Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5)

by Michael C. Grumley

  “Yes.”

  “Most journalists are familiar with her story. They called her the Mountain Lady.”

  “Yes, I know,” DeeAnn replied calmly. “But she knew who did it. And wrote about it.”

  Rudambage lifted one eyebrow. “What?”

  “I said she wrote down who was harassing her and who ultimately killed her.”

  “Are you sure?” The young man leaned forward, intrigued. “How do you know this?”

  “Because I have her diaries, including those with her very last entries.”

  She watched as the fascination in his eyes slowly gave way to doubt.

  “How is this possible?”

  “The journals have been in the hands of an old man for the last thirty years. A recluse up in the mountains, hidden not far from where her original cabin was.”

  “Is…this true?”

  DeeAnn nodded. “She knew exactly who was taunting her, and on the evening of her death, she spotted them coming for her. Then she made a short diary entry before quickly hiding it.”

  “What was the last entry?”

  “It was just two words. A name. But the rest of the diary lays it all out.”

  The young man stared at DeeAnn for a long time through his glasses before finally blinking and straightening back up in his seat. He glanced around at the other patrons in the café and lowered his voice. “And you will tell me this?”

  “I’ll do more than that,” DeeAnn replied. “I’ll loan you the journals.”

  Rudambage’s eyes opened wide with excitement. “You will let me borrow them? The originals?”

  “Yes. But not yet. I will hand them over once a new investigation has been opened.” She turned and reached into her pack, pulling out a thick stack of paper, neatly bound at the top. “This is a copy of most of the pages from her journals. The quality should be more than good enough to have the handwriting verified as hers. Once an official investigation is opened, I’ll give you the originals for authenticating.”

  Rudambage took the stack and looked at the first page. Then the next and the next. He looked back up with eyes that were unable to hide his astonishment. “Ms. Draper, you will not be sorry to have chosen me. I have enough contacts that I can promise you an investigation will be re-opened. Some people would very much like to see this case solved. To show the world that we are a proud and fair nation. An ethical nation…that can be trusted.”

  “I hope so,” replied DeeAnn seriously. “Because if you don’t, I’ll be back.”

  The young reporter nodded eagerly, then returned his attention to the papers.

  Focusing her attention out the window again, DeeAnn found Ronin and the primates still outside waiting. He looked like he hadn’t moved at all.

  She hoped she had found the right person in Anjan Rudambage. Someone who would help her finally bring justice to the killers, both for Dian Fossey’s sake and her own.

  Because now there was something else calling to her. Something just as important…and just as earth-shattering.

  21

  The outside door opened wide, briefly drenching the hallway with bright sunlight. Steve Caesare’s broad outline stepped inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind him. He turned, and with his free hand, locked the door behind him before continuing down the hallway.

  On the phone, John Clay continued listening to his voicemails. He watched his partner enter their small hospital room to find himself and Neely Lawton, still in front of her laptop.

  “Chow’s on,” he announced, withdrawing a wrapped sandwich from a large bag. “Egg salad and iced tea,” he said, reaching back in for the bottle.

  “Thank you,” Neely said gratefully, lowering both items down on the chrome table in front of her.

  Caesare continued to unload several more sandwiches, followed by more bottles, before folding the bag and tossing it aside. He picked one of the white packages back up and unwrapped it, taking a large bite of corned beef. He pulled his hand back and stared at the sandwich with a look of surprise.

  “Good?”

  “Really good,” Caesare nodded. He winked at her and sat down in a chair. “Maybe we should stay a while.”

  Neely chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that’s not up to us.”

  “It never is.” He leaned back and unwrapped more of his lunch. “Anything new?”

  “You’ve only been gone forty-five minutes,” she teased. “But no. Nothing new. The problem with genetic research is that it’s mostly long stretches of boredom interrupted by occasional moments of excitement.”

  “Ha. I’ve heard airplane pilots say the same thing. But the moments of excitement are described as sudden bursts of terror.”

  She laughed. “I suppose I should count myself lucky.”

  “Very. After all, you get to work with totally amazing guys like Clay and me. How many girls can say that?”

  “Clearly, not enough,” she chided. “Are you feeling better?”

  Caesare shrugged. “We’re used to running on limited sleep. It doesn’t bother me, but it tends to make Clay a little pissy.”

  Neely laughed again. This time she opened her eyes wide in surprise, looking for Clay’s reaction as he stepped forward to pick up a sandwich. “Does it ever end with you two?”

  “Not really,” Clay said. “But it does make bad situations a little more bearable.”

  “I’m sure you’ve been through your share.”

  “More than we can count,” Caesare admitted.

  Neely reached forward for her own sandwich and neatly unwrapped half of it. “Can I ask you two a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “This may sound a little strange, but you’re both ex-SEALs, right?”

  “Rumor has it,” chirped Caesare, swallowing another bite.

  “Well, you don’t exactly strike me as the killer type. You know, with the kill first, ask questions later mentality.”

  Clay shrugged, almost nonchalantly. “We’ve had to fight our way out of a few bad situations. Mostly in our past lives.”

