by Lynn Viehl
Samuel grew thoughtful. “He must have had one built for each couple. I wonder why he went to so much trouble and expense.”
“Because he’s a crazy person,” Charlotte muttered before she spoke to the other woman. “Tlemi, I hear others in my mind, the way you see them.” Charlotte tapped her temple. “Why didn’t I hear any of you before tonight?”
Tlemi glanced at Colotl before she said, “Walls.”
Samuel frowned. “There are walls on the island?”
“Colotl gift make walls.” She turned to speak to her companion, which made him mutter under his breath. “Watch.” She nudged him. “He show.”
Samuel felt the air grow cool and heavy as a curtain of mist formed between them and the island couple. It swirled for a moment before the fog as well as Colotl and Tlemi faded from sight.
Charlotte reached out, flattening her palm against an invisible surface. “It feels like water, but it’s as solid as glass. I can’t push my hand through it.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I can’t sense either of them. They’re gone.”
“No gone.” The unseen curtain dropped, and Tlemi smiled at her. “Good wall, yes?”
“A very good wall.” Samuel had the feeling that making things disappear wasn’t the only thing Colotl could do with his gift. “Tlemi, how are we being watched? We know it’s not only the cameras.”
She shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “Master watch. Master know everything you do. Always.”
He saw a flicker of alarm in Colotl’s eyes, and abruptly changed the subject. “Whom do you need us to heal? Is it Pici?”
The smallest woman blurted out something before clinging to the scowling man beside her.
“Pici small.” Tlemi made a circling gesture over her own pelvis. “Baby big.”
Charlotte glanced at the fearful woman. “I’ll have to examine her, but if I’m understanding her correctly, Pici may be too small to deliver her child vaginally.” To Tlemi she said, “Won’t Segundo take Pici to a hospital?”
The other woman shook her head. “No leave island.”
“Can you perform a C-section, Charlotte?” Samuel asked her.
“It’s major surgery, and I’m not an obstetrician. But I’ve assisted on several, and I know the procedure.” A strange look passed over her face. “I think it’s my fault that we’re here.”
Samuel thought of the medical room. “They seemed to be prepared for you.”
“I’m a licensed midwife, Sam. I’m just working fire rescue until I can find the right obstetrical practice to join.” Her expression turned bleak. “Last month I had to submit all of my personal identification, school transcripts, and professional certifications for state verification. My parents made sure I was legal, and I’ve always passed every background check, but anyone taking a close look would realize Charlotte Marena didn’t exist until she was in first grade.”
Tlemi was trying to follow their conversation, Samuel noticed, and he smiled at her. “We can help Pici.”
“Don’t make them any promises,” Charlotte warned. “Aside from the fact that I have only the bare minimum in medical supplies, I have no anesthesiologist, no nurses, and no safe blood for transfusions.”
“Blood.” Tlemi nodded and extended her arm, pointing to the crease of her elbow. “Segundo take from us.”
Charlotte peered at her arm. “She has a fresh needle mark.” She looked at the other woman. “Wait a second. Are you telling me that the blood inside the house is yours?”
“Segundo take, moon and half-moon.” She showed her the spider tattoo. “Mark on bag.”
“My God.” Charlotte looked appalled. “That bastard has been stockpiling their blood.”
“Samuel.” Colotl said his name carefully, and then spoke to Tlemi in their language.
“Colotl say we go,” she said. “You help Pici?”
“Yes.” Samuel looked directly at the other man and held out his hand. “Amigo.”
Colotl clasped his hand, and then spoke to the others. The men rose, helping their women to their feet, and after taking their torches began to head in different directions. Only Colotl and Tlemi remained behind.
Once the other islanders were out of sight, Colotl brought a circle of mist around them and then nodded to Tlemi.
“Segundo watch you,” she said quickly. “Tell master everything you do, we do. Colotl, I not know how.”
“A man came and watched us last night,” Charlotte told her. “Could he be reporting what we do to Segundo?”
“All men watch you. Take turns. Colotl send. Protect. Segundo know other way.” She tapped the side of her head. “Like me, like Charlotte.”
“He’s a telepath?”
“I see in men eyes, but not Segundo. His eyes …” Tlemi made a helpless gesture. “Not like us.”
“Samuel.” Colotl took a folded black cloth from his pocket. He opened it, revealing the surface, which was covered with intricate embroidery.
At first Samuel thought it was only a gift, until Colotl tapped one square on it and pointed to the villa.
“It’s a map of the island,” he said to Charlotte as he studied it. He pointed to six other squares. “¿Casas?”
“Sí.” Colotl pointed to a circle in the center of the map. “Cueva.”
“Cueva means cave,” Charlotte told him.
“Samuel. Colotl.” Colotl pointed to the circle on the embroidered map and then the moon. “Aquí mañana por la noche.”
After Charlotte translated, Samuel turned to Tlemi. “Why does Colotl want me to come to the cave tomorrow night?”
“Talk. Plan. Segundo not know cave, not see night.” She paused, searching for words. “Charlotte. We leave island, go together, keep secret?”
“I understand,” she told Tlemi before she eyed Samuel. “They want us to help them to escape.”
