The Keepers of the Library (11 page)

A dog started barking behind the house. Will headed around back to investigate and saw a man on a tractor in the field beyond the barn; he climbed onto a low stone wall, balanced himself, waved his arms, and shouted out a series of “hellos.” The man noticed him, pointed the old petrol-fueled tractor, and motored down the hill in their direction. At the same time a woman emerged from the barn and cautiously approached.

The farmer pulled his tractor up to the wall and dismounted. The dog was on his side of the wall and with a sharp command, he stopped its barking. He was a grizzled-looking old fellow in a tattered
padded jacket and Wellington boots. Will was still atop the wall. The man shouted at him, “Divn’t dee that yer divvy!”

“What did he say?” Will asked Annie.

“Haven’t a clue I’m afraid.”

The woman drew closer. She was a similar vintage to the farmer and just as weather-beaten.

“He said, ‘get off our wall, you idiot.’ This here’s private property,” she said.

Will climbed down. “Sorry, ma’am. I wonder if you’ve got a minute to talk to us.”

“You lost?” the woman asked.

“No, ma’am. I need your help. Could I have a minute of your time? I’m looking for my son.”

The farmer was fuming and shouting something unintelligible.

“Shut yer moy, John,” she said. “The man’s boy’s gone missin’. Get back t’ it, I’ll take care of ’em.”

The old man swore, got back on his tractor, and puttered off.

Will took a picture of Phillip from his jacket. “Thank you. This is my son. We know he was close to here last night.”

“Up on that fell,” Annie said, pointing at a hillside.

“What’s your laddo doing in Mallerstang?” the woman asked Will.

“I’m not sure. I think he met a girl online.”

“No girls here. Haven’t seen your boy. You two are th’ first strangers in a while. We get ramblers in the good months but nowt in th’ winter.”

“Have any of your neighbors talked about a boy’s being in the area?” Will asked.

“We don’t have time t’ sit around at scordy. Farms don’t run themselves.”

Annie pulled a card from her purse. “Well, if you see or hear anything, please ring me, will you?”

The woman took the card without looking at it. “You’re not a horney then. What are you?”

“Horney?” Annie asked back with an amused look.

“Police.”

“No, ma’am. I’m with the Security Services. From London.”

She turned to walk back to the barn. “Don’t know nowt ‘bout that.”

The rest of the morning brought more of the same. By lunchtime they had visited five houses with receptions ranging from suspicious to hostile. No one had seen Phillip. Two households had teenage girls at school in Kirkby Stephen. They left Phillip’s pictures behind with a request to be called if the girls recognized him.

Walking back to the car, Annie’s NetPen chimed. It was Officer Wilson on his way back to town. They’d scoured the pastures and fells for hours without finding a trace of physical evidence.

“Shall we find a pub for a spot of lunch?” Annie asked Will.

“I’d rather we kept going.”

She sighed, rummaged through her bag, and waved a chocolate bar. “I’ve got an emergency Fruit and Nut. Want to share?”

They finished the chocolate bar at the entrance to Lightburn Farm, then drove up the dirt lane around a hillock that concealed the property from the road. The ancient farmhouse looked much like the others they had visited that day—gray stone, rectangular, center entrance with asymmetrical windows and a sharply pitched slate roof. An attached barn was at a right angle to the house on the fell side.

A middle-aged woman with fiery red hair was hanging laundry on a line by the side of the house. She stared hard at them as they exited the car.

“Hi there,” Will called out. “I wonder if you could help us, ma’am?”

“With what?” was her curt reply. She was a handsome-looking woman in her forties who might have passed for a beauty with a bit of makeup and better clothes.

“My son is missing. He came here from America. We know he was near here last night. Could I show you his picture?”

“You his mother?” the woman asked Annie.

“No! Bit young for that. I’m with the Security Services.”

“From London?”

Annie nodded.

“So we’ve got a Yank and a lady minder from London. What’s th’ boy doin’ up here?”

“We think he met a girl from here online,” Will said.

The woman set her unhung laundry in a basket. “I see.”

“Do you have any daughters?” Will asked.

“I do.”

“Can we speak to them?”

