Chapter Nine
The Plot Thickens
I
"Sam," Stormy shouted, banging on the door next to hers. He still hadn't opened up and she was getting worried. It was well past nine in the morning and he should have been up by now. If not her banging on the door should have rousted him out of bed like a shot. "C'mon open up," she shouted again.
Still not getting a response, she finally pulled out her copy of his door key and opened the door. She didn't know what to expect when she burst through the door. Maybe a dead body with blood everywhere, maybe Sam sleeping like a baby. What she did find was Sam sitting on the edge staring catatonically at the screen on his laptop computer. His face seemed to be completely drained of blood.
"Sam," she said, "Didn't you hear me knocking?"
Sam looked up at her, blinking as if it was hard for him to come back from wherever he had mentally gone. "Knocking?" he said. "I didn't hear you knocking . . . "
"I've been knocking for the past ten minutes. I thought you had died or something."
"I...I'm okay."
"You don't look okay," Stormy said, pulling up a chair to sit in front of him. "What happened?"
Sam sighed. "I think I see the end of the world."
"Oh, c'mon. It can't be that bad."
He shook his head, "Maybe it's worse . . . "
"Sam . . . ," she said in an exasperated voice. "You mind telling me what's going on?"
"It's the end of the world . . . "
"You already said that. You mind explaining it?"
After carefully closing the lid of his laptop, Sam nervously caressed it with a shaking hand. "You know I've been concerned about what Archer was up to . . . "
"I remember," Stormy said, "I also remember you saying that you had downloaded a lot of Archer's files from his computer."
"Right," Sam said, "I've just finished cracking the last bit of his security encrypting." He paused thoughtfully, then continued, "Julius is a man obsessed with his own impact on history. Because of that, he's nuts about saving every piece of email he gets or sends. He keeps records of everything he does . . . "
"Not very smart if you're involved in something illegal," Stormy commented.
"That's the crazy thing about it. I guess Julius figured that once his plans succeed everybody will be eager for information on how it all happened. Kind of like the Lincoln papers." He sighed again, "I'm afraid though it reads more like something Hitler would have come up with."
"Hitler?"
"Yeah. Julius is part of a group that is planning nothing less than world domination."
"You're kidding. That only happens in stories, not real life. Besides who'd want to rule the world? Sounds like it'd be too much trouble to me."
"That's what I would think. But the way it's detailed in Julius' records, it sounds so plausible. Everything that's been happening the last twenty or more years seems to be part of their handiwork."
"What kind of stuff?"
"The destruction of the Challenger, and then the Columbia . . . "
"Sam . . . "
"I know, but wait, there's more. According to what I've read, they're also behind the assassinations of Anwar Sadat, Indira Gandhi, the attempt on President Regan, the rise of the Moral Majority, Ayatollah Khomeni, Osama ben Laden, the destruction on 9/11. Anything that served to keep this world in turmoil, anything that kept the world from uniting in peace or making any real kind of social progress, they were behind it."
"That's unbelievable. Why would anyone do something like that?"
"Because, according to what I can find in Julius' writings, by creating all this havoc they can move their own people into power and make them appear to be saviors. At the same time they quash any kind of dissent or any possible sources of dissent, including of course, buying up and consolidating all sources of information such as film, radio, tv, the Internet . . . "
"And newspapers?" Stormy said, not liking where her thoughts were leading.
"Of course."
"And if they can't buy it, they destroy it, right?"
"Right."
"Such as what is happening with the Daily Sentinel and Britt Reid."
"Exactly. The Sentinel has the largest market share in this city and is very highly ranked in the entire state, just behind some of the national newspapers such as USA Today."
"So if they can't buy the Sentinel, they'll destroy it. But why couldn't they just buy somebody else out and build up their own subscription base?"
"That's their plan B. If Archer can't manage some way of buying the Sentinel, then that's what they'll do. After, of course, destroying the Sentinel. But they'd rather have the Sentinel and its ready-made readership instead."
"How does the Global Commerce Center figure in all this?"
"They're planning on making it look like a terrorist attack in conjunction with the city's gangs. I was able to decipher a few communications between Archer and a man by the name of Hakenkrueze. It seems like he's getting all the gangs worked up and then when the time's right, they'll destroy the GCC. There's also a lot of discussion about the Green Hornet."
"The Green Hornet? Good or bad?"
"Well, let's put it this way. I wouldn't want to be in the Green Hornet's shoes if this Hakenkrueze ever got his hands on him. Funny thing, there seems to be some discussion about there being two Green Hornets and the involvement of the Reid family with the Green Hornet. The communications are pretty cagey on that part. I think Hakenkrueze is more concerned about leaving a trail than Archer is."
"Two Green Hornets," Stormy said thoughtfully. "That would figure. The man we saw last night was far too young to be the original Green Hornet. Same thing with his chauffeur. Did you draw that picture I asked you about?"
Sam nodded then gave her the sketch he had drawn. Stormy was not as startled as she thought she would be when it bore a strong resemblance to John Reid. Deciding not to tell Sam about her suspicions she carefully set it aside, saying only, "Thanks."
Then returning to the subject about Archer's files, she said, "And all that stuff you found out, is all in this computer?"
Sam nodded.
"I think you had better guard that very closely."
"I will, but I've backed everything up, or at least the original files on my home computer system."
"What about what you've just deciphered?"
"Not yet. I'm going to need some burnable cd's before I'll be able to back them up." He smiled wryly. "When I left home last night, I didn't plan on being on the run."
"I think we had better get some cd's as soon as possible then. I'm going to have to also report in to Frank Scanlon soon. He's probably wondering where I've disappeared to." She frowned thoughtfully. "By the way, what does this mystery group call themselves?"
"They call themselves the Millennium Project."
II
"I'm sorry things didn't pan out," Lee said to Mike Axford as they walked through the Grand Hotel's lobby.
Axford sighed heavily. " I just keep on forgetting how old I am," he growled unhappily as he thrust his hands more deeply into his pockets. "Things sure as hell aren't like they used to be. I used to be on a first name basis with every hotel Dick in the city. I used to get my best leads from those guys. They knew more dirt about stuff than most cops did. Now they've been all replaced by so-called security services. Security," Axford spat. "They're just a bunch of cop wannabe's or washouts who sit around watching a bunch of TV's. I betcha that guy we were talkin' to never moves from that damn chair all day. He wouldn't know a heist was goin' on unless it was his shorts that was bein' stolen."
