Authors: Jamie Freveletti
Dead Asleep (13 page)
“Off the island?” Sumner said.
“For good, I'm afraid. If this guy is right, then someone in the police department is dirty.” The sirens she'd heard before were louder now. “Let's get out of here before the next round of police comes. I don't want to have to decide which cop is clean and which is dirty.”
Sumner nodded. Stromeyer thought about who might have known her location while in St. Martin. “It makes sense that the address leaked from the department. Darkview is working in conjunction with the locals, but I thought the mission was kept secret.”
“Hard to keep a secret on an island,” Sumner said. Stromeyer had to agree, but the fact annoyed her.
“They manage to keep the offshore accounts secret.”
“That's because the holder of the accounts will blow the bankers' brains out if they talk. Darkview doesn't operate that way. Well, I presume the shooting at the dock was an unusual circumstance.”
“Darkview doesn't hesitate when one of their operatives is at risk.”
“A fact for which I am extremely grateful,” Sumner said. Stromeyer sighed.
“I'll need to set up shop elsewhere. Did you let anyone besides Banner and the detective know that you were coming here?”
Sumner shook his head. “No one.”
“Let's turn this on, then.” She reached behind a small electronic tower set on a table near the front door. “It's a dummy system. It's a stereo tower that has a small camera built in.” She showed him a tiny LED display that lit when she pressed a switch in the back of the machine. “We'll see who comes through the door to check on our hostage. Maybe we can flush the leak out that way.” She put the gun in her roller bag. “Shall we go?” Sumner returned his gun to a holster at the small of his back and nodded.
“Thanks for the backup. That's the second time you saved my life this week.”
Stromeyer smiled. “I'm on a roll.” He pushed aside the shattered door and stepped out of the way to allow her to leave first.
“I don't mean to appear ungrateful, but here's hoping that peace prevails and your roll comes to an end.”
B
anner woke when he heard the door open and close in a quiet motion. He reached under the pillow opposite him, pulled out a gun and sat up. Wearing long black pajama bottoms and a loose gray cotton tee shirt, he kicked free of the sheets and stood. He moved along the wall and settled in next to the door frame just as the door swung open.
“Don't shoot me.” He heard Stromeyer's voice. He rose and stepped out where he could see her.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” he said. “I'd have been upset if I'd killed you.”
“No sorrier than I would have been,” Stromeyer said. Banner looked at his watch.
“It's three o'clock in the morning. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“The crew after Sumner made an unannounced visit to my apartment while Sumner was there.” She told him of the attack. “I think it's safe to say that the apartment is compromised, and perhaps my cover. We'll have to let the Department of Defense know that there's a mole in the police department.”
Banner nodded. “If you're right and a source in the department revealed your address, then this location isn't safe either. Time to move elsewhere. Where's Sumner?”
“He went to meet with the Southern Hemisphere Defense group to analyze the bullet. He asked that you stay put long enough for him to get the results to you.”
“How much time do you think we have before they come across the water here?”
She shrugged. “It's not as risky for us as it is for Sumner. They seem to be tracking him, not me. I've just been in the wrong place at the right time. My feeling is they'll focus on following him first and us second, if at all. Still, you should be ready to leave right after he delivers his report.” She looked around the room. “I forget. Do you have an alarm system here?”
He nodded. “I do. Let me turn it on.” She stretched, and Banner noticed that she looked tired. “Need some sleep?”
“Desperately,” Stromeyer said. “I never realized until this mission how crucial sleep can be. Seems as though I've been up most nights. Arms dealers need to learn how to conduct their transactions in the daylight hours.”
Banner smiled and walked to the alarm keypad located on the master bedroom wall. He activated it to trigger should anyone tamper with the perimeter. “There's a reason that sleep deprivation is a tried and true form of torture and mind control. Without sleep, people very quickly begin to hallucinate and then die.”
“Now I believe it,” Stromeyer said as she walked out of the room.
