The Curator: SG Trilogy Book 2 (Abby Kane FBI Thriller 8)

by Ty Hutchinson

  Kang nodded. “Ellis was the first victim we were able to question right after his abduction.”

  “So we’re looking at a series of abductions. Money isn’t a motivator, even though it appears each of the victims has plenty of it. How are you connecting this to Xiaolian?” Reilly asked me.

  “Propofol was found in her blood. She exhibited memory loss and showed signs of confusion. She was also abducted, not locally, but we believe from China. She didn’t volunteer for this.”

  “I’m not so sure I would say ‘abducted.’ I think the better word is ‘smuggled.’”

  “You can phrase it any way you want, but the connection is there.”

  “In light of what just took place, do you two still think she was raised in a sports school?”

  “Well the kids who are sent to live in these institutions are as young as ages two or three,” Kang said. “There they are raised, educated, and trained. It’s a plausible explanation for the skills she has, and her for sheltered and warped view on life, but what that has to do with Chinese sleeper spies, I don’t know.”

  “Unless they’re not really sleeper spies,” I said. “They could just be people hired to retrieve Xiaolian.”

  “Abby, is Archer aware of all of this?”

  “I gave him the talking points earlier. He mentioned meeting later for a full debriefing.”

  “Okay, for now I want you two to continue investigating this series of abductions, but leave Xiaolian out of it.”

  “But she’s connected—”

  “Abby, let it go. I don’t want either of you contacting her or going anywhere near that facility. Whatever operation the spooks are continuing to run is none of our business. We’ve fulfilled our obligation. Xiaolian is now their problem.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Connie awoke in a windowless room, sitting on a plastic chair. Her hands were secured behind her back with handcuffs, and she had been stripped down to her underwear.

  Four rows of fluorescent lights on the ceiling gave the room a sterile atmosphere. The walls were concrete blocks painted the color of putty, and stained tiling covered the floor. Her legs weren’t secured. She was free to stand, walk around if she wanted; there were no security cameras in the room monitoring her.

  Strange.

  Connie remained seated, wondering briefly if her own people had detained her for screwing up. She dismissed the idea as she vividly recalled a tactical unit busting through her front door, shouting and pointing their MP5 submachine guns at her. Her people wouldn’t bring her in that way. They hadn’t identified themselves, but she figured they had to be connected to some US government agency. It was the only explanation, and that meant Albert could be dead or in a nearby room.

  She stretched her legs out in front of her, wondering what would happen next. Her throat felt dry, and every swallow made it noticeable. She heard footsteps approach the door before it opened.

  A man with boyish looks entered, dressed casually in jeans, a gray hoodie, and carrying a bottle of water in one hand. He unscrewed the cap and held it up to Connie’s lips. She drank half of the bottle before pulling her mouth away.

  He hadn’t said a word since entering the room. He simply stared into her eyes, as if he were analyzing her.

  “Who are you?” Connie asked, breaking the stalemate.

  “Your husband is dead,” he answered.

  The bluntness of the news sparked a heavy feeling in her stomach, but she did her best not to give him a reaction.

  “Of course, we both know he’s not really your husband,” the man continued.

  Connie kept her mouth shut.

  “Why did you want the little girl?”

  Connie looked at him with a hardened stare but said nothing.

  “What is it about her that so much effort is being put into taking her out of our hands? First the Chan brothers, now you and your husband… she must be something special for you to risk your life, your freedom… your children perhaps.”

  “Where are they?” She spat the words out, unable to continue her silence upon the mention of her children.

  “Ah, yes, the children. The oh-so-important children. Are they really your own, or were they provided to you, much like the wonderful, upwardly mobile lifestyle you have here in the home of the brave and land of the free?”

  “If you do anything—”

  “What? What are you going to do?”

  As much as she wanted to continue a verbal assault on her captor, she refrained. “Who are you? You don’t strike me as FBI. They wear suits and detain people in proper facilities. This grungy room is anything but that.”

  “Who. Am. I?” The man gripped his chin, mimicking a pondering philosopher. “Why are people always so concerned with who others are?”

  “You’re CIA, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, you’re so intuitive,” he said. “But as much as I love our guessing games, I have pressing needs. Now answer my question. Why did you want the little girl?”

  “We were given orders to extract her. Nothing more.”

  “Who is she? Where is she from?”

  “I don’t know. We aren’t privy to information like that.”

  The man laughed as he wagged his finger at her. “You know I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s the truth. We don’t question why; we just do as we’re told.”

  “I see. Did your superiors also tell you to try to kill an FBI agent in the process? Certainly makes maintaining your cover difficult. Oh, wait. Maybe you two are those kamikaze types of agents. Activated for one purpose, and that’s it.”

  Connie looked away, and he stepped to the side to catch her eyes again.

  “Was this your first mission? Wait. Don’t answer. Let me see if I’ve got a handle on how things played out. You and your husband arrived in the States at a young age, most likely as university students. You graduated, got married, and started a life together. Over time, you became comfortable with your pseudo life here in the Bay Area and forgot your real purpose for being here. What with juggling Colin’s judo classes and Hailey’s Brownie events, it’s hard not to. Hell, I think even I would have fallen into that trap. The problem with that is it makes you rusty.”

