The Veritas Codex Series, #1

by Betsey Kulakowski

  Jean-René considered her a moment. “Just hang tight. Let me see what I can do.”

  * * *

  The next time the door opened, it was one of the two policia involved in her arrest. She sat up, but the room spun, and it was everything she could do to hold herself upright. The officer carried one of her equipment bags and rummaged through it without saying a word. He inspected each piece of equipment and set the cameras on the table, tossing everything else carelessly back into the bag, including the specimens collected from the cavern. He pushed the bag off the table, and it landed with a thud. Taking the camera, he turned it on as he sat down then scrolled through the pictures; the camera beeping each time he hit the button to advance. Lauren glowered at the man. She wasn’t sure what he was up to, but if he intended to look at every picture on that camera then the joke was on him. She’d taken several thousand pictures since replacing the video card at the beginning of their expedition. At the moment, she was grateful she’d uploaded pictures from the cavern to the Cloud before they loaded into the truck.

  “¿Qué es esto?” He turned the camera towards her. The image of the corpse appeared.

  Lauren sat stone-faced, remaining silent.

  “¿Qué es esto?” he repeated, more forcefully.

  Jean-René had taught her a few useful phrases in Spanish. “Vete al inffierno.” She was pretty sure she’d just told him to go to hell.

  The man looked up at her soberly. He repeated, “Una última vez. ¿Qué es esto?”

  “Tu madre,” she said. Your momma.

  He kicked back the chair and rose. He walked around behind her and she tensed, preparing for a blow that never came. Instead, the crashing sound of breaking glass and crushing plastic exploded behind her. She could hear his boot come down on the remains of her camera and he twisted his foot to obliterate what was left. Panic washed through her as the evidence of her work was destroyed. All of her pictures...lost forever.

  “In my country, that’s called destruction of personal property. Maybe even destruction of evidence.” The video of her exchange with the official – the video that might convict or acquit her – was most likely on Jean-René’s or Chance’s camera. It offered her a small glimmer of hope. She needed the ambassador’s assistant to see that video. She never laid a hand on Señor Prieta. On the other hand, he had jabbed Rowan in the middle of the chest with his short, stumpy finger. That’s what her counsel needed to see.

  * * *

  Rowan walked out of the police station into the blinding sun and biting wind. Jean-René stood waiting with a tall woman with long dark hair. “Mr. Pierce?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Consuela Gonzales.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m with the American Embassy.”

  Rowan grimaced at Jean-René. “You called the Embassy?”

  “We needed help.” He shrugged. “At least I didn’t call the Network.”

  “I contacted your network for you,” Gonzales said. “I was able to secure your release, but the local law-enforcement refuses to release your ...”

  “My boss,” Rowan answered the unasked question. “She’s the field producer and lead investigator for our show.”

  “I need to know exactly what happened.”

  “If we had our equipment, we could show you,” Jean-René said. “They confiscated all our cameras.”

  Rowan blanched, swaying with exhaustion. “What about the digital recorders?”

  “Those won’t help our case any.” Jean-René ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. “She did verbally threaten Señor Prieta.”

  “She didn’t mean it.”

  “She threatened the government official?” Gonzales’ brow furrowed. “Wait a minute. I need you to tell me everything.”

  “Let’s go back to the hotel and get out of the cold,” Jean-René said. “It’s just down the street.”

  “We can’t leave her here.” Rowan protested.

  “What choice do we have?”

  * * *

  Rowan didn’t have the strength to argue. Back at the hotel, he sank into a chair in the lobby, yearning for a good night’s rest, yet still jittery. A Peruvian jail was no place to sleep, and after a night in the back of a moving truck with a camera case for a pillow, his back ached.

  He let Jean-René fill the embassy rep in on their expedition, and what had transpired between Lauren and the government escort. “And that is when she said something like, if you keep it up, it won’t just be a headless chicken-man they find in a cavern in Peru.”

