The Wiseman Revelation (The Wiseman Series Book 2)

by Hightower, R. C.

“Do they know about me?”

  “No.”

  “Do they know about each other?”

  “No.”

  “Do they know anything about this?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  Suddenly, all of Langston’s questions about his parentage were pushed aside as unexpected irritation sprang up inside of him. “Is this your doing? Did you separate us and leave us to fend for ourselves?”

  Agent Roswell glanced at the television again. “I assure you, you weren’t left to fend for yourselves.” He pinned Langston with a hard look. “Were you?”

  Langston felt his already shaky bravado fizzle. “I just meant that you separated us without leaving a way to find one another.”

  “I’m the way.”

  Langston thought that was rich. What if Agent Roswell had died before now? Or what if he’d gotten hit in the head and lost his memory? This man had been playing fast and loose with his family’s history. “Why’d you do it?”

  “I promised to keep you safe, and separating you was the best way.”

  “Promised who? Keep us safe from what?”

  Agent Roswell wiped at a non-existent piece of lint on his knee. “Fai Chang had been released from prison shortly before the explosion at Biltmore—the university where William worked. Your mother, Eve, and a housekeeper were killed and Ella was taken at roughly the same time as the explosion. It was clearly an orchestrated attack, and I had to move quickly. Your family was being targeted. You would have been sitting ducks if I’d let you go together as a unit. It may not have been ideal, but it was necessary.”

  “Did you spend a lot of time with us?”

  “Just long enough to place you with your guardians.”

  Langston started picking at the pillow again. “I read that Ella was my twin. Did we seem happy together?”

  “I’m not sure if happy is the right word. More like appeased. You seemed to calm one another.”

  Langston swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Was Dr. Chang the one who attacked my family?”

  Agent Roswell scoffed. “That coward couldn’t have organized a game of tic-tac-toe. But he knew your father—and the university—well, and I’m sure he provided the necessary information for another person to get close enough to do that type of damage.”

  “Like who?”

  “We think it was a man named Soto. He ran illegal operations out of Thailand. Didn’t really care what he did, as long as it made him a profit.”

  Soto reminded Langston of J.T. “You never found Soto?”

  Agent Roswell shook his head. “He always had other people doing his dirty work. Most of the people we apprehended hadn’t ever seen Soto in person.”

  “This is crazy,” Langston said.

  Agent Roswell nodded once.

  Langston bit his bottom lip, apprehensively. “What was he like?”

  “Soto?”

  “My father.”

  “Mmm.” For a moment, Langston thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then Agent Roswell said, “William was well-liked, intelligent, but he wasn’t exactly the prestigious hero he’s made out to be. He dabbled in some ethical matters that were frowned upon by some of his colleagues.”

  Langston thought about the crescent mark behind his ear and on Missy’s heel. “You’re talking about the genome editing, aren’t you?”

  “Discovered anything lately?”

  Langston stared at the remote control until it hovered above the table.

  Agent Roswell looked put out. “That’s enough.”

  Langston let the remote rest back on the table. “Does Missy…?”

  “Make things levitate? No, she certainly does not, and I hope to God you don’t go around showing everyone that.”

  “I don’t.” Langston decided it was best not to reveal that he had shown a couple of people.

  “Tell me about the shooting in December.”

  Langston tore his gaze from the remote. “You know about that?”

  “Tell me what happened. What did you see?”

  “An arm pointing a gun at me from a dark sedan. Two arms, actually.”

  “Male? Female? What kind of guns?”

  “I—I don’t know. I was busy running for my life.” Agent Roswell stared at him, unblinking. Langston thought harder. “Handgun, I think.”

  “Had you noticed anything odd before? Someone acting suspiciously on the days leading up to the shooting? Strange phone calls?”

  “No, nothing. Everything was normal.” Langston had a thought. “What about my brother and sisters? Has anything happened to them?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  Langston nodded, not knowing whether to be comforted that Agent Roswell hadn’t confirmed an attack on his siblings or agitated that he didn’t know. “I want to meet them. Can you tell me where they are?”

