Mr. And Miss Anonymous

by Fern Michaels

  Josh smiled. “Yeah, I remember that. All that stuff is buzzing in my head. I need a game plan. I can’t think clearly. There was another guy at the library with a lady in a pretty hat. Jesse drew his picture. He looks like me, Tom. Or else, I look like him. What’s that mean? How come Sheila isn’t talking to me?”

  “I don’t know, Josh. You didn’t call Sheila, you called me.”

  “Okay, I’ll remember that. It’s different out here in the real world, Tom. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m scared. You know what, though, it’s just the way we thought it would be. I wish you and Sheila were here with me. You know, to share the experience.”

  “Josh, you’re as smart as me and Sheila. You can figure this out. Think it all through. Make a plan. Stick to it. You have the biggest and the best tool of all going for you, the Internet. It’s been our lives. Now, make it work for you. Those jerks in your real world don’t know half of what you know. Just use that knowledge. I’ll be right here with you every step of the way. Listen, Josh, don’t stay here too long, okay? Check the e-mail and get out of here.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  “Sounds good to me, Secret Agent Josh Baer, also known as Number 8446. I’ll see you when you get back to the academy. This is Secret Agent Tom Bower, also known as Number 8211, signing off for now.”

  In spite of himself, Josh gurgled with laughter. Tom always knew how to make him laugh, to take the edge off things.

  “Ooops, sorry, young man,” a woman pushing a toddler in a stroller said as she bumped into Josh’s chair.

  “Th…that’s okay.” Josh turned away, every nerve in his body twanging. Did he fall asleep and dream about Tom and Sheila? Or, was Tom here talking to him? Tom’s spirit? He looked around in full panic to see if anyone was paying attention to him. No one was. The lady with the stroller was gone. He had the whole back end of the library to himself. His heart was pumping so fast, he was light-headed. Did he just have one of those out-of-body experiences? Did he just talk to his dead friend?

  Focus, Josh. Focus. Think. Calm down. Deep breaths. Focus.

  When he was certain he was okay, Josh made his way to the computer station, where he logged on to check the new Hotmail e-mail account he’d set up. There was no response to the e-mail he’d sent off. He then clicked on Map-Quest to get directions back to the academy. The moment he memorized the route, he left the library and headed to a movie house, where he bought a ticket. He would stay there until it got dark, then make his way back to the academy.

  Thirty minutes later Josh slouched down in the last row of seats. His agile brain sifted and collated everything he and Tom had discussed at the library. He then gave his mind free rein to go even farther back in time as he tried to make sense out of what was happening to him.

  Those people back at the library were out of breath from chasing Josh Baer, aka, Jack-something. Winston was panting, and Zolly was cursing under his breath.

  “Boss,” Zolly gasped, “this would be a real good time to tell me why we were chasing that kid who was faster than greased lightning.”

  I definitely have to start going to a gym, Lily thought as she sat down on the ground next to Winston. She rubbed the big dog’s belly until he relaxed. “We were that close, and we lost him,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

  “Boss, did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, I heard you. I think he’s my son. Think, Zolly. I can’t prove it. Yet.” Pete sat down on a patch of grass next to Lily. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  “What would I do without you?” he whispered in Lily’s ear. “I was oblivious to what was going on around me at the library. How in the hell is that possible?”

  “Because you didn’t see the drawing. You didn’t see the boys either. Stop being so hard on yourself. Even though I saw what I saw, a lot of good it did us.”

  “It bears out one thing. I was right about the boy using the library. Which he probably won’t do again. He’ll start going to Internet cafés where he thinks he’ll be safer. There are probably thousands around here. The old proverbial needle in a haystack.”

  “What about a private detective?” Lily asked.

  Pete dropped his head into his hands.

