Seated behind the desk, Cummings casually comments, “The mysterious Chance in the flesh. You don’t usually want to meet face-to-face.”
Pacing by the door Jing replies, “You don’t usually work behind my back.”
Adjusting the lapels of his uniform Cummings says, “I’m certain I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t,” Jing points a finger at him warning, “Do not think me a fool Wolf. It would be…unwise.”
The two men stare down each other, neither blinking until Jing elaborates, “When I told you to bring Edlund here you showed a curiosity as to why and I told you then it was not your concern.”
Glowering at him Jing continues, “But that apparently wasn’t good enough for you. You attached a remora fish, if you will, to Edlund in the hopes of feeding off any scraps of information you could find. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about it?”
“If you’re referring to Chase,” Cummings answers, “He’s merely security to keep your prize safe until you have need of him. After all, people seem to have a habit of disappearing around here.”
Looking daggers at him; Jing slowly turns away to resume pacing. “This is a dangerous game you’re choosing to play.”
“I’m playing no games here,” Cummings hardens his voice as he retorts, “But do not think me a fool either. You bring an unknown into the equation at this late stage and how do I know he is not your exit strategy?
“How do I know you’re not planning on using him to throw me under the bus?”
“You don’t,” Jing snaps, “And you don’t need to know.”
Smiling wickedly Cummings comes back with, “See that’s where we disagree. This was your baby from the start—it goes sideways on us and I’m telling you I’m not going to be the one holding the bag.”
“If it goes sideways whose fault will it be? Where is the lost data? Under whose watch did it go missing?”
“We’ll find it,” Cummings replies tightly.
“I want him off the island immediately.”
“Well too bad this isn’t Survivor then.”
“What?” Jing questions, “You dare defy me?”
Fixing him in his steely gaze, Cummings counters, “Oh more than that. Since you know so much already—know this as well Chance. I will learn why the boy is important enough to you to bring him here. And if I find the reason is to betray me in any way…I will bury you.”
Anger widens his eyes as Jing spits, “You are a fool Wolf. You threaten me here, when I’m surrounded by my army.” Snapping his fingers he adds, “I could have you killed like that.”
Unimpressed by his attempted show of might, Cummings shakes his head. “I don’t think so. You need me to lead your army of mercenaries—to keep them from turning on you. I promise you this, you make a move against me and you’ll need more than that army to protect you from me.”
“An impressive speech,” Jing ridicules, “Too bad you haven’t the capital to back it up. I make you the same promise I’ve made you before; you no longer hold sway in the corridors of power. No longer are you the golden boy Wolf—Stillness saw to that. You are isolated and alone.
“Do not forget that if it wasn’t for me you’d be in prison right now. Continue to move against me and well…let’s just say I don’t like your chances.”
Grabbing the doorknob he flings the door wide open saying as he departs, “Have him on the next ferry out of here or face the consequences.”
His hands steepled before him, Cummings whispers to his retreating back, “We’ll see.”
Swanquarter, North Carolina
“It’s all yours,” Cole says as he exits the bathroom.
“Bout time,” Jeremy gripes as he jumps up off his bed, “You leave any hot water for me?”
Cole smiles as he passes him. Plopping down on the foot of his bed, he slips a Superman t-shirt on over his head and resumes toweling his hair dry.
Hearing his mobile vibrating across the nightstand between the beds he reaches over for it and answers, “Cole here.”
Like he was dropped right into the middle of a conversation he hears a familiar gruff sounding voice asking him, “Do I sound like a secretary to you?”
Still drying his hair with one hand he answers, “No you don’t Chief.”
“Do I sound like your secretary?”
“I don’t have a secretary Chief.”
“And yet here we are,” Anson White grumbles, “With me having to call you to give you your messages.”
“I got a call?”
“Don’t be so hasty Cole.”
He can picture Anson pacing his office as he says, “First things first—what have you got for me?”
