Shadow Harvest (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #7)

by Emily Kimelman

Merl nodded. "I hit my head so hard." He looked over at Lucy on the ground. "Lucy knew I was out of it. She kept nudging me, got us out of the car. When those men grabbed me, I fought, the dogs fought. But when I heard the gunshot and I saw Sing fall, it was like a part of me went with him. I knew that they'd won, that there were too many of them and I gave up."

  "You did the right thing."

  "Did I?" Merl said with a small laugh. "I think I could have killed them all."

  "What do you mean?"

  He looked at me, there was something in his eyes I'd never seen before. "I was scared Sydney, not of dying, of the rage. The rage I felt at seeing Sing fall. I wanted to kill them all, to disembowel them, to make them suffer. To-" he looked out to the ocean again. "I don't even know, I felt like an animal." He shook his head. "No, not an animal. Like a man. Animals don't seek revenge, they don't want to torture each other. I wanted to hurt them. Really hurt them."

  I nodded, understanding.

  "And I could have," Merl continued, not looking at me, his eyes focused on the distant horizon. "In my mind, I saw the moves I needed to make, the way to use my pack to kill them all."

  "Why didn't you?"

  He shook his head. "I didn't want to."

  "Because of what it would mean about you?"

  He nodded. "I don't want to kill because of rage and hate Sydney." Merl looked over at me and there was a softness in his gaze, the calm and humanity I was used to seeing there.

  "Then you did the right thing."

  "How many more people died because of my decision?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know."

  Merl led on the way back. I enjoyed the even pace, the fact that the speed at which I ran was not something I needed to think about. I liked to jog and sprint but only because I could never settle into the steady rhythm that Merl set. He was an important presence in my life. I felt gratitude that I'd been able to get him back. And fear that I might lose him.

  #

  My cell phone was ringing when I stepped out of the shower. I grabbed a towel and dried off quickly, but by the time I got back to my room the phone had stopped. It was an unknown number. My hair dripped onto my shoulders as I held the phone looking down at the missed call message. Then it started to ring again. I swiped it to answer. "Hello?"

  "Sydney, it's Declan."

  I felt my throat tighten with fear. My eyes jumped to the window. The sun was shining, the sea was calm, small white clouds hovered at the horizon looking innocent and picturesque. "Hello," I said, keeping my voice even.

  "We need to talk."

  "Isn't that what we are doing?"

  He laughed. The sound was at once familiar and foreign. We'd been something to each other once. Something intimate and fun. Now the connection felt even stronger. We were prey and predator. But I had a feeling we both thought we were the predators. "I'm guessing you've heard about Deadline."

  "Yes," I said. "A desperate move."

  "I knew that Robert would try to stop me.” I didn't say anything, letting the silence well between us. I felt water trickling off my shoulders. Blue tapped his nose to my hip. I looked down at him. His one blue eye and one brown held my gaze. "I'm expecting that you'll also be sending someone after me."

  "No," I said.

  "No?"

  "I don't want to kill you. As you know, I had my chance not that long ago."

  "That was before I threatened to reveal you for what you truly are."

  "And what's that?"

  "A patsy."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," I bluffed.

  "I know you didn't kill Kurt Jessup. Don't you think that little detail, the very root of Joyful Justice's pride in you, will affect it? That it wasn't James Humbolt's sister but a powerful and ruthless business mogul who provided justice. Seems to go against everything you stand for."

  "Joy Humbolt is dead," I said. "Anyone who has turned her into a hero deserves the disappointment they find when their faith in her is shattered."

  "You really believe that?"

  "Yes." I felt rooted to the floor. His voice was the only sound. This conversation the most important I'd ever had. "You can reveal whatever you want about me. I'm not afraid of the truth."

  "What about the rest of your membership?"

  "We can't be built on mistrust."

  "And here I was calling to make you a deal."

  "For what?"

  "You."

  "And in exchange?"

  "I'll keep my mouth shut."

  "I'd be worried about it being shut for you."

