Out of Reach: A Novel (12 page)

“Maybe we should cancel our trip to Miami,” Marta said, glancing nervously back at the building. “I hate to leave you alone when Claire is not feeling well.”

“No,” Erin said. “Go. You’ve been planning this for months, and you both need to get away for a couple of days. I’ll check in on Claire. Besides”—she squeezed Janie’s shoulder to let her know she was kidding as she said—“I’m going to be very busy next week and don’t need the two of you getting in my way.”

Marta hesitated. For a year she’d dealt with Erin’s job and its unusual demands, but nothing Erin had ever done for the Company had touched Claire or Janie. To Marta’s credit, she didn’t ask many questions. This time, however, she had just one. “Is there something going on that you are not telling me?”

It was uncanny how this woman could sense Erin’s thoughts. Of course, she’d known Erin since she was in diapers. “Nothing I can’t handle. Now, I need to make a couple of calls, then I’ll take you and Janie home.”

Marta hesitated again, then held out a hand to the little girl. “Come on, sweetie, let’s sit in the car.”

Erin moved away from them and pulled out her cell phone. Her first call was to an old friend at Langley, Sam Anderson, a brilliant analyst and computer whiz, who owed her from their days together at the Farm.

She dialed the secure line, and he picked up on the second ring. Somehow it didn’t surprise her that he was in his office on a Sunday afternoon. “Sam, it’s Erin Baker.”

“Oh, the master spy, or should I say
mistress
spy? Or is that
spyess
.”

“Cute.” Erin shook her head at Sam’s antics. “Look, I need you to do something for me.”

“I am your slave, my lady.”

“I need three files pulled. ASAP. And I want you to bring them to me this afternoon.” As a covert officer, Erin rarely went to Langley. Its location was too well known and too well watched. “We’ll meet in the usual place.”

“Man, you don’t ask much. It is Sunday, you know.”

“So what are you doing answering your phone?”

He laughed. “Yeah, well . . .”

“It’s important, Sam.”

“Okay, then.” Suddenly, he was all business. “Let me have it.”

“I need everything you can find on a Roland Garth. He’s doing time at San Quentin. I’m particularly interested in his arrest information, what deals he cut with the DA, past criminal activity, that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know, Baker, this doesn’t sound like something you should be messing with.”

“Sam, I’m in a hurry.”

He sighed audibly. “Okay. What else?”

“I also need information about General William Neville. He’s attached to the German Embassy.”

“That sounds more like it. You gonna recruit him?” Recruiting foreign “agents” to share information about their governments was a covert CIA officer’s primary function.

“If I tell you that—”

“You’ll have to kill me, right?” He laughed at the old joke.

“Well, no, you
do
work for the Company.”

“Right.” He sounded disappointed. “Okay, General William Neville.”

“Also, get me an invite to the reception at the German Embassy tomorrow night.” This wasn’t exactly in Sam’s job description, but if she asked one of the assistants who usually made such arrangements, there would be too many questions. Hopefully, Sam wouldn’t get insulted.

Obviously, he didn’t. “Gotcha. And the last file?”

She glanced back at the car, where Marta and Janie waited, then moved farther out of earshot. “I need all the information you can find on a kidnapping that occurred in 1985.”

“What country?”

“Miami.”

“I know it seems like a foreign country sometimes, but let’s get real, Erin.”

“Sam, I’m serious.”

A heartbeat of silence, then he said, “Baker, what are you doing?” All the amusement had left his voice.

“Just do it, Sam, okay? Early June 1985, a seven-year-old girl was taken out of Glades Park. I want police reports, interviews, everything you can put your hands on in the next twenty-four hours.”

“You got the kid’s name?” He still didn’t sound thrilled about this.

She hesitated, knowing she was about to reveal a piece of herself she’d kept carefully hidden from most of her colleagues at the Agency. But she needed Sam’s help if she was going to get what she needed in time. “Claire Baker.”

Silence.

“Sam?”

