by William Mark
Published by:
Southern Yellow Pine (SYP) Publishing
4351 Natural Bridge Rd.
Tallahassee, FL 32305
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publisher. For permission or further information contact SYP Publishing, LLC. 4351 Natural Bridge Rd., Tallahassee, FL 32305.
www.syppublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events that occur either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely co-incidental.
The contents and opinions expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of Southern Yellow Pine Publishing, nor does the mention of brands or trade names constitute endorsement.
ISBN-10: 1940869307
ISBN-13: 978-1-940869-30-8
ISBN-13: 978-1-940869-37-7 ePub
©William Mark
Front Cover Design: Jim Hamer
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
Feb. 2015
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to Lori, Keith and Christopher.
Dedication
For all three of my bears,
I would go to the ends of the earth.
Chapter 1
The helpless feeling never left. It loomed overhead like a constant darkness that beckoned him from the edge of the abyss. The thought of never seeing his son again weighed heavier on his soul with every day that passed. The thought that his son was taken, angered him to the core.
The city was busy and moving fast around Curtis Walker, but the small, wallet-size photograph held his focus. He slid it back into the crease of the speedometer, temporarily removing him from the world around him and the operation that was under way. The black Crown Vic sat inconspicuously at the end of the quiet row of townhomes. He watched the front door, waiting for his opportunity to move in. The sun had set an hour ago, and the pale, orange glow of the street lights cast shadows of the night. A bitter cold breeze rolled in from the bay, sending a chill throughout his body. He reached for the small, round medallion of St. Anthony hanging from his neck and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger feeling the small bumps of detail on the charm. It was a calming mechanism when stress was building.
The photograph pulled his gaze yet again. He stared at the toothless grin of the young boy in the little picture with the tattered corners. A pang kicked in his heart, followed by a dreadful sorrow reminding him of his mission. He forced the anger and rage back, allowing himself to focus on the job at hand. It was an important job that he took seriously—despite the costs. He resituated in the seat of the Crown Vic and kept his eyes on the front door of the two-story brownstone.
The row of townhomes in the Russian Hill neighborhood was built in the late fifties but survived the political unrest that plagued the city of San Francisco in the following decades. These neighborhoods had sat patiently, waiting to be revived in the late nineties to outfit more middle class families, gay and straight. The two story brownstone he watched sat on one of the outlying blocks of the neighborhood more famously known for having the “crookedest” street in America, Lombard St. The tourists were far removed from this particular street as it was quiet except for the late evening strollers and dog walkers.
There had been no activity at the brownstone since the woman returned home with the child and turned on the porch lights. The blinds were still shut. There was no need to cover the back. A lone garage house with secrets of its own hid within the secrecy of a high wooden privacy fence. His instincts told him that wasn’t an option as an avenue of escape.
“I thought it was summer? Was I wrong? Did I miss something? Does my calendar deceive me?” A whiny voice crackled sarcastically through the ear bud nestled in his ear. The voice was annoying enough but not nearly as annoying as the person to whom it belonged. As usual, he ignored the grumbles of the constant complainer.
The whiny voice went on ignored.
“Seriously, is this opposite world or something? It’s late August, and it’s freaking cold!” The squeaky voice of Louis Melton was normally ignored by the team, but he did have a point; it was cold.
A moment later, another voice, female, asked, “You never heard the famous quote about San Fran?”
“No.”
“Some guy said, ‘The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.’”
The radio transmission held silent for a moment. “That’s stupid,” Louis added.
Alone in the Crown Vic, Curt Walker sat restless and was subjected to the chatter that came with the boredom of surveillance, but their work was necessary, and he above all others had to be a believer.
“Mark Twain…” Curt added to break the following silence. “Mark Twain was given credit for the saying.”
Sitting on a park bench at the other end of the block from where Curt sat in the Crown Vic, Melinda Dalton was battling the summer chill with a Grande-sized latte from Starbucks and pretending to be reading from an iPad as her cover. She nodded upon hearing the famous author was responsible for the witty saying and was equally impressed that Curt not only knew that fact but contributed to the conversation. She shot a glance down the street to the blacked out sedan and smiled; then she looked back over her shoulder to the large conversion van parked down the cross street behind her position.
Melinda glanced back at the target brownstone, but there was nothing new to report, just a slow parade of pedestrians returning home from whatever after work or school activities normal people do. She wondered about how oblivious these people were to the evil that was going on next door. It never ceased to amaze her just how blissful ignorance can be.
Louis Melton popped up from his computer console and walked to the driver’s seat of the Mercedes G-45 Sprinter van and cranked up the engine, blasting the heater to combat the cold chills that had seeped inside the mobile hub.
