Hollow Bones (Special Agent Caitlyn Tierney)

by CJ Lyons

  “And there’s a federal case in there somewhere?”

  Before Shapiro could answer, an overweight black man who could have masqueraded as a melancholic Santa Claus came into the office. He was dressed in a conservative black suit, black shirt, black tie. “Agent Shapiro, I heard you were back. What can we do for you now?”

  Shapiro stood and glared at the undertaker. “My partner here, FBI Special Agent Carver, wants to see the evidence for himself, Mr. Darrow. Before you cremate it. And I need to see those records you couldn’t produce yesterday.”

  The man returned Shapiro’s glare but it was all bluff, Jake saw. After a moment his shoulders slumped and feet turned toward the exit.

  Shapiro saw it as well. “Now,” he ordered with none of the gentle regard he’d shown the family outside.

  “Of course. Come with me.” Darrow led them down a back hallway to a room marked CREMATORY PREPARATION. NO ADMITTANCE. He unlocked the door and they were in a small room where several stainless steel wheeled tables waited. On top of one of them was a man-sized cardboard box.

  On the opposite wall were two heavy doors marked CREMATORIUM. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A young man dressed in hospital scrubs entered through those doors. “We’re ready for him.”

  “Just a moment,” Darrow said. “These investigators need to see the body one last time prior to its final disposition. If you could assist them?”

  The cremation tech shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”

  The funeral director nodded to Shapiro. “I’ll have those records ready when you’re done.”

  Shapiro gave him a fake smile. “Thanks.” Then he turned his back on the director and nodded to the tech. “Open it.”

  No way Jake was going to tell Shapiro, but his experience with dead bodies was pretty much limited to animals back home on his family’s dairy farm. Yeah, there’d been a ton of fights and blood and shit with the Reapers, but no corpses.

  He tried to act nonchalant even as he was glad he hadn’t had time to order breakfast when he met with Lynn earlier. His stomach clenched as the tech removed the top from the box, revealing the body of Vincent Thomson.

  Vincent was dressed in a navy suit. His hands were folded across his stomach, arranged to hold a football. His face was wrapped in dark gauze, hiding the damage.

  Jake had been expecting a lot worse. He glanced at Shapiro with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yesterday as the aunt and grandma arrived to place Vincent’s football in the casket, they jostled the table.”

  The cremation tech looked away.

  “And?” Jake prompted.

  “And Vincent’s foot fell off. The old lady about had a heart attack.”

  “Hey, it wasn’t my fault,” the tech protested. “Besides, I fixed it. See?” He pulled back the pants’ cuff, exposing the top portion of Vincent’s foot. Attached to a length of PVC piping where his leg bones should be, held in place by two very large screws.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Caitlyn was fuming by the time she arrived at the Cozumel airport. What kind of game was Alvarado playing, ditching a U.S. federal agent as if she were hired help? Did it mean he’d really found Maria on his own, safe and sound in the warm embrace of “distant” relatives—or that she was in even greater danger than Caitlyn feared? Maybe he’d gotten a ransom demand and thought he was protecting his daughter by going alone?

  Too many questions and no answers unless Carver came up with something while she was stuck in transit.

  She made her way through security—thankfully the officer manning the special services line spoke English—and headed toward the international departures area. Only to see a familiar figure as she passed the small bar inside the terminal. She almost didn’t recognize Maria’s mother. Although she was dressed in a designer suit, Sandra Alvarado’s hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore dark sunglasses as she sipped at a Bloody Mary.

  “Mrs. Alvarado. I thought you and your husband had already left.” Caitlyn hid her irritation and anger, knowing they wouldn’t help her get answers. “Your message made it sound as if you’d be joining Maria in Guatemala. Is she with your family or your husband’s?”

  Sandra stared at her a beat too long. As if she had to unravel the lies before answering.

  “Hector’s family. He took the jet and is sending me home—they couldn’t even upgrade me, I have to fly coach.” Her tone made it sound like it was the biggest insult yet. Far worse than fearing your child lost in the jungle a thousand miles away from home.

