From the Blue Page 16

  Wilkinson moved aside to allow the pair the clamber up on to the porch and quickly ushered them inside the furnished vacation rental. A cool blast of air buffeted them as they entered, chilling the light sheen of perspiration that coated their skin. But that wasn’t what Mark predominantly noticed as he stepped over the threshold. It was the transformation of the interior of the beach house that stopped him in his tracks.

  The entire living room and adjoining dining room, had been converted into a high-tech war room, complete with multiple computers, video monitors and the like. The dining table had been commandeered for paperwork and was currently littered with printouts and documents obtained from local real estate agencies, mortgage companies and the county court house. The walls were covered in area maps, from overall grid maps down to street maps, dotted with multi-colored push pins.

  “Impressed?” The stout agent asked as he led them deeper into the room, obviously pleased with his work.

  “Your reputation for efficiency precedes you, Agent. That’s why I requested you.” Mark answered simply, not wanting to stroke Wilkinson’s already inflated ego. In front of one of the work stations, he found another man, much younger than Wilkinson, busily tapping at one of the keyboards.

  “This is Agent Cooper. He’s a relatively new recruit, but he is an ace at technical integration and surveillance.”

  At the mention of his name, the second in-house agent swiveled in his chair and grinned broadly at the two new arrivals. He waved at them gratuitously like he was meeting two buddies at the arcade. He seemed unfazed that neither agent waved back.

  Mark stared at the fresh face, still pockmarked from adolescence and probably too young to even grow a mustache. His hair was on the longer side and mussed like he’d slept on it. His eyes sparkled with the innocence of one who had never come face to face with mortality and the I’m-invulnerable-to-everything look that every young man had. He supposed he looked like that once upon a time, although it felt a lifetime ago. Was this kid even old enough to drink?

  Replacing the headphones over his ears, Cooper turned back around to his screen and began his speedy orchestra at the keyboard once again. Mark caught the lead’s attention and raised an eyebrow at him quizzically.

  “Yes, I know, he’s young, but he’s good, very good, one of the best, especially on the fly. Trust me on that. I wouldn’t have him here if he wasn’t a first rate computer whiz.”

  As if he considered the matter closed and his word was good enough, the shorter man beckoned the pair to follow him, leading them back into the bowels of the house.

  “There are two bedrooms downstairs as well as two upstairs and a study. I’ve given you and your partner one of the downstairs rooms. I’m afraid space is limited, so we all have to bunk double. One bath up, one bath down.” He pointed towards the end of the hallway at the closed door there. “Sorry. This was the best I could do on short notice.”

  “Agent Wilkinson, this will suffice.” Mark reassured the lead as he walked them down to the first floor. “If you’ll allow, my partner and I will freshen up from the drive and you can debrief us in, say, half an hour?”

  “Perfect.” Wilkinson nodded his head, left them to their room and ascended back towards the front of the house.

  Thirty minutes later, Mark emerged from the small bedroom and climbed the tight stairwell. In the dining room, Angelo was having a conversation with Wilkinson. Both of them were staring at the magnified area map that took up the entire wall. The search areas had been drawn in and separated into manageable grids with colored push pins denoting known abandoned homes and current locations of the field teams.

  “So, we covered grids 1-6 yesterday and came up empty. 7-12 are being looked at today. Each team is allotted three districts with a radius of about five square miles.” The stocky agent pointed at areas on the large laminated maps on the wall and showed Angelo the streets involved. Both of them turned their heads and nodded at Mark as he joined them.

  “Is there any way to conduct the searches faster?” Mark asked, although he was sure the agents had already considered this to be the quickest way to cover the area.

  “Unfortunately, given your search parameters, there isn’t. Not every foreclosed and abandoned house is listed and we haven’t received answers to all our requests yet so we have to go neighborhood by neighborhood to make sure we get them all. Agent Cooper and I are trying to dig through real estate listings to eliminate those homes that are on the market, rented out or still occupied, but the going is slow.”

