Zander bowed his head and prayed for Gemma and for himself. “Father God, as unfeasible as this situation may appear, your word tells us that you are the God of the Impossible: Nothing is too difficult for you. I believe you brought Gemma into my life, that you brought us together for your purposes. And, Lord, because I believe that you approve of our love, I will also trust you to make a way for us. So, I will wait—with hope and confidence—for you to reveal your will to both of us. Amen.”
He touched—for what felt like the hundredth time—the phone Gemma had given him, his only link to the woman he loved. He knew he needed to power the phone off and return it to its hiding place, the underside of his chest of drawers. As Gemma had reminded him, simply delivering Cushing into FBI custody was not the end. No; someone higher than Cushing, an individual or individuals not yet known to them, was still out there, still seeking the nanomites—and that meant they were hunting Gemma.
Unceasing vigilance was necessary.
The sight of the burner phone made Zander remember his own cell phone. He’d intentionally left it behind when he’d driven south with Gamble the last hours of Sunday night. He’d left it someplace in his duplex and hadn’t thought about it since he’d returned home this afternoon.
“Let’s see . . . It’s gotta be around here somewhere.” He scanned the living room and pawed through some books. “Maybe the bedroom?”
He found it on his nightstand—where he’d left it after Gamble had called and awakened him late Sunday night. When the phone buzzed, Zander had grabbed it from the charger, engaged in a semi-frantic conversation with Gamble, and dropped it back on the nightstand—and he had forgotten to plug it back in before he tore from his house to meet Gamble.
Zander pressed the home button.
Nothing.
“Great. Dead battery.” He inserted the cable, set the phone down to charge, and set about tidying up the bed he’d left in such a hurry after receiving Gamble’s late-night call.
He finished and turned to leave the bedroom when a series of texts and voice mails pinged their arrival. He picked up the phone and scanned the list. Three texts from Izzie. Two voice mail messages from the church office—most likely Mrs. Coyne, the church secretary. Another three from his boss, Senior Pastor McFee.
Lord, I’m pretty sure that I’m in trouble at work. I ask you right now to help me. You know that what I was doing was important—but I can’t tell Pastor McFee that I was out saving Gemma—oh, by the way, the subject of a massive manhunt—and helping Dr. Bickel escape from the government. (Yes, he’s supposed to be dead.)
Father, please grant me a measure of grace and wisdom in this situation?
He skipped their messages to review the remaining texts and VMs.
Wait. Abe had called a bunch of times? Zander counted. Five voice mails from Abe. Since Tuesday morning.
He tapped the first message and listened to Abe’s heavy, agitated breathing before the man managed to speak. “Pastor Zander? I need t’ talk to you right now. The police came by this morning. They say somebody stopped Emilio on his way home from school yesterday and took him!”
Horrified, Zander listened to the end of the message.
“The police say it’s kidnapping, for sure. Pastor Zander, call me soon as you get this. Somebody took my boy!” Abe’s labored breathing hung on the line a few minutes, and Zander realized that Abe was weeping, holding the phone to his chest to muffle the sound.
Before Abe disconnected, he managed to add, “Please call me right away.”
Emilio! Zander’s blood ran cold.
With growing dismay, Zander listened to Abe’s other messages, all similar. On the last call, Abe seemed calmer, more collected, and he added further detail.
“Zander, the police say that Emilio’s little friend, Sean—the other boy who lives in the same foster home—was able to give them more information. Guess the boys were walking home from the bus stop and the man in the car lured Sean to the door and then grabbed him by the collar. Wouldn’t let him go until Emilio changed places with him. That man wanted Emilio, not Sean. And now the police are saying they are certain the man was that gangster, Arnaldo Soto!”
The calm deserted Abe. “Where are you, Pastor Zander? No one in the church office knows where you are, either. I’m worried ’bout you, son, and they are plenty worried, too, but I’m more worried ’bout Emilio. Please call me!”
