by Glenn Cooper
“Mr. Piper says th’ boy met a girl online,” Cacia told Daniel.
“Must be quite the lass t’ come this far.” Daniel laughed. “Where in the States are you from?”
“Virginia.”
“How’d he manage to get all th’ way here?”
“He ran away, bought a plane ticket, took a train from London.”
Daniel said, “A motivated lad.”
“How old is your daughter?” Annie asked.
“She’s fifteen,” Cacia said.
“Does she go online a lot?” Will asked.
“Not from here, that’s for sure,” Daniel answered. “We’ve no computers. Maybe from school. Wouldn’t know.”
Annie continued, “Has your daughter mentioned using the social networking service called Socco?”
“Never heard of it,” Cacia said.
“Could you show her this picture of Phillip when she gets back from school and ask her if she’s ever sent a message to him?” Will asked.
Annie passed one of her cards to the nodding woman.
“And one more question,” Will asked, rising. “Have you ever heard the term the Librarians?”
“Well, I know what a librarian is?” Daniel said. “Don’t think I understand th’ question.”
“Yeah, it is a strange one. Outside of the conventional meaning, is there any local group up here that goes by that name?”
“No, sorry,” Daniel said. “Can’t help you.”
Annie hurriedly finished her tea and stood up too.
“Thanks very much for your kindness,” Will said. “If your girl knows anything, please call Miss Locke right away.”
Will was surprised when Cacia Lightburn took his large hands in her small ones and squeezed. She looked at him with unblinking green eyes and said with a sincerity that almost evoked his tears, “I know you’re going to find your boy, Mr. Piper. I know you will.”
They returned to the car.
“Awfully nice people,” Annie said.
“Yeah, I guess they were,” he said, his voice drifting off. His hands tingled. It was almost as if he could feel the lingering touch of that woman’s rough palms. “Let’s keep moving. Two more houses to go.”
Through the front-facing kitchen window, Cacia watched the car disappear.
“They’re gone.”
Daniel rubbed at his hurt hand and started upstairs.
“Send Haven t’ me as soon as her bus arrives.”
“Daniel,” his wife said. “If they come back here, what are we t’ do?”
“Do? We’ll kill ’em, of course.”
Chapter 11
Nancy fast-walked from her office to Director Parish’s suite. She’d been having a cup of coffee and commiserating with her assistant about Phillip when all hell broke loose. She’d been forced to banish her son from her thoughts.
Parish started in before she could even take a chair.
“Jesus Christ, Nancy. Jesus fricking Christ.”
His phone buzzed. His PA was on the intercom. “The White House is calling. Chief of Staff Gladwell.”
“Tell him I’m being briefed on the matter. I’ll call him back in two minutes,” Parish said. He turned to Nancy, “Tell me what we know.”
“Details are still coming in, but the Chinese embassy in Washington received six postcards this morning by regular mail,” she said, checking her notes. “They were addressed to the Ambassador, the Deputy Chief of Mission, the Minister for Cultural Affairs, the Minister for Economic and Commercial Affairs, the Defense Attaché, and an Information Officer.”
“What date’s on the cards?”
“All tomorrow.”
“Is it a copycat?”
“Hard to say. We’ve got a team over there negotiating with their security people to take possession of the postcards for forensics. I’m told they’re postmarked from Manhattan, like the others, and that the hand-drawn coffin appears identical.”
Parish threw his hands up. “What the hell good are forensics going to be? None of the postcards have common prints.”
“We can test the ink. So far they’ve been from the same brand of pen.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ve got to tell you, Bob, I don’t think this fits. Maybe it’s a copycat, like you said, or maybe our perp is intentionally winding up the Chinese government toward some end. Think about it. Everything so far had pointed to an outdated database. None of these diplomats have even been in the States for more than a few years. And they don’t live at the embassy. The Area 51 databases, as I understand them, are keyed to residential addresses.”
“Well, we’ll just have to wait to see if any or all of these diplomats are pushing daisies by midnight tomorrow, won’t we?” Parish said caustically.
His intercom buzzed. It was the White House again. He had the call put through, hit speaker mode, and regurgitated Nancy’s briefing to Dan Gladwell.
Gladwell was in the middle of a sentence when he told Parish he had to put him on hold. When he came back on the line he said, “Bob, I just got word from State that the Chinese are packing up and leaving. They’re evacuating the entire embassy. They’ve got a plane heading to Dulles to pick them up and bring them home. They’ve lodged a formal protest. I need you over here five minutes ago to brief the President.”
Will and Annie widened their house-to-house search concentrically and by the end of the day had visited all residences within a two-mile radius of Phillip’s beacon. The word had spread around Pinn; some of the farmers knew about their visit in advance. A few were cordial; many were downright nasty about the intrusion. None of them shed a glimmer of light on Phillip’s whereabouts.
They began their drive back to Kirkby Stephen in the creeping sunset, Will’s mood matching the dullness of the evening.