  Lily felt so sorry for him, she wanted to cry. “Listen to me, Pete. I’m really concerned about something else right now, and that’s the guy who looked like a soccer player. What was he doing at the library at exactly the same time the boy was there? Logic tells me he must be searching for the boy, too. The big question is why? The only thing I can think of is he’s the one who gunned down those kids and teachers. Somehow he missed the boys the first time, and he has to kill them. I sure hope that kid knows what he’s up against. The other boy, I suppose he’s Jesse, drew his picture, so that has to mean something. I’m going out on a limb here, a very fragile limb, but give this some thought. What if the guy Jesse/Bill drew in the picture was the shooter? What if Josh/Jack and Jesse/Bill saw him, and he knows they saw him? That puts Josh in danger. Thank God Jesse is in FBI custody. No offense, Pete, but I’m starting to think we might need a little more help than just Zolly and Winston.”

  “Do you think he’s my son, Lily? Tell me the truth.”

  Lily chose her words very carefully. “I don’t know, Pete. He certainly does look like you did when you were a few years older than he is. He’s a kid, okay? No matter who his parents are, he doesn’t deserve to be going through what he’s going through right now. He must be scared out of his wits. Him against the authorities, him against the world. Even a man would crumble at having to go through that all alone. We shouldn’t be thinking about who he belongs to right now and concentrate on finding him and bringing him to safety. For all I know, he could be my son, too. But you know what, Pete, I can’t think about that right now. Neither can you. Now, let’s put our heads together and try to figure out the best way to find and help him.”

  “Like I said, what would I do without you? You’re absolutely right. I just want him to be mine,” Pete whispered.

  “I know, Pete. I know.”

  Chapter 11

  Twilight. That shady time of day when the purple-gray haze warned that the darkness was coming within minutes. The perfect time of day for clandestine meetings. More so if you factored in the light rain that was falling.

  The soccer player paced the confines of the cheap hotel room. He checked the small recorder on his wrist to make sure it was working. He’d checked it ten times in the past ten minutes. No, he wasn’t nervous. Plain and simple, he was pissed that it had come to this. He hated sleazy motels almost as much as he hated the people he had to deal with.

  It was eight o’clock. Outside, he could hear the steady drip of the rain. The sound didn’t muffle the opening of the motel room door. There was no knock, there never was. His gaze was trained on the doorknob. He watched it turn.

  The soccer player looked at the wizened man, who could have been thirty, forty, or fifty. Or sixty, it was hard to tell. An underling. Well, that figured.

  “You failed.” The voice didn’t match the shrunken figure, it was deep, thick, and guttural-sounding. The soccer player wondered why he was surprised.

  “Yeah, well, your intel was a tad faulty. It wasn’t like I had a lot of time to do a head count. If you want your money back, just say so. I’m already breaking one of my rules by meeting you here.”

  “It won’t be necessary to return the money. You honored your contract. We just want you to finish the job. We concede the fact that you had no way of knowing the two boys would be late that morning. We had no way of knowing that either. We’re willing to pay an additional sum of money for you to finish the job.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen, dude. You’re just going to have to take care of that yourself. The feebs,” the soccer player said, referring to the FBI, “have the one kid. I don’t mess with the FBI. You want to put your neck in the noose, be my guest. The other one is probably halfway to Vegas by now.”

  “I’m author
ized to pay you whatever you want. Name a figure.”

  What the hell. The soccer player rolled his tongue over his square white teeth and grinned. “A million dollars. All cash. All up front.”

  “Done. Give me a time frame.”

  The soccer player laughed. “Now, you know I can’t do that.”

  The wizened man adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, which were sliding down his bony nose. “The FBI has your picture. I’m told it’s a perfect likeness. The boy drew your likeness from memory. Right down to all the carnage you left behind.”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  “You heard me the first time. One of the boys is a superior artist. He captured you on paper, and, like I said, the carnage you left behind. The FBI hasn’t released the picture to the media yet, but they will at some point. That means your window of time is…let’s just say, very small. Having said that, we have another job for you. Five million wired to an account of your choice.”

