Guarding the Treasure (16 page)

Kevin heard more muffled sounds.

“I'll meet you in thirty minutes,” she said sharply.

He looked at the receiver. “She hung up on me,” he said loudly enough for the driver to hear.

“Yeah, happens to me all the time,” the driver said, laughing as he looked at his passenger in the rearview mirror.

Kevin was waiting in Theresa's office when she arrived. He took quick note of her. This was the first time in how many years of working together that he had seen her in jeans and a tight little Yankees tee. Her blonde hair was down. It touched her shoulders and framed her face in a perfect heart shape. Her eyes seemed to be a deeper emerald green and more beautiful than he remembered. She was a knockout, and he hadn't realized it until now. He watched her enter the office, hoping her mood was as beautiful as she was, but he wasn't holding his breath.

She shook her head, “Gates? You are so lucky that I'm not your superior,” she said, her green eyes fixed on him.

He knew better than to respond sarcastically to a woman who had the upper hand on him. Besides, he needed information that only she could provide.

Theresa looked away to retrieve her notes. She had to remind herself that they dealt in people, and Kevin had a personal interest in this case. She also knew that cutting Gates slack was something you should never do. He was a user and a charmer. She smiled slightly. He could charm his way into a mother bear's den and convince her to give up her cubs. Even so, she reasoned their department watched out for each other, and she knew he'd do the same for her.

“Gates, I took the liberty and called A. J.” She paused before she continued. “I thought he should know every move you're making. It's a keep-your-butt-out-of-hot-water-thing, if you know what I mean.”

“Thanks, I sometimes get ahead of myself and don't think things through.”

“You're kidding,” she said sarcastically, giving him a smile as she sat behind her computer. “A. J. said he would be right down to meet with us. New information has come in, and he wants to fill you in anyway. Sit,” she said, opening the photocopy of the diary. “Gates, tell me what Sophie said to you that prompted this urgent meeting.”

Kevin opened the pad of paper he had scribbled on while the two of them talked earlier. “Sophie said that the diary—or Three—spoke to her. It said, “Be watchful at all times, in the light and in the darkness.”

“Yes, I recognize those words. They were spoken to Anya by Three,” Theresa said, finding the exact page of the words.

“So what's the page number?” he asked.

“That portion of writing can be found on page eighty-five. See, there it is,” she said, directing his attention to the writing.

Kevin looked and saw the exact words Sophie had read to him. “So why couldn't she see the page numbers, and why was she able to read Gaelic?” he asked, thinking out loud.

“Read Gaelic? I thought you said she didn't know the language!”

“She doesn't, and that's where this starts to get weird,” he said, standing. “She said the diary talked to her while she was on the plane, and then again at the cottage. She thinks she can see right past the words into the meaning of the diary.”

Theresa thought for a moment. “Does Ms. Hanes use any kind of drugs?”

Kevin's crossed his arms. “No. I'm almost sure she doesn't.” He threw his hands in the air. “For all the tea in China, the girl doesn't even drink. No, I'm positive drugs are not the cause of her hallucination if that's what you're thinking, Theresa.”

“Thinking, who's thinking around here?” a familiar voice came booming from just outside the opened office door.

“Sir,” Kevin said, standing as A. J. walked into the conversation.

“Carry on with your thought process, you two,” he said, sitting on the edge of Theresa's desk, large coffee in hand.

“Thank you, sir. We were just discussing some pages in the diary, as well as a conversation I had with Ms. Hanes.”

A. J. focused his eyes on his photojournalist, observing his mannerisms for a long minute. “Is she doing okay, Kevin?” His voice was low with marked concern.

“Yes, sir, for the most part, I think.”

There was an odd hush in the room. Kevin could read something in A. J.'s face. He looked at Theresa, and he was sure she could see it, too. He turned the tables on his boss. “Is there a reason she shouldn't be?”

