Sloan’s angry voice came on the line. “What the hell is going on, Parker?”
“Things went south. Get into the house as fast as you can with your men, Sloan. I’m down in the basement. I’ve got your Ukrainian. You’ll find him tied up in the first room to the right at the bottom of the stairs.”
Without waiting for Sloan to reply he hung up and hurried out of the room and down the hall. He had to get to Miranda.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“What are you doing up there, Curt?” Wesson hissed under her breath.
She was standing at the side of the mansion about fifty feet from the brick fence she’d just climbed over in her best skirt. Before her a metal ladder leaned against a wall that led to the eaves of a gabled roof.
Above the roof was a dormer window where the red cloth they’d seen earlier flapped in the breeze.
Curt glared down at her. “I’m trying to get to that window.”
“Where did you get this ladder?”
“From the pool shed over there.” He waved a hand toward the back of the house.
There were so many attached sections of the place Wesson couldn’t tell which one he meant.
“Are you sure no one saw you?”
“Of course, I’m sure. Now if you want to help hold the ladder.”
She’d rather get him down from there. That nice stone could really hurt if you fell and scraped yourself against it coming down. Not to mention ruin an outfit. But arguing might call attention to them so she grabbed onto the metal as he started to climb onto the roof.
“We’ve got trouble,” she told him.
“What kind of trouble?”
“Becker lost contact with Steele. There’s something wrong inside. That cloth could be a trap.”
“Only one way to find out.” He began clawing his way over the expensive gray shingles.
She hoped they were strong enough to hold him.
When he was half way up she decided she couldn’t wait for him any longer and climbed the ladder herself. When she got to the top she knew she couldn’t make it up the steep roof. Not in her heels. She was in good shape but if she was going to be on this team, she needed to log more hours in the gym. And Steel’s slacks and flat shoes seemed like a good idea now.
Curt stopped and looked down at her. “What are you doing, Wesson?”
“Following your lead.”
“Who’s holding the ladder?”
“Nobody. Look.” She pointed behind him.
He turned his head back just as the window opened. A wide-eyed young boy stared down at them.
He had straight blond hair that fell to his eyes and rosy round cheeks.
“Are you Dylan Ward Hughes?” she said in a loud whisper.
His eyes began to sparkle. “Yes, I am. Are you an angel sent to rescue me?”
She laughed. “No. My name’s Janelle and this is Curt. We’re detectives. We’re going to get you out of here. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, please. Get me out of here before the man comes back.”
“Man?”
“The big scary man with the tattoo.”
The one Steele had told them about and Becker had dug up information on. He was from the Ukraine.
He was here? Steele’s instincts had been right. Wesson definitely didn’t want to tangle with that guy.
“How are we going to get him out of there?” she said to Holloway.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I can get to him. It’s too steep.”
“Wait. Is that a sheet you used to signal us?”
The boy nodded.
The window was shaped like a Gothic arch and opened like a door. “What’s it tied to?”
“The handle.”
She wondered if it was strong enough. “Is the knot tight?”
The boy nodded. “It’s an anchor knot. My Daddy taught me how to tie it.”
Good enough. “Can you tie the end of the sheet around your waist?”
Again he nodded and pulled the sheet up through the window. Handy little fellow.
Curt turned back to her and whispered. “Is this really going to work?”
She nodded. “As long as you can catch him. I used to sneak out of my bedroom window this way when I was a teen.”
He laughed. “I had a tree limb near mine.”
“I’m ready,” the boy said grinning at them.
“Climb out slowly and Curt will catch you. And be as quiet as you can.” She hoped this was going to work.
With another nod he slung one leg over the window sash, then the other. He had on jeans and sneakers and a stained shirt. Slowly he lowered himself right into Curt’s arms.
“Can you get to the ladder?”
“I think so,” Curt said inching his way back down.
Deciding she’d be the most help on the ground, she climbed backwards quickly. Once she was there she steadied the ladder while Curt maneuvered himself and the boy downward.
Once Curt’s head was a few rungs down, the boy was able to manage on his own.
Wesson held her breath while the two climbed the rest of the way.
As soon as the boy’s feet hit the grass, her communicator buzzed. She held it up. “What is it?”
Becker’s Brooklyn accent crackled over the speaker. “I just heard from Sloan. His team is entering the house now. Parker’s got the Ukrainian in the basement. Steele’s missing.”
“We’ve got the boy. We’re bringing him to you.”
Curt headed in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?”
He peered around to the back of the house. “I see a door. It looks like it leads to the lower part of the house. I can get in that way.”
Wesson stared at him.
“Take Dylan to Becker. I’ve got to find Steele.” And he disappeared around the corner.
Left with no other choice, she bent down to the boy. “See that white van over there, Dylan?”
He nodded.
“We have to get there without anyone seeing us. Let’s duck down behind these bushes.”
“I can do that.”
And they crouched along the yard to the wall. She got him over it with less trouble than she expected. The boy was a good climber.