  Then Caitlyn got a closer look at her face. Thick makeup hiding sagging wrinkles and dark circles below her eyes. “You spoke to Maria?”

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “Hector did. Such a silly girl, she only wants attention, you know. Chasing after Mayan ruins. It’s a good thing Hector’s uncle was able to find her.” She shook her head in disdain. Obviously Maria’s mother still thought Maria had slipped away from the cruise to join an archeological expedition.

  Or that’s what she wanted Caitlyn to think. Hector and Sandra had such a low regard for the FBI, not only did they think they could order them around like servants but they also seemed to think that Caitlyn wouldn’t uncover the truth.

  “Actually, I have some bad news about that.” Caitlyn explained about the professor. “So, you see, wherever Maria is, it’s not at an archeological dig. Or with Hector’s family.”

  Sandra raised her glass to take a drink, holding it between herself and Caitlyn. Caitlyn didn’t give her the chance to regroup with more lies. “Why did you call the FBI in the first place?”

  Sandra clutched at her throat, her diamond ring sparking in the overhead lights. For the first time, the mother appeared her real age as she frowned in earnest. “You don’t understand. We didn’t know—we thought we needed your help, that something had happened to her on that ship, that the cruise line was covering up—”

  Right. The FBI would have the ability to investigate a cruise ship crime, even in a foreign country. “And now that we know Maria left the ship voluntarily, you don’t want me involved anymore? Mrs. Alvarado, I can find your daughter. If you and your husband stop blocking me from doing my job.”

  “But … Hector said we couldn’t tell anyone—especially not the FBI.”

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head. “His old army squad will help. He’ll save Maria; he’ll bring my daughter back to me.”

  “Let me help him. Mrs. Alvarado, let me help Maria.”

  She hesitated, torn. “No. Hector knows what he’s doing. He said not to involve outsiders.”

  “That’s too bad. Because I’m already involved. And, no matter what political strings you pull, I’m staying involved. Do you want me barging in, risking your daughter’s life, because I don’t have all the information I need?”

  Still Sandra resisted. Caitlyn remembered the way the couple had appeared so in synch when she’d first met them. Even with Maria’s life in the balance, Sandra still felt compelled to trust her husband’s judgment over anyone else’s.

  “Here’s what I think happened,” Caitlyn continued, refusing to give the woman breathing space. “You didn’t hear from Maria or any distant relatives. Instead, you received a ransom demand.”

  Her shot hit its target. Sandra sagged against the bar, her face crumpling. “I told him it wouldn’t work.” She looked away, gaze unfocused in the distance, then returned her focus to Caitlyn, her expression determined. “Hector got a message. They have Maria, want to meet at Santo Tomás.”

  “Who has Maria?”

  “He said they were guerrillas he fought against during La Violencia, the civil war.”

  “I thought the civil war ended twenty years ago—”

  “It never ends,” she said scornfully. “Generations lost. I won’t lose my Maria to it as well.”

  “You mentioned army friends of his?”

  “Yes. My Hector, he was in the Kaibiles. La mano dura. It’s the elite guard of the Guatemalan Army. The best
of the best. He’s called his old squad to meet him at Santo Tomás. From there, they’ll head out to find the guerrillas, rescue Maria.”

  “Does he know where she might be?”

  “No, but we have an old friend, Dr. Otto Mendez Carrera. He also used to be in the army with Hector. He doesn’t live far from Santo Tomás. Hector hopes he might know where the rebels are based.”

  Caitlyn took note of the names. More keyboard work for Carver while she was en route to Guatemala. Hopefully he’d have answers by the time she arrived. Even better would be if she arrived in time to meet up with Hector.

  “What did the rebels ask for a ransom? When is the drop?” she pressed.

  “They didn’t ask for anything. Said they’d only discuss the details with Hector in person. He knew what that meant—they want him as a hostage as well. That’s why he can’t negotiate with them.”