  Connie refused to acknowledge or even let on that she was listening to anything he said.

  “Hmmm.” The man slowly walked around Connie. “That seems too easy. You know what I think? I think you were inserted into the US not very long ago, maybe eleven or twelve years. That’s how old your eldest child is, right? Yeah, this feels right. You weren’t sent here by China’s Ministry of State Security to engage in espionage. No highly trained MSS would have been caught dead conducting an operation the way you two were. Hmmm, interesting. Perhaps you were hired by a private firm.”

  Connie coughed.

  “Water?” He picked the bottle up off the floor. “No? Okay. I think I’ll have some.” He drained the rest of the water and then tossed the bottle off to the side, sending it bouncing along the floor. “In case you’re wondering, though I assume you’ve concluded as much, Agent Kane is alive and well. So is the little girl. Your husband failed spectacularly. I’m the one who put a bullet in his head.”

  Connie swallowed.

  “Relax. I’m not here to do the same to you.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but fear didn’t prompt that swallow.”

  “Good. I don’t want you to worry about your safety. You’re fine. I promise you that.”

  “My children… where are they?”

  “You care about them, don’t you? Of course you do. They’re your flesh and blood. You can fake a relationship with your husband but not your offspring.”

  “Where are they?” she asked once more with a raised voice.

  “All three of them are here, in another room, not far. You’re wondering what will happen to them, aren’t you?”

  Connie didn’t respond.

  “Mothers always have a soft spot for the children. And anyway, what would
they know about all of this, right? They’re innocent in this matter. What I’m looking for, Connie, is an open dialogue with you—a sharing of information. You help us; we’ll help you.”

  “What will happen to them?”

  “That depends on your level of cooperation.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

  The man nodded. “That’s a fair question.” He then removed a cell phone from his jeans. “How about proof that your children are alive?”

  He turned the phone around and Connie saw that a video call was in progress. Sitting in a chair, breathing heavily and looking back and forth between the person holding the phone and someone else standing out of frame, was her son, Colin. He was still wearing his judogi. Perspiration bubbled on his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed.

  A man dressed in black and wearing a balaclava appeared behind Colin. When Colin turned to look at the man standing behind him, Connie saw that her son’s hands were secured behind his back.

  The man placed a cloth over Colin’s face and held it there as he tilted the chair back. Nausea erupted in Connie’s stomach. Her eyes welled. Her bottom lip quivered. They can’t be serious?

  Another man dressed similarly appeared, carrying a plastic container filled with water, the ones used for water dispensers in an office. It was filled three quarters of the way.

  At this point, Colin’s rate of breathing had increased so that Connie could see the cloth bubbling up and down with each inhale and exhale.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she started to dry heave. But try as she might, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the video.

  The man lifted the container above Colin’s face and tilted it slowly. The water crept toward the opening.

  “Like I said earlier, I’m not here to hurt you, Connie. I only want to talk.”

  As those last words passed over the man’s lips, a wave of water rushed out of the container, spilling over Colin’s face.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The plan the following morning was for Kang and me to visit the fertility clinic after we dropped the kids off at school. I wasn’t worried about their safety. I agreed with what Archer had said the day before: Xiaolian was the target, always had been.

  The van with Archer’s men was still parked across the street.

  “How long are they supposed to keep watch?” Kang asked.

  “A day. They’ll be gone by this evening or sooner. Not much going on in the house, unless they’re eager to know Po Po’s viewing habits on the television.”

  Cerberus Fertility was located on Locksley Avenue, near the UCSF Medical Center, a solid twenty-five minute drive from where I lived. We arrived there about a quarter to ten. They had a large parking lot, but there weren’t many cars, except in a section off to the side. Employee parking.

  “They don’t look busy. Should be easy to speak to the person in charge,” Kang said as he pulled into a spot near the entrance. He turned the ignition off and applied the parking brake. Just off to the side of where we parked was a large granite block with the company name and logo plastered across it.

  “It’s even uglier in person,” I said as I exited the vehicle.

  Kang snapped a photo of the sign with his cell phone before we headed inside.

  The entrance to the clinic led directly to a large waiting room furnished with leather sofas and small tables with reading material. A middle-aged Asian couple was sitting there, talking quietly.

  A young woman entered the waiting room. She wore a crisp, blue dress shirt, a gray skirt, and black heels. She was carrying a silver tray with two coffee cups balanced on top, which she delivered to the couple.

  The typical medical advertisements, typed-up procedures for checking in, and other mainstay waiting-room paraphernalia were absent. Instead, there were beautiful paintings on the walls, and classical music playing.

  The reception counter was made out of bronzed steel, with a single slab of wood as the countertop. We approached the young woman sitting behind it. She was dressed smartly in a navy-blue pantsuit with a white blouse. She smiled graciously as we approached.