Banner headed down the hall toward the kitchen. He doubted that he'd be able to wind down very quickly. His body was still alert from the way he was roused, and he thought perhaps a glass of water would help. He didn't bother to turn on the light as he made his way through the house. The phone rang and the noise startled him. That can't be good news, he thought.
He picked up the receiver and heard the voice of Susan Plower, the Secretary of State. She'd risen through the ranks by virtue of a brilliant mind and unshakable loyalty to the former Secretary, Carl Margate. When Margate retired, he'd pushed for Plower to succeed him. While her mind was brilliant, her organizational skills were lacking. Things were better now that she had an entire staff to keep her on task, though, and Banner liked that she could see through the obvious in an instant and mine the deeper implications of an event. Hearing her pulled up a mental picture of Plower in his mind: a mousy woman with ill-fitting clothes and a thoughtful manner. She was surprisingly effective as Secretary, mostly because her quiet approach appeared to foreign dictators as the opposite of the brash American that they expected. She got her point across with a quiet insistence that leaders knew would be backed by the force of the United States military complex. Banner liked her.
“I know the hour is late and I'm sorry to wake you,” Plower said. Banner held the phone between his shoulder and jaw as he reached into the kitchen cabinet for a glass.
“Not at all. What can I do for you?”
“Do you never sleep?”
“Only when off duty.” He heard her soft laugh.
“I'm afraid I'm going to give you less time to sleep. There's been an incident in Saudi Arabia.” Banner poured some filtered water into the glass and took a sip.
“Terrorist? I hadn't heard anything.”
“That's because it's not the usual bombing or threat. The prince was walking from a restaurant to his car, and a robber tried to shoot him. The gun misfired and the man took off. They were unable to catch him, but they did find an unusual bullet.”
“From a new material?”
“Yes, how did you know?” He told her about the strange arms seller that Stromeyer had stumbled upon.
“The Southern Hemisphere Drug Defense crew is on it,” he said.
“The king is upset and there are rumors that the U.S. has had a hand in developing the bullet, which, by the way, can sail through standard metal detectors.”
“Please tell me that the U.S. hasn't developed it. We're barely staying ahead of the criminals with standard bullets designed in the last millennium. The last thing I need is a better bullet.”
“We're not involved, but we're as concerned as the Saudis. The Secret Service is asking that we begin an immediate investigation. The President is preparing to travel to the G-8 conference, and they're concerned that their security measures will be inadequate.”
“Stromeyer has set up a meeting with another buyer. Rumor is that there is a cutting-edge weapon available. We'll keep you posted if it proves to be the unusual bullet.”
“Thanks, and please tell her hello for me. And to stay safe, both of you.”
“You, too. I understand that one of the African leaders has a massive crush on you. Be careful that he doesn't have you kidnapped for his harem.” Banner smiled at the sound of her groan over the line.
“State dinners with his country are excruciating. He sits too close, doesn't want to discuss politics, and keeps complimenting me on my clothes. Complimenting
my
clothes, can you imagine?”
Banner couldn't, but was surprised that she seemed to know that her clothes were shapeless. For the first time, it occurred to him that perhaps her lack of fashion was deliberate.
“A crush could come in handy, though. Maybe he will help with intelligence on the new weapon?”
“Unfortunately he's not that far gone, though I haven't put his affections to the test and have no intention of doing so. I'll rely on you and Stromeyer, if you don't mind.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Not at all. In the meantime, we'll try to keep the President within safe boundaries. Good luck.”
She rang off, and Banner finished his water. He stared out the window and started cataloging in his mind the known countries and terrorists that would have both the financial wherewithal to fund research for a cutting-edge weapon and the knowledge base to fashion one. His list was short, but lethal.
