Whirlwind

by Rick Mofina

  “Really?”

  “They carried in bags and groceries like they were moving in.”

  “Did you talk to them?”

  “No.”

  “Can you describe them?”

  “Well, the woman had long blond hair.”

  “Long and blond?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  A long, wordless pause followed.

  “Ma’am, did you call the police?”

  “Yes, but they never came, and I’m not surprised. It’s like the last time.”

  “The last time.”

  “I called them yesterday when I saw people in the trees outside my window.”

  “People in the trees?”

  “Yes, they had big heads and they were looking at me, and the day before that I saw a little man running in my yard and I called police. They said it was the same lawn ornament that I called them about before. But this time I saw it move. They don’t believe me. They never do.”

  A few seconds passed.

  “Ma’am,” Kate said. “This is a personal question, but do you take medication?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I see.”

  “So when’re you coming to knock on their door?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t just yet. I’m helping with our coverage of the President’s visit today.”

  “Oh my, yes, that’s important. I was watching him on TV. Oh, it was so beautiful. When he talked about the missing baby, it made me cry and I asked the Lord, what should I do to help?” Hazel looked at the framed poster of Jesus Christ in her bedroom. “He’s here with me and the Lord said, ‘Hazel, I spared you from the storm for a reason. You have to help get that little child back to its mother.’”

  “We’re all praying for that, ma’am,” the reporter said. “Why don’t you leave this with me for now and I’ll see what I can do?”

  “What’s your name again, dear? I’ll write it down with your phone number?”

  “It’s Kate Page,” she said then recited her numbers, slowly, twice, and thanked her for calling.

  After hanging up and reviewing the information she’d written down with such attention, Hazel saw that blonde lady in the backyard with Caleb Cooper. She whispered a prayer that someone would come soon.

  53

  Chicago, Illinois

  Hedda Knight’s dream was slipping through her fingers.

  Chelsea Drew-Flynn’s $750,000 offer and all that it entailed was getting further out of reach with each passing minute, like the sailboats drifting out of sight on Lake Michigan.

  Where’s Remy Toxton? Where’s the baby?

  Her worries robbed her of sleep and she’d come to the office early this morning. Sitting with her elbows on her desk in her seventy-fifth-floor law office, Hedda steepled her fingers, touched them to her lips and thought. Ed Bascom’s investigation had followed Remy’s trail to the Beau Soleil West Medical Center in Shreveport, Louisiana. A nurse had suggested to him that Remy had had the baby there. But the nurse—What was her name? It didn’t matter—was nervous. She’d refused money, given him no other details.

  They’d hit a brick wall.

  Why would Remy travel over one hundred miles to Shreveport to deliver when I was paying for all of her medical bills in Texas?

  The most likely reason: she’d decided to keep the baby.

  It happened, but rarely. Most of Hedda’s surrogates had children and no desire to raise more. They were motivated by different reasons: the money; the desire to help childless couples; and some liked being pregnant.

  At a loss, Hedda glanced at her folded copy of USA TODAY on the edge of her desk. She’d already skimmed the story on yesterday’s visit to Dallas by the President. She’d also watched the live TV news coverage of the President’s speech at the memorial service and now she’d reconsidered the reference to the missing baby. This is the same case Bascom had mentioned to her. Thinking more on it, she flipped through USA TODAY and its related features on the toll of the tornadoes, including a small story on the missing Dallas baby, Caleb Cooper. As she looked at the FBI’s sketches of the persons of interest, an icy sensation began creeping up Hedda’s spine.

  The sketch of the woman almost resembled Remy. The age and hair was similar and for a crazy moment Hedda wondered if— No, no, it can’t be them. No, not if Remy already had the baby in Louisiana. Besides, the baby vanished after a tornado destroyed a flea market in Dallas. Remy lives in Lufkin.

  Hedda rejected the possibility that Remy was involved.

  She searched the lake’s sparkling waves for a solution but was overwhelmed by reality. All she’d worked for, all she’d dreamed of, now rested on the actions of a supermarket cashier and her ex-convict boyfriend.

  Ex-convict.

  Hedda looked at the FBI sketches again.

  But what if they were involved? What would it mean? No, that was insane. Okay, what if they were killed in the tornadoes? That would end it all. But they live in Lufkin, and it was not touched by the storm. But what if they went to Dallas the day the storm hit and were killed? What would that mean, given the situation with Chelsea Drew-Flynn?

  She was driving herself crazy with the what-ifs.

  Hedda got up from her desk to go to her private bathroom to check her face. She’d reached the door when her cell phone rang. She returned to her desk. The number was not displayed. It rang a second time and Hedda answered.

  “This is Remy Toxton.”

  Stunned, Hedda kept her phone to her ear and sat down.

