by Unknown
After switching on his radio to a classical-music station, he booted up the computer and began reading in Czech off the first disk. It contained names from a cemetery in Bohemia, or precisely, from the village of Oujezdec, in the town of Kutna Hora in County Caslav.
The cemetery can be reached by turning directly off the public road east of the town with access open to all via a continuous masonry wall and locking gate. The cemetery is about 0.06 hectares. Twenty to one hundred stones, most in original location, date from 1880s.
This cemetery has special sections with no detail given. Marble, granite, limestone and sandstone are finely smoothed and inscribed. Some tombstones have iron decorations or lettering and portraits on the stones.
Jake scanned the first set of names: Hurtoovi, Hurtowvi, Markvicka, Metivelski.
Slowly and meticulously he began converting the information to English. He added notes that names like Hurtoovi or Hurtowvi were probably changed to Hurt once the person arrived in America.
As soon as the translated information was put on a new disk, he would file it in the main computer database. Professional and nonprofessional genealogists around the world could access it through the Family History Link.
Every time he wrote down a head-of-family name, it prompted him to ponder that person’s life. He or she was precious to someone who lived a hundred, maybe two hundred years later, depending on the date.
Until Dan had made arrangements for him to work undercover here, Jake had never given a great deal of thought to tracing one’s ancestry. As far as he knew, his own forebearers were English.
Wendell glommed on to that bit of news and insisted on researching one of his grandparents’ lines for him. So far he’d found out Jake had a great-great-grandmother, Lilley Bowen. Lo and behold, she was a Scot!
Jake hadn’t realized he had any Scottish blood in him. He’d thought himself of pure English stock.
Lilley’s family had moved from Scotland to Ulster in Ireland before emigrating to Virginia. Later on, the family relocated to Florida, and eventually Jake’s mother, Jane Bowen, was born.
Knowing he had Scottish blood in him, Jake had told Wendell he’d pay him to do more searches on his family lines when he had the time. That was three weeks ago.
When Wendell came into Jake’s office two hours later, he wondered if his boss had made another surprising find and couldn’t wait to inform him.
“I’ve got a new client for you. Do you have time to see her now?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll bring her back and introduce you.”
The bulk of Jake’s work was transcription. He didn’t get a lot of clients. When he did, they were usually retired people who finally had the time to search for their roots. Still, this interruption made a change in his daily routine, which was normally pretty quiet.
After finishing off his Gatorade, he saved everything to the hard drive, then opened a new client file to take down information. Footsteps in the hall prompted him to get to his feet.
To his astonishment, a striking blonde who was probably in her late twenties stood in the doorway of his office. With those long, shapely legs she had to be five-eight, five-nine.
She wore a two-piece cotton suit in a light blue color that matched her dark-lashed eyes. Her chin-length hair, a blend of cream and dark honey, framed an oval face. With that wide mouth and high cheekbones, she was a total knockout. The kind of woman he hadn’t come across in years.
Damn if he didn’t find himself looking for a wedding ring on her left hand.
Double damn if he didn’t notice her fingers and wrists were bare of jewelry except for a gold watch.
Wendell was all smiles. “Jake Halsey? I’d like you to meet Margaret McFarland.”
They both said, “How do you do,” at the same time.
Wendell chuckled. “She’s ex–U.S. Senator Reed McFarland’s daughter and is probably as prominent. But in case you—”
“I know his name very well,” Jake interrupted. “I understand he chose not to run for a fifth term because of personal reasons.”
“That’s right,” she said without making any additional explanation. With those two words, Jake got the feeling she was a private person who’d learned to deal with her father’s fame a long time ago.
Senator McFarland from Utah had sat on the intelligence committee for three terms. It represented about the same amount of time Jake had been working for the CIA.
The senator had been one of the men most open to breaking down the barriers between the different intelligence-gathering agencies in order to share information. Jake had always admired him for his firm stance on that issue.
What would his daughter be wanting from a Czech genealogist?
“Please have a seat, Ms. McFarland.”
Hoping Wendell would take the hint and leave, Jake walked back around his desk and sat down in the swivel chair.
“Did you know her great-great-great-grandfather was John McFarland, Utah’s Copper King? He was the son of Scotch-Irish immigrants, just like you, Jake.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, and he ended up making millions.”
“Not like me.”
Jake’s quip produced a faint smile on her lips, which he reciprocated. Their eyes locked while Wendell said, “The mansion he had built in Salt Lake is only six blocks up the street on South Temple. It’s the showplace of the whole valley.”
“I’ve seen it,” Jake murmured, still looking at the composed woman seated across from him. “It’s magnificent. So are the grounds.”
“Ms. McFarland’s brother has turned it into a women’s homeless shelter called Renaissance House.”
“That’s very commendable.” Jake meant it.
Wendell must have finally realized his presence wasn’t needed. “Yes, well, I’ll leave you two alone to get on with business.” He went out the door and shut it behind him.
“What can I do for you, Ms. McFarland?”
