by Lynn Viehl
Or it’s just him, and I’m in real trouble now.
“Being hurt doesn’t scare me, you know,” she heard herself say. “I don’t enjoy pain and suffering, but I know it’s unavoidable. What I can’t do is give my heart away to anyone who says they love me. The last time I did that, I ended up getting thrown off that goddamn bridge.”
His hands stilled on her back. “I’m not your father, Charlotte.”
“I know that.” She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at him. “I care about you, Sam, more than I should. You’re gorgeous and interesting and kind, and I could fall in love with you so easily. But trust is just as important, and for me that takes a long time. Mama loved me the moment she saw me, and I knew it—I felt it—and still I made her wait a year before I even said one word to her. So if you really want my heart, you’re going to have to give me more than just time. You’re going to have to earn it.”
Samuel took her hand in his. “All right.”
Charlie felt that echo of familiarity again, and stared at their joined hands. She could feel the same bewildered emotion coloring his thoughts. “So have you remembered when we met? Was it in a hospital? Emergency room? I was working in D.C. for a while; maybe our paths crossed there.”
“I don’t think so.” He studied the weave of their fingers. “We held hands like this. It was dark. Cold. There was someone there with—”
“—cold hands,” she finished his thought, and closed her eyes as his description sent her spiraling into some murky place she had forgotten. “There were needles, too. Monitoring equipment.” He’d gone very still. “What is it?”
“Charlotte.” His eyes searched her face. “I think we first met in a lab. The place where they changed us.”
The Englishman’s island appeared deserted, but as Gracie brought the boat to the long, empty floating pier, Drew got the sense that their arrival had not gone unnoticed.
“Where’s this guy’s boat?” he asked as he stepped off to help her with the mooring lines.
“He keeps it in a cove on the other side of the island.” She tested the lines before taking his hand and climbing up onto the pier. Her eyes shifted to three birds circling overhead before she gestured toward the trees. “His house is over here.”
Drew tried to hold on to her hand, but Gracie walked away, leaving him to follow. It wasn’t until they were following a narrow sandy path through the thick brush and soaring palms that he noticed the steel poles scattered around them. Each had cameras perched atop it on a swivel base, and all of the lenses were moving slowly to follow them.
Drew stopped by one of the devices, and the camera stopped moving. “Gracie, we are being watched. Why?”
“The Englishman is obsessed with his birds, so he puts cameras everywhere. They are programmed to track movement.” She glanced back at him. “Come, Andrew. If your friends are out here, he’ll know.”
The lack of expression on her pretty face and the flatness of her voice made him wonder just what was going on in her head.
As she started off again, he called after her, “Are you mad at me because we made love?”
She spun on her heel and strode back to him. “That was private. You will not speak of it to anyone. Ever.”
“What do you want me to do?” he demanded. “Act like it never happened?”
“Yes. Please.” Her voice broke on the words, and she hurried away.
“Not in a million years, lady.” He took off after her, catching up just as Gracie reached the house. His anger faded as he looked up at four stories of what appeared to be a tiered pyramid. “Is this a temple?”
“Yes.” She skirted a statue of a reclining primitive figure with a bug-eyed face and an empty bowl in his hands. “Before he came to the islands, the Englishman was an archaeologist. He is an expert on Aztec culture.”
“So you gave him his own pyramid?” He glanced at the intricate carvings in the stone. “How did you get it here?”
“It’s only a replica, Andrew.” She moved toward an opening in the center of the lowest level.
He caught her arm before she went inside. “How can he live in something like this? It doesn’t even have windows.”
“Saves me the annoyance of having to wash them, my boy.” A tall, slim man stepped out of the shadowy interior and smiled at Drew. “You’ll be Agent Frasier.” He extended his arm. “Foster Stanton, at your service.”
“Dr. Stanton.” He accepted the handshake, which was as guileless as the other man’s expression. “This is some place you have here.”
“I found myself inspired by the Barceló Karmina Palace hotel. Since that was modeled after a Mayan temple, I felt the Aztecs merited a similar homage.” He swept an arm in a theatrical gesture. “Please, I’ve a lovely tea waiting for us. Do come inside.”
Drew couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than have tea inside the pseudo temple, but Gracie had already disappeared inside, leaving him with the smiling Englishman. Instinctively he scanned the immediate area, his mind reaching out for any copper he could use, but the house and the surrounding grounds seemed completely devoid of it and all other metals.
“If you’re a touch claustrophobic, old boy,” Stanton said, “we can talk out here.”
His polite offer made Drew feel like a paranoid moron. “No, I’m fine.”
Stanton showed off his long white teeth. “Then follow me to the best homemade crumpets you’ll find this side of Devonshire.”
The interior of the structure was a series of high stone corridors illuminated by freestanding halogen lamps fashioned to look like burning torches. Aztec artifacts occupied most of the curved, lighted niches in the walls, but as Drew passed and got a closer look at them, he realized they were too new to be anything but replicas. From the dust patterns in the empty niches it was clear that several had been recently removed.
“Why did you switch from archaeology to bird-watching?” he asked the Englishman.
