by Joel Shulkin
Santos recoiled. “What?”
“I know the brake lines were cut. You worked on the car a day earlier.”
“Yes, I worked on the car.” He inhaled through his nose. “But I had nothing to do with the crash killing Jorge and Claudia Silva. I certainly didn’t cut the brakes. I swear on my daughter’s life.”
The conviction in Santos’s voice made Cristina pause. He admitted to burning down their house. What reason would he have to lie about that? On the other hand, he’d lied about everything else.
“That night we met, when I attacked you—that wasn’t an accident, was it?” She held up a hand before he could answer. “And don’t lie. I know about the book. Not only did you use it as an excuse to meet me, but you were there when I bought it.”
He sucked in his cheeks, eyes smoldering. “Yes. I’d been watching you for some time, deciding whether or not you possessed what I needed. When you bested me, you proved you had the raw ability, but when you showed me kindness, you proved I could trust you.”
“You could trust me?” She choked out a laugh. “How am I supposed to trust you? And how did you know I’m going to Washington?”
“That’s not important. What is important is what you need to find when you visit ReMind.”
Cristina was startled. “How do you know about ReMind?”
“It was no coincidence they recruited you, Cristina.” He sighed heavily. “ReMind is part of Zero Dark.”
“Hold on, Forrester.” Detective Wilson leaned onto his toes, trying to see eye to eye with the taller agent. “I wanted to be sure we were dealing with Martins before calling you. What gives you the right to barge in here and take over the Silva case?”
“Three things,” Forrester said without blinking. “Title Twenty-Eight of the United States Code, Section Five-Three-Three, by order of the Attorney General. Also, Francisco Martins and Jerry Peterman.”
“Peterman? What’s he got to do with it?”
Forrester opened his mouth to answer but Agent Vasquez stepped between them and placed a folder on Wilson’s desk. “We’ve taken an interest in all mass shootings. We also have reason to believe Jerry Peterman was actually an international terrorist known as the Golem.”
Wilson’s skin crawled. He tried to act nonchalant. “The Golem, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Forrester. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
Before Wilson could respond, Vasquez said, “The CIA flagged your request for recently declassified records. They weren’t that concerned, but the alert got forwarded to us.”
“I was gathering information before I contacted you.” Wilson frowned. “What happened to the Freedom of Information Act?”
“That only applies for non-official use,” Forrester said. “Not when you’re using the information as part of a criminal investigation. Especially one beyond your scope. But you never were much of a team player, were you?”
Wilson’s cheeks burned. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but even if Peterman was the Golem, he’s dead. What does it have to do with the Silva investigation?”
“That’s none of your—” Forrester started to say.
“Charles,” Vasquez said, placing a hand on Forrester’s shoulder. “Let me handle this.”
Forrester glared at Wilson but stayed silent.
Turning back to Wilson, Vasquez said, “Witnesses overheard Peterman shouting the name Quinn before he died.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“It means something to us. Quinn is the head of a mercenary organization for hire. Zero Dark.”
So, Cristina had been telling the truth about the shadow organization. “Are they good guys or bad?”
The corner of Vasquez’s mouth twitched. “They started out doing contract work for the military. Security, combat training. For a few years, they did contract work for the CIA. Then there was an incident.”
“What happened?”
“On a mission in Lebanon, they got trigger-happy. Fifty-two dead, including twenty-three Americans.” Forrester scowled. “Some believe the shootout was a cover for Zero Dark to take out the CIA team since the Zero Dark operatives escaped unscathed, but no one has proof.”
“And they’re still in operation?”
“They went underground. No official government work anymore. At least, not our government. The bigger problem is Quinn has gone ghost. We think he’s using an alias, but we can’t pin him down. Anyone that knows anything about Quinn’s whereabouts is either working for him or dead.”
“Like Peterman.” Wilson took their silence as an answer. “What does this have to do with Cristina Silva?”
“She was Peterman’s psychiatrist,” Vasquez said. “He may have told her something we can use to track down Quinn.”
“I’ve interviewed her several times. She doesn’t know anything.”
“That’s hard to believe since she’s been in contact with Francisco Martins.” Forrester’s lip curled. “He is also a Zero Dark operative.”
Wilson flinched and then cursed himself for reacting. Everything supported Cristina’s story, so maybe the rest of her claims were true, too. There was only one way to find out.
“Martins is obsessed with Dr. Silva,” he said. “He burned down her parents’ house and worked on their car before they died in a crash. Unfortunately, she has amnesia, so I don’t know how much help she’ll be.”
The agents exchanged glances. Forrester seemed ready to make another snide remark, but Vasquez cut him off with a wave. “Detective, I think we got off on the wrong foot. It seems we both have information to bring to the table. Instead of arguing over jurisdiction, how about we work together?”
A voice in the back of Wilson’s mind wanted to scream at them to go to hell, but he shooed it away. He had already conceded to himself that he couldn’t tackle this alone. And the feds had access to resources Somerville PD could never match. “You’re right. I’ll gather everything I’ve discovered, and we can run through it together.”
