Eden Two

by Mike Sullivan

  “I know why you’re here,” Gretchen said to Seabury.

  The sharp sound of her voice brought him back to the present. “Huh,” Seabury uttered, straightening up in his chair.

  “Daddy told me,” Gretchen said. She gave Lois a dismissive look then glanced back at Seabury. “He trusts me. I trust him.” Seabury said nothing. “Daddy said you have a map, and you want to go find some treasure.” Gretchen beamed. “He said it was a bad idea. I disagreed. I told him to let you have the money. See, I like you, Seabury,” said Gretchen moving close to him. “ You’re a good sport. You didn’t get angry when I impersonated Lois and pulled a little joke on you. That means a lot to me.” She touched his head with a long, well-groomed finger. “In there…where it counts.”

  Hornsby put down his wine and perked up. Lois scowled. Seabury couldn’t believe his ears.

  “I got you the money–forty thousand US.” She puffed a little. “Only on one condition, though.”

  “What’s that?” Seabury asked.

  “I go along.”

  Already, Seabury smelled trouble brewing.

  Chapter Seven

  After the five o’clock news inside Metro Police Headquarters in Jakarta, the calls started coming in. Right off the bat, the first two were fake. The one after that sounded borderline bogus, and the last one Rio Reinhart listened to with interest.

  “You sure, Farah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because if you’re bullshitting me…” Rio said, “you know what’ll happen.”

  “I’m not bullshitting you,” Farah said. “And yes, I know what’ll happen. I know what you did for me on that last drug conviction. I won’t forget it.”

  “Okay, Farah. What you got?”

  “Well, like I was saying, the big guy’s easy to spot if you have street friends, which I’ve got. He’s over at that Lockett Estate near the estuary. My taxi driver friend, Ade, took him over there this morning.”

  “Okay. We’ll check it out. If the lead’s genuine, you’ll get your money tomorrow.”

  There was a slight pause over the line. Then, “He’s over there, Rio. I wouldn’t fool with you. I’m not here to waste nobody’s time.”

  “I believe you. Now, I gotta go.” Rio hung up in the caller’s ear.

  “Think it’s on the level?” Naomi asked him, standing near his desk.

  “He’s a strange one…really.” Rio rose from his seat, telling her to follow up on the lead. “He’s also one of our best street informants.” Rio scooted toward the front door, motioning her over. “Tell that boyfriend you’ve been banging on the side that this might be an all-nighter. I know you’re officially off the clock at five, but as of now, you’re back on.”

  Outside in the parking lot, a breeze came up. Still, the air felt hot and full of humidity. Rio, Naomi, and two cops piled into a black and white cruiser. Naomi punched some numbers into her cell phone and reached her boyfriend.

  “Yes, darling. No, no, no. It can wait. I’m on a case, now. Everything’s urgent. We’ll do it over the weekend, I promise. Yes, darling. I promise.”

  Rio looked at the stout, thickset cop in the front seat on the passenger’s side. He turned his eyes slightly in Rio’s direction and grinned. Rio rolled his eyes in the air and mumbled “Yes, darling…yes, darling,” twice under his breath as they sped through town.

  On Shoreline Boulevard, they turned northeast. Their siren howled through the early evening commuter traffic, and cars pulled over to let them through. They pulled up near the front gate of Lockett’s estate when Rio said, “I want this asshole taken down quick.”

  His eyes sprayed the inside of the car. Everyone looked at the grim, determined expression on his face. “The sooner we get this jerk in cuffs, the better I like it. I don’t want him interfering with my poker night at the Officer’s Club.”

  * * * *

  The afternoon passed quickly. After an early afternoon dinner at four o’clock, Lois invited her guests up to her room for cocktails. Gretchen wasn’t included among the group. Both Hornsby and Seabury insisted on going home. She insisted they stay.

  Seabury said, “Well, why not.”He and Hornsby opted for cocktails with Lois. She’d been an excellent host, and they didn’t want to disappoint her.

  In her own room, Gretchen’s eyes popped wide open when she saw Seabury’s face on the television screen. Lounging while eating a bowl of potato chips, she kicked it over on the way outside. She took the stairs two at a time to Lois’s room on the second floor.

