The Seekers
Robert was on the phone as Anna entered his office. He held up an index finger to indicate that she should wait a moment as he finished his conversation. "Yeah, look into that, and get back to me. Okay." He hung up. "So, Lavery let you off your leash, did he?"
Anna sat in the chair across the desk from him. "Oh, don't joke, Robert. It's really not funny."
"No, I didn't think so either, when he sucker punched me." Robert wiggled his stiff jaw from side to side. "He's still a hothead, isn't he? Are you sure you want to sign up for this again, Anna? Didn't the guy cause you enough grief the first time around?"
"Oh, Robert. I love him. You know that. I never stopped. I'm not about to give him up. Which reminds me…" Anna squirmed in the chair. "He can't know that I was here."
"Why's that?"
"I've promised him I won't have any contact with you," Anna mumbled, chewing on her thumbnail and averting her eyes from Robert's.
Robert laughed. "Oh, that's rich."
"It'll blow over! He'll come 'round! Once he sees that there's AB-solutely nothing between us. He'll see how happy you are with Holly. He has to. It'll be alright. I know it will."
"Yeah, whatever you say, luv," Robert humored her.
"Look, can we just talk about why I've come? Faison."
"Why the sudden interest, Anna? Rappelling out of helicopters no longer enough excitement for you? You want to get involved with that madman again?"
"It's Duke."
"Of course. What else could it be?"
"Faison is the reason he's been gone all these years. He wiped Duke's memory, and he sent that…that…that…imposter, Paget! Robert, how could you let me believe that man was my husband?"
"I believed it too. Faison did a good job, Anna. He knew his game."
"Yes, well, game over. I'm putting a stop to it. I'm going to find him, and put a stop to him, once and for all. So help me find him, Robert."
"Look, how many times do I have to tell you? Faison is dead. He was killed. In a boat explosion."
"Well, yes, everyone thought we'd died in that explosion, too. I mean, we nearly did. But we survived. Why shouldn't Faison have done as well?"
"A different boat explosion."
"What? Are you kidding me, Robert?"
"I wish I were. The guy had nine lives. But the point is, he finally used them all up. Anna, if Faison were still alive, don't you think I would've hunted him down myself?"
Anna jumped out of her seat and threw her hands out in front of her, palms up, in a gesture of frustrated confusion. "Well, I don't know, Robert! After all, you didn't come find ME, now did you?"
Robert stood, too, slamming his hands on the surface of his desk. "Oh, come on, we've talked about this. I explained all that."
"Look, if you're not going to help me…. You didn't help me then, and obviously you're not going to now. So…so…so…just stay here, with Holly. I'll do this on my own." She turned on her heel, marched to the door and opened it, but then paused and looked back at her ex. "We used to be a team, Robert." Then she was gone, slamming the door shut behind her, before Scorpio could say anything else.
Reassured and amused by the thought of his three ladies happily laying waste to Wyndham's department store, Duke turned the car in the direction of the Port Charles waterfront. The evening at the Haunted Star had piqued his interest in the area, and he was anxious to take another look around.
It was a far cry from the Cote d'Azur, he thought with a silent smirk, having parked outside a greasy spoon called Kelly's and set out on foot. But perhaps it had potential. He was good at creating potential, and it had been a while since he'd had the chance to do so. Monte Carlo didn't have much room for improvement.
The diner was doing what it was meant to: efficiently feeding an early-lunch crowd of dockworkers, nurses whose GH shifts had just ended, moms with cranky, nap-ready toddlers, and teenagers cutting class. Not his forte. He moved on.
A few blocks farther on, he stopped into what could only be described as a dive bar. Jake's. Pool tables. Dart boards. A jukebox and karaoke machine. More longshoremen, ignoring all of the former as they hunched over the bar drinking mass-produced American beers served cold enough to numb one's tongue to the fact that the swill had no taste. He chatted amiably with the proprietor, a good-natured ruffian named Coleman, while nursing a glass of the best whiskey the man carried-a bargain-brand spirit that didn't really deserve to be on the top shelf anywhere. No competition here, though he didn't begrudge the place. He, and his father before him, had sat in enough public rooms like it. Working stiffs needed their sustenance where they could afford it.