Chapter 14
Genaro watched as the last of the Manzanillo police officers were stripped of their uniforms and marched into the holding cell. His own men, now dressed in the confiscated uniforms, silently followed him to the largest of the interrogation rooms, which his team leader, an experienced ex–Army Ranger named Evan Marlow, had converted into a command center.
“We’ve set up checkpoints on all the roads leading out of the city,” Marlow told him as he came in to examine the operation. “The local news station is broadcasting the fugitive serial killer story on the hour. We’ve set up our own switchboard, and have our interpreters fielding calls from concerned citizens, government officials, and satellite agencies, but I doubt we can hold them off for longer than forty-eight hours.”
“Get Delaporte on the phone.” Genaro eyed the row of computers his techs were using to trawl for information. “What about Energúmeno?”
“The compound is deserted. We’re questioning some of the old women who were left behind, but they claim they know nothing.” Marlow nodded toward the satellite images posted on the wall. “All of the vehicles we spotted at the compound yesterday are missing. It could be that the target decided to move to safer ground.”
“Run a property search and see what else he owns, then send the chopper for aerial recon.” Genaro accepted a mobile phone from one of the techs. “Don? Thank you for the timely rescue.”
“Glad you’re all right, Mr. Genaro.” His security chief sounded as if he hadn’t slept all night. “We have a cleanup crew en route, ETA six hours. Dr. Kirchner is under twenty-four-hour guard. With your permission, I’d like to fly down there and supervise operations myself.”
“I need you in Atlanta.” Genaro walked out of the operations room and down the hall to Carasegas’s office, where he sat down in the dead cop’s chair. “I also need leverage against Energúmeno.”
“He’s hiding his assets with dummy corporations and bogus investments, most of them administered by a British expat named Foster Stanton,” Delaporte said. “Stanton started out as an academic, but was sliding into the antiquities black market when he dropped off the grid back in the late se
venties. He resurfaced a few years ago, about the same time Energúmeno began buying up dozens of land parcels and most of the agricultural and municipal waste disposal companies in central Mexico.”
“Waste disposal?” Genaro frowned. “Are they fronts for drug operations?”
“No, they appear to be legitimate. He could be using them for money-laundering purposes, but that’s the other thing.” The chief sighed. “We haven’t been able to connect any drug activity at all to him. No suppliers, pipelines, storage facilities, labs, or a single skirmish with a rival operation. In Mexico that’s unheard-of, sir.”
“A dummy cartel would be an effective smoke screen for a more lucrative enterprise.” He grew thoughtful. “Before Carasegas shot himself, he claimed he wasn’t working for Energúmeno, but for God. That order of delusional fanatics you investigated, the ones posing as Catholic priests, what were they called?”
“Les Frères de la Lumière.”
“I want everything you already have on them, and see if they’re operating in Mexico.”
“That order is based in Europe, sir,” Delaporte said, sounding doubtful. “We’ve yet to find any of them operating in America.”
“They may be using the churches here as cover.” Genaro picked up the crucifix statue Carasegas had on his desk. “This country is obsessed with religion.” He tossed the cross into a drawer.
“Yes, sir. I’ll call you when I have new information.” Delaporte disconnected the line.
Marlow appeared outside the door’s window, knocking once before looking in. “The owner of the café across the street is at the front desk. She claims Riordan and a woman had coffee there before leaving together last night. She claims she doesn’t know who the woman was, but she’s lying.”
“Does she speak English?” When Marlow nodded, Genaro stood and took off his jacket. “Bring her to me.”
The café owner, an older woman still wearing a flour-dusted apron and hairnet, came in accompanied by Marlow. She glanced around, her expression curious.
“What is this?” she asked. “Where is Chief Carasegas?”
“The chief is out conducting a search of the city.” Genaro indicated the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down, please.” As soon as she did, he glanced at Marlow, who closed the door and came to stand behind the chair. “You reported that you saw the serial killer bring a woman to your café last night. Who was she?”
The woman shrugged but averted her gaze. “I tell your man, I never see her before.”
Genaro weighed the time-saving benefits of having her taken to one of the interrogation rooms and beaten until she talked. However, she had come to the station on her own, and her business was located across the street. For those reasons he would have to use persuasion. “Señora, this man has already murdered three people over the last two days. As soon as he is finished using this young woman, he will kill her, too. Help us save her life.”
The café owner looked uncertain. “But she tell me that he is friend.”
“I believe she was trying to protect you, ma’am,” Marlow put in. “She knew if she asked for your help, you would be in danger.”
“Perdóname, mi Madre.” She paled and crossed herself. “Her name Agraciana Flores. She come from my husband’s village.”
“There was a PROFEPA agent named Flores assigned to the Tacal case,” Marlow said.
“Sí,” the woman said, nodding eagerly. “Agraciana work for people protect islands.”
“Did she tell you anything about the man she was with, or where they were going?” Genaro asked.
“No, señor. She have café with him, and then drive away together.” The woman wrapped her arms around her waist.
“Which direction did they go?” Marlow prompted.
