The Golden Barbarian

by Iris Johansen

  “Then maybe you should treat her when she’s sleeping. Try hypnotism or something,” Teresa said. “You’re sure not doing very well when she’s awake.”

  “Give me a break. I’ve had her for only a month. We’re just beginning to know each other,” Jessica said. But Teresa was right, there had been no obvious progress. The child had been caught in a prison of silence since the incident at Vasaro eight months before. Surely there should have been some breakthrough by now, she thought, then tried to dismiss her doubts. She was just tired. Jesus, a child lost in a catatonic state for eight months was nothing compared to other children she’d treated. But acceptance was difficult when her patient was a seven-year-old child who should be running and playing and living life to the fullest. “And it’s better if she makes the first steps back herself. I don’t want to force her.”

  “You’re the doctor,” Teresa said. “But if a lowly nurse can offer some advice, I’d—”

  “Lowly?” Jessica smiled. “Where did that come from? You’ve been telling me what I should do since my first year of residency.”

  “You needed it. I’d been around for over thirty years by then and I had to set you straight. You were one of those hotshot doctors who never knew when to stop. You still don’t. You could let us deal with the kid for one night and get eight hours’ sleep.”

  “She’s got to know I’m here for her.” She shrugged. “And I wouldn’t have been able to sleep much longer anyway. Her father’s coming to see her. He said he’d be here by three A.M.”

  Teresa gave a low whistle. “The great man is paying us a visit?”

  “No, Cassie’s father is coming to see his daughter.” Many people considered Jonathan Andreas one of the most popular presidents the United States had ever had, but Jessica didn’t think of him in those terms. From the first time she had met him a month ago, she saw him only as a father who was terribly worried about his child. “And you should know that. You’ve seen him with her. He’s just a man with a giant problem.”

  “So you put your life on hold and let him use your family home for a treatment center for his daughter. The damn place is an armed camp. You can’t even take a walk without being shadowed by some Secret Service man.”

  “It was my idea. The President wanted her hidden from the media, and this place has a certain amount of privacy and is easy to secure. Cassie has to be protected. Look what happened at Vasaro.”

  “What if the same thing happens here?”

  “It won’t. The President assured me that the security is infallible.”

  “And you trust him?”

  “Sure.” Andreas inspired trust. “And besides, he loves his daughter. He’s racked by guilt over Vasaro. He’d never risk another tragedy.”

  “You’re very generous. I’ve noticed he’s been pretty cool to you.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve an idea he’s sick and tired of dealing with psychiatrists. Besides, a family feels some resentment when they have to turn over their child to a stranger. We’ll work it out.” She nodded at Larry Fike, the Secret Service agent stationed outside Cassie’s door. “Hi, Larry. Did they tell you the President is paying us a visit?”

  He nodded. “Poor guy, not a good night.”

  “No.” Though there were few good nights for Cassie Andreas. “But he has to come when he can get away without suspicion. We don’t want reporters descending on us.”

  “Yep, then we’d all be having nightmares.” He opened the door for her. “The little girl was screaming pretty badly. If it hadn’t happened before, I’d have burst in there with gun drawn, I’ll give you notice when the President reaches the gates.”

  “Thanks, Larry.”

  “Do you need me?” Teresa asked.

  She shook her head. “Go make some coffee for the President. He may need it.” She nodded to the nurse sitting in the easy chair. “Thank you, Rachel. Anything I should know?”

  “What you see is what you get.” The young woman rose to her feet. “She hasn’t moved a hair since Teresa left the room.” She smiled at Cassie. “See you later, baby.”

  Jessica sat down and leaned back in the chair. She didn’t speak for a moment, letting Cassie become accustomed to her presence. The child’s color was good, but she had grown even thinner in the past few weeks and her face was pinched. It was like dealing with a sleepwalker. This Cassie was a sad contrast to the pictures Jessica had seen of her before Vasaro. She’d been the darling of the White House with her long, shiny brown hair and luminous smile. Full of vitality and mischief. America’s poster child …

  When are you going to learn? she told herself. Don’t get all choked up. Her esteemed colleagues never passed up a chance to tell her that a doctor’s emotion never healed a patient.

  Screw them. If you didn’t let it blind and hog-tie you, love could do a hell of a lot.

  “Pretty scary dream? Would you like to tell me about it?”

  No answer. She hadn’t expected one, but she always gave Cassie the opportunity. Someday a miracle might happen and Cassie might be tempted to come out of the darkness and answer one of her questions. “Was it about Vasaro?”

  No answer.

  It was probably about Vasaro. Terror, death, and betrayal were the stuff of nightmares. But what element was the primary catalyst that had driven her away? The nurse she had loved and trusted and who had been prepared to hand her over to killers? The murder of the Secret Service guard and the nurse? It could be a combination of causes. “Your daddy is coming to visit you soon. Would you like me to brush your hair?”

  No answer.

