by Lynn Sholes
Cotten became senior investigative correspondent for the Satellite News Network specializing in religious antiquity. Over the years, she and John embarked on a number of adventures, including uncovering a new cache of ancient scrolls in caves near the Dead Sea, and in Jerusalem they oversaw the discovery of the thirty pieces of silver that Judas Iscariot was paid to betray Christ.
Cotten and John worked together to locate a five-thousand-year-old crystal tablet some believed was inscribed by the hand of God and contained a secret to entering the Kingdom of Heaven. During that episode, John revealed to Cotten that he had been given the role of director of the Venatori, the intelligence-gathering arm of the Vatican, and arguably the oldest spy organization on earth. In taking on the duty as head of the Venatori, he was again elevated by the pope, this time being named a cardinal.
Cotten had fallen in love with John, probably from the moment they met, and although he could not act upon it, he had professed his love for her as well.
With every stolen glance at John on their ride to Loretto, she knew in her heart more than ever how much he meant to her.
As the sound of the tires on crunching dirt and gravel stopped, Cotten shut off the engine. “Why don’t we start with the barn? You’re going to be amazed.”
John nodded and they got out. She led the way down the hard-packed dirt path. Once inside, they went from painting to painting, pausing before each. “Can you believe an eight-year-old could do this?” Cotten took John to the special painting in the back of the barn, the portrait of the man with the evil eyes and red glow. “What do you make of it?”
“Scary,” John said. “I can’t imagine what could have been going on in a child’s mind to create something so sinister and evil.”
When they had finished exploring the barn, they went inside the farmhouse. Cotten led their tour and showed him how the windows had been draped and sealed with heavy tape. She had already removed most. The smelly garbage was gone, and she had done some general cleaning and dishwashing. She pointed out the closet where the garbage had been stored. A slight odor lingered of something long dead.
“This is fascinating,” he said, standing in Tera’s bedroom. “Such ambiguity and contrast.” He motioned to the ballerina spread and other evidence that a little girl lived there, yet she was surrounded by so much magnificent artwork. “Tera is an extraordinary child. There’s no doubt that something unusual has happened here. And that they are in some sort of danger. The question is why and from whom.”
“Follow me,” Cotten said, leading John into the living room. Once they were seated on the couch, she pushed the play button on Lindsay’s answering machine and the message from Pastor Albrecht blared from the small speaker.
“Outburst at church?” John said once the recording ended. “Wonder what caused that?”
“Good question.” Cotten watched John pick up the pile of mail from the coffee table. “There’s not much to go on.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He opened the MasterCard statement and looked at the charges. Then he pulled his cell phone from his belt and pressed a speed dial number. A moment later, he said, “This is John. Please do me a favor and run a trace on a credit card. Charges in the last seven days.” He gave the card number then waited for a moment. “Okay, call me back.” Flipping his phone closed, he looked at Cotten. “Tracing Lindsay’s purchases might help us establish her trail and find out where she is.” John folded the statement and put it in his pocket.
“So, mister secret agent man, where would you like to begin?”
“That’s easy,” John said, standing. “We’ll go have a chat with the good Pastor Albrecht.”
the woods
Benjamin Ray stood on the bank of Stone Creek Lake at sunrise. Purple coneflowers and late-blooming white aster covered the ground under the thick maples and basswood that hid the lake up to the very edge. A morning mist lay across the water like a gossamer quilt—not a breath of air moved a leaf or caused a ripple.
A faint snap came from Ben’s right. His pulse jumped as he froze. Slowly, he turned his head and looked into the eyes of a doe standing only ten feet away. For a few seconds, he wondered who the real deer in the headlights was. Even after three months of hiding in the Ozark Mountains, his nerves were still raw. He had hoped that once he started venturing out from the remote cabin on his early morning walks, he would be able to stop looking over his shoulder. But then, why would anyone come hunting for him? He was officially dead and buried.
Seeming to sense no danger from the bald, heavyset man, the deer turned and walked back into the thick brush, her coat blending with the forest as she disappeared.
A shadow in the forest. Like me, Ben thought.
He had secretly arranged for the purchase of the cabin and surrounding eighty acres a few months before the federal indictment was filed. Always pays to plan ahead. It was just about the time everything started falling apart. His partner referred to it as the wheels coming off the wagon—the collapse of Presidium Health Care, their chain of ninety-seven for-profit hospitals and extended-care facilities across the country. After filing for bankruptcy, investigators discovered that Ray and his partner had concealed more than a billion dollars of debt and inflated profits. Thousands of their employees lost their jobs, and many thousands more their life savings. Now his partner was sentenced to forty years for multiple counts of fraud and conspiracy, the same sentence Ben faced before “dying” of advanced coronary artery disease. The truth is, he did have heart disease and was getting his medication mailed to him under the name Ben Jackson from a pharmacy in Tijuana. Same name that was on his driver’s license, the title to his Jeep, and the deed to the cabin. It was amazing what money could buy, including a convincing death certificate, not too hard to come by in your own medical facility, by a doctor on your payroll, and of course followed by a speedy cremation. He often wondered what was really inside his funeral urn. Every man has his price, Ben remembered his father used to say. It was the understatement of a lifetime.