“Sit down,” A. J. said. He took a long swig from the cup in his hand. “We had information from our new man come in about fifty minutes ago. His name is Taylor. He's from Ireland. Talented pretty boy. Best of all, not a soul knows he works for us. He'll be your contact person in Dool. You'll be given the details tomorrow night. As for the current information, Taylor followed Smith after he dropped Ms. Hanes at her cottage this evening.”

Kevin's eyebrows rose. “He's already in the area?”

“Yes,” A. J. said, continuing. “The information pertains to Professor Smith and agent Gipson. Taylor saw them together at the pub a short time ago.”

Kevin looked down at his watch, calculating the time.

“He wasn't able to hear what they were saying, but it's significant that they're even associated with each other.” A. J. turned to Kevin. “Now Gates,” he said, “have you had any more contact with Gipson since you talked to him the other day?”

“No, sir, I've been waiting for further instructions.”

“Good. You're going to call him early tomorrow, about seven his time. Ask him if he can still keep an eye on Ms. Hanes for you. If he asks you why, tell him only that she's a good friend but tends to be a bit flighty. As I told you earlier, don't let him know about your trip to Ireland. Just make it clear that you need him to watch her and keep her safe, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, but what about Smith? He already knows that Sophie has an FBI agent for a friend. That is, if he and Gipson are working together.” He bit his lower lip, realizing what he had just said. “Sir, that could spell imminent danger for Sophie,” Kevin said, sure that his assumption was correct.

The choking silence confirmed his suspicions.

“Gates, the department has decided to reopen that missing person's case of three years ago. I'm sure you remember the details,” A. J. said, opening the file folder he held in his hand. “You'll be leaving for Dool the day after tomorrow. We've arranged for Taylor to meet you at the airport.” He eased his stance and looked up from the file. “Oh, and I was also notified that you didn't check back in at your Washington assignment desk. Is my information correct?”

Kevin sat a little straighter. “I—”

A. J. held his hand up to stop any answer Gates might give. “Don't answer. We don't have time to talk about that right now, but tomorrow at eight o'clock Eastern, you have a conference call with the chief. You'll be taking it in my office,” he said, walking to the door. He turned. “And Gates, listen to me very closely. Don't do one thing on your own. Don't think for yourself, don't dream on your own, don't do anything.” Seriousness hung heavy in A. J.'s voice, but more disturbing was the hardness of polished steel in his resolve.

Kevin nodded his head as he watched A. J. leave the office. His superior was one of the best men around, but he was not someone to mess around with. He would chew you up and spit you out for not following direct orders.

Theresa looked hard at Gates. “Well, I don't know about you, but I'm too keyed up to go home right now. How about I start filling you in on the diary? That is if you have any nerve left.”

Kevin continued to stare at the closed door. He couldn't drive the fact from his mind that Sophie was in terrible danger, and there wasn't one thing he could do about it. “Yeah, let's get started,” he said, turning from the door. “I need a distraction.”

A brief moan escaped Sophie's lips as she turned her tired body over on the bed. The room seemed to revolve as she looked around in an attempt to gain her bearings.
Did I fall asleep on the bedspread?
she wondered, examining the wrinkles all around her. Sitting up, she looked down at her clothes. “And I slept in my clothes. What happened last night?” she whispered. What had led to such odd behavior? She hated sleeping in her clothes, but even worse, she hated the feeling of not knowing why she couldn't remember what she'd done or why. The diary. It was the last thing she had looked at before everything went blank. She stood up only to have nausea grip her. “Whoa.” She grabbed her head and sat down hard. She stood again, this time slowly easing to her feet. “Some aspirin and fresh air will help this, I hope,” she said, carefully walking to her purse to get the medicine.

Sophie eased the door open. The cool wind rushed in, hitting her face and stinging her cheeks. She accepted the outward discomfort as a welcome exchange for the pain pounding in her head. She drew in a long, deep breath, allowing the salty air to soothe her mind. It took but a few minutes before she was able to focus on the day and not the pain. A smile returned to her lips as she stood gazing out over the misty Atlantic. She squinted. In the distance, she saw on a ship. It looked like a large ashen speck bobbing on the water.

