Journey Into the Flame (15 page)

“Actually, we were forced to accelerate the schedule a bit,” Andrea said. “Outside tests have already begun.”

“I was not aware of that,” the doctor said, clearly displeased. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“Calm yourself, Doctor,” Andrea said in a reassuring voice. “You’ll be happy to know that the tests have been successful.”

The doctor paused as his displeasure turned to morbid curiosity. “How successful?”

“Smashing,” Andrea said. “Exactly as you predicted.”

“Yes!” The doctor pumped his fist in the air. “Then we have done it. We have isolated the composition of free will. We have found what makes a Satrayian.”

“Freedom Seeker,” Andrea said, looking at the businessman, who was still wandering through the maze. “And what do you call everyone else, Doctor?”

Dr. Malikei grinned. “The others we call humans.”

14

Whom do you trust with your life—your mother, father, wife, husband, friends?

Do you really trust that which you call God?

Perhaps a more profound question is, can you be trusted with someone else’s life?

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

WASHINGTON, D.C., 7:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME,

5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

Mr. Perrot and Logan sat in a pair of uncomfortable brown plastic chairs, awaiting their fate in a small room just off the entrance hall of the Council of Satraya building. Through a small window in the door, they could see the head of a uniformed policeman standing outside the room.

“You think they’ll keep the box we found?” Logan asked, fidgeting in his chair. “And what do we say when they start asking questions?” He looked at Mr. Perrot, who sat serenely with his arms crossed over his chest. “You seem awfully calm about all of this.”

“All we can do is answer their questions with the truth,” Mr. Perrot said.

“The truth. Really?” Logan was certain they were going to need more than that in order to avoid spending the night in jail. “People don’t usually associate the truth with conspiracy theories.”

“We need to have a bit more faith,” Mr. Perrot said. “Particular events have taken place for a particular reason.”

Logan shook his head, little comforted by the cryptic words. Through the door’s window, he saw people looking in at them. One in particular caught his eye. The woman who seemed to be in charge.

“Mr. Perrot, remember that woman who told the officers to put us in here? I have the feeling I’ve seen her before.”

“Indeed, you have—many times, actually,” Mr. Perrot said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “That is Valerie.”

“Valerie?” It took Logan a moment to make the connection. Then his eyes widened. “Valerie? You mean, that’s your
daughter
?” He rose to his feet and attempted to look out the window. The officer on the other side gave him a stern look and motioned for him to step away from the door.

“The one and the same,” Mr. Perrot replied.

“What happened to her glasses? Her short hair? Her braces?” Logan rattled off a description of Valerie’s appearance the last time he’d seen her, about fifteen years ago. Now Valerie stood a slender five-foot-eight, just a few inches shorter than Logan. Her long brown hair was tied back, and she looked very professional in her tan pants and matching jacket. “When did she start looking like—like—well, like that?”

“Yes, I suppose it has been many years since the two of you have seen each other,” Mr. Perrot said. “Much has happened in that time, including her becoming a well-respected agent at the WCF.”

Logan still could not believe it. He tried to sneak another peek at her as he spoke. “That’s good news for us, right? She’ll get all this cleared up, and we’ll be on our way.” He could see that Mr. Perrot didn’t share his sense of relief. In fact, he seemed a bit uneasy. “You don’t seem happy to see her.”

“It is not that I am not happy to see her,” Mr. Perrot said. “I am certain that she will clear all of this up for us.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

”Her work has taken her into some very dangerous situations before,” Mr. Perrot explained. “However, I fear that she has never yet encountered the likes of Andrea and Simon. Evil and cunning to this
degree are rare. I would have liked to keep her out of any criminal investigation involving them.”

“You just told me we were all brought into this for a reason, didn’t you?” Logan reminded him. “Maybe she should know what it is she’s been brought into.”

Mr. Perrot was about to reply, when the door opened and Valerie herself walked in. “Sit down,” she said, with little patience in her voice. She took off her tan blazer, revealing a holstered Smith & Wesson M&P40 strapped around her chest. Then she tossed a yellow file marked “Confidential” onto the table. She placed both hands on the edge of the table and addressed Mr. Perrot first. “Dad, what are you doing here, and why is Logan with you?”