“Great.” Vasquez smiled. “See how nice it is when we play together?”
Wilson cautiously returned her smile but couldn’t maintain it when he caught Forrester’s dour expression. The agent’s eyes shouted a slew of unspoken obscenities at the detective.
“Yeah,” Wilson said. “It’s going to be a real lovefest.”
“Agents,” Sergeant Davis shouted from the doorway. He sneered when he spotted Wilson. “And Detective. Malone just called in. He says you both can wrap up your investigations.”
“Why’s that?” Forrester asked.
“They pulled a stiff out of a dumpster near Porter Square.” Davis smirked. “Malone’s pretty sure it’s Francisco Martins.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cristina gripped the bus seat cushion as if, any moment, she would fly away into the madness now surrounding her. She snapped her eyes shut, praying that when she opened them everything would be normal again. She opened her eyes. Santos was still there on the bus in a wheelchair.
“How is that even possible?” she asked. “How can a pharmaceutical company be part of a terrorist organization?”
“They have little choice.” Santos sighed. “ReMind contracted Zero Dark some years ago to cover up a terrible mistake without truly understanding the price involved. When they couldn’t make the promised payments, they were condemned to serving Zero Dark’s needs.”
“Stacey Peterman said they were covering up a project. Does it involve Recognate?”
Santos nodded.
“So, all the work I’ve been doing with my patients was for Zero Dark? What do they want with Recognate?”
“I don’t know.” His mouth twisted grimly. “But you do.”
“Me? Is that the important information I can’t remember?”
“I believ
e so.”
“But you have no idea what that is.”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have dragged you into this. Unfortunately, I don’t, and you’re the only one who can help me.”
“To find your daughter.” Cristina massaged her forehead. This bus ride couldn’t end soon enough. “What’s your daughter’s name, anyway?”
He scratched his cheek. “That will do you no good. They’ve changed it. She thinks she’s someone else.”
“Do you know what name she’s using?”
He shook his head.
Cristina’s tried to keep it all straight. “You realize when you request someone’s help, you need to give them something they can use? How am I supposed to help find her if I don’t even know what she looks like?”
“You weren’t able to open the locket?”
“It has a photo of a child. Don’t you have a more recent photo?”
His lip trembled. “I gave you all that I have. Please keep it safe. Men like Federico Gomes will do whatever is necessary to recover it.”
“Is that why he broke into my home?” When Santos nodded, she nearly screamed. “Why do they want her baby picture?”
“There’s more to it than that. Did you find nothing else of value?”
“The letters RJ inscribed on the locket. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Rio de Janeiro.” Santos’s eyes drifted, becoming unfocused. “That’s where I’m from.”
“Is that where your daughter is?”
Santos didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Look past the obvious to find the truth.”
Cristina dug her nails into her palms and glanced out the window. She glimpsed the Charles River. They still had a long bus ride ahead. “What does that mean?”
Santos’s gaze met hers. “Things aren’t as they seem. That also applies to your meeting with ReMind.”
“Oh, hell no. I’m not going anywhere near there. If what you say is true, they’ll kill me the moment I set foot inside.”
“But you must go, Cristina.” Pain and regret lingered in the wrinkles around Santos’s eyelids. “They won’t harm you. They need you. And they don’t know you’ve broken their spell over you. That gives you the advantage. Look, listen, and learn. With any luck, you’ll remember the information they seek and can use it against them.”
Nothing made sense. “I’m sorry, but this is too much. I’m a psychiatrist, not a spy. Why don’t we go to the police and tell them—?”
“Tell them what? That someone stole your memories and gave you a dead woman’s identity?” Santos glanced over his shoulder before locking his gaze with hers, eyes blazing. “Even if they don’t think you’re to blame, why would the police believe a woman who was found waving a gun around, babbling about victims and killers nobody else saw?”
The blood drained from Cristina’s face. He was right. Her patients whose appointments Devi hadn’t canceled, had not rescheduled. Cristina’s professional reputation was eroding. She heard voices and had visions of dead patients. And she could count the number of people she trusted on one hand. Why would anyone believe her?
“My friend Andrea thinks I’m hallucinating, that I imagined Gomes killing Stacey. Is Recognate making me lose my mind?”
His face sagged, the fire fading from his eyes. “You’re not crazy. But the drug doesn’t work the way you think. And if your question indicates that you have moved past the nightmare stage and onto waking visions and voices, we’re running out of time.”
The gravity of his voice threatened to crush her chest. “What do you mean?”
“You must find my daughter quickly.” He pressed his lips together tightly and swallowed. “Because soon you’ll no longer know who you are.”
“What’s his problem?” Wilson murmured to Agent Vasquez as they waited by his desk. Near the doorway, Agent Forrester spoke to Detective Malone on his cell phone. The male agent’s eyebrows seemed to be doing gymnastics as his expression fluctuated between surprised and livid. “Did I spit in his soup in another life, or is he just an asshole?”
