When she drove her red SUV into the parking lot, heart-ache gnawed at her insides. But she had to put on a professional face. She had to do her duty.
She made up her mind that today she was going to visit the hospital. Maybe Simone would be awake. Her folks would be there. Maybe they would know something.
She was early; the museum had not yet opened for business. She walked up the steps of the huge granite edifice to the large glass doors, where the guards let her in. The first place she went was the Mayan Room to see the damage.
She smelled the soapy solution Korey was using to clean certain artifacts. She walked through the tunnel and into the exhibit room. Staff from Conservation, Exhibit Designing, and Planning were already there, busy trying to repair the damage. It was like an archaeological dig of sorts, the way her crew gently worked on the stone pedestals and display cases that looked like ancient ruins.
Korey was stooped near a soot-covered faux stone molded to resemble an intricate face surrounded by symbols. His dreadlocks were pulled back in a low ponytail and he was pointing to a dark streak.
“It’s working,” said the woman sitting cross-legged on the floor, soapy toothbrush in hand. “It just takes a while.”
Korey caught sight of Diane, stood up and walked over to her.
“How bad is it?” she said.
“Not as bad as it could have been,” said Korey. “We’ve been working on the soot. Trying to see if we can salvage all the faux stonework. I think we can save most of it. Some of it will have to be done over. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” said Diane, looking around the room. “Damn it.”
“I hear they tried to burn up the security guard. That’s vicious.”
“They were bad guys. The real thing,” said Diane.
She walked with Korey around the room, examining the damage while Korey explained how they were dealing with it.
“How long?” asked Diane
“Let me get back to you at the end of the day on that, Dr. F. We’re still working out the best cleaning formulas.”
“All right. Thanks, Korey. I know this is taking you away from your conservation work.”
“It’s not a problem. We’ll get the room back up as quickly as we can,” he said.
The museum was opening its doors and the first tourists were arriving as Diane crossed the lobby to the office wing of the museum. She picked up her pace before anyone was tempted to speak with her. Later in the morning she would get David and they would visit Simone at the hospital to see how she was doing. But there was work to be done first.
Andie was already behind her desk. She stopped Diane. There was a visitor. A woman who looked vaguely familiar to Diane was sitting in the waiting area. It was a cozy area decorated by Andie in a charming way, but the woman sat stiffly, clearly uncomfortable.
Sybil Carstairs—that was her name. She and her husband, Edmond, were new contributors to the museum. She held a folded piece of paper clenched in her fist as she rose. She didn’t take the hand Diane offered. Diane let it drop to her side.
“Mrs. Carstairs, isn’t it?” said Diane.
“As if you didn’t know,” she whispered in a hoarse voice.
Diane raised her eyebrows. “Please step into my office,” she said.
As Diane passed, Andie gave her an almost imperceptible shrug.
Diane indicated a chair in front of her desk. She went around behind her desk and sat down, rested her folded hands in front of her, and looked at her visitor.
Sybil Carstairs was a tall, thin woman perhaps in her fifties, maybe sixties, Diane couldn’t tell. She took good care of herself, but didn’t have the genes for looking young. She had beautifully coiffed dark brown hair and wore an expensive slate gray silk suit. She had diamond rings on fingers of both hands. Her finger joints were just starting to show the effects of arthritis.
“What can I do for you?” Diane said.
The woman’s lips trembled.
“Slut,” she whispered.
“What?” said Diane. She was beginning to think the woman was not in her right mind and that perhaps she should call Mr. Carstairs.
“You heard me. I don’t know who you think you are, but when I finish you won’t have this job anymore to use to patrol for . . .” She struggled for the right word and gave up.
“What are you talking about?” said Diane.
The woman threw the paper at Diane. It landed on her desk and almost fell to the floor before Diane caught it. Diane unfolded it and smoothed it out on her desk.
It was an e-mail from Diane to Edmond Carstairs asking if he wanted to meet in the afternoon for sex. Diane could understand why Sybil might be upset, but surely she knew that this was not from Diane.
“Mrs. Carstairs, you must know that I didn’t send this message,” said Diane.
“It has your name on it,” she said, as if that were definitive proof.
“What in the world would I be doing sending your husband an e-mail like this?” said Diane.
Sybil waved her hand toward Diane. “Just what it says.”
Diane pinched the bridge of her nose and looked back up at Sybil.
“I’m engaged to a wonderful man. I have a terrific job and great friends. If I were going to run the risk of losing my fiancé, my job, and the respect of my friends by soliciting an affair, it would be with George Clooney and not your husband. I didn’t send this. Obviously, my e-mail was hijacked.”
“You think this is funny? We’ve been married thirty-seven years. It’s not funny to me.”
“No, Mrs. Carstairs, I think it is anything but funny. Someone is trying to harm my reputation and I take that very seriously. Quite frankly, I’m surprised that you would take this seriously. Hijacking e-mails is not an uncommon occurrence. What does your husband say?”
“He denies that there’s anything going on. And I believe him. He doesn’t know why you would send him a message like that.”
Her raised chin made her look defiant and a little juvenile. Clearly neither of them knew anything about the pitfalls of computer mail.
