Dead Asleep (9 page)

Chapter 14

E
mma returned home in another car from Carrow's villa. It seemed that his cars were making a circuit between her villa and his. He'd send another driver to pick this one up later. The phone rang the moment she stepped into the foyer. She reached for the credenza and picked up the handset.

“I hope you're enjoying the lifestyle of the rich and famous,” Sumner said.

Emma smiled at the sound of his voice. An image of him came to mind: about thirty, six-foot-three, with brown hair, rugged face, and a slender physique, he rarely smiled. When Emma had first met him he also had rarely spoken. He'd opened up more with her over the years but was still quite taciturn.

“I'm learning that the rich and famous are a lot more messed up than we actually know.”

“Now there's a surprise.”

“Yes, shocking, isn't it? What's up? I'm surprised that you're calling me. I thought you were working undercover and incommunicado.”

“I was, but something's happened that I think you should know.”

He gave her the story. Emma tossed her keys onto the credenza and headed to the kitchen while she listened. He finished by saying, “Keep your wits about you.”

“Not a problem.” She told him about the events of the last eighteen hours, focusing on the crazy man and the priestess.

“They sound like a couple of amateurs.”

Emma felt a rush of gratitude. That Sumner wasn't buying the zombie and demon stories made her feel like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. She hadn't realized how tense she was until just that moment.

“They
are
amateurs, at least the voodoo priestess is. But I'm really concerned about the crazy man and the illness that seems to be making its way through Carrow's villa. I've never seen a man have a seizure as strange as Nalen had.”

“Do you want me to fly down?”

Emma paused. She knew that as a member of the Air Tunnel Denial program Sumner was routinely sent on missions the world over to stop drug trafficking, and she felt bad asking him to put such a lofty goal aside to help her with a couple of crazies and an overindulged rock group.

“Aren't you working on something in the Netherlands Antilles?”

“I am, but that was before I learned that we have a mutual enemy. My cover is blown, anyhow. I would be happy to put the surveillance aside to watch your back if you need it.”

“I think I'll be okay for the moment. My immediate mission is to find and collect some minerals from the blue holes.”

“All right. You need me, you just call. It's a short flight from here to there, and I've never had the pleasure of partying on Terra Cay.”

“I'll let you know.”

Sumner hung up and Emma settled into a kitchen chair with a cup of coffee. She stared out the window at the lush foliage around her and tried to decide which was more dangerous: the strange malady at Carrow's villa or the strange man who was chasing her. In the end she decided that the man was the most pressing problem. One swipe of his machete and she would be dead. A disease could be addressed in a hospital. She sipped her coffee. After a few minutes she decided to take a run. It was the best way to keep an eye out for the mandrake, and she needed the exercise. She put on her running shoes and headed out.

The late afternoon was cooling just a bit. It remained light through eight in the evening, which gave her plenty of time to scout for the mandrake. She began to run, keeping her pace slow while winding her way down the mountain. The trail cut a more direct path to the hill's base then the road did, and she leaned back as she ran downward.

The trail flattened at the base and she stretched out, keeping her strides long and picking up the pace a bit. She eyed the plants on either side of the path but saw nothing out of the ordinary. As she ran she felt her muscles warm and her breath settle. The beginning of a run always felt a little strenuous as her body adjusted to the speed and exertion, but after ten minutes she could usually count on her system to settle into a groove. As an ultra runner, for Emma the groove could last at least three to four hours. After that her heart rate would climb, indicating that the exertion was taxing her reserves. While ultra runs could last twenty-four hours, today she only planned on one and a half, at best. She would run up toward the West Hill, back down, and up again to her villa. The uphill portions would provide the workout she required.

She hit the beach twenty minutes into the run. The ocean glistened at her left, and three gazebos, each with their own picnic tables and grills, were on her right. Several people hovered near the far one, cooking food and gathered around the table. As she neared she saw Rory and two others. Rory fixed her with an angry stare. The two others, whom she didn't know, turned to watch her run by. One of them smiled and nodded a greeting that she returned. To the left of the gazebo there was a stand of manchineel trees, each marked with a red-painted band around its trunk to indicate acid sap. The tree's white sap was so caustic that drops on one's skin could cause burns and even blindness. Columbus nicknamed the green apple fruit that the tree bore “death apples,” a name that Emma thought was perfect in its explanation. Warning signs in several languages cautioned sunbathers not to rest under them. About twenty were planted in the sand and continued along the hill. For her, they were the only thing that marred the beautiful beach.

Running, she reached the next trail, which ran uphill from the sand. The going got steep and she felt a burn starting in her thighs as she pushed herself. Most of the plant life here was unremarkable and indigenous to the island. She hadn't yet seen anything even remotely resembling mandrake. Turning a corner, she stumbled to a stop.

She was staring at a small clearing filled with marijuana plants, planted in a circle twelve feet in diameter. The plants sparkled full and green and lush. This was a field lovingly tended. She began a circuit around it, looking for mandrake or any additional plants that matched it, and found them in a second, more secluded area.