  “It doesn’t matter. You look very pretty anyway. If you don’t mind, I’ll sit here until your daddy comes and we’ll talk a little.” She smiled. “Well, I’ll talk. You seem to have given it up for a while. That’s okay. You’ll catch up when you decide to come back. My sister, Mellie, is a real chatterbox these days, and she was as closed as a clam for six years. I hope you won’t see fit to stay away that long. Mellie’s much happier now.” Were Cassie’s locked muscles relaxing a little? “This is Mellie’s room you’re in right now. She loves yellow and I had to talk her out of lemon and ease her into wheat-colored wallpaper. The brighter the better for Mellie. But it’s a cheerful room, isn’t it?”

  No answer, but Jessica hoped that wherever she was, Cassie was listening. “Mellie’s at Harvard now, studying to be a doctor like me. I miss her very much.” She paused. “Like your mom and dad miss you. Mellie calls me every week and we talk and that helps. I bet your daddy would really like you to talk to him tonight.”

  No answer.

  “But he’ll love to be with you whether you talk to him or not. He loves you. Do you remember how he used to play with you? Yes, I know you do. You remember everything, the bad and the good. And the bad doesn’t hurt you where you are, does it? But it does hurt you when you go to sleep. If you’d come back to us, the dreams will stop, Cassie. It will take a little time, but they’ll go away”

  She could sense that Cassie was beginning to tense again.

  “No one’s going to make you come back until you want to do it. Someday you’ll be ready and I’ll be here to help you.” She added softly, “I know the way, Cassie. Mellie and I traveled the same road. I wonder where you are. When Mellie came back, she said it was like being in a deep, dark forest with a canopy of trees overhead. But some other children who have gone away say they went to a nice cozy cave. Is that where you are?”

  No response.

  “Oh, well, you’ll tell me when you come back. I’m a little tired, do you mind if I just rest a little until your daddy gets here?” Dear God, she was weary of questions. Answer me just once, sweetheart. She closed her eyes. “If you want to sleep, go ahead. I’m here. I’ll wake you if the bad dreams come.”

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nbsp; SARAH BAYOU, LOUISIANA

  1:05 A.M.

  October 4

  The flatboat glided slowly through the bayou.

  Too slowly, Jules Hebert thought tensely. He had deliberately chosen a flatboat rather than a motorboat because it would be less obtrusive at this time of night, but he had not counted on this case of nerves.

  Keep calm. The church was just up ahead.

  “It will be fine, Jules,” Etienne called softly as he wielded the oars. “You worry too much.”

  And his brother, Etienne, didn’t worry enough, Jules thought in despair. Ever since childhood it had been Jules who was the serious one, the one who had to accept the responsibility while Etienne ambled along through life with endearing blitheness. “You arranged for the men to be waiting at the church?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you told them nothing?”

  “Only that they would be paid well for the work. And I parked the motorboat to bring them where you told me to.”

  “Good.”

  “It will all go very easily.” Etienne smiled. “I promise you, Jules. Would I let you down?”

  Not intentionally. The affection between them was too strong. They had been through too much together. “No offense. Just asking, little brother.” Jules stiffened as he saw the dark looming silhouette of the ancient stone church in the faint moonlight as they rounded the corner. It had been deserted for over ten years and exuded dampness and decay. His gaze flew to the sparsely scattered plantation houses on either side of the bayou.

  No one. No sign of anyone stirring.

  “I told you,” Etienne said. “Luck is with us. How could it be otherwise? Fortune is always on the side of the right.”

  That had not been Jules’s experience, but he wouldn’t argue with Etienne. Not tonight.

  Jules jumped out of the boat as they reached the landing, and the four men Etienne had hired streamed onto the boat

  “Be careful with it,” Jules said. “For God’s sake, don’t drop it.”

  “I’ll help them.” Etienne leaped forward. “Christ, it’s heavy.” He put his massive shoulder beneath one corner. “On the count of three.”

  With great care they lifted the huge black coffin onto the landing.

  LAKE COTTAGE

  ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  Coffin.

  Eve Duncan woke with a start, her heart pounding.

  “What is it?” Joe Quinn asked drowsily. “Something wrong?”

  “No.” Eve swung her feet to the floor. “I just had a bad dream. I think I’ll get a glass of water.” She moved to the bathroom. “Go back to sleep.”

  Good heavens, she was actually shaking. How stupid could she get? She splashed water on her face and took a few sips of water before going back into the bedroom.

  The lamp on the nightstand was on and Joe was sitting up in bed. “I told you to go back to sleep.”

  “I don’t want to go to sleep. Come here.”

  She went into his arms and cuddled close. Safety. Love. Joe. “Want to make love?”

  “The thought occurred to me. Maybe later. Right now, I want to know about your nightmare.”

  “People do have bad dreams, Joe. It’s not that uncommon.”

  “But you haven’t had one in a long time. I thought you were over them.” His arms tightened around her. “I want them to be over.”

  She knew he did, and she knew he tried desperately to give her the security and contentment that he thought would rid her of them. But Joe should know better than anyone that the nightmare would never entirely go away. “Just shut up and go back to sleep.”

  “Was it about Bonnie?”

  “No.” Eve felt a ripple of guilt. Someday she had to tell him why the dreams of Bonnie were no longer painful. But not yet. Even after this last year with him, she still wasn’t ready. Someday.