  Bursting inside, she switched on the television. Lois looked up, startled. Seabury jerked his head in her direction. Hornsby sat smoking his pipe and gazing up at them.

  “Look, Seabury,” Gretchen said. “They’ve got your picture plastered all over the screen like a criminal. Look-it…Holy, Jesus. Look at that.”

  They crowded around the television, looked, and listened. The shrilly, excitable voice of the female reporter filled the room.

  “…wanted in connection with a murder taking place in Singapore yesterday. Fugitive armed and extremely dangerous. Anyone having information about this man or his whereabouts, call this number right away.” A number flashed on the bottom of the screen.

  Seabury’s left eyebrow arched. His head snapped back. Then, he sat straight up on the sofa. Someone’s framed me. He gazed at the television screen, again.

  He saw a stairwell inside the Best Hotel, North Singapore. A gory crime scene with blood congealed on the chest of a dead man, the area cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. Then, he saw Marcus Chow’s picture pulled up on the screen.

  He stood up. “There’s been a mistake. I don’t know who this guy is. I didn’t kill him.” He looked at Lois in dismay. “You know me, Lois. I’m no murderer.”

  “What do you want to do?” she asked, then answered her own question. “I think you should turn yourself in. Tell them it’s all a big mistake. Daddy can help. He has connections in the police department.”

  “They have you on the security camera,” Hornsby said, “just as you stepped off the elevator.” He pointed to a series of pictures flashing up on the screen. “Sure looks like you, Sam.”

  “It is me, but I didn’t kill this guy. I don’t know who wants to frame me.” Seabury stopped, his face flushed hot with fire. “I’m gonna find out who it is. When I do, it’s gonna turn real ugly for whoever’s trying to frame me. Count on it.”

  “I guess there goes the expedition,” Gretchen moaned. “I was really looking forward to hunting for buried treasure.” She shrugged then looked annoyed. “Damn, damn, damn! This really pisses me off. You don’t look like a killer to me, Seabury. Did we pack our bags for nothing? I say we make a run for it. Fly over to Borneo. If you didn’t do it, then it’s going to come out in the end, anyway. Think about it. We could get lost over there. Nobody would ever find us.”

  A look of amazement filled Lois’s eyes. “How ridiculous.” She looked at Gretchen and shook her head. “How reckless…and immature,” she uttered. “I’ll get a hold of Daddy. He’s at dinner with…” She paused. The tip of her nose turned up. “With Mister Barat. I’ll let him know what happened and see what he can come up with.

  She stared at Seabury. “I’m hoping for the best, but you never know.”

  Gretchen shook her head, repelled by the bluntness of Lois’s remark. She gazed around the room. Just then, the flicker of the security monitor caught her eye. She ran over and switched on the speaker.

  “Ahmed,” she said. “What’s going on down there?” Fear stabbed her heart.

  “Security at the front gate reported cops on the premises.” The voice wrenched through a wave of static coming from the monitor on a shelf parallel to the television.

  Gretchen turned back to the others. “Ahmed wants to know what we want to do. Two cops burst in through the front door. A man and a woman. Two others went around the back of the house.”

  “I’m getting out of here.” Seabury tore out of the room and raced down t
he hall. Lois, Gretchen, and Hornsby followed.

  “You can’t do this, Sam,” Lois yelled after him.

  “Watch me. I know what kind of due process laws they have here in Indonesia.” He shaped a zero with his thumb and index finger. “Nada. None. I’m not staying around.”

  Hornsby said, “What do you have in mind, Sam?”

  “That trip to Borneo…it’s my only chance.”

  Gretchen pumped her fists in the air. “Daddy’s got a helipad in back of the house. We can take the chopper over.”

  Seabury turned to Lois. “I don’t want to get you involved.”

  “You already have.” She pointed to stairs in back of a tiny alcove near the massive, spiral staircase leading upstairs. Seabury heard footsteps rushing up after them.

  “Here, this way. Hurry!” Lois started for the alcove. “There’s a tunnel below the main floor. We can get out that way to the chopper. Daddy uses it to go over to Kalimantan on business.” She raced ahead, and they followed, down the stairs in back, through a tunnel, and out into a garden out back. They found a strip of tarmac off to the side of the garden and raced across. A string of overhead lights filled the grounds with a dim, murky glow.