  Agent Roswell stared at Langston.

  “I don’t need you to do anything,” Langston said quickly. “I just need to know where they are, and I’ll do everything myself.”

  “I know. You’re the smart one. I’m not worried.”

  “The smart one? What does that mean?”

  “You’ll see.” Agent Roswell cleared his throat. “Soto is still in Thailand. It’s possible that Ella is there. She could be anywhere by now.”

  Langston looked down, feeling a twinge in his chest.

  “Billie,” Agent Roswell sighed loudly, “is in the United Kingdom.”

  “Is she alright?”

  Agent Roswell didn’t smile, but there was a glint in his eye. “She can take care of herself.” He turned back to the television. “Your brother grew up in Long Island.”

  Long Island. Langston breathed in relief. At least that was in the United States. He should be able to get to him quickly. “Where in Long Island? What’s the address?”

  Agent Roswell pointed to the screen. “You ever see this guy?”

  Langston looked at the television. G. Hunter was winking at the camera. “Yeah.” He turned back to Agent Roswell. “Do you have Garvey’s address or telephone number?”

  Agent Roswell shook his head at the television. “They actually call him Candyman.” Agent Roswell didn’t exactly strike Langston as the type to keep up with BMX. “I wish they’d just call him by his name. Candyman… that purple hair.” He grunted. “Jesus.”

  “They all have nicknames,” Langston said impatiently.

  Agent Roswell turned to Langston. “Do you know what the G stands for?”

  Langston looked at the screen again. Who cares what the G stands for? “I’ve never given it much thought.”

  “It stands for Garvey. Garvey Hunter from Long Island.”

  Langston heard the words, but was having trouble processing them. He studied Agent Roswell’s face. “What?”

  “G. Hunter is Garvey Wiseman. He’s your brother.”

  Agent Roswell might as well have hit him on the head with a cast iron skillet. “What?”

  “It’s late.” Agent Roswell stood. “I’m going to go, but we’ll talk soon.”

  “Go?” Langston blinked. “You just got here.”

  “I’ll explain more later. Right now I have to take care of a few things.”

  “But—”

  “Later.” Agent Roswell walked to the door, but stopped before opening it. “Oh, and no more deals with J.T. Got it?”

  “How’d you…? You know about that? I thought you were retired.”

  “You don’t retire from this, Langston.” He handed over a business card with simply a phone number. There was no other information on the card. “Call me tomorrow morning.”

  Langston nodded obediently. “I will.”

  He watched Agent Roswell walk down the hall before closing the door. He leaned against it, holding the business card with both hands. His new prized possession, his key to all things unknown. He wanted to jump up and down and run to call Everett, but he reminded himself he was not a thirteen-year-old girl.

  Plus, Everett didn�
�t have his phone anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Agent Roswell was staying downtown at the Olive 8 hotel. His room was clean and tidy and smelled of cloves and sandalwood. A large flat screen sat on a glossy, dark wooden stand next to a matching desk. Three modern lamps cast a warm glow in the room, though the room itself was freezing. Langston shivered and shoved his hands in his pockets when he walked in.

  Agent Roswell walked across the beige and grey striped carpet to the far side of the room and adjusted the thermostat. “It should warm up shortly. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Langston walked past the king-size bed and took the rolling desk chair. He looked out the window at the rain and fog covering the city, and then followed Agent Roswell’s reflection.

  Agent Roswell brought over two tumblers with the hotel’s logo etched onto them. Each one contained ice and a couple inches of amber liquid. He handed one glass to Langston and lifted his own. “Cheers.” Agent Roswell downed the contents.

  Langston lifted his glass. “Thank you. Cheers.” As the wet, cold ice cubes bumped against his lips, a trail of lava coated Langston’s throat. His sputtered and coughed, croaking, “That’s potent.”