Were the police right? Had Soto taken Emilio? Gamble had given Gemma the bad news about Soto while they were in the cavern: The gangster had escaped from the FBI with the help of four officers in the APD gang unit who were believed to be on Soto’s payroll. But how would Soto know of Gemma’s attachment to Emilio?
Zander checked his call log and saw that Abe had called again earlier in the evening. He hadn’t left a message.
It was now an hour till midnight, and Zander knew Abe would ordinarily be in bed asleep, but Abe deserved to know why Zander had been MIA and to know that Gemma was all right. He also deserved Zander’s comfort and support.
Zander sat on the bed and dialed. The line on the other end rang four times before Abe picked up.
“H’llo?” Abe’s voice was slow with sleep.
“Abe, it’s Zander. I’m sorry to call so late and wake you up, but I wanted you to know that Gemma is all right. She’s safe, and I’m okay, too.”
“Pastor Zander!” Abe was alert now. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just now got your messages.”
“But where have you been? Even Pastor McFee didn’t know where you were.”
“It’s a long story and one you need to hear, but I am more concerned at the moment about Emilio. Are the police certain that Soto took him?”
Abe sighed. “That little boy, Sean? Although the man who took Emilio wore a baseball hat and sunglasses, Sean described him as dark with a Hispanic accent. And he said that one of the man’s arms was wrapped in bandages—and the police said Soto’s hand was broken.”
“Too much of a coincidence, then.”
Abe’s voice softened to a whisper. “Seems that way.”
“Soto wants Gemma. He wants payback. That’s why he took Emilio.”
“’Spect so.”
“I’ll pass this on to Gemma first thing in the morning. And I’ll come by, catch you up on everything. There’s a lot to tell you.”
“Got something more to tell you, too, Pastor.”
“Yes?”
“Saw lights in Gemma’s house t’night.”
“What?”
“Went straight over to see who was in there.” Abe cleared his throat. “Ain’t no way to sugarcoat this, Pastor. Genie has moved into Gemma’s house.”
“Genie?” Zander felt himself growing angry. “Genie has no right to be in that house! Their aunt left it to Gemma.”
“I’ve been thinking on it, but I don’t know exactly what we could do about it. Genie says she’s ‘relocated’ to Albuquerque and is gonna ‘housesit’ until Gemma comes back. Practically dared me to contradict her.”
Abe huffed. “You know what I think? I think Genie mighta lost her high-paying job in D.C., Pastor. I think she’s broke and didn’t have anywhere else to go ’cept here. That’s what I think.”
Zander was quiet for a while, processing the strange turn of events. When he spoke, he’d gotten his anger under control. “I suppose Genie can’t hurt Gemma just by staying in her house. There’s nothing there that can point to what’s happened to Gemma or where she is at present. It’s more . . . it’s more the affront of it, I guess. It’s just wrong. Offensive.”
“We gotta be careful there, Pastor; that’s just what the enemy wants. Get us riled up at Genie and distracted from the real war. Offense is the devil’s snare, for sure.”
Zander chuckled. “It is, indeed. Thanks for the reminder. Say, tomorrow is going to be a difficult day. I have a lot to explain to Pastor McFee, and I don’t know yet what I will tell him. How
about I come over to your place first? I can be there early and catch you up on everything since Sunday night. At least I have some good news for you.”
“I could use some good news. How about I fix us breakfast, Pastor?”
“I accept!” Zander laughed, then stopped mid-chuckle. “Don’t know how I’m going to break this to Gemma. About Emilio.”
“I’ve been praying already.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry you’ve had to shoulder this burden alone since it happened.”
“It’s gonna be all right, now I know you and Gemma are safe. God will answer. I know he will.”
“Amen to that. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Abe.”
Zander hung up and fell to his knees. “Lord, I can’t bear to grieve Gemma’s heart with this news. And Abe is right. The enemy would like nothing better than to wound Gemma, anger her, and cause her to seek vengeance on Soto. I pray, Lord, that you prepare her heart and give me wisdom as I speak to her.”