  Now, Lois was on her cell phone. She dialed the number of the family pilot stationed in the house. “Did you hear me? I want you here, now. We need to fly to Kalimantan, tonight. Get here quickly, but don’t let the cops see you. We’ll hide in the shed until you get here.” She gulped. “I hope it works.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Lois,” Seabury said.

  “I know,” she said. “I know.”

  * * * *

  Rio and Naomi reached the landing at the top of the stairs and discovered a door flung open inside the alcove. They raced down stairs that took them to a tunnel. They ran through, the heels of their shoes clicking off the pavement, eyes alert, and hearts hammering inside their chests. They reached the garden outside, lungs heaving.

  Two other cops rounded the side of the building and raced over to them. Rio caught his breath. His chest wheezed. “Hakim…you and Sonny…search the garden.” He pointed back over his shoulder to a strip of pavement glistening under a layer of smoky light. “I noticed a helipad back there. Naomi and I will have a look. We’ll find them. They can’t have gotten far. Meet back here in fifteen minutes.” He watched his men fan out across the garden.

  Turning back to Naomi, he said, “Let’s go,” and led the way throw a hedgerow and onto the tarmac. A slate gray, Bell Boeing 22 Osprey stood on the helipad. Rio recognized the long distance chopper, range 879 nautical miles. It stood on a circular pad, lashed down by metal clips and steel cord. In the shadows, it appeared as silent and immobile as the blades of a disconnected fan. Rio and Naomi scooted past it.

  Farther ahead, a small Chuan Sin hut lay at the end of the tarmac. The lights were off, the windows dark. Rio went over and twisted the handle on the front door. He rattled it. Shook it again. A chilly wind rose off the estuary nearby. It lashed at the corrugated roof and down along the sides of the building.

  “I know these fuckers.” Rio turned back to Naomi. “I have good intuition. They’re hiding inside. I can smell them in there.” He made a bulldog face, growled, then kicked the door.

  “Hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “I heard something inside.”

  A gust of wind rose suddenly. They were a few hundred yards from an estuary where night breezes were often harsh and cold. The wind lashed at Naomi. Her khaki uniform pressed against her small, firm breasts, and she shivered. She wanted to leave. Go back, regroup, have some coffee.

  “I think it’s the wind,” she said to Rio, her teeth chattering.

  “No. I heard something.” Rio’s bulldog face hardened into an ugly scowl. He kicked the door, drove a shoulder into it, stepped back, and heard the hinges rattle.

  “Rio…please.”

  He turned, staring at her defensively.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I don’t think they’re here. The place is locked up tighter than my legs.”

  He chuckled. “That’s pretty tight.” He kept grinning. “I could have sworn I heard something.”

  “Just the wind.” She shrugged and looked at him. “We’re on Wes Lockett’s property. I don’t want to think what will happen if anything gets…”

  “Damaged.” Rio finished her thought.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll worry about that.” He puffed a little, bold and arrogant.

  “It’s just the wind…tearing down the side of the building,” Naomi insisted. She shivered. “ I could use a cup of coffee right now.”

  “No coffee yet. I want to search this place inside and out. Let’s go back.” They met Hakim and Sonny down below in the garden. “Anything?” Rio asked, staring at the two men. They shook their heads. Rio looked sullen.

  A grove of banyan trees stood off to the right of the front gate. A stone fence ran vertically along the outer edge of the property back toward the mansion. The estuary stood a quarter mile beyond the fence. Fishing boats sailed by on the water, under an ancient moon. It was two hundred yards down to the front gate and the banyan grove beside it. Rio and Naomi walked down to the gate and searched the grove. Naomi shivered but didn’t complain about the cold weather as she fanned out a few yards opposite Rio, looking for the fugitives.

  With flashlights, Hakim and Sonny searched inside the trees bordering a stone fence. Wet and chilled, they trampled over beds of brown, heavy leaves. Their lights skimmed across the ground. In the bright glow, wet heavy dew soaked their shoes.

  “Nothing here,” said Hakim. “We need to go back.”