“Just the one. She’s at school. Tell you what, come into th’ house. I’ll offer you something t’ drink, and we’ll look at your picture, but I can tell you straight off we haven’t seen any American boys.”

As they followed her to the front door, Annie whispered to Will, “First glimmer of hospitality we’ve had so far. And I can even understand what she’s saying!”

They found themselves inside a large single room dominated by a mighty hearth with a waning fire. To their left was a kitchen, to the right, a cozy sitting area with some old furniture, a hooked rug, and an ancient TV set—pre–flat screen, big, and bulky. The
woman immediately went to tend the fire, adding a few lumps of coal.

Will had a good look around, and asked, “How old is the house?”

A man’s voice came from the stairs. “Fourteenth century, parts go back farther. Who’s asking?”

The woman quickly answered. “Daniel, come down. We’ve got visitors. This man’s laddo’s gone missin’. He’s come all th’ weh from America.”

The man had black hair, long black sideburns, and several days of stubble. His right arm was in a sling.

“I’m Daniel Lightburn,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but mine’s busted.”

Will and Annie introduced themselves.

The woman joined in. “I’m Daniel’s wife, Cacia.”

“What a lovely name,” Annie said.

“Sit down,” Daniel offered. “Don’t often get visitors. Cacia, offer them a bevvie.”

“Tea or whiskey?” Cacia said.

“Tea for me,” Annie said eagerly.

“I wouldn’t say no to a whiskey,” Will said, wearily sinking low into the shot springs of the old sofa.

He hadn’t touched scotch since his heart attack. His doctors didn’t want him back on his nectar of choice; Nancy didn’t want him back on it. But his resistance was worn low by jet lag and worry. The drink hit his pallet sharply but went down with an easy familiarity.

He smiled at his hosts. “I don’t mind telling you, but we’ve seen a bunch of your neighbors this morning, and you’re the only ones to invite us in.”

Daniel had two fingers of whiskey himself. “Fowks here aren’t keen on offcomers.”

“Some of them have an impenetrable dialect,” Will joked. “You don’t.”

“Varies, I suppose,” Cacia said. “We don’t mix much with others. So we don’t pick up all their ways.”

“We’re what you’d call, self-sufficient,” Daniel said. “We grow our veggies, milk our cows, butcher our sheep and chickens. We don’t want for much that th’ outside world has on offer.”

“It’s just you and your daughters?” Annie asked.

“We’ve got two grown sons up tending th’ sheep. And me brother and his wife and their wee ‘uns are in th’ other cottage out back. We’ve got a gey clan.”

“Let’s see your picture then,” Cacia said.

Will handed over a copy.

“Good-looking boy, isn’t he, Daniel, but like I said, we haven’t seen ‘im.”

“What make you think he’s around here?” Daniel asked.

“He sent a signal from his NetPen.” They were staring at him blankly. “It’s a mobile communicator. It operates on GWS, the global wireless system.”

Annie held hers up to show them.

Daniel shrugged. “We’re not big on technology. Th’ telly was th’ ol’ fella’s, may he rest in peace.”

“The signal he sent last night tells us he was less than a mile from this house.”

“Mr. Piper says th’ boy met a girl online,” Cacia told Daniel.

“Must be quite the lass t’ come this far.” Daniel laughed. “Where in the States are you from?”

“Virginia.”

“How’d he manage to get all th’ way here?”

“He ran away, bought a plane ticket, took a train from London.”

Daniel said, “A motivated lad.”

“How old is your daughter?” Annie asked.

“She’s fifteen,” Cacia said.

“Does she go online a lot?” Will asked.

“Not from here, that’s for sure,” Daniel answered. “We’ve no computers. Maybe from school. Wouldn’t know.”

Annie continued, “Has your daughter mentioned using the social networking service called Socco?”

“Never heard of it,” Cacia said.

“Could you show her this picture of Phillip when she gets back from school and ask her if she’s ever sent a message to him?” Will asked.

Annie passed one of her cards to the nodding woman.

“And one more question,” Will asked, rising. “Have you ever heard the term the Librarians?”

“Well, I know what a librarian is?” Daniel said. “Don’t think I understand th’ question.”

“Yeah, it is a strange one. Outside of the conventional meaning, is there any local group up here that goes by that name?”

