“Sounds like an idyllic summer.”
“They always were. When I was seven, he taught me the names,” Jared recalled softly. “Told me how sailors used to navigate by the stars. Clusters of them guiding the men home.”
“Is that why you joined the Navy?”
He’d never made the connection before, Jared realized. “Maybe so. Counting the stars every night, knowing how many points in Aries and Orion and Monoceros…”
“Monoceros?”
“One of the constellations. Monoceros has four stars, but you can’t see them with the naked eye in the summer. They’re most visible in the winter,” Jared explained, pointing up. “Next to it is Orion. Seven stars. Then there’s Taurus, with seven.”
Avery felt the skin on her neck tighten. “Jared, is there a constellation with three stars?”
“Triangulum. And Aries. Aries has two sets of constellations, actually. One with three stars and the second with ten.”
She dropped to her knees, drawing numbers on the dirty floorboards. “That’s it!” she exclaimed as she traced out the numbers: 3-1-0-7-7-4. “The code on the sheet. It wasn’t for a safe or an alarm system. It’s a hint. For you—to lead us right here. The constellations’ stars: 3-10-7-7-4.”
“A hint about what?” Jared demanded as he helped her to her feet.
“A location—your dad wanted us to come to the cabin. And he used numbers that correspond to a summer when he taught you about the stars. What else happened?”
“Not much. That summer, Mom was into foraging, recycling, and composting. Drove Dad crazy. She made us go on hikes in the woods to ‘reclaim’ fallen logs.” He smiled at the memory. “I got in on the act and convinced Dad to help me build this bed out of the good pine timber we’d found. He complained all week, but he taught me how to hew and drill and sand.”
“I can’t imagine Justice Wynn making a kid’s bed.”
“But he knew I would.” Jared crossed in front of her and went to the pine bed in which he’d spent every summer dreaming until his family fell apart. “I’m going to lift the frame.” Grunting, Jared levered the heavy bed, pulling it forward, then hoisting it aloft. “See anything?”
Avery dropped down and crawled beneath the bed frame. She clawed and tapped at the boards, hoping for a space or a sound that indicated an opening. “No luck.”
“Check between the springs. I used to hide cars there.”
She flipped onto her back and called out. “Something’s here!”
Taped below the solid frame, invisible to anyone who didn’t know to look, was an envelope bearing two words in bold, black letters:
For Avery.
THIRTY-ONE
Avery carefully peeled away the tape that held the padded envelope in place. She wriggled from beneath, and Jared lowered the bed and then himself beside her on the floor. Wordlessly, she extended the envelope to him, but Jared waved her off.
“He wrote your name on it.”
Remnants of duct tape stripped free, and silver threads dangled from the envelope as she tipped the contents into her lap. Folded white sheets and yellow legal paper fell out, the handwriting cramped with urgency and intent. Avery lifted the yellow pages into the tepid light and began to read aloud:
Dear Avery,
I offer apologies for the cloak and dagger of this excursion; however, together, you and Jared have obviously unraveled sufficient clues to have arrived here as I’d hoped. A son’s memories of a neglectful father are a thin reed on which to hang hope.
What Nature began in the weft and weave of my brain has no doubt taken its more deliberate turns. Jared has heeded my request to find you. Now it falls to the two of you to finish this. I hide this not only from myself, but those who watch, waiting to pounce and dethrone me. They will find that I controlled my last days of lucidity, not they.
I have also used my last days to hunt for answers to the disease that has ended me and threatens my son’s future. In the pursuit, I stumbled into a labyrinth of lies told by carpetbaggers and Frankensteins and lesser kings. Revelation may seem the simpler choice, but to tell the truth, I would have to abandon my boy to this damnable fate. I have deserted him once. I will not do so again. So I have left my research for your perusal, certain you will see what I saw. I could not risk discovery and not forfeit my honor, but what honor have I if I fail the law by serving it? If I fail my son by betraying his only hope for survival?