  “Let’s go.” Sonny hunched over. A raw wind blew in off the estuary. “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

  Suddenly, the air filled with sound. The whirling noise of the Osprey’s loud turbine engines rocked the night, catching Rio’s attention. Streaks of light stabbed the sky as the chopper rose high into the air. Lights blinked on and off beneath the fuselage in a halo of misty light. Then, all at once, the great beast turned its head into the darkness and headed out to sea.

  “Holy shit,” Rio bellowed at Naomi. “I knew they were in that shed. Now, look at them. They’re getting away.” Hurriedly, he punched numbers into his cell phone for the Metro Police Headquarters. The on-duty desk sergeant took the call. “I need an APB put out on fugitives. Yes, right away. They’re in an Osprey 22 military helicopter. It turned north toward Singapore, so notify authorities there.” He clipped the cell phone shut, and Naomi looked at him.

  “I’m sorry, Rio,” she said.

  “I don’t know where the hell they’re going now. Singapore maybe, but they could loop around and try to fool us by going to Borneo. There’s a lot of ocean out there and a million places for them to hide.”

  Naomi said nothing.

  Rio stomped the ground then kicked it hard. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cyril Barat sipped black Bavarian coffee after the sumptuous meal of Peking duck and wild rice. The glass of red claret remained untouched near his plate atop the clean white table spread. He and Wes Lockett dined at the Mandarin Palace Restaurant, overlooking the ocean far below on Jakarta’s northern shoreline.

  Barat was a lean, dapper little man with dark hair graying at the temples, chestnut eyes, and a temper to match the most severe personality disorder on record. The times Wes Lockett dined with him, he observed intense moments of combative energy and a fall off into a deep abyss of brooding.

  “Take it easy, Cyril. Lord, you’re going to burst your seams. You’’ll end up in Intensive Care from a heart attack if you don’t watch that temper.” He likened Barat’s mood swings to the fierce, competitiveness of the Oriental Templar—the Masonic, off-shoot group he belonged to. It was a secret society that traced its heritage back to the English author and occultist, Aleister Crowley. The Law of Thelema, its central religious pri
nciple, expressed the tenant, Do what thou wilt, and left matters up to the discretion of the individual—something that suited Barat’s abrasive personality. Barat wore expensive, London-tailored, $2000.00 silk suits to highlight the diamond-studded gold ring on his left hand, worn like a wedding band. The Unicursal Hexagram, a common symbol of Thelemic Law, lay embedded in the ring.

  At nine-thirty, the restaurant teemed with rich, indulgent business types dressed in dark power suits, and sporty red and yellow ties. Wealthy bankers, shipping magnets, and overpaid industrialists dined beside them in a display of wealth and grandeur. No wives, no family—strictly business. Waiters moved among the tables in a sound of quiet footsteps.

  Barat stared across the table at Wes Lockett—a short, balding man in his late fifties. Lockett wore a subtle grin. His eyes filled with a look of impish mischief.

  “I think it’s odd they’d even try it,” he said.

  “Try what? Now you’ve lost me.” Barat raked a hand in annoyance through a shock of black, oily hair. His eyes narrowed with a look of confusion. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” He stirred in his chair. “You do that all the time, Wes. Drop one-liners and then expect me to follow you.”

  In the soft, muted light of the restaurant, Barat’s lean, handsome face compressed into a wet of creases. He stared straight ahead, as if he was trying to solve a difficult math problem. “Communication—the last time I heard, it was a two-way street,” said Barat.

  Wes Lockett looked straight at him. “The expedition—that’s what I’m talking about.”

  Barat gave him a puzzled look. “What expedition? What the devil are you talking about?”

  “It won’t succeed,” Lockett said. “And I’m wondering now why I ever agreed to fund it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It was only $40,000. That paltry amount seems like crumbs off the table compared to what they might find if they’re lucky.”

  Wes Lockett took another sip of wine, leaving Barat frowning in annoyance, and he continued. “Lois, Gretchen, and their companions,” he said. “Sam Seabury, a friend of Lois’s from who knows where, and Professor Harlan Hornsby from Trisakti University. The more I think about it now, the more I’m amused. They have about as much chance of finding gold up there as I have of flying to the moon and back, but you know. An old, doting father will always give in to a persistent daughter.”