Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy)

by Natalie Buske Thomas

  “Uh, never. I didn’t think you ever needed to know,” said Karyn.

  “Tell me the rest of it,” said Dan in a normal tone of voice, sitting back down.

  “The guards must have been feeling cocky because they started running off at the mouth. One of them said, ‘Americans will not be so bold when so many die.’ And the other said, ‘We bomb them their Holy Day and they will cover heads.’ And then they laughed,” said Karyn. “It was all in English, so they wanted me to hear them.”

  “And you wrote this in an e-mail?” asked Dan. “And this was nothing important? Don’t you think ‘bomb’ and ‘Americans die” could be the keywords that triggered you as a terrorist? Come on, Karyn!” Dan jumped off the couch again to pace the floor space between the sofas and the fireplace, which had dwindled down to ashes but no one noticed or cared.

  “Wait, wait! I don’t think Karyn is on a terrorist watch list. They’d have come to her before now if she was,” said Serena.

  “Then what’s going on? What else don’t I know?” Dan asked.

  “I’m going to go check on the kids,” mumbled Tom. He made a hasty retreat out of the uncomfortable room.

  Serena looked at the two of them. “I’ll go see if Tom needs any help with the kids.” She hadn’t made it out of the room yet before she heard Dan bellow, “You did WHAT?”

  Shortly afterward, the house was awake. Dan and Karyn’s children seemed to pour in from all corners of the house, scrambling toward their parents. Tom and Serena stayed out of the fray, tucking their own kids in for the night and quickly joining them. They lay in the guest bed, trying to shut out the noise from the other room, but it was impossible. First there was a flurry of parental duty as Dan and Karyn divided the children and escorted them back to their rooms, next came the conversation that Serena and Tom were hoping to miss.

  “Okay, back up. So you are saying that not only did you hear that the Iranians were going to bomb us, but you’ve been talking to them for all these years?” asked Dan, forgetting to keep his voice down.

  “I’ve not been talking to them! I said I met a nice lady there. I gave her my e-mail address. She started writing to me,” said Karyn.

  “While you were in the safe house, being tortured, you made a friend.”

  “I was not tortured. The hair pulling and spitting was the only thing that ever happened. I would have told you if anything really bad happened.”

  “Really? You would have?” scoffed Dan.

  “Look, I know you’re mad. I should have told you, but you already felt so responsible that I was taken in the first place. I thought it would make things worse if you knew about the spitting.”

  “And the bombing, you couldn’t mention that?”

  “Not without telling you about the spitting.”

  “And your Iranian mole friend? You couldn’t work that in either?”

  “Not without the spitting. I’m sorry, Dan. I should have told you. And she’s not a mole. She’s an ordinary citizen.”

  “Everything makes sense now. That’s how Serena knew that something bad was going to happen, why she burned her house down and went into hiding. I knew she wasn’t psychic! I’ve been such an idiot.”

  “I forwarded the e-mails Farideh sent me to Serena. And you’re right, that’s why she went into hiding. She encouraged me to do the same, which is why I wanted to stay here, and pull back from society. I figured we were pretty safe in such a remote location by the lake.”

  “And you never filled me in, all because you lied about being manhandled in Iran? Or as you call it, the spitting.”

  “Yes. One lie led to another, and then I didn’t know how to tell you. I knew you’d be mad.”

  “You’re right. I’m mad.”

  The two sat in silence for so long that Tom fell asleep. Serena stayed alert, even though she was resting. Time was of the essence. She was giving the couple a few more moments alone only because she felt guilty for her part in keeping secrets. She had advised Karyn to tell Dan at the very start, but when Karyn was too insecure to do it, Serena had played along. She regretted that, but it was all in the past now.

  Just when she thought she would need to help things along, the couple resumed talking. “How long will you stay mad at me?” Karyn asked, her voice choked up with tears.

  “Come here,” Dan pulled Karyn closer to him. “I can’t stay mad at you, you know that. That’s why you should have told me. What did your friend say that convinced you that the Iranians were going to do this?”