He remained where he was, praying for Gemma and Emilio, until he felt a measure of peace steal over him. Then he went out into the living room and used the burner phone to call Gemma.
They had, since establishing this secret means of communication, always texted a call time in advance. His calling her directly would signal the seriousness of his call.
The phone rang and rang before it went to voice mail. Zander hesitated, then spoke. “Call me ASAP.” He hung up and waited.
***
After watching the 10 o’clock news, I headed upstairs to the kitchen. Boy, was I hungry. Famished!
I quick-thawed two thick steaks in the microwave, seasoned them, and set them to broil in the oven. While they were sizzling away, I popped three potatoes into the microwave and put together a tossed salad from the last of my greens.
The fridge was looking a little bare; my stomach grumbled its empty state, too.
As I prepared my meal, my mind revisited the events from the afternoon and evening. The nanomites and I had analyzed the news coverage against what we had intended to be reported; we looked for any details in the accounts that might prove problematic or that in any way pointed to the experiences we’d deleted from the memories of those present during Cushing’s takedown.
When I sat down to eat, the mites and I reviewed the short battle after Cushing attempted to take Dr. Bickel from the FBI’s lobby. I had more than my personal memories to evaluate: In addition to what my own eyes had seen, I was privy to the nanomites’ actions and perspectives. With every bite of steak, I closed my eyes and reenacted the skirmish from their various vantage points, the mites providing a running commentary.
Before I finished eating, their memories were as much mine as theirs, and I could visualize the battle from multiple angles concurrently.
“Another nice trick,” I murmured.
I was washing up when the nanomites interrupted to tell me the phone in the basement room was ringing. I say “ringing,” but in reality, the ringer was off. With the ringer turned off, the phone’s light came on, indicating an incoming call, but the phone made no noise.
Zander Cruz is calling, they told me.
“Of course. He’s the only one with this number.”
Odd that he would call out of the blue. I wiped the table and headed downstairs.
Gemma Keyes.
“Yes, Nano?”
We have many questions.
“About?”
Questions regarding the Jesus tribe and questions about Zander Cruz.
“Okaaaaay.” On my way down the ladder, I had a brainstorm. “Say, what if we ask Zander to help answer your questions about Jesus? Zander knows Jesus better than I do and is something of an authority on the Jesus, er, tribe.”
I mentally patted myself on the back: You’re brilliant, Gemma Keyes. Brilliant.
Since he will be present, shall we at that time also ask our questions concerning him?
“Huh. Well, what did you need to ask about him?”
He said things to you that puzzled us. Your response was also puzzling.
Two steaks, a plate full of salad, three loaded baked potatoes, and half a quart of ice cream—something in the neighborhood of five thousand calories—were warming my tummy nicely, and I was feeling a comforting little drowse coming on. It had been a long, stressful, and physically active day, and I was ready for a few hours of peaceful sleep.
So, I wasn’t really firing on all cylinders when I answered, “Um, what things?”
Shortly before we altered your molecular structure so that you could accommodate the entirety of the nanocloud, Zander Cruz said, “I love you, Gemma. I’ve been wanting to say that for a while.”
“Nano!” I was outraged. If it weren’t disturbing enough for them to repeat what should have been a very private moment, the nanomites actually repeated Zander’s words in Zander’s voice!
Creepy much?
You said we could ask you questions, Gemma Keyes. We have not yet asked those questions; however, we felt it expedient to place our inquiry within a context you would recognize. In response to Zander Cruz, you answered, “I know. Me, too. I love you back, Zander.”
Ack! My voice coming from the nanomites!
“That’s enough. I’ve changed my mind; you may not ask me any questions about Zander—especially in Zander’s presence.”
Growling, I grabbed up the phone and stared at it. Punched the screen to call back the last call received. Although it was nearing midnight, Zander answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
I started to get a bad feeling.
“Zander. Is everything all right?”
“Uh, I need to talk to you. It’s important. Can we meet somewhere? Maybe you could do that nano-disguise thing, and we could meet for coffee?”
