Origins (Remote) (17 page)

Woods thought about it for a minute. “Did they fight? Maybe he got hold of the guy, grabbed at him you know.” Woods made a reaching motion with his hands. “Could have tried to get it away from him and pointed it down.”

Parker shook his head. “Maybe. But the vic says the guy asked for his wallet and then just shot him. But here’s the other thing. The guy that stopped? I wandered over and took a look through his window. He’s got a radio in his car too. Way up under the dash. Something stinks here but their ID’s check out so what can I do?” He shrugged. “I’ll just file the report. Not much to go on. Another unsolved mystery in the big city.”

Woods said nothing. Pontchartrain Beach was a few miles down Elysian Fields from the house of Julie Hoffman. If the kids left the house, headed that way, and holed up somewhere? What? Thinking about it, there were plenty of places along the lakefront a couple of kids could hide. The weather was good, no problem there. It was pretty farfetched but possible.

“Well,” Woods said as he got up to leave, “Good luck with the case.”

“Yeah, it’s a case all right,” said Parker. “A case of the ass in my opinion. I’m going to call it ‘The Case of the Mysterious Hair Ribbon.’”

“What?” Woods turned around.

“Didn’t I mention that? Yeah, the ambulance guys get there and they’re trying to get an IV started right? They get his arm on the ground and he’s holding a hair ribbon in one hand. Like a girl’s hair ribbon tied in a bow?”

Breed got behind the wheel and started the car. Backed out and roared past the man lying on the ground, pointing the car up Elysian Fields. Not knowing where else to go he hooked a left at the first red light, a wide double avenue called Leon C. Simon. A police car went past on the other side, lights and siren going. He recovered himself enough to begin doing some thinking. When he reached Downman Road he took it up to Morrison, hung another left. He reached the I-10 and took the eastbound entrance. Neither of the kids had said anything but the girl was watching him. Breeds broke the silence first.

“What the hell was that?” he said.

“That was why we’re running, Mr. Breed,”
Cassie said. “When people with guns are chasing you, you run. Or fight back. In this case we did both.”

“Okay, that brings up my next question? What exactly is going on? Why are these people chasing you? You realize you just shot a man and now I’m helping you get away? What am I getting into?”

Ronnie spoke up. “First we want to know why you didn’t say anything in your article about the guys that broke into my house.”

Breed knew he was in a pretty bad situation. Whatever these kids were involved in, he was in it now. The boy had killed one man and crippled another. If everything was connected they’d also electrocuted two other people. And they were sitting in the back seat of his car with guns. He’d either get a great story out of this or end up dead on the side of the road. He wasn’t inclined to give odds either way. He decided to go with the truth.

“The detective that went to your house is a friend of mine. He helps me out sometimes, sometimes I help him out. He asked me to hold off until he could put it all together. We thought the most important thing was to find you guys, so I wrote an article about you being missing. I gave him a couple of days. The article with the whole story comes out in tomorrow’s paper, the guys at Ronnie’s house, your Aunt’s house burning down with the two men in it. Everything I know, which isn’t much.”

Ronnie looked at
Cassie and nodded his head. It sounded right. He’d been thinking all along that finding someone they could trust, someone who wasn’t in their family, was the only way out. Breed was a reporter. He had connections. The last thing Thorne would want was exposure. If the article actually showed up tomorrow they’d know for sure. In the meantime he’d keep the pistol handy. Cassie nodded back.

“Right now we need a place to stay and something to eat. And it’s a long story. Let’s get someplace where we can be safe for the night and we’ll fill you in on everything. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” Breed said. “I’ve got a place we can hide. My brother’s got a fishing camp out by the Rigolets. He keeps a key hidden out back. We can go there.”