  “But she didn’t mean it,” Rowan interjected. “She gets really cranky when people get between her and her work.”

  The diplomat’s assistant looked dubious. “It sure sounds like a threat.”

  “Look,” Rowan said. “She’s a scientist in a field that doesn’t get a lot of respect. She is trying to be taken seriously, but she never seems to get a break. She was right. We needed the specimen to analyze, but Señor Prieta wouldn’t let her have it, so we negotiated for a small sample.”

  “Oh?”

  “She made nice. She did everything she could do to be polite after that.”

  “And did he accept her apology?”

  “Well.” Jean-René shrugged. “She didn’t exactly apologize.”

  Consuela set one hand on her knee and leaned forward on the colorful loveseat. “Maybe that’s what we need her to do.”

  * * *

  Lauren lay with her head on the table, praying for some relief for the pain in her shoulders. Hours had passed since the police officer had shattered every camera in her bag. Her face was throbbing, and it was a toss-up what hurt worse, her face or her shoulders. She refused to cry. Tears would make her eyes swell even more and it wouldn’t change her situation, so she held them at bay. While distraught over her own plight, she was just as terrified for Rowan, not to mention what the Network was going to say about this fiasco. A muscle in her back spasmed.

  There was nothing to save them from simply disappearing from the face of the earth. She blinked rapidly then pressed her eyes closed tight. Maybe that was exactly the idea.

  When the door opened again, a woman in a blue jacket and jeans entered. Lauren lifted her head. The woman sat down on the metal chair across from her, the only other seat in the room. “Miss Grayson?”

  “It’s Doctor Grayson.” Lauren swallowed hard.

  “Dr. Grayson, I’m Consuela Gonzales, with the US Embassy.” Her eyes narrowed at Lauren’s injured face. “I spoke to your network...”

  “What?” Lauren snapped, adding under her breath, “Now we really are going to get cancelled.”

  “Look, Dr. Grayson. My assignment here is to negotiate your release, but it’s very difficult. You threatened a government official.”

  Lauren heaved a sigh. “I did. But I wouldn’t have hurt him ... couldn’t have.”

  “Oh?”

  “Biggest knife I have in my kit is a scalpel. I could never cut off a man’s head with a scalpel, even if I wanted to.”

  “You are a trained doctor,” Consuela said with a hint of a smile.

  “A biological anthropologist, not a surgeon; completely different skill set.”

  “Well, I’m not sure there’s anything that would convince them otherwise, but I’ve brokered a pretty decent deal that could get you out of here. And with what they’ve done to you, we may have another bargaining chip.”

  Lauren sat up straighter. “Tell me.”

  “Initially, they offered to have the charges against you reduced to a misdemeanor if you pay a fine and leave the country immediately. You also have to apologize to Mr. Prieta.”

  Lauren looked at her blankly. “I will pay the fine. I will leave the country. But I will not apologize to that man.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  * * *

  Consuela paced in the police chief’s office that smelled of cigarette smoke and bad coffee, as did the police chief himself. She choked back her disdain as she made her argument in
Spanish. “You assaulted an American citizen. You destroyed equipment, including video that could be evidence. Based on this, we will not agree to your offer.”

  “No one assaulted her,” one of the officers offered tonelessly. “She fell.”

  Consuela did a double take at the comment but calmed herself. “I have been instructed to notify my superiors that if anything happens to this team, Ambassador Francisco will notify the State Department and begin the process of preparing our argument to take to the UN.”

  The police chief’s face turned a beet shade. “You have some nerve.”

  “I also understand there was video of the confrontation between you and Dr. Pierce,” she said. “Video that one of your goons may or may not have destroyed. I need to watch the video from the rest of the cameras, assuming you haven’t destroyed those too.”

  The two men exchanged dubious glances. “May we have a moment to confer, Señora Gonzales?”