  “How long do you think it will take to finish the entire area?” Angelo asked, counting the grids on the map.

  “Probably six to nine days. It’s going to go a lot slower when we start moving into the outlying areas and the houses are farther apart.”

  From the other side of the room near Agent Cooper, a computer chimed and noted that a team had completed another neighborhood, checking in electronically. Agent Wilkinson dutifully marked the coordinates and pushed a pin in the map, denoting another completed block.

  “This is going too slow.” Mark commented to himself. His brow was creased in thought as he studied the map. Angelo and Agent Wilkinson heard what he said, but kept silent. Angelo knew that his partner wanted to find the next target house before another set of gruesome experiments were begun. Two unknown lives depended on it and based on the time lines of the previous murders, they only had at most a few days to find it.

  “Mark,” Angelo placed his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “you know how it goes. These things take time.”

  The words were meant to ease the sense of urgency in his gut, yet Mark Fitzsimmons only became more aware of each passing second. He could almost hear the clock ticking in his mind for the next set of abductees and all he could do about it was stand here and wait, frustrated and impotent to change their fate.

  Arms crossed, the tall federal agent glared at the laminate as if his sheer will could peel back the layers and find what he wanted. Angelo busied himself by pouring over the field agents’ reports.

  A few minutes later, another chime echoed loudly in the quiet room. Wilkinson appeared beside Mark with a set of pushpins. He stepped aside and let the tactician through, watching as he added to the already colorful map. When he returned to his stance, he began to look at the wall differently.

  The greens, reds, blues and yellows were all congregated within a small space, the grids where the small towns were located. The search pattern made sense, Mark knew, since the previous sites had been located in populated areas.

  Yet, the last murders had been interrupted. The neighbors had heard the commotion, probably from John Doe, and the cops had been called. Whoever was behind these experiments had been forced to leave quickly and unexpectedly.

  What if they were being more cautious now?

  Mark’s fingers began to radiate out from the epicenter of the current searches. They danced over the clear plastic, tapping out a rhythm, until they slowed over the more isolated, outlying areas of the map. The roads were few, the houses fewer, yet there were a surprising number of abandoned homes out in the middle of nowhere.

  “Where are the field agents now?” Mark asked the room, not turning around, his eyes squinting at the map.

  “Team One is finishing Grid Five and Two has been dispatched to Seven.” Wilkinson answered from Mark’s left and pointed at the sections. “Why?”

  “I want to reassign Team Two over here.”

  “I don’t mean to countermand you, but that’s an inefficient use of our resources. It would do better to cover the grids as I’ve laid them out.”

  Mark turned to face the agent. He had heard that Wilkinson was brilliant with logistics, but could be a pill when it came to social graces. He guessed this was one of those times.

  With authority, Mark said, “I appreciate your opinion, Agent, but that’s what I want done.”

  Wilkinson’s voice had an argumentative edge to it when he continued. “It’s the largest grid and a th
ird of it is scrubland, the southern border of Canaveral. There are only a couple of dozen houses in the entire area and only a handful that aren’t occupied. Is there a reason we should search there next?”

  “It’s just a hunch.” Mark said, not liking the agent’s assertion. “And because I said so. I am team leader.”

  Disgruntled, the pudgy man walked back into the main room in a huff and asked Angelo as he passed him. “Is your partner always so insufferable?”

  “Only when he’s right.” he answered back, more than happy to defend his partner’s decision.

  Mark heard the exchange and didn’t really care what Wilkinson had said or thought. If he was wrong, then so be it, but, as soon as he had issued the order, it had felt right. He had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts and this just felt like the correct move to him.

  “All right. How many houses are located in this grid here?” He pointed at the map and looked over at Agent Wilkinson, who had returned with a stack of loose papers. The man flipped through the listing of houses that corresponded with the area and answered.