“Let me buy you dinner,” Annie said, her eyes firmly on the windy road. “I spotted a pleasant-looking place across from the hotel.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said robotically.
She snuck a glance at him. “We’ll find him, Will.”
“Can we get the police to do another air search tomorrow?”
“Honestly, I doubt it. Officer Wilson sounded like they were done for now, but if there are further leads we’re to ring him.”
He felt the valley squeezing him again and wanted to escape its grip to an open space where he could breathe easier. The terrain smoothed out soon enough and there was some relief in that. But Phillip was going to be spending another night somewhere in that gloomy valley. Hiding? Held against his will? Scared?
He texted Nancy a barebones status report.
Her texted reply was, Oh my . . . and he could hear the sigh in it.
He waited for more, then asked her if she was okay.
Yeah. U?
Hanging in there.
Big problems with China.
I need to hear that Philly is safe.
I’ll get it done. I promise.
“Your wife?” Annie asked.
He grunted an affirmative.
“She must be worried sick.”
“She is. So am I.”
Back in his room, Will splashed his face and changed his shirt. He tuned the TV to the news and quickly got the drift of Nancy’s “China Problem.” She was in the middle of it like the yolk in an egg, that was for sure.
His mobile started vibrating and chiming on his bed. He figured it was Nancy but when he was a couple of feet away, he pounced on it.
The caller ID was PHILLIP!
“Phillip!” he screamed into the phone. “Where are you?”
There was a sickening pause where he heard nothing at all.
“Phillip?”
“I’m his friend.” It was a small voice. A girl’s voice. He’d heard the Cumbrian accent all day long.
Will sensed a fragility. If he pushed hard, he’d lose her. At the FBI, he’d been legendary at interrogation.
“I’m his dad.”
“I know.”
“Is he
okay?”
A soft “Yeah.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“I’m not with ’im right now.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s safe.”
“Where are you?”
“Th’ library.”
“In Kirkby Stephen?”
“Yeah.”
“If I go there, can I talk to you?”
“Only if you promise t’ come alone.”
“I promise.”
“Do you have a car?”
“No. Yes. Yes, I have a car.”
“Good. We’ll need a car if you want t’ see ’im.”
“How will I know who you are?”
“I’ll know who you are. You’re Will Piper.”
Will hung up and began to think furiously. If he involved Annie he might spook the girl and the door she had opened might slam shut. He could hardly use a taxi. In his prime he might have hot-wired a car and helped himself but he had no idea if it was even possible to boost one of the electrics in the car park.
Suddenly he knew what he had to do. He grabbed his phone and wallet and took off.
He didn’t go far.
Annie opened her door to his knock. She was in a robe. “I thought we said half an hour.”
“I know.”
He gently pushed his way in. She closed the door and dropped her arms to her side allowing the robe to part.
He’d pulled this kind of stunt so many times in his life he couldn’t remember. Sometimes he was sober, often not. Sometimes he knew the woman’s name, sometimes not. He was never a big talker in these circumstances and he wasn’t this time either. He simply pulled her in, kissed her softly on her upturned lips, and moved his hands over her back.
After a while she disengaged, smiling.
“Gosh, wasn’t expecting that. I’m sure the restaurant will be open a bit later.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood for a dalliance.”
“I figured an attractive lady would take my mind off things.”
“It’s the least His Majesty’s Government can do for you. Just give me a sec, won’t you?”
He nodded, and she disappeared into the bathroom.
He wasted no time. The Ford’s keys were on the bureau. He pocketed them and walked out quietly, closing the door behind him.
In a few minutes he was tucking the car away on a street behind the public library.
It was one of the two days per week the library had extended hours. There were many more users than his previous visit. The main floor had an inviting fluorescence compared to the gloomy darkness of Market Street. Despite his long retirement he still had the knack. He scanned the room and processed it in one fell swoop, hoovering it for evidence, getting the broad picture and finer details simultaneously.
He pegged the teenage girl before she made eye contact. It was the way she fidgeted nervously with a strand of her long red hair. And her hippie retro look, which his own daughter had adopted for a time: no makeup, long, gauzy dress with a pea jacket over it, low-cut work boots. She looked like the kind of kid who’d use a wildflower as a screen name.
The confirmation came when she saw him and affected a small smile. She motioned for him to follow her to the stairwell.
In the basement, among the stacks, she finally spoke.
“Did ya come alone?”
“Yes.”
“Phillip looks like you.”
“Where is he?”
“Not far.”
“Okay, let’s go get him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
He trod lightly. She looked afraid. “Should I call you Hawkbit?”
“Me name’s Haven.”
An airy-fairy name. “Okay, Haven. Why don’t you tell me what the situation is?”
“Can we do it when we’re driving? I slipped away. Hitched a ride t’ town. They’ll find me missin’ if I’m not back soon.”
“Are we going to Pinn?” he asked.
She didn’t look surprised as she nodded. “I was told you were around today.”
He searched his memory to match Haven’s features to the families he’d visited. “Lightburn Farm?”