Lee nodded his agreement. "Did you notice that the monitor he was looking at most was the one showing wrestling?"
Axford barked a quick laugh, his mood starting to lighten. "Yeah, I sure did. At least he's not like one of those Red Knight guys. Buncha tin soldiers the lot of them. I was glad to see the end of that crew. Wouldn't have trusted any one of them with my granny's knittin."
Lee smiled. "How about I buy you a beer?"
Axford stopped in his tracks, his brows rising in surprise, "Now you wouldn't be funnin' me, would you boy? You sure you're not too young to buy an old man a drink?"
"Not only am I old enough to buy a man a drink, I'm also old enough to buy a lady one too."
Axford laughed. "Now that'll get you in trouble every time."
The old reporter glanced at the hotel's dark wood and mirrored bar at the edge of the lobby. "Now unless things have really changed since I was young, I doubt Britt's payin' you enough on an intern's wages to afford this place."
"No problem," Lee answered, "I just got paid."
"Now I don't want you to go to all that expense. I know a place where we can get the best beer in town, not that overpriced hoity-toity watered down stuff they serve here."
"Sounds good."
Hearing a girl's voice call his name, Lee turned to see a girl quickly walking after them, her brown-haired ponytail swinging with every step.
"Hi Lisa," he said as she approached him. "I thought you left town."
Dressed in a grey workman's jumpsuit, Lisa smiled at Lee as she answered, "I did for a while, but I got tired of all that good weather in California. I'll take an old fashioned Great Lakes winter blizzard over palm trees and movie stars any day of the week."
"So you were able to get your job back?" Lee guessed.
"Yeah, they couldn't wait to hire me back. The guy they had drank like a fish."
"When did you get back?" Lee asked.
"About two weeks ago," Lisa replied. Then her face fell. "I heard about what happened to your boss. I'm sorry. I can't believe he would be the kind of person who'd do something like that."
"He didn't," Axford growled angrily, "I've known him since he was a boy. I know damn well he's not the type who'd attack a helpless girl. It's a damn set up. I'll tell you that."
Lisa looked at Axford in surprise.
"Oh," Lee said quickly, "This is Mr. Axford. He's been at the Sentinel for years and years. He's teaching me how to be a reporter."
"Not doing a good job of it either," Axford groused. "We're trying to get somebody to talk to us about what happened the day they're claimin' Mr. Reid attacked that girl. Nobody's talkin'. They all say we gotta talk to the hotel's public relations department. Fat lot that'll do us. Just bunch of spin doctors spinnin' the truth all into a tight knot."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Lisa said, "They have it posted all over the place that employees aren't supposed to talk to anybody without passing it up to management."
Lee looked around the lobby furtively. "Are you considered an employee?" he asked.
Lisa smiled and shrugged, "You might say I'm an independent contractor. Besides the last thing I want to see is your Mr. Reid in prison for something he didn't do."
Axford instantly brightened as in a lowered voice he asked, "Do you know something?"
"I'm not sure, but there's lots of rumors flying around . . . "
"Mr. Axford and I are going to get a drink, would you like to come along?" Lee asked.
"Sure," Lisa answered.
In a dark, slightly shabby bar, Mike Axford settled back into the booth's seat with a satisfied sigh. "Lee, my boy, there's nothing better than an old-fashioned brew straight from the tap. None of those so-called boutique brews can take a shine from an old Milwaukee beer." He smacked his lips then took another pull from the heavy mug in front of him. He eyed the soda in front of Lisa. "You sure you don't want a beer?"
"No thanks, I'm fine," Lisa replied, "I prefer my Diet Coke." She smiled, matching Axford's sigh of bliss. "Drink of the gods," she added as she took a sip from her glass.
Axford shook his head. "I guess it wouldn't look good if you went back to work with alcohol on your breath anyway," he commented philosophically. He shot a look at the glass in front of Lee. "Damned if I know what you see in a light beer. L. I. T. E," he said, spelling out the letters. "If you're going to have a beer you might as well make it a real one," he remarked before taking another long pull from his mug.
"Okay," he said finally, "Now, Miss Alvarez, what have you been hearing around the hotel?"
Lisa glanced at Lee, who nodded his encouragement.
"A few days ago I noticed one of the maids wearing a watch a lot like the one that the police say that the missing girl was wearing. I talked to her and she says that her boyfriend bought it for her . . . "
"But you don't think so," Mike interrupted.
"No, I don't. I couldn't get her to trust me, but I'm sure she wasn't telling me the truth. But if you think it would help, I can try talking to her again."
"I think it could help a lot," Lee said. "That watch was a one of a kind. Either she knows where it really came from, or her boyfriend does."
"Yeah," Axford agreed, "Set up a meeting time and Lee and I'll be there. If she wants money, we'll meet any price she's asking."
"She might ask for a lot," Lee said thoughtfully.
"Don't care," Axford said, "Even if it has to come out of my own pocket, I'll meet any price, she or anyone else, asks. Anything for Mr. Reid."
"I don't think money is the problem," Lisa said, "Unless it helps her get out of town. She strikes me as a very frightened girl."
"She has good reason to be afraid," Axford said, "The people who are behind this wouldn't hesitate to make sure that anybody who is a threat permanently disappears. Tell her that we'll give her anything she wants. Money, a plane ticket out of here or a safe place to hole up. Doesn't matter what it is, we gotta talk to her. I feel it in my bones, she's the break we've been looking for."
"I'll do what I can," Lisa said, "But . . . " she hesitated uncertainly.
"But what?" Axford asked.
"I don't think that both you and Lee should come. Like I said, she's very afraid. Too many people might scare her off. Also, she doesn't speak much English. She might be an illegal alien."
Axford frowned thoughtfully, studying Lisa. "As the senior reporter on this story," he said, "I oughta be the one who talks to the maid, but . . . " he continued, noticing the apologetic look on Lisa's face "I think you're meaning that it should be you and Lee."
Lisa nodded, as she gently placed her hand on Axford's, "It's nothing against you, but I think she might find Lee less threatening. Not only that," she added, "But almost everybody knows who you are. You're the Daily Sentinel's top reporter. If the wrong people see us together, they might figure out what's going on. On the other hand, nobody knows Lee . . . "
"Thanks," Lee interjected wryly in jest.