  I showed her my identification. “Hello,” I said. “I’m Agent Kane. This is Agent Kang. We’d like to speak to the person in charge here.”

  Her eyes paused briefly on my bruised face. “That would be Mr. Devlin. He’s the president. Please have a seat while I check with him. Can I offer you something to drink? A cappuccino or a latte perhaps?”

  “No, thank you.” I said.

  “I’ll take coffee, black, if you’ve got it,” Kang said.

  “We do. Give us a moment.”

  Kang and I planted our butts on a nearby loveseat. It was cozy. I noticed all of the sofas were couple friendly.

  “Comfy.” Kang bounced a bit in his seat.

  A few minutes later, the woman we'd seen earlier delivering drinks to the Asian couple appeared from behind a closed door. She placed a cup filled with black coffee on the table in front of us.

  “Will there be anything else?” she asked.

  “This is fine. Thanks.” Kang grabbed his cup and took a sip. “Mmmm. They serve the good stuff.”

  “I’m sure the amount of money this place charges to help couples is outrageous. Good coffee is the least they could do.”

  “You ever thought of having kids?” Kang asked.

  “I have kids.”

  “I mean, birthing one of your own.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, I’ve thought of it. Sort of hard, though—my hand shoots blanks.”

  “Too much information.”

  I giggled a bit. “What about you?”

  “I got the bun, but I’m missing an oven,” he replied, deadpan.

  “Touché.”

  The receptionist came around from the counter. “Mr. Devlin will see you now.” The girl who’d delivered Kang’s coffee reappeared. “Lacy will show you the way.”

  “Please follow me,” she said.

  We followed the girl through a closed door and into a long corridor. We passed an empty, glass-enclosed conference room. We passed a number of offices and closed doors. Nothing on the doors gave an indication of what was on the other side. We took a left at the end of the corridor and then up a flight of stairs to the second floor. We passed another barren glass-enclosed conference room and more closed doors. Along the way, we passed one employee wearing blue scrubs. I thought it was strange. Seems like a large space for a fertility clinic.

  We stopped outside double doors made of dark wood. Lacy grabbed hold of one of the brass handles, pushed one door open, and led the way inside.

  Devlin’s office instantly took me by surprise. It had to be at least thirty yards in length and twenty yards in width. Who needs that much office?

  “I think he’s making up for something that’s very tiny,” I said to Kang out of the side of my mouth.

  The walls were made of the same wood as the door. Large paintings with ornate framing graced one of the walls, framed insects took up another. At the far end of the office were floor-to-ceiling windows running the width of the room. It provided a magnificent view of Mount Sutro. Classical music was playing from hanging speakers.

  Sitting behind a circular table, almost in the middle of the room, was an impeccably dressed man with a groomed beard. He kept his eyes closed as he waved a hand around, as if he were directing an orchestra.

  “He’s expecting you.” Before she left the office, Lacy motioned for us to move forward.

  We made the long journey toward the table, stepping over an intricately detailed area rug that covered most of the distance. “The Rug of Asia,” I mouthed quietly to Kang. When we reached Devlin, he still hadn’t acknowledged us, which irritated me slightly.

  “Mr. Devlin. I’m Agent Kane, and this is Agent Kang. We’d like to ask you a few questions. Would you mind opening your eyes? And don’t make me ask you twice.”

  Devlin stopped playing conductor. His icy-blue eyes settled on us, and he smiled. �
��I’m eager to hear your questions, but first, tell me what happened to your face,” he said calmly as he lowered the level of the music.

  I ignored his question. “Do the names Johnny and Helen Ellis sound familiar to you?”

  “No, should they?”

  “They might be clients of the clinic.”

  “If that were true, I would have recalled their names. I pride myself on developing close relationships with all of our clients. They’re very special to us. Of course, I could be mistaken, but I highly doubt it.” Devlin tapped a few keys on his laptop and stared at the screen briefly before shaking his head. “It doesn’t appear as though the Ellis’s are clients or even came in for a consultation. They would be in the system if they had. Are you here to inquire for them?”

  “We’re investigating a series of abductions in the Bay Area. One of the victims mentioned a three-headed dog.”

  “That three-headed dog is called Cerberus,” Devlin said.

  “It’s a strange logo for a company specializing in fertility treatments.”

  “It’s certainly out there. But as we say around here, it takes three to make a baby.” He steepled his fingers while he grinned. “I think I know why you’re here. Your victim mentioned a dog with three heads. Our logo has a dog with three heads. Therefore, we are the abductors. Was that your train of thought? Because I can assure you, we’re not in the business of taking. We’re givers.”

  “Mr. Devlin, we’re looking for answers, not opinions. So if you wouldn’t mind, please keep your flowery commentary out of it.”

  Devlin doubled down on his smile.

  “Who are the people who visit your clinic?” I asked.

  “People who want children.”

  “Humor me, and elaborate beyond the obvious.”

  “They run the gamut, but if I had to put it into marketing terms, they’re older, high-income earners, educated, and we skew Asian. Word-of-mouth inside their community is very positive.”