by Polly Iyer
Poor things, Diana thought. Fighting and gunshots had terrified them. “It’s all over. Everything will be okay.”
They all crept forward to survey the damage. Maia gasped. “Seth’s hurt. Help him.” She ran inside the hangar.
“You okay?” Cal asked Anat. When she nodded, he jogged after Maia.
Diana scanned the area. Phillip Crane was nowhere to be seen. The all-powerful Crane let others do the dirty work. Where had he gone?
Lucier motioned Crane’s three flunkies together and leveled the gun at them.
A mechanized roar came from the hangar. “Crane’s escaping,” Diana yelled over the din.
Helpless to stop him, Lucier handed the gun to Diana and pointed to the three prisoners. “Shoot them if they move.”
“My pleasure,” she said.
Lucier helped Cal drag Seth out of the way. Everyone else moved back from the engine’s thrust as the plane taxied onto the tarmac.
Just then, overhead, lights appeared in the early morning sky, and a brilliant spotlight illuminated the gathering on the tarmac. Lucier rushed out from the hangar and took the gun from Diana’s hand. He pointed skyward. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she made out two dark ovals in the sky. Elation spread through her like wildfire, and she saw the three letters that would burn an image in her brain forever: FBI.
The earsplitting noise of the turboprop drowned out the whirring sound coming from above. The helicopters circled, hovered for a minute, then set down on the runway, blocking the path of the plane’s escape. Diana couldn’t see inside the plane, but the engines shut down. Crane didn’t emerge.
Lucier grabbed her hand and squeezed it so hard her fingers went numb for a second. “You okay?”
She nestled next to him. “Never better.”
Four men got out of each helicopter, guns drawn. They split. A few jogged to the hangar, one examining Slater. The rest tended to the group, except for the lead agent who headed their way. “You Lucier?”
Lucier nodded. “Boy, are we glad to see you.”
The agent scanned the area, checking the men either down with injuries or being held at gunpoint. “Looks like you handled yourselves pretty well.” He shook Lucier’s hand. “Mike Cafferty. Stallings said if you were still alive to tell you he sends his regards.”
“I wasn’t sure I would be.”
“Who’s the guy in the plane?” the agent asked.
“Phillip Crane.”
“The industrialist?”
“One and the same. The man coming to on the ground over there is Silas Compton. You have two of the richest guys in the country to load up, Cafferty. Big damn bust.”
“I’m gonna love this.”
“Mind if I yank Crane out of the cockpit?” Lucier asked.
“You think he has a weapon?”
“He didn’t before he got in the plane, but I’m not sure if he had one stashed inside. Being Phillip Crane, he probably still thinks he’s going to get away with this. That ain’t gonna happen, not when all the facts come out. Your collar, Cafferty, but I’d like to cuff the slippery bastard myself.”
“As long as I tag along.” He must have noticed Lucier’s frown. “Just to keep things kosher. Jurisdiction and all that.”
Chapter Fifty- Eight
Amid the Confusion
Diana was exhausted, having slept little. She and Lucier filled in the disbelieving agents on Crane’s plans for a new order. Federal agencies, child protection professionals, doctors, and counselors conducted interviews with both the staff and members of the group. Priests offered to conduct exorcisms to rid the evil spirits from Satan’s damned. Their overtures were politely rejected.
The compound buzzed with planes landing and taking off. Fortunately, there were enough rooms to accommodate everyone trying to make sense out of a story that defied imagination. With few precedents, the state agencies proceeded one step at a time. Cafferty was right. Lucier had no jurisdiction in Oklahoma. He and Diana were star witnesses only.
“What happens now?” she asked Cafferty.
“All the psychologists and counselors agree that the children should remain here while they’re being interrogated. Uprooting them from their parents or from the adults acting as their parents, before they understand what’s happening would be more detrimental. Besides, it’s easier to keep everyone together here. Doctors are taking DNA swabs from everyone in the complex.”