"You know what I mean," Lisa said, "Besides if people see us together, they'll just think that we're together again."
At the question in Lisa's voice, Lee mentally cringed. How could he tell Lisa about Hui Ying or vice versa?
"Sounds good to me," Axford said as he slid out of the booth, and threw a few bills and change onto the table, "It's time for us to head back to the Sentinel. You let us know when the meet has been set up, okay?"
"Sure," Lisa said. She followed Lee out of the booth, then grasped his arm, "I take it you're seeing somebody."
"Yeah," Lee admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry."
"No problemo," Lisa said a little too flippantly, "I couldn't have expected you not to. Not with me going off to California to seek my fame and fortune."
"Yeah, but . . . "
"No buts," Lisa interrupted firmly. "We can still be friends. By the way is she nice?"
How do I answer a question like that? Lee thought. "Yeah," he said aloud, wondering why it didn't sound right even to him.
Later that night Lee joined Lisa in the Grand Hotel's employee parking lot. The temperature had dropped severely with the coming with night and Lee was glad that they had decided to wait in her car instead of out in the cold. As they watched the employee entrance, Lisa explained to him, "Her name is Marianna. She'll be getting out in a few minutes. She's agreed to talk with us as long as it's off the record. She doesn't want anyone to know that she's talked to us. It'll just look like I'm giving her a ride home."
"Does she speak any English?" Lee asked.
"Not very much. I'll have to translate for you."
"Did she ask for any money?"
"No, not yet. She's more worried about keeping things secret."
"I understand," Lee said, "One person has already been either hurt or killed, we don't want to make it two."
Lisa nodded her understanding. She and Lee watched the Employee entrance as several women started coming out of the door.
"That's her," Lisa finally said when she saw a young woman dressed in a red down coat come out the door. Beneath the coat's long hem Lee could see the grey of the girl's maid uniform and white flat soled work shoes. "Stay here," Lisa said as she climbed out of the car. "I'll bring her over here."
When Lisa returned with Marianna, Lee got out of the front passenger seat and held the door open for her as she slid in. "Buenos dias," he ventured, exhausting his meager Spanish.
Marianna graced him with a shy smile and said, "Buenos dias, señor." Lee was surprised by how tiny she was close up. Well under five feet, she was slender under the heavy coat. Her dark hair was caught up in a severe tight bun which emphasized her large, long-lashed dark eyes and the smoothness of her dark South American Indian complexion. He also noticed that she kept on nervously fiddling with the band of her watch. The watch that matched the one that was said to belong to Christy Isaacs.
After he had settled into the back seat and Lisa had started the car, Lee said, "Ask her about the watch."
Lisa asked the question and said, "She said that her boyfriend gave it to her."
"Ask her where he got it," Lee said.
Lisa asked and came back with, "She said she doesn't know."
Lee could see this wasn't going anywhere. "We both know she's lying. That watch was one of kind. Tell her that."
For several minutes Lisa and the girl talked, their voices rising until it was clear to Lee that they were arguing. The girl was increasingly becoming agitated until she was sobbing into her hands.
"What happened?" Lee asked.
"I told her that we knew better. I told her that we know where the watch came from. I threatened to go to the police and tell them that she and/or her boyfriend were involved in the Isaacs girl's murder. She said she didn't know anything about the murder . . . "
Speaking tearfully, the girl broke into their conversation. Lisa translated in disbelief, "She says that Christy Isaacs is still alive . . . "
"What?" Lee interjected.
"Just a minute," Lisa rapidly spoke to Marianna, then said, translating as Marianna continued to speak, "She said she found her hiding under a bunch of dirty laundry in the maid's closet. The girl was very badly hurt. She was covered with blood and naked." Lisa paused, listening to Marianna. Then she continued, "She was able to get her boyfriend to help her get Christy away from the hotel and to a doctor."
"Why didn't she call the police? Don't they know that an innocent man has been charged with her murder?" Lee demanded.
Lisa asked Marianna who was starting to regain her composure. "She says that she was very afraid. She didn't know who had hurt the girl. She couldn't get involved with the police. She's legal, but some of her family members aren't. She didn't want them to get deported back to Guatemala. Christy was barely conscious until just a few days ago. It was only then that they found out that Mr. Reid wasn't the one who had hurt her."
"So why didn't they do something about it then?"
"Lee," Lisa said, "You have to understand that among the immigrant community there is very little trust of the police or of the government. Where they come from, the police are usually very corrupt. The last person they ever think of talking to is a police officer. So they don't get involved in police matters unless there is no other choice."
Marianna said something and Lisa translated, "Christy's still very weak. Marianna says that once Christy was strong enough, they were planning on taking her somewhere safe where she could contact the police without involving them. They figured they had plenty of time, since the trial probably wouldn't start until a long time from now."
Lee shook his head ruefully, "A lot of things could happen before Christy is fully recovered . . . " He paused thoughtfully, then continued, "Ask her if we could see Christy now. It's very important that we see her as soon as possible."
Lisa asked Marianna his question, then said, "She said she will find out if we can see Christy and when. The doctor will have to give his permission first."
"Okay," Lee said, "We'll do anything they ask. Just let her know that I'm afraid that if the people who engineered the frame have their way, Mr. Reid will not live to see a trial."
III
Britt knew something was up. He and three other men were being escorted to the common room. The guard ahead of them had disappeared around the corner. The one following them had also managed to disappear from sight. The three inmates with him had slowed their pace until he was slightly ahead of them. He heard a quick intake of breath.
Britt spun, catching the man's hand with his own, twisting until the crudely made knife fell to the ground. Still holding the man in an iron grip, Britt slammed him into his other attackers. Pushing his fellows out his way, one of the men charged at Britt. Britt sidestepped the sharp blade in his hand, twisting as he moved, chopping at his attacker's neck as he passed by, sending him crashing to the floor.
The third attacker jumped Britt from behind, grabbing him by the throat. Giving a mighty heave, Britt threw him into the second man as he was getting to his knees. A shiv flew past Britt's ear, close enough for him to feel the whisper of its deadly blade. Britt side-kicked the thrower in the belly, leaving him gasping and cursing in pain.
