by Eric Bernt
Butler’s burner phone began to vibrate on the shelf where he had been charging it. He glanced at the caller ID. It was Caitlin, of course. “I’ll be right back.” He grabbed the phone and stepped out into the hallway.
Skylar moved to Lolo. “Would it be all right if I gave you a hug?”
She nodded, sniffling back more tears. Eddie watched as Skylar embraced Lolo warmly. His hands imitated Skylar’s as they wrapped around her. He seemed to be practicing the movement. Skylar saw this and smiled, then turned back to Lolo, looking her directly in the eyes. “You make my heart sing.”
Lolo stared at her a long moment and asked, “I do?”
Skylar nodded. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”
“I don’t think so, and I probably would have remembered something like that.” She smiled, looking gentle and bright.
“Skylar, you are a doctor,” Eddie interjected. “You should know that hearts cannot sing.”
“It’s an expression,” Skylar answered.
“I don’t like expressions.”
Lolo chimed in, “Eddie, I’m sorry to disagree with you on this, but you are wrong. Hearts can sing. They sure can.”
He studied her with curiosity, knowing that she was telling the truth, but also that what she was saying was false. “Internal organs cannot sing. It is physically impossible.”
“Maybe yours just hasn’t learned how. Your heart. To sing, I mean.”
“Maybe you can teach him, Lolo. I’m going to check on Butler. I’ll be right back.” As she stepped out of the room, she looked over her shoulder at Eddie.
In his twenty-seven years of life, he had never been alone in a room with a woman who was neither a doctor nor a nurse. The expression on Eddie’s face was priceless.
CHAPTER 62
SAFE HOUSE
GILBERTS CORNER, VIRGINIA
June 2, 8:34 a.m.
Caitlin smiled as she heard the distinctive ring of a video call coming in. She answered it to see her daughter’s face on-screen. “Good morning.”
“What’s good about it?” Marissa snapped. She was inside the truck.
“A little grumpy, are we?”
“If you were about to eat breakfast at some place called JW’s Restaurant, Lanes, Bar & Grill, you wouldn’t be thrilled about it, either.” She panned the phone across the street to give Caitlin a view of where they were going to eat.
“I don’t know, I think the name has kind of a nice ring to it.” She smiled, hoping her daughter would join her.
Marissa didn’t. “I want to come home.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now.”
“When will it be?”
“I’m working on it,” Caitlin answered.
“You’re not coming here, are you?”
After a slight pause, she asked, “Can I talk to your father, please?”
Marissa handed the phone to Peter as they got out of the truck and walked toward the entrance. “You’re really missing out, you know,” he said. “After breakfast, we’re going to bowl a few games and then grab a couple slabs of baby backs to bring home with us.”
Mikey leaned in front of the phone. “It’s better than school, I’ll tell you that.”
Inside the front door, a sign read “Please Seat Yourself.” Peter led the kids into a booth and handed them each a menu. Marissa touched something and cringed. “Ew, gross.” She quickly grabbed a paper napkin from a dispenser and wiped off her fingers.
“What was it, boogers?” Mikey chuckled.
“Cut it out,” Peter snapped. “It’s not boogers. It’s probably just syrup or something.”
“How do you know what it was?”
“I don’t. I’m guessing.”
An older waitress came over to them, order pad in hand. The white collar of her uniform was slightly yellowed. She noticed the phone Peter was holding. “You’re not gonna put me on candid camera, are you?” she asked, somewhat expectantly.
“No, nothing like that,” Peter said. “My wife can’t be with us, so, you know, next best thing.”
The waitress waved to Caitlin on the phone. “Don’t you worry, there, Mom. I’ll take good care of them.”
Caitlin nodded her appreciation toward the screen. “Thank you kindly.”
The waitress turned to the kids. “You two had a chance to decide yet?”
“Do you have anything that might be gluten-free?” Marissa asked.
“Why, yes we do, sugar. My cousin, Shirley, has celiac disease. Is that what you have?”
Marissa made a face like she’d just been asked something completely inappropriate. “Uh, no, I just don’t do gluten.”
“That’s fine. All our eggs are gluten-free, so you should be safe there.”
Mikey chimed in, “All eggs are gluten-free.”
“We are in complete agreement,” the waitress commented, realizing that this was going to be that table. Every shift had one.
“Do you know if the eggs are organic?”
“They are. And the farmers who raise the chickens even play classical music over loudspeakers at night, which helps them to sleep better.” She winked at Peter and then at Caitlin, making sure both were in on the joke.
Mikey didn’t know any better. “Really?”
“Don’t be a jerk,” Marissa snorted.
“He’s not the one being a jerk here,” Caitlin snapped.
Marissa shook her head in disbelief. “What did I do?”
Peter decided he’d had enough. “I’ll have the large stack of buttermilk pancakes. My son will have the short stack, and we’ll share a side of bacon. The young lady will have the two-egg special with fruit instead of potatoes and no toast.” He turned to Marissa. “How would you like your eggs?”
“Over easy. I can’t believe you don’t know that.”
