by S. J. Harper
“Didn’t have a chance.”
I frown. Step closer. “What did you do? He looks a little confused.”
“Well, he is psychotic.”
I fold my arms across my chest.
He turns to look back at Mason, who’s now being stuffed into the back seat of one of the patrol cars. “Or it could be the carotid restraint. He went out like a baby. They’re taking him to the station. Let’s get the car. The sooner we start questioning him, the sooner we find Cooper.”
We follow the cruiser with Mason in the back to the two story brick building on Lockwood. The media has managed to beat us there. Brett and Sophie Anderson are out front, being interviewed by none other than CNN’s own blue-eyed darling, Anderson Cooper. Thankfully the CPD had the forethought to set up a barrier, allowing a small measure of safety and privacy. The cruiser is let past. Zack elects not to follow. He parks right out front in the middle of the melee.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I want to get the Andersons off the air. The last thing we need right now is for Mason’s wife to see them and get nervous. If Cooper’s still alive, I want to make sure he stays that way. I say we bring the Andersons in and put them on ice. As long as they’re stashed inside the station, they won’t be on television.”
Reporters crowd around us as soon as we exit the car. But that doesn’t stop Zack from making progress. We walk with purpose, saying nothing. CNN is rolling. As we near I hear Brett say, “I’m sure the FBI can shed more light.”
There’s a flurry of excitement. Lights and camera suddenly turn to us. I skirt around the edge of the crowd, continuing to make progress toward the entrance. The spotlight isn’t someplace I want to be. Zack moves so quickly, I doubt they’re catching anything but his back. He whispers something in Mrs. Anderson’s ear. In a blink of an eye, she’s off her chair.
“Come on!” she calls out to Brett, not pausing to see if he’s following.
He is, of course.
I open the door and follow the three of them inside. As soon as the rest of the world is shut out Mrs. Anderson asks, “What’s happening? Have you found Coop?”
I give her a non-committal answer. “We’re getting closer. We’re going to take you upstairs. We want to keep you in the loop. More importantly, we may need you to answer questions.”
Mrs. Anderson reaches for my hand. “He’s still alive? He’s okay?”
My eyes connect with Zack’s. There’s an almost imperceptible nod.
“We believe he’s still alive. There’s evidence pointing to that as of a few hours ago. But it’s critical that speculation not escalate,” I tell them.
We’re in the elevator now, heading up to the second floor.
“I don’t understand,” says Brett. “You have your guy. Isn’t is just a matter of finding where he stashed Cooper?”
The doors open and we’re greeted by the officer who brought Mason in.
“Simpson,” Zack says, reaching out for the man’s hand. “We’d like to keep the Andersons close by. Is there a free interrogation room you might be able to spare? Maybe get them some coffee?”
The young officer is quick on the uptake.
“Sure, come with me.” Then to Zack and I, “You want to go that way, to interrogation room four. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
The set up of the room is standard. A table bolted to the floor. Some chairs. Four walls, a one-way mirror so those in the room can be observed by those outside. I’ve been in hundreds, thousands, over the years during different times in different places. Mason sits across from us. He’s tall, muscular, with sandy hair, bright blue eyes, and perfect teeth. If we were to set aside the fact that he occasionally blinks, the man hasn’t moved, never mind said a word, in close to six hours. We’ve been on the phone with NCAVC, tried everything they’ve suggested, and still we have nothing.
There’s a knock and the door opens. It’s Simpson. He places a bottle of water in front of Mason. “Can I see the two of you outside for a few minutes?”
I can tell Zack doesn’t want to leave. But what we’re doing isn’t working.
“We’ll be back shortly, Stuart,” I say to Mason before rising. Thankfully, Zack follows my lead.
“What is it?” he asks as soon as we’re outside.
Simpson leads us toward the observation room. “It’s been over three hours since your last break and you spent that on the phone with the guys at Quantico. Give yourself ten minutes.”