A fist seeming to come out of nowhere hit Britt in the jaw. He staggered, falling to one knee. He quickly dodged another blow, but not quite fast enough, catching it on his left shoulder, numbing his arm all the way to his fingers. Britt rolled, catching the man across the ankles with one of his legs. The man fell next to him. One of the crudely made blades was between them, another was in the man's hand. Britt dove for the blade, snatching it up in time to block the downward stroke of the attacker's arm with his left forearm. He kneed the man, then threw himself down on top of him, pinning him to the ground, the blade in his hand pressed against the man's throat.
"Back off," Britt yelled at the two remaining men behind him. "Back off, or I'll slice him," he growled.
Unexpectedly Britt saw that the men grinning at him. He turned to see that one of the guards had reappeared. The gun in the guard's hand was pointedly directly at his head as the man's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Now, I suggest you put that gun down, real nice and easy," Detective Morrisey's voice drawled, his own gun pointed at the guard's back.
The guard lowered his hand. "I'm glad you're here, Detective."
"I'll bet you are," Morrisey responded drily. He looked at Britt. "I think you can get off him now," he said.
Slowly placing the knife on the ground, Britt rose carefully to his feet, then kicked the knife toward the detective. "There's at least one more knife around here, maybe more."
"Okay. Now I want everyone to put your hands over your head," Morrisey instructed. "Including you," he said with a meaningful gesture of his gun toward the guard.
"But . . . " the guard began to protest.
"Especially you," Morrisey answered.
"But what about Reid?" the guard demanded, noticing that the publisher's arms were still at his sides.
"He's about the only one I can trust in this bunch. Now march," he said, waving for everyone to head back to the cells.
"It's lucky you showed up," Britt said to Morrisey as he walked beside the detective.
"Yeah, it sure it is," Morrisey agreed. "Would you have really cut that guy?"
Britt shook his head, "No."
Morrisey cast a questioning look at the publisher.
"What mattered is whether they thought I would." Britt smiled apologetically, then shrugged. "What they don't know, won't hurt me," he explained.
"I see . . . " Morrisey said.
"Why are you here anyway?" Britt asked.
"I had a few questions I wanted to ask you." he answered as he regarded the men walking in front of them. "I sure would've hated it if they had killed you before I could've gotten them answered."
"What did you want to ask me about?"
"Later, after we take care of these bozos." Morrisey considered the men ahead of them. "They must be slipping to send only three guys after you," he observed wryly. "Of course, I guess they thought they were just going after some old guy who runs the local newspaper," he observed.
"They were," Britt answered.
"Yeah, right."
Britt absently rubbed his left arm as he sat at the battered desk in the interview room. Feeling was finally returning, bringing a painful tingling with it. "So Detective, what are those questions you wanted to ask me."
Morrisey took a quick swig from the Styrofoam cup in front of him, then grimaced. "You sure you don't want a cup of coffee?" he asked.
"I'd love a cup of coffee. Too bad that's not what that is."
Morrisey took another swig. "It's a hell of a lot better than the stuff I make at home."
"Maybe one of these days I'll have over at my place," Britt said companionably, "My wife makes great coffee."
Morrisey nodded to himself. "That might happen a lot sooner than either of us thinks. It's pretty damn obvious to me that somebody thinks it'd be a lot better if you never leave jail. So that means that whoever set you up, isn't sure their plan is going to stick."
"So now you're convinced that I didn't kill anyone?"
Morrisey shrugged. "I've always been sure you didn't kill that girl. I just know though that you aren't telling me the whole damn story."
Britt shook his head tiredly, "Sorry Morrisey, I can't go into that. I've told you everything I can."
"Can't you at least give me a hint?"
Britt considered a few moments, the muscle in his jaw tightening as he thought. He sighed. "All I can say is that it's somebody who has some very powerful connections."
"Considering some of the enemies, you've made, that could be about anybody from the head dog catcher to the President of the United States."
Britt nodded. "Whoever set me up has a lot of power, money and more importantly the foresight to start moving everything into place quite a while ago. That sounds like somebody who's very motivated in my opinion."
"I see. So you think this person thinks he has a lot to gain if you wind up in prison. Or dead."
Britt nodded.
"Have you discussed this with anyone?"
"I don't want to go into that. So far I'm the only target. I want to keep it that way."
"You sure the rest of your family will go with that?"
Britt looked at the detective meaningfully. "That's the way I want it," he said harshly. Suddenly he changed the subject. "So what is it you wanted to talk to me about? Does it have anything to do with why I'm in here."
"Well, I think it does and it doesn't. Have you been hearing about the gang war that's going on around here lately?" Britt nodded that he had. Morrisey continued, "I have a feeling that somebody's behind it. Somebody's setting all the gangs at each other's throats. Is that what you've been hearing?"
"I haven't been hearing much about it lately. I'm out of touch here in this jail."
"What about before?"
"I've heard rumors that somebody's been pitting all the gangs against each other, but I don't know who or why."
"Your reporter, Ed Lowery, saw the Hornet at the Hog Heaven. He said that the Hornet was looking into it. You hear anything about that?"
"Nothing except what Lowery reported."
"Nothing about what the Hornet might have discovered?" Morrisey asked pointedly. "A lot of lives could be saved if we can find out who's behind these gang wars."
Britt shook his head then sighed. He knew what the detective was hinting at. "You have to remember that it was only a few days afterwards that I was arrested for murder. I have no idea what's been going on since then. Whatever the Green Hornet thought or might have discovered . . . " he paused, shook his head again, "I'm sorry as much as I wish I could, I can't help you."
"Do you remember Anthony Hakenkrueze?"
"How could I forget him? I hear that he's not dead like we all thought he was."
"Rumor is that Hakenkrueze is after the Hornet."
"That'd figure, Hakenkrueze being the nutcase he is."
"I hear that Hakenkrueze blames the Hornet for what happened to his arm. Do you think maybe Hakenkrueze could be behind the power struggles among the gangs? He probably still has enough connections to equip anybody who wants to arm their own army. Especially if he thinks that will bring the Green Hornet out of the woodwork."
"And has it been working? I haven't heard of the Hornet showing up lately."
"As far as I can tell nobody has seen the Hornet. Not since you've been arrested, coincidentally."
"For the Hornet's sake, it might be a good idea if he continues to lay low."
"So, you think the Hornet's afraid of Hakenkrueze? Or maybe that the last go-around he had with Hakenkrueze convinced him that he's too old to take him on again?" Morrisey asked, watching Britt closely.
Britt hesitated, visibly fighting for an answer that would not show his true feelings. "It takes a wise man to know when he's out of his league."