  “The new skull? You’ve been working hard on it. Maybe too hard?”

  “I’m almost done. It’s Carmelita Sanchez, Joe. I should be able to notify her parents in a couple days.” Then there would be closure and, perhaps, peace for them. “And you know my work never brings me anything but satisfaction. No bad dreams there.” Just sadness and pity and a driving passion to bring the lost ones home. “Stop probing. Bad dreams don’t have to have deep psychological implications. This was just a crazy, disjointed … It was probably something I ate. Jane’s pizza was a little too rich for—”

  “What was it about?”

  Joe wasn’t going to give up. He would pick at the subject until everything was out in the open. “A coffin. Okay? I was walking toward this coffin, and it scared me.”

  “Who was in the coffin?” He paused. “Me? Jane?”

  “Stop trying to read something into it. It was a closed coffin.”

  “Then why were you scared?”

  “It was a dream. For heaven’s sake, I deal with dead people every day of my life. It’s perfectly natural I should have an occasional macabre—”

  “Why were you scared?”

  “Drop it. It’s over.” She pulled his head down and kissed him. “Stop being a protective ass. The only therapy I want from you right now is strictly physical.”

  He went still, resisting. Then he relaxed and moved over her. “Well, if you insist. I suppose I’ll have to be a gentleman and let you seduce me.”

  Eve was surprised. She knew how stubborn Joe could be. She smiled and gently tugged at his hair. “Damn right, you will.”

  “We’ll talk about the coffin later.…”

  SARAH BAYOU

  The coffin was in place on the altar of the church.

  Jules bent to check the pedestal beneath it to make sure it was sturdy enough to bear the weight of the specially reinforced airtight coffin. He’d had it built to his own specifications and had been assured there would be no problem, but it was his responsibility and he was determined not to fail. Nothing must damage the coffin’s precious contents.

  “I’ve paid them off. They’re on their way back,” Etienne said from the doorway. He came toward Jules, his gaze fixed on the coffin. “It looks so strange there.… We did it, didn’t we?”

  Jules nodded. “Yes, we did it.”

  Etienne was silent a moment. “I know you were angry with me, but now you understand, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good. Well, here it is. We did it together.” Etienne put his arm affectionately around Jules’s shoulders. “It gives me a good feeling. You, too?”

  “No.” Jules closed his eyes as the pain surged through him. “Not a good feeling.”

  “Because you worry too much. But it’s over now.”

  “Not quite.” Jules opened eyes that were full of tears. “Have I ever told you how much I love you, what a good brother you’ve been to me?”

  Etienne laughed. “If you had, I would have been the one who was worried. You’re not a man who—” His eyes widened in shock as he saw the gun in his brother’s hand. “What are you—?”

  Jules shot him in the heart.

  Disbelief was frozen on Etienne’s face as he fell to the floor.

  Jules couldn’t believe it, either. Dear God, let him take that moment back.

  No, for he would only have to do it again.

  Jules fell to his knees beside Etienne and gathered him in his arms. Tears ran down his face as he rocked him back and forth. Little brother. Little brother …

  Control. He had one other task to perform before he could allow himself to grieve. The motorboat taking the men away from the church should be out of the bayou and on the widest part of the river by now.

  He fumbled in his pocket for the switch and pressed the red button. He could not hear the explosion, but he knew it had happened. He had set the charge himself and he never allowed himself to make a mistake. There would be no survivors and no evidence.

  It was done.

  Jules turned back to Etienne and tenderly brushed the hair from his forehead. Sleep, little brother. He prayed Etie
nne was at peace. He was glad it was too dim in the church to see the shock and pain frozen on Etienne’s face.

  No, the church was not that dim. It was the coffin, huge, dark, and casting its shadow over both Jules and Etienne.

  Casting its shadow over all the world.

  “No, Senator Melton,” Eve said firmly. “I’m not interested. I have enough work to keep me busy for the rest of the year. I certainly don’t need any more.”

  “It would help us enormously if you could see your way clear to changing your mind. It’s a very sensitive situation and we need your help.” The senator paused. “And, after all, as a citizen, you do have a patriotic duty to—”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” Eve interrupted. “Every time a bureaucrat wants to be put first on the list, he pulls out patriotic duty. You haven’t even told me what this job is going to be about. All I know is that I’d have to leave my home and my family and go running off to Baton Rouge. I can’t imagine a job important enough to make me do that.”

  “As I said, it’s a very sensitive, confidential situation and I’m not at liberty to discuss it with you until you’re committed to—”

  “Get someone else. I’m not the only forensic sculptor in the world.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “I’ve gotten a lot of press. That doesn’t mean—”

  “You’re the best. False modesty doesn’t become you.”

  “Okay, I’m damn good.” She paused. “But I’m not available. Get Dupree or McGilvan.” She hung up the phone.

  Joe looked up from his book. “Melton, again?”

  “He won’t give up. Lord save me from politicians.” Eve went back to the pedestal and began smoothing the clay over the skull. “God, they’re pompous.”

  “Melton has the reputation of being fairly down-to-earth. He’s certainly popular. They say the Democrats are grooming him for president.”