He opens the door. I can see Mason through the two-way mirror still staring straight ahead. He hasn’t even bothered to reach for the bottle of water. Inside the room are a few metal folding chairs, nothing fancy. Sitting on one is a large pizza box, a pile of napkins, and two cans of soda.
“I realized listening to you go through the sequence of events earlier that you never got lunch, never mind dinner. Hope neither of you are vegetarian,” he says.
Suddenly, I realize just how famished I am.
“Thanks, man.” Zack pops open one of the sodas and hands the other to me before lifting the lid on the box. Inside is a pie covered with peppers, onions, sausage, and mushrooms.
My mouth is watering.
“The Andersons are getting restless,” he says.
Zack, ever the gentleman, serves me the first slice. The sauce is tangy, the cheese hot and gooey. Most importantly, the crust is thin and crispy on the bottom.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have much of an update for them,” Zack says before taking a slice for himself and folding it in half lengthwise. “I really thought Mason would have given us something by now.” He pauses long enough to take a bite, then washes it down with a swig of soda. “Where’d you get this at three in the morning?”
“There’s a place on King Street that delivers and it’s open until four. We have them on speed dial. I caught them right before they cut off taking orders.” Simpson takes a seat.
I look at the clock on the wall in the observation room. It’s four twenty. In less than three hours the sun will be up. I can end this standstill. I can make Mason talk. Will it come at a price, probably, if Demeter is watching. And, the chances of that are high. A chill runs down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Of course she’s watching. It seems she’s always watching. I look past Zack at Mason. The image of Cooper Anderson floats through my mind. If we can find him and save him, the transgression will be worth it. The tricky part is that I need to do this alone. Zack can’t be a part of it. If he’s in the room with me, he’ll get caught in the wake and that’s something I can’t afford to have happen.
“I just had a thought,” I say, interrupting the guys’ debate about deep dish versus thin crust pizza. As if there’s anything there to debate. “I think I should try to interview Mason alone. You were the one to handcuff him, Zack. It could be he needs a softer touch.”
“It’s worth a try.” He nods toward Mason. “He’s yet to even open the bottle of water.” Zack takes a second slice of pizza and places another in my plate as well.
“Maybe this is where I’ll start,” I tell him, hefting my plate aside. I reach for a napkin, but he stops me.
“If we get a break, we’re going to be on the move again for God knows how many more hours. Take two more minutes and eat.”
“If we’re hungry, he must be, too,” I say, standing up. “I’ll eat later.”
I take a deep breath before stepping back into the interrogation room, aware that Zack and Simpson are watching, aware that I need to proceed carefully. As soon as the door closes behind me I start the process of lowering the dampening spell. It takes control, discipline, beginning with just a slight crack in the armor. Invisible fissures spread out like spider webs, letting the power leak out. The air stirs around me as I approach. Something neither Zack or Simpson would be able to notice. Mason, however, does. I place the pizza in front of him as the magic builds, unleashing a warm, perfumed mist. I lean closer. His eyes, empty and lifeless for hours now, connect with mine.
It takes no effort at all. Once our eyes lock, I have him. He’s riveted.
I pull out the chair across from him and sit. “Stuart, it’s been a long night. You’ve got to be hungry and thirsty. Open the bottle of water. Drink. Take a bite of pizza.”
It seems like a casual remark, delivered softly, a whisper into the air.
The suggestion, however, is anything but casual.
It’s a command he’s compelled to fulfill.
A wind starts to rise. A section of my hair loosens and escapes the bun at the nape of my neck. Quickly I tuck it behind my ear. A strand curls over my right eye. I push it back.
Mason unscrews the cap on the water and takes several long swallows before setting the empty bottle back on the table. He picks up the slice of pizza and takes a bite.
“That’s good. I’m worried about you, Stuart. And I’m worried about Stephanie. We haven’t been able to find her. Do you know where she might be?”
For a moment, his eyes go blank again. “With our son, Jason. Stephanie is protecting him.”
My pulse quickens.