"Is that so?" Morrisey challenged.
Britt's mouth became a grim straight line. "I love my family a great deal. I don't want to have to see any of them suffer because of what I have done, or feel they have to follow in my lead. Whatever I have chosen to do is not a choice I want any member of my family to make. If I were a free man, it would be different story when it comes to Hakenkrueze."
Morrisey nodded to himself. "I take it you hope the rest of your family stays out of this business with Hakenkrueze."
"Not only hope, I pray that they do."
IV
Keeping his face firmly impassive, Frank Scanlon watched Judge Gayle Harding arrange the papers on her desk. She was a large black woman whose black hair had silvered during the ten years she had served on the bench. A no nonsense woman, she was the type one usually called tough, but fair. She brooked no shenanigans from either defense or prosecuting attorneys. Firmly believing that law breakers should stay in jail until the day of their trial, she had well earned the nickname of "no bail Gayle".
Scanlon chanced a glance at the D.A. Michael Cheung. Although Britt Reid had often locked horns with the conservative D.A. over the rights of journalists when it came to the free flow of information between the press and the police, Michael Cheung was a popular man with the public. He was slender with black hair shot with just the right amount of dignifying grey. Neither too tall, nor too short, he appeared just oriental enough to appeal to the ethnic vote while his carefully modulated voice with its mid-American accent reassured the city's more conservative voters. Scanlon noted with interest the slight nervous tremor in Cheung's hands as he settled his briefcase next the chair he was sitting in.
"Now, Mr. Scanlon, I believe we went through all this about a week ago," Judge Harding said firmly. "I have already made my decision about Mr. Reid's bail."
"I realize that, your honor," Frank said, "but circumstances have changed."
"How so?" she asked.
"Last night my client was attacked by fellow prisoners while he was being escorted to the common room. If not for a Detective Morrisey's timely arrival on the scene, my client might have been shot by a guard while he was defending himself."
Judge Harding's frown deepened, she addressed the D.A., "Why was I not apprized of the situation?"
Cheung cleared his throat. "I had only gotten word of it this morning, myself," he explained, "We are conducting a thorough investigation into how this could have happened."
"Your honor," Frank said, "From the account of the attack I have received, it is clear that it was orchestrated with the full cooperation of two guards at the facility. In fact, they are currently under custody. Because of this attack, I am repeating my request that bail be set for my client and that it be of a sum that he will be able to post. Otherwise, I am in doubt that Mr. Reid will live long enough to stand trial. As I have stated previously, Mr. Reid holds high standing in this community, as well as strong family ties and a highly reputable business; all hallmarks of a highly responsible individual who is of very slight flight risk."
"Judge Harding," Michael Cheung protested, "I believe Mr. Reid is by nature a strong flight risk. He is the type of person who goes his own way regardless of the demands of the legal system. If he feels it is in his own self interest to flee this state, I am in no doubt that he will do so. In fact, my esteemed colleague seems to have forgotten that during his term in office, Mr. Reid did in fact evade police custody through attacking him. What are we to expect of a man who did not hesitate to strike a close personal friend in order to remain free?"
"That was many years ago," Frank argued, "I also want to point out that while he was free, Mr. Reid was able to secure proof of his innocence and that in fact he was the victim of a vicious frame perpetrated by a colleague of his."
"Are you repeating your claim that Mr. Reid is again the victim of a frame?" Judge Harding inquired with a firm warning in her voice.
"I know we have already discussed the likelihood of that and I will not use up the Judge's valuable time in going over it again," Frank replied. "Whether or not Mr. Reid is innocent can only be determined by a jury of his peers as is his constitutional right. Someone apparently wants to deny him that right. My sole intent in this meeting is to make sure that he lives long enough to be tried."
"I disagree," Michael Cheung said, "I see no logical reason why Mr. Reid would be any safer on the streets than in jail. I believe he needs to remain in police custody, otherwise he could be a hindrance to the murder investigation and perhaps even a danger to himself and others."
"Your honor," Frank said, "It has been proven that Mr. Reid's life is definitely in danger. The attack occurred with the full cooperation of two guards. There is no surety that such an attack will not occur again, perhaps even successfully."
"Your honor . . . " Cheung began.
Judge Harding held up her hand, stopping him in mid-sentence. "I've heard all these arguments before . . . "
Frank started to say something, but she said very firmly, "Let me finish, Mr. Scanlon. I agree that Mr. Reid should not be let out on bail. While he might be of slight flight risk, Mr. Reid could possibly interfere with the investigation, perhaps for the better, but I fear it could be for the worse."
"But," she continued, "I am also highly concerned about his safety. It is a black mark against our justice system when an attempt can be made on the life of a prisoner while he is in custody. Such an occurrence is completely unacceptable.
"Mr. Cheung, you will take steps to secure Mr. Reid in a safe house in which he can stay until the date of his trial. You will also make such security arrangements as needed to make sure that he will indeed be safe there. A second attempt will not be acceptable and would be considered by myself as an intentional failure on your part and grounds for contempt charges, if not worse."
"Your honor . . . ," Cheung protested.
Judge Harding ignored him, turning to Frank, "Mr. Scanlon with your unique familiarity with this city's police force, I expect you to work closely with Mr. Cheung to choose those officers you believe can be trusted to guard your client."
"Is that acceptable, Mr. Cheung?" she directed to the D.A., her voice implying that she would accept no other reply other than the affirmative.
"It is, your honor," he replied.
"Mr. Scanlon?" she asked.
"It is acceptable," Frank replied, "I will make arrangements for a meeting with Mr. Cheung so that we can choose the necessary personnel."
"Very good," Judge Harding said, "You are now dismissed. Have a good day, gentlemen."
Frank felt relieved at the way the meeting had turned out. While he could not get Britt out, at least he would wind up in a safer place. Britt wouldn't be happy with that, but it bought them some more time. Perhaps enough to find out whether or not the Isaacs girl was really alive and whether she might be able to tell them what had really happened that night.
Michael Cheung passed him as they stepped out of the Judge's chambers. "Michael, I want to set up an appointment with you so we can go over the men to protect Mr. Reid."
With a strange look of fear and preoccupation, Cheung waved him off, "Later, Frank, I have a few things I have to take care of right now. Call my office later today, and set up whatever time's convenient for you with my secretary." He tried to force a smile, "She has a better idea of my schedule than I do. I just show up when and where she wants me."