She sat opposite him with her elegant legs crossed. He forced himself to concentrate on her expressive features, which was no penance at all. If the flush on her skin was anything to go by, she’d been out in the hot sun for a little while. Jake could swear she didn’t wear makeup except for lipstick the color of a red-gold peach.
“I need help tracking down any information you can find on a Franz Buric from New York City. He’s in a California prison right now doing time for armed robbery.”
“Spell that name for me.”
When she did, he started typing the information.
“He would have been fifteen years old thirty-three years ago, the time of his first arrest. According to the information I have on him, he was living with his Czech grandmother.”
“Do you have her name?”
“No. That’s what I’m hoping you can find, along with the names of his parents and any relatives. I’m willing to pay you three times the amount you charge to get this information for me as soon as possible.”
While he was reacting to the genuine tremor in her voice, she cried, “I can imagine how that sounded. Please don’t think I go around throwing money at people to get what I want. It’s just that in this case—”
“You’re desperate?” he supplied the words.
Her complexion lost some of its color. At the same time her eyes had grown suspiciously bright. “Yes,” she whispered.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He expected her to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. Instead she surprised him.
“A lot.”
Just as Jake had thought.
“You’ve got me so intrigued, I couldn’t care less about the extra money, which I wouldn’t accept under any circumstances. If you’ll give me a number where I can reach you, I’ll call you as soon as I’ve made a search.”
“Thank you.”
She reached in her purse and pulled out a brochure. Across the top she wrote a phone number, then handed it to him. “When you find any
information, please don’t hesitate to call me no matter the hour.”
As she got up from the chair to leave, his gaze followed her willowy figure out the door. She left the delicate scent of flowers in her wake, bringing his senses alive. He reached for the brochure and lounged back in the chair to read it.
Welcome to the Kathryn McFarland
National Foundation
Located in the McFarland Plaza on South Temple
in Salt Lake City, Utah.
This Web site is updated daily
May 3 marks the twenty-sixth anniversary of the abduction of our fourth child, Kathryn McFarland, from the McFarland home in Salt Lake City, Utah. Born April 2, she’d only been a month old at the time she was taken.
Jake let out a groan.
Soon after the kidnapping and community search, the Kathryn McFarland Foundation was founded and now honors Kathryn’s memory by finding missing children and preventing them from going missing in the first place.
When Kathryn was kidnapped, our community and many others joined together to help us find her because there was an immediate recognition that she was everyone’s child and that we are all in this together.
Child abductions across our nation since its early beginnings have highlighted the need for legislation to enhance our ability to protect our children from predators of all types. When a child is kidnapped, time is of the essence.
All too often it is only a matter of hours before a kidnapper commits an act of violence against the child. That is why we’re pleased that the U.S. Senate has acted to pass legislation creating a national AMBER Alert system, which galvanizes entire communities to assist law enforcement in the timely search for and safe return of child victims.
Since its inception the foundation has assisted approximately 17,000 families, as well as law enforcement agencies in their searches. We have seen over 85% of those children returned home safely. This is what continues to give us hope.
Please help us to keep all our children safe.
The Reed McFarland Family
Jake’s eyes darted to their family picture, which included Reed McFarland, his wife Ellen, a son Richard, a son Benjamin and daughter Margaret.
A very attractive family, all of whom ran the foundation.
Our hotline phone is manned twenty-four hours, 365 days a year. To report a missing child and ask for support, call 1-800-KATHRYN. Volunteers welcome. Foundation headquarters are open Monday through Saturday year round from 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. (Christmas Day and New Year’s Day excepted).
On the reverse side of the brochure was a list of things parents could do to cut down the risk of their child being kidnapped.
After Jake had devoured the information, he sat there staring blindly into space.
Margaret McFarland was on a mission to find the predator who’d abducted her baby sister. Jake didn’t need a crystal ball to know Franz Buric was their family’s number-one lead in an unsolved case.
Ever since Dan had told him his stepmother was missing, Jake had been in agony because there wasn’t anything he could do to find her until he could get to Prague. But there was a lot he could do to assist this woman in her search.
Why it had taken twenty-six years for Ms. McFarland to come up with the name Buric was a mystery that wanted solving.
Without hesitation he pulled out his cell phone. Franz Buric was in prison, which meant he probably had an extensive police record. Jake was anxious to learn the details. Dan had contacts in high places. It was time to call in a few favors.
As his superior had said, he had a job for Jake that was right up his alley. For the first time since arriving in Salt Lake, he was beginning to believe it. The sooner Jake obtained the information Ms. McFarland wanted, the sooner he would have the legitimate right to set up an appointment with her to discuss everything. They were going to discuss everything, face-to-face.
His biggest problem was that he might break his own rule and call her anyway because he couldn’t help himself.
It shouldn’t have surprised him Wendell appeared at the door a few minutes later. “How did it go?”
If curiosity killed the cat, Wendell would have been dead years ago. Jake lifted his head. “She’s asked me to research a Czech name in New York City.”
