by Linda Welch
We sat until the flight was called and people boarded. Then there seemed to be some discussion up at the desk and the attendant sent out a call for a Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, and a Sidney Gredelson. They called for Gia minutes later. She went to the desk, and returned to us with three tickets in her hand.
I think she put us on the standby list, and made the attendant give her the names of first-class passengers. Then she found three of those passengers and persuaded them to leave. And we got their first-class seats.
Flying first class was a whole new experience for me. I doubt first class on a Boeing M80 compares with one of the larger planes, the ones which fly International, but it still outranks economy class. The seats are bigger, comfier, with foot-rests, and plenty of space between passengers. The TV screen is bigger too, but I didn’t turn mine on. The flight attendants were there if you so much as looked their way.
I looked out the window at the clouds during the flight, thinking. What we found in the Emerson Building seemed to point the finger of guilt at Vance, and now we had Stadelmann added to the mixture. Were they in cahoots? Gia thought the mysterious boy from Myanmar was identifying Dark Cousins, so surely he had to be one, or Gelpha. Why did he want his people dead? I supposed the why didn’t matter, as long as we found and stopped him.
We arrived in Flagstaff at three-thirty and caught a cab for the thirty-minute drive to Sedona. Again, I insisted. Although the back seat could take all three of us, Gia sat up front with the driver. I saw the reflection of her eyes in the rearview mirror and felt the weight of her cold, hostile gaze.
Sedona is a nice little town. Surrounded by red rock monoliths and impressive canyons, it’s often called Red Rock Country, a draw to archaeologists and historians and fast becoming a center for spiritual and metaphysical practitioners. As we headed for Hans Stadelmann’s home near Oak Creek Canyon to the north of the city, road-side signs told me Sedona also has world-class hotels, resorts and restaurants.
Royal looked cool and comfortable in his blue silk shirt, but I could feel the warmth from his body spanning the gap between us. My eyes on the passing scenery, I thought about his special demon heat. Whoever first called a guy hot could have been looking at Royal, because he’s hot in more ways than one.
He took my hand and smiled at me, and I gave him a silly grin.
I thought Stadelmann would live in assisted living or some type of community for the elderly. I did not expect the big artsy-looking adobe house in the middle of an acre of xenoscaped land. Rocks of all sizes marked out a winding gravel driveway to the house and a circular parking area in front. I hoped he still lived there. Did Stadelmann take the boy from Nagka? Was the boy a Dark Cousin or Gelpha who wanted his people dead? So many questions needing answers. Would the old man cooperate?
“Ouch,” Royal said softly in my ear. I held his hand like the grip of death.
“Sorry,” I murmured, easing up on the pressure. “I guess I’m anxious.”
Gia asked the cabbie to wait and damn the cost, but I supposed she could afford it. The chirruping of crickets almost deafened me and they bounced out of our way as we walked the crazy-paving path to the sandstone wall surrounding the house. They leaped from under our feet, their colorful wings making them look like butterflies.
An arched entrance led us to an inner courtyard paved in slabs of honey-colored sandstone. Groups of cast iron garden furniture, powder coated white, sat in little clumps in one corner of the patio, near the central fountain and over by a big gas grill. Some of the potted cacti dotted around were taller than the chairs. A breeze nudged at a big iron cowbell suspended from one of the oak beams which spanned the patio. The front door sat back in a shadowed alcove, protected from the sun.
Gia strode to the door, rang the bell and followed with a rap of her knuckles. Footsteps pattered on tile from inside the house. A woman dressed like a nurse opened the door. She wore a white knee-length coat with a watch pinned to the lapel and the same sturdy, comfortable, surgical-style tennis shoes I prefer. Her head went up in surprise when she saw us.
Gia stepped in close and put a geis on her before she could say one word.
I have to admit, something like that could come in handy, if you didn’t have a conscience. Gia could, would, make the woman forget she ever saw us. The Dark Cousin didn’t want to waste time with the nurse. Get in there, talk to the guy, get out, and nobody any the wiser.