  “Farideh said that everyone was talking about it. There was a date – the right one, by the way. Everyone knew, and there was no doubt it was true, that these bombings were going to happen. They were saying ‘Death to America’ in the streets,” said Karyn.

  “But they’ve always said things like that, how did you know it was the real deal?”

  “I’ll show you the e-mail that Farideh sent me, the one that I forwarded to Serena. It is long, and it is convincing.”

  “You saved it? And you didn’t send it to the FBI or at least the police?”

  “Dan, I did send it to the FBI! I got a confirmation e-mail back. They said they sent the information to Homeland Security.”

  “You have that e-mail saved too?” asked Serena. Her presence startled both of them and they jumped.

  “Yes, I still have the e-mail. I save everything.”

  “That’s exactly what they’re afraid of – they wonder what you have. They’ll be here soon. Back up your computer files, now.”

  “Who’s they?” asked Dan for the second time.

  “I don’t know. Really, Dan, there are no more secrets. You are all caught up to where we are. Well, you will be after you read Farideh’s e-mail. But no time for that now. Grab a flash drive and get your files. I have my own flash drive in my purse. I need a copy of the files too. Then – wipe your computer clean.”

  “I don’t know how to do that,” said Karyn.

  “Don’t look at me,” said Dan.

  “For that, I’ll wake up my son. He can do it. The main thing is that we get those files. Now.”

  9

  >>My Karyn,

  I write you heavy heart. You must know for it is my hope you can go safe.

  Iran make fools of everyone. For years they lie about nuclear missiles. Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty is nothing, they spit upon it as easily as they spit on you, dear Karyn.

  They threaten who wants make peace with Israel. Pro-West Arab Saudi Arabia and Egypt see Iran success nuclear, but have no fight. Iran pressure Lebanon, Syria, the Palestinians, and the Iraqis. Many thousands, hundred thousands, join radical Islamist. "Death to America!" on Iranian street for too many year. No one stop Iran. Now they make nuclear weapons in short period. They make stockpiles uranium for nuclear device in few months—make nuclear weapons in short period. They make centrifuges to pipe work. They learn technology when they talk to UN, many lies. Now they can do bomb. They will do this. It will be soon. I hear it from husband. You trust me to know truth. I tell you day and time. I tell you where missiles strike. You go safe.

  Your Farideh <<

  Paul read the forwarded e-mail over and over again, but still didn’t understand why someone had sent it to him. His head was swimming with theories that fell apart. What had begun as a simple blackmail plot to get himself onto Kinji’s staff had evolved into playing serious dirty politics with the big boys.

  When Paul had scoffed at President William’s speech that day on the tarmac, he had no idea that he was being watched, and followed, the entire time. Of course William’s people tracked every onlooker, how could he have thought otherwise? It had been foolish for Paul to show up there, expecting to go unnoticed. It was probably that very move that got him discovered, although the jig would have been up anyway, since William’s team had Kinji’s office bugged.

  The wind out of his sails, he didn’t trust himself to pinpoint the exact moment of his downfall. He sat with slumped shoulders, waiting to be told wha
t to do next, like the minion he was destined to be.

  The phone rang. He answered with trepidation, having a strong feeling that the sender of the e-mail would be on the other end of the line. He was not mistaken.

  “You opened the e-mail.”

  “Yes? What is that?”

  “It’s a big problem for the President.”

  “For Williams?”

  “Yes, for Williams.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “You’re going to be the one to fix it.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Go outside. I’m standing in your yard, in the back of your house.”

  Paul was only a few feet away from his back door. He peered out the window and didn’t see anyone. He slowly opened the door and saw a young blonde man sitting on one of Paul’s own lawn chairs that he’d placed amongst the landscaped shrubbery, well concealed from the road. He studied the man’s face until recognition washed over him. “I know you. You’re the intern I saw that day on the tarmac. You got the podium ready for William’s speech.”

  “I’m more than an intern,” Bryce scoffed.