  “Six. And it looks like they are pretty isolated from the main roads. It’s going to be difficult to conduct an inconspicuous search.”

  “We’ll figure that out on site. Is Two moving into position?”

  “Yes.” Wilkinson replied frostily. “They’ll be on grid in twenty minutes.”

  “Good. Tell them to proceed with caution and quietly. Let’s assume that our suspects are holed up in one of these houses. Tell them to stay undercover and give a threat assessment for us to check out later. No engagements. We don’t know how many people are involved in this and I don’t want them to take any unnecessary risks.”

  Agent Wilkinson took his encrypted cell phone out and began to text message instructions to both teams. When he got the correct code for receipt of new orders, he returned to the other two.

  “What now?” Angelo said as he continued to peruse the paperwork for the new grid.

  “We wait.” Was the only answer Mark could think of. He didn’t want to make another move until he knew whether or not this lead would pan out.

  Chapter 14 – The House on the Hill

  The dull silver of the rental sped along the intra-coastal highway with a careless abandon that screamed novice driver. As dangerous as water, loose sand and gravel threatened to send the tires into a tailspin across the asphalt, yet neither occupant seemed to care or be aware of the potential calamity. The driver was focused ahead of the vehicle. His knuckles were white, his expression one of angered concern. His lips were tight in calculated intent.

  The passenger was slumped beside the older man with his arm stuck out the window casually and his foot up on the dashboard. The sea breeze buffeted his bare skin, pulling at and tangling his curly hair. His face was turned towards the eastern horizon where the sky was a leaden gray mixed with blots of black and flashes of distant lightning. He stared at the roiling, surging mess of pregnant rain clouds with a faraway look in his eyes that suggested he was barely conscious of anything else.

  The opposite was actually the truth.

  Jaron was all too aware of where he was and why he was there. And the knowing had left his thoughts as tumultuous as the approaching clouds.

  His day and his outlook hadn’t started out all gray and stormy. In fact, given the circumstances of the past few days, he had opened his eyes in a relatively elated mood. Jaron had woken with the previous night’s date fresh in his thoughts, his other concerns like motes of sand on the wind. She had followed him into his dreams and he had begun the day with a smile on his face. Dylan’s perfume was still on his clothes, her taste on his lips. Every breath, each action was a reminder of her. And he had dressed, whistling like the birds in the morning, his soul as bright as the sun.

  Of course, he should have known that reality would intrude on his own personal ray of sunshine. That fact seemed to be as much a constant in life as death and taxes. Now his emotions were just as fluid and chaotic as the tempest he was observing. And, like the storm, there seemed to be no escaping whatever they were speeding towards.

  Well, there wasn’t much he could do about where they were headed, but at least he could remember where he had been. Maybe that would alleviate the internal torrent.

  Jaron hadn’t gone to the party to ‘hook up’ as Jordan had suggested after they’d met. It had taken him a minute to figure out what he was implying and that wasn’t it. He’d gone mainly because Marcus and Brutus had been a twisted bundle of nerves since they’d discovered Arden’s murder. They’d been insufferable, overprotective and on edge for days. Sure, as prince, he realized the implications of the authorities having his father’s advisor’s body. The repercussions of discovery would be dire to his people and his way of life, but the risk of exposure wasn’t a risk any longer. It was inescapable, but there was very little he could do about it or contribute to remedying the situation.

  He had needed to get away before the tension had driven him crazy. From one of his pockets, he’d found the directions for the beach party, all but forgotten in the ensuing drama. A party was just what he needed and, luckily, his handlers were too preoccupied to object to his little sojourn.

  Still, he had just been trying to escape for a few hours, alleviate his own tension. He could never have predicted that he’d meet her.

  Dylan.