Having set off again, he soon found himself in the warehouse district. He got the feeling this place had seen better days. There didn't seem to be nearly enough vans and forklifts hauling crates back and forth between here and the docks. The greatest amount of traffic was concentrated in a corner that smelled strongly of coffee. There was a huge, well-manned warehouse there, with a motorcycle repair shop beside it. Outside huddled a small group of oddly unoccupied men: hired muscle in a black leather jacket, less obvious muscle-turning-toward-fat who answered to Max, a sullen blond boy preoccupied with one of the bikes, and a swarthy bloke in a black suit. The last stared malevolently in Duke's direction. Unconcerned, Duke turned away, toward the other side of the wharf.
This was the most desolate spot yet. Behind a chain-link fence stood the crumbling remains of a warehouse that had obviously burnt to the ground. With the fire no more than a distant memory, the lot had become a weed-strewn dumping ground full of rubbish-old tires, discarded appliances, and dirt that sparkled like diamonds thanks to thousands of shards of broken glass. The sight filled Duke with a despair that was completely out of proportion to any rational response to urban decay. Feeling an urgent, overriding need to see Anna, he strode briskly away from the ruin, heading off down a side street to circle back around to his car, rather than retracing his steps the way he had come.
Across the pier, Sonny Corinthos watched him go. "See, now why's he hangin' around down here? Especially today, when we've got a shipment comin' in? You think that's a coincidence? I'm tellin' you, Jason, this guy is bad news."
"Looks harmless to me, boss," Max offered doubtfully. He'd started to realize that maybe Mr. Corinthos tended toward paranoia. There'd been no word on the street about this mystery man, and no news was generally good news.
"Did I ask you?" Sonny snapped. "What happened?" he demanded of his triggerman. "I asked you to care take of this. Since when do you let me down? I count on you, man. I count on you."
"Sonny. They're Robin's parents." Robin Scorpio was the closest thing Jason had to a conscience, and he knew the same was true for Sonny. She was the last person in the world he would ever intend to hurt, though that didn't mean she'd never get caught in the crossfire. The road to Hell wasn't unpaved, after all.
"He's snoopin' around my business," Sonny insisted. "This guy is a threat. He's taken down guys in my position before. What makes you think he's not gonna do it again? We gotta make a preemptive strike."
"Dad, if Jason says he'll do something, he'll do it. You know that," interrupted Michael, always ready to stick up for his idol.
"Alright, Sonny. Alright." Jason was not about to tell his blood brother about his encounter with Anna. That would only make things worse. And, frankly, Robin's mother was one of the few things that scared him a little. She was too reactionary, too unpredictable. Coleman had told him about the time she'd taken down two wanna-be's in Jake's-Coleman had thought it was hysterical, and claimed one of the guys now had a lot of extra room in the left leg of his boxer shorts. "I told you I'd handle it," Jason assured Sonny. "But you gotta let me do it my way. Trust me on this."
Jason was about the only person Sonny did trust. Sonny backed down. "Yeah. Yeah, I trust you. You know that. Just get it done."
Several blocks away, Duke's momentary panic had mellowed into a general feeling of déjà vu. The warehouses were behind him now, and he slowed his pace, his footsteps on the wooden planks echoing off the walls of the three- and four-story buildings in the run-down retail district. Everything here seemed very familiar.
Behind a trash Dumpster, on the heavy steel door that was the delivery entrance to one of the buildings, he noticed a sign, the paint heavily faded and chipped. He could just make out the art deco lettering: DUKE'S Place. And in smaller type: No Loitering.
So this had been his club, he realized. Where he'd worked, where he'd lived, where he'd loved the remarkable young Anna Devane. No loitering, indeed, he thought, with a crooked smile. He redoubled his steps toward the car to head back to the hotel and meet up with Anna.
In the sitting room of the suite, Anna had flipped open an aluminum Halliburton attaché to reveal a PC with a secure operating system. She booted up, typed in her ID code and a lengthy series of passwords, and pressed each of her fingers, in turn, against the fingerprint scanner. Her identity verified, she was able to access the agency's network drives. She typed in an information request: Faison, Cesar.
The monitor went blank except for two flashing words: REQUEST DENIED.
"Damn." This had never happened to her before. "Okay, then," she muttered. "Try P.K. Sinclair." As soon as she hit the Escape key in an attempt to refresh the screen, the flashing REQUEST DENIED changed to ACCESS DENIED. The PC then logged itself off.
"Great. Just great," Anna griped, grabbing her cell phone and flipping it open. She dialed an international number and a few moments later rattled off, "7022A53D. I've had a network information request denied. And then access denied. I have top clearance…. Cesar Faison. The file has been locked due to the subject's death? Really. No. No. Thank you."