Sighing Cole explains, “Not too much I’m afraid.”
“You’ve been there a week.”
“I know,” Cole defends his position, “And it’s not as if I have nothing. I’ve interviewed a lot of residents and gathered…a lot of opinions.”
“Have you been on the island yet?”
“I haven’t managed to find a way past the blockade.” Sensing his boss’ ire coming he quickly adds, “But I’m working on it.”
“You’re running out of time,” Anson informs him, “Fiona is approaching from the south; it’ll be there in a day, two tops.”
“Yeah, I’m acutely aware of that fact Chief.”
“Well then let me help you work faster. You got a call from a…” there’s a lengthy pause over the line during which time Cole can hear Anson rummaging around his desk and muttering under his breath.
“…Jebediah Earl. He says he’ll only talk to you and that he knows what happened on Hope.”
“Doesn’t everybody around here,” Cole mumbles.
“What was that?”
“Nothing Chief. Did he give you anything at all to go on?”
“No,” Anson replies, “But my gut’s telling me he isn’t a quack. There are plenty of reporters around there he could talk to if all he wanted was a little of the limelight. This guy knows something. I sent you his information; you need to talk to him.”
“Will do Chief.”
Clearing his throat Anson asks, “You found anything on Nick yet?”
“Not yet,” he reluctantly admits.
“Do you still believe he went there?”
There is no judgment or malice in the question—Cole knows it’s just his opinion that Anson is after. With a weary sigh he responds, “I’ll admit I’m starting to wonder.”
“Well talk to this Earl guy first,” Anson says, “See what he knows and then decide whether it’s still worth pursuing this in the face of a hurricane.”
“You got it Chief.”
“How many times Cole?” He can hear him grinding his teeth over the line. “Don’t. Call. Me. Chief!”
“Sorry Chief,” Cole says with a smile as he disconnects the call.
Checking his laptop he finds a new e-mail from the Times and opening it retrieves the information for Jebediah Earl. Dialing his number he listens to it ring four times before it’s answered.
“Lo?”
“Is this Jebediah Earl?”
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Cole Hewitt from the New York Times. I’m returning your call.”
“Ah,” Jebediah exhales, “That’n I did Mr. Hewitt. Y’all is jus’ the man I need; I have’n the answers y’all lookin’ for.”
“No offense Mr. Earl,” Cole says, “But I’ve heard that line a lot around here. How do I know you’re any different than the rest of them?”
“Well for one thing Mr. Hewitt, y’all ain’t got to believe a word I says. I know’s what I saw and y’all can believe your own eyes when I show the proof.”
“You have actual proof of something?”
“Yessir I do.”
“What is it?”
“It don’t work like that,” Jebediah replies, “Fore I says anything, we settle on a price for what I know.”
“You,” Cole stammers,
“You want to get paid? Did you mention that in your call?”
“I do and I did not. This’n between us—y’all want what I know it’ll cost. Up front.”
“I can’t do that Mr. Earl,” Cole asserts, “If what you have is of value then we can talk about a payment, but I need to see it first. I’m sorry, but that’s how it’s got to be.”
Quiet on the other end of the line stretches out for several moments as Jebediah considers the terms.
“You obviously trust me Mr. Earl, or you wouldn’t have called and asked to speak to only me. Trust me now when I say that if you have what you say you have then I’ll make sure you get paid fairly for it.”
“Y’all got yerself a deal Mr. Hewitt,” Jebediah finally says, “Be at my place at 10:30 this mornin’. I’s in the book; sure’n y’all can find the place. Good day Mr. Hewitt.”
With that the line goes dead. After a moment he hollers, “Hey Jeremy!”
“What?!?”
“Hurry it up in there. We got to go—someone says they know what happened on Hope.”
“So what else is new?” Jeremy hollers back, “What is it this time, the Easter Bunny or Bigfoot?”
“No,” Cole replies, “I got a feeling this time we might actually get the truth.”