Hoping Curt could make good on his promise to find Steele, she got Dylan into the van.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The train whistle howled in Miranda’s head. Its heavy roll rumbled through her body. She lay on the tracks unable to move.
It was coming.
The train was coming. Faster and faster, barreling straight toward her, its sharp silver wheels spinning a hundred miles an hour. Soon it would slice her head clean off. Almost here.
She braced herself for unbelievable pain.
Leon’s laugh echoed in her ears. “I always knew you would end up this way. A worthless piece of trash to be crushed under a locomotive. Better than what you deserve.”
Her eyes popped open.
She sat up with a jolt. The train was on top of her, huge and lumbering straight toward her. Its whistle roared in her ears. She couldn’t hear herself think for the noise. She scrambled over the ground but she couldn’t get away.
A scream burst from her throat but she couldn’t even hear it for the loud, long roar. And then the train was gone—and a white screen appeared.
It was a wall.
She sat blinking at it, chest heaving, heart pounding. A whistle blew and the train reappeared in the distance. Once more it started to come straight at her. This time she didn’t scream.
It was a video. A movie of some sort, projected onto the wall and set to repeat.
What the hell?
It was meant to terrify her, of course. Some sort of mind control. So if she wasn’t on a railroad track about to be decapitated, where the heck was she?
Not outside. The surface beneath her was hard, cold concrete. She was in a room somewhere. A large, dim room, with the light of the video flickering through it, casting eeri
e shadows. The air was dry and a little dusty.
The last thing she remembered was running around from room to room in DeBow’s mansion chasing his toy train. Sorry, his model railroad.
She tried to get up and found her hands were bound behind her. Her head spun.
That tea.
She remembered drinking it now. Whatever DeBow had put in it had knocked her for a loop. Her head ached with the aftermath of it. She wondered how long she’d been out.
Parker.
Before she passed out she’d seen him slumped in a chair with his eyes closed. Where was he? If DeBow had done anything to him, she’d kill the bastard with her bare hands.
What the heck was she tied to?
Raising up on her knees in the light of the video she saw it was a long table. Atop it was another model railroad. DeBow and his trains. She still must be somewhere in his house.
She wiggled her fingers and felt the leg of the table. It was wood. Plywood, maybe. Her wrists were bound around it with what felt like duct tape. A chill went through her as she recalled June May must have been bound with duct tape.
She twisted her hands, began to pick at the tape with her nails. Was that how the teacher had broken hers?
Probably right here.
As the video ran and the locomotive roared in her ears again, the vision of the beheaded body on the train tracks came back to her.
Mind games. DeBow was good at them.
He was a good actor, too. He knew how to look all sad and innocent to win your sympathy.
She put her head down and concentrated on the tape. Hell, she could get out of this. They did exercises like this when she was an IIT. She twisted her wrists back and forth but the tape cut into her skin. The drug must be have sapped her energy.
She twisted harder, starting to panic. She had to get out of here. She had to find Parker. And what about Dylan Ward Hughes? He had to be here.
She remembered the toy she’d seen under the chair before she’d passed out.
The video locomotive blared again, coming in for another round.
She was about to yell, “Shut up!” when it stopped.
She twisted her head around and blinked into a narrow light. A door at the far was open and a silhouette stood in the shadows.
DeBow.
“You’re awake.”
She sat up and scooted her butt around so he couldn’t see what she’d been doing with the tape.
He turned on an upper light and locked the door behind him.
The light blinded her a moment. Wishing she could shield her eyes she squinted up at him. He was wearing the same clothes. Expensive black slacks. Dark blue dinner jacket. White shirt. Red ascot.
In one hand he held syringe.
It had a long, sharp looking needle. It was large and filled with something inky.
Experimental drug.
The stuff they’d given Clarissa. She remembered what Sloan said it did to the system. Convulsions, internal hemorrhaging, hallucinations, muscle disintegration. Her stomach lurched.
DeBow clucked his tongue at her. “You’ve caused me a lot of inconvenience, Ms. Steele.”
“Where’s Parker? What have you done with him?”
“He’s being taken care of just as I’m about to take care of you.”
Had he injected Parker with that stuff? He wouldn’t dare. That had to be a lie. More of his mind games.
He took a step toward her and she scooted away from him on the floor.
“What have you done with Dylan Ward Hughes?” she demanded.
He stopped, a flash of surprise in his eyes. Then he put on his innocent face. “The senator’s son? Now why would you ask me about him?”
“You know perfectly well why.”
“I suppose I do. You are a good detective. You and your FBI friends.” He chuckled to himself as he held up the syringe and tapped it with a fingernail. “Now let’s see what you know.”
He bent down.
She scrambled away from him, working the duct tape as hard as she could.
“Get away from me,” she growled.
“You should stop fighting the inevitable.” He bent closer.
Distract him. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You planned the train wreck that killed your family, didn’t you?”