  He laughed again, that deep rumble I would never forget. It seemed to fill the room, to fill my mind. He had the upper hand. I might be far away, in the middle of an ocean, surrounded by friends, but he had me. Wherever he was, Declan Doyle was holding me in place. "Do you know who he sent after me?"

  "No."

  "Well, they’re dead now."

  "You think he'll stop?"

  "You can stop him."

  "Stop talking in riddles. Tell me what you want."

  "Turn yourself in to me."

  I laughed. "Why would I do that?"

  "So that I don't destroy Joyful Justice."

  "You overestimate yourself. And you overestimate me. I'm not the most important thing about Joyful Justice. It's the people who have created it. The men and women who are rising up to take down those who oppress them, poison them, treat them like they’re less than human. Don't you see that? Joyful Justice is bigger than any individual. Taking me in to custody wouldn't do a thing to hurt it."

  "You're making my point for me. Don't you see, Joy?"

  "My name is Sydney Rye."

  "Don't you see," he repeated, an edge to his voice, the trace of frustration, "my revealing your connection to Bobby Maxim, to Fortress Global, the information I have, is much more damaging than you turning yourself in to me."

  "Why would you want me then? Wouldn't it be better to destroy Joyful Justice than one 'patsy' behind it?"

  "You need to pay for your crimes."

  "And what about you," I said, stepping forward, bypassing the bed and pacing toward the window, my feet suddenly free, anger rising in my chest. "You broke the law coming after us in Costa Rica. Why am I so much worse than you? Why are you so fucking great?"

  "I'm on the right side."

  "Says you."

  "Turn yourself in or I'll talk."

  I didn't answer.

  "Think about it. I'll call you back in twenty minutes."

  He hung up. I looked down at the phone. My hand was shaking. I threw the phone across the room—it hit the carpeting and slid up against the molding. I didn't know what to do. Blue touched my hip and I looked down at him. I couldn't turn myself in. What about Blue? I'd have to leave him behind. Leave him with Merl. It suddenly dawned on me that I was already planning my surrender, I was figuring out how to get away without telling anyone. How to disappear, to let Declan Doyle take me. Joyful Justice was bigger than me. Declan Doyle was right.

  When he called back I was dressed, my phone in my hand, sitting on the floor with my back against the bed, looking out the window at the big blue sky. Blue lay next to me, his head in my lap. "I'll meet you in two weeks," I said. "I need that long to get my affairs in order."

  "One week."

  "This isn't a negotiation."

  "I agree. Meet me in Tokyo airport in one week or the deal is off."

  "Two weeks."

  "One."

  "Two."

  "Let's split the difference."

  "No."

  "Fine."

  I hung up the phone and placed it on the carpeting next to me. Blue was looking up at me. "It's okay, boy," I said. "Everything is going to be okay."

  #

  A half hour later Merl, Dan and I were sitting in Dan's office. "Any news?" Merl asked Dan.

  "Anita's source called and said something is up but they weren't sure what."

  "You think Declan is dead?" Merl asked.

 
"Been monitoring the police scanner in New York and have not heard anything." He shrugged. "But I'd imagine anyone working for Robert Maxim would know how to make a body disappear and a missing persons report couldn't be filed for at least forty-eight hours."

  Merl glanced at his watch. "We'll know soon enough." He looked worried.

  "I think it's going to be okay," I said. Merl smiled at me.

  The credits for Deadline started. An in-depth news program, its opening sequence showed a ticking clock, clips of police cars racing, bombs exploding, a woman clutching her chest and crying, all the modern atrocities cut into one second segments and flashed on the screen while theme music played.

  The host, a middle-aged woman with a flawless forehead, tight skin under her eyes, and blond hair blow-dried into a crown around her face looked straight into the camera. She wore a fitted red suit and sat on a tall stool, her ankles crossed, feet resting on the stool’s lower rung. "The interview we planned on airing tonight has been postponed." She didn't look worried by this fact, just a little apologetic. "We have put together a fascinating program of the biggest stories so far this year..."