  Agent Roswell refilled the glasses with a bottle labeled George T. Stagg. “Bourbon. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

  Hot vapors swirled in Langston’s stomach as he set his refilled glass on the window sill. It felt like jet fuel racing through his veins. “I’m sure it will.”

  Agent Roswell drained his glass again and sat down in a plush grey chair across from Langston. He opened up his hands slightly. “What do you want to know?”

  Langston tried to organize his overwhelming list of questions, but could only ask, “What happened?”

  Agent Roswell leaned back and crossed his legs. Not ankle over knee, Langston noticed, but crossed at the knee, like sophisticated men did.

  The muscles in Agent Roswell’s jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. “A lot happened, Langston, starting with the fact that your father was colleagues with one of the most deranged men I’ve ever had the misfortune to interview.”

  Langston could see the man’s mug shot in his mind. “Dr. Chang.”

  “I’m sure you know about the human trafficking case.”

  “I read the trial transcripts. I can’t believe he was released from prison. How could that have happened?”

  “Our legal system isn’t always cut-and-dried,” Agent Roswell said. “It’s a living, breathing entity that can screw a victim just as easily as bring a criminal to justice.”

  “Did Dr. Chang ever say why he did it?”

  “He said the victims owed society.”

  “For what?” Langston asked.

  “The girls were young, poor. In Fai’s mind, they held no value on their own, just taking up space and resources. He thought he was doing these girls a favor by allowing them to be a part of his research and furthering medicine. Since they weren’t ‘pulling their weight financially’—his words—they owed society something. I think he likened it to people donating their bodies to science after death, except these girls were alive and quite unwilling.”

  Langston shook his head slowly, finding it easier to have this conversation while looking out of the window instead of looking at Agent Roswell. “What was it like finding my mom and the others in the basement?”

  “Worse than you can probably imagine. It was dark and cold, and the place reeked like a mildewed shithole. Fai was in California for a conference. If I’d seen him that day, I would have lost my job.” Langston glanced at Agent Roswell. His neck had turned red. “William was the first on the scene. Even after I’d arrived, he was still in bad shape, really shaken up.”

  It was hard to imagine Dr. Wiseman shaken up. He’d always looked so confident, ready for anything. Langston stared out into the heavy fog. He bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting to ask the question, but needing to know the answer. “Did he know what Dr. Chang was doing?”

  “He said he didn’t.”

  Langston frowned. “You didn’t believe him.”

  Agent Roswell sighed. “It was a challenge to take him at his word.”

  It rubbed Langston the wrong way to think that Agent Roswell was calling Dr. Wiseman a liar, even if he’d had his own doubts. “Why?”

  “William was clearly hiding something, and his acquaintanceship with Fai didn’t help. The reason he claimed to be in the house was to see if Fai was hiding university equipment. I found it odd that William didn’t report that to the dean.”

  “In the transcripts, Dr. Wiseman said it was a professional courtesy.”

  “I know what he said.”

  “He didn’t want to falsely accuse Dr. Chang. You can understand that, right?” Langston asked. Silence hung in the air, as thick as the fog outside. When it was clear Agent Roswell wasn’t going to answer, he moved on. “Okay, so what about the girls from the basement? What happened to them?”

  “One died at the hospital. One went back home to China. Khone and another one stayed in the United States.

  “Weren’t there five survivors?”

  “Yes. Iris Meesang also stayed. She was from Laos.”

  Something about Agent Roswell’s tone made Langston turn away from the window.

  “William grew very attached to Iris. He convinced Eve to hire her as a full-time nanny—Eve was pregnant with Garvey at the time. They gave Iris room and board at the house, fed her, clothed her, and hired a translator to teach her English.”

  “Did Iris take care of me too?”

  Agent Roswell nodded. “She took care of all of you. It was obvious you were her favorite. When it was time for you to go, I literally had to pry her fingers from you.”