After the first month of total isolation, Ben started venturing out for morning walks. All the family vacations in Aspen and St. Moritz had given him a great love of the mountains and forest. He and his wife of thirty years enjoyed hiking and camping. She would like it here if she knew he was alive. He regretted her not knowing, but this way, if he were ever caught, she could not be held as an accomplice.
Ben’s cabin was roomy and comfortable. He had electricity, running water, satellite TV, a new Wrangler in the carport, and a great deal of cash hidden in a basement water heater. Actually, there were two heaters—one brand new and environmentally efficient—the other old and rusty, pushed like an afterthought into a nearby corner. Ben told the plumber he didn’t need it hauled off, saying he planned to convert it into a planter. Now it contained more than two million dollars in mixed denominations.
He had spent that much just on living-room furniture in his Ocean Drive, Palm Beach, winter home, Ben thought with a chuckle as he turned away from the tranquil Stone Creek Lake and headed back. The woods were thick as he made his way along an embankment down into a rocky ravine. He remembered taking this path once before. A few hundred yards beyond the other side of the ravine, the forest opened to a serene meadow filled with the last of the blooming wildflowers and tall autumn-gold grass. At the far edge of the meadow, an old dirt logging road led past the rear of his property. From there he was only a short walk to his morning reward: fresh coffee and scrambled eggs.
A shadow in the forest.
Just as he crested the opposite side of the ravine, he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle—a rare event this deep in the woods.
A white panel van came into view along the logging road. Suddenly, it ground to a halt. The driver’s door flew open and a bearded man in a red windbreaker jumped to the ground.
“I’ve had just about enough out of you,” he yelled, sliding open the side door
.
Ben hid behind the trunk of a thick maple tree and watched as the man grabbed what appeared to be a young boy from the floor of the van. He pulled him out and dropped the boy onto the side of the dirt road. He was blindfolded and his hands were bound behind his back.
“Stand the hell up,” the man ordered. He yanked the boy to his feet.
Ben’s impulse was to approach the man and ask him what the hell was going on. Ben was guilty of a white-collar crime, but that didn’t mean he had no conscience. Still, he didn’t dare risk his anonymity by getting involved. At this point all he could do was watch. Fuck, he thought. What kind of man have I become?
The driver untied the boy’s hands and pushed him around to the back of the panel van. “Hurry up and pee—you’ve already made us late.” The blindfold remained on.
Ben felt a cheap sense of relief. The guy was annoyed, but wasn’t going to hurt the kid. At least not right now.
The boy fumbled with his zipper and awkwardly relieved himself. As soon as he finished and zipped up his jeans, the man forced the boy’s arms behind his back and re-secured them. He guided the boy to the side of the van and shoved him in, slamming the sliding door shut. Back in the cab, the man closed the driver’s door, put the van in gear, and continued on down the logging road.
Ben stepped from behind the tree and cautiously moved across the meadow to where the van had stopped—the sound of the engine already fading on the wind through the autumn leaves.
The road was rarely used—the tire marks left by the van were the only noticeable tracks. Ben glanced down at the dark spot in the dirt where the boy had urinated. What the hell was that all about? A kidnapping? Damn, why did he have to witness it? The earnest sense of shame clutched up in his chest. Ben Ray, I don’t even know you anymore.
Ben put the fingertips of his right hand over his carotid, feeling a stuttering pulse. He couldn’t think about what just happened. He had to get back to the safety of his cabin.
Taking several deep breaths, he concentrated on relaxing. After a few moments, he calmed down and was ready to head home. The last thing he needed was to come in contact with anyone.
When he had first moved into the cabin, he had shaved his head, cut off his mustache and goatee, and started wearing thick-rimmed glasses. He’d even called up a hint of his mother’s Virginian southern accent. It was important to blend. But it wouldn’t take Columbo and a few probing questions about his background to raise suspicion. He had fabricated his history and rehearsed it often, but if pressed and stretched, he was certain it would tear. As far as anyone knew locally, he was a retired banking executive from Atlanta. The simple fact was that he couldn’t afford any amount of time with the authorities or anyone else who might catch on if he wanted to keep from spending the rest of his life in prison. Reporting what he had just seen on the old logging road was out of the question.
Ben massaged the back of his neck before looking around. He wondered where the road led. He had never followed it. No matter.
The van and the boy were gone.
Taking a last look around, he crossed the road and entered the woods.
Like a shadow in the forest.
vigilance
“Welcome, Sister Stone,” Pastor Albrecht said, extending his hand. “The Almighty is so pleased to have such a notable daughter of Loretto come and visit His holy house.”
“Thank you, pastor.” Cotten shook his hand as they stood in the old brick Church of the Risen Savior. “I’d like you to meet John Tyler, a friend of mine from back east.”
“Brother Tyler, so nice to see you,” Albrecht said. “I must say you look somewhat familiar.”
“I have one of those faces, Reverend Albrecht. It’s my curse in life.”
“Well, I can sure think of worse crosses to bear.” Albrecht motioned to the front row of pews. “Please be seated and tell me how I can be of assistance.”