Chapter 26
Atlanta, Georgia
It’s the closest thing to a miracle that she’s ever witnessed.
Sitting in Caleb’s hospital room, Ling Tran listens as he talks to his doctor. Seven days ago he was in the ICU fighting for his life—a fight she feared he would lose.
Now, he’s awake, sitting up, and talking to his doctor about of all things, being released.
Simply a miracle.
Wearing a pale colored hospital gown though, he still looks fragile. The IV’s and catheter may have been removed but the patchy growth of beard, muted color in his cheeks, and angry scarring on his left arm from the fire still reveal the magnitude of what he’s just been through.
“I understand you’re anxious to get out of here,” Dr. Levi says with a smile, “But don’t be too hasty Caleb. You’re recovering from some serious injuries and even if I OK your release today—a big if—it won’t be so you can rush back to active duty.”
“I feel fine doc,” Caleb replies.
“Don’t argue with him Caleb,” Ling Tran interjects.
“Listen to your partner,” Dr. Levi advises, “You’re extremely lucky that your scans revealed no serious head trauma. You suffered no strokes or other brain injury aside from the low grade concussion.
“But you are far from fine Caleb. You had a perforated bowel, hemothorax and elevated levels of potassium which caused some renal concerns.
“Bottom line, I’m afraid it’s going to take a lot of recovery time before you’ll be ready to return to breaking down doors and catching bad guys with the FBI.”
Seeing the downtrodden expression on Caleb’s face, Dr. Levi groans inwardly and relents, “All right Caleb. I’ll run a few more tests and if the results are promising I’ll consider releasing you in the next couple of days.
“No promises though—and I mean it when I say no returning to work if I do let you go. I will not be clearing you for active duty.”
As he leaves the room Ling Tran approaches the bed saying with a smile, “I never thought I’d see the day when the big, bad Agent Fine would use a hang-dog look to get what he wanted.”
Sharing the laugh he replies, “Whatever works right?”
After a moment she grows serious. With a catch in her voice she says, “I’m so glad you’re OK Caleb. I was…really worried that I’d lost you there.”
He reaches out for her hand and she continues, “I’m sorry for what I said to Hofstra.”
Shaking his head Caleb rejects the apology. “You have nothing to be sorry for Ling. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve been an ass…pretty much since you got back from maternity leave. I haven’t been fair with you and I hate myself for it.”
A lone tear races down his cheek while he carries on. “I just…I got so consumed by Heath and the need to find him that…I haven’t been anywhere near the kind of partner you need me to be. For that I’m sorry. For the hurtful things I said…”
“It’s OK,” she raises his hand to her mouth and kisses the back of it saying, “I know it’s been hard for you. And after Lynne…vanished…I could’ve been more supportive of you.”
Wiping his eyes, Caleb laughs, “Look at us; big tough FBI agents getting all broken up by our feelings. If only all the perps I’ve interrogated could see me now.”
She joins in his boisterous laughter until it causes him to flinch from the pain in his ribs. “Oh,” he groans, “Don’t make me laugh like that.”
As they calm down he asks, “So what exactly happened at the house anyway?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Well,” he replies, “Hofstra was here earlier but wouldn’t say what caused the explosion. All he wanted to know was what I remembered.”
“What do you remember?” she probes cautiously.
Closing his eyes to the memory Caleb gradually recalls, “We were looking for the answer to the riddle. I thought it was there. I remembered seeing a Faberge Egg on his mantle that I thought was odd. I thought it might be the egg the riddle referred to and I wanted to check it out.
“Hal,” he pauses for a moment before saying, “Hal wanted to wait. He wanted to go by the book and call in the bomb squad but I…I didn’t want to waste any more time. I was so desperate to find Lynne that I wouldn’t listen to reason.
“I lifted the egg and…nothing happened. Hal thought he heard a click, thought he smelled gas, but I dismissed him and smashed the egg open. After that…everything went to hell. There was a flash and then I was gone.”