  "I guess that answers that," I said.

  "Does it?" Merl asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "We don't know what happened to Declan Doyle."

  "And I don't think we have to care," I said, standing up. "Not really. Whatever happened is between Robert Maxim and Declan Doyle."

  "You're okay with what Maxim did?" Merl asked.

  "I don't know what he did," I said.

  "Isn't Maxim dangerous to have in our lives?"

  "Dangerous and helpful. Let's not forget that you and Mo are here now because of his intervention."

  Dan spoke up. "He has a lot of connections. He can do things we can't yet."

  "Yet, exactly," I said. "But with his help we'll be able to."

  "With his help will we start killing men like Declan Doyle?" Merl asked.

  "I don't think so," I said. "But it's a risk we are taking. Now I'm going to go rest before the missions begin."

  #

  I laid down on my bed, the curtains pulled, my eyes closed. Tears welled and pooled, then slipped down my cheeks, curling around my ears before soaking into the pillow under my head. My phone rang and I sat up, wiping at my face.

  It was Robert Maxim. "You watched, I presume?"

  "Yes."

  "Bobby to the rescue again."

  "Something like that."

  "What do you mean?" He sounded almost insulted.

  "Nothing."

  "I made it easy for you, Sydney. If I hadn't, if I'd said I was going to let him spill his guts...” He laughed, low and light, almost a chuckle. "Oh, I suppose that's the wrong term to use now, isn't it?"

  "Gross."

  "Yes, it is 'gross' isn't it?" His voice was suddenly hard. "This business you're in. It's disgusting, Sydney. When are you going to get over that?"

  "Fuck off."

  "You want to feel, oh yes, I forget sometimes how much you feel. You cover it up so well. But really, I do love that about you. All your sweet little emotions. They drive you so fast and so far."

  "What do you want Bobby"?

  "I was calling expecting you'd want to thank me."

  "For what?"

  "For solving another one of your problems. How is Merl by the way, and his sweetheart, what's her name again, Mo something?"

  "They’re fine, thank you."

  "Ah, you’re welcome."

  "Don't you want to thank me?"

  "Of course, for what exactly?"

  "For holding off on our missions until your company went public this morning. Congratulations by the way."

  "Yes, thank you. I do appreciate your cooperation. Of course, I'm also paying for it."

  "Are you celebrating tonight?"

  He laughed. "I'm fleeing," he said, and I could almost see the smile on his face, the twinkle in his eye.

  "Want to get out of the states before your clients blow up?"

  "Yes, that's part of it, of course."

  "Where you headed?"

  "I'll call you when I get there. Maybe you'll join me. We have so much to discuss."

  "Wire the money by next week or I'll be hunting you."

  He laughed again. "I would so enjoy that Sydney."

  "I know Bobby. I know you would. But since you've given your word I expect there’ll be no need."

  "Of course not. I am a man of honor."

  #

  The first mission, the takeover of a chemical plant in the upper Amazon, was set to start in a less than an hour when I walked into the control center. Consuelo Rojas, the woman in charge, the one who'd brought the case to Joyful Justice in the first place, was seated at a desk in the center of the control room. She wore a headset with a microphone curling around to her mouth.

  Consuelo's eyes concentrated on the small screen in front of her as she spoke into the mike. She was in her early thirties, short brown hair cut into a bob that she'd placed pins in to keep away from her face as she leaned over the computer equipment in front of her. I watched her for a moment, too far away to hear her voice as she communicated with her team, but close enough to see the expression of determination set into the lines of her face. Consuelo didn't look worried. She looked ready.

  She had come from her village six months earlier to train with Dan while the leader of the raid, her cousin, Elvira Diaz, and the other members of the assault team had been in Costa Rica training with Merl. I'd never met Elvira but I had a passing acquaintance with some of the others. Our language barrier had kept us apart, but all members of Joyful Justice shared a burning desire for exacting justice. It was what drove us to these extremes.

