by Gina Cresse
“Thank you, Sweetie,” she said as she laid the box on the floor next to her.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Emily questioned, anxious to see the contents of the mysterious package.
“Not now, honey. Mommy’s too sick. Maybe later. Okay?”
“Okay,” Emily said as she left her mother sitting on the bathroom floor.
Amanda fingered the package. It was addressed to Queen Amanda and Princess Emily. She closed her eyes, laid her head on her folded arms and began sobbing again.
Later in the day, when the nausea had subsided, Amanda gathered up Emily and the package and sat down on the sofa.
“Who’s the present from?” Emily asked. Her big blue eyes sparkled with anticipation.
“It’s from Daddy, sweetie. He mailed it a long time ago—before he went to Heaven.”
“He did?”
It pained Amanda to see the confusion in Emily’s face.
Amanda carefully opened the package. “Oh look, honey,” she said as she pulled out a pair of string puppets from Mexico. The señor played a guitar and the dancing señorita held castanets. “Daddy sent these for you.”
Emily squealed with delight. “How do they work?” she asked.
Amanda handed the puppets to her mother-in-law, Martha. “Maybe Grandma can show you how to work them.”
“Sure I can, sweetheart. Here. You just take these little sticks and make them do silly dances. See?”
Emily giggled uncontrollably at the puppets.
Amanda took a small box out of the larger package. She opened it slowly. The delicate heart-shaped locket dangled from her shaking fingers. On the back, the inscription read, “David loves Amanda - Forever.” Again, Amanda fought back tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of Emily any more. The little girl needed her mother to be strong for her.
Amanda retrieved another smaller package from the box. It contained a computer CD and a note from David. The note read:
Dear Amanda,
Just wanted to send a small token of my love for my girls. I miss you both so much. I can’t wait to get home. I know how slow the mail takes to get from Mexico to the States, so I will have been home for weeks by the time you open this. But I will probably be at work when it arrives, so just put this CD in my desk and I’ll take care of it tonight when I get home.
Love, David
“What did Daddy send you, Mommy?” Emily asked.
“He sent me this beautiful locket. See?” Amanda said as she dangled the silver heart in front of the little girl’s big blue eyes.
“Oh, how pretty,” Emily exclaimed.
Martha noticed the CD and the note Amanda held in her shaking hands. “What’s in the envelope?” she asked.
“I don’t know. David’s letter says to just put it in his desk.”
“Let me put it away for you,” Martha said as she took the envelope and walked into the study. “I’ll just put it in the top drawer,” she called to her daughter-in-law as she laid the envelope in the drawer and closed it.
“Thanks, Martha,” Amanda said. “I really appreciate all the time you’re spending here with us, but I know you need to get back to Neil. Don’t feel like you have to stay and take care of me. Poor Neil needs you so much right now. Is he feeling any better now that the chemotherapy is over?”
“He’s feeling a little better. Don’t you worry about Neil or me right now. I can spend the mornings here with you until your morning sickness passes,” Martha assured her.
“Okay, but I’m feeling fine now. Don’t feel like you need to stay if you want to get home.”
“I get the hint. I know when I’m not wanted,” Martha said.
“You know you’re always wanted around here.”
“I know, honey. I’m just teasing. I do think I’ll head back home—if you’re really feeling better.”
“I am, Martha. Thank you so much.”
“Come here and give me a big hug and kiss, Miss Emily,” she said to her granddaughter.
“Bye, Grandma,” Emily said as she wrapped her arms around her grandmother.
“Goodbye, Amanda. I’ll be over in the morning to see how you’re doing.”
“Okay,” Amanda said as they walked to the door.
Amanda put Emily down for a nap, then collapsed on the queen sized bed she had grown accustomed to sharing with David, and wept.
Chapter Seventeen
Florida—1996
It was past ten o’clock when I woke up in a strange place and had to think for a moment where I was. I made my way to the bathroom and took a nice long shower to try to wake myself up. I’d missed the hotel’s complimentary continental breakfast, so I went to the hotel restaurant and ordered fresh fruit and a bowl of cereal. When I returned to my room, I logged back onto the Internet to continue my search. I was notified I had E-mail. I opened the inbox and read the message. It simply read: Press this button to notify and meet me in my chat room. I followed the instructions and waited. Several minutes passed, then some text came across the screen.
“Who are you?” it read.
I entered, “Who are you?”
“I asked first,” came the reply.
“Devonie. I’m nobody, really. Just an innocent bystander who got caught up in a real nightmare,” I typed.
“Do you have any connection with the CIA, FBI, DEA or FAA?” the mysterious correspondent asked.
“No. I’m just a self-employed treasure hunter who stumbled upon something very dangerous. What’s your connection with Flight 9602?”
“I was at the crash site. I uncovered evidence that would substantiate your theory about the electronic device,” was the reply.
I read the words on the screen but they somehow seemed unreal.
Again, I typed, “Who are you?”