“There was a gas leak,” Ling Tran informs him, “Bomb squad determined that it was triggered by a dead man’s switch on the mantle. When you lifted the egg you cut the line.”
“How come the initial sweep of the place didn’t find it?”
She shrugs her shoulders saying, “We don’t know. It’s possible it was added more recently.”
“But the egg was hollow—empty. What caused the explosion? Where was the bomb?”
“There was no bomb per se,” she explains, “Tests confirmed that the egg was filled with powdered iron sulfide. When you smashed it open and exposed it to the air it sparked and ignited the gas that caused the explosion.”
Looking forlorn, Caleb whispers, “Then I caused it.”
“No,” Ling adamantly grips his hand saying, “Heath caused it. He’s the one who set the trap. It’s his fault—not yours.”
“How is,” he hesitates, “How is Hal?”
“He’s still in a coma,” she divulges, “But he’s hanging in there. You have to believe that he’s going to be all right.”
Seeing that he is doubtful, Ling squeezes his hand saying, “Look at me.” He doesn’t respond prompting her to try again. “Hey, look at me.”
This time he raises his eyes to meet hers and she says, “What happened is not your fault. If Hal were awake you know he wouldn’t blame you for this. I know you Caleb; don’t beat yourself up about this. Hal is a tough guy—he’ll pull through—you’ll see.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles unconvincingly, “You’re right. He’s the toughest guy I know.”
Patting his arm she says, “I should go; you need to get some rest.”
“Before you go,” he says, “A thought has plagued me since…the blast. I don’t know if I dreamed it or if I’m just seeing what was there all along or what.”
“What is it?”
His voice deadens as he asks, “What if we’ve been wrong about the Toymaker?”
“Wrong?” she counters, “How do you mean?”
“What if the Toymaker is…not one man?” Recognizing the interested look on her face, he continues, “Think about it. The DNA confirms that Ryan Heath is involved; but what if he’s not alone in this?”
&nb
sp; Nodding warily she asks, “Where’s this coming from?”
Taking a deep breath he answers, “The inconsistencies that we’ve noted at the crime scenes. Donald Lincoln, Heather Quinn, Noah Gracen, and Jefferson Moss were intricately arranged in morbid tableaus but none of the other victims were.
“I mean Greg Tanaka was just tossed on the side of the road; Jake Neubauer—simply left in the back of his cab. Theresa Trott was shot; none of the other victims were.
“Stacy Vandenwier was let go alive when it would’ve been so easy to just finish her off. She also wasn’t bound like so many of the other victims. Then there are the riddles.
“Why all of a sudden is he starting to communicate with us when he never did before? And powdered iron sulfide with dead man switches for gas leaks? That seems beyond the profile we have for Heath, doesn’t it?
“Nothing we know about him suggests he would know anything about how to devise such a trap.
“I’m just thinking out loud here,” he finishes, “But it seems to point toward the possibility that Ryan has a partner in this. And that partner may go all the way back to the beginning.”
“What do you mean?” she whispers.
“Hebert and Carson may have been complicit in springing him from the mental ward but who paid them off? Heath wouldn’t have had the funds—so who did?”
The air in the room goes still as they both contemplate the implications of this. A partner…good God. It’s not without precedent for serial killers to work together but by and large they’re solitary creatures.
If Heath has an accomplice then we’re back to square one—we have no clue who it might be.
“I’ll bring it to the task force,” Ling offers, “Have a profiler work it up. Wish we had…” she stops mid-sentence as they lock eyes. They both know who they wish they had.
“If you’re right about this,” she says, “Then we’re back to playing catch-up until we can find out their identity.”
Giving his hand a final squeeze she adds, “In the meantime you need to rest. I’ll check back in with you later.”
“Yeah…rest,” he mumbles sarcastically, “After all what could possibly be keeping me up?”
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