“Well, I do now,” he responded with a strained smile. “Eggs over easy, please.”
“She heard me the first time, Dad,” the thirteen-year-old said.
The waitress smiled, took down the order, then got on one knee so she could look Marissa evenly in the eye. “Sweetie, I can tell you’re having kind of a rough morning, and whatever is going on, I feel for you, but it isn’t right to take it out on your dad. See, my dad was in the army, and one day when I was just about your age, these two men showed up at our door and said he had died in a training exercise. The helicopter he was being transported in went down in a ball of flames. He was charred to a crisp. Do you have any idea what I would give right now to spend one more day with him? Heck, one more meal?”
She paused dramatically, never breaking eye contact. “So the next time you feel the need to be real nasty to someone, come find me, ’cause I can take it, but don’t take it out on your dear old dad, because he don’t deserve it. No daddy does.”
Marissa was clearly affected by the poignant story and nodded sincerely. She had clearly learned a lesson. She looked to her father sheepishly. “Sorry.”
He nodded his acceptance. As the waitress stood up, she glanced at Peter to give him another wink, making sure he knew her story was completely fabricated for his benefit.
Peter glanced down at the phone to read the message Caitlin had texted him during the waitress’s story. It said: GIVE HER A HUGE TIP! He smiled and nodded again.
As Mikey watched the waitress walk back to the kitchen, he turned to his father. “You know, maybe this isn’t gonna be so bad after all.”
Outside the restaurant, Coogan looked on from the cab of his truck, wondering what the heck all that chitchat with the old waitress had been about. Probably wasn’t anything for him to be concerned about, but then again, you never knew. He reached into the glove box and double-checked that his Smith & Wesson was good to go. It was. So were the three speed loaders. Just in case he suddenly found himself in a serious firefight.
CHAPTER 63
DAVID’S PLACE
WOODSDALE, MARYLAND
June 2, 8:45 a.m.
Lolo and Eddie we
re alone in the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. She leaned against the closet door with her arms crossed, thinking about what she should say. She started to say something, then stopped herself. Then started again and stopped. She was struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know if I can teach you, I mean your heart, like Skylar asked me to. I’m afraid I’m not a very good teacher.”
“Why are you afraid?”
“I don’t like to fail,” she said. “People make fun of me. Laugh. I feel bad.”
“I don’t like it when people laugh at me, either.” He continued to stare at the floor.
“Then we have something in common.” She smiled warmly.
Eddie’s gaze turned out the window. “Do you have a criminal record?”
“No.” She rolled her eyes, more surprised than offended.
“Have you ever been fired from a teaching position?”
“No.”
“Then there is no reason you cannot be a good teacher.” He paused, adding, “In fact, I think you would be an excellent teacher.”
“Really?” She smiled brightly. “You know, just you saying that makes my heart sing.”
“No, it does not.” His gaze remained downward.
“How do you know?”
“A heart is designed to pump blood, not produce sound.”
“It makes a thumping sound.”
“That is not singing.”
Lolo had a sudden revelation. “You are very smart, aren’t you?”
“The last time it was tested, my IQ was 193.”
“Is that good? I mean, I guess it is, 193, from the way you said it. Is it?”
“A genius IQ is above 145. An IQ between 180 and 200 is considered to be highest genius,” he said.
She was clearly impressed. “I don’t think I have ever met a ‘highest genius’ before. Or any kind of genius.” She continued, “I also think that’s the problem, Eddie. You’re too smart.”
Eddie looked confused. “It is not possible to be too smart.”
“Most smart people think that. Because they think too much and don’t feel enough. Not nearly enough.”
Eddie’s eyes went wide as he remembered his conversation with Skylar on their most recent walk to nowhere in the Harmony House yard, which was only the day before, but already seemed like a very long time ago. “There are some things you know because you feel them, aren’t there?”
“Yes, exactly. Like cooking. Not for everyone, but for me, I mean. It can be on a stove, or on a grill, or in an oven, or even in a microwave; it really doesn’t matter. I just love to cook. I don’t know why, but I know that I do, which is why it was so great that I got to cook breakfast for you and Skylar and Butler, my new friends.”
Eddie took a moment to process what he was hearing. “Do you know it with your whole being, more than just your brain?”
“Funny, nobody’s ever asked me that before. But yes, I think I do. My whole being knows I like to cook. My hands. My eyes. My stomach. Even my toes. Yes, my whole being does.”
Eddie became lost in thought. “That is how I feel about my mother’s voice.”
“Is it beautiful?”
“Yes, I think it is the most beautiful thing in the world,” Eddie replied. “Last week was the first time I got to hear it.”
“Why did you have to wait so long?”
“Because she died a long time ago, and it took me almost as long to get the echo box to work.”
She studied his face. “This is another thing in common. We have both had people we love die.”
Eddie stared at the wall. “My mother died giving birth to me, so I never got to talk to her.”
“If you could talk to her, do you know what you would say to her?”
He smiled at the thought. “Hi, Mom.” After a long pause, he turned briefly to Lolo with the expression of someone about to share his most sacred possession. He asked, “Would you like to hear my mother sing?”