She nodded again.
“I met your parents.”
She nodded.
“My car’s parked out back.”
Haven showed him a back way to get to the B6259 without passing through Market Street. Annie would be prowling the town, looking for him, angry on so many levels. At least he’d been able to swipe the keys before he’d had to sleep with her. There was that.
And as if on cue, his mobile phone rang with a call from a UK number. He didn’t remember giving Annie his mobile number but she was MI5 after all. She probably had a dossier on him. He switched the phone off. The last thing he wanted was for Annie or the local police bumbling into a situation and mucking things up. He was going to extricate Phillip from whatever jam he was in. He didn’t need their help anymore.
It was fully dark. Outside the town he clicked on the high beams.
She sat beside him, a silent waiflike presence.
“What can you tell me, Haven? Why did you want Phillip to come here?”
“I thought he could ’elp.”
It wasn’t going to flow out of her. “Help who?”
“Me. And others too.”
“How could he help you?”
“By getting th’ word out.”
“About what?”
“About what we do up on th’ farm.”
He asked the question as gently as he could, fighting the urge to scream at her to spill the goddamned beans already. “What do you do on your farm?”
“I’ll show ya, not tell ya.”
Was that the line she’d used on Phillip? Was this a ruse orchestrated by her parents to lure him there? “Under the circumstances, Haven, how do I know this isn’t some kind of trap?”
“It’s dangerous, but it’s nae a trap. Phillip got caught, and I feel bad ’bout that. Truly awful. I was the one who got his NetPen away from Uncle Kheelan. I helped ’im get off.”
“But he got caught again, right?”
She sounded mournful. “On th’ fells.”
“He said he was being chased by the Librarians.”
“Did he?”
“What did he mean by that?”
“You’ll find out.”
“Are you sure he’s okay?”
“Me dad fell over and busted his hand, but Phillip’s fine. They’re cross wit’ me. They’re not letting me see ’im, but I know he’s cared for.”
He needed to formulate a plan. “Is he in the farmhouse?”
“No.”
“The barn?”
“No.”
“The other cottage?”
“No.”
“Where then?”
“Under them.”
“A tunnel?”
“More than that. You’ll see.”
“How do I get to him?”
“There’s a secret way in. I’m taking you there.”
“Do your parents or your uncle have any guns?”
“Shotguns.”
“Any handguns?”
“Don’t think so. Don’t know.”
“How many men are at your farm?”
Her response puzzled him. “How do you mean men?”
“Adults. Brothers, cousins, you know.”
“There’s me father, me uncle, me two brothers, and me two cousins, but they’re girls. And me aunt, but she’s a girl too, I ’spose.”
The sign for Pinn was in the headlights.
“In about a mile we’re going to pull off th’ road and hide th’ car in a little thicket,” she said. “We’ll walk the rest of th’ way through th’ fields. I’ve brung a torch.”
He was always good at reading people—very good—but he wasn’t confident that his skills applied to teenage girls from Mallerstang. If this was a trap, no one would have a clue w
here he’d gone. Someone from the farm could come back for the car and drive it to another town or hide it in a barn. He’d be on his own. He didn’t love any of his options. He’d have to figure something out when he got there. He wasn’t an FBI agent any longer. He was a retiree with a mending heart. But he’d always been able work through tough scrapes, and he wasn’t about to stop believing in himself with his son’s life on the line.
“Okay, Haven,” he said. “Whatever you say.”
Kenney awakened from his nap to the sound of his NetPen firing off an alert. He fumbled for the light in the officer’s guest room and grabbed the device, commanding it to read the message.
Incoming voice communication from Phillip Piper to Will Piper. Received 18:22 GMT.
Phillip! Where are you? Phillip?
I’m his friend.
Kenney listened to the rest of the conversation and laced up his boots. Soon he was flicking the light switches down the hall in the guest dormitory.
His men alerted fast, sparing him the dazed and confused routine.
“Lopez, Harper, get your asses in gear. We’re blowing this taco stand. We’re going to Kirkby Stephen.”
“That a person or a place, chief?” Lopez asked, slipping on his civilian khakis.
“It’s a town, jackass. Piper’s on the move, and so are we.”
Chapter 12
Isle of Wight, 1297
Clarissa swung her feet off the bed and paused before standing lest she have a dizzy fit. She pressed her hands against her swollen belly and sang a little ditty to her unborn child, a rhyme her mother had fancied:
Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John,
Went to bed with his trousers on;
One shoe off and one shoe on,
Diddle diddle dumpling, my son, John.
Sighing, she pushed herself upright, slid her feet into sandals, and shuffled to her water basin.
Her simple morning wash complete, she rapped her knuckles against her locked door and called for Sister Hazel.
The door opened but Sister Hazel wasn’t there. Instead it was another nun she’d never seen before.
“Where is Sister Hazel?”
The woman had a thick Germanic accent. “She took ill last night with the flux and is being attended in the infirmary. My name is Sister Ingrid. How may I help you?”