  From the first time his eyes had found hers, he had felt her, a connection he couldn’t explain as if her soul had been laid bare for him to see. Her entirety had encompassed him in a way he had never felt from any of the girls in his country. She had been a supernova, exploding with brilliance, and a black hole, sucking him into her. He had been intoxicated by her mere presence. There had been no resisting her allure and he hadn’t tried.

  Then, like a wisp of smoke in the wind, she disappeared.

  He remembered wandering around in sullen sobriety until he had happened upon her again. In a snap, his spirit had soared at the sight of her, yet he hadn’t approached her. He couldn’t.

  His father’s conscience seemed to echo from somewhere deep inside him. And the warning that came from that little voice was right.

  They came from two different worlds. Any dalliance between them would be temporary at best. He could never leave his world and she could never be a part of it. Whatever it was he felt, it would end in doom for both of them. He knew that more and more with each passing moment that night as the beach blazed with fire, heat and light. Yet, when she wandered off, he followed her anyway. Her pull was impossible to ignore.

  He had convinced himself that he was just curious about her and he only wanted to know why she had this effect on him. He’d dated plenty of girls in secondary school. He was a prince. Just his pedigree attracted many admirers. He could have looked like a troll and yet some girl would be entranced by the thought of being a princess. Amelath had been one of those ambitious girls and they’d been together for almost two years. Still, none of those other girls, not even Amelath, had ever made him feel so…lost, yet found at the same time as she had.

  They had talked into the night, sharing themselves in ways that he never done with another person before. Each moment with her had glided into the next as effortlessly as one wave leading into the next and he had felt himself slipping further and further into the depths. When they had parted ways the next morning, his heart had never felt so broken, his soul so fractured.

  It had been late when he returned to his mentors. The sun was riding high and the day growing hot before he had even noticed how much time had passed. The young prince had been content to drift through the morning much as a leaf drifts on a lazy river, happy to coast wherever the memory of her led him. Certain he would catch his share of heat, Jaron had gone back, abandoning his careless malaise to re-enter the chaotic disarray of the alcove.

  “What’s with the moony look on your face?” Marcus’ deep baritone asked over the roar of the wind and brought Jaron out of his thoughts.

&nbs
p; Startled, Jaron turned and stared at his mentor’s grizzled and tired countenance. Marcus was a captain in the Royal Guard and a fixture in his life since his earliest memory. He had protected him, trained him and been more of a big brother than a bodyguard. Jaron had shared more with this man than he had with his own brother or father. Knowing how strongly he would oppose this budding relationship or whatever it may be, neither of his handlers knew where he had gone the night before or who he was with. He hated deceiving them, especially Marcus, but there was no way around it.

  “What?” he asked back, flush with ignorant pretense.

  “You have that preoccupied, dumbfounded expression that you walked around with when you started dating Amelath.” Marcus commented lightheartedly, a stark contrast of his earlier concentration, then turned sterner when he asked, “Did you meet someone? Because you know that wouldn’t go over well with your father. It is forbidden.”

  “No.” Jaron blurted out a little too succinctly, hearing the lie in his own voice and hoping that Marcus wouldn’t. He forced a bit of calm into his demeanor and said again, “No. Of course not.”

  With raised eyebrow, his mentor studied him and Jaron could feel himself wither under the intense scrutiny. Wanting to deflect any further queries as to his extracurricular activities before he revealed more than he should, he asked, “So what exactly are we doing out here in the middle of nowhere and why was I forced to come along?”

  The fraternal expression disappeared from Marcus’ face and he turned his eyes back to the road. Jaron hated to hear the disappointed tone in his voice, but at least the subject had been changed.

  “I really wish you would pay closer attention when we brief you. You are a royal heir. You need to act as such.” Marcus sighed and continued, “It is under your father’s instructions that you’re not to be left to your own devices until we figure out the circumstances of Arden’s death.”

  Jaron knew this much. He had heard his father’s orders, but there was something he hadn’t been told. “What exactly was Arden doing for my father here? What or who was he checking into that would want to kill him?”