"Is everything okay?" Frank asked.
"Yeah, sure," Cheung said quickly, "Just family problems, you know how kid's are." Cheung eyes widened as if he suddenly realized he said the wrong thing.
"Sure," Frank said doubtfully, wondering if Cheung remembered that he and his wife were childless.
"See you later, Frank," Cheung quickly said, turning away before Frank could ask him anything else.
V
The actors suddenly stopped cold as Lee walked down the aisle toward the stage. Hui Ying jumped gracefully down from the stage to greet him, "Darling, long time no see. What's up? I've missed you the last few days. I left several messages on your machine but you never called me back."
Lee sighed. This is going to be difficult, he thought. "I'm sorry, Hui Ying, what with Mr. Reid in jail, I've been helping his family out with stuff."
"But what about the play? We need you. Tommy's taken off somewhere, so with you as a no show, we've been two people short."
"Tommy's disappeared?" Lee asked.
Hui Ying shrugged carelessly, dismissing Lee's concern for the young man, "Yeah, but he's probably just off sulking somewhere until he figures he's been gone long enough for us to miss him. Then he'll show up and expect us to fawn all over him."
"Uh, Hui Ying," Lee said unhappily, "I'm going to have to bow out. I can't be in your play."
"But Lee," Hui Ying protested, "We need you. I need you. What about us? Does that mean that it's over between us?"
"No," Lee answered. "I really care for you. I'd like to still go out with you, but I can't be in this play. There's too much going on right now. Maybe later when things settle down."
"But Lee, this play is important . . . "
"Hui Ying, I can't . . . "
"Don't you have any idea what this means to me? To the people of China?" She pressed, her voice starting to rise.
"It's only a play . . . "
"Only a play? Lee, this is the most important thing I have ever done. It's critical that you be in this play when it goes to China."
"I'm not going anywhere. Not until Mr. Reid is out of jail and cleared of that murder charge."
Hui Ying shook her head in frustration. She pulled Lee toward the back of the theater where no one else to hear them. In a low voice, barely above a whisper, she said, "You have to come with me to China . . . "
"I can't . . . "
"You must . . . "
"No. This is a matter of life and death. I'm not going to desert Mr. Reid and his family when they need me the most."
"This too is a matter of life and death. For the people of China . . . "
"Good God. This is only a play . . . "
"This is beyond the play. The play is only a ruse."
"A what?"
"A ruse. It's a ruse to get you into China."
"But why?"
"Lee, I didn't want to tell you this way. I was hoping for a better time . . . "
"To tell me what?"
"That you are the direct descendent of the last emperor of China."
"You have got to be kidding . . . "
"No, I'm not. We've studied this thoroughly. Everyone believes that the dethroned emperor died without issue. But he didn't. In the early forties, while the emperor was the chief executive of the Japanese puppet state, Manchukuo, he fell in love with a serving girl. When they found out she was pregnant, they knew she had to flee otherwise she would suffer the fate of one of his wives who had died mysteriously while in the care of Japanese doctors.
"Knowing that the child's existence would be not welcomed by the Japanese, or later the Soviets and the fledgling communist Chinese government, the girl left him with a Quaker missionary family. They in turn, put him in the care of a Shaolin monastery when they had to leave China. In time the child known as Shao Lung, little dragon, left China with Britt Reid when the monastery was destroyed . . . "
Lee nodded, "Mr. Reid told me the story how he and my father met in China. He never said anything about my father being related to the emperor of China. My father never said anything about it either."
"I don't know if your father ever knew the truth of his birth," Hui Ying replied, "I am sure Britt Reid never knew. The truth if it was known would have been your father's death warrant. The communists could not afford the existence of someone around whom the traditionalists could form a challenge."
"So," Lee said, "That's why you want me to go to China with you. You want me to claim the royal throne."
"Yes," Hui Ying replied fervently, "Exactly. It's your birthright. Imagine being the Emperor of China."
"A puppet emperor you mean."
"No!" Hui Ying replied, "It's not that at all. You would be the constitutional head of an elected democratic government. Just like they have in England."
"The queen of England is only a figurehead . . . "
"Well, kind of. But you would inspire the people of China to overthrow the communists. People would rally around you as the true heir to the Peacock throne."
"So you figure people would be willing to kill and be killed because I'm the grandson of the last Chinese emperor."
"I wouldn't quite put it that way. Look, Lee, you would be inspiring people to fight for their freedom . . . "
"Do you have any idea how many people would die in a Civil war in a country China's size? Can you even imagine the amount of bloodshed?" Lee demanded.
"It's the cost of freedom . . . "
"Freedom? At what cost?" Lee asked, horrified, "Do you really think I want the blood of thousands, maybe even millions on my hands? Do you really want to be responsible for that kind of destruction?"
"Sometimes people have to die for a cause. That's the way life is."
"I'm sorry, Hui Ying, I can't be a part of your plan."
"Surely you're not going to turn your back on the Chinese people who need you to lead them out of slavery."
"No, I'm not turning my back on them," Lee said sadly, "I'm turning my back on you."
"You can't!" she protested.
"I can and I will," Lee said, turning away from her. He headed for the back door.
"It's those Reid's. Isn't it? They're not even your people. How can you even think of being loyal to them?"
"I can because I know that they would never be so callous as you are about the death of so many people. They would never demand that so many people die for a cause of theirs. They might be willing to die for what they believe in, but never would they expect somebody to die for them."
"But Lee . . . " Hui Ying protested, grabbing Lee's arm.
Lee gently pulled her hand from his arm, "It's finished."
"No! It's not finished," Hui Ying said to his back, "It will only be finished with your death. The communists know of your existence. They cannot allow you to live."
Without turning toward her, Lee said very softly, "If that is my fate, so be it." Then he closed the door behind him.
Outside the sun was just starting to set. Dusk was happening later each day. He wondered for a moment how many more he might see. The ringing of his cell phone broke his glum reverie. "Yeah," he said answering.
"Good news, Lee. Mariana said that we can see Christy Isaacs tonight," Lisa said.
"Great. I'll meet you at your place," he said. At least they were making progress somewhere. He replaced his cell after setting up the time with Lisa. China was a long way away. It would have to wait for another day.
