Chapter Thirty-Eight
Albert had continued to listen for a few more hours, but heard nothing more during that time. He glanced at his watch; it was time to meet with his contact.
The meeting was to take place at George Sterling Park at the very top of Russian Hill. It was always dead at that time of night. A thick fog on top of the hill was a sure thing.
He drove up Russian Hill, along Chestnut Street, until it intersected with Hyde. There he made a left turn and parked his car against the curb. The park was just past Lombard Street—San Francisco’s famous crooked street. He exited the vehicle and walked the rest of the distance.
He climbed a set of concrete steps that led up to a grassy mound. At the top was a pair of tennis courts. They were empty and dark; the park officially closed at nine. Albert had about fifteen feet of visibility in the fog, but he was familiar with the area.
He continued around the courts, following the chain-link fence that contained them, until he reached the far side, where a pathway wound its way through the park toward Larkin Street.
Trees lined the path, and there were benches scattered throughout. The night was quiet, other than the scuff of his shoes against the concrete, or the occasional crunch of small pebbles under his steps.
The first bench came into view, but Albert walked past it and continued until he reached another one under a tree, where the path turned back and headed in the opposite direction. A person sitting on that bench could see, or on that night hear, anyone approaching from either direction.
Albert didn’t notice the shadowy figure as he approached, not until it moved from behind the bench. As he closed the distance, he recognized his contact. A mutual nod was the extent of their greeting.
The man was older than Albert—late fifties to early sixties, he wasn’t sure. He wore a black leather bomber jacket and blue jeans. A dark-gray flat cap covered his head.
“Your guy missed her leaving the facility today,” Albert said as he took a seat on the bench, leaning slightly forward with both arms resting on his thighs.
The man sat next to him, preferring to lean back against the bench with his hands resting in his lap. “Are you sure it was her in the house? Could it have been a friend of the daughter?”
“They addressed her by name.”
The shadowy man nodded. “I’ll have to look into how this happened.”
“From what I’ve learned, she’s staying with Agent Kane for four days. The timing is tight, but I feel confident we can come up with a plan to grab the girl.”
“You have new orders. She is to be eliminated.”
Albert tried to grab the man’s gaze, but he ignored him, continuing to stare straight ahead. “You can’t be serious?”
“This is what needs to be done. We can’t risk her returning to the facility, nor can we allow this game of hide-and-seek to continue. She’s expendable.”
“I can get her out of the house.” Albert raised his voice but quickly lowered it and leaned toward the man. “At least give me the opportunity to bring her in, to a safe location. Allow me that much.”
For the first time that night, Albert’s contact turned toward him. His dark-brown eyes appeared black in the night. “I’m sorry, but she’s no longer needed.”
“She’s a child, for God’s sake. How harmful can she really be?”
“Your job is not to question. It’s to do what is asked of you. A lot of effort and forward thinking, not to mention a large sum of cash, were invested in you and your wife. Do not forget why you were sent to America in the first place.”
“I didn’t sign up to kill children.”
The man drew a deep breath, as if he were readying himself to say more, but he didn’t. He simply stood and walked away.
Albert watched him disappear into the gray thickness. As much as he didn’t agree with the order, he had no choice. If he didn’t obey, his children would become targets.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The following morning, Ellis woke to a sharp pain in his arm. He opened his eyes and immediately shut them; it felt like the sunlight had seared his retinas.
“Hey, man. You can’t be here,” a deep voice said.
Again, Ellis felt a jabbing pain in his arm. He opened his eyes just enough to see a man standing in front of him. Ellis kept blinking, and eventually his eyesight focused.
“What?” he asked, his voice raspy and his throat dry.
“This ain’t a motel. You’ve got to get up and move along.”
Ellis realized he was lying on a bench, and the pain he felt came from the rounded end of a rake handle jabbing his arm.
“I ain’t playing. Get up and go.” The man jabbed the rake handle at him a few more times, each jab harder than the last.
“Ow!” Ellis forced himself upright. “I’m leaving. Just give me a minute and stop poking me with that thing.”
The man lowered the rake, his eyes squinty from the sun. He wore jeans and a polo shirt with a logo embroidered on the sleeve. Ellis didn’t recognize it.
“You all right?” the man asked.
“Where the hell am I?”
That response triggered the man to laugh. “You don’t recognize this place? You’re at Pier 39. You know, Fisherman’s Wharf? San Francisco?”
Ellis shook his head as none of that sounded familiar to him.
“Man, you must have knocked back a bunch of hooch last night not to recognize this joint.” The elderly man extended his hand, and Ellis used it to pull himself to his feet.
“Steady there,” the man said, holding on to Ellis’s arm. “You got someone you can call to pick you up? Probably not safe for you to drive. I think you’re still drunk.”
Ellis reached up and gently massaged his forehead. “My head is killing me.”
“Sit back down, mister. I can call you an ambulance.”
“Where will they take me?”
The man crinkled his brow. “To the hospital. You do know what a hospital is, don’t you?”
Ellis shrugged.