T
he next morning Emma pulled into Island Security carrying the food samples. She opened the door and stepped into chaos. All the phones rang at the same moment and two women stationed at separate desks were picking them up, saying “Can you hold?” switching lines and saying “Can you hold?” over and over again. Randiger stood at his desk against the wall looking out onto the airfield while he held what appeared to be an intense conversation. He looked up, saw Emma, and waved her to him. He hung up as she reached the desk.
“You look good,” he said. “Glad to see that the poison didn't get to you. Did you bring the tainted food?”
She held up the plastic bags. “I could analyze it myself, but I want it to be used as evidence, and I imagine it would be a conflict of interest if I did the testing.” Randiger's phone rang again and he ignored it.
“What's going on? Seems frantic around here,” Emma said.
“Two more houses have staff that fell asleep and can't be woken. The news has spread and the owners that remained after the holiday are leaving.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the airfield, where one private jet after another was lined up for takeoff.
“What about the staff?”
“They're leaving as well, but the charter boats have a set schedule so they'll be here awhile longer.”
“Any idea what's causing it?”
Randiger nodded. “I just got off the phone with a health service official in the Bahamas. He asked if the staff members do drugs. Of course, the families of the patients deny that they do.” Randiger's voice held a sour note.
“And you don't believe them?”
“No. I know the guys involved and they all indulge. Nothing terrible, but a smoke here and there from some homegrown, if you catch my drift.”
“So the official thinks it may be from the drugs?”
“They do.” Randiger raised a coffee mug to his lips, looked into it, grimaced and put it back down. As he did, Emma saw that it was half filled with a layer of congealed cream on the surface.
“Do
you
think it's from drugs?”
Randiger rubbed his face. “I have no idea, but whatever it is, it seems to be spreading. Everyone's getting agitated. The islanders are going to local doctors for natural treatments.”
“Is that code for the voodoo woman?”
Randiger nodded. “I think it is. I've been asking around for her, and no one claims to know who she is or where she's staying on the island, but frankly, I don't believe it. I think they're protecting her because they believe her potions can help them.”
“Do they? Any success?”
He shrugged. “If there are, no one's talking.” His phone rang again and again he ignored it. “Listen, I'm headed to interview a family of one of the patients. They say they found some sort of powder residue in his bedroom. Can you come take a look at it?”
Emma checked her watch. It was eight o'clock in the morning and she didn't expect to leave for the blue holes until at least ten.
“Sure. I'd be glad to help.”
“Then let's go.”
Randiger drove a short way before turning into a dirt access road hemmed in on both sides by trees. Every so often Emma would catch a glimpse of a sprawling compound and the back of a large mansion flanked by smaller houses.
“That house is massive,” she said. “Is it the largest one on the island?”
“No. It's the second largest. The largest is owned by a newspaper and magazine mogul from the UK who also just recently purchased a large pharmaceutical company.” Randiger mentioned the name.
“That's one of the biggest in the world. He owns it?”
“Yep. He provides the Acute Care Center with most of its pharmaceutical supplies. Just about every home on the island has a medicine chest filled with his pills. He's in a bit of insider trading trouble right now and is spending a lot of time here.”
“No extradition treaty on Terra Cay?”
Randiger chuckled. “Ahhh, yes. Hypothetically speaking, if a conviction comes down while he's on the island, it would take quite a long time and lots of paperwork to get Terra Cay to turn him over. Would buy him time to wait for the outcome of any appeals.”
“Nice guy. And this villa over there is smaller than his?”
“By a fraction only. This one is owned by a financier and businessman from Russia. He's a recluse and rarely spotted off the grounds. He's a bit obsessive about security. Lots of closed circuit cameras and a couple of guard dogs. Because his house is beach level, he has his own private dock.”
“Russian recluse financier? Interesting,” Emma said. “What's his business?”
Randiger shrugged. “Lots of different things. Oil and gas, some gold speculation and several service companies. He owns a pool chemical corporation and supplies most of the houses here with their pool chemicals, and he also owns the Springfed water company and supplies the dispensers that you see everywhere. In addition, I'm told that he provides joint venture capital to companies around the world.”