Sitting comfortably in his favorite armchair before the fireplace, George Cheung knew even without turning that someone had entered his study. If someone had asked him later, he could not have said why. It surely was not the sound of footsteps or the opening of a window for he heard nothing. Perhaps it was merely the change of the air around him, a chilling shiver that went down his back. Firmly he reined in his imagination. As calmly as greeting a next door neighbor, he said without turning around, "You have arrived."
"Yes, honored grandfather, I have," said a voice that was female, but lacking feminine softness. The words were Chinese, formal in accent and structure. "I have come as I was ordered. There is word that a pretender to the Peacock throne exists."
"That was the original assignment," Cheung replied. He still kept his back to the intruder. It would do no good to see her anyway. She was one of the faceless ones who appear and disappear as needed. She had no existence, no name outside of the mission she was assigned to.
"The assignment has changed," a statement, not a query. Her type did as they were told. If things changed, they changed. It was her duty to adapt to whatever winds might blow.
"Yes. My foolish grandson has disappeared. My even more foolish son denies it, but I know the truth of it. My son is involved in business he should not be in. You will locate my grandson, deliver him to me safely, and eliminate the ones responsible."
"There will be a change in the charges for my services," she replied.
"That will be taken care of."
"Good. You have a dossier on the ones involved."
"Yes. On the table near the door."
He heard no movement, not even the folder being lifted from the desk, but Cheung knew that the intruder had left.
He tried to restrain his sigh of relief. He did not care to deal those such as the intruder. They were expensive, but then when it came to family there was no price too dear.
VI
Lisa and Lee met Dr. Baca in a small office in the back of a patient-filled clinic. He tiredly waved them to a pair of elderly folding chairs while he collapsed heavily into a cracked vinyl office chair behind a war surplus metal desk. He might have been a handsome man once, but now his dark eyes were dulled with exhaustion from too little sleep and too much worry.
"Señor, Señorita," he began, "Forgive me for making you wait so long. As you see I have many patients and there is only one of me. I spend my days at the local hospital helping those who can pay. At night, I work here to help those who cannot."
"I'm sorry, Doctor," Lee replied, "We didn't mean to take you away from your work."
Dr. Baca waved a self-deprecating hand, "Never mind me. I fear I suffer from too much idealism. When I first left medical school many years ago in Mexico City, I was ready to cure the world of all its ills. Now, alas, I only hope that I can cure one small child."
"But," he continued, "You are not here to listen to my woes. You have those of your own. This is about the girl that was brought to me about a week or so ago. Is that not right?"
"Yes," Lee answered. "Is she all right? Can we talk to her?"
"She was badly hurt," Dr. Baca began cautiously, then noticed Lee's suddenly crestfallen expression, "However she is alive and is healing well."
"Good . . . " Lee began eagerly.
"I should continue," Dr. Baca said, "While she is recovering very nicely physically. I don't know if I can say the same about her mentally. What she went through was very traumatic. Somebody tried to kill her and very nearly succeeded. It is a miracle that she is alive. She is a very frightened girl."
"Do you think she's up to talking to us?" Lisa asked gently as she placed a comforting hand over Lee's.
The doctor noticed her caring gesture with a slight nod. "I realize this is very important to you," he said, addressing Lee. "I do not want to expose this poor child to any more trauma than necessary. However," he said, raising a hand when Lee started to protest, "I realize that the life of an innocent man hangs in the balance. It would do this girl no good if I allowed the guilty parties go unpunished because I had forbidden you to talk to her. Especially," he said with a wry smile and a small shrug, "Since she was the one who insisted upon seeing you. Despite her fear, she is a very brave young lady, and, if I may say so, a very angry one as well."
Dr. Baca escorted Lisa and Lee up a narrow flight of stairs to a small apartment above the clinic. The apartment's single room consisted of a simple kitchen alcove with a sink, stove, refrigerator and a wooden table with four chairs. Through an open door near the kitchen, a tiny bathroom the size of a hall closet holding a toilet and a shower could be seen.
The girl sitting in the old fashioned wooden bed smiled up at them as they entered the apartment. Her back was supported by a large pile of assorted sized pillows and a tube in her left arm led up to a tall IV stand holding a fluid-filled bag. She was very pale with dark circles under eyes. But her eyes were brightly alert and her pale pink tinted blonde hair was neatly brushed into a long pony tail that reached almost to her waist. The neatly pressed hospital gown she was wearing hid most of the evidence of her horrifying experience except for the bandages that mummy-like covered her arms and neck.
With a wide smile of greeting she clicked the TV in front of her off. "Just a minute. Can't hear a thing, if I got the boob tube on."
"How are you feeling?" Lee asked.
"Okay, considering," Christy answered. Behind her cheery facade, Lee sensed that she was barely holding on emotionally.
"My name is Lee and this is my friend, Lisa Alvarado. We're here to ask you a few questions about the night you were attacked."
"I know," Christy said, "I'm sorry about that guy, Mr. Reid. He seemed to be a really nice guy. I didn't mean to get him into trouble."
"I realize you didn't," Lee said, settling down into one of the chairs that Dr. Baca had brought next to the bed. Lisa slipped into the other chair next to Christy. Dr. Baca remained standing, watching them with a concerned look on his face. "Would you mind telling us what happened?" Lee asked.
"Not at all," Christy answered. "Anything that'll get back at my boyfriend. The creep," she added with disgust.
"What happened?" Lee asked. He pulled out a small tape recorder and placed it in front of her on the bed. "Do you mind if I record this?"
"No," Christy replied. She took a deep breath and then released it as a slight shiver traveled from her shoulders to her hands. She clutched her hands together to stop them from shaking. "I'm an actress. Well," she admitted reluctantly, "I'm trying to be an actress, anyways. My boyfriend, Jake Gordon, like I said, he's a real creep. He gets too rough at times. Especially when he's drunk, or high. Or both. He's real sweet when he isn't. He's an artist, you know. He made my watch. He's real good." Lisa paused, rubbing her hand where her watch used to be. "I gave it to Marianna. She saved my life you know." Christy again paused, then with a short laugh, "I don't know what's got into me. Sorry, I'm kinda babbling here."
"That's all right," Lisa said, "Take your time."
"Sure. You know, I've been wanting to talk about what happened this whole time, but now, I dunno, I'm kind of scared." She again took a shuddering breath, then continued. "Jake came to me and said that somebody wanted me to do a movie for them. I was real excited. I thought this was going to be my first break. I almost backed out when he told me that it was going to be a porno movie, but he said that it was going to be very artistic and that the sex was real important to the plot. 'Sides the money was going to be real good. We were coming up short this month, so it was going to come in handy.