“People think Jason is dead,” he continues, “but his soul is alive. He was trapped here without form. The Anderson boy freed him, gave him back to us.”
“And your wife is just trying to keep them safe,” I say.
An expression of confusion passes over Mason’s face. “Them?”
“Your son and Cooper Anderson.”
He shakes his head. “No. The Anderson boy is gone. God took his soul to make room for Jason’s. That’s how it works. If you hold a body underwater long enough the soul leaves and doesn’t come back. It’s tricky though, the timing thing. Stephanie understands that better than I do.”
I’m doing my best to get enough information on record, that we’ll be able to not only find Cooper, but piece together what happened. I’m acutely aware that this may be our only chance.
“I need you to work with me, Stuart. So that we can find Stephanie and Jason and make everyone understand.” I get right to the point. “Do you know where they are?”
“I might.”
I lower the barriers further. The temperature around us rises. The wind subtly picks up, tipping over the empty water bottle. I reach for it, hold it still. “Tell me.” My voice is soft, slow, steady.
Sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead.
Is it from the warmth of my powers, from anxiety, or both?
I hold my breath.
“Stephanie said she was taking Jason to her father’s. He’s out of town. We were going to meet up there. But then the helicopter came and I couldn’t get to her.” He becomes tearful.
We were close and didn’t even know it.
“They’re in Longborough?”
He nods.
“Give me the address.”
There’s no hesitation. “Twenty-seven Devereaux.”
The door to the interrogation room flies open. I have to pull my power in so quickly, Mason actually lurches in his chair.
Zack, however, doesn’t notice. “Let’s roll, Emma,” he says. “We’ll connect with HRT on the way. ”
“They’re sending in the hostage rescue team? We don’t even have confirmation yet.” I’m speaking to his back. I have to walk double time to catch up.
Zack doesn’t pause for the elevator. He heads for the stairs. “NCAVC has a team close by. They just wrapped up a situation in Savannah. This has become really high profile.”
I race down the stairs behind him. “And they don’t want two field agents messing it up.”
We’ve reached the bottom. He pauses, hand on the door and turns to look at me. “We’re not going to mess this up. You were fucking brilliant in there. You called it exactly right. He needed a softer touch.”
A softer touch and a dose of Siren magic.
Zack’s still speaking. “Cooper’s still alive. I can feel it. You ready?”
I nod. “Let’s bring him home.”
CHAPTER 11
Day Five: Friday, March 25
The estate on Devereaux is impressive. It backs up along the Ashley River and is surrounded by a large wall with a secure entry. Clearly, Mrs. Mason comes from money. Old money. I give the gate a tug. It doesn’t budge. A camera, mounted on a pole to the left however does. It springs to life with a buzz, then turns to face us.
“I’m afraid we’ve lost the element of surprise,” I say.
Zack checks his cell. “HRT is less than five minutes out.”
The sun has yet to rise. The neighborhood is so still, we could hear a pin drop.
Or a boat engine as it turns over.
The rev of a motor cuts through the silence.
“Shit!” Zack grabs hold of the gate and gives is a good yank. Metal grinds against metal, the mechanism buckles and bends. “Help me!”
Like he needs the help.
I step in and offer a perfunctory hand. I’m saving most of my energy for the run I anticipate is ahead. I’m not wrong.
As soon as the gate pulls open, Zack is off. The shadows swallow him as he dashes ahead.
I run to stay fit. I’m in great shape and my times are good. But they’re on par with a human’s, not a Were’s. I’m going as fast as I can, arms pumping, feet slapping soundlessly against the dewy morning grass. I race across the expanse of lawn, heading around the south side to the back. Dawn breaks. The hint of early morning light reveals the outline of a dock ahead. I hear footfalls on the worn boards. A boat speeding off into the distance.
I don’t stop.
Instead, I pick up the pace.
Now the footfalls, coming impossibly fast, seem to be getting closer. I come to a dead stop. Not of my own accord. Zack’s grabbed me mid-run. He swings me around, sets me on my feet.