“You’re worse off than I thought.” The man shook his head as he looked around. “I can’t have you sitting out here looking like this. This place will be overrun with tourists soon.”
Just then a cell phone began ringing. Ellis sat there, ignoring it.
“Hey, aren’t you going to answer that?”
“Answer what?”
The man pointed at Ellis’s front pants pocket. “Your phone. It’s ringing.”
Ellis dug his hand into his pocket.
“It might be someone looking for you.”
“Hello?” Ellis said. “I’m sorry, who is this? My wife? I don’t have a wife.”
Ellis disconnected the call and set the phone down next to him.
“Was that someone you know?”
“I don’t know.”
The phone rang again. This time the old man reached for the phone and answered. “Hello? No, I’m not a friend. I found him sleeping on a bench at Pier 39. He doesn’t remember anything. Can you help him? Okay, but you need to hurry. I can’t babysit him all day.”
The old man handed the phone back to him with a trembling hand. Ellis’s eyes focused on it.
“Yeah, I got the shakes,” the man said. “You keep on doing what you’re doing, and you’ll get them too.”
Ellis opened his mouth to speak but held his tongue.
“That lady on the phone says she knows you.” The old man switched grips on his rake. “She’s coming to pick you up.”
“But I don’t know her.”
“She sounds all right to me. You need rest, and you can’t do it here.” The man licked his lips as he surveyed the area. “Crowds are coming.” He motioned for Ellis to stand. “Follow me. There’s an area where the workers take their breaks. You can chill there until your ride comes.”
“No! I don’t know this woman. I don’t know you.” Ellis stood up and backed away from the man.
“Hey, there. I’m just trying to help you.”
“How do I know you’re not part of this?” Ellis motioned around him.
“Part of what?”
“Part of whatever caused me to not know anything.”
The old man waved off the accusation. “Firewater did that.”
“You stay away from me.” Ellis took short steps in a number of directions, unsure of where he should go.
“You don’t have to worry about me. It’s those two officers over there you need to worry about.”
Ellis spun around. Two SFPD officers were walking toward them.
“You called the police?” Ellis shouted at the man. “I knew you were lying about that woman.”
“I didn’t call anybody, but I’m glad they’re here. You need help.”
Chapter Forty
Kang got the call as soon as he arrived at the Phillip Burton Federal Building. Kane wouldn’t be in; she had decided to stay at the house with Xiaolian. He sent her a quick text message letting her know where he was heading.
His destination was SFPD’s Central Station in North Beach, his old stomping grounds when he had been a detective. He still had a lot of contacts there, including his long-time ex-partner, Detective Pete Sokolov. The drive took a little longer than he’d anticipated—the city was replacing pipes in the sewer system running under the north end of Van Ness Avenue.
Once at the station, Kang decided a quick detour from the business that brought him there wasn’t asking much. Sokolov spotted Kang as he walked along a glass divider separating the hall and an open area where the homicide detectives’ desks were.
“He returns,” Sokolov said in a dramatic tone. A grin stretched across his face. He stood and extended his arm. “Either you can’t get enough of this place, or you have a terrible idea that requires our help.”
Kang chuckled as he gripped Sokolov’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “It’s your lucky day. The answer is no to both assumptions.”
Detective Adrian Bennie, Sokolov’s current partner, was sitting at the adjacent desk. “Agent Kang, good to see you again. Is this visit strictly personal?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m here to see a man who was picked up this morning.”
“A friend?” Bennie crinkled his brow.
“Nah. This guy might have information regarding an investigation I’m involved with.”
“Is this something to do with the girl?” Sokolov asked.
“Yes and no. Abby has a hunch, so we’re chasing it.”
“How is Abby?” Bennie asked.
“She’s fine. She’s been released and is back with her family and at work.”
“That’s good to hear. I can’t imagine being locked up like that. Any word why they did that?”
“My guess is they were trying to figure out why Abby and Xiaolian have the same DNA, I mean, not in the literal sense. We know how the girl was created, but we don’t know the why.”
“That’s the three-parent thing, right?”
Kang nodded. “Exactly, but the State Department, they’re involved now, are more concerned about the why, not the how.”
“They think the girl is a spy, don’t they?” Sokolov said bluntly.
His reply caught Kang off guard, but Sokolov had always had good instincts. “You didn’t hear this from me.”
“Top-secret stuff, huh?” Bennie said. “Don’t worry. We won’t spill the goods on your X-Files investigation.” He bounced his eyebrows.
“I’ll tell Mulder you said hi. Look, I’d love to chat, but I’ve got FBI business to handle.”
Sokolov pointed at a couple of nearby suits. “Clear the way, people. We have an FBI agent on the hunt.”
Kang waved off Sokolov’s jab and headed back toward the direction he had come from. Once in receiving, he approached the desk sergeant who sat on the other side of a glass-enclosed area. There was a sliding window for communication.
“Sergeant Becker,” Kang called out.
Becker looked up from his paperwork. “You got here fast.”
“I wanted to catch this guy before he got released. What’s the charge?”