That did it. He straightened, completely stunned at her words. “How do you know that?”
She remembered the photos she’d found last night. The gnarled metal, the blaze and the smoke, the firefighters.
“Did you?”
Again his eyes flashed. She’d caught him off guard. “I was in boarding school in London at the time.”
“But you planned it.”
“Again, you don’t understand.”
“Try me.”
He studied her a while, then a strange grin spread across his face. “Very well, Ms. Steele. I suppose it won’t matter if I tell you the truth. It’s not as if you’ll be able to go to the authorities.” He laughed a little.
She waited.
“You see, my parents worshipped my younger brother.”
“Nathan.”
“Yes.” He chuckled with admiration. “You are thorough.”
Keep to the subject, she thought. “He was autistic.”
He shrugged carelessly. “There was something wrong with him. They should have put him in some facility. Instead they doted on him and sent me away.”
Her guess had been right. Eustace was jealous of him. Insanely jealous. Criminally jealous.
“They were always taking Nathan on a train trip or to a museum. This was going to be another one of those excursion. A convoluted trip with no direct route. Just because Little Brother wanted to sleep in a berth.”
She watched his free hand open and close. If she could get him riled up enough maybe he’d stick himself with that needle.
“They were heading out from Atlanta to New Orleans. Through Louisiana and Texas and New Mexico, all the way to Tucson. There they would rent a car and drive to a town in Arizona where they would board the Grand Canyon Railway to see one of the world’s seven wonders from a train car. It was just outside Lafayette. Just as Little Brother was climbing into his precious little berth that train hit a semi on the tracks.” He laughed to himself. “What a tragedy.”
His mother, his father, his brother, all dead. Along with twelve others who had nothing to do with his grudge against his parents. Miranda could see clearly what he was now. Underneath the layers of sweet gentility was a coldblooded killer. A sociopath.
Somehow she had to stop him. She had to keep him talking. “How did you do it?”
He gave her a thin-lipped, arrogant smile. “I had a contact from the Ukraine I’d met in a pub in London while I was in boarding school. He worked for an organization that could arrange such things for a price.”
“Is that who you work for now?”
“I owed them. And I discovered a service they could use.” His smile deepened with pride. “My father was fascinated by the transportation of goods. As I’m sure you know I’m fascinated by the transportation of…other commodities.”
“Humans. Kids.”
He put a hand on his chest. “You make it sound so terrible.”
“It is terrible. Immoral. Disgusting. Evil.”
“You have no understanding at all. It’s an art form.”
“It’s illegal. Why risk everything you have?”
“Why?” His hand pumped harder and he started to fume. “You want to know why I do what I do?”
“Tell me.”
“Money, Ms. Steele. Without the organization I’d be nearly penniless. My father had the gall to leave me nothing but this tract of land and a small trust fund when he died. The organization takes care of me, protects me. And they taught me how to take care of the likes of you.”
He lifted the syringe.
She twisted her wrists hard. The bands were getting looser but not quickly enough.
“Is that what you used on Jun
e May?”
He chuckled softly. “You mean Clarissa? Yes it is. It’s very effective. She chattered a great deal through her screams. A lot of it was nonsense. She told us she was born on a farm in Pennsylvania. She was an only child. An A student throughout school. She married an army man who died in Afghanistan. But then she told us he was the brother of the FBI agent who leads the team who’s after us. The Custodians.”
Sloan and his team. The men who were sitting outside the house right now waiting for a signal from her. Were they looking for her now?
Her wire. They had to be hearing everything DeBow had said.
She nodded up toward the table. “Why do you keep that model train down here in the basement? Or is this your attic?”
His smile broadened as he realized what she was doing. “I took the wire you were wearing under your blouse and crushed it.”
Damn. He was smart. A lot smarter than he looked.
She raised her chin in defiance. “Then my team will be here any minute.”
Again he lifted the syringe. “That’s why we made up a stronger dose. You’ll be talking very quickly with it—between your screams.”
She twisted her wrists again. She couldn’t get them loose fast enough. She’d have to use her feet.
She only hoped her aim was good.
He slipped a hand under her arm. Before he could insert the needle as fast as she could she brought her knees up to her chin and kicked out with all her might.
She hit him dead in the chest and he went flying across the room and crashed into another table. Tracks and box cars and cabooses clattered to the floor. The syringe fell out of his hand and rolled into a corner.
“How dare you?”
He got to his feet, scrambling for the needle.
At last the duct tape came free. She lunged, about to pounce on him when a loud kick crashed against the door.
The door flung open and Holloway rushed into the room.
“Where’s Parker?” she said to him.
“I don’t know but Becker said he took care of the Ukrainian. Sloan’s team is coming now.”
“Hear that, DeBow?” she sneered. “That’s the FBI team you wanted to know about.”
DeBow stood staring at her with a deer-in-the-headlights look. He gave Holloway the same glare. Then he turned and pushed through a hidden opening in the wall.
The Boy Page 21