  “Of course.” She stood and walked out to the lobby where Rowan and Jean-René waited. Both of them popped up from the couch like clock springs.

  “Did you see her?” Jean-René asked.

  “You didn’t tell me she’d been beaten.”

  “What?” Rowan paled, sinking back onto the chair.

  Consuela crossed her arms. “We negotiated a deal, but I told them I wouldn’t agree to anything until I spoke to Dr. Grayson. After I saw her, and she told me they destroyed some of her video equipment, I went back in with a few more bargaining chips.”

  “Was it just Lauren’s cameras?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I asked to see your video, if it still exists.”

  “If they haven’t ruined our equipment, we’re going to need it back.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” she said. A wave of dusty smoke billowed out as the police officer stepped into the lobby and motioned her to return to the office.

  * * *

  Almost two hours later, Consuela returned. She avoided looking at Rowan and Jean-René. Rowan was running on no sleep, no coffee and no sign of Lauren’s release; he felt completely empty.

  “I got the charges against her dropped and they’ve agreed to return all your equipment on one condition.”

  “Which is?” Rowan asked.

  Now Consuela turned and met his eyes. “She has to apologize.”

  “That’s it?” Jean-René asked. “Well, what are we waiting for? Tell her to do it! We’ll catch the first flight out of here.”

  “There’s a problem,” Consuela said.

  A disgusted titter escaped the back of Rowan’s throat. “She won’t do it.”

  “You know her pretty well.”

  “Can I see her?” Rowan asked, feeling the heat of an embarrassing flush rising. “Maybe I can talk some sense into her.”

  Consuela shrugged. “Let me see what I can do.”

  * * *

  The pieces of his shattered heart fell into his boots. Lauren sat with her head on the table, her hair coming loose from its plait. She lifted her head as he approached and sat down across from her. “You okay?”

  “Do I look okay?”

  Rowan shook his head. “Two words. That’s all you have to say.”

  “You’re asking me to lie.”

  Rowan shook his head. “No one said you have to mean it.”

  “I will not apologize to that hapless little fraction of a man.” She enunciated each word, dripping with venom.

  “A written apology would do. You wouldn’t even have to see him.”

  “Then there’d be a record of my perjury?” Her voice escalated.

  “We can be home in sixteen hours.” He held up his hands to placate her. “You can sleep in your own bed tomorrow night. Or mine.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Shhh. They’re probably listening.”

  “So what? Just tell him you’re sorry and we can go home.”

  She set her jaw, glaring at him. “I’m only going to say this one more time. I will not apologize, and you are more than welcome to go back to San Diego without me.”

  “Fine.” He stood abruptly. His pulse pounded in his temples. He wanted to rub the headache with his fingertips, but he kept his arms pinned firmly to his sides. “Just fine.”

  * * *

  Three days later, Lauren stood in front of the police chief’s heavy oak desk as the escort himself unlocked the cuffs from her wrists. Lightning bolts shot through her joints, and her fingers tingled. Three days of miserable conditions, no food, barely any water, and constant harassment had finally broken her. She hung her head and stared at the tiles as she forced her dry tongue to make the words.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It left her with a sharp feeling, like a needle through her insides. If anything, she was sorry she hadn’t hit him. And now, seeing his lips curve in a superior smile, she wanted to even more.

  The officer behind the desk returned her backpack and what was left of her equipment. She grabbed it and hugged it to her chest for a second. Fragmented camera pieces rattled in the bottom, but when she unzipped the flap she heaved a sigh of relief; the samples were still there. She only hoped the lab would be able to do something with them.

  Then Rowan walked through the door and came over and wrapped her in his arms. She stood there with her head on his shoulder, backpack in one hand, unable to put her arms around him. She wanted to cry now more than ever. But she refused to let any of the policia see her fold. She hated for Rowan to see her like this, but she really needed him.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Other than needing some food, a shower and a handful of Motrin, I’m just freaking great.”