CHAPTER 64
EMBASSY SUITES HOTEL
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
June 2, 8:58 a.m.
Mr. Elliott had reserved a suite on the top floor of the eight-story hotel because he wanted a kill room with a view. He wanted his audience to see that the heinous deeds he was going to commit were done on United States soil. It was to be a statement, all right. He hoped that it would drive federal investigators mad knowing they had almost certainly missed their one and only shot to capture the most notorious killer on the international stage in the last ten years.
Having changed into clothing more suited to his personal taste, he moved around the room like a Hollywood film director, putting his thumbs together and forming an imaginary viewfinder with his hands. It had to be just right. Finding the desired location for his master shot of the upcoming scene, he began to move the furniture around the living room, creating a more open space for his talent to perform, if you could call it that.
He positioned his tripod, then affixed his high-definition video camera atop it. He looked through the viewfinder, zooming in and out on his imaginary subject. On her screaming, tortured face. Bloodied. Pleading. Begging for mercy—if not for herself, then for the bait I used to lure her. What a performance she was going to give.
Mr. Elliott then adjusted the strap of the GoPro head mount he was going to wear. One of the visual techniques he intended to employ was to share his own point of view. To let people see what he saw while doing his thing. He thought this was quite generous of him, actually—a gift no one else on earth could give. While in truth it was only an approximation of his true perspective, he was quite certain that he would be redefining the phrase “shock value” for the foreseeable future.
Deciding that his set decorations were complete, he left the room, hanging the “Do Not Disturb” sign from the door handle. He rode the elevator down to the lobby with a young family of Korean tourists who were spared from knowing the horrendous thoughts he enjoyed in their presence. Mr. Elliott’s expression gave nothing away.
He walked across the parking lot and got into his rental car, where he took out his phone to check the drive time to the Kelman Nursing and Rehab Center. It was nineteen minutes away. Mr. Elliott started the engine, turned up the volume of his favorite classical station, and drove off.
CHAPTER 65
DAVID’S PLACE
WOODSDALE, MARYLAND
June 2, 9:03 a.m.
Skylar watched Butler as he paced back and forth across the hallway with the phone pressed to his ear. He was talking to Caitlin, who remained bunkered in her subterranean safe house. “How well do you know this guy?” He was referring to Hogan.
“He was a close friend of my father.”
“Allegiances can change.”
“My father gave him access to six hundred million dollars fifteen years ago with no oversight. He never touched a dime.”
Butler paused to take this in. “That’s impressive.”
“His background and skill set are similar to your own, if not even more remarkable.”
He paused, staring at his phone like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You said that last part just to piss me off, didn’t you?”
“Who, me?” she replied with exaggerated innocence.
“Okay, if that’s how you want to play, I’ll play,” he answered with a smile.
Skylar tapped Butler on the shoulder, motioning to Edgar, who’d been watching them from his doorway.
“That’s Edgar,” Butler told her. “I met him last night.”
She gave him a friendly wave. “Hi, Edgar, I’m Dr. Drummond.”
He glared, responding inaudibly.
“Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”
“What he is is overmedicated. You see the way his joints are all swollen? If I had to guess, he’s being given way too much anti-seizure medication.”
Caitlin continued through the phone. “Hogan wants you to meet his team in Alexandria. How soon can the two of you be there?”
&
nbsp; “What about Eddie?”
“Is he in any shape to travel?” Caitlin asked.
Butler cupped the phone and repeated the question to Skylar. She answered, “I would prefer that he not.”
Butler relayed the answer. Caitlin asked, “Would she feel comfortable allowing him to remain in your current location?”
Skylar was close enough to the phone that she heard the question. She responded, “The question is, would he?”
Caitlin watched a satellite view of David’s Place and the surrounding area. A medical supply van was making its weekly delivery. Several nurses were arriving for their eight o’clock shift. But there was nothing out of the ordinary that she could see. None of the five search teams hired by the American Heritage Foundation were close enough to be concerned about. Not yet, anyway.
She switched her satellite view to one looking down upon the American Heritage Foundation. The incredible array of advanced technology on its roof did not look like much from this angle, which she knew was precisely the idea. What did catch her eye, however, were the vehicles parked around the building’s perimeter, along with the armed men patrolling it. She zoomed in closer to see that they were carrying automatic weapons.
Instead of becoming concerned, she felt insulted, as if Stenson was underestimating her. “You really don’t appreciate what you’re up against, do you?”
CHAPTER 66
VARIOUS LOCATIONS
MARYLAND
June 2, 9:18 a.m.
The five search teams looking for Edward Parks had initially been assigned designated areas by their handlers at the American Heritage Foundation. Enola Meyers and Charlie Johnson had divided up the five-hundred-square-mile area surrounding the site of the accident into five distinct territories. Each team was instructed to respect the other teams’ boundaries, and to not cross lines until there was a confirmed sighting of the target subject. Then it would be a free-for-all. It was not unlike an eight-hundred-meter race in track and field, where runners must remain in their assigned lanes through the first turn, after which they could break for position on the inside.