Easier, sure, but I didn’t like what she did. She bent a person to her will, took away their volition, took a piece of their memory; hence, took a piece of their life. That’s the way I saw it. And that the nurse would never know what Gia did to her made no difference. It was wrong.
So I was not in a good mood as we followed the nurse through the house. And I was worried Gia would go off on the old guy and we would not be able to stop her.
We went along a cool, narrow, high-ceilinged passageway. The creamy tan walls had a roughed-over effect which contrasted well with the smooth tile floor. Through an arched entrance on the right, I saw a living room painted in desert colors, a highly polished oak floor with Native American style throw rugs, and minimalistic furnishing. On the left, another arch led into a kitchen cum dining area with shining countertops and stainless-steel appliances. But the place didn’t have the feel of being lived in. It looked like a spotless show house, ready for prospective buyers, with everything in its place. I expected souvenirs from Stadelmann’s travels, and wondered if he moved there recently, and fell ill before he could unpack his personal bits and pieces.
I also anticipated medical equipment in his bedroom, but there was none. Hospice sees you on your way, they don’t try to keep you here.
The nurse waited outside the door.
Blinds filtered the harsh light of the Arizona sun, creating horizontal white lines on the cream walls. The faint but unmistakable odors of antiseptic body wash and urine fought for dominance with neither winning. So old, lying in his sterile bed in his sterile room, his skin yellow tinged and loose on his bones, his hair fine white wisps over his scalp, his tall bony body outlined beneath a single sheet. His face looked all beaky nose and hollows. We crept in and he rolled his head to see us. His reaction, the sudden blaze in his old eyes, took me aback.
I don’t think he saw me and Royal. He zeroed in on Gia.
He lifted his head. His guttural, heavily accented voice rasped, “Have you come to kill me?”
Gia’s eyes flared, but she quickly masked her surprise. She slowly eased into the hard-back chair near the head of the bed, folding her hands on her lap. Her gentle smile surprised me. She looked entirely different, more humane. “Now why would you think that, Herr Stadelmann?”
“You have not? Ah, well, no matter then.” He gave her a tiny smile as he let his head fall back. "Your presence honors me. Perhaps God - who knows all things and sees all things, and made all things - yes, even you - perhaps he rewards me for my long years of searching?"
"I don't know what you mean, Herr Stadelmann."
Neither did I, and I dearly wanted to.
He lifted a hand and touched her cheek with the fingertips, let it fall back. "Your skin. . . . Your skin is beautiful, like alabaster, but so warm to the touch.” He smiled. “How you have changed.”
“Changed? What do you mean?”
“I saw the engravings in Nagka. Your evolution since your forefathers settled in Burma is astounding."
Gia paused before speaking again and a slight frown creased her brow. "Do you know what I am, Herr Stadelmann?"
“I know you are not Homo sapiens,” he said, winking conspiratorially. “But do not fear I will share your secret. Who would believe me?”
Holy cow! Breathe, Tiff, breathe.
She leaned back, studying his face, her hands clenched together, then nodded. “I think I can trust you, Herr Stadelmann.”
“You have nothing to fear from an old man who will not see many more sunrises,” he responded.
She regarded him seriously for moment, th
en leaned in again, the gentle smile back in place. “Herr Stadelmann, I would like to talk to you about the child from Myanmar. From Burma.”
The poor old man reared up in the bed. "Do you know the boy? Have you brought him back to me?" he gasped eagerly with a voice like the rasp of sandpaper. His pulse thudded in his throat.
God, don’t let him die on us! I prayed. I doubted he could endure too much excitement in his condition.
Gia kept her cool. “I’m afraid not, but I want to find him. Please, Herr Stadelmann, if you”
"His skin is like yours, so I suppose age has nothing to do with it, eh?” he interrupted, smiling. "When I could keep him clean. Dirty little monkey, pawing through the jungle, still hates clothes and shoes; the shoes were most difficult." He lapsed back, panting a little.