  Neely chewed, listening to his response, then shook her head. “I bet it was more than a few. But that’s not what I mean. I’ve met SEALs before, and you’re not like the others. Killing doesn’t seem to be your first instinct.”

  “When it’s life or death it is.”

  Next to Caesare, Clay studied the expression on her face with curiosity. “Is there something bothering you?”

  Neely hesitated before answering. “When I was on the Pathfinder, during the attack, I knew those Russian soldiers were coming directly to the lab. They knew what they were after. And I was in the room with Will and Lee, with a gun.” Her voice began to trail, almost as if she were talking to herself. “I was ready to defend it. Or at least I thought I was.”

  She looked back up. “I felt real fear at that moment. So much that something inside me wasn’t sure I really would have pulled the trigger.”

  Both men’s expressions softened, and they stopped chewing.

  “I’ve never been faced with the possibility of taking a life before. I’ve been close but not that close. And the fear was almost overwhelming.”

  “It’s not as easy as it sounds,” Clay said solemnly.

  “And it sure ain’t glorious,” added Caesare. “Ever.”

  “Not even for us.”

  Neely blinked slowly, thinking. “Have either one of you ever frozen up?”

  Clay and Caesare looked at each other and shook their heads. “No. As a SEAL, hesitation gets trained out of you pretty quickly. But it comes at a cost.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Killing another person takes a psychological toll,” Clay said. “No matter who you are. And for some, worse than others. They try to train that out of you too, but they can’t. Not entirely.”

  Caesare nodded in agreement. “It’s always there. And you never forget.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It never goes away. It only builds, slowly, and eats away at you.�
�

  “What does that mean?”

  Caesare balled up the wrapper in his hands and glanced in Clay’s direction again. “Everybody has different thresholds.”

  “And different histories.”

  “Like McAuley.” He turned to Neely. “He was a guy in our unit. Tough dude. And big. But he’d been involved in some bad stuff, long before joining the Navy. And the SEALs put you through a lot of intense psychological stress to make sure you have what it takes. Not just physically, but in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “In fact, towards the end, it all becomes psychological. They really do a number on you. So it’s not unusual for things to start seeping out. Whether you like it or not.”

  “What seeps out?”

  “Everyone’s psychological baggage.”

  “And this happened with your teammate?” Neely asked.

  “Yeah. McAuley was having a hard time keeping things together. As it turns out, he’d been involved with a group of guys back home who preyed on some big-time drug dealers. The worst of the worst. The group was headed by an ex-narcotics cop who’d been thrown off the force. I guess once off the force and out of a job, this guy rounded up a bunch of friends, including McAuley, and started hitting drug houses. Killing the pushers and stealing their cash. We always thought McAuley was high strung but didn’t know why until he finally started to crack.” Caesare shrugged. “In a perverse way, some people would consider that noble. Who wouldn’t want fewer scumbags pushing drugs on our kids? But for McAuley, the cost was steep. He was continually haunted by the faces of those drug dealers he’d murdered. He said he could remember every single one. And not only did the guilt not go away, it got worse. Until he couldn’t even sleep anymore. They eventually had to pull him from the team. Rumor has it he ended up in a psych ward upstate in California.”

  Neely blinked again. “Wow.”

  “The point is,” Clay said, “that killing someone doesn’t just take a toll on your mind, it also takes a toll on your soul. For everyone. No matter what the circumstances, or the justification. For a small percentage of twisted individuals out there, it’s different. But for the rest of us, the cost is very real. And it affects everyone differently.”

  Caesare’s expression grew solemn. “I can’t speak for John, but I can remember almost every gunfight I’ve ever been in. And those are not pleasant memories. I’ve seen enough death to last me a lifetime, and sometimes I have nightmares too, just like McAuley did. As far as I’m concerned, my soul is dark enough, and I’m old enough to know I don’t want to make it any darker unless I have to. It’s like what you always say, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. In anything.”

  Caesare then stood up and gave Neely a sympathetic wink. “And I’ll tell you this, it’s not something you want to be in any hurry for. But don’t worry about the fear. If the situation is dire enough, your body will know when it needs to pull that trigger. Unfortunately, that’s the easy part.”

  22

  Neely stared quietly up at Caesare, then Clay standing beside him. She didn’t utter a word, thinking about what they had said. It was strangely comforting. And inside, she smiled.

  She found herself continually surprised at the men these two were turning out to be. They were very different from the other military types she had known and a world apart from the one to whom she was once married.

  The silence in the room was abruptly interrupted by a pounding on the door to the outside. Both men turned and instantly withdrew their guns.

  Clay was the first to the doorway, sneaking a look down the hallway toward the exterior door, then back the other way. He moved smoothly out and across to the opposite wall, sidestepping into another doorway. Caesare took Clay’s spot with his .45 trained directly on the door.

  Several seconds later, the pounding repeated. Louder, this time. Clay glanced back at Caesare and nodded, swiftly moving forward until he was just a few feet away.