Archer arrived at the airport, picking up his bags at the carousel. A 30-minute cab ride had him at his hotel on Canal St. Check in was quick and by the time he’d settled in it was still early evening. He picked up the phone, putting in a call to Thorne that went unanswered. No matter. By tomorrow morning he’d have his men in place. What he would do about Thorne he didn’t know yet. Things had gone wrong before, on other projects. He pulled back the drapes on his window and looked out over the city. The kids were somewhere out there right now and he intended to bring them in the right way. He’d spent some time on the plane organizing his thoughts. These children presented an opportunity, a long term opportunity if he was reading things right. For them to be effective they had to be kept safe. They also had to be willing participants.

Right now, the Soviet Union was the big threat but Archer had a serious suspicion that things wouldn’t always be that way. He knew a war with Russia wasn’t in the cards. The consequences were too costly for both sides. What Archer saw on the horizon was much more subtle, and tremendously clandestine. The coming war with the Soviet Union would be fought on an economic battlefield and the United States would win. Russia could simply not compete.

But the Middle East was a different story. Small groups would be at the forefront of the coming wave of sentiment against the United States. These groups were tightly knit, made up mostly of men who had grown up together or were tied together by clan relationships. They were therefore almost impossible to penetrate with human assets. Information would be at a premium. But if the agency could observe key players from afar the results would be staggering. Connections could be made, movements traced, organizations revealed without the risk of a single agent. Cassie Reynolds and Ronnie Gilmore would be the first, a new wave of espionage undreamed of since the advent of war. Archer would be at the center of it. He had time and patience on his side. His thinking ran out five, ten, twenty years. The most valuable thing he could gain in the next twenty four hours was the cooperation of two thirteen year old kids.

Breed took the exit off the Interstate, headed down Read Rd, and picked up Hwy. 90 where he made a left. The Rigolets was several miles east of New Orleans, a waterway connecting Lake Ponchartrain and Lake Borgne. Past the strait itself there lie a long string of fishing camps on a narrow strip of land that eventually led to the next parish. Perched directly between two lakes, the camps were highly prized and ranged from elaborate residences to simple trailers. Many of the owners posted fanciful names to their places, erecting signs along the highway declaring their presence. Breed’s headlights illuminated Bert’s Place, Sally’s Castle, A Little Piece of Heaven, and Gone Fishin’ as they made their way along the two-lane road. There were no streetlights. Only the gleam of porch light bulbs and the occasional dock light came through the blackness.

Finally, Breed began to slow. When the headlights flashed on a sign that read Cup a Joe, he turned into a narrow lane bedded with shells. A strip of weeds ran down the center. More crowded the sides. They made their way slowly, dipping in the ruts. Ahead of them the headlights caught flashes of a small house set up on pilings. The main floor was twelve feet or so from ground level, protection from the storm surge that inevitably showed up every few years. Breed eased the car into a parking spot underneath the house, next to a small boat and piles of fishing gear. He killed the engine and lights.

Cassie opened the car door. The silence around them was broken by the buzzing of insects and the occasional bullfrog looking for a mate. Mosquitos buzzed around immediately. Breed went to the back of the boat, broke open a tackle box, and returned holding a key. Leading them to the rear of the house he climbed the steps to the first floor, used the key, opening the door to a small but neat living room. He laid the key on a small side table, turning on a light switch as he moved into the house. “Well,” he said, “It’s not much but it will do. For a while at least.”

Cassie
dropped her bag next to a worn couch, looking around with interest. The room was set with a large picture window for seeing out over the lake, covered now by drapes. The kitchen was adjacent to the living room, equipped with a stove and a refrigerator. There was a small window over the sink, the ledge lined with a row of candles. A hallway ran down the middle of the house to the front door. A wide porch ran around all four sides. She walked down the hall, opening each door in turn. There was a bedroom on the left, a smaller one on the right, with a bathroom next to it. The furniture, what there was of it, was plain but sturdy. She went back and got her bag, throwing it in the big bedroom. “Do we have anything to eat?” she asked. “I’m starving. But I need a bath first.” Breed went and looked in the refrigerator. “We’ve got eggs and sausage, some baloney, cheese, low fat milk. There’s a couple of soft drinks in here.” He opened a cabinet next to the stove. “There’s some bread and Vienna sausage and pork and beans. That’s about it.”

