The Guardian's Wildchild (37 page)

“You were right, Clay. Should have taken my boys and disappeared. Never thought the admiral would’ve been so desperate.”

“Uh huh.” Clay leaned forward. “Sam, I got this niggling feeling in my gut.”

“Like what?”

“You’re not here just to spend a few days with your boys.”

Sam remained quiet and waited for the detective to continue with his theory. Clay also sat quietly, staring at Sam.

Sam grinned. “You know, this coffee’s a hell of a lot better than the last one you bought me.”

“Sam!”

“Yes?”

Clay groaned. “Oh, you military sorts.”

Sam leaned forward and whispered. “I know. We clam up tighter than a bull frog’s ass.”

The two laughed, but Clay didn’t drop it. “Sam, what have you got up your sleeve?”

“Relax, Clay. Left my gun at the hotel.”

Clay shook his head. “Thank God.”

“There’s one favor I’d like to ask of you.” Sam grabbed the bag he’d brought with him and handed it to Clay. “What’s the chance of getting your lab people to go over these items? See if they can tell where they’ve been, what’s on them, that kind of stuff.”

Clay peered into the bag. “Running shoes and gloves. Where’d you find these?”

“They’re part of an investigation. I received a prisoner almost two weeks ago. During interrogation I discovered she’d been sent to the base for the purpose of accessing the same confidential file Joy had opened. She was apprehended and charged with spying and sabotage.”

“Who sent her?”

“Badger.”

“Really? Now, what are the chances you knew about Badger when I was investigating Joy’s murder? You know he’s dead?”

Sam shifted in his chair. It was time to come clean. “Yes, I know he’s dead, and yes, I should’ve told you about Joy’s involvement with him.”

Clay waved his finger at Sam. “You didn’t trust me, sailor. Go on.”

“While on my ship, some pirates tried to capture her for execution.”

Clay sat back and smiled. “God, you have an interesting life! This prisoner have a name?”

“Sidney Davenport. And there’s someone else who’s anxious to shut her up — Captain Butchart.”

“Ah, yes. Frank. He and I didn’t see eye to eye as I recall.”

“She’s confessed to all said crimes but she refuses to reveal where she hid the copy she made of that damn file. According to the prisoner, Admiral Garland’s gearing up for a demonstration involving the file. She’s convinced that the whole planet will be thrown into chaos as a result. If you can identify where these clothes have been, I might be able to find that file and learn why so many people are ending up dead or missing over it.”

Clay raised his eyebrows. “You after my job, Sam?”

“Someone went to a lot of expense and risk to eliminate this prisoner. Just a guess, but would that someone be the Madame you mentioned last year?”

“Difficult to say. Some good police officers have disappeared while doing research on her activities. No evidence, no known address, no nothing.”

“I think you’re a smart cop. And with me poking around for that file, you might find your life is going to get a lot more interesting in the next day or so.”

He pushed the bag of clothes toward the detective.

“So why don’t you take this stuff to
your
lab?” Clay asked.

Sam thought carefully over his response. “I’m still under suspicion among some of the brass. Your staff would have a more objective approach.”

Clay leaned forward. “This Sidney Davenport have some redeeming qualities?”

Sam hesitated and cleared his throat. “Some might think so. Anyway, she’s different, a bit weird. One of a kind, you might say. How about it?”

Clay leaned back. “I should be able to get it by the legal beagles.”

He folded the top of the bag down and agreed to call Sam when he got the lab results. The rain had nearly stopped by the time they parted, and as Sam walked back to his hotel, he focused only on the next step ahead. As people brushed by him, their sounds and their motion barely entered his consciousness. Pools of water reflected the city lights, but as bright and dazzling as the scene was, it faded behind the candle glow in a small cell on his ship.

Once he’d showered and changed into civvies, he drove his rented car to the admiral’s mansion. His sons were waiting for him at the top of the front steps. As Sam was about to get out to greet them, they ran down the stairs and jumped into another vehicle. Perkins, the admiral’s private guard, waved at Sam and instructed him to follow. Disappointed, Sam returned to his car and followed Perkins. They arrived at an upscale Japanese dining room and were seated, with Perkins at a separate table nearby.

The evening started off with awkward silence on the part of both Simon and Nathan. This was getting to be typical, but the tension was more pronounced than the last time Sam had been to visit.

Simon, twelve years old, was much like Sam. Things had to be in their right place and work perfectly. He had no patience for sloppiness and was intolerant of lies and devious people. Nathan, ten, was a hugger and hated anyone being mad at him, especially his mom. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, and it annoyed Simon immensely.

Both boys sat nervously at the dinner table, carrying on polite conversation in between long gaps of silence. They fidgeted in their seats and toyed with their food. When Sam suggested they attend a sailing tournament the next day, the boys half-heartedly agreed to the plan. The vague distance Sam had come to expect between him and his sons had become a gulf of solemn indifference.

He watched his boys. They avoided eye contact with him, but he saw hopelessness in their faces. It was the same look that had been on his face for the past year. He wondered what it would take to wake them up. He wasn’t a Sidney, but he wondered if some of her diversion tactics would work on them. Perhaps, if his behavior was bizarre enough, it might work.

He let out a short, almost imperceptible chuckle and glanced at them. No reaction. They continued to play with their chopsticks. He tried again, deeper and louder. Still no reaction. He escalated to a brief laugh.

Simon looked up. “What?”

“Oh, sorry. Nothing. Just a thought.” Sam laughed more vigorously, placing his hand over his mouth as if to abate his merriment.