“Hmm,” Emma said. Randiger threw her a look.
“I know what you're thinking,” he said. “Russian mafia money.”
“Well, yes as a matter of fact. You've got one guy from the UK hiding from an insider trading scandal and another from a troubled nation that's hiding from . . . who knows what. What's this one's name?”
“Ivan Shanaropov.”
“Any of his staff affected?”
Randiger shook his head. “No one's contacted us as yet.”
“Lucky him,” she said. “So we're not going to his villa?”
“Right. We're headed to the villa owned by the English royal family. One of their gardeners is affected.”
“Are they in residence?”
“Luckily, no. I wouldn't want Terra Cay to be the island responsible for harming a royal. That would be my worst nightmare.”
“If it's a disease, then it's not as if you could have stopped it.”
Randiger pulled into a circular drive lined with several neat, small town houses. He killed the engine and cast a glance in her direction.
“Try telling that to their subjects. These are the staff houses.”
Emma followed him to the front door of the third house in the row. An aging woman, her white hair pulled back into a bun and with dark, unlined skin opened the door. She wore a flowered housedress over a voluminous body. Her face held a concerned expression. Randiger smiled at her.
“Hi, Lorraine. I'd like you to meet Ms. Emma Caldridge. She's a chemist and I asked her to come with me. I'm here to check on Henry. He still sleeping?”
“He is. Nice to meet you, Ms. Caldridge. You're a chemist? I hope you can tell me what the powder is in my son's room.” She waved them into the house. It was a shotgun design with living room, dining room, and kitchen in a row, and a staircase to the right that led up to a second level. She moved up the stairs slowly. At the top she entered the first door to her left. Emma stepped in after her, and Randiger followed.
A young man, no more than twenty-four years old, lay on the bed, sleeping. A sheet covered him to the waist and he wore a worn, white undershirt. Sun shone into the room from a window set in a far wall and a clock sat on a nightstand. Next to the clock was a saucer containing two small piles of powder and an ashtray that held an empty roach clip. A framed poster of Bob Marley hung on the wall above the headboard.
“That looks vintage,” Emma said.
Lorraine nodded. “It's from one of his uncles. Henry loves Marley's music.”
“This the powder?” Randiger pointed to the saucer.
Lorraine nodded. “There was some on the floor, too. At first I thought it was dust. And you know I don't allow no dust in my house.”
Randiger nodded. “Yes, ma'am, I know.” A flash of humor lit her eyes at Randiger's deferential answer, but it was gone in an instant and her serious expression returned. Emma leaned closer to the saucer. One pile was easily identifiable.
“That's mandrake,” she said. She pointed to the dirty-colored pile that contained larger, coarser pieces mixed with the sandlike grind. “But that,” she pointed to the second pile, “isn't.” The second pile was a finely milled white powder.
“Any idea what that one is?” Randiger asked.
“It could be anything.” She looked closer. “Well, not cocaine. Doesn't look like it.”
“What would a voodoo doctor use?”
“Henry don't have any truck with voodoo.” Lorraine sounded adamant.
“Now, Lorraine,” Randiger said, “I know that, but maybe he got the powder from a friend. Could have been slipped to him.” He sounded conciliatory. “Well?” he asked Emma.
“Possibly scopolamine.”
“What's that for?” Emma hesitated. She didn't want to mention drug abuse or voodoo again in Lorraine's presence, but if the substance was scope, then there was a good chance that Henry was involved in some sort of drug trafficking or voodoo. She decided to have that conversation with Randiger when they were alone. For the moment she focused on the beneficial aspects of the drug.
“Divers use it. It stops nausea.”
“Ah, sure. It comes in patches, doesn't it?”
Emma nodded. “Transdermal patches, yes. They work well.”
“Could it be the reason that Henry's sleeping?” Lorraine asked.
Before Emma could respond, she saw Henry twitch. It was almost as if he'd heard his name. Emma kept her attention on him while she answered Lorraine.