“Coldest winter is a summer…seriously?” He mumbled to himself as he sat back down in front of his work station, rubbing his arms furiously trying to warm up. The back end of the van was outfitted with a high end computer. It was upgraded with a top of the line processor and server connection that allowed Louis to explore any database or search for any information that assisted the team’s mission. Louis, the self-proclaimed genius, was quick to brag that there was no firewall he couldn’t penetrate, no matter the cyber security installed. He had built the machine by hand and installed its components without direction but managed to get results. Although they were aware of the legal ramifications, they trusted Louis was as good as he boasted and that he made sure he left no trace behind.
Louis settled into his work station and absorbed the data, checked the screen, and prepared to move into the next phase of the operation. He was ready to “do battle” as he called it. He checked the fit of the head strap and boom mic that reached around to the front of his mouth, making sure he was ready. He took a bite of his preferred battle food, Twizzlers, washed down by a large, bladder-busting Mountain Dew fountain drink, and awaited orders.
Curt checked his wrist watch, and the hour was approaching eight o’clock; it was nearly time. He grew irritated at something and checked the screen of his phone, nothing.
“She back yet?” He asked over the radio, clearly annoyed.
“Not yet, maybe there was traffic,” answered Louis.
“No
, we keep a schedule for this no matter what. I don’t care that she pays the bills. There is a set time and place for a reason; it is to ensure the success of the mission, and that is all that matters. We’ll go with or without her.”
Silence followed the sharp words.
“Relax Curt, the bill payer is here, and yes, there was traffic that couldn’t be avoided.” A smooth, calm voice with a mature and sexy tone came over the radio. “The new girl is here too. We’ll get started in just a minute.”
Louis sank slightly in his chair while three women climbed into the back of the van. Two he knew; the third was new. He blushed at the presence of the women and quickly blurted into the boom mic around his head, “Sorry Curtis. They walked in while you were talking.”
Curt ignored the apology; it didn’t matter.
Alexis Vanderhill took the captain’s chair behind the front passenger seat of the van, grabbed a lever under the seat, turned towards the new face, and invited her to take a seat. She looked around the interior skeptically, but in following the spirit of adventure that led her to this point, she climbed in without further hesitation.
Behind the driver’s seat was the panel door, and beyond that was a small bench seat along the length of the van wall, cream-colored leather with light gray trim to match the carpeting of the van. Across from the bench and behind the captain’s chair was a mini fridge-bar combination that would be expected in any party limousine, not a conversion van on a secret mission, but it appeared to be stocked with Mountain Dew instead of the expected liquor assortment. However, what gave the new girl pause was the elaborate computer station, complete with three monitors, police scanners, a printer, copier, fax, phone, and a white, dry erase board in the very rear of the van. A mousy, early-twenties-something man sat in a small office chair and shyly looked at her through black, thick-rimmed glasses as she climbed in and sat down on the bench seat.
She was a pretty woman with long, blonde hair pulled back tight against her scalp in a neat ponytail. Her high cheek bones and full lips accented her beauty, but she was dressed down in a casual manner with modest make-up. She was physically strong from years of martial arts training and had an athletic build. She was average height and had large breasts she hid in loose-fitting clothes.
A thin, dark-haired woman, noticeably younger than the others, stood behind the new girl waiting for her to get inside the van. After she climbed in, she followed and jumped quietly into the front passenger seat.
“Hey Beth,” Louis said, directed at the young dark-haired woman.
“Hey, Louis. You got it warm enough in here?”
“Ha! It’s friggin summer, and the wind chill outside is like thirty degrees or something.”
Alexis directed Louis’ attention back to the new girl, “Louis, this is Rachel Goodwin.”
“Hi, I’m Louie, but everyone calls me Louis. You can call me whatever you like.” Louis twisted around in his seat and shook Rachel’s hand. She had a strong grip, and he figured that she was clearly much stronger than him.
“Okay, nice to meet you Louis.”
“And you will soon meet Melinda and Curtis who are out on other posts for this mission. You already met Beth on the drive over.”
Rachel looked at the front seat at Beth who had already gotten comfortable with her bare feet propped up on the dash.
“Louis, will you put on the speaker inside the van so we can all talk please. And get Rachel outfitted for an ear bud later tonight, okay?”
“Yes ma’am.” Louis pecked at the keyboard and flipped a switch on the panel next to the monitor. The quiet hum from the open radio channel filled the interior of the van.
“Test, test?” Louis said.
“You’re good.” Melinda’s voice boomed loud and clear inside the van. Louis immediately dialed a knob lowering the volume.
“Melinda?” Alexis asked, “I want to introduce you to Rachel, our newest member.”
“Hi, Rachel,” she answered with genuine courtesy.
“And Curt is the last member of the team who reminded us of the importance of maintaining a schedule.”
Curt didn’t answer.