Nathan glanced at him sideways, and Sam made exaggerated moves as if attempting to contain his laughter. His shoulders convulsed, holding back the contractions of a snicker that wanted to be released.

“All right!” exclaimed Simon. “What’s going on? Did I miss some stupid joke?”

Sam waved his hand in the air. “No, son. It’s nothing. Really. Enjoying your dinner?” Sam choked back another chuckle.

“Fine!” retorted Simon.

Sam let out a long laugh as though he couldn’t contain it any longer. He eventually regained his composure and wiped tears that had escaped his eyes. Both of his sons eyed him suspiciously.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Anyone for dessert?”

Again he placed his hand over his mouth to restrain a snort that found its way out through his nose.

Nathan frowned. “Dad! Christ, you on something?”

Simon gave Nathan a swat, barely grazing his shoulder. “Keep your voice down and watch your language, Boozebrain.”

Nathan gave Simon a shove back. “Mind your own business, Fuzzballs.” The shoving continued until Sam interjected.

“Boys, hey, hey, let’s keep it down.” Then switching to a dignified manner and a snobbish tone of voice, he said, “We’re family. We don’t treat each other that way. Fuzzballs, you apologize to Boozebrain, and Boozebrain you apologize to Fuzzballs.”

The shock on his sons’ faces was more than he could stand. He burst out into a full-scale, genuine belly laugh. His hand hit the table, which sent a plate flying to the floor and a glass of water spilling onto Sam’s pants. He bolted upright, which sent his chair tumbling back into another patron’s elbow, knocking the food from his chopsticks high into the air and over into the next table’s soup, splashing its owner.

Simon and Nathan, bewildered by their dad’s unusual behavior, stood up in stunned amazement. It wasn’t long before a familiar seed began to sprout within them. At first, they did their best to try to look disgusted. But Nathan was the first to let out a giggle.

“Hey, Fuzzballs, you gonna tell the admiral about this?” he asked.

Simon grinned. “Nope.”

The cascade of mishaps dissolved the tension and transformed the strained bonds into a river of love that between father and son and brother and brother was unlike anything else. Underneath the pain of separation and loss, the river danced and sang a joyous song within Sam’s chest.

When they parted for the evening, the boys happily agreed to get together the next day for the sailing tournament finals.

Sidney sat on the edge of her bed and tried to connect with Danik. He seemed to be involved in an intense group discussion. He sent her a brief wash of love and indicated he’d check in with her later.

For the moment, she simply sat in her lotus position, freeing her mind to the universe. A fragrance entered her space. It wasn’t the yellow plumeria blossoms still brightly gracing the base of her candle. The fragrance was softer, lighter. It came and went like musical notes rising and falling. It was a spirit, knocking on Sidney’s inner door and ever so gently caressing her face with its fragrant form. Touching, and then not touching. Tentatively seeking, and then receding.

Sidney sat quietly, allowing the being to express itself in its own way and time. She saw nothing at first. Gradually, subtle messages began to radiate from the visitor. They weren’t formed in words or thoughts. Instead, the messages came in the form of visions, feelings, musical notes that translated into a knowing within Sidney’s flesh.

At first, the messages were clear and beautiful. They were of the being’s love and passion — a profound hope and aching desire to become a part of some desired change. There were moments when Sidney experienced an urgency, a breathless anticipation of great transformations.

Then Dark visions, hollow and without the touch of the Creator’s breath, surfaced. It produced such terror within Sidney that she gasped and asked the entity to not take her there. The visions ceased immediately, but she knew the entity continued to carry that focus in some part of its reality.

Never before had Sidney been in contact with such a powerful spirit. And yet, as strong as it was, it also had a gentleness and innocence only found in small children. As she had this realization, Sidney saw the spirit take shape. Tentatively, the form stepped from the ethereal dimensions and shyly approached. Sidney recognized her instantly. She’d seen her before, but the child spirit had always kept her distance, always remained aloof but curious.

When she’d told Greystone about the child spirit, who appeared about the size of a four-year-old, he’d nodded and advised Sidney to send loving energy to it.

“Her name is Savannah,” he’d told her. “She waits.”

“Waits for what?” the eleven-year-old Sidney had asked.

Greystone had never answered. It remained a mystery. Sidney saw the child spirit only every two or three years. Each time she tried to connect with Savannah, the child would withdraw and disappear.

As Sidney sat on the bed, watching Savannah approach, she remembered seeing the child spirit briefly only a few months earlier. It seemed odd that the child would reappear so soon. Perhaps she had a special message this time. Sidney was determined to not give the spirit any reason to withdraw. It was difficult. Every fiber of her being wanted to reach for the child and hold her.

Savannah was small and appeared delicate. Curly, dark hair framed her small, chubby face. Savannah brushed away the curls that had fallen in front of her eyes. The girl wore blue denim coveralls over a bright red print shirt. She was barefoot. When the child was within arm’s length, Sidney saw beneath long lashes, brown eyes that revealed a soul of unfathomable knowing.

“Hello, Savannah,” Sidney said ever so softly. “I’m happy you’ve come to visit me.”

For the first time Sidney could recall, Savannah smiled. Her eyes nearly disappeared as the plump cheeks became more round and rosy. The child took another step closer. Sidney ached to reach out and caress her face. She breathed deeply and touched her only in the way Greystone had advised — a glowing, pure white light containing tiny droplets of the colors of the rainbow traveled from Sidney’s entire body and showered over Savannah.