  The soccer player’s mind raced. Six million bucks! He could retire to some island and live happily ever after—providing he was still alive to enjoy the six mil. He wondered if the man standing in front of him was lying. The feebs had a picture of him? Well, damn, that did put a different light on things. Alive to live off six million bucks. The thought was so unlikely, he laughed out loud.

  Puzzled at the soccer player’s reaction, the wizened man took two steps backward.

  “I do not see anything funny in this situation. Is it a yes or no?”

  String him along. They’re going to throw me to the wolves. But first they want me to finish up their dirty work. “What’s the other job?” He was asking out of curiosity, no other reason. Who the hell was worth six mil?

  “Yes or no?” the wizened man asked. He jerked at his glasses again.

  The soccer player forced a laugh. “Tell you what, I’ll get back to you.”

  “That’s not good enough. My instructions…”

  “Take a good look at me, you little creep. Do I look like someone who cares about your instructions? I-do-not-care. You know what else, I’m not going through that library crap again either. Give me a number to call, and when I make my decision, you’ll be the first to know. That’s a take-it-or-leave-it answer.”

  The wizened man backpedaled. “But the picture…the window of opportunity…”

  “Let me worry about that. How long will it take to get the million together? Since the window of opportunity is so small and the feebs have the picture,” the soccer player drawled.

  “The money is at my disposal. I can get it to you within an hour if you agree to our terms. If you agree to the second job, the money can be wired to your account within an hour.”

  The soccer player’s stomach started to churn. Six million dollars was a lot of money to turn down. Still, finding the kid was going to be like finding a particular grain of sand at the beach. “Who’s the second hit?”

  “Yes or no?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. Either tell me, or I’m outta here. Think of me as a priest and you’re confessing. I don’t talk. Whatever you say is sacred.” The soccer player smiled. His guts were still churning. He knew that the way things were going, he was about five minutes away from a panic attack. He moved toward the door.

  The name shot out of the wizened man’s mouth like a bullet. “Peter Aaron Kelly.”

  “Whoa! Whoa! The software giant? Now I know you people are frigging crazy. I-don’t-think-so.”

  “Five million dollars for the hit!” the man said forcefully.

  “Hey, dude, you look like you could use six mil. Get yourself some new duds, some contact lenses, some wing tips, and I bet you could have a whole posse of women chasing you around. Give me your cell phone number, and I’ll get back to you.”

  The wizened man sighed as he rattled off the ten digits.

  “Feel free to order room service,” the soccer player said as he closed the door behind him.

  The cool rain felt good on his face. Five minutes later, he was out of sight. Should he wait for the little shit to leave and tail him or not? Nah. The soccer player shrugged as he concentrated on his breathing to ward off the impending panic attack. Satisfied that he was under control, he climbed behind the wheel of a snappy BMW that he’d heisted from Gold’s Gym.

  He avoided the main arteries and stuck to back streets as he headed for his favorite hangout, an oyster bar where no one would bother him. Taking an hour or two out of his busy schedule certainly couldn’t hurt the current situation. With a possible six-million-dollar payoff in the offing, he owed it to himself to consider any and all possibilities. Absolutely, he owed it to himself.

  While the soccer player was contemplating the business offer he’d just been presented with, Lily and Pete were circling the block in the SUV and Zolly was walking the same route with Winston on a leash. Just a normal early evening, rain and all.

  The night was quiet except for the muted drizzle. No one was out and about. The crickets and tree frogs didn’t count. Traffic was extremely light.

  “Looks okay to me. What do you think, Lily?”

  “I don’t see anyone. Zolly’s been around the block three times. He said he wouldn’t go in until he was certain no one was watching either place. He’s got so many gadgets and gizmos in his backpack, he can deactivate anything. I don’t know if it was a joke or not, but he said one of those things could pick up someone breathing a mile away. If there’s a security monitor, it will just appear to fritz out. Zolly wasn’t sure how much time we’d have before alarms go off. There’s likely to be a hypersonic alarm around somewhere. Winston will pick up on it if there is one.

