Authors: Steven James
“Are there transcripts of the calls?” I asked.
“Of course. We tape all incoming calls. I’ll have my people fax them to you in the morning. Not much there, though. She demanded to talk to me, said it was urgent. She was afraid her life was in danger. Mine too, it seems.”
“What?” asked Lien-hua. “A death threat?”
“I get those constantly,” he said, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand. “This was different.”
“She wasn’t threatening you,” I said. “She was warning you.”
“So it seems.”
“But about who?” asked Lien-hua.
He gazed at the bookshelf for a moment and then shook his head. “No idea.”
Lien-hua shifted in her chair. “Sir, why didn’t you tell our team about this earlier?”
“I only made the connection when I heard her name mentioned on the news tonight in relation to this other girl’s abduction.”
Something wasn’t clicking. Something wasn’t right.
Lien-hua’s phone rang; she looked at the number, excused herself, and stepped into the next room.
“Governor,” I said, “does the phrase ‘white knight’ mean anything to you?”
He stared at me. For an instant his eyes seemed to turn cold and reptilian, then he blinked them back to warm and inviting once again. An amazing transformation. “Does that have something to do with the murder?” he asked. He was searching me, evaluating me even as I was evaluating him.
“She scrawled the words beside her, in her own blood, while she was dying.”
I watched him carefully.
“White knight,” he said thoughtfully. “Hmm. I don’t know. I suppose you use them to play chess. That’s the only thing that comes to mind.”
Why didn’t he react when you said she scrawled the words in
her own blood? Why didn’t he cringe? He knows something. He’s
hiding something.
The governor sipped at his drink and then shook his head. “That’s all, I’m afraid.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have those transcripts faxed over first thing in the morning. And I would appreciate it if you would keep me apprised of the case. I truly hope you find this girl, Julie—”
“Jolene,” I said.
“Yes. Of course.”
He rose.
Lien-hua stepped back into the room, and the governor watched her walk toward us, his tongue glancing out to wet his lower lip. I stepped between them and handed him my card. “And if you think of anything, you’ll be sure to call us?”
“Of course. Oh—” He raised an index finger and then reached into one of the desk’s mighty drawers. “Two tickets,” he said gallantly. “One for each of you. I’d be honored to have you as my personal guests Monday for the Cable News Forum’s annual awards luncheon. It’s at the Stratford Hotel.”
Everything he said was another way of patting himself on the back.
“I’ll be giving the keynote address to kick off a brief speaking tour on what the states can do to battle global terrorism. I’ll be at the Pentagon later in the week.”
This guy was unbelievable.
“Well. Congratulations,” I said coolly. “And thanks for the offer, but I’m sorry that we’ll have to decl—”
Lien-hua interrupted me. “We’d be honored,” she said.
He beamed. He wasn’t staring at me. “Well”—he gave Lien-hua a slight nod—“then I’ll look forward to seeing you Monday morning.”
And with that, Ms. Banner appeared at the door and led us back, past the paintings of the war that was not civil, to the car.
From his office window, Governor Sebastian Taylor watched the car containing the two federal agents drive away. It had been nearly thirty years since he’d heard the words
white night
. He’d thought that chapter of his life was over for good. Apparently not. He pressed the button on his intercom.
“Ms. Banner?”
“Yes, sir?” It was amazing how much innuendo she could pack into those two little words.
“I’ll need some time to make a few personal calls.”
“Would you like me to—”
“They’re personal calls, Ms. Banner.”
“Yes, sir.” A note of disappointment soured her reply.
He hesitated for a moment and then added, “Give me twenty minutes. Then, perhaps you can help me, um, work on the wording for my Cable News Forum speech.”
“Yes, sir.” This time her words sounded just the way he’d hoped they would. He released the intercom button and picked up the phone. Dialed a number. Waited.
A moment later a voice answered, “Reference number please.” Governor Taylor smiled. Only three phone numbers actually get you through to a live person at the Pentagon twenty-four hours a day. He knew all three.
“16dash1711alpha delta4,” he said.