My end is close, and you will be asked what I expect of these dwindling hours. I have prepared an order, which I will also give to the viper who lay in my bed. The enclosed pages give you power but only until the end of term. If you have not accomplished what I ask, then my value is at an end and so am I.
The other half is this—my directions and final proof are hidden away, from even me. Find them. The time to untether me from Earth’s bindings will come, but not until you finish my work. Remember this: if I had accepted absurdity and given smallpox to my child, I would not be mourning him today and the atrocities would not have been. You have witnessed my truth before, and you will find it where it lies, in the space between.
Regards,
Howard Wynn
Avery passed the letter to Jared, and, tucking the manila envelope beneath her arm, she unfolded the white sheets, reading quickly.
“What does it say?” Jared demanded as he finished rereading the letter. “What other cryptic bullshit did he leave for you?”
“When I met with Noah, he showed me the revisions your father had made to his will. There was a missing codicil—number twenty-seven. He told Noah that it gave directions in case of a catastrophic event. I think this is it. Your father signed an advance medical directive. Two, actually. In the first one, he leaves the decision to remove him from life support to his guardian.”
“And the second?”
“He explicitly gives orders to disconnect him from life support when—” Avery paused to reread the instructions.
“When what?”
“He says when the term of the Supreme Court ends this year, he is to be removed from life support unless I proffer the document rescinding his order.” She met Jared’s eyes. “If I fail to solve his riddles, Celeste will be allowed to kill him.”
“Then throw the second one out.”
“I can’t.” She dropped the pages to the table. “He says he left instructions for the second one to be delivered to Celeste should I refuse to act. Lasker Bauer.”
“Who?”
“The message that Jamie Lewis left for me. It references a famous chess match from the nineteenth century. Emanuel Lasker was just starting to earn a reputation in the game. When he played against Johann Bauer, they discounted him as an upstart. In the match, he used a double bishop sacrifice that had failed in a previous tournament. But Lasker knew he could give up two critical pieces and still win.”
“What does that have to do with an advance directive?”
“In the game, he sacrifices one bishop to put the queen in play.”
“You think that’s Celeste?”
Avery replayed the game sequence in her mind’s eye. “Lasker took a pawn to expose the king, and that’s what set up the double sacrifice. That’s also what put the queen in position to set up an intermediate check—just a few steps from taking the game.”
“I’m not my father, but I do know the game a little.” Jared furrowed his brow and offered, “What if you’re not the bishop? What if you’re Lasker? He’s giving you instructions. I think Dad is one of the bishops to be sacrificed to expose the king. He knows you’ll hesitate, so he’s threatening you with Celeste.”
“Making it impossible for me to challenge the directive. Your father would have anticipated that. It will probably go to another judge, who will enforce it. The second one is signed a month after the first. If I balk, it controls.”
&nb
sp; “Fuck.”
Avery said, “Let’s agree that your father is one of the bishops. If I’m not one of them, then Ani Ramji must be the other one.” Recalling their discussion in his office, she bit out angrily, “He’s mapped this out like speed chess in the park.”
“How?”
“The Court’s term…his coma. That’s his version of a chess clock. I’m Lasker, making his moves. The murder of Jamie Lewis. The attack in his house. Countermoves.”
“Okay. You’re Lasker. But the question is, who is Bauer in this fucked-up game? Maybe it’s your secret benefactor. Maybe Nigel Cooper, who wants his merger. Hell, maybe my dad thought it was President Stokes, for God’s sake.”
“His primary objective is to save your life. Who would oppose him?”
“You assume that’s his objective. But, conveniently, he’s in a coma,” Jared said tersely. “I know he’s some brilliant god of the law, but this is ridiculous. Crazy. And it’s blackmail. You don’t solve his riddles, and you let him die and kill me. This isn’t right.”