“So, let’s get Rachel up to speed,” Alexis ordered.
Beth Young jumped up from her relaxed position and walked past Alexis and Rachel to grab a folder from a small counter space next to Louis’ workstation. She hadn’t bothered to put her shoes back on. She handed the packet to Rachel and silently moved back to the front seat. Unsure what she was supposed to do with the folder, Rachel thumbed it open and started reading. On the front page was a picture of a beautiful little girl with blonde locks falling down the sides of a cherub-like face; she couldn’t be more than six years old. The name Charlotte was written above the picture. The next few pages appeared to be some type of police report of a missing girl, dated four years ago. She had gone missing from a museum while on a school field trip in nearby San Jose. Rachel looked up at Alexis confused; Louis was looking at her, waiting for a response.
She kept reading the packet. In additional to the police report, there was a series of photographs. The subject of the surveillance photo was clearly unaware the pictures were being taken. The angle suggested the girl was in some kind of clothing store with an older, cold-looking woman, but they were clearly very recent. Rachel studied the surveillance photos and flipped back to the picture labeled Charlotte. She moved back to the photos and back to Charlotte comparing the images. She cracked a smile and looked back at Alexis who was smiling back at her. Beth was twisted around in her seat and watched with anticipation.
“You found her? But how?”
Rachel was astonished at the fact this team she had agreed to help had managed to defy the odds and find a girl missing for the last four years. She held an amazed look as she looked around the van.
“That’s what we do, Rachel. And that’s what you are going to do—find missing children.”
Chapter 2
But how did you find her?” Rachel asked, incredulously. “I mean, I don’t get it. The police report says all the leads went cold, and the last update was….” She looked back at the packet of paper to find the correct date. “It was two years ago!”
“We’re good at what we do,” Louis chimed in arrogantly, looking over at Alexis.
“We are motivated, to say the least. But we do enjoy a high success rate.”
“So, okay. What’s the secret though? You still haven’t answered how.”
“Curtis, man. It was all Curtis. It usually is. The guy is gifted when it comes to this.”
Rachel looked over at Louis. He sat impressed while speaking of his teammate, and then she looked over at Alexis who held a confirming look on her face. Rachel’s question wasn’t met, but she grew curious about who Curtis was. Having just started the trial run she agreed to, she expected the answers would come.
Louis explained that the team moved from city to city at random and searched for missing children. Although they were not affiliated with law enforcement, Curt and Melinda were both former cops and sometimes used their sources to facilitate the rescue of children.
“Sounds like a needle in a haystack.”
“That’s what I say, but it’s more like a microscopic needle in a haystack the size of Texas.”
“So what do y’all do that cops can’t?”
“First of all, we have the time. Second, we’ve been in the business long enough now that we’ve gotten good at what we do.”
***
Rachel had agreed to meet Alexis in San Francisco on the chance to work for her in the arena of missing children. Alexis had vaguely told her the job would be highly satisfying, and if she wanted to know more, she would have to come see how the team worked first hand. Rachel was skeptical at first but longed for a more worthy cause than her constant stressful and systematically flawed position with the Department of Children and Family Services. She was a case worker, had been for eight years and had seen more kids failed by the red tape of bureaucracy than helped. T
he victories, it seemed, were fewer and farther apart, and she longed for something more.
She had come across Alexis at a missing children’s conference held in Atlanta four months earlier—a conference Rachel attended regularly to honor her sister who went missing from their West Houston home when she was only twelve years old. The memory of her loss still haunted her and provided the motivation necessary to keep making a difference. She recalled Alexis seeking her out amongst the droves of the attendees and proposing to her that if she desired a real chance to help missing children and make a difference, to give her a call. Then Alexis handed her a business card, and Rachel took the card and lost Alexis in the crowd.
After weeks of thinking over the proposal and Googling Alexis Vanderhill, she figured the daughter of a multi-million dollar media mogul and award-winning journalist who featured several exposés on child welfare was worth a chance. Her spirit of adventure led her to pick up the phone and call. Two days later she was meeting Alexis at the airport in San Francisco.
***
The story of Charlotte had started the day before.
“It’s getting late, and I’m getting hungry,” came the normal and expectant whine of Louis Melton.
“We have been at it for over four hours; it may be time to move on to another location,” Melinda added with a tone on secession.
“Curtis? Whaddya say?”
“No, not yet.”
The team members collectively shrugged their shoulders at the exhaustive thought of remaining at their posts any longer. But they all remained, each vigilant in their duties for the good of the mission. Louis was behind the monitor screens in the van, Melinda was strolling up and down the long sidewalk of the strip mall, and Curt was posted up in his Crown Vic in the parking lot. Beth intermingled inside several stores, pretending to shop, which was never a bad gig and came natural to the young woman.