“She’s taken a boat. She’s heading down river. There’s another dock, another boat. I’m going ahead. If you catch up by the time I get it started… Well, catch up by the time I get it started.”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He’s off.
I follow.
At least I can see him now. And I can dimly see the dock he’s heading for up ahead. I sprint toward it, grateful for my training, discipline, and sensible shoes. By the time I reach the beginning of the long dock, he’s in the boat. I can only hope it’s comparable or faster than the one that took off minutes ago. I hear the engine turn over.
“I’m here!” I shout out.
“Get in!”
I climb inside and suddenly we’re flying, speeding down river.
Zack’s eyes are focused on the boat ahead of us. Try as I might, I can’t make it out.
“Get HRT on the line. Tell them we’re in pursuit. See if they can light up the boat for us,” he says.
I look around. I remember how all of the other victims died. “We need to be careful, Zack. The last thing we want to do is antagonize the woman. She’s unstable. She’s already killed two boys. What’s to stop her from tossing Cooper into the river?”
He spares me a quick glance. Says nothing. The river is wider in some parts then others, he’s pushing the motor to its maximum.
“Can you tell if they’re both on board?” I ask him as I dial.
“No. Not unless I can get closer. Ask HRT to verify and then hang back.”
I do and they agree. But I can tell they aren’t happy. The guys on the Hostage Rescue Team aren’t used to taking orders, they’re used to taking charge, being in control.
The Blackhawk helicopter carrying the team of agents who make up one of the United States’ three national-level Tier 1 assets passes overhead. The Navy has SEAL Team Six. The Army has their Delta Force. The FBI has its Hostage Rescue Team. Highly qualified and highly trained agents who operate on American soil, saving the lives of fellow American civilians.
“Jastrzemski here. I have eyes on the suspect.”
“And the boy?”
I hold my breath.
“There’s a body on the deck. Size is consistent with a four-year-old. Not moving. I can
’t confirm the child is Cooper Anderson or alive without getting closer and…wait…” There’s a long pause before he continues, “The suspect is armed with a handgun.”
“Zack?”
“I heard. He’s alive. She wouldn’t have brought him with her if he weren’t. More likely she sedated him. We assume he’s alive.”
I nod.
The mouth of the river is in front of us. We spill out into the Charleston Harbor. I look back at the city and try to get my bearings. The sea here is rougher than the river. Our boat bounces as it cuts through the waves. I can see the one we’re following in the distance. Past that is a outcropping of coast. Stephanie Mason seems to be heading right for it.
“What is she doing?” I ask as she gets closer.
“Looks like she’s heading for Fort Sumter,” comes the voice of Jastrzemski.
We’re approaching a dock and a large ferry boat ahead. But Stephanie shows no sign of slowing down. The gap between us is closing, but not fast enough.
“She’s going to ram the dock,” says Jastrzemski.
But as the words are spoken, the boat veers northeast, heading for open water.
“Hold on,” he says. “We’re getting some intel coming in from NCAVC.”
The Blackhawk is hovering above us now. I look up. I see some men in Multicam camouflage, regulation HK416 assault rifles across their laps. I can’t tell which one of them is the agent I’ve been speaking to.
Jastrzemski’s voice comes back. “The suspect’s father owns a private ferry service in the area that runs coastal exhibitions to Bulls Island. The suspect worked for him in high school. They think she’s heading to the landing there. That she’s hoping to lose us in the island’s interior. Most of the place is uninhabited. Some of it only accessible by foot. I think this is where we part ways, Agent Monroe. Once we get confirmation that’s where she’s heading, we’ll drop our men in and initiate pursuit.”
“God damn it!” growls Zack, looking up as the Blackhawk breaks away and flies ahead of us. We slow down. Come to dead stop.
“Why are we stopping?” I ask.
“We’re not going to catch her. They’re in position. It’s their mission, not ours,” he says.