  “Remy? Oh my God, are you okay? We’ve been watching the news reports on the Texas tornadoes and when we couldn’t reach you— We’ve been so worried. How are you doing?”

  “I’m kind of okay.”

  “What do you mean? Did you have the baby?”

  Several long moments passed.

  “Remy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. That’s good. How’s the baby doing?”

  “He’s fine. He’s healthy and he’s so big.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. Where are you right now?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  Hedda paused.

  “Where did you have the baby? Because our nurse lost touch with you.”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Do you want to discuss the next steps? The adoptive mother is extremely anxious to have him, and we need to provide you with full payment.”

  “That’s just it. I’m scared.” Remy stopped and began crying.

  “Take your time, dear. I understand. Take your time. Why are you scared?”

  “Just before I had him I had second thoughts about giving him up. Then when I had him, he was so beautiful and something just happened. I was overcome with these powerful feelings to keep him, so Mason took me away to have him and to think about everything.”

  “And what are your thoughts now?”

  “I’m ready to honor our agreement and give him to you and sign all the papers I need to sign.”

  Hedda looked to the sky and heaved a sigh.

  “That’s good. I’m happy to hear that.”

  “But there’s a problem. The storm made things hard on everybody. Mason and I are facing a tough situation, real tough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re going to need more compensation, or whatever it’s called. A lot more.”

  Hedda didn’t respond for several seconds. “How much?”

  “We need one hundred thousand.”

  Hedda never expected that this trailer park girl and her loser boyfriend were going to shake her. She misjudged them being satisfied with sixty. Realizing that she had few options, Hedda was inclined to reach an agreement when Remy continued
.

  “I’ve been doing some research on the internet and was thinking about the way you recruit surrogates, and use a Russian clinic, then actually sell babies, because that’s what it looks like. I was thinking it might be something the FBI would be interested in hearing about.”

  Hedda said nothing.

  “So what’s it going to be, Hedda?” Remy asked.

  Before Hedda could respond the line was muffled. She heard Remy talking, arguing with someone, before a new voice came on the line.

  “This is Mason. All I’m going to say is you got thirty minutes to agree to one hundred. We’ll call you back. If you don’t agree, we go to the FBI.”

  54

  Fate, Texas

  The half-hour wait was excruciating.

  Remy and Mason sat at the picnic table in the backyard under the shade of the cottonwoods. Remy had put the baby on a blanket on the table and was gently rubbing his tummy.

  “Did we make a mistake demanding a hundred thousand?” she asked.

  “Hedda will go for it. She has to. She doesn’t want us telling the FBI.”

  “But what if she saw the President’s speech and got suspicious? Or saw the stories with the pictures? Mason, she knows me.”

  “Take it easy... She never said a word about it. Besides, she’s implicated. If we go down, she goes down.”

  “But what about the two idiots in there?” Remy nodded to the house. “They watched the President’s speech with us. What if they figure it out? Or turn us in? I went online. The FBI’s now offering a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for information.”

  “I know. Arlen and Brice are assholes and I don’t trust them.” Mason turned to the house, taking in all the satellite dishes on the roof. They were likely stolen. Hell, they even had a little one poking from Brice’s bedroom window. “Look at that. They sure got the place all tricked out.” Mason looked at his phone. Twenty-four minutes had passed since their call to Hedda. “Close enough.”

  He called Hedda Knight.

  “Time’s up,” Mason told her. “After I hang up, I’m going to call the FBI unless you give me reason not to.”

  “I agree to one hundred thousand,” Hedda said.

  Mason nodded to Remy, big nods.

  “Cash,” Mason said.

  “Cash,” Hedda repeated. “I’ll be on the next available flight to Dallas. I will withdraw the cash there. I’ll have the papers to sign, and I’ll be with an assistant to help me with the baby. Give me a number to call when I arrive so we can arrange a location for the exchange.”

  Mason fished in his pockets where he had several prepaid disposable phones. He gave Hedda a number, finished the call and looked at Remy.

  “Done,” he said. “We’ll have one hundred thousand in forty-eight hours.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Damn straight.” Mason was thinking fast before noticing how Remy was nearly in tears again looking at the baby.

  “Listen,” he said. “This is more money than we ever dreamed of. It’s what we wanted and it’s going to happen, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “First, we’re getting out of here as fast as we can. You take the baby, go inside and start packing while I make some calls to set things up.”

  Remy took Caleb into her arms, and once they were both in the house Mason used one of his disposable phones and called a number.

  Time to take care of my deal, he thought as it rang to a recorded message.

  “This is Varno. I’ve secured the investment for my buy-in. Call me ASAP on this new number.”

  Less than two minutes later his phone rang.

  “The expiry date on your spot has passed,” Garza said.

  “No, wait. I’m solid with the money.”

  “As a late entry, your buy-in number is now fifty.”