  “Obviously. So what’s your deal?” Paul picked up a second chair, walked to where Bryce was, sat upon it, and leaned in close, conspiringly, “We’re both players. We even look alike enough to pass for brothers. So why are you sitting in the power seat when I’m sitting in a puddle of drool?”

  “Why should I tell you anything? You work for me.”

  Paul shrugged to feign indifference, not even fooling himself. “I was just curious.”

  “How did I succeed where you have failed? What have I got that you don’t?” Bryce smiled with the same full wattage he’d flashed months ago in the restaurant, when showing Serena his frat-boy good teeth, but this time his smile was sinister; a gleam shone on his canines, accentuating his wolf-like grin.

  “Ouch, I wouldn’t have put that fine of a point on it,” said Paul.

  Bryce backed his chair away from Paul’s invasion of his personal space and said, “I’m here, and you’re there,” pointing his right index finger like a gloved Dr. Seuss character, first at Paul and then back to himself, “because I am John’s nephew. You are nothing more than a pretender.”

  The light dawned. Blue blood, nothing Paul could do about that. He could curse his lot in life, but where would it get him? Scratching and clawing and conning his way up had at least gotten him this far, sitting with President John William’s right hand man, his own kin no less. It wasn’t over for Paul yet.

  So the Kinji plan failed, who cares? He’d gotten away with it, no harm done. And now he was in William’s camp. Did it matter to him which President he was barnacling himself to? Tuh-may-toe, tuh-mah-toe. He reassessed his situation in milliseconds and said, with a condescending tone, “I see things clearly now.”

  Bryce reddened and his jaw clenched with unmistakable anger. “He doesn’t partner with me because I’m family. I’m good for it.”

  Paul smiled, patronizing him now. My, how this felt good. Bryce was easily played. For all of his bravado, Bryce was nothing more than a punk kid with ego issues. This would be easier than he thought to extract information. “Oh really? You don’t really know anything, do you? You told me that’s all I need to know because you don’t know it yourself.” Paul folded his arms across his chest, sat there grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and waited for Bryce to take the bait.

  Bryce leaned forward, his eyes narrowed into angry slits. “The e-mail was sent before the Big War, and was forwarded to FBI. We knew, we knew about the attacks before they happened.”

  Paul struggled to maintain a strong poker face. He was blown away by this, it was much bigger than what he expected to hear; although he had no clue what to expect, he didn’t expect this. Wow. Mind blowing. So we knew. Why didn’t we stop it? We couldn’t stop it? Or we wouldn’t stop it? Aloud he said, “You’ve got me. That’s big stuff. Okay, you’re a bona fide insider, not just the nephew.”

  Bryce relaxed his posture and smiled easily, baring no teeth. “No more questions. Now I tell you what to do, and you do it.”

  “Got it. What do you want me to do? Find out who sent this e-mail? Or who it was sent to?”

  “No, we already know both. The sender is an Iranian woman, the receiver is her American friend. The American friend has another friend we’ve been watching. She could be a problem.”

  “You want me to follow her? Keep an eye on her?”

  Bryce grinned with his lips curled back, his wolf smile back in full wattage. “No, we want you to kill her.”

  “What? Seriously? I’m not a hit man.” Paul was too stunned to think of a way out of this slippery hole he was falling into, but he knew he couldn’t kill someone, especially a woman!

  “We need her taken out.”

  “Come on, she’s talked to people. I can’t kill everyone who knows about the e-mail,” Paul protested.

  “Don’t worry about that. I will threaten everyone she’s told. When she’s dead, they’ll know I mean business.”

  “How do you know who she’s told? And why not kill her yourself?”

  “I’ve been following her for a while, and have her place bugged. She keeps to herself. She’s told her husband, that’s it. Other than him, there’s the friend who forwarded the email, and her husband. Three people left after she’s gone. And if they act squirrely, we’ll kill them too before they can talk to anyone else.”

  “Why trust them at all? Kill them now. Or is the body count of innocent people getting too high?”