“I did not send this. I hardly know your husband. I know that the two of you are generous to the museum and we are grateful. This is a terrible thing someone did and I’ll try to get to the bottom of it. But I have to tell you that it is almost impossible to trace this kind of thing.”
Sybil was still angry. Diane wasn’t sure if it was because she wasn’t convinced, or because she was emotionally all geared up for a confrontation and found there was nothing to confront about. She stood up.
“I’ll be watching you,” she said. “And I’ll be speaking with Vanessa Van Ross.”
“Then I’m sure she’ll put your mind at ease.” Diane rose to see her out.
Sybil left. Walking stiffly with her head held high, she marched out of the office without glancing back.
“Boy, what was that about?” asked Andie.
She had her springy brown-red hair held away from her face with silver hair clips that Diane thought probably came from her boyfriend. Diane explained about the e-mail.
“I’ll get David to try and track it down, but I don’t think there is much success in cases like this.”
She made light of it, but she was worried. First the rumor about drugs, then the call to Frank about her entertaining men, and now this. She needed to get to the bottom of it.
“Another day at the museum,” said Andie. “Are all museums like this?”
“You thinking of looking for another job?” Diane grinned at her.
“And miss all the drama? Nope. Just wondering.”
Diane made an internal assessment of her state of mind and decided that her heart was not in administrative work right this minute. She looked at her watch.
“I’m going to visit someone in the hospital. Hold the fort. . . .”
The phone rang and Andie answered it. She held it out to Diane.
“Thomas Barclay,” said Andie, wrinkling her nose.
Diane was
glad they didn’t have video phones.
“Thomas, what can I do for you?” said Diane.
Barclay laughed. “Funny you should ask. I just called to let you know that someone’s hacked into your e-mail account. That is, unless you are soliciting an assignation.”
“Oh, no. Not you, too?” said Diane. She told him about Sybil Carstairs.
“I know Edmond. I’ll talk to him,” he said.
That was the nicest that Barclay had ever been to her. Diane was suspicious.
“I would appreciate that very much,” she said.
“This happened to my daughter. It’s an aggravation, but most people know it’s a hoax.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Diane. “Thank you for your call and your help.”
When she hung up, Andie was looking at her with suspicion. Diane knew it was for Barclay.
“I think he is just being helpful,” said Diane. For once. “I’m gone. You’re in charge.”
Diane stopped by the museum shop and bought Simone a plush gorilla that had just arrived. Simone loved jungle animals, especially gorillas. She called David and he met her outside by his black Land Rover. They drove to the hospital.
On the critical care floor Diane asked about Simone Blake.
“Your names, please?” asked the nurse, eyeing the rather large gorilla.
“Diane Fallon and David Goldstein,” she said.
“I’m sorry, the family has asked that the two of you not be allowed to see Miss Blake.”
Chapter 14
Someone from an embassy had taken Rosetta. That startled Maria. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. She could see Rosetta was upset. Everything considered, she was surprised the kid hadn’t lost it before now. Maria couldn’t imagine making a daring escape plan and executing it when she was Rosetta’s age.
It was important to find out if Rosetta knew who had kidnapped her. Maria didn’t know much about the massacre at the mission. She was under the impression it was the work of some rogue rebel gang. If a government or embassy personnel had a hand in it . . .
Maria gently tried to coax the little girl to explain, but gave up quickly. It was clear Rosetta didn’t much want to talk about the traumatic events surrounding the attack on the mission. Maria would respect that.
She turned her full attention to the way ahead. It was still dark under the canopy, though she was beginning to see flashes of emerald, glimpses of color yet to come. Never driving above fifteen miles per hour, she frequently checked the compass and the map in the dome light.
Rosetta busied herself sewing. Maria marveled at her ability to do it in the dark.
“What are you sewing?” she asked.
“Our money into our clothes. Some of it you can put down your top, but the rest I will hide in a lot of places. If we’re bushwhacked, maybe they won’t get all of it.”
“Bushwhacked?”
“It’s a movie word. I like it. It’s a holdup.”
“You like the movies?”
Rosetta nodded. “Mama and I watched a lot of movies. She got them in the mail. We watched them together, sometimes with popcorn. Do you know about Indiana Jones? He’s an archaeologist like you.”
“He’s more of a pothunter.”
“What’s a pothunter?”
“He’s someone who takes artifacts out of their context at a site.”
Rosetta looked sideways at her. “What does that mean?”
“Archaeologists want to find out about the people who lived in ancient ruins. To do that, we have to study artifacts—the things we dig up—in the place where they are found. Pothunters want the artifacts because they are valuable or pretty. They don’t care about what the things meant to the people who made them.”
“I’ll bet you are a lot of fun at the movies.”
Maria laughed. “I like movies. I just have issues with Indiana Jones being called an archaeologist.” She paused. “I did enjoy his movies, though. What else did you watch?”
Rosetta put down her sewing and counted on her fingers. “The Little Mermaid—that was my favorite. I liked Cinderella and Snow White. E.T. was a little scary, but fun. I liked The Wizard of Oz. We watched a lot of cowboys and Indians—they were old movies made in olden times.”