This clearing was six feet by four feet and hemmed in by a hedge of oleander bushes in full bloom that formed a beautiful and deadly natural fence on two sides. This garden, too, was lovingly tended, with straight rows and plants arranged by category in each. The difference in this field was that every one of the plants was poisonous. Whoever planted the garden knew about nature, plants, and poison. Emma heard a noise and turned to see the woman who claimed to be the voodoo priestess standing at the edge of the garden. Her head was wrapped in a red bandanna but the rest of her outfit consisted of a simple white tee shirt tucked into a long skirt.

Once again she felt the rancid evil that flowed from the woman. Emma shot a quick glance around, searching for the man, but the woman was alone. Emma remained silent, waiting for the woman to speak first.

“You like my garden?” she said.

“Not particularly,” Emma replied.

“I use the plants for medicinal purposes. The people come to me because modern medicine doesn't work.”

“Nothing medicinal about them.”

The woman snorted. “As if you would know.”

“What makes you think I don't?” Emma asked.

“You're not a healer or a witch doctor. You told me that you don't believe in the spirit world.” The woman took a step closer. “But I do. I know that the earth contains many things. Some that can heal, some that can kill. I don't need a laboratory and test tubes to create a drug, but you don't know how to do it any other way.” Emma decided to let the woman in on her mistake. She pointed at the nearest plant.

“Foxglove. Also called ‘witches glove.' We chemists know that it contains cardiac glycosides. Most people would recognize the name ‘digitalis.' It causes dizziness, vomiting, delirium, and hallucinations. While it's used for cardiac conditions, a medicinal dose is so close to a lethal dose that it's tough to administer without killing the patient.” She walked to the second row. “Jimson weed. This one saved my life once. My favorite story about it is the one where the Jamestown colonists used it on British soldiers. It causes hallucinations, delirium, insanity, coma, and death. The British survived, but just barely.” She pointed to the next row. “Rhubarb. The roots make for a great pie but the leaves will kill you. And I'm not surprised to find this last one in your little garden.” She pointed to the final row of plants. “Belladonna. If ingested, the result will be loss of balance, staggering, hallucinations, convulsions, and eventually death. Ten to twenty of the berries will kill an adult. Used by voodoo practitioners to create their so-called ‘zombies.' How much did you give the man?”

The priestess raised an eyebrow. Emma waited. In her experience, when one was silent others would fill the void with talk. And she wanted this woman to talk. The woman shrugged.

“So you know plants. That won't save you. You're marked for death and it
will
come.”

The outright threat shocked Emma more than anything the woman had said so far. While she saw the woman as the amateur that Sumner had called her, she wasn't about to let herself be brazenly threatened. Emma walked toward her and noticed the small skull voodoo charm dangling from a necklace around the woman's neck. The woman stood on the opposite side of a low lying oleander bush, and Emma stopped before her legs touched it.

“Death comes for us all one day, but I don't intend to let you or anyone else choose when. If I were you I'd watch what I say.”

The woman smirked. “Are you threatening me?”

Emma shook her head. “Not at all. But words have consequences. All you're drawing to yourself is trouble. Take your fear tactics elsewhere. They won't work with me. And tell whoever is paying you to harass me that it won't slow the research into the blue holes. If it's not me doing the research, then someone else will.”

“I've seen brave men shake and cry in front of a voodoo bokor. You will, too, when your time comes.”

Emma wished she'd had her phone with her so she could have called Moore, but perhaps it was irrelevant. Even if she could have notified him, he would have been forced to traverse over a mile of the trail on foot. The woman would be long gone by the time he reached the garden. She decided to quit the conversation and turned to go back to the path. From the corner of her eye she saw the woman lean forward.

“The ritual is done, the curse is upon you, and the demons that I called forth to do my bidding are coming for you. When they do, you'll be scared. You'll see hell.” Emma looked back. The black soulless eyes held triumph in them. Emma raised an eyebrow.

“I've already seen hell. I didn't like it, but I survived. And I hope that you chose your demons wisely, because I'm not going down without a fight.”

She stepped out of the small area then, back into the marijuana field, and reentered the trail. She thought she heard the sound of an evil laugh echo behind her.

Chapter 15

E
mma ran the entire looping trail and saw nothing that resembled mandrake. After her discovery of the priestess's garden she assumed there must be another that contained the anesthetic plant. She made it back to her villa without incident, stripped off her running clothes, and took a long hot shower. The steaming water seemed to wash not only the sweat from her body but also the evil feeling the contact with the priestess had given her.

After her shower, Emma decided to drive by Island Security to see what was being done about the woman's male companion. As she pulled up to the building, she heard a plane in the distance and gazed into the sky, shielding her eyes from the sun. It was a private jet, one of the many that landed on Terra Cay daily, on approach.