“That isn’t important. Like yourself, my safety has been jeopardized, and I need to stay anonymous—for my own health. Do you still have the device you found?”
“No. The FBI has it,” I answered.
“I thought you said you had no connection with the FBI.”
“I don’t. I just found the device, along with some other stuff, and reported it to them. Shortly after, the boat I live on was blown up, and I’ve been on the run ever since.”
“I see. Blowing things up seems to be their M.O.,” came the reply.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure it’s the CIA. Of course, they would be acting in the interest of some higher authority. My guess is it goes all the way to the White House. Are you familiar with the names David Powers and Michael Norris?”
“The two DEA agents killed in the plane crash. How do they fit in?”
“Over the past year, I’ve done some investigating of my own. Powers and Norris were working to shut down a major drug cartel in Mexico. My guess is they were stepping on some pretty big toes.”
“And whoever belonged to those toes had big feet, too. Big enough to squash Powers and Norris like a couple of ants,” I responded.
“Exactly. The problem is, unless someone comes up with some hard evidence and gets it into the right hands, you and I are stuck hiding out.”
“What kind of evidence would it take?” I asked.
“That device you found would have been a good start. The actual device that brought the plane down is long gone. I was corresponding with someone inside the FAA who was on my side, but he’s been killed.”
“Frank Eastwood?” I asked, remembering the name of the FAA inspector who originally reported finding the device.
“No,” was the reply.
“I have copies of E-mails that prove a contract existed to assassinate the two agents. I’m not sure how they’d stand up as evidence.”
“By themselves, they probably wouldn’t carry much weight.”
“How much do you know about the two agents who were killed? Maybe they left some evidence behind that could be useful,” I typed.
“Any evidence they had was destroyed in the crash.
Everything else has mysteriously disappeared. I’ve used all my resources to check on the cartel investigation and have come up with nothing. As far as the DEA is concerned, there was never any operation in existence.”
“That’s crazy. There has to be someone out there who knew what they were working on.”
“Probably, but have you come up with a foolproof way to know who you can trust? And what about getting someone killed because they tried to help. Can you live with that?”
“No. One of my friends has already been killed, and another one hurt, but I have an idea. Can I reach you any time at this connection?”
“Pretty much any time. Why? What are you up to?”
“It’s a long shot. I’ll fill you in if it turns up anything,” I replied.
“Be careful.”
“I will,” I typed, then left the chat room.
Before I closed down the Internet connection, I reread one of the articles about the crash of Flight 9602. David Powers was survived by his wife and daughter, who lived in San Diego. I used all the people search engines I could find to see if I could turn up an address on Amanda Powers, but nothing came up. I would have been surprised to find a DEA agent’s family listed in the phone book. I dialed information and requested the number of someone I knew could help—if only he would.
“Spencer?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?” he asked. He sounded like he thought he was talking to a ghost.
“It’s me, Devonie.”
There was a long pause. “Spencer? Are you there?” I repeated.
“You’re supposed to be dead. What the heck’s going on, Dev? I went and made a fool of myself at your funeral. I think I even cried, and now you’re not even really dead? What a friend you turned out to be.”
“Take it easy, Spencer. I can explain everything,” I said. “Did you really cry?”
“Darn right I cried. Crocodile tears and horse snot. The whole nine yards. You better have a good explanation or I swear I’ll put your name on every telemarketing call list in the country. You’ll never be able to eat dinner in peace again.”
“Not the telemarketing torture. Anything but that. Please have mercy on me, Spencer,” I begged, playfully.
“Start talking. But remember, I’ve got my finger on the big TM button.”
“Okay, here’s the short version. I’ve discovered some evidence implicating the CIA, FBI, DEA, FAA, and any other government acronym you can think of, in a commercial plane crash that killed two DEA agents last year. I reported it to the FBI, and you saw what they did to my boat. I had to let everyone think I was dead, to save myself. Right now, I need your help to get the address of Amanda Powers. She’s the wife of one of the DEA agents who was killed. You should know that if anyone discovers you’re helping me, you could be in a lot of danger. So, will you do it?”
Spencer made a nasally, “Wrong answer” buzzer sound into the phone and said, “Sorry, Dev. One more chance, then I’m putting your name in the big telemarketing database in the sky, never to be deleted.”
“I swear it’s true. I won’t blame you if you don’t want to help me. It’s really dangerous, but you’re the only person I know who can get into the records of people who don’t want to be found.”
Spencer hesitated. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. Do you think you can do it without anyone finding out?”
“Piece of cake.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to get caught or killed or anything,” I said, worried about his probation.
“No need to worry about me. I can be in and out and no one will ever know I was there. I’ll have it for you in a couple hours. Where can I call you?” he asked.
“You can E-mail it to me at [email protected]. Please be careful.”
“I will, Dev. You just watch yourself. Here me?”
“I will. Thanks for your help, Spencer.”
“No problem. Bye Dev,” he said, then hung up.