“A patrol car brought him in on public drunkenness, but he ain’t drunk. The Breathalyzer has him blowing below .08. He might be mentally unstable, though. Come around.” Becker motioned toward a door.
There was a buzzing sound, and the latch on the door unlocked. Kang entered and followed Becker down the hall. They passed three civilian men. Two officers were giving them instructions to face the wall, place their hands against it, and spread their legs. The officers then proceeded to pat them down.
“Is he high?” Kang asked.
“Maybe.” Becker tapped his own head. “Something ain’t right up here. He can’t remember anything. A city worker at Pier 39 found him sleeping on a bench—thought he was a drunk. According to his driver’s license, his name is Johnny Ellis, and he lives in Tiburon. He has a wife. She’s on her way over.”
“So the guy can’t remember a thing, not even his name?”
“As far as I know. One of my officers handling intake filled me in.”
Becker stopped in front of a metal door with a small window. He found the appropriate key on a large key ring he carried and unlocked it. Inside the small cell were two beds, a sink, and a toilet. Ellis sat hunched over on one of the beds.
“Mr. Ellis, this is Agent Kang. He has a few questions he wants to ask you.”
“Are you here to help me? I did nothing wrong.” Ellis’s voice was shaky.
“I’ll leave you two be.” Becker exited the room and shut the door behind him.
Ellis was wearing jeans, a white button-down, which was untucked, and a gray sports jacket. He was shoeless and sockless. His eyelids hadn’t stopped fluttering since Kang entered the room—he was jumpy.
Kang took a seat on the bed opposite Ellis. “You feel okay?”
“I’m in jail. What do you think?”
“If I understand correctly, you’re having trouble remembering things.”
“That’s right.”
“How do you know you haven’t done anything wrong if you can’t remember anything?”
“I’m not drunk. I know that much. They said so.”
“At this exact moment, are you still drawing a blank on anything and everything?”
Ellis took a deep breath and shook his head slowly. “Sort of. I mean there’s rapid-fire imagery in my head, but I can’t really make any sense of it at the moment. I can recall the basics, like my name, where I live, that I have a wife, and what I do for a living. But last night… it’s like someone took what I know, threw it in a blender, hit pulverize, and then poured the contents back into my head. Why are you here anyway?” Ellis scratched the back of his head. “What’s the FBI have to do with this? Tell me I didn’t do something totally screwed-up.”
“No, far from it. But this memory loss you’re experiencing… well, we’ve had other people experience the same symptom.”
“Is it something I drank or ate?”
“Mr. Ellis, we believe you were abducted, drugged, and then released.”
“Are you serious?”
“I am. You’re the first victim we’ve had a chance to interview right after it happened. There are three others who are from the Bay Area, and those are just the people we know about. All woke up in some random area, and they can’t explain why or how they ended up there. Two of them had missing-persons reports filed—they were married. The third person was single. They were all missing for less than twenty-four hours, and they all had a period of time where they couldn’t recall anything right away. The good news is your memory will return, mostly.”
“What do you mean by mostly?”
“We have a victim who was abducted three months ago, and he still can’t remember everything that happened during that blackout period.”
“Crap!” Ellis ran his hand through his hair. “My work requires that I recall stuff.”
“It’s just that blackout period that continues to elude the victims. Your mem
ory outside of that should return to normal. Mr. Ellis, I’d like your permission to test your blood. Whatever was given to you might still be in your system.”
“Sure, that’s fine, but why would anyone want to abduct me? I don’t have enemies. If I did, wouldn’t they have done something to me? Did anything happen to the others? Like, were there injuries?”
“No, and that’s why we’re thinking it might not be an enemy in the typical sense. And you might not know this person or persons.” Kang paused as a thought popped into his head. “Can I ask what you do for living?”
“I work at Industrial Light and Magic. I’m the chief creative officer.”
“Oh, okay. So I’m assuming you’re talented and well respected in your field?”
Ellis shrugged. “You could say that.”
“The other victims are also well regarded in their fields. They all have money. I’m assuming you make a nice chunk of change.”
“So this is about money?”
Kang shook his head. “No financial requests that we know of have been made. In fact, all three victims had their personal belongings on them when they were found. What connects them all, and I believe you as well, is professional status.”
“Could it be the competition? We have employees poached all the time. I get calls every month by headhunters. But it’s not like we have trade secrets, you know. We make visual effects.”
“We don’t know the exact reason. Mr. Ellis. Just to confirm—you have only a period of time where you can’t remember a single thing. Am I correct?”
“Earlier that answer would have been yes, but now that void is filled with images I don’t understand. I know last night I gave a talk at a local art school, and after that, I went to a bar to have drinks with a few of the students. It’s from that point on that the fuzziness kicks into play. Next thing I know, a janitor is poking me with his rake handle.”
Kang removed a pen and a small notebook from his jacket. “What’s the name of the school?”
“Um, it’s the one on Van Ness Avenue.” Ellis bit down on his lip for a moment before snapping his finger. “School of Creative Arts, that’s it. You know it?”
The Curator: SG Trilogy Book 2 (Abby Kane FBI Thriller 8) Page 14