The agency thought its top operatives were idiots, apparently, she realized. If Faison were dead, why was it necessary to deny her access? She was more certain than ever that he was out there. More determined than ever to find him. She needed another way.
She flipped the phone shut in frustration and sat, deep in concentration. Moments later, the phone rang. "Yes?" she answered it. "Robin!" she said warmly. "Hullo, darling…. Just trying to work out a puzzle…. You know, perhaps you can help. D'you know someone who's good with computers?... You do?... Damien who?... Spell that?… 122 Harbor View Drive. Got it. Right…. What's that? We'd love to have dinner. When? Yes, we'll see you then. Kisses to Emma. Bye, darling."
She dashed from the suite and made her way to the address Robin had given her. After ringing the apartment buzzer and asking for Mr. Spinelli, about a business matter, she was buzzed in and took the elevator up to penthouse two, thinking that these IT types certainly did very well for themselves. Her knock at the door was answered by a bug-eyed young man in rumpled clothing. " Hello, Mr. Damien Spinelli?" she greeted him. "I'm Anna Devane. Dr. Robin Scorpio gave me your name. I'm her mother."
"The Jackal is most honored to meet the Mistress of Secrecy," the boy stammered, taking her hand and pumping it furiously.
"Who? Me?" Anna raised her other hand, still holding the attaché case, to her own chest and glanced around in confusion as if looking for whomever he was referring to. Realizing he was indeed addressing her, she laughed, "Oh. Well. Thank you. I think. Um, I was hoping you could help me with a little computer problem. Robin said you provide, um, help desk services?"
"Oh, yes. Yes. Please come in. This is my partner in McCall & Spinelli Private Investigations, Ms. Samantha McCall."
"Hi," came the wary greeting from a young brunette dressed in black.
"Pleased to meet you," Anna nodded. Looking from one of the so-called P.I.s to the other, she offered, "Um, as I'm guessing you know, I work for an agency that deals in intelligence information, and I'm having some trouble with information retrieval."
"You want him to hack your agency's servers?" Sam cut to the chase.
"Well, yes," Anna smiled. The girl was quick, if sullen, she noted.
"Um, thanks, we appreciate the vote of confidence. But no way," Sam declined.
"But…but…but…the challenge! And the remuneration!" Spinelli argued. "You'll pay us, right?" he asked Anna.
"Yes. I'll pay you. Very well," Anna confirmed. "I know you'd be taking a risk. It's one that's worth quite a lot, to me."
"Absolutely not, Spinelli," Sam repeated. "Haven't you had enough trouble, with Rayner, and the FBI?"
"The FBI…" Anna muttered dismissively under her breath, rolling her eyes. "Perhaps there's another way," she offered after a moment. "Perhaps you could help me…follow the money. The information I need, it's about a man who's presumed to be dead. I believe he's alive. And if he's alive, he needs something to live on."
"That could work," Sam grudgingly agreed, with the slightest hint of admiration.
"Yes, yes! It will work!" Spinelli said, excited. "Reveal to me all that I need to know, Oh Covert One." He interlaced his fingers, turned his palms out with his arms extended in front of him, and cracked this knuckles, then flipped open the laptop sitting on the coffee table.
Before long, the three of them, sitting on the sofa, had hacked all the networks necessary to confirm that the publisher of the series of Davnee adventure novels was still paying royalties to a literary agency, who in turn was still paying a percentage to the estate of author P.K. Sinclair. That percentage was being deposited in a Swiss bank account, from which regular withdrawals were made.
"Well, dead men don't pay bills," Sam pointed out again.
"No," Anna agreed. "And Cesar was never the charitable type. The money's not going to trusts or endowments. Someone's spending it. He's spending it. Now we just have to discover on what, and where."
Just then, Jason Morgan entered the apartment, and stopped short. "Anna," he said, his cold blue eyes blinking rapidly, repeatedly, in discomfiture.
"Jason," Anna said, rising from the sofa. "You're not following me again?"
"What? No. No, I live here. I do need to talk to you, though."
"About?"
"It's Sonny. He wants Duke Lavery gone. He knows about the Sister Island gang, and the Jeromes, and he's defending his territory. He wants me to take Duke out. I'm not gonna do that, right now. Because of Robin. But I told him I'd handle it. So I'm telling you, I'm warning you: You gotta get Duke out of town. The two of you, you have to leave Port Charles. Now."
Anna was loath to run away from anything or anyone. But for Duke, she knew, she would do it. She'd made that mistake once before, not running while they'd had the chance. It had been a fatal error-one that she would never make again.