“What’s going on here, Erin?”

“Please, I really need you to do this.”

She could almost hear him thinking, weighing what he owed her against her request. As a CIA officer, she had no business investigating a criminal case within the United States, and she certainly shouldn’t be looking into something as close to home as her sister’s kidnapping. At the very least she was risking her career, and she was asking Sam Anderson to climb out on that limb with her.

Finally he said, “I owe you that much. But if I do this . . .” He paused, but when he spoke again, the humor was back in his voice. “You’ve got to have dinner with me.”

She laughed. “It’s a deal. My treat. I’ll bring my niece along, okay? She’s seven and loves pizza.”

He groaned. “Never mind.” Obviously, Sam didn’t do the kid thing. “Okay, let me get working on this, and I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks, Sam. I owe you.”

“Forget it.” Then he was serious again. “I just hope this doesn’t come back to bite you.”

“Me, too.” She pushed the disconnect button, took a deep breath to brace herself for the second call, then pulled out a business card and dialed.

He picked up on the first ring. “Donovan.”

“It’s Erin Baker.”

Silence.

She could almost picture him. His sandy blond hair in disarray from dragging his hands through it. His shirt rumpled, tie loose, and his eyes bloodshot from too many hours without sleep.

“Can you arrange an interview with Roland Garth?” she asked.

“You talked to your sister.” It wasn’t a question.

“Can you arrange the interview?”

“It’s already done. I’ve got a four-thirty flight out of Dulles.”

She looked at her watch. Damn. It was already after two. That didn’t give her much time. She’d have to call Sam back and get him to bring the Garth file to Dulles. She could read it on the flight west. And she would need a ticket. They were inching farther out on that limb, and she was going to owe Sam Anderson more than a pizza.

“Okay, I’m ninety minutes away,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the airport.”

“Wait a minute, you’re not going.”

She ignored him. “Give me your flight information.”

“You’re a civilian. My SAC would have my badge if I took you along.”

“Then don’t tell him. You seem to be willing to break the rules when it suits you.”

“Give me a reason I should break them this time?”

“I’m going to a reception at the German Embassy tomorrow night. The ambassador is returning to Berlin, and this is a farewell party. I expect William Neville will be there, and I plan to talk to him. But I want to have a conversation with Garth first.”

From the other end, more silence.

“Donovan?”

“Your sister confirmed my theory?”

“Not exactly. I tried talking to her, but she shut down and kicked us out.” Erin glanced at the car, where Marta was soothing a distressed Janie. “Like most cutters, Claire hurts herself to release stress or hide from some horrific pain. Well, now she’s under watch because her doctors think I may have triggered an incident.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Erin sighed and looked away. “And neither am I. That boy . . .”

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Erin said, “She does remember, though. At least the man in the park. The one selling ice cream and doing magic tricks. I could see it in her eyes just before she shut down.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s why I’m coming with you to interview Roland Garth. If you refuse me, I’ll make a few calls of my own. And trust me, Donovan, I will get in to see him.” She paused, giving him a moment to digest her words. “I want the man who took my sister from me. And Garth’s going to tell me how to find him.”

XV

I
SAAC WATCHED THEM
drive away.

They’d walked right past him without ever looking his way. Erin, Claire’s daughter, and the older woman who hovered over them all. He’d been standing by the reception desk then, giving the woman behind it his current name and the time of his appointment, when Erin and the girl went out. He’d been early, so he’d moved to the window and studied the two of them as they waited for the older woman.

He had to admit, he was disappointed at Erin’s lack of interest. Granted, he was a different man from the one she’d seen in the park yesterday. He stood straight and lean, his hair with a touch of genteel gray, suited and groomed to perfection. Nothing at all like the paunchy vendor he’d been the day before, or the pious priest of the previous night. Yet he’d expected some flicker of recognition. She had, after all, remembered him after a span of nineteen years.

“Dr. Holmes.”

Isaac turned toward the receptionist. “Yes?”