Gia gently held a hand which looked like crepe paper. He immediately put the back of hers to his lips and kissed it. "Ah, lovely lady," he crooned. "I wish I had time remaining to hear your story, but I do not, nor the strength to put it to paper. I thought I knew, but they were fairy tales. The boy could tell me so much, if he could talk. But he has no voice, you see.” A tear brimmed in the corner of one eye. "I miss my boy. Have you seen him?"
I listened, enthralled. The old man sounded a hair away from rapture.
Gia leaned closer to look into his eyes. "I've been looking for him, to help him. If you tell me what you know, perhaps I can find him."
He dropped her hand and twisted his head away. "Don't do that. He tried to do that, but he has not the strength. He is really quite weak.” He looked back at her fiercely. "He is powerless against that evil man."
"What man?" I said. Gia turned her head to glare at me.
She retrieved his hand. "Herr Stadelmann, Hans, can you start at the beginning and tell me of the boy, and this man? I would like to find your boy and bring him back to you."
Liar, liar, pants on fire. She had no such intention.
“We mean him no harm. I give you my word. We want to help him, protect him. He is kin.”
He stared at her, not quite looking her in the eyes. Then he licked his lips and nodded. "I found the boy - I named him Jacob - in what is now called Myanmar. I bought him from a local tribe. I cannot describe my joy in the acquisition. I came to love Jacob as my son."
He paused, went on. “I taught him the ways of civilization as best I could, although I would rather have left him in his primitive state. But for his own survival, he needs must know how to live in our world. I gave him all I could.” He blinked back tears. "I became his as much as he became mine. Jacob was my world, the reason for my existence."
His voice turned fierce. "Philip Vance took him from me, and used him."
I stopped breathing again. Vance.
Thin tears ran down his old, corrugated face. "Philip Vance is a wealthy man with a personal agenda. He hunts your kind and slays them. Can you imagine his glee when he found one of yours, who could lead him to others of your kind? He took my boy and traveled the world, country to country, city to city, and wherever Jacob senses his brothers, the assassins strike. I followed them until I could no longer.” He stopped abruptly, eyeing Gia with alarm. "Is he hunting you?"
"If Vance knows of me, he has not come for me yet.”
"Finding him should not be difficult. He owns a chain of employment agencies for executives. It is his . . . what do you call it . . . his front? In the normal course of events, he would personally have little to do with the management of a business, but on this venture, this vendetta, when he must remain in one location, setting up an agency lends legitimacy to his presence. And, businessman as he is, if his agencies do well he leaves them in place when he travels on."
“But why is Jacob doing this? He is responsible for many deaths.”
Stadelmann closed his eyes. “I do not know, but I believe Vance has somehow tricked Jacob. There is no anger or bitterness in the child. I cannot imagine why he would want to kill his own family.”
"Does Vance use his real name?"
"Oh, yes: the Philip Vance Executive Agency."
Hans Stadelmann fell silent. Typical of one his age and poor health, he had abruptly fallen asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gia looked paler than normal. Perhaps she wanted to vent demonstratively, but couldn’t with all the people milling in the airport lounge. I waited for her favorite line, the one about neglecting to tell her everything, but she surprised me.
“Good. I know what to do now.”
We’d sat in silence during the drive back from Stadelmann’s house. I thought, from the way Royal squeezed my hand now and then, we were thinking the same thing. Should we tell Gia what we knew of Vance? I didn’t see how we could avoid it. How would she react? She would be angry, but if she didn’t fly into a manic rage, I could handle it. I hoped.
I decided Royal could do the dirty deed. I wasn’t saying a word.
Maybe the fact Royal told her, not me, made the difference. He was so smooth as he told her what we discovered, our conclusions, and cautioned her we could be wrong. He didn’t present reasons why we didn’t so much as mention Vance before now, or apologize for not doing so. He was the professional investigator, passing information to the client: Vance was a lead we were still pursuing when we thought to go see Hans Stadelmann.