“All of those are good movies.”
“Mama likes science fiction. Do you?”
“Well, I like mysteries best. But I like adventures, too. I like movies about horses, and I’m a big fan of Tarzan.”
“Tarzan?”
“He was this guy raised by apes in the jungle. Swung on vines, ran with the wild animals. Cool guy.”
“You must be having a great time here.”
Maria laughed. Rosetta dug out some jerky and a canteen of water from her backpack and shared it with Maria. It was a good, much-needed meal. When Rosetta finished, she took up her sewing again.
“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Maria said after another long period of silence.
Rosetta looked up at her, needle in hand.
Maria smiled. “When you finish your project, of course. You said you have clothes for us?”
“I got you a skirt and a shirt like people here wear. You can put them over your jeans. You need to look a little more like you live here. That’s going to be hard. You’re tall.”
“You’ve made very detailed plans,” Maria said.
“I’ve been planning a long time. Like E.T., I want to go home.”
“Well, like E.T., if we can get our hands on a satellite phone, we can phone home. Maybe one of the villages we pass will have phone service of some kind. If not, the bigger towns and cities will.”
“Have you got a plan? Besides the train?”
“If the train doesn’t work out, I was hoping we might find some tourists. Right now, I don’t know exactly where we are in terms of civilization. Just our location in terms of the map.”
Rosetta made a face. “What do you mean? Are we lost?”
“No, not lost. I know the direction I want to go. I just don’t know when we will get to a town that has a place we can get help. Most of the places listed on the map seem to be villages. But one of them may have a mission. We have lots of possibilities. We will get home. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not. Mama said if you have a good plan and carry it out good, you can get what you want. Or something like that. She wasn’t talking to me when she said it and I was just a little kid. But I remember stuff. I remember her.”
Maria saw her grab the hem of her shirt and hold it in her fist. Strange gesture. Then she realized that Rosetta probably had sewn something up in it. Something that reminded her of her mother, of the home she’d never been to.
Maria’s main concern was getting across borders. Particularly into the United States. She had lost her passport in her effort to get away from her attackers, and Rosetta didn’t even have one. If she could get to a phone and call John, her boyfriend, or Diane Fallon, they could take care of the problem from their end. At some point soon, she would have to get Rosetta to talk about the man who took her. She had to know which embassy to trust. On the other hand, that was a long time ago and the man was probably long gone.
Rosetta finally put her sewing away and made herself comfortable on the seat. “Tell me a story,” she said.
Maria thought about the stories she knew. She knew a lot of Native American mythology, but she didn’t know how entertaining that would be for an eight-year-old.
“You heard of Harry Potter?” Maria asked.
“I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know his story.”
“I’ll tell it to you. We’ll start with Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.”
Maria started the story in her half-croaked, half-whispered voice, of the little boy wizard who lived at number four Privet Drive. She glanced at Rosetta occasionally and watched her as she slowly began to struggle to keep her eyes open.
“I like this story,” she said. “I know what it’s like to live with people who don’t want you.�
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Maria felt a tug at her heart. She had gotten as far in the story as the letters arriving when she heard the regular breathing of sleep.
Maria drove for four hours before she had to stop for a break. Rosetta was still asleep. She hated to wake her, but if she left Rosetta and she woke up before Maria returned, it would scare her. Maria guessed they were somewhere around sixty miles by way of the road from where she had been held captive. Still too close for her comfort.
The rain forest was an emerald green and the flora was gradually getting thicker. Several times she doubted the wisdom of her decision, particularly when she had to pick her way around a fallen tree. Once she got out to scout a few feet in front of them to make sure the ground was solid. The map indicated a swampy area nearby. They had been lucky so far. The way had been easier than she dared hope.
“Rosetta,” she whispered. She gently shook her.
“What? Is something wrong?”
“No, I just have to take a potty break. I didn’t want you to wake up and find me gone.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “I can help you find a good spot.”
Maria took some cloth she had cut from the bolt of material and a gun and let Rosetta lead her to a clearing of sorts away from the trees and they both relieved themselves. On their way back to the truck they heard a muffled thump. Through the trees, Maria saw the truck rock slightly. Someone had found them. She whispered for Maria to hide and she took out her gun.
Chapter 15
Diane stared at the woman for several moments. She and David were not allowed to see Simone? Diane noticed that David, the professional pessimist that he was, believing that any bad thing that can happen will, did not look as surprised as she felt.
“May I ask why?” said Diane.
“How dare you! How dare you even come here.” The voice was behind them and sounded vaguely like Simone’s. “Leave us alone.”
Diane and David both turned in the direction of the voice. The nurse also turned, but in a different direction, and busied herself in a file drawer. Standing before them was an older version of Simone. Tall, slim, blond . . . obviously her mother. Two men stood beside and slightly behind her. One was Simone’s younger brother, whom Diane had met when he came to visit Simone in South America. He looked like his sister. Strong family genes at play. The other man had graying hair and a dignified air about him. Diane recognized him from a photograph. He was Simone’s father. As Diane recalled, Simone didn’t get along well with her mother and did not have her picture on display in her bedroom as she did her father’s and brother’s.
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