Mob - he belongs to a group that calls themselves “Los Cabrones” or something like that."
"Oh, THEM." Crandall began to chuckle. "We got ourselves a whole pack of those turkeys locked up in the county jail, you know - they were the ones who came for that shipment of dope we cornered in Long Beach the other night."
"I have a feeling that we're about to understand just how intertwined all that crap has been all these years," Gillespie commented dryly. "Anyway, the one lead we have is that Duncan inherited a ranch out somewhere around Victorville. Chances are that's where he's stashed the Parker boy and the Broots girl."
"I'll have my men out there checking it out right away," Crandall was already waving to one of his other agents. "Duncan didn't mastermind this, did he?"
"Nope," Gillespie answered. "Flores is behind this too, along with all the stuff you're going to be charging him with once you finish your bedtime reading."
"I'll call you the minute I have news from Victorville."
"Good. I have a very worried mother here who doesn't deserve this." Gillespie had seen Miss Parker in the parking garage as he and several other agents had been escorting Flores and Berringer out to the cars. She had been pale and very, very tightly controlled - far colder and brutally efficient than she had been any of the other times they had spoken - and was accompanied by a pair of bodyguards husky enough to make even the FBI agent nervous. Obviously she had been spooked by the kidnapping and was taking no more chances with her personal safety.
Berringer had kept his gaze on the ground, but Flores had begun ranting the moment he laid eyes on her. He'd had the nerve to accuse her of torturing him for information - a charge that was so patently ridiculous as to not even merit consideration. A slightly red spot on the forehead and a couple of bug bites on the leg was simply not enough to rattle anybody's cage. She hadn't even acknowledged the commotion, and Gillespie had taken great pleasure in shoving a still ranting Flores into the back of his car and slamming the door on the sound of whining. Then and only then had Gillespie's eyes connected with Miss Parker's, and he had been amazed at the pain that floated behind that tight control.
"Understood. Talk to you in a few," Crandall disconnected the call and handed his notes to the young black agent who had approached at his superior's beckon. "Run this guy, find out all the property he owns out in the Victorville area. We have us a probable kidnapping in progress here..."