Cotten savored the smells of the old church—the heaviness of the dark cherry paneling, the sweetness of half-spent candles, and the fragrance of fresh-cut flowers around the sanctuary. A soft rainbow prism streamed from the stained glass windows, radiating across the pews in a transparent veil. The old wood creaked as she and John sat down. Although she had never been inside this church, she remembered watching it bathed in early morning mist as she glanced at it through the window of the county school bus.
“I’d like to talk to you about Lindsay and Tera Jordan,” Cotten said. “I received—”
“How are those two sisters of God?” Albrecht said. He had remained standing as if he were about to give his next sermon.
“Well, that’s just it. I received a call from Lindsay recently in which she expressed concern for the safety of her daughter. She asked me to come to Loretto and help her ease those concerns. Once I—”
“Actually,” Albrecht said, “there was an unfortunate incident not too long ago that might have upset Lindsay. I sincerely hope it didn’t. But you know, it occurred right here where you’re sitting.”
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Cotten said.
“By all means, Sister Stone.”
Albrecht opened his arms in a grand gesture Cotten knew he had rehearsed in front of a mirror a thousand times.
“As you may have heard, I am new to this congregation, having recently been relocated. It was only my second Sunday service when Lindsay and her beautiful daughter entered the church and took their seats right there.” He pointed to Cotten and John. “I was in the sacristy making my final preparations for our ten-thirty service. As our small, but dedicated, choir began their opening hymn, I walked out to the middle of the sanctuary to lead the congregation in song. I recall looking down at the faces of those in the front row, and it was at that point that the young lady met my welcoming gaze. Suddenly, she emitted the most blood-curdling scream I have ever had the misfortune of hearing. I must tell you, it seemed to come from the very depths of hell.”
“What was Lindsay’s reaction,” Cotten asked, becoming increasingly uncomfortable in the presence of Albrecht. She remembered her mother using the term snake oil salesman.
“Well, of course her mother tried unsuccessfully to calm the girl, but the child had quickly become hysterical. There was no soothing her. The poor creature had to be physically removed from the church by two of our larger male parishioners. It was a most unsettling and embarrassing experience for all concerned.”
“Why do you think it happened?” Cotten asked.
“I have absolutely no idea, Sister Stone. Even as I recall it now, I tremble.”
“Were there any other instances of an outburst like this? From Tera or anyone else?”
“No. None whatsoever. It was a one-time occurrence, I can assure you. We are all at a loss as to what could have provoked the incident.”
“You’ve been extremely helpful, Reverend Albrecht.” Cotten stood, John following her lead. “We appreciate your time.”
“I really don’t know what I’ve done to help other than describing an awkward event for that poor child. I have tried to contact Lindsay and ask if I could minister to her and her child. I’ve left messages, but she has not returned my call.”
“Apparently they’ve left the area,” Cotten said. “Can you think of any reason why they would feel that leaving town was necessary?”
Albrecht shook his head. “I’m afraid not, unless it’s the embarrassment. Unfortunately, Tera’s fit was the talk of the town. But I do hope that wherever they are, Lindsay can get some help for that poor child.”
“Thanks again,” Cotten said, shaking Albrecht’s hand and turning to walk down the aisle.
As John followed, Albrecht said, “You’re a mighty quiet man, Brother Tyler. But I believe there is a storm of thoughts going on in your mind. May I ask you a personal question?”
John turned and faced the minister. “Of course.”
<
br /> “Do you believe in the devil?”
Cotten watched as John’s face hardened, his eyes darkening. His body tensed.
“Yes,” he said stiffly. “I do.”
“Good. Remember that Peter said, ‘Be ever vigilant.’”
“Thank you for that advice, Pastor Albrecht.”
As they walked down the steps to the Church of the Risen Savior and headed for the car, John said, “He just couldn’t resist playing his cards.”
cybersys
Alan Olsen stood in his downtown Miami office and stared out the window at Biscayne Bay in the distance. Twenty stories below, members of his staff along with others from surrounding businesses wandered across Biscayne Boulevard and over the lush carpet of grass to spend a relaxing lunch break near the water. His stomach twisted into knots as he realized that all of them were going about their normal day while Devin was still missing. Gone for four days. Disappeared in the parking lot of Dolphin Stadium as seventy-five thousand fans cheered inside.
He propped one hand on the glass and leaned on it. Even work was no distraction.
“Alan, are you sure there is nothing I can get you?” Kai Chiang said, standing behind him, massaging his shoulders.
Alan didn’t turn to face her but saw her refection in the glass. Porcelain skin, black almond eyes rimmed with long lashes, and long, straight black hair that shone like onyx under light. She had joined CyberSys six months ago as his personal assistant, but their relationship quickly became physical, with all the passion and recklessness of teens in the back seat of a car. The first love affair since the death of his wife. Kai made no demands on Alan and certainly was not a clinger. She was there when he needed her, no questions, and he found he needed her more and more, especially since Devin’s disappearance. To her, Alan confided his deepest thoughts, not only about business, but also about his personal life.
Kai pressed her body against his back and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his shoulder and neck. “I wish I could do something,” she said.