“And the kidnapped babies?” Lucier asked.
“Two young women who said their names were Nona and Brigid and claim to be daughters of Silas and Selene Compton, identified them. Our people are notifying the birth parents as we speak.”
“What will happen to those girls?” Diana asked. “They’ve been so compromised.”
Cafferty shook his head. “They’ll need psychological counseling and deprogramming. They’ll face criminal charges as well. There’s a lot to iron out.”
“You feel sorry for them, don’t you?” Lucier asked her. He turned to Cafferty. “Diana feels sorry for everyone. She even felt sorry for a guy who wanted to kill her.”
Yes, she felt sorry for the girls, but not for Compton and Crane. They were evil and should get the maximum sentence the law allows “It’s not the same thing. Those girls have been brainwashed. They never knew what they were doing was wrong.”
“Sorry, Ms. Racine, but they knew kidnapping babies from their birth parents was a crime.”
Diana shrugged. “Well, yes. Still…”
“What about Anat Crane and Cal Easley?” Lucier asked.
“They’re helping identify who belongs to whom, especially Easley. They’ve been trapped here a long time. Hope they can make it in the real world.”
“They will because they kept their worlds real, even here.” Lucier flipped through the papers of the human inventory. “There’s a little girl named Anna. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, and I think she fed information to Cal Easley.”
“I’ll look into her personally.”
“Good. I’d hate to see anything happen to her.”
Diana and Lucier got up to leave. A plane waited to take them back to New Orleans. Lucier turned. “Oh, one more thing. Seth Crane and Maia Compton. They helped us. What’s going to happen to them?”
“They’re gone.” Cafferty said.
Lucier stopped. “Gone? Gone where?”
“Good question. The doctor fixed up his arm. The Compton woman and her children were with him. Then, during the night, they all disappeared.”
Diana’s mouth hung open. “Huh? But how?”
“They flew out of here.”
“Planes blocked the runway,” Lucier said.
“That’s right. Crane took the helo.”
“And you don’t know where they went?”
“Not yet. They have to land somewhere. We’ll get them.”
Diana stole a quick glance at Lucier. With an aircraft that can land just about anywhere? Don’t bet on it.
Chapter Fifty- Nine
Introspection
That evening, when Diana opened the door to her house, she and Lucier were met with that closed-up, musty smell, mixed with a hint of vanilla from the candles she loved. This was her home, and she loved the feeling of security. Tears filled her eyes. “Good to be home.”
Lucier kicked the door closed and took her in his arms. “I wasn’t sure we’d see either of our houses again.”
“You’re my hero, Lieutenant.”
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I didn’t feel much like a hero when my face fell into the salmon. Quite the contrary. I should never have trusted those people. Knew it in the depths of my soul. Yet I let down my guard, disbelieving they’d do what they did.”
“We were duped. No doubt about it.”
“I talked to Captain Craven while you slept on the plane. He thought we were duped too. Said he missed me, but he’s going to dock my pay.”
Diana searched his face. “He’s kidding, right
? I mean you almost single-handedly broke up a kidnapping ring.”
“I’m not sure. I hope so.”
“I’ll put on a pot of coffee, then I need to call my parents. I need a shot of caffeine to deal with them.”
Diana spent half an hour alternating between answering questions from her mother and father. The FBI advised her and Lucier not to talk publicly about the case to avoid tainting the jury pool when the group went to trial, so she carefully avoided anything her publicity-hound father could “accidentally” release to a reporter.
“Cafferty called while you were on the phone,” Lucier said when she hung up. “They tracked down the Crane Corporation pilot who flew Anastasia Easley to Canada to meet up with her mother and three sisters. All five are awaiting extradition back to the States, but there’s a tricky situation with Anastasia Easley.”
“What’s that?”
“Canada won’t extradite anyone facing a murder charge unless the death penalty is off the table, so she’ll probably spend the rest of her life in prison.”