A smile played at Vasquez’s lips, but then it vanished, and she was all business again. “You know that incident in Lebanon? Forrester’s brother was one of the CIA officers killed in the attack.”
Wilson glanced again at Forrester, who shook his head and barked orders over the phone.
“No wonder he’s so rabid about this case.”
“He’s been after this guy Quinn for years, even before I started working with him. He’s convinced that Martins will lead us to Quinn. Anything and anyone that gets in his way—”
“Is asking for a world of hurt. I get it.” Wilson ran a hand over his face. “Look, I want to cooperate. I was just caught off-guard by Forrester’s approach.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time we’ve had a conflict of interest with another department. But it’s best if we’re not adversaries, right?”
Before Wilson could answer, Forrester stormed back over to them.
“I don’t buy it.” He slammed his phone on the desk. “Malone insists the stiff they found matches Martins’s description, but I don’t think that dope can tell one Latin guy from another. The man he described sounds too young, and he doesn’t have Martins’s scars.”
“So it’s a dead end?” Vasquez said flatly.
“Ha ha. Not necessarily. The corpse has a clean gunshot wound through the forehead. Looks like a professional hit.”
“There are a few crime families working locally,” Wilson said.
“Yeah, I know. But this was Zero Dark.”
“How can you be sure?”
Forrester narrowed his gaze. “Because this guy had Dr. Cristina Silva’s address scribbled on a scrap of paper in his pocket.”
Wilson was startled. “So, if he’s not Martins, who is he?”
“I don’t know.” He nodded at Agent Vasquez. “They’re bringing his body down to the morgue. Why don’t you go and find out?”
“I’m on it.” Vasquez headed for the door. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “You two boys play nice.”
After she left, Forrester puffed out his chest. “Let’s get the doctor here, too. Even if she can’t tell us anything about Martins, she can answer questions about Peterman.”
“Uh, sure.” Wilson pulled out his cell phone. “My partner is in the area.”
Hawkins picked up on the third ring. “I’m still tailing the bus,” he said. “We’re almost to Cambridge, and she hasn’t gotten off yet.”
“Great,” Wilson said. “Can you bring Dr. Silva down to the station right now? Agent Forrester wants to ask her questions.”
“Forrester? He’s there?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.” Wilson hung up and turned to Forrester. “It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. Anything else you need in the meantime?”
Forrester studied Wilson’s face two seconds longer than would have been comfortable.
“Collect or write down everything you found on Martins. Don’t leave anything out.” He jabbed a finger in Wilson’s face. “And don’t get in my way.”
As Forrester stomped toward the restroom, Wilson resisted the urge to flip him the bird. The whole thing was like a fight on the playground over who got to use the slide. And Forrester seemed exceptionally interested in Cristina. The question was why. Maybe there was something to her fantastic theories, after all.
This woman is not Cristina Silva. Feldman’s words echoed in his mind. When Wilson first confronted her in her office, she seemed certain about her identity. But after the Longfellow Bridge incident, that confidence was gone. What changed?
Wilson sat at his desk and pulled his files for Forrester. The top folder was labeled Cristina Silva. The skin behind his ears burned. If the woman Hawkins was about to bring in wasn’t Silva, who was she?
&
nbsp; Chapter Thirty-Five
The 47 bus’s brakes squealed as it stopped at a red light. Cristina stared at Santos, unable to believe what he’d told her. “You’re saying I’ll forget everything? Who will I become?”
His lips pressed together, and he stared out the window. “If the pattern holds true, you won’t become anyone. You’ll meet the same fate as the others.”
“Others?” The pieces connected in her mind. The blood drained from her cheeks. “Oh my God. Those articles you gave me, all those violent suicides—they all took Recognate?”
He nodded.
Cristina’s stomach lurched. The idea that she played a role in the deaths of Jerry and Carl was bad enough. But the thought that there were others, and she might be next? She fought the urge to vomit. “And this is what Zero Dark wants? To kill people who need help?”
“I don’t know their full plan. No employee knows any more than what they need to do their job. Only the one in charge understands how it all fits together.”
“Quinn.”
Santos arched his eyebrows.
“I know he stole Jerry’s memory,” Cristina said. “I’m guessing he’s in charge of Zero Dark.”
The corner of Santos’s mouth curled. “It was Quinn who ordered me to burn down the Silvas’ home.”
She shuddered, more at the way he said their name than at the reminder of what he’d done. “You know who he is.”
“Yes.”
“How do I find him?”
“Find him?” His eyes widened. “Why would you want to find him?”
“To find another way out instead of the shitty fate you describe.”
“That’s the last thing you should do. Quinn is a very dangerous man. Even if he doesn’t kill you, he’ll deceive you, manipulate you, until you willingly serve him without the slightest realization of what he’s done.”
“So, I’m supposed to sit back and let him keep destroying people’s lives?”
“No,” Santos said. “You do as I ask and find my daughter.”
“Who’s manipulating now?” Cristina studied the husky man’s face. “How do I know you’re not Quinn?”