“Just a moment.” A slight pause accompanied by the tapping of fingers on a keyboard on the other side of the line and then, “How may I help you, sir?”
“I’d like to talk to General Biscayne.”
“I’m sorry, he’s already left for the weekend. He’ll be in on Monday—”
“This is Sebastian Taylor, code name Cipher.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll connect you.”
“Thank you.”
Governor Taylor waited as the line was transferred, and then a familiar voice came on. “Yeah?”
“Cole, it’s Sebastian. I think we might have a problem.”
Alice McMichaelson rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock hanging from the wall of her living room.
10:21 p.m.
She tried to focus on the words hovering on the page in front of her eyes, but the more she concentrated the fuzzier they became.
The third yawn in as many minutes escaped her lips.
If only she didn’t have to work so much and could spend more time just being a mom.
But to provide for her kids she had to work, and to keep her new job she needed to finish her degree. And to do that she had to study, and when else was she supposed to read these textbooks? She couldn’t very well study at work, and then in the evenings and on the weekends the kids had all their activities. The only time she could fit it in was after her kids went to bed.
She yawned again, heard shuffling behind her, and turned. Brenda stood in the hallway holding Wally to her chest.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Wally can’t sleep. He’s scared.”
“What’s Wally scared of?”
Brenda hugged her stuffed walrus tighter. “Monsters.”
For just a moment Alice considered trying to convince her daughter that there were no such thing as monsters, but she knew it wouldn’t work. She’d tried that before. She’d done what all parents do, opening the closet doors, flipping up the bedcovers to look beneath the bed. “See? No monsters. Now go to sleep.” But it never worked. All kids know monsters can turn invisible, so showing them empty closets never does any good. And besides, she didn’t have enough energy for all of that tonight. She needed a new approach.
Alice got up and walked over to her daughter. “Monsters, huh. Well, maybe Wally would feel better if he went to sleep in a room where there are no monsters.”
Brenda looked confused. “Where?”
“Mommy’s bedroom. No monsters are allowed in there when I’m studying my books. It’s a rule.”
“It is?”
Alice led her daughter down the hallway. “Of course.”
“Who made it?”
Alice tried to think fast. “Well, the angels did, honey. Monsters are no match for angels, you know that.”
They’d reached the bedroom. “Yeah,” said Brenda. “Everyone knows that.”
Alice pulled back the edge of the covers. “You see, the angels made a rule long ago that mommies get special protection when they’re trying to take good care of their children. No monsters allowed.”
Brenda was thoughtful for a moment. “That’s a good rule.”
“Yes it is. Now climb in.”
She pulled the covers up to her daughter’s chin.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Is there a rule about daddies too?”
“What do you mean?”
After a slight pause. “I think sometimes Daddy let the monsters in.”
Alice felt her heart hammering. “You know, sweetheart,” Alice said as calmly as she could, “all you have to remember is that the angels are watching over you tonight and the monsters are all far, far away. Now, good night.”
“Good night, Mommy.”
Alice gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead, and as she was closing the door, she heard Brenda telling Wally, “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Mommy says the monsters can’t get in.”
Then Alice went back to the living room, thinking of Garrett. She couldn’t help it. At first he’d been so kind, so gentle, so loving. He’d been a good dad, really, teaching Brenda to read, taking Jacob fishing. Being there for them in the evenings, leaving work at work. But then he started drinking, and it all turned upside down. Everything changed. She tried not to think about the times the monster had shown up in her bedroom. Tried only to remember the other times.
Failed.
How was it possible for an angel and a monster to live in the same man?
And with that question burrowing through her mind, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t get any more studying done that night.
As we pulled into the mall parking lot I turned to Lien-hua. “Governor Taylor is something else, isn’t he?” I spoke softly enough so the driver wouldn’t hear.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “And he knows something. I don’t see how he could be involved in this case, but there’s something more going on here. He’s hiding something.” And then, anticipating my next question, she added, “Going to that luncheon gives us a chance to find out more about his interest in this case.”
She just continued to impress me. “Good thinking,” I said. “By the way, anyone important on the phone back there?”