I was not a happy camper. Giving Vance to the cops was no longer an option. His fate had been taken out of our hands.
“Describe the Emerson’s interior,” Gia said.
***
Five hours after leaving Professor Stadelmann sleeping peacefully, Royal and I sat in his truck outside the Megaplex in downtown Clarion. Royal’s copper-brown eyes were not quite as lustrous; they had a dark cast to them as he watched the Emerson Building.
Gia did not make an appointment with Vance. Royal confirmed he was in his office and Gia walked right in. No doubt she influenced the secretary and anyone else she came across.
“Do you think she’s hurting him?”
“She said she will not.”
True, but could she keep it together when facing the man who had so many murdered, and could hold her Rio captive, or killed Rio, or know what happened to him? I didn’t know if I could were I in her position.
“From what I’ve seen, she doesn’t have too firm a handle on her temper. She could lose it.”
“I do not think so, not this time.”
I stared at his face in profile. He shifted in the front passenger seat, twisting toward me to return my gaze. “You need not worry; she has control of her emotions. She could make Vance and his men disappear, but she wants to bring closure to this world as well as mine.”
I swallowed although my mouth was dry. How would I feel if Royal suddenly disappeared and I thought someone took him from me, not knowing what happened to him and dreading the worse? How would I feel about that person? What would I do when I laid hands on them?
I didn’t know, but it would not be pretty.
Royal broke in on my morbid musing. “Tiff, what is bothering you, apart from the obvious?”
I let my right arm flop out the open widow, making a helpless gesture because I wasn’t sure how to reply. “I was just thinking. I don’t know if I could control myself if I were her. If it were me instead of Gia Sabato and you instead of Rio, I . . . I just don’t know. . . .”
“And that makes you feel . . . what?”
Although I frowned in the direction of the Emerson Building, I was somewhere else. I was in Royal’s arms, in a cellar below a palace in Bel-Athaer. “Do you remember when you found me in Morté Tescién? You said you knew I wouldn’t accuse you of murder unless I really believed it, because I’m a good person. You said you had faith in me.” I dropped my gaze to the hot pavement. “I’m not a real good person, Royal.”
His lips twitched. “We cannot all be Mother Teresa, Tiff.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “When you’re in a relationship, you’re always learning something new about your partner, and sometimes it
makes you look inside yourself. I don’t always like what I see in me.”
His hand slid along my shoulder. “You don’t say that like it is a revelation.”
It wasn’t, and I was taken aback by how everything just came out my mouth. I snorted. “It’s not, but this is the first time I heard myself say it out loud.”
I slumped in the seat and changed the subject. “She’s an awful long time in there.”
The heat began to sap me. I turned on the engine, rolled the windows up and switched on the air-conditioning, leaning forward to let the air from the side vent cool my face.
By shifting my head a little, I could see Brenda reflected in the side mirror as she stared right at me.
I straightened up. “There’s another one,” I observed as a black Cadillac drove into the alley behind Murphy’s. “The third. Maybe she’s in trouble.”
Royal looked ahead through the windscreen. “I doubt it.”
She’d been in there half an hour and the cars started arriving fifteen minutes ago. She didn’t share her plan with us, and here we were, waiting for her to come out the Emerson Building. Or not.
“What are we gonna do if she doesn’t come out soon?” All sixteen of Vance’s goons could be in there with Vance and Gia.
Royal shrugged.
I almost thumped my fist down in exasperation, but just in time remembered this was Royal’s truck, not my beat-up old Subaru.
The neon lights from the Megaplex flicked in the corner of one eye, and the sun pierced the corner of the other. We were parked fifty feet from the Emerson’s garage. Nobody would look twice at us. Just another couple hanging out in their big red truck.
I thought, again, about Gia’s conversation with Stadelmann. He didn’t know what Gia was any more than I did, but he knew Gia and Jacob were the same. He knew what they could do. "Don't do that. He tried to do that, but he hasn't the power.” Gia tried to influence him, just as she did me and Royal, but Stadelmann knew. He told her not to do it.