  He was right. Kidnap and ransom cases often turned into long-term extortions with the hostages moved around, held in primitive conditions for months or even years. Or killed outright as soon as their usefulness ended. If the guerrillas had Hector, they wouldn’t need both Maria and Hector to extort their demands from Sandra. One of them would be expendable, executed in a brutal manner to end any resistance.

  “When and where is the first meeting to take place?”

  Sandra frowned. “I don’t know. They just said for Hector to go to Santo Tomás and they’d contact him there.”

  Hector was obviously counting on his old army buddies and this Dr. Carrera to get him intel that would help him find Maria before the guerrillas started negotiations in earnest. And he was using himself as bait to give them time.

  “You know Dr. Carrera as well?”

  “Of course. He arranged—” She faltered, checked herself. What was she hiding? “He’s our business partner in Guatemala. Our main procurement site outside of the USA.”

  “So he provides tissues for BioRegen?”

  “Highest quality. It’s such a blessing being able to help so many people, don’t you think, Agent Tierney?”

  Caitlyn thought the whole thing was creepy as hell, but what did she know? Maybe BioRegen was saving lives, helping researchers to unlock the secrets of the human body. All she cared about was finding Maria and getting her home safely.

  “I can’t understand why all this is happening to us.” Sandra sniffed, holding back tears. “We’re good people. We save lives with our work. You need to help us, please help us.” She clutched at Caitlyn’s arm with both hands. It felt like the first honest emotion Caitlyn had seen from the woman. “Don’t let them take my husband and daughter.”

  They called Caitlyn’s flight. She stood and grabbed her bags. “If you speak to Hector, tell him I’m coming. He needs to take my calls.”

  “He doesn’t trust you. A woman, a foreigner who doesn’t understand our country, our past—not even our language. He thinks you’ll get Maria killed.”

  “Then what do you want me to do?” Caitlyn asked, exasperated.

  “I don’t know,” Sandra wailed.

  The second call for Caitlyn’s flight sounded overhead. “I have to go. Call me if you hear anything.”

  Sandra took her glasses off to wipe her tears. She didn’t look at all like the regal, elegant woman Caitlyn had met yesterday.

  “Please save them,” she whispered.

  “I have to go.” Caitlyn ran for her gate, leaving Maria’s mother behind. Something told her she’d need every second she could get to save Maria.

  *

  The flight to Punta Gorda was a creaky outdated commuter jet with no Wi-Fi, so Caitlyn spent her time jotting down notes, trying to create a coherent story that pulled together all the various threads. A former army officer targeted twenty years after he retired. The elaborate scheme to draw his daughter back to the land of her birth. Lost Mayan temples and treasures.

  It made no sense. Not if Hector was the true target. It would have been so much easier to target him through his business interests in Guatemala or the United States. Anyone who’d met the man would know his company was worth as much to him as his daughter.

  Maria as a target didn’t make sense either—she had no worth except as a hostage. And surely there were easier ways to take her? Yes, Hector and Sandra were overprotective parents, but anyone sophisticated enough to set up this subterfuge could have gotten to the Alvarado family in Florida. Plus, why wait two decades if this was to settle an old grudge?

  She drew a rough map. Florida. Mexico. Guatemala. Traced the cruise ship’s itinerary. Traced Hector’s route. Marked the route Maria would have taken from the port to the site of the supposed archeological dig. All roads leading to Santo Tomás and none of them making sense.

  As soon as the plane landed, she called Yates. “It has to be something from the father’s past while he was in the army. Something big enough that it would be worth pursuing now.”

  “Twenty years—he’s had time to become a multimillionaire. If it’s money they want, their patience has paid off.”

  “But why drag everyone back to Guatemala? Especially as Hector still has friends in the military there. Seems unnecessarily elaborate—and dangerous.”

  “I’ll have Carver dig deeper. State is concerned”—she could hear his finger quotes around the word—“about negotiations they’re in with the Guatemalans. They’re trying to gain cooperation with drug interdiction and don’t want you to do anything to upset things.”

  “What are they going to do, keep me from entering the country?”

  “No, nothing like that. If you can rescue Hector and Maria without any—er—commotion, it would actually help their case.”