  Alternating in perfect unison, Caesare moved out and positioned himself closer, still maintaining a direct line of sight on the door. When he nodded, Clay shifted his position once more, passing quickly in front and to the opposite side, where he placed a hand on the door’s handle. Needing both hands, he replaced his gun inside his belt and reached forward. He looked to Caesare and mouthed the word three.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  Clay turned the deadbolt lock and pulled simultaneously on the handle, yanking it open directly inside Caesare’s line of fire.

  Steve Caesare peered intently through the sights of his gun to find a silhouette standing motionlessly in the bright sun. Clay’s gun was instantly back out, targeting the stranger’s chest.

  “Finally,” the man said. He glanced at both gun barrels without flinching. “If this is how you greet friends, the pizza guy must have pissed himself.”

  It was a voice Caesare recognized.

  The man at the door stepped back, allowing the sun to show his hair and part of his face.

  As soon as he did, Caesare grinned and relaxed. “Son of a bitch. Tiewater.”

  The man, still partly shadowed, smiled broadly. “In the flesh.”

  Clay lowered his gun only slightly, allowing Tiewater to step carefully forward. Once inside the doorframe, the interior light revealed his full features––including a tanned face with dark eyebrows and short, prematurely graying hair. Raising his hands, Tiewater gave Caesare a slight shrug. “Surprise.”

  Caesare replaced his gun and grinned. “Clay, allow me to introduce you to Petty Officer Tiewater. One of the few men dumb enough to go back to South America with me.”

  Clay smiled and glanced outside over Tiewater’s shoulder before lowering his own gun.

  “And I’m clearly not any brighter now,” Tiewater said. He then turned and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Commander. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Clay shook. “Hopefully from someone other than Steve. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “I’m part of your reinforcements. Sent by Admiral Langford. First assignment after my trip with Caesare. When someone dropped a damn bomb on us.”

  “Anyone else with you?”

  “Just me so far. But more are coming.”

  “Excellent,” Caesare replied. He approached to shake hands. “You look as good as new.”

  Tiewater, slightly shorter, shook and twisted to allow a large bag to slide off his back. He dropped it onto the floor with a thud. “Glad I finally found ya. The admiral doesn’t exactly give the best directions.” Tiewater looked up and down both hallways, noting the new equipment lining the sides, most of which was still wrapped. “Nice digs. Nicer than most places we’ve been. What’s the situation?”

  “At the moment, we’re simply security detail. Protecting a girl being hunted by just about everyone in China.”

  Tiewater glanced back to his left, peering closer at the large window of Li Na’s room. He turned back when Neely emerged from the first room down the hall.

  “Is it safe?”

  Caesare nodded. “Tie, this is Commander Lawton. Lead science officer on the Bowditch. Now part of the Pathfinder’s crew.”

  Several years her junior, the younger Tiewater shook Neely’s hand respectfully. “Commander.”

  “Mr. Tiewater.” She smiled politely and turned to Caesare. “I need to check on Dr. Kanna.”

  The three men nodded. When she was far enough away, Tiewater gave a quiet whistle. “Nice scenery you got here.”

  “Yeah. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  ***

  Several hours later, Dr. Kanna was interrupted a second time by Neely. This time, it was when she stepped into the room followed by another woman. Tall and slender, the woman wore her hair tied back neatly into a braid. Her features were striking, especially her dark eyelashes and speckled blue eyes.

  “Doctor, this is Tricia Rhoades. She’s come to provide you some much needed medical relief.”

  A tired Kanna turned and grinned, re
aching out for her hand. “You are a welcome sight.”

  Tricia’s response was polite and more than a little sympathetic. “Sorry it took so long, but Admiral Langford sends his regards. I hear you’ve been burning the midnight oil.” She looked past him at Li Na, still unconscious, with her bed partially raised. “How’s our patient?”

  “Better than expected,” he said. “I’m in the process of weaning her off the vent now. As well as the thiopental.”

  Kanna walked to the bed and retrieved a chart, handing it to Tricia. “Seventeen-year-old female and a pretty unusual case. Was in a medically induced coma as a result of acute neurological trauma. She’s almost completely off the vent and looking stable.”

  Tricia nodded and continued listening as she read down the chart.

  “Respiratory function is good. No signs of infection. Cardiovascular is stable.”

  “I’m impressed. How’s her GI?”

  “GI is unremarkable. GU is normal. And no skin breakdown.”

  “None?!” Tricia looked back to Li Na in astonishment. “That’s surprising.”

  Kanna nodded in agreement. “Like I said, pretty unusual.”

  The female doctor walked forward and looked the girl over. Li Na’s eyes remained closed and her breathing calm. She then turned back around. “So what happened to her?”

  Standing beside Dr. Kanna, Neely Lawton frowned. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “I’m sure.” Tricia returned the chart and put a hand on Kanna’s arm. “Why don’t you get some rest? You look like you need it. Commander Lawton can fill me in.”

  Kanna’s tired posture seemed to sink visibly, and he grinned appreciatively. “That is music to my ears.”

  ***

  It took Dr. Kanna just a few minutes to wrap up before heading out to one of their makeshift bunks. Both women watched the door close quietly behind him before they turned back to Li Na.

  Neely sighed. “So, how much do you know?”