  “Come on,” he took her backpack. “Let’s go home.”

  He put an arm around her and led her out into the dark. She didn’t even protest, evidence of how exhausted and beaten she felt. He paused to peel out of his jacket, laying it over her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, but she leaned back and pressed her lips to his.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “That was a thank-you ... for not leaving without me.”

  Chapter 2

  “Let’s get out of here,” Rowan said, at the door of the hotel room Lauren and Bahati had shared. It was almost noon, but Bahati was still in the clothes she’d slept in, looking rumpled and bleary. “Are you okay?”

  “I think I had some bad tacos.”

  A twinkle sparked in his eye. “Are you sure it wasn’t too many margaritas?”

  She winced. “I only had one.” She turned and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

  “Got any Pepto?” Lauren asked as she walked over and put her own bags by the door.

  Rowan shook his head.

  “Some medic you are. Give me a minute and I’ll help her get ready.”

  “It’s probably the altitude.” Rowan collected her bags to take down to the truck.

  “Maybe,” Lauren said.

  The journey home was a rough one. Bahati spent most of it in the lavatory. The rest of the trip, she curled up in one of the empty rows near the back of the plane.

  * * *

  Whatever made Bahati sick, Lauren caught it too, only much worse. Lauren was still weak when they reconvened in a conference room six days later in San Diego. She sipped on bottled seltzer water and noshed on saltines. The bruises on her face had faded to yellow, giving her a jaundiced look.

  “You look terrible,” Jean-René said. He took a seat across from her, setting down his plate loaded with fruit and a bagel smeared with cream cheese. He had a large Styrofoam cup of coffee and a handful of creamer cups and sugar packages. He made a ritual of opening each cup, pouring the creamer into the coffee, stacking the cups, stuffing the scraps of the lids into the last cup, and then stacking the sugar packets. “You look like you need a rock to curl up under.”

  Normally, she would have flipped him off for a comment like that, but today she was in no mood. “I think I brought home a little souvenir from Peru,” she groaned, glaring a
t his plate, her stomach churning at the thought of real food. The aroma of the skunky coffee hit her, and she could feel acid rising in her throat. Against her pitch-black hair, her skin looked sallow. Dark circles framed her coal-colored eyes.

  “You didn’t get malaria, did you?”

  “I’m sure it was just something I ate. Too cold for malaria.” She shrugged, closing her eyes. “Probably the same thing Bahati ate.”

  “You should go to the clinic and let them check you out.”

  “We’ve lost enough time. We need to work on the evidence. I just got the samples picked up by the courier this morning. They won’t be back from the lab for at least ten days.”

  Jean-René crammed half a bagel in his mouth, chewing viciously. She envied his appetite, thinking about how gaunt she’d appeared that morning in the mirror. She needed calories, but right now, she just wanted to vomit ... again.

  Bahati came in, followed by Rowan. “Christ, Lauren. You look terrible,” Bahati said. “And I thought I’d been sick in Peru.”

  “Just a stomach bug,” Lauren assured them. “Grab some coffee and let’s get started before I pass out.”

  “You should be at home in bed,” Rowan scolded as he stowed his equipment in the corner. He needed to change batteries and do other maintenance tasks before their next assignment. His first aid supplies also had to be replenished, but right now, Lauren had his attention.

  He sat beside her and put a hand on her forehead. She wasn’t feverish, but her skin was moist. “You’re clammy.” He inspected her with a trained eye and checked her pulse. “Did you take the doxycycline while we were down there?”

  Lauren shrugged in a way that told him she hadn’t.

  “You weren’t this sick yesterday, were you? When did it get worse?”

  “I don’t know. It’s all running together.” She brushed him off, pushing him away weakly. “I’m fine. Please. Let’s just get started. Where’s the—”

  Rowan caught her elbow as she swooned. He kept her from falling face first into the table, leaning her chair back to keep her from slumping out of it.