She pointed to the man approaching the car. “Just Ralph. Nothing vital.”
Our driver pulled to a stop, and we climbed out of the car. After the driver left, Lien-hua filled Ralph in on our meeting with Governor Taylor. He grunted a little, nodded, seemed to take it all in stride. “All right,” he announced. “I have no idea what all that was about, but if we can keep him on our side it can only help. Let’s put this thing to bed for the night and get some sleep.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Hey, listen, can I borrow your phone? I need to make an important call. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”
Ralph grumbled but handed it over. “Battery’s almost dead. The charger is back in Asheville—”
“No problem.”
“OK. Just don’t ‘drop’ it.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Thanks.”
Ralph and Lien-hua decided to stay the night in Charlotte and bring the local police department up to speed while I flew back to Asheville to get an early start in the morning.
While the chopper pilot did his safety check, I called Terry Wilson, a friend in the NSA who’d worked with me on the satellite-mapping project. I caught him just as he was shutting off the light to go to bed. After a quick greeting, I jumped right into it. “Terry, I need some discreet information on Sebastian Taylor, the governor of North Carolina.”
“When you say discreet, do you mean discreet or
discreet
?”
“I mean I don’t want anyone else to know you’re poking around. Anyone.”
“Oh, that kind of discreet.”
“Can you do it?”
“It’s what I do best. When do you need it by?”
“What do you think?
A sigh. “Yesterday.”
“Close enough.”
“All right. Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ll owe me for this.”
“I always do.”
I dozed a little on the flight back to Asheville and took a taxi to the hotel. Just as I walked into my hotel room, the phone rang. I couldn’t believe it; the day seemed like it would never end. I picked it up. “Yeah?” I said wearily.
“Patrick Bowers.” Voice distortion software. I couldn’t even tell if the voice was male or female. “Patrick Bowers, PhD.”
“Who is this?”
A short, venomous laugh. “He is okay, I trust?”
It’s him. It’s the killer. The Yellow Ribbon Strangler!
“An inch over and you’d have killed him on the spot,” I said, scrambling to think of ways to keep him on the phone.
“Yes, of course. But you and I both know I didn’t intend to kill him—although I could have. I had a clear shot at you too, Dr. Bowers.”
Considers himself an excellent shot, maybe a sniper. Ex-military.
Check gun clubs, gun shows. Narcissist, enjoys controlling others,
dominating them. Arrogant.
My thoughts raced ahead of me as I tried to stay focused on the conversation.
“Where’s Jolene? Is she OK?”
“Oh, Patrick, I was happy to see that you’re helping with this case. It raises the stakes, don’t you think?”
Even though the voice was altered, I guessed from the underlying speech patterns and pauses that he grew up in the mid-south or somewhere along the southern coast. Maybe New Orleans.
“Jolene. I asked about Jolene—”
“Forget the girl, Dr. Bowers. You can’t have her.” He laughed again. “I saw her first. It’s too late for her.”
I was breathing faster now, getting angry. “What do you mean, it’s too late?”
Is she dead? Did he kill her already?
“Forget her!” he continued. “You need to worry about me now.”
I tried to conceal my growing rage, tried to control myself. “Then who are you? Tell me your name, and we can talk this through.”
“Please, Patrick, don’t patronize me. Call me the Illusionist.”
“The Illusionist? You’re a magician, then. Like Houdini?”
“I’m not like anyone. But you should know that already. You and that stepdaughter of yours, Tessa Bernice Ellis.” A slow chill snaked its way down my spine. Before I could respond he finished by saying, “Welcome to the game. I’ll talk to you again soon.”
“Don’t hang—”
But it was too late. The line was dead.
He knew about Tessa? How did he know about Tessa? I frantically dialed my parents and told them to check on her. Now.
A moment later, after they had, I demanded they go to a hotel for the night. Even though they were in Denver, I couldn’t take any chances. After a few minutes of arguing, they said they would. I made them promise. Tessa would hate me all the more for doing it, but I didn’t care. Somehow this guy knew about her. That meant she was in danger.