  The control room was filled with excited expectation. Tension filled the air and voices rose and fell. All of the desks were full. The missions were separated by a few hours each. We expected to find our targets prepared but overly confident. Even though they had been warned, they all thought Fortress Global had stopped us in our tracks. The head of each organization had received a packet of information and a list of demands from Joyful Justice. None had complied. Now they would find out what we could do.

  The large screen that filled the far wall of the control room was split into ten different scenes, one for each helmet cam of our team members. They were moving through the jungle, the images jerking with each step. Most the images were of the backs of the fighters, their guns coming in and out of view. The video quality was not great but it was better than seeing nothing. I concentrated on the leader's view, watching the narrow space between the plants that were being maneuvered through. Leaves brushed up against the lens. It was night and the scene was doused in the eerie green of night vision technology.

  A building came into view, the lights on the exterior bright white in the night vision.

  A word from Consuelo and the electricity was cut, plunging the building into darkness. Its cement walls brightened again almost immediately in the leader's night-vision feed. The team began to move forward. The leader spoke in Spanish, informing Consuelo of each movement, each step of the operation as it progressed.

  I'd read the dossier on the leader, Elvira Diaz, before coming down to the control room. A twenty-three year old woman from the village hardest hit by the toxic dumping. Most of her family, including her younger brother and sister, had died. As her voice came over the speakers around the room, quiet and breathless, I recognized the fearless tone, the confidence she felt in how right she was to be doing what she was doing. When you were that right, it felt like nothing could go wrong.

  Dan and Merl stood on either side of me. We were in the back of the room, not vital to this mission, merely the people who had the idea that it was possible to fight back against the big guys. While Joyful Justice had provided valuable assistance through training and funding, our most important contribution was to fuel the power of belief that drove those men and women up to the doors of the chemical plant poisoning their lives.


  The assault team knew the layout and location of guards, and several of the night employees were on our side. The guns our warriors carried were loaded with darts filled with a powerful and immediate sedative that left the victim paralyzed for twelve hours. In the grainy footage I watched the leader head for the front door with two people behind her. The rest of the team broke into groups of twos and threes and split off, headed to other entrances.

  It wasn't a large structure. Only about five thousand square feet. It stood at the top of a hill, about 50 feet above a tributary to a river that provided water for drinking and irrigation to the villages along it. The plant had been dumping dangerous chemicals into that stream for over five years. Lawsuits, protests, and every other legal means had been attempted to no avail. Now it was our turn.

  The teams all reached their doors and placed explosives on the hinges and handles before scurrying back into the night. The explosions all happened at once, bright pulses of green on our screens. My heartbeat picked up as our crews ran in, smoke clearing as they advanced quickly. Gunshots in the left corner of the big screen drew my eye. Our team returned fire. The smoke was thick, a neon green fog, something out of a nightmare, a hallucination.

  One of our people was hit, and a teammate was soon facing her. The girl's face was half obscured by her night vision goggles. But I could see a blackened hole in her flak jacket. The woman's lips were set in a painful grimace. But she nodded her head to convey that she was okay, that the bullet didn't penetrate.

  The other small teams had taken out the men guarding their entrances. They were all moving through the building, rounding up the few employees working at that hour. The cleaners were working for Joyful Justice. There were six of them, all women who'd lost children to the poisoned river that flowed through their village.

  "All clear," came over the speakers. A cry of joy went up in the control room. Consuelo was smiling, still sitting down as people slapped her on the back. Dan cheered next to me and moved forward to congratulate Consuelo.

  Blue and the other dogs were standing, their tails wagging at the excitement in the room. Merl put his arm around me and smiled. "Fantastic," he said. "I'm so proud of them."

  "Me too," I said quietly. We had been clear that if the dumping didn't stop, if the chemicals were not cleaned up, we'd do it ourselves. And so we planned to. We had hired an expert who was working to gather the equipment and personnel necessary to clean up the river, put things back to how they were or as best we could. It would be impossible to make the community whole but we planned to do all we could. And meanwhile, no more chemicals would flow from the plant.