  “Let’s go over this one more time, Pete,” Lily said as her partner parked the SUV. “Zolly will deactivate everything. He’s going to take on the sperm bank, and you and I are doing the fertility clinic since the entrance to that mysterious room is at the back of the clinic. I’m not a gambling person, but I’m willing to bet five bucks we aren’t going to find anything.”

  “Don’t be negative. Let’s cross our fingers and hope for the best,” Pete whispered as they trotted along, staying as close to the shrubbery as they could. They were almost to the door of the fertility clinic when the skies opened up. Rain sluiced down, soaking both Pete and Lily. They barely noticed as Zolly held the door open for them.

  “You’re lucky there are no windows in this dump, boss. You keep Winston with you. He’ll pick up on any high-pitched frequencies. I have this,” he said, holding out a square black box with blinking green lights. “Move fast and don’t waste time. You’re both wearing the latex gloves, right?”

  Lily and Pete held up their hands for Zolly’s inspection. He nodded sourly as he let himself out of the building. The lock snapped into place.

  It took only ten minutes to realize there was nothing to be found in the clinic. Not even a paper clip in the trash basket. Pete shook his head in disgust as Lily tugged at his arm. Holding the flashlight directly in front of her, she ran down the long hallway to the vaultlike door. She wanted to cry when she saw the stout locking mechanism.

  “Easy does it, Lily. Zolly unlocked it with that magic box of his. Just press the bar, and the door will open.”

  Winston squirmed and whined at Pete’s feet. Lily pressed her weight down on the bar, and it slid inward on well-oiled hinges. Pete reached in to fumble at the wall. Bright fluorescent light flooded the room.

  “Oh, my God!” Lily gasped.

  Pete looked around the blinding white room. “It looks like a…like a…”

  “Operating room?” Lily asked, pointing to the bright circular lights above the table in the center of the room. “It’s a minisurgery. See those tables with the stirrups? Obstetrics,” she called over her shoulder as she left the main room to check out the smaller rooms off the hallway. “Labor rooms. I think women gave birth to babies in here. See if you see anything that looks like it could be a nursery.”

  “It’s right here,” Pete said in a hushed
voice. He pointed to his left.

  Lily felt light-headed as she stared around at the tiny beds. A nurses’ station of sorts was in the back of the room. Modern-looking incubators lined one wall. Another wall held a bank of refrigerators and sinks. Sealed canisters, holding God only knew what, lined a third wall. The only thing on the fourth wall was a gigantic row of clocks, all showing different times.

  “What the hell?” Pete sputtered.

  Lily licked at her dry lips. She could barely get the words out of her mouth, but she tried. “Our donations didn’t go to couples wanting children, Pete. This place…this is…oh, God, I don’t know what it is. Baby trafficking? All over the world? Why else would they have all those clocks on the wall? Count the baby bins, Pete. Twenty-two. And there are nine labor rooms. This was big business.

  “Think about it, Pete. We made donations thinking, at least I did, that my eggs would help a childless couple have a child of their own. For a fee, of course. As a donor I was paid very well. If this is a black market operation, the price for a child could go through the roof. Some wealthy couples will pay anything to get a healthy child.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Lily. How does it explain the academy and the boy we think is my son? Does he have a birth defect of some kind? You said that Jesse looked different. That school had ninety-two kids in it. And all of them except for Josh and Jesse’s class were on a field trip that day. Never to be seen or heard from since. The dean said Josh was a troubled youngster. I’m going to stick my neck out here and say this is some kind of testing lab. I don’t know how I know it, but I know the babies born here did not go to parents hungering for a child.”

  Lily leaned against the wall under the clocks and stared at Pete. She wanted so badly to cry. It looked like Pete felt the same way.

  Pete turned the corner and opened another door. He whistled at what he was seeing. “It’s a laboratory. Obviously at one point it was fully equipped. Son of a bitch! My mind is going in all directions. What the hell were those people doing here? How was all this kept quiet?”