“She take bay road.” She gestured in the general direction, and then gave Genaro a stricken look. “Agraciana have beach house there. Maybe he make her take him there.”
“We’ll call Chief Carasegas and let him know to check on Ms. Flores,” Genaro lied. “Thank you for helping us. Marlow, would you show the lady out?”
After the café owner left, Genaro returned to the command center to make several calls, where Marlow joined him a short time later.
“I’ve put a man on the café to watch for Flores and Riordan,” the team leader said. “But they’re probably hunkering down at her beach house.”
“I doubt Riordan would be that stupid. Flores called her office this morning to request two days off.” He paused as one of the techs handed him a sheaf of fax copies of the PROFEPA agent’s government personnel file and several police reports.
“She told her supervisor her mother was ill.”
Marlow’s brows rose. “So she is helping him.”
“Given that Flores’s mother disappeared ten years ago, and was declared dead by her husband in 2008, that is a reasonable assumption.”
Genaro went to one of the computer stations. “I want to see this police report.” He handed a fax to the tech, who performed a search and opened the file on the screen, translating the page into English.
Marlow scanned the report. “Looks like she disappeared on her way home from work.”
Genaro tapped an address on the screen. “Display this on a map.”
The tech brought up a satellite image of the city with one small red balloon.
Marlow glanced at Genaro. “Her mother was working at Energúmeno’s compound when she disappeared.”
Genaro thought of the old women he had seen in the gardens. “Or she never left.”
Charlie silently followed Samuel back to the villa, but as soon as they were inside she stopped and focused. The islanders had spread out in all different directions, their emotions muted, their thoughts intense. “Everything is working now. I can feel all of them out there.”
“I think we need a cup of tea.” He led her into the kitchen. “Can you hear what they’re thinking?”
“Loud and clear, now that Colotl has dispensed with his shields.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Only problem is, they’re all thinking in that odd language. I can’t understand a word of it.”
“I’m not a linguist, but what I heard sounded almost archaic,” he said as he took out a pan and filled it with water. “If it is an obscure or dead language, this master Tlemi spoke of probably used it as a control measure.”
“How would it control them?” She joined him at the stove.
“If any of them escaped his custody, speaking an uncommon language assured they wouldn’t be able to easily communicate with outsiders.” He glanced at her. “How old were you when you were adopted?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “The Marenas thought I was about five or six.”
“I meant your first family.”
“No idea. Probably a baby.” Charlie went over to the fridge. “Do you want some fruit?”
“No, thank you.” He took out two cups and a tin, opening the lid to sniff the contents before spooning some into the cups. “When my parents adopted me, I was about a year old, but I had already learned to speak a few words.”
She could imagine what a beautiful baby boy he must have been, and felt a pang of longing. “‘Mama’ and ‘Dada’?”
“My mother told me later that they had no idea what I was saying, but she wrote down in my baby book the words I spoke by how they sounded.” He watched her arrange some pineapple slices on a plate. “A few years ago I had the sounds analyzed. It turned out that my cradle language was Chinese.”
“Some of the other Takyn mentioned that they spoke odd languages as kids.” She sealed the plastic container before returning it to the fridge. “I couldn’t speak Spanish when I met the Marenas, and they didn’t speak any English, but I understood their thoughts perfectly. I also don’t have a problem with any other non–English speaker’s thoughts. So why can’t I understand the castaways?”
“Perhaps because you’ve never before been exposed to this particular language.” He added hot water fr
om the pan to the cups before he picked them up from the counter. “Why don’t we go and talk in the living room?”
“You mean the pit of decadence and depravity?” She grimaced. “All that red makes me nervous.”
He seemed surprised. “I thought most women find it romantic.”
“Maybe women who don’t work in the medical field,” she said. “All it reminds me of are severe injuries, biohazardous material, and blood.”
“We should still make use of the room occasionally.” He turned his back on the kitchen camera. “If we are going to plan a successful escape, we’ll have to keep up appearances.” He shifted his eyes up.
That reminded her. “I don’t like the idea of your going by yourself to this cave tomorrow night,” she said as she followed him to the living room. “We don’t know how Segundo is getting his information; they could have an informer among them. And even with Colotl’s shields, eventually he will find out about whatever you and the men have planned.”
“There will be risks,” he agreed. “But, Charlotte, consider the alternative. As much as I would enjoy having a child with you, I will not allow either of us to be bred like animals.”
He always came up with something she couldn’t argue with, and while he was right, she still felt annoyed. Even the way he remained standing, politely waiting for her to sit down first, got on her nerves.
Deliberately she set the fruit on a table and moved around the room. “Why does someone buy twelve American children of mixed blood, raise them to speak a language no one understands, and then strand them on an island to fend for themselves?”
“He could be attempting to create a gene pool,” Samuel said as he sipped his tea. “Or he purchased one that had already been created. Aside from the placement of their tattoos and the racial diversity, the way they interacted with each other gave me the impression they were a unit.”
“All but Pici,” Charlie pointed out. “She isn’t tattooed on the forearm like the other women. She’s also younger than the others by at least five years.” She idly picked up a red satin pillow and plucked at the corner tassels. “If that’s his goal, he’s going to need more livestock.”