Emma jogged up the steps and into the office. Randiger sat at his desk against the far wall and its bank of windows. He was looking out, watching the airplane approach. He glanced over and smiled when he saw her.

“Watching the planes land?” she said. “I'll bet that never gets old.”

He smiled. “It doesn't. They taxi to this end and you can watch them step out. I once saw the Queen of England walk down the steps to a waiting car.”

“What? You didn't make her check in through immigration?” A small covered but open air area served as the island's immigration point; one islander sat at a window checking in passengers. The entire process took three minutes and was completed with a smile. Terra Cay seemed far removed from the crime and stress of daily life. Emma wondered if it was her presence that was disrupting the idyllic existence.

“I didn't need to see her passport to know it was her,” Randiger said. “A face known the world over.”

“I wonder what that's like. Never having your privacy. Everyone you meet knowing who you are.”

“I imagine Carrow knows a bit about that.” Randiger grimaced. “Though I don't think I would like that particular brand of celebrity. The whole crew seems trapped in their skin.”

It was an interesting observation. The more Emma talked to Randiger, the more she liked him. There was something solid and dependable about him. He stood up.

“What brings you here?”

“Just wondering if you caught the man who chased me.”

Randiger grew serious. “No. But we did find evidence that he'd been living at the far end of the mangrove. There was a makeshift tent and some cooking pots along with a banked fire. The fire was our biggest concern. Something like that gets out of control, this entire island could go up in flames. The acres around it consist of mainly scrub, and our fire department is volunteer and small.” Emma told him about her encounter with the woman.

“A poisonous garden?” Randiger rubbed his face and sighed. “I'll get one of the gardeners up there to rip it out. Along with the marijuana. We know it's being cultivated in small plots and we've been diligent about destroying it whenever we find it. It's not that we're so against the individual grower, but drugs inevitably bring dealers and violence. It won't do to let it get out of hand.” Behind him, Emma saw the jet taxi to the end of the runway, coming to a stop just a few feet from the looming mountain.

“They almost fly right into the mountain, don't they?” she said.

Randiger nodded. “I'm sorry to say that a few actually have. But the majority of pilots who fly the route have been here before and know what to expect.”

The plane began a slow turn and headed off to the side nearest the immigration area. As it did, Emma saw the navy crest with the word
Rex
in stylized calligraphy embedded in an elaborate logo.

“That's Carrow's personal plane, isn't it? His bass player was having a seizure earlier. Do you know if they airlifted him out?”

Randiger nodded. “Just a little while ago. Carrow sent him on that jet. It's on the return. I've been told it should be holding the new crew that will be setting up the villa to act as a recording studio. Along with a new bass player and drummer.”

“Was he conscious? Nalen, I mean.”

“Oh yes. Awake and talking. Said the seizure was only a vague memory. He recalled Carrow speaking to him and being unable to respond or to control his muscles.”

“Odd.” She watched the ground crew work around the airplane. One man chocked the wheels while another rolled a set of stairs to the door. The setting sun threw a streak of red and gold across the plane's white shell. Heat waves shimmered off it.

“The general consensus seems to be that the cocktail of drugs he took didn't mix,” Randiger said. He came to stand next to her and watched the ground crew work.

“Is their drug use an issue for the island? I haven't seen it full-blown, but I've heard that it can reach epic proportions.”

Randiger threw her a glance. “It would be if it wasn't for Carrow's wealth and the fact that he is, overall, an asset to Terra Cay. He's given hundreds of thousands of dollars to the local library and instituted a music program at the elementary school set up for some of the weekly staff that bring their children with them.” Randiger shrugged. “Frankly, he's done a lot more than some of the other owners, even those with ten times the amount of money that he has.”

“Ten times? Is that possible? Carrow's loaded.”

Randiger nodded. “We have a few billionaire owners. Carrow's three hundred million doesn't come close.”

“What does a billionaire do with all that money if not donate it to good causes?”

Randiger shrugged. “Who knows? One has a yacht complete with a submarine and helicopter. Half the time he doesn't use it, though. He flies in.”

“Are they nice? Friendly?”

Randiger rocked his hand back and forth. “Some, sure, but it depends. Many get here and then sit in their pool house taking work calls while their guests party. Guys with everything that money can buy, and instead of kicking back and enjoying it for a couple of weeks they spend their time here working. It can be sobering to watch.”

The door to the jet opened from the inside and Emma watched as a steward swung it wide. She waved at the ground crew before disappearing back inside. The first man out of the plane stood for a moment on the stair, blinking in the setting sun. Emma gasped.

“What is it?” Randiger said.

Emma stepped closer to the window to peer at the man. After a moment she smiled. It was all she could do not to bolt from the office and head his way. She hadn't seen him in a while.

“I know that man.” She pointed at the passenger as he headed down the stairs.

“What's his name?” Randiger asked.

“Oswald Kroger, but his friends call him Oz.”