Wendell scratched his balding head. “I didn’t know the senator had Czech ancestry. Fascinating! Make it your top priority. You can finish transcribing those disks later.”
Less than an hour had passed before Dan called back to give him the phone number of an agent at headquarters in New York, who’d be able to get him the pertinent information on Buric.
Not wanting to waste any time, Jake walked over to Wendell’s office and asked, “Do you have a recent New York telephone directory?”
“Coming right up.”
Wendell quickly went in search of the requested item. Jake had barely returned to his own office when his boss walked in with the directory.
“What name are we looking for?”
Jake smiled to himself. “Franz Buric.”
It was obvious Wendell was thrilled to have the senator’s daughter for a client. But his excitement wasn’t about money—otherwise he wouldn’t be in this business. Wendell had the true genealogist’s lust for the hunt. Jake could identify with that.
Though their careers were poles apart, deep down they hunted for information and wouldn’t stop until they’d found what they were looking for. In Jake’s case, the intelligence he’d been after on his last mission had caused him to walk into a booby trap that claimed lives.
Wendell had chosen the safer course. Because of that choice, look who’d walked into the office a little while ago—
Jake was still reeling.
He could tell himself it was because he hadn’t been with a woman for a long time. But that wasn’t strictly true. There’d been a couple of nurses in the last year who’d wanted to get into a permanent relationship. Both were good looking, intelligent, but neither one of them had inspired him to let go of his deceased wife’s memory.
“I’ve only found one Buric in the whole directory,” Wendell exclaimed, bringing Jake back to the present. “Initial F. Maybe we’ve gotten lucky. Go ahead and call. I’ll dictate the number. It’s a two-one-two area code.”
Wendell’s impulsive nature reminded Jake of his own. He reached for the receiver and pressed the digits. It rang six times. Jake was about to hang up when a male voice answered. “Dobry den.”
Good. He spoke Czech.
“Dobre jitro,” Jake responded in kind. After telling him his name was Bedrich Veverka, a genealogist researching a family line, he explained he was looking for a Franz Buric.
“Prominte.” Sorry, the voice on the other end said.
Jake listened as the man named Frantisek told him he didn’t know another Buric in New York, let alone someone named Franz. His people were from Tabor. He was an only child and had emigrated to the U.S. after he’d lost both parents.
But Frantisek was happy to give him the names of his parents and grandparents. He also promised to notify Jake by e-mail if he learned anything about the man named Franz.
They exchanged e-mail addresses. Before they hung up, Jake gave him his cell-phone number and told him to call collect if he happened on to a vital piece of information.
Jake shot Wendell a glance before telling him what he’d learned. “He’ll contact me if he discovers anything.”
“It’s a start.” Wendell stood up and reached for the directory. “Wish I could stay in here, but I’ve got a client waiting. Keep me posted.”
“I will. Thanks for your help, Wendell.”
“You bet.”
Deciding to skip lunch, Jake spent the rest of the day researching the surname Buric in Czechoslovakia from the records already in the database. Long before it was called the Czech Republic, he found lists of them between 1700 and 1800, mostly from Susice, Tabor and Zhor.
After that date, he found other lists simply stating Bohemia as their ori
gin. Those Burics who’d emigrated to the U.S. settled in Iowa, Illinois, Minnesota and Wisconsin, with the latter having the largest percentage of settlers. Everything he could find he put in Ms. McFarland’s file. He noticed no Burics had settled in New York.
With only one Buric in the most recent New York City telephone directory, Jake had to conclude many of the early Buric immigrants had turned to farming as soon as they arrived.
So what had Franz Buric been doing in New York City with his Czech grandmother? Why hadn’t she ended up on a farm? Had her grandson come from the old country to live with her and gain citizenship? Or had he been born in the States? Where were his parents? Who were they?
There were too many questions for which Jake wanted the answers now.
And you know why, Halsey. So you’d better plan a full evening to keep your thoughts occupied or you’re not going to make it.
He e-mailed the New York Bureau of Vital Statistics for a birth record anywhere in the state of New York on a Franz Buric. Just in case Ms. McFarland was off on the man’s age, he instructed the person in vital records to check on a male born any time between forty-five and fifty years ago.
Having done all he could for now, he finished taking the information off the disk he’d been working on earlier. The next set of names and dates came up on the screen: Bucek, Buric, Dozbaba, Molan.
Buric.
Vojtech Buric, born 1871. Married Anna Molan, 1896, in Kutna Hora. Children: Katrina, born 1898, Jan, born 1900, Oujezdec.
Quickly Jake put the information in Ms. McFarland’s file, then finished transcribing the disk.
On his way out of the office, he waved to Arnie who was still on the phone. Everyone else had gone home, and no wonder. It was ten after six.
Jake locked the front door behind him with every intention of heading straight for his apartment. But some inner force compelled him to walk to the corner. He found his legs striding up South Temple toward the McFarland Plaza he’d passed many times since coming to Salt Lake.