“No, but it lets me know how fast I need to move,” she acknowledged quietly. “Something or someone out there will force the Court to rule in favor of GenWorks, and they can develop the treatment that will save your life. I can use the first directive if I need to, but if I fail, then the second one trumps. Plus, I will likely be disqualified for not sharing it with the Court.”
“My father was ill, Avery. A paranoid man who built an elaborate fantasy to assuage his conscience.” He shook the crumpled letter he held. “He’s ranting about smallpox, damn it!” Standing, he ordered, “Let’s go. We’re not playing this game anymore.”
Avery refused to budge. “This isn’t a game, and he wasn’t crazy. This is the only way to get the research that could help you.”
“Research that may be designed to kill people for believing in Islam. Do you understand how absurd that sounds? My father and a rogue scientist are trying to rig the Court to create a cure they’re not sure exists.”
“He’s desperate,” Avery said softly. “Plus a little crazy.” She peered into the envelope that had held the directives and noticed another envelope, this one slim and white. Handing it to Jared, she said, “Your turn.”
He hesitated, balling his hand into a fist. When Avery continued to hold it out, he took the envelope, opened it, and removed a sheet of paper. Reading quickly, he said, “It’s a copy of a letter to the Department of Homeland Security. Justice Wynn made a Freedom of Information Act request.”
“For what?”
“Chromosomal research grants made by the United States government during the last five years.”
“I haven’t seen those. We’ll have to ask again.” Avery moved to the loft railing that overlooked the lower level. “Jamie Lewis is dead because of something she knew. We can’t quit, Jared. Not until the end of term. One more week.”
Jared didn’t speak, staring at the letter. Then he looked at the constellations on the ceiling. One of the last summers before his world ended. When he’d had a real father. Tracing the grain of the wood along the bedpost, he exhaled volubly. “What do we do next?”
Grateful for his acquiescence, Avery said, “The line about smallpox. I think I remember it.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know.”
Jared frowned. “What about your photographic memory? The eidetic thing.”
“It’s not like people think. I can recall images, yes, but usually not for as long as I could when I was little. I remember a lot of information, more than most people, and my memories are usually right. But I’m not a computer.”
She flapped the codicil and note against her palm. The answer was locked in her mind, and she had no clue of the key. “He’s reminding me of something I know, something he believes I’ve tucked away in my brain. Like you and the bed.” Her fist glanced with frustration off the railing. “But I don’t remember.”
Jared saw the fatigue and strain in her wide, frustrated eyes. He faced her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. “We’ll find it…we’ll figure it out. But I don’t think we’ll get any more information here. The answers are in DC.”
“I know.” Avery saw kindness in his eyes, and she felt her body relax for a moment under the comforting touch of his hands. “Thank you, Jared.”
She put the envelopes and letters in her bag, and they descended the stairs. Jared shoved the broken door into place, then went out to the back porch to find some tools. He hammered the doorjamb back into the frame. Not a perfect job, but it would last until he could hire someone to fix it up.
Together, they walked through the house and into the kitchen. Jared ushered Avery out and twisted the lock. “You sure you’ve got everything?”
“All set.”
He pulled the door shut with a satisfying jerk. Behind the cabin, a small dock jutted out into the wide rush of water that hurried past on its way to Blue Ridge Lake.
“I’ll see if we can book an earlier flight,” Avery said quietly. “Unless you want to hang around for a while longer?”
“Thanks, but no. I’m ready to get back home. Too much nostalgia and fresh air.”
“Speaking of fresh air, mind if I walk down the dock first? I’ll be quick.” She wanted a second to clear her head.
“Sure.” He watched as she stepped across the overgrown grass and out onto the rotting wood. “Be careful. Watch your step.” His mother’s constant warning to him, and, in an instant, images of the three of them fishing off the end flashed bright and solid. His father patiently teaching him to cast. His mother laughing, a sound as pretty as the trickle of water on rock. A younger, happier Jared, secure in the permanence of family. He shut his eyes against the memories.
