The Heart of a Man: 8
Peter pulled the Stealth to a halt in front of a gleaming silver luxury sedan. The expensive vehicle looked out of place among the other, older automobiles in the dirty parking garage. The smashed driver's side window wasn't visible until he approached.
Taking in Jenine's shocked expression, he glanced at his father before moving closer to the vehicle. A once beautifully appointed dash looked as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to it. Peter was willing to bet dollars to donuts that whoever had wrecked the car's interior wasn't just a gang of young street punks looking for a thrill, otherwise the top-of-the-line stereo system and the small collection of compact disks would have been long gone. His thoughts were confirmed when his eyes found the corner of a white envelope sticking out from beneath a brick located on the driver's seat.
Carefully pushing the brick aside, he retrieved the envelope. 'Mrs. Crawford' was written across the front of the envelope in a neat script. He handed the envelope to Jenine and waited as she read the note it contained. All the color seemed to drain from her face as she stared at the slip of paper.
"It's a ransom note," she said simply as she refolded the note and placed it back into the envelope. "They've got Jo ."
"Do you recognize the handwriting?" Peter asked, watching her carefully.
"It's Mrs. Lewelyn's. She often left messages for me in this type of envelope."
Peter nodded thoughtfully. It made sense that whomever had kidnapped Johanna Crawford would have had access to the house and thus to the envelopes. But that person also would have had to have known about that particular habit of Mrs. Lewelyn.
"What do they want?" he asked.
"They want the vases."
"You mean the real vases," Peter corrected. "The ones that were stolen were counterfeit, weren't they? And Steph made them for you. That's why he's dead."
Jenine's gaze shot up to meet his. "I. . . yes."
"And now they have your daughter?"
"Yes."
"Mind if I ask why in the hell--"
"It is not safe here," Caine interrupted. "We are being watched. Retrieve the item that belongs to the child quickly. We must leave."
"Where?" Peter growled in Jenine's direction, forcing down his anger.
"The trunk," she replied.
Bending into the shattered window, he found the latch that released the trunk. As he pulled back out of the window, he saw Jenine moving toward the front of the car carrying a large sedately patterned overnight bag. She handed it to his father, and they all ran for the Stealth.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Kermit Griffin jerked awake, sitting up from his keyboard. Glancing around, he surreptitiously straightened his glasses. Confirming that there had been no witnesses to his lapse, and thus no bodies to dispose of, he turned toward his computer monitor.
He noted that the search parameters that he had entered had been fruitful, but that wasn't what captured his attention. A red alert window displayed in the top right corner of his screen. It was a notification that someone was accessing confidential files relating to certain ones that Kermit felt it necessary to watch over.
"Let's see who's been dipping into papa bear's porridge," he murmured as he activated the window. A stream of raw encoded data ran in a terminal emulation window. Clicking a decoder program, he waited as it attempted to decipher the data.
"Too hot," he murmured, when the attempt was unsuccessful. Whomever was accessing the data was not using standard transfer protocol.
Selecting another program, he activated it in the window. It, too, was unsuccessful. "Too cold," he said in a dangerously quiet voice. The decoder should have been able to translate the data from any government agency in the city.
Choosing a more mercenary decoder program, one that most organizations hadn't entirely confirmed existed, he activated the file in the window. "Just right," he said, leaning over the keyboard to read the decoded information. Someone from within the Department of Defense was doing a broad band search. One of the keywords surrounded the owner of the license tag number PTC-555.
"Aw, hell, Peter. You've hit the big time," Kermit said. Printing the offending document, as well as the previous search information, he left his lair and went in search of Paul.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Caine sensed Peter's nervous motions as he pulled the car onto the street near the warehouse where he lived. Night was fading, being replaced by the light of the rising sun. But the darkness of his son's anger was still growing. Every gesture telegraphed his son's emotions, making the task of seeking the child more difficult.
"Peter, you must be calm." Caine spoke softly, resting a hand on Peter's arm.
Peter cast him a quick glance. "Calm is tough at the moment, Pop."
"You must, for the sake of the child."
Peter looked at him, the light of understanding flashing in his eyes. "You mean, I'm. . . my emotions are. . . I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't be here while you do this. Do you want. . . ?"
"You do not have to leave," Caine assured him. Then turning toward Jenine, who had followed the conversation with interest, "We must all go inside." He climbed out of the passenger side of the vehicle and did not wait for the others to follow.
An uncomfortable silence settled between his son and his former love as Caine went about his meditation room lighting candles. When the room was prepared, he approached Jenine. "May I?" he asked, as he reached for her hands.
She looked confused, but offered them.
Caine nodded his thanks and took both her hands into his. Inhaling deeply, he squeezed them slightly, stretching his mind and releasing the barriers that protected his Shaolin senses from the constant assault of other, less controlled, minds. He sensed the young woman's connection to the child and latched onto it. The other things that he learned in the contact, he stored away for another time. Releasing Jenine's hands, he bowed slightly, then moved to the center of the room where he sank into full lotus before the largest of the candles and picked up the child's jacket that Jenine had given him.
"I will join you on the balcony later," he said, by way of dismissal.