I blinked. It hadn’t quite solidified in my head that, with the entirety of the restored nanocloud living in me, I was no longer stuck on invisible. I could be invisible whenever I chose to be and visible the rest of the time; I could also “be” whomever I asked the nanomites to make me.
“Wow. Sorry—just realized. I can go out in public? Like to coffee? Okay, yes. Let’s meet.”
We picked a 24-hour diner and agreed to meet in fifteen minutes.
Before we hung up, I blurted. “Zander, this isn’t about . . . you know, us, is it?”
He sighed. “No, it’s not about us—but I’m also not letting you off the hook, Gemma. We will talk the ‘us’ thing through, just not tonight. Tonight, we have bigger problems.”
That was über reassuring.
Not.
“You’re scaring me, Zander.”
He muttered, “See you shortly,” and hung up.
I stood there, all the good of the day washed away by an unspecified, unknown dread.
Gemma Keyes.
“Yeah?”
What is this “us thing” for which you and Zander Cruz must remain on a hook? Which hook are you on? And does the “us” include the nanocloud and our six tribes? And—
Argh!
“Later, Nano! I need to meet Zander right now.”
~~**~~
Chapter 8
Zander was waiting for me when I arrived. I felt strange entering the restaurant fully visible after being unseen for two months. I had asked the nanomites to make me look like Kathy Sawyer—but about twenty years younger—and they had. Zander’s watchful gaze passed right over me as he scanned the entrance.
I nodded to the hostess. “I’m meeting someone.” I walked over and slid into the booth opposite Zander. Picked up the menu.
He stared. “Uh . . .”
“Relax. It’s me.”
“Honest?” He gaped and turned his head to the side as though a slantways view might convince him.
Well, even my voice was different, so I asked the nanomites to let me speak in my own voice.
We understood that a covert identity was prudent, Gemma Keyes.
“It is, Nano, but no one here will recognize my voice except Zander
.”
I tried again. “Yes, it’s me.” I was gratified (and Zander seemed relieved) to hear myself.
The waitress brought water and menus.
“Just coffee for us,” Zander told her.
She was pulling the menu from my hands when the cover’s full-color spread hit me: Pies. About fifteen varieties. Like, banana cream, loganberry, lemon meringue, death-by-chocolate, coconut custard, Dutch apple, deep-dish strawberry-rhubarb, and key lime.
I couldn’t let go of the menu, and I tried not to drool on the table. “Ah, actually, I think I’d like a slice of pie with my coffee.”
No, what I wanted was to sample every pie in the place—to infinity and beyond.
I glanced at Zander. “Um, you want pie, too, right?”
He shrugged. “Not really. I—”
“Uh, yes, he does. Yup, I’m certain he does. How about you leave the menus for a sec?”
“Sure. No problem. You’ll find the list of pies on the back.”
The waitress had no sooner turned her back than I whispered, “I would die for a slice of blueberry sour cream pie—but I want to try their pecan with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream, too. Please order a slice? I promise I can eat both of them.”
Despite all the good the day had brought, Zander wasn’t in a playful mood. He just looked at me. I’d never seen Zander sad. It shook me.
I slid the menus away. “What is it? Tell me.”
“It’s Emilio, Gemma.”
“What?”
“On the way home from school Monday . . . someone took him. The police called Abe the next day and asked him a lot of questions.”
I couldn’t breathe. My worst nightmare had come to life. “Someone . . .”
“Gemma, it was Soto. The police are sure of it. It’s why I insisted we meet tonight. I wanted to tell you to your face, not over the phone.”
In the cavern, while I’d wrestled with the decision facing me, I’d recalled Soto’s rant, the threats he’d spat at me as the FBI arrested and hauled him away. The dark premonition had terrified me. And, as I’d considered the nanomites’ offer to save my life, Emilio’s safety had been the deciding factor.
I’d given the nanomites permission to change me so I could keep that boy safe from Soto.
Stealth Retribution Page 8