“I discovered I had an affinity for our feathered friends,” Stanton told him. “I wasted much of my youth scrabbling after bits and baubles left behind in forgotten tombs. The only history of any real value is that which we make ourselves.”
Drew eyed a tall stone vase from which golden peacock feathers sprouted, and frowned. “How do birds factor into your philosophy?”
“When nearly every other living thing on the Earth became extinct, birds survived by evolving and occupying the skies.” The Englishman’s voice took on a dreamy softness. “They’ve become the watchers of time.”
“I guess they have.” Stanton, Drew decided, had spent too many months behind his binoculars. His attention was diverted as they entered a wide, circular room furnished like the lobby of an exclusive hotel. Gracie stood by a wheeled cart while she filled three delicate porcelain cups with tea from a matching pot. On a low table an assortment of platters held cakes, pastries, and finger sandwiches.
Drew saw another woman walking out of the room: a younger girl dressed in a white blouse and black shirt. Another woman came in a few moments later carrying another plate of fruit. She was older than the first but wore the same garments, as if they were some type of uniform.
“Gracias, Conchita,” Stanton said to her. “That will be all.”
The woman nodded and left just as silently as the girl had, her movements as slow as if she were walking through water.
“Is that your wife and daughter?” Drew asked.
“God, no. They’re part of my staff.” Stanton accepted a cup from Gracie and sat down in one of the tapestry-covered chairs. “You really must try the crumpets. They’re obscenely appetizing.”
When Gracie tried to give him a cup of tea, Drew shook his head. “I thought you were a recluse.”
“My studies require a great deal of my time.” He sipped from his cup before setting it down. “Surely you don’t deny an old man some creature comforts?”
For the first time Drew realized just how young Stanton looked; he couldn’
t be a day over thirty. “Agent Flores said you’ve been living in Mexico since the seventies. Did you come here with your parents when you were a kid?”
“Something like that.” Stanton sat back. “Do you have any children, Agent Frasier?”
“No, I’m single.” Drew glanced at Gracie, who remained waiting by the cart as if she were just another servant. “Dr. Stanton, we came here looking for some Americans who were kidnapped. Have you seen any strange boats in the area?”
“Since my island borders the reserve area around Las Islas Revillagigedo, I don’t see many boats at all,” Stanton said. “However, my employer recently took a tour of the islands and mentioned seeing a boat docked at one of the islands.”
“Which one?” Drew asked.
“He didn’t say, now that I think about it. But never fear.” The Englishman smiled. “He’ll be joining us tonight, and you can ask him yourself.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t wait that long.” Drew turned to Gracie. “If we leave now, we should be able to check all of the islands.”
“You can’t leave before dinner. Conchita,” Stanton called out, and when the older woman appeared, he asked, “What are you preparing for the evening meal?”
“Camarones rancheros, señor,” the woman said, staring at the floor.
“Ah, shrimp sautéed with vegetables and spices—one of her finest dishes,” Stanton said, sounding pleased, and shooed away the servant. “Quite worth the wait, Agent Frasier, I assure you.”
As Conchita passed Drew, he saw a mark on the side of her neck: a light brownish yellow bruise surrounding two small round scabs. “Maybe another time, thanks. Agent Flores?”
Gracie gave Stanton a strange look. “We could return in a few hours to have dinner with you.”
“Given the amount of agitation Agent Frasier is trying so valiantly to conceal, I think that highly unlikely, my dear. We will have to resort to plan B.” The Englishman rose and nodded past Drew, who turned to see two men armed with steel machetes.
Drew finally understood the missing artifacts, and why he couldn’t sense any copper around him. Before they arrived, Stanton must have removed everything Drew might use with his ability.
“Why the elaborate charade?” he asked the Englishman. “You could have had her kill me on the boat.”
Gracie started to say something, and then shook her head before she spoke to Stanton in rapid Spanish.
“Our dear Agraciana is many things, Mr. Riordan, but she’s not an assassin,” Stanton told him. “As it happens, she has gone to great lengths to see to it that you live a very long and extremely pleasant life.”
“Is that what your boss told you?” Drew demanded. “Genaro lied. He only wants revenge, and my DNA. He’ll cut my throat the minute you turn me over to him, and then kill the rest of you to cover his tracks.”
“Fortunately for all of us we don’t work for Jonah Genaro. But we’ll discuss that later, over dinner.” Stanton nodded to the men who flanked Drew. “Take him downstairs and lock him up.”
The gleam of the sharp machete blades and the confident grip of the hands holding them convinced Drew that making a break for it was not an option. That left Gracie, who accompanied them to a stairwell in the outer corridor.
“Whatever fairy tale Stanton told you is bullshit,” he said as she climbed down the steps in front of him. “I know too much about your operation now. He can’t afford to let me live.”
Gracie didn’t reply, and once they reached the bottom of the stairs she switched on a light, illuminating a damp stone cellar and a row of human-size cages.
“Nice,” Drew said, eyeing some irregular dark stains on the stone floors inside the steel cages. From them he sensed minute traces of copper mixed with another metal, and guessed they were blood. “What’s next on the agenda? Interrogation? A beating? Both?”
Gracie unlocked the center cage and held the barred door open. “Inside. Now.”