She remembers me,
Logan thought, as his memory of her face now became clearer. “Hey—hi, Valerie,” he said awkwardly.

She turned and stared at him. Her stoic expression did not change. Logan had seen that look in her light brown eyes before. A flood of memories came to him as he remembered the two of them growing up together, their families spending holidays and special occasions at each other’s home.
She’s not that awkward girl in glasses anymore
.

Mr. Perrot tried to speak, but Valerie wasn’t in a listening mood. “Do you know how much trouble the two of you are in?” she said, taking a seat. “Four people died upstairs last night, and you two just might become the prime suspects.”

“Suspects!” Logan said, shocked. “We didn’t do anything. We were both in New Chicago until we got on that flight this afternoon. If you let me have my PCD, I’ll show you the tickets.”

“We’re looking at your PCD right now,” Valerie said.

“Good, then you’ll see we aren’t lying.”

“What we’re trying to say, dear,” Mr. Perrot said, “is that we have information that we believe will be useful to you during this investigation.”

There was a knock on the door, and a man’s face appeared in the window.

“Dad, I don’t have time right now for one of your stories. That’s my
boss out there, and I bet he wants to know if you and Logan represent the quick and easy resolution of this case.”

“I assure you it wasn’t us,” Mr. Perrot calmly said. “You know that I am and always have been a great supporter of the Satraya movement. When I heard the shocking news of Cynthia’s murder, I felt an obligation to provide some vital facts.”

“So you and Logan hopped on a plane and flew a thousand miles? Why didn’t you just call, Dad?”

“Well, our information is a bit complex,” Mr. Perrot replied. “And I thought you were working in Spain on a case. So Logan was kind enough to accompany an old man on a journey. We thought that a face-to-face meeting with the authorities would best serve our purpose.”

“I see. And what purpose would that be?”

“To assist with the case, of course,” he replied. Valerie gave her father a look as if she couldn’t believe it. And then another as if she could.

“I
was
working on a case in Spain,” she said in frustration as she stood up. “But they pulled me to work on this one. I arrived just a few hours ago, and I’m still trying to understand what the hell happened here. And how—”

Before she could continue, a portly older man entered the room carrying Logan’s backpack and his PCD. “They check out, Chief,” he said. “The tickets on the PCD were bought today and match up with the airport security data. We have surveillance that shows both of them getting on a plane in New Chicago earlier this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Valerie said with a note of relief, as she took the backpack and PCD from him. “As for the two of you,” she continued, her annoyed demeanor quickly returning as she addressed Logan and Mr. Perrot, “I am still trying to comprehend how you got into this building without anyone seeing you.”

“We used the secret tunnel,” Logan blurted out as Mr. Perrot placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to forestall his response.

“The secret tunnel?” Valerie looked at him incredulously.

“Yeah,” Logan said. “We waltzed in here using the tunnel.”

“Well, you see,” Mr. Perrot interrupted, “that is part of the important information that Logan and I would like to share with you. If you would allow us to explain, we have quite an intriguing tale to relay.”

“Well,” Valerie said, as she slid Logan’s backpack and PCD over to him. “Why don’t you show me just how you waltzed in here, then?”

She escorted them out of the room, and they waited a moment while she spoke to her superior, who didn’t look happy with what she was telling him. Once the brief conversation was over, Valerie was joined by the portly man wearing a rumpled gray suit and a white shirt with a poorly knotted blue tie. She introduced him to Logan and Mr. Perrot as her trusted partner, WCF agent Charlie Baker. The four of them walked downstairs to the basement storage room.

“All right, Dad,” Valerie said matter-of-factly. “Where’s the tunnel?”

Mr. Perrot walked over to the bookshelf and pulled it open as far as the rusty hinges would allow.

“Really? Just like that?” A dumbfounded Charlie walked over and examined the hidden door. “How did you know about this, sir?”

Mr. Perrot did not answer; he merely looked at his daughter.

“We’ll get to the bottom of that shortly,” Valerie said. “But first, let’s get the crime-scene team down here to do their thing.”