“No, sorry,” Daniel said. “Can’t help you.”

Annie hurriedly finished her tea and stood up too.

“Thanks very much for your kindness,” Will said. “If your girl knows anything, please call Miss Locke right away.”

Will was surprised when Cacia Lightburn took his large hands in her small ones and squeezed. She looked at him with unblinking green eyes and said with a sincerity that almost evoked his tears, “I know you’re going to find your boy, Mr. Piper. I know you will.”

They returned to the car.

“Awfully nice people,” Annie said.

“Yeah, I guess they were,” he said, his voice drifting off. His hands tingled. It was almost as if he could feel the lingering touch of that woman’s rough palms. “Let’s keep moving. Two more houses to go.”

Through the front-facing kitchen window, Cacia watched the car disappear.

“They’re gone.”

Daniel rubbed at his hurt hand and started upstairs.

“Send Haven t’ me as soon as her bus arrives.”

“Daniel,” his wife said. “If they come back here, what are we t’ do?”

“Do? We’ll kill ’em, of course.”

N
ancy fast-walked from her office to Director
Parish’s suite. She’d been having a cup of coffee and commiserating with her assistant about Phillip when all hell broke loose. She’d been forced to banish her son from her thoughts.

Parish started in before she could even take a chair.

“Jesus Christ, Nancy. Jesus fricking Christ.”

His phone buzzed. His PA was on the intercom. “The White House is calling. Chief of Staff Gladwell.”

“Tell him I’m being briefed on the matter. I’ll call him back in two minutes,” Parish said. He turned to Nancy, “Tell me what we know.”

“Details are still coming in, but the Chinese embassy in Washington received six postcards this morning by regular mail,” she said, checking her notes. “They were addressed to the Ambassador, the Deputy Chief of Mission, the Minister for Cultural Affairs, the Minister for Economic and Commercial Affairs, the Defense Attaché, and an Information Officer.”

“What date’s on the cards?”

“All tomorrow.”

“Is it a copycat?”

“Hard to say. We’ve got a team over there negotiating with their security people to take possession of the postcards for forensics. I’m told they’re postmarked from Manhattan, like the others, and that the hand-drawn coffin appears identical.”

Parish threw his hands up. “What the hell good are forensics going to be? None of the postcards have common prints.”

“We can test the ink. So far they’ve been from the same brand of pen.”

“Anything else?”

“I’ve got to tell you, Bob, I don’t think this fits. Maybe it’s a copycat, like you said, or maybe our perp is intentionally winding up the Chinese government toward some end. Think about it. Everything so far had pointed to an outdated database. None of these diplomats have even been in the States for more than a few years. And they don’t live at the embassy. The Area 51 databases, as I understand them, are keyed to residential addresses.”

“Well, we’ll just have to wait to see if any or all of these diplomats are pushing daisies by midnight tomorrow, won’t we?” Parish said caustically.

His intercom buzzed. It was the White House again. He had the call put through, hit speaker mode, and regurgitated Nancy’s briefing to Dan Gladwell.

Gladwell was in the middle of a sentence when he told Parish he had to put him on hold. When he came back on the line he said, “Bob, I just got word from State that the Chinese are packing up and leaving. They’re evacuating the entire embassy. They’ve got a plane heading to Dulles to pick them up and bring them home. They’ve lodged a formal protest. I need you over here five minutes ago to brief the President.”

W
ill and Annie widened their house-to-house search concentrically and by the end of the day had visited all residences within a two-mile radius of Phillip’s beacon. The word had spread around Pinn; some of the farmers knew about their visit in advance. A few were cordial; many were downright nasty about the intrusion. None of them shed a glimmer of light on Phillip’s whereabouts.

They began their drive back to Kirkby Stephen in the creeping sunset, Will’s mood matching the dullness of the evening.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Annie said, her eyes firmly on the windy road. “I spotted a pleasant-looking place across from the hotel.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said robotically.

She snuck a glance at him. “We’ll find him, Will.”

“Can we get the police to do another air search tomorrow?”

“Honestly, I doubt it. Officer Wilson sounded like they were done for now, but if there are further leads we’re to ring him.”