She turned. The large wooden chair just outside the front door sat empty, perhaps awaiting her return from the comfortable encounter the day before. She opened the diary she'd retrieved from the table before leaving the cottage, but before she had a chance to look down; her eyes were drawn to the ship again. It had grown slightly, allowing her naked eye to make out its perfectly shaped hull and starboard side with green lighting. Sophie remembered how Anya had talked in great detail about her father's fleet of ships. Some large and beautiful on the outside, but on the inside used for selfish and dishonorable affairs. The ship that had carried Mr. O'Connell away was the grandest of all. It was handsome and full of new beginnings for her father, but as Sophie recalled, all Anya could see was that it carried him farther away from her. “I wonder if he ever made it back?” she asked out loud.

Suddenly, her mind jumped to Trey. His dreams had carried him away, too. His grand escape paralleled that of Anya's father—all for self, she thought. “No, I will not think of you,” she said out loud. She pinched the bridge of her nose, wanting to shake the thought of his leaving from her mind.
I hope Anya's father made it back—he's all she has left,
Sophie thought
.
Anger filled her chest. “Thankfully you're not all I had left, Trey,” she said, still trying to ease her troubled mind.

Sophie had a man waiting for her back in the states. His dreams didn't involve leaving for months at a time, trapping those he'd left behind in a guessing game with life. No, Kevin was much different. Still, she wondered if Trey made it back to Pullman from time to time. Had leaving with his God shackled his life as Anya's father's business and mistress had shackled him? Did either think about who they had left behind solely for self-pleasure?

Her eyes closed for a moment as she settled back in the chair. Sophie wanted to go through as much of the interpreted diary as she could before meeting with the professor that afternoon. She smiled as she turned one page, and then another. The diary offered much more than she could have imagined, and Three? The immediate word that came to mind about him, or it, was the word “puzzling.” Yet inexplicably, this object of disquiet brought a calmness she had not experienced before. She felt the same calmness she recognized in Anya's writing after each time she'd had an encounter with him. Sophie opened the original diary, and the binding cracked with self-eagerness, giving the illusion of opening on its own. She laid it beside the interpreted version. Her eyes focused on the entry she had left off with the night before.

“This isn't where I finished reading last night,” she breathed. Her eyes widened. The page was unrecognizable. It was sloppy and dirty, not prim and proper as she was used to seeing in the original book. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Fear crept into Sophie's mind. Her eyes fell to the words that were heavy with sadness. She felt emotion emanate from the pages even before her mind had a chance to read the words. Her eyes switched from the original to the interpreted version.

“So diary, this night I write to you as one who is very weary and used. As I lie on my bed, I feel dirty and ashamed on the inside and dirty and disheveled on the outside. I wrote earlier about the gatherings in the deep of the garden. You know why Sean delights in such darkness, and I now know as well. The darkness within him loves the darkness that surrounds him. He enjoys the wet, tangled mess of the night plots, and the activities? He calls them games. They are not games at all. They are nothing more than the hunter hunting the helpless. I hear something or someone…

“Oh, it is you. You now come? And why, may I ask? To see what happens when the innocent are put into the hands of evil dogs? I, Three, am the innocent being hunted by the hunters and devoured for their own lustful delights.

“And what of my friend, Olivia, she has attended two gatherings only to please my brother's request of her. She is protected, untouched by the will of my brother. I can see his anger bubbling just as a hot liquid boils in a caldron. It burns within him because of his inability to take her and use her as he has me and others. She possesses something deeper, Three. A protection that you have not afforded to me. Why must I go through such disgrace and pain, and you leave her untouched? Look at me, Three. Look at what they have done.”

“Anya, dear child, you are protected. Remember my words. Think back, and they will comfort you. I sent Olivia to show you more of me and what it looks like to come out victorious when faced with affairs that are beyond your control. Olivia has gone through trials, dear one, even giving up a man that would not believe in me. You must do the same and follow her example. She is the good on the good path I have spoken to you about, Anya. Give yourself up for me.”