“Come on,” Logan said enthusiastically, about to enter the tunnel. “I’ll show you the ladder we climbed down.”

“Not so fast.” Valerie grabbed his arm. “We need to let the site investigators go in first so they can collect evidence. It’s likely the two of you already contaminated the scene.”

Two investigators dressed in loose-fitting white jumpsuits entered the room and started setting up their equipment. They carefully removed the door, opening a clear path to the tunnel, and set up two bright lamps by the doorway. Valerie and Charlie, along with Logan and Mr. Perrot, watched as the investigators entered the tunnel and began processing it for evidence.

“Looks like we have three sets of footprints in the dust here,” one of the investigators called out. “Two large pairs of shoes, probably belonging
to males, and another smaller pair. Looks like they were left by a pair of high heels.”

“Who else was with you?” Valerie asked her father and Logan.

“No one,” Logan answered.

“It was just the two of us,” Mr. Perrot confirmed. “I assure you.”

“Take off your shoes.”

Logan and Mr. Perrot handed their shoes to Charlie, who took them to the investigators.

“Should we tell her about the box?” Logan whispered to Mr. Perrot.

“No, not at the moment,” Mr. Perrot replied. “I would like to examine its contents before we do so.”

“They’re a match,” the investigator called out from the tunnel, re-emerging with the shoes. “These two pairs match the two sets of larger prints—all the prints are fresh. The third set of prints appears to have been made by a female.” He brought up an image on his PCD. “Central Lab has identified the shoes as Pierre Masu—women’s size six and a half.”

“Pierre Masu.” Valerie recognized the name. “That’s not a cheap brand.”

“There wasn’t anyone else with us when we came through the tunnel,” Logan said again. “Just me and your father.”

The investigator went back to work in the tunnel, and while Charlie took a call on his PCD, Valerie pulled her father and Logan aside. “Who else knew about this tunnel?” she asked.

Logan and Mr. Perrot remained awkwardly silent.

“Right—that’s part of the story you need to tell me. Well, now would be a good time to start.”

15

All desire to be free. The question you must ask is, what will you risk to ensure that freedom?

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

CHÂTEAU DUGAN, SWISS ALPS, 4:00 A.M. LOCAL TIME,

5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

The old dungeon under Château Dugan had changed little since the Dark Ages. Its stone walls and iron doors were an intimidating sight for even the bravest souls. Eight rooms surrounded a large common area, where a reputedly bottomless well had emitted a foul odor for as long as anyone could remember. The only modern convenience in the dungeon was electricity. In keeping with the dungeon’s original purpose, it had been installed to facilitate punishment.

Macliv had been plying his craft in one of the rooms for many hours now. “You really should tell Mr. Simon what he wants to know,” he advised the badly bruised man who sat naked, chained to a metal chair. On the walls surrounding him were the futile etchings of past visitors.

As it was very hot in the dungeon, Macliv had removed his shirt, revealing a full tribal tattoo that ran from his upper neck all the way down the right side of his torso and his right arm, ending at his wrist.

Buckets of salt water sat ready to wash the blood off the prisoner’s body.

The chamber door swung open. “Macliv, how is your interrogation progressing?” Simon asked as he entered.

Macliv shook his head and slapped the prisoner on the side of his face. Simon walked over and bent down so that he was face-to-face with him.

“You are Lokesh Sarin, the son of Deya Sarin, are you not? The woman who found a set of the
Chronicles
in the Ganges River?”

“Yes,” Lokesh responded. “Deya was my mother.”

“Excellent. See how easy this is, Macliv,” Simon said, turning to the torturer. “You just have to ask the right questions.” He looked back at the battered young man and smiled. “Before your mother died, she had in her possession a copy of
The Chronicles of Satraya,
is that right?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Once again, excellent. I need to know where I can find those books.”

“I don’t know,” the prisoner said, a response that quickly earned him another blow to the back of his head. “I am telling you the truth. No one knows what she did with the books before she drowned in the river eighteen months ago. She must have taken them with her—she took them everywhere. Her boat capsized, and the books must have been lost.”