He felt the valley squeezing him again and wanted to escape its grip to an open space where he could breathe easier. The terrain smoothed out soon enough and there was some relief in that. But Phillip was going to be spending another night somewhere in that gloomy valley. Hiding? Held against his will? Scared?

He texted Nancy a barebones status report.

Her texted reply was, Oh my … and he could hear the sigh in it.

He waited for more, then asked her if she was okay.

“Your wife?” Annie asked.

He grunted an affirmative.

“She must be worried sick.”

“She is. So am I.”

Back in his room, Will splashed his face and changed his shirt. He tuned the TV to the news and quickly got the drift of Nancy’s “China Problem.” She was in the middle of it like the yolk in an egg, that was for sure.

His mobile started vibrating and chiming on his bed. He figured it was Nancy but when he was a couple of feet away, he pounced on it.

The caller ID was PHILLIP!

“Phillip!” he screamed into the phone. “Where are you?”

There was a sickening pause where he heard nothing at all.

“Phillip?”

“I’m his friend.” It was a small voice. A girl’s voice. He’d heard the Cumbrian accent all day long.

Will sensed a fragility. If he pushed hard, he’d lose her. At the FBI, he’d been legendary at interrogation.

“I’m his dad.”

“I know.”

“Is he okay?”

A soft “Yeah.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“I’m not with ‘im right now.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s safe.”

“Where are you?”

“Th’ library.”

“In Kirkby Stephen?”

“Yeah.”

“If I go there, can I talk to you?”

“Only if you promise t’ come alone.”

“I promise.”

“Do you have a car?”

“No. Yes. Yes, I have a car.”

“Good. We’ll need a car if you want t’ see ‘im.”

“How will I know who you are?”

“I’ll know who you are. You’re Will Piper.”

Will hung up and began to think furiously. If he involved Annie he might spook the girl and the door she had opened might slam shut. He could hardly use a taxi. In his prime he might have hot-wired a car and helped himself but he had no idea if it was even possible to boost one of the electrics in the car park.

Suddenly he knew what he had to do. He grabbed his phone and wallet and took off.

He didn’t go far.

Annie opened her door to his knock. She was in a robe. “I thought we said half an hour.”

“I know.”

He gently pushed his way in. She closed the door and dropped her arms to her side allowing the robe to part.

He’d pulled this kind of stunt so many times in his life he couldn’t remember. Sometimes he was sober, often not. Sometimes he knew the woman’s name, sometimes not. He was never a big talker in these circumstances and he wasn’t this time either. He simply pulled her in, kissed her softly on her upturned lips, and moved his hands over her back.

After a while she disengaged, smiling.

“Gosh, wasn’t expecting that. I’m sure the restaurant will be open a bit later.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood for a dalliance.”

“I figured an attractive lady would take my mind off things.”

“It’s the least His Majesty’s Government can do for you. Just give me a sec, won’t you?”

He nodded, and she disappeared into the bathroom.

He wasted no time. The Ford’s keys were on the bureau. He pocketed them and walked out quietly, closing the door behind him.

In a few minutes he was tucking the car away on a street behind the public library.

It was one of the two days per week the library had extended hours. There were many more users than his previous visit. The main floor had an inviting fluorescence compared to the gloomy darkness of Market Street. Despite his long retirement he still had the knack. He scanned the room and processed it in one fell swoop, hoovering it for evidence, getting the broad picture and finer details simultaneously.

He pegged the teenage girl before she made eye contact. It was the way she fidgeted nervously with a strand of her long red hair. And her hippie retro look, which his own daughter had adopted for a time: no makeup, long, gauzy dress with a pea jacket over it, low-cut work boots. She looked like the kind of kid who’d use a wildflower as a screen name.

The confirmation came when she saw him and affected a small smile. She motioned for him to follow her to the stairwell.

In the basement, among the stacks, she finally spoke.

“Did ya come alone?”

“Yes.”

“Phillip looks like you.”

“Where is he?”

“Not far.”

“Okay, let’s go get him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

He trod lightly. She looked afraid. “Should I call you Hawkbit?”

“Me name’s Haven.”

An airy-fairy name. “Okay, Haven. Why don’t you tell me what the situation is?”

“Can we do it when we’re driving? I slipped away. Hitched a ride t’ town. They’ll find me missin’ if I’m not back soon.”