I turned my attention back to the computer sitting on the desk. Unconsciously, I danced the mouse pointer around the screen while I thought about what I should do next. That VideoService icon just kept glaring at me. What was it? I had time to kill so I clicked on the icon and launched the application. I wasn’t quite prepared for what I stumbled upon. VideoService didn’t have anything at all to do with movies as I had earlier suspected. It was a Swiss online service—designed to manage bank accounts. Once again, Mr. Kephart had saved his password, so I proceeded to connect to the bank account and browsed the available screens. It didn’t take long to figure out how to navigate around the many options. I found a menu option for balance information and clicked it. A bright blue screen painted before my eyes and figures began scrolling down the page. At the bottom, a final total—with yesterday’s date. I blinked and rubbed my eyes to make sure I was reading it clearly. Could that figure actually be thirty-eight million dollars?
Chapter Eighteen
I checked the E-mail box two hours later. Nothing. I checked again, every hour on the hour then began to worry that Spencer was having trouble. It was late. I picked up the phone and dialed his number. No answer. Then I was really worried. Had I gotten Spencer into the same trouble I’d inflicted on Jason and Joe? Finally, at almost midnight, the message came through. Along with Amanda Powers’ address, he wrote a short note:
Sorry it took so long to get this to you. Someone has really gone to a lot of trouble to make sure no one looks up your friend Amanda. I decided to use a client machine at the office to ensure nothing could be traced to my house. You be careful, Devonie. I don’t want to go through another one of your funerals—again.
Spencer came through for me. I checked out of the hotel early the next morning and caught the next flight to San Diego. The taxi dropped me at the address Spencer found. It was a cute little New England style house located right on the water. I rang the bell and waited. A little girl in blonde pigtails opened the door.
“Hi. Is your mommy home?” I asked.
From another room, I heard the voice of a woman, “Who is it, Emily?”
“I don’t know, Mommy. It’s a lady,” the little girl called back.
Immediately, a woman came to the door to see who it was. She had a baby on one hip and a bottle in her other hand.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Are you Amanda Powers?”
“Yes,” she answered, with a little hesitation.
“My name is Devonie Lace. I wonder if I can talk to you about your late husband?”
“David?”
“Yes. It’s very important. I won’t take up too much of your time.”
“Well, I’m not sure….” Amanda shifted the baby to her other hip, and checked her watch.
“Please, Amanda. It could be a matter of life or death,” I pleaded.
She reconsidered. “You said your name is Devonie?”
“Yes. Devonie Lace.”
“Come in. Just let me see if I can get my mother-in-law to take the baby for a while so we can talk,” she said as she opened the door wider to let me in.
Amanda looked down at Emily. “Honey. Go see if Grandma can come in from the garden to help me with Eric for a little while. Okay?”
“Okay, Mommy,” she replied and skipped off toward the back yard.
“Please. Sit down,” Amanda said as she gestured me toward a sofa in the living room.
An older woman entered the room. “Emily said you need help with Eric?”
“Hi, Mom. Devonie, this is my mother-in-law, Martha. This is Devonie Lace, Mom. I wonder if you can take Eric and put him down for his nap so I can talk with her?”
“Certainly. It’s nice to meet you, Devonie,” the woman responded as she took the baby from Amanda and carried him into another room.
“What is it you want to talk about?” she asked.
“Amanda, did you know anything about what your husband was working on when he died?”
“Well,” she thought for a moment. “As
I recall, he was working on a case with the Mexican government. They were investigating one of the many drug suppliers down there.”
“Did he tell you anything about what he found while he was there?” I asked.
“No. He never talked much about his work. Everything was always very hush-hush. Why do you want to know?”
“I think the plane crash that killed your husband was no accident.”
She stared at me. “What?”
“I think your husband and his partner stumbled onto something very sensitive and they were killed to shut them up.”
“Killed by whom? The Mexican drug producers?”
“No. I know they would seem like the logical suspects, but I’m afraid that someone else caused that plane to crash,” I answered.
“Who?”
“I think it’s possible that someone within our own government was responsible for destroying that plane, to keep your husband and his partner quiet.”
A look of skepticism spread across her face. “That’s preposterous. Where would you ever get an idea like that?”
“I know it sounds incredible, but it’s true. Are you sure your husband never mentioned anything? Or maybe he kept some records, or notes about things he was working on?”
Amanda nervously twirled the silver locket she wore around her neck with her quivering fingers. Living with a DEA agent, I was sure she would have been warned about giving information to strangers. Her mother-in-law returned from putting the baby down and took a seat in the chair next to the sofa.
“What are you girls finding to talk about?” she asked.
“Devonie thinks someone in our government purposely caused the plane crash that killed David,” Amanda said as she reached for the phone. “I think I should call Victor and see what he knows about this.”
“No. Please, Amanda. Hear me out before you make that call,” I pleaded.
The cheery smile left Martha’s face. She placed her hand gently over Amanda’s and pushed the phone back into its cradle. “Wait a minute, Amanda. Why don’t you let her finish. It couldn’t hurt to hear her out. Could it?”