He moved into the cell, watching as she locked him in and spoke to the guards, who retreated back upstairs. “Does Papi know you use his boat to do Stanton’s dirty work, or do you lie to him, too?”
“My father knows.” She turned her back on him. “If you cooperate, you will not be hurt.”
“Too late for that.” He paced around the small space, trailing his fingers across the bars. “I appreciate the meaningless sex, though. Every guy should have one last decent bang before he’s executed and cut up for spare parts. Is there a bonus involved, or was fucking me expected as part of services rendered?”
Drew expected Gracie to shout, or laugh at him, or leave him to rot. Instead she came over to his cage, gripping the bars as she pressed her brow against them; her eyes closed.
“I was six years old when they took my mother,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “She went to work one morning and I never saw her again. When I was old enough to be useful, Stanton came to see Papi. He showed him pictures of Mama. She was older, but we recognized her. She was taking care of some American children. He said as long as we did what we were told, Mama would be safe.” She opened her eyes. “I did not marry Eduardo. I went away to school, and earned my degree, and took a job in the city.”
His anger wavered. “So they forced you to become a civil servant and protect the environment. Any particular reason why?”
“Stanton promised me all I would have to do was protect the islands and the other children.” Her hands slipped down the bars. “As soon as you told me what you were, I had no choice. No one can lie to our master. He looks into our minds. He knows everything the children think.”
“What children are you talking about?”
“You. Your friends. The others like you.” Slowly she pulled up her sleeve and turned her forearm over, using her nails to dig into and then peel away a layer of flesh-colored latex. Beneath it was an old tattoo of a stylized dolphin. “And me.”
Chapter 16
“You’ve been at this all day,” Samuel said from the doorway of the treatment room. “You should stop for the night and go to bed.”
“While you run off by yourself to meet the boys at the mystery cave?” Charlotte placed some rolled bandages on a shelf according to size. “Yeah, I should sleep like a baby.”
“I won’t be long.” He noticed the towels she had folded and placed on the counter next to an instrument tray. “What are you doing in here?”
“There are eleven, possibly twelve, pregnant women on this island, Sam. Any or all of them could require medical treatment at any moment.” She closed the cabinet. “Since I’m the only one who can do that, I have to be ready.”
She had been on edge ever since last night, when he had suggested their first meeting had been at the lab where as infants they had been genetically altered. Samuel knew the shared memories had disturbed her, but when he’d tried to discuss them, she’d told him she was too tired. When he’d woken up to a half-empty bed, he’d found her using the lab equipment in the treatment room.
Now he glanced at the slides and vials she had placed in a rack beside the microscope. Each was stained dark red. “You’ve been testing blood.”
“I took a sample from each of the bags.” She picked up a clipboard. “All of it is human, disease-free, and type O negative.”
His brows rose. “We all share the same blood type?”
“Don’t worry; that’s all we have in common.” She gestured toward a complicated-looking piece of equipment. “That uses microfluidics and nanotechnology to pull DNA from a blood sample and type the sequences. None of us are related.”
“Us?”
“I drew some blood samples from you the first night we were here,” she admitted. “After what we remembered last night, I’m very glad that I did.”
Now he understood why she had been so distant. “You thought we might be siblings. Charlotte, we look nothing alike.”
She shrugged. “Brothers and sisters don’t always resemble one another, and considering we’re both larger than average,
I had to be sure.”
“Do you feel better now that you know?”
“Not really.” She tossed the clipboard on the counter and headed for the door. “Do you want to eat before you leave? I can throw together a salad or something.”
“I’m not hungry.” He moved into her path. “What else is bothering you?”
“Nothing.” She came up short. “Do you mind?”
“I won’t leave you alone like this,” he told her. “I’ll skip going to the cave and instead follow you around the villa and harass you unmercifully for the remainder of the night.”
“Of course you will. I had to get stuck on Pregnancy Island with the only man in the world who wants to talk about my feelings.” She shoved him aside and stalked down the hall to the master suite.
Samuel followed her, and watched from the doorway as she began tearing apart the bed. “Am I sleeping on the couch?”
She ignored him as she tossed aside the coverlet and sheets. When he came over to her, she glared at him. “Will you just stop? Please?”
“Let me help you.” He removed the fitted sheet to reveal the bloodstained mattress.
Charlotte’s expression changed, and she climbed onto the mattress, stretching out in the center and looking down at one particular stain. She sat up quickly. “That son of a bitch.” She stood up, walking off the mattress.
Samuel glanced at the stain, which was located halfway down the left side of the mattress. He could touch it and discover exactly whose it was and how it had gotten there, but Charlotte appeared to already know. He went to stand beside her at the glass wall, where she was staring out into the night.
“I always check myself twice a week,” she said in a hollow voice. “I forgot until this morning, and when I felt for the strings they weren’t there. So I ran an ultrasound on myself, and my uterus was empty. It’s gone. Under the circumstances I should have expected it, but things have been so insane that I didn’t think.”
“I’m sorry, but what’s gone?”
“My IUD.” She gave him an ironic look. “They must have removed it here while I was unconscious. That’s my blood on the left side of the mattress.”