  “Get off your high horse -- you’re scum. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t have tapped you for this.”

  “And if I don’t do it?”

  “I’ll find someone else who will. You’ll go to prison for the Kinji blackmail. And while in prison…”

  “I’ll have an accident?”

  “You catch on fast. So we have a deal?”

  “What choice do I have?” asked Paul weakly. Again he was bested… and this time he couldn’t con his way back into the power seat.

  10

  “Clyde, I’m in trouble,” Paul began. The brothers were in their parents’ kitchen again. Clyde was frying bacon and making coffee while Paul leaned heavily on the table, standing over it with both arms locked at the elbows, hands planted on the tablecloth with fingers outstretched. His head was hanging low, his boyish locks falling forward. Clyde thought he looked about twelve. Bailing him out of trouble had been as routine then as it was now. “Did you hear me, Clyde?”

  “I heard you. I knew you were in trouble the moment you walked in the door. I told you not to do that Kinji thing. She’s smart and a woman, two reasons why she’s not worth it.”

  “No, it’s not her. John Williams is blackmailing me. He found out what I was doing.”

  “What? How did he know?” Paul had Clyde’s full attention now.

  “He has a bug in Kinji’s office. He knew everything, and he had me in his cross hairs.”

  “What does he want with you?” Clyde felt a familiar stirring within him. It was the same force that had led him to despicable acts in the past; all to protect his little brother… or, maybe, it was beyond that. It was a hunger, a craving, and his protective nature was an excuse? Possibly, but why then did he not act on these urges unless Paul was in trouble? No, this was about protecting family. Clyde was not a psycho, of that he was sure.

  “He wants me to kill somebody.”

  “He what?” Clyde laughed, thinking Paul was making a clever joke. He had him going, what a corker that brother of his. Clyde laughed until his belly shook. Only when he stopped to take a breath did he notice that Paul wasn’t laughing with him. Paul was still frozen in his stance over the table, arms holding his body up, head bent; a beaten man, a scared man, a fugitive. Clyde sank into a kitchen chair, the bacon left to grow cold on the counter.

  “He sent his nephew to give me the message. If I don’t kill Serena Wilcox, he’ll have me put in prison and the
n they’ll have me killed in there, in prison.”

  “Serena who?”

  “She’s a former private detective. She’s one of ours, Clyde.”

  “What do you mean, one of ours? Our Off Grid people?”

  “Yes. She has three kids, husband. We set them up in Goodhue. We gave them the new name of Meadows. Before that they were the Browns, no, the Bridges.”

  “Okay, yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about. Why do they want her dead? What does she know?”

  “She knows something big, Clyde. I can’t believe it. The government knew about the attacks before they happened. She has proof, e-mail proof sent from an Iranian woman.”

  “Our government?”

  “Yes, our own. We knew and didn’t do anything.”

  Clyde sucked air between his teeth and then exhaled slowly with a prolonged wispy whistle. “Paul, they were never after you. They were following her. We made it easy for them. They’ve been watching us all along. They know me too, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they know you. They know about your computer lab, and they’re calling Off Grid a cult.”

  “It is a cult. Sort of, anyway. Just a big sham, and I suppose they know that too, don’t they?”

  “They know all about us, they think we’re buffoons. When I showed up at the tarmac, they had to be laughing their asses off.”

  “We know nothing about them. That will change.”

  Paul finally freed himself from his vigil at the table and sat in the chair across from his brother. He stared at his empty plate, and as if Clyde could read his thoughts, bacon suddenly appeared on it. He ate three strips, one after the other, and then spoke, “Clyde, this is bigger than my problems in the past. We’re talking about killing a person.”

  Clyde raised his eyebrows and snorted. “And what makes you think I haven’t done that for you before?”

  Paul stared at Clyde. He knew it was no joke. The repressed memory of what John Williams said to him came back. My people tell me that your only childhood connection to Kinji is a babysitter in common. A Mrs. Mason, who we’d have talked to, but she’s deceased. Died from a freak accident in the home.