  “I have a reoccurring nightmare about a woman with a bullet hole in her forehead.” Langston swallowed. “I woke up once screaming Iris’s name and I didn’t know why. Was she shot in the head?”

  “I can’t believe you remember that. You were only eight months old.”

  “Is my nightmare a memory? Did that really happen?”

  “Eve was shot in the head,” Agent Roswell said. “Iris found her and you were with Iris. Eve had hidden Garvey and Billie in the clothes hamper.”

  Sadness seeped past the numbness the bourbon had left in the pit of Langston’s stomach. “What happened to Iris?”

  Agent Roswell tapped his finger on the armrest. “She’d been crying for hours by the time the social worker took you, Garvey, and Billie. She was very upset with me for not letting you all stay at my house, which was completely out of the question for countless reasons. I tried to explain, but she said I’d betrayed her.” He cleared his throat. “She said she needed to use the restroom down the hall. She was gone for a long time, so I asked one of the ladies to check on her. The bathroom was empty. She was gone.”

  “You don’t know what happened to her?”

  “No.”

  “Did Iris know my mom? Khone, I mean.”

  “Yes. They were kidnapped together, along with many others. During their interviews, they mentioned one another. They had spoken in the truck that smuggled them in and then again later in Fai’s basement.”

  Langston grabbed the glass from the window sill and quickly drank the bourbon, trying to hold in a cough.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in,” Agent Roswell said.

  Langston nodded. “Do you think it’s possible that they kept in touch?”

  “I doubt it. If Iris knew you were with Khone, she would have found her way to you by now.”

  “Why did you choose her to take care of me? Weren’t there other Wiseman relatives?”

  “William’s parents were deceased, and he was an only child. Eve’s parents were elderly, very frail, and in no condition to raise young grandchildren.”

  “But I read that Eve had a sister. Marissa?”

  “Marissa went AWOL and kidnapped her own four sons. Her husband was beyond livid. After she was found, she was temporarily admitted into a psych
unit, and afterward, a divorce and a custody battle over their own kids. They were in no position to take any more.”

  Langston’s head was swimming, and he turned toward his trusty window. He blinked until the droplets on the window came into focus. “Why didn’t you let Iris keep us?”

  “Where would you have stayed?” Agent Roswell asked.

  “Couldn’t you have found somewhere?”

  “You were all targets, and we didn’t know where Soto or Fai were. It was best to separate you.”

  Best for whom? “You can’t find Iris, Soto, Ella, or Dr. Chang. And I’m sure if I ask about Penelope Patton, you’re going to say you don’t know where she is either.” Langston stood up and swayed. He caught himself on the window sill. “Homeland Security is either a huge joke, or you’re lying.” It took a moment before Langston realized what he’d just said. “I meant—”

  Agent Roswell held up a hand. “If Iris would have kept the three of you, you’d have been sitting ducks. She had no resources other than the Wisemans, and they were gone. You wouldn’t have made it through the night. It was a bad day—for all of us—but it was necessary and I didn’t have a lot of time to make a decision. Sit down.”

  Langston sat and put his face in his hands. He took a deep breath and looked up. “Why did you avoid me when I tried to contact you?”

  “I was taking care of a few things. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

  “It sure felt like it.” Langston propped his elbow on the sill, feeling much warmer. “Will you tell me about Missy’s surgery?”

  “I thought you two already discussed that.”

  “She said she doesn’t remember anything.”

  “A specialist owed me a favor so we tried an experimental—”

  “I’m sorry, Agent Roswell, but I don’t think I believe that, and neither does Missy.”

  “Is that so?”

  “We think that Dr. Wiseman had something to do with her recovery, just like I know he had something to do with my ability.”

  “Missy’s surgery was after William’s memorial.”

  “Yeah, well, you knew him, right? Did he have a stash of serum or a book of instructions or something?”

  Agent Roswell’s laugh was deep and throaty. “A book of instructions? Like a piece of furniture from IKEA?”