“Is that your—” Avery turned back and saw a man round the corner of the cabin, a black balaclava hiding his face. “Jared, look out!”
Avery’s scream sent Jared into a low crouch on the porch, moments before a bullet whistled past his head and lodged into the wood frame of the cabin. He lunged forward and rammed into the assailant. A grunt spit out overhead, and a second shot fired. With a swift twist, the man tossed Jared over his head.
Avery scrambled over the porch railing, scooping up a discarded canoe paddle. The gunman turned toward her, the gun leveling for a new shot. Before she could react, Jared burst up and tackled him. The bodies twisted, the gun a dark shadow as the assailant tried to gain purchase. With a grunt, Jared shoved at the gunman’s hand, forcing the weapon away from Avery. A fist clocked Jared’s temple and he sagged, giving the man precious seconds to heave him up and over in a hard throw. Winded, Jared struck out with his legs, catching the man in the kidneys and forcing him back down.
“Run, Avery!” Jared launched himself at the gunman, who roared with frustration and reared up as Jared grabbed his neck. They stumbled together toward the dock, and the gunman rammed an elbow into Jared’s sternum.
Jared saw the dull black metal of the weapon rise toward him, but suddenly Avery was swinging the canoe paddle at the masked face. It connected with a loud thunk, and the man fell sideways into the cold water.
Jared gave an instant’s thought to following him in, but remembered the gun in the fallen man’s hand. Instead, he reached for Avery and jerked her forward on the slippery, splintered wood. He had to keep her safe. He pushed her ahead of him and shouted, “Go!”
They raced to the SUV, and he shoved the key into the ignition. Another gunshot shattered the windshield. Jared jerked the truck into a tight circle, and the wheels dug into the gravel-pitted road and the vehicle lurched down the lane. The lane eventually merged into a county road, gravel ceding to pavement.
“I don’t see anyone following us,” Avery said, her eyes trained anxiously on the road behind them.
“Doesn’t matter.” The engine revved as Jared picked up more speed. “They knew
how to find us at the cabin. Whoever it is, they’ll track us again.”
THIRTY-TWO
Betty Papaleo huddled in her office, her vision glazed and blurry from lack of sleep. As she scrolled through the data, she discovered layers and layers of false trails and dodgy leads. Holding companies and wire transfers that appeared and disappeared at will.
But she was nothing if not persistent—and this anomaly was as intriguing as anything she’d come across in her twelve years on the job.
Weary fingers tapped the computer keyboard to call up the data she’d culled from Treasury. Thousands of entries flashed by, and she swigged from a cup of stale coffee. Then she saw it. A name that jarred her attention. Hygeia.
Where had she seen that name before? Betty pulled up another screen and flipped through the various approved foreign vendors allowed to receive wire transfers from the feds. The name of the company appeared, vetted by a division of the FDA. Oddly, though, the authorization memo had been sealed and classified.
“That’s not standard procedure at all,” she murmured to her empty office. “Why would the FDA have a document with military security clearance?” She typed in her codes, trying every entry port she could think of. But the memo remained stubbornly out of reach.
Betty stood up and stretched limbs cramped from hours of hunching. After a career in government, she understood that secrets were hard to keep. The best way to keep information from the public was not to hide it, which broke laws and attracted attention.
No, the best way to hide information was to publish it in one of the millions of reports disseminated annually under Congress’s direction. Politicians routinely answered a crisis by demanding another audit or report or audited report. Minions and political appointees gathered in cloistered rooms for weeks, parsing out opprobrium about the agency that had failed in its impossible task of perfection. Then they published a report of their findings—that bureaucrats were fallible humans and the laws made the simple infinitely complicated. The report got published under a blue or red cover with a gold seal. Reams of paper to be shoveled into landfills after the apathetic populace ignored the dramatic truth.
While Justice Sleeps Page 24