“I can live with that.”
“The men were denied bail in spite of protests from some of the highest-priced lawyers in the country.”
“I hope they all rot in hell,” Diana said. “They should be familiar with the place.”
* * * * *
Diana and Lucier gave no interviews, but nothing stopped the media speculation. Diana opened the morning paper. “Will you look at this? Jake Griffin is having a field day. There are a dozen messages from him on the machine, but this time I’m not talking. That hasn’t stopped him from reporting the story, from Ridley Deems to Brother Osiris and the Sunrise Mission, to the Cranes and Comptons as Satan worshippers. Jake’s done his homework. He points out the irony of the mythology―Seth did kill Osiris in the end.”
“There are too many victims in this story,” Lucier said. “The full magnitude of human devastation won’t be known for a long, long time. Years maybe.”
“Speaking of Seth,” Diana said.
“Still no sign of him, Maia Compton, and their children. I wonder if they’ll ever turn up.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say―”
“What?”
She studied him, knowing that part of Lucier didn’t want them found. Even though Seth Crane was guilty of many things, Lucier, too, would have killed Edward Slater if he’d molested his child. “I honestly don’t know.”
Lucier held her gaze, smiling knowingly, and a moment passed between them before she returned to the newspaper.
“The story of a genetically engineered Utopia seems to have sparked hundreds of ethical debates. That ought to get the wingnuts spouting off on TV. Remind me not to watch any news channels for a while.”
Diana pointed to a paragraph in the story. “Look at the litany of charges they’re leveling at the group. Kidnapping, child endangerment, sexual abuse, murder. What a mess. This is one time Crane and Compton’s money and influence can’t help them.”
Lucier poured both a second cup of coffee. “Don’t be too sure. I spoke to Ralph Stallings this morning. He said Crane has been stoically silent, but Compton’s lawyers are in discussions to plea bargain him. Even from a hospital bed, that son of a bitch says he’ll tell them where the other compound is, off-shore accounts, and he’ll roll on all of them, including his wife―for consideration.”
“You mean he’d flip on the black widow?”
“That’s what he said. You never liked her, did you?”
“No, and I was right. But I really screwed up with Slater.” Lucier kept silent. She wondered what he was thinking. He was off limits to her psychically. She wouldn’t read him, didn’t want to. Hopefully, he couldn’t read her right now either.
Yes, she’d been wrong about Edward Slater. He’d stimulated her intellectually in the beginning, stirred her curiosity, and his inner conflict touched her in a way she wasn’t sure she understood to this day. Yet she had missed his essence―the twisted evil that corrupted him and drove him to unspeakable sins. Her feelings toward him never approached the physical. Those belonged to Lucier and always would.
She leaned over the table and kissed Lucier on the lips.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Because I love you,” she said. “No other reason.”
He kissed her back. “That’s a good enough reason for me.”
About the Author
Polly Iyer was born in a coastal city north of Boston, Massachusetts. After studying at Massachusetts College of Art and Design in Boston, she lived in Italy, Atlanta, and now resides in the beautiful Piedmont region of South Carolina in an empty nest house with her husband and family pets. Writing novels turned into her passion after careers in fashion, art, and business. Now she spends her time being quite the hermit in comfortable clothes she wouldn't be caught dead wearing on the outside, while she devises ways for life to be complicated for her characters. Better them than her.
Learn more about Polly and her books at
www.PollyIyer.com
Following is an excerpt from InSight.
I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter One
The Helen Keller Alliance
Every morning, Abby ran her fingers over the cluster of raised dots on the sign outside her office door.
Dr. Abigael Gallant, Psychologist.
Above, serif letters spelled the same thing. She opened the door. “Morning, Cleo.”
“Morning, Abby. Got everything ready for you.”
“You always do.” She sniffed. “Morning, Ellie.”
“How do you always know I’m here?”