  “But if there is a commotion—”

  “Let’s just say they’d like to avoid that at all costs. So they’re going to send a translator to meet you at Santo Tomás.”

  A “translator.” She knew what that meant. A babysitter. Under orders from the State Department. Probably CIA with a nonofficial cover position in the Embassy.

  “Great. When can I expect them?”

  “We’ve booked you on the next ferry to Santo Tomás. You should arrive by one o’clock. The translator will meet you at the dock.”

  Which wouldn’t give her any time to find Hector and cover her tracks. But no way in hell was she letting the CIA or State call the shots—not when protecting their negotiations could trump saving Maria’s life.

  “Sounds good,” she said brightly. Yates knew her well enough, he’d read between the lines. “Have Carver call me as soon as he knows anything.”

  “Tierney,” he said, a warning in his voice. “Keep me posted. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  One thing she’d learned about Yates—the main reason why she didn’t mind working for the man—was that he had real-world law enforcement experience before he joined the FBI. He understood the need to put a girl’s life ahead of politics.

  “No, sir, I won’t.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When Maria woke again, the sun was above the mountains outside her window, sending ribbons of light across her bed. How long had she been asleep?

  Prescott! She tried to sit up, but her wrists were bound to bed rails with soft Velcro restraints. An IV flowed into one arm, its fluid chilling her veins. White sheets covered her and she wore a white cotton nightgown.

  “Hello?” she called, trying not to panic as she flailed her arms, straining against the Velcro. “Is anyone there?”

  The room was painted a cheerful yellow; a large crucifix hung on the wall directly across from her, surrounded by brightly colored paintings of the lake, waterfall, mountains, and flowers. The artist had a way with color, bringing the scenes to life with a childlike exuberance that made her smile and calmed her fears.

  The windows weren’t windows but French doors leading to a wrought iron balcony, she realized. They were open, allowing a fragrant breeze scented with a jasmine-like perfume to rustle the gauzy white cotton curtains. Beside her was a door lea
ding into a bathroom, a small clothing cupboard, and a nightstand with a pitcher of water and a glass on it. There was a wooden chair near the main door with a newspaper lying abandoned on it.

  “Hello!” She shouted this time. She had to get help to the professor.

  Footsteps came running down the hall outside the door. A middle-aged woman in an old-fashioned nurse’s uniform, complete with cap and white hose, entered. “You’re awake,” she said, her English colored by a heavy German accent. She stepped out into the hall once more. “Herr Doktor, she’s awake.”

  A few moments later a man in his early sixties joined the nurse. He was tall but had a stooped posture, as if he spent most of his day bent over, and his gait was jerky, stumbling. Although he didn’t use a cane, Maria thought maybe he needed one.

  “My dear, how are you feeling?” His smile was kind, although his eyes were dark with sorrow. He raised her hand in his, his fingers settling over her pulse. His hand had a faint tremor and she wondered if he had Parkinson’s. “Nice and steady, yes.”

  “Please, untie me.” Maria hated the fear that strained her voice.

  “Of course, of course. Helda.”

  The nurse glanced at him, a question in her eyes. He nodded. She rushed over and removed the restraints, then began to take Maria’s vitals.

  “You were dehydrated and you swallowed some water into your lungs,” the doctor said. “You kept fighting us. Required sedation. I gave you fluids and antibiotics. Some of those scratches and bites are infected; you’ll need several more days of treatment.”

  Free from the restraints, Maria pushed herself up in bed. The arm with the IV hurt when she bent it, so she rested it along the railing. “Please, I need to speak to the police. Something terrible has happened. A man was killed and more might be in danger.”

  “Yes, Maria. We know.” He patted her hand reassuringly. “You told us about your friend when you first arrived. You don’t remember?” He glanced at the nurse, then back at Maria. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s the sedative, it often causes a bit of amnesia. I’m Dr. Otto Mendez Carrera, and this is one of my nurses, Helda.” He narrowed his eyes, assessing her. “Don’t you remember anything?”