“Possibly. Scopolamine can be used as a knockout drug when mixed with alcohol. Like Rophenol, or roofies.”
“Think he mixed his own?” Randiger asked. “With the mandrake?” Lorraine's sad expression changed to one of outrage, and Emma was quick to head off the explosion.
“Hard to say. Maybe he had no idea what it would do to him.”
“Henry doesn't do drugs,” Lorraine said in a forceful voice. Randiger gave her a glance and flicked another at Emma, who bit her tongue. She was certain that Randiger recognized the roach clip for what it was, but it was clear he wasn't going to point it out to Lorraine, and Emma decided to keep silent about it as well. If Lorraine chose to remain deliberately blind to Henry's paraphernalia, who was she to enlighten her? Besides, Emma didn't think her son's current condition had much to do with marijuana. The scope and mandrake were the most likely culprits.
“Can you give me a Baggie with that powder?” Randiger asked. “Maybe we keep it separate, just like it is on the tray.” Lorraine nodded.
“Let me get it for you.” She left the room.
“So our Henry not only smokes pot, but he uses scope and mandrake too,” Randiger said when Lorraine was gone.
Emma watched, and Henry's face twitched at the sound of his name.
Randiger continued, unaware of Henry's reaction. “I don't know about the mandrake, but I don't like the scope. Henry doesn't dive much that I know about. Why would he need it?”
“It does give one a happy, intense high,” Emma explained. “Like ecstasy. Like really bad ecstasy, though, because in the end it creates some wicked hallucinations.”
Randiger took out his phone and snapped a picture of the powder. Emma leaned closer to Henry.
“Henry, if you can hear me, move your right hand.”
Randiger gave her a surprised look but said nothing. He watched Henry's hand.
After a long pause, Henry's hand slid across the sheet a fraction to the left, then back. The movement was so small that Emma wasn't sure it was intentional.
“Again, please. I wasn't sure if you meant that,” Emma said.
Henry stayed still.
“Henry, move your hand again, please,” Emma said.
Henry's hand twitched once and stopped.
“Oh God, he's awake but paralyzed,” Randiger said.
“He's definitely having trouble responding,” Emma said. She heard steps from the hall as Lorraine returned.
“I'm going to have him transported to a hospital,” Randiger said.
Lorraine carried a couple of plastic bags and a spoon. She carefully filled the bags and handed them to Randiger.
“You find out what this is and get my Henry to wake up.”
“Has the doctor been here?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. He said he has three others to see first. Said to keep checking on him until he can get here.”
“I think you should arrange to transport him to a hospital as soon as possible. Off island,” Randiger said.
She nodded.
Emma followed Randiger to the car. When they were inside he turned to her.
“Is scopolamine also known as a zombie drug?”
Emma nodded. “I didn't want to say anything in front of Lorraine, but yes, it is. Mostly because it induces amnesia after the hallucinations are finished. When the victim comes to, they can't remember a thing.”
Randiger put the car in gear and started the drive back to his office. Emma gazed out the window, watching the mansion flash in bits and pieces through the trees.
“Would the scope paralyze him like that?” Randiger asked.
Emma shook her head. “I don't think so.”
“What made you think to ask him to move?”
“It was something that the voodoo priestess said when I confronted her. She said that the man with her responded only to her suggestion. It occurred to me that the priestess was being literal. That he could only move when ordered. Perhaps she'd given him a drug. How many people on the island do them?”
Randiger shrugged. “A few. The younger ones, mostly. Not much to do on a small island. They fish, boat, drink, listen to music, and flirt with the girls. It's a quiet life. Not too interesting for a young person.”
“So it would be easy for someone to introduce a new, cheap high and have it make its way quickly through the population.”
“Yes. Anything that is a novelty would be a welcome change for some of them. I'm going to really start pressing for information on that voodoo woman. Her magic is sickening people, not helping them.”