“I know.” The too-sweet scent of her intern’s perfume wafting in the air almost drowned out the rich aroma of coffee bubbling into the pot. Abby went into her office, unhooked Daisy’s halter—giving her guide dog a neck rub—and settled at her desk. Cleo brought her a cup of coffee. “Thanks. What would I do without you?”
“You’d do it all by yourself like you did before you hired me.”
“But you make it so much easier.”
“First appointment at nine,” Cleo said. “New patient. Luke McCallister. Cop. Sergeant Dykstra said he has issues. It’s all in the report.”
Abby flipped the crystal on her watch to finger the time. “Okay, I’ve read it, but I’ll go over the information to refresh my memory.” Cleo left and Abby got to work, reading the Braille printout of Hub City detective Luke McCallister’s file. He’d lost his hearing in the line of duty, and issues was putting it mildly.
Half an hour later, Ellie knocked on the door. She came close to Abby’s desk and whispered. “McCallister’s here, and he’s a hunk.”
“Thanks for letting me know. Ask him if he’d mind waiting while I take a quick shower, change my clothes, and refresh my lipstick.”
“Funny.”
“Show him in. Oh, and, Ellie, stop panting. You sound like a teenage boy in heat.”
Abby didn’t hear McCallister’s footsteps because he started speaking long before he reached the patient’s chair.
“Well,” he said, “put the two of us together and we have one Helen Keller.”
She breathed in the scent of sandalwood, and her highly-tuned antennae picked up on the nervous quiver in his words, even though the detective tried to conceal it with sarcasm.
She followed McCallister’s voice and faced in his direction. “Have a seat, Detective. I assume you read lips.”
The leather seat cushion whooshed as he sat. “Read ’em, been known to kiss a few.”
Arrogant SOB. This is going to be a long hour. She moved to the chair opposite McCallister, offering her best nice-to-meet-you smile. “We’ll stay with the reading for now.” She wanted to say she never kissed on a first consultation, but the ethically questionable response would probably give this patient the wrong idea. “Do you have any hearing at all?”
“None at normal decibels. I would hear enough of a siren to know one is wailing, feel the vibration from a loud noise, b
ut that’s about it.”
Because she specialized in counseling the disabled, she knew a good lip reader took in the whole face. She enunciated her words. “I’m pretty good at following sounds, but you’ll need to tell me if I’m not facing you correctly. Ask me to repeat anything you don’t understand, okay?”
“Fine, thanks. My speech reading instructor said I was her quickest study, but I still understand only about forty percent. I fudge the rest. Sometimes I tune out, or if a person talks fast or turns away, I’m lost. It’s frustrating as hell. But if I can’t keep up or miss something, I’ll ask you to repeat.”
“Forty percent is better than good.”
“It still means I miss sixty percent.”
“We’ll work this out, and I can always write down anything you don’t understand. Now, your sergeant said you weren’t happy about counseling.”
He shifted in his seat. “I’m fighting hard to stay in the department. If I didn’t agree to see the shrink my bosses recommended, they’d have reason to can me.”
An honest response. “So, will this be a battle of wills or a forced collaboration? I say ‘forced’ because I’m used to working with people who want what I have to offer.”
Silence. Did he misinterpret her words or was he debating another smart-ass answer? She’d treated macho types before. Many relegated therapy to the weak-minded and struggled to adjust when faced with a life-altering disability. She waved her hand in the air. “Hel-lo. You haven’t slipped out on me yet, have you?”
“I thought you people could hear better. You didn’t hear me leave, did you?”
“We people hear better than you, but I’m not Superwoman. I suppose if you wanted to escape, you could sneak out and I wouldn’t know.”
“Ah, but then you’d report me, and I’d be out on my ass.”
Abby stifled a smile. “Your choice.”
“What does your voice sound like?”
She wondered if a little humor might help to connect. “Deep and husky. Bacall talking to Bogie.”