"All I had to do they said was meet with this guy in a hotel room, have sex with him and that would be end of that. They said it was gonna be kind of like Blair Witch Project or something. You know, with hand-held cameras and real-looking even if it wasn't. Instead of a real script and rehearsing it was supposed to be kind of Improv. I was given a basic idea and some props, like that portfolio and was told to just go with whatever lines I was fed. Just do or say whatever seemed to fit the situation."
"Did you ever meet these people?" Lee asked.
"No," Christy answered. "Jake handled all of it. I kind of wonder now if he knew more than he let on."
"Probably," Lee commented cynically.
Christy nodded, "I guess you're right. Anyway," she said, "I go to the hotel like they told me and I met Mr. Reid there. I didn't know who he really was. They, uh, Jake, said that he was just some actor. I was kind of surprised he didn't seem to know what was going on, but I just figured he was into this whole thing of playing it by ear. I was kind of admiring how great an actor he was. I didn't realize then that he wasn't acting. So anyway I go through my whole act, and we drink some soda"
"Where did you get the soda? Did you buy it at a store?"
"No, it was already in the room. I told him that it was my room even though I hadn't ever been there before."
"So everything was set up before you entered the room?" Lee asked.
Christy nodded. "Anyway, I went through the whole act like I was told, and he seemed to getting a little groggy, and I dunno, kind of acting weird, almost like he was high or turned on or I dunno," she shrugged, at a loss for words. "I was supposed to act real upset, crying and stuff, and he hugged me, and then we were kissing and then, uh" She looked at Lee with an embarrassed look on her face. "I heard he's married"
Lee nodded. "He is."
"Is she nice?"
"Yes, very."
"I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't wreck things between them. I didn't mean to. I don't think he really knew what he was doing. I think things just got out of hand," She paused, avoiding looking at Lee, she studied her hands as she wadded a corner of her sheet into a knot. "We had sex," she said very softly. She looked at Lee, a pleading look in her troubled eyes. "I'm not proud of what I did," she said, "I . . . I thought it was all an act. I...I was a fool . . . "
"That's all right," Lisa said, placing a gentle hand on Christy's shoulder, "We understand."
She glanced at Lee, who nodded his agreement. "Mrs. Reid isn't blaming you or Mr. Reid," he said, "She knows that he wouldn't have done anything like that unless the circumstances were very unusual. We're thinking he was probably drugged. Maybe the soda he had. Did you drink any of it?" he asked.
"No. I couldn't drink anything. I was too nervous."
"What happened next?" Lee asked.
Christy took another deep shuddering breath, marshalling her courage. "We were, uh . . . , in the middle of . . . things, when this woman came in . . . "
"What did she look like?" Lee asked as he pushed the recorder slightly closer.
"She had red hair, a little taller than me and she was kind of plump. Well, not exactly plump, but you know, she had, I guess what you might call one of those hour glass figures. You know, big boobs, a tiny waist, big hips . . . "
"I know what you mean," Lee answered, thinking it was funny coming from Christy who had the exact opposite type of figure.
"Do you have any idea who she might be?" Christy asked, noticing that Lee seemed to know who she was talking about.
"I have very good idea," Lee replied. "She's someone we'd be very glad to put behind bars."
"So would I," Christy said, bitterness coloring her reply.
"What did she do?" Lee prompted.
"She was screaming and waving this big butcher knife around." Anticipating Lee's unspoken question, she said, "I don't know what she was saying. All I noticed was that big knife in her hand. She was waving it all around. I didn't know what to do. I jumped out of the bed. All I could think of was to get my clothes on. She came at me with the knife. I tried to dodge. Mr. Reid got between us and stopped her, but he was real out of it. She pushed him away and he fell. He kept on trying to stop her, but he couldn't.
"I was tripping in the sheets and falling over the chairs. I dunno all that happened. It was like everything was going fast forward. She got me a few times with the knife. It hurt so bad. I was bleeding. I didn't know how bad. All I could think of was to get out of there. It was like she was crazy or something. And Jake, he was there. He was filming the whole thing. I was so scared. And I was mad him too. I thought he'd do something to help me, but he didn't. It was like he didn't know it was for real." Tears started rolling down her face. "I loved him. I thought he loved me. We were going to get married some day." She buried her face in her hands. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him," she sobbed angrily.
Lisa held Christy in her arms, shushing away her tears, crooning, "It's all right, baby, it's all right."
"Perhaps . . . ," Dr. Baca ventured.
"No," Christy said, angrily wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, "I'm okay. If I don't talk about it, I'll never be able to sleep again. I got to tell somebody. I want to get that creep Jake and effing woman," she said, grim determination replacing the tears.
"We will," Lee said, his determination matching hers. "I promise you, we will."
"Good," Christy said harshly.
"Do you remember how you got away?" Lee asked.
"I don't know. I remember running down the hallway with nothing but a sheet around me. And then I saw a door that was slightly open. I think it was a laundry room. Marianna found me and she hid me under a bunch of dirty linen until she could get me out of the building."
"Why didn't she take you to the hospital?" Lee asked.
"I told her not to," Christy admitted, "I didn't know what was going on. I just wanted to get away. I was so confused and afraid. I guess I should've," she admitted sheepishly.
"Don't worry about it," Lee said understandingly. He thought for a few moments. "You mentioned something about Jake videotaping everything?"
Christy nodded.
"Do you have any idea what he might have done with the tape?"
"Maybe," she said. "I figure that woman might want him to give it to her . . . "
"Sounds about right," Lee said.
"But knowing Jake, he'd have made a copy of it before handing it over to her."
"Got an idea where he'd put the copy?"
"Sure, Jake's a real packrat. He never throws anything away. He's got this big old totem pole looking thing in his studio. It's not real. I think it was something he made when he was into carving wood. It's practically completely hollow inside. He used to joke that it was biggest box he'd ever made. That's where he squirrels away all of his important stuff."
"Would anybody guess about it?"
"Nope. The door is hidden real good. Jake did that on purpose." Christy chanced a smile, "Think what I told you will help?"
"Yeah," Lee said, getting to his feet. "I think we got enough to free Mr. Reid and get the real people behind this in prison for a very long time."
"Good," Christy replied with a feral gleam in her eyes.