“Are we going to Pinn?” he asked.

She didn’t look surprised as she nodded. “I was told you were around today.”

He searched his memory to match Haven’s features to the families he’d visited. “Lightburn Farm?”

She nodded again.

“I met your parents.”

She nodded.

“My car’s parked out back.”

Haven showed him a back way to get to the B6259 without passing through Market Street. Annie would be prowling the town, looking for him, angry on so many levels. At least he’d been able to swipe the keys before he’d had to sleep with her. There was that.

And as if on cue, his mobile phone rang with a call from a UK number. He didn’t remember giving Annie his mobile number but she was MI5 after all. She probably had a dossier on him. He switched the phone off. The last thing he wanted was for Annie or the local police bumbling into a situation and mucking things up. He was going to extricate Phillip from whatever jam he was in. He didn’t need their help anymore.

It was fully dark. Outside the town he clicked on the high beams.

She sat beside him, a silent waiflike presence.

“What can you tell me, Haven? Why did you want Phillip to come here?”

“I thought he could ‘elp.”

It wasn’t going to flow out of her. “Help who?”

“Me. And others too.”

“How could he help you?”

“By getting th’ word out.”

“About what?”

“About what we do up on th’ farm.”

He asked the question as gently as he could, fighting the urge to scream at her to spill the goddamned beans already. “What do you do on your farm?”

“I’ll show ya, not tell ya.”

Was that the line she’d used on Phillip? Was this a ruse orchestrated by her parents to lure him there? “Under the circumstances, Haven, how do I know this isn’t some kind of trap?”

“It’s dangerous, but it’s nae a trap. Phillip got caught, and I feel bad ‘bout that. Truly awful. I was the one who got his NetPen away from Uncle Kheelan. I helped ‘im get off.”

“But he got caught again, right?”

She sounded mournful. “On th’ fells.”

“He said he was being chased by the Librarians.”

“Did he?”

“What did he mean by that?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?”

“Me dad fell over and busted his hand, but Phillip’s fine. They’re cross wit’ me. They’re not letting me see ‘im, but I know he’s cared for.”

He needed to formulate a plan. “Is he in the farmhouse?”

“No.”

“The barn?”

“No.”

“The other cottage?”

“No.”

“Where then?”

“Under them.”

“A tunnel?”

“More than that. You’ll see.”

“How do I get to him?”

“There’s a secret way in. I’m taking you there.”

“Do your parents or your uncle have any guns?”

“Shotguns.”

“Any handguns?”

“Don’t think so. Don’t know.”

“How many men are at your farm?”

Her response puzzled him. “How do you mean men?”

“Adults. Brothers, cousins, you know.”

“There’s me father, me uncle, me two brothers, and me two cousins, but they’re girls. And me aunt, but she’s a girl too, I ‘spose.”

The sign for Pinn was in the headlights.

“In about a mile we’re going to pull off th’ road and hide th’ car in a little thicket,” she said. “We’ll walk the rest of th’ way through th’ fields. I’ve brung a torch.”

He was always good at reading people—very good—but he wasn’t confident that his skills applied to teenage girls from Mallerstang. If this was a trap, no one would have a clue where he’d gone. Someone from the farm could come back for the car and drive it to another town or hide it in a barn. He’d be on his own. He didn’t love any of his options. He’d have to figure something out when he got there. He wasn’t an FBI agent any longer. He was a retiree with a mending
heart. But he’d always been able work through tough scrapes, and he wasn’t about to stop believing in himself with his son’s life on the line.

“Okay, Haven,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

K
enney awakened from his nap to the sound of his NetPen firing off an alert. He fumbled for the light in the officer’s guest room and grabbed the device, commanding it to read the message.

Kenney listened to the rest of the conversation and laced up his boots. Soon he was flicking the light switches down the hall in the guest dormitory.

His men alerted fast, sparing him the dazed and confused routine.

“Lopez, Harper, get your asses in gear. We’re blowing this taco stand. We’re going to Kirkby Stephen.”

“That a person or a place, chief?” Lopez asked, slipping on his civilian khakis.

“It’s a town, jackass. Piper’s on the move, and so are we.”