“I don’t suppose either of you can cook, can you?”

Ronnie and Breed looked at each other. Both shook their heads. “Give me fifteen minutes.” Cassie said. “I can make omelets.”

Thorne was back in his office. His sources were working on Justin Breed. A team had been dispatched to watch his apartment though Thorne had little hope of finding him there. If Breed wasn’t smart enough to stay away he knew the kids were. It was unlikely they would return home but another pair of two man teams was covering that option. More men were scouring the area hotels, looking for the reporter’s car. Morning would bring new options. A specialist was tasked with digging up every article written in the last years, trying to find some common thread that might give them an idea on where to look. Another would be waiting as the property office opened. The phone book yielded 28 numbers assigned to a Breed. Each would be called in an attempt to find relatives, though discretion would be needed in that case. He assigned his only female agent to the numbers.

He thought back to all the manhunts he’d run over the years. In most cases people would flee to anywhere, get themselves as far away as possible from the searchers. That meant covering bus lines and airports. In this case Thorne felt that would be fruitless. Still, he had men watching. When the kids had been on their own he’d had very little to go on. Now that they’d attached themselves to Breed he was faced with more options but at least it was another thread to pull. The vehicle might give them away if nothing else. He put a tap in place on the home phone of the editor. On the off chance they might seek refuge at the newspaper itself there was one agent assigned to watch the parking lot. The ban on radio traffic was lifted. Each team and agent could call in immediately. His small reserve was in the building. A sighting would have them moving in minutes. Time was running out. And Archer was still calling.

Everything leads to a dead end
, thought Woods as he rocked back in his chair. After his talk with Parker he’d gone out to the hospital. The victim was in surgery and he had no chance of interviewing the man until morning. He pushed, cajoled, threatened, and finally left in frustration, giving the night nurse his number. He was to be called immediately when the patient woke up. He left the hospital, stopping at a small diner on his way back to the office. His nerves were now jangled by coffee. He got out a sheet of paper and began to write down everything he knew. It all pointed to something much larger but what that was he couldn’t put his finger on.

There was no doubt in his mind now that the incident at the amusement park tied in to the missing kids. The identity of the shooting victim and the witness checked out on paper. A closer look would have to wait until the morning. Woods passed his hands over his eyes, trying to shake off the coffee and the weariness battling each other. Finally he threw down the pencil. Tomorrow would have to do. He was leaving his desk when the phone rang. Answering it was a gamble and he let it ring a few times, before finally picking it up.

“Woods? This is Justin Breed,” the reporter said. “I’ve got a story you need to hear.”

“Tell me tomorrow, Breed,” Woods replied, “it’s late and I’m going home to try and get some sleep.”

“It’s not exactly me who’s going to be telling the story, Carl,” said Breed. “I think either Cassie or Ronnie will do that.”

Justin Breed had heard many unbelievable things in his time. A reporter throughout college and high school he’d begun his career in a small Midwestern town. Once he had been called to report on crop circles, another incident involved mutilation of cattle which he was assured with the utmost seriousness came by way of alien investigation. When he had moved on to bigger cities the stories had gotten stranger, delivered by addicts and junkies, murderers and victims. The twisted and sometimes pitiful tales had created a thick veneer of skepticism, a cynical outlook that caused him to doubt most of what he heard regardless of the fact that he often reported it word for word.

Cassie
emerged from the bedroom revived and energetic. She stopped long enough to brush out her hair, a mass of curls still damp from the shower. She opened the refrigerator, frowned at the two males, before proceeding to crack eggs into a bowl she found in the cabinet. A frying pan soon yielded the sizzle of sausage while she mixed the eggs. Breed was put to work slicing cheese into thin strips. Ronnie found himself sitting at the table doing nothing. He asked if he could help and found himself in charge of toast, a simple task Cassie was confident he could handle without help. Breed tried to get her started on the story and was brushed off.