  “Fifty?”

  “That’s the number.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m good for that. I’ve just secured it. You’ll have it in three days.”

  “Three days? It’s a stretch. As a show of good faith I want five up front, nonrefundable, now, today.”

  Mason made a panicked calculation. Five thousand was almost all he and Remy had left from the fifteen the agency had given her.

  “Okay,” he said. “But I need some help. I can give you the deposit today, but I need a place for a night or two. You’ve got safe houses, right?”

  Garza sighed and let a beat pass.

  “You have the deposit, Varno?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve secured the buy-in?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to give you an address. Memorize it... Do not write it down. I’m only going to say it once.”

  Mason listened and locked onto the address.

  After the call he sat alone for a moment and absorbed everything. It was all coming together. Buoyed by how all the pieces had fallen into place, he entered the house.

  When he got inside he froze.

  Remy was in the kitchen. Her eyes were as large as saucers. Her mouth was sealed with duct tape, her body bound to a chair with tape and ropes. The baby was on the floor.

  Brice was bent over him, caressing Caleb’s cheeks with a gun.

  Mason reached behind his back for the Smith & Wesson that he’d tucked in his waistband. Before he could get to it, Arlen stepped from behind him, seized it, then pressed a sawed-off shotgun to Mason’s temple.

  “Just be cool, Mason, be cool. Don’t move. Don’t try anything.”

  Mason raised his hands in cooperation.

  “We know everything about your deal with Garza.” Arlen threw a look to his brother. “Amazing what Brice picked up on the parabolic microphone he’s got in his back window. He loves his gadgets. We heard your whole deal.”

  Mason said nothing.

  “Now, this is how it’s going to go down,” Arlen said. “We’re going to relieve you of your windfall and then guess what we’re going to do? Why, we’re going to hand you to the FBI and collect another fifty thousand. I’d say that’s not bad work for two idiot assholes, wouldn’t you?”

  Mason said nothing, and Arlen jabbed the gun harder into his head.

  “Get on your knees so Brice can tape you up. Then you can watch what I’m going to do to your little woman. You know she’s always wanted it from me! Ain’t that right, Remy?”

  55

  Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex, Texas

  Kate’s morning began with two punches to the gut.

  They came by way of emails. She’d read the first one on her phone after showering. It had been sent from headquarters.

  To All Staff:

  We’ve faced trying times in our coverage of the storms that tore through four states and caused overwhelming death and devastation. As events unfolded, each of you, some who’ve suffered personally, went the extra mile to capture what was tragic, what was heroic and what was inspirational. Your work was without parallel.

  Testament to your achievement came in the President’s heartfelt reference to the missing baby; Caleb Cooper, a story we broke that was followed with a moving postmemorial interview with his mother by Dallas Bureau intern Mandy Lee. It’s confirmation of a collective job well done. These are truly defining moments for all of us and Newslead has risen to the challenge under extraordinary circumstances while bearing our standard of excellence.

  With admiration and gratitude,

  Lucien Westmore CEO, Newslead, New York

  This reads as if Mandy broke the story.

  Kate barely had time to absorb the email when it was followed by one sent directly to her from Dorothea Pick.

  Kate:

  Thank you for helping Mandy with her story yesterday—

  Her sto
ry? What the hell? Struggling not to scream Kate resumed reading.

  As you know the internships will end soon and Chuck and I will make our decision on the successful candidate. Given that the Caleb Cooper story is unresolved, please provide me all contact information for your sources for our staff to follow. Thank you for your hard work, Kate.

  DP

  The emails left Kate dumbfounded.

  She stood alone in her hotel room staring at her phone, not knowing what to do or think when a chime announced the arrival of a new message. This one was from Chuck Laneer, who’d been copied on the previous two.

  Hi Kate:

  My apologies for being away so much during the internship. We had a lot going on with the storm and with Newslead. Please don’t read too much into Lucien and Dorothea’s emails. I want to assure you, as I’ve assured Roy and Mandy, no decision has been made yet on the position. My advice to everyone is to keep doing your best until the end.

  I hope to be in the bureau as the process wraps up.

  Cheers,

  Chuck

  Don’t read anything into it? Was he serious? This was the kiss of death to her chance at the full-time job. It didn’t surprise her. From the start Dorothea had thwarted her work on the story, first by dismissing it, then putting Mandy on it, before eventually taking it away from her. Dorothea had made it clear from the get-go that she didn’t like Chuck’s decision to give her a shot at competing in the internship.

  The thing was, Kate liked working for Newslead. She liked Chuck, whenever he was around. Tommy was sweet, and for the most part she liked all the other people. It was a top-flight newswire service, and she’d wanted to be part of it. For a moment she’d thought that maybe down the road, she’d try landing a posting in the Washington, D.C., or New York City bureaus.