“Dr. Schaeffer will see you now.”

“Thank you.” Though he would have preferred staying by the windows until Erin and the others left, he followed the frumpy woman down the hall to the administration wing. He would see them all again soon. But first, he’d deal with Claire.

They entered a large corner office, and another suit, with the smile of a consummate politician, greeted him. “Dr. Holmes, it’s so good to meet you.” He took Isaac’s hand firmly. “I’m Robert Schaeffer, director of Gentle Oaks. I’ve been following your work on post-traumatic stress for years, and I can’t tell you how honored I am that you’ve chosen to visit our facility.”

Isaac smiled tightly, in the manner befitting a world-renowned jackass and the real Jacob Holmes. “I’ve heard you’ve done interesting things here as well.”

“Yes, yes, well, we do our best. Would you like some coffee or something?”

“No, nothing. Thank you. I only have a few hours before my flight.”

“Well then, let’s get on with the tour.”

The pompous man escorted Isaac around the building, blabbing on about his supposedly innovative programs. Group therapy. Art therapy. Pet therapy. It was all a bunch of nonsense in Isaac’s mind, but he nodded and agreed, asking a pointed question or two. He was, after all, a bit of an expert on the subject of mental illness himself.

Even more boring than the treatments Schaeffer espoused were the physical facilities themselves and all the special touches he claimed gave his patients a sense of home. Isaac almost laughed aloud at that one. If what these people needed was a home environment, they’d have been better off staying in their own. It would be a hell of a lot cheaper.

“This is all very interesting,” Isaac said, not trying to hide the impatience in his voice. Holmes was one of the world’s leading authorities on Post-traumatic Stress Disorder and didn’t need to be polite. “But I’m really more interested in some of your patients.”

“Oh, of course.” Schaeffer’s smile broadened: obviously so taken with his esteemed visitor that he didn’t even notice the rebuke. “I have several interesting residents at the moment. A young man, a veteran, who seemed fine for the first few years after the Gulf War, then—”

“No, no veterans, Doctor. I’ve treated more than my share and there’s nothing new there.”

“Well”—Schaeffer seemed a bit taken aback—“there is Tara, a rape victim.”

Isaac brushed that suggestion aside as well. “What about the woman you wrote about last year?” It was a miserable little piece Isaac had almost missed in his research, but he had found it. “The victim of child abuse. I think you called her Lady X.”

“Oh, yes.” Schaeffer brightened. “Very interesting case. She was kidnapped when she was seven and held for four years. You read my article?”

“I’d like to meet her.”

Schaeffer hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. She’s had a rather difficult day.” He moved closer, confiding in a colleague. “Family visit and all. We have her under a suicide watch.”

Isaac almost smiled. So Claire Baker was suicidal.

He’d risked a lot to come here and find a way to eliminate her without arousing undue suspicion, and the means had fallen into his lap. He wouldn’t kill Claire, he’d let her do the task for him. All he had to do was get in to see her.

“If this is a bad time”—he glanced at his watch—“I need to be heading back to the airport. This has been”—Isaac paused, searching for the right word to convey his disappointment—“Interesting.”

A flash of dismay crossed Schaeffer’s features. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt for us to take a quick look.”

Isaac lifted an eyebrow. “Only if you’re certain. I wouldn’t want to interfere with any of your treatments.” He put a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“No, no, I’m sure it will be fine,” Schaeffer claimed. “This way.”

As Isaac followed Schaeffer, he experienced a twinge of unexpected excitement. He’d never met one of his children all grown up, and he wondered if she’d recognize him. If not, he planned to remind her.

He knew her immediately, of course, as Schaeffer escorted him into a brightly lit room. Same bright golden curls. Same blue eyes. Wide now. Filled with horror. And recognition.

This time he couldn’t suppress the smile. “Hello, Claire.”

XVI

A
LEC WASN’T HAPPY
about Erin coming with him.

Whether Roland Garth had actually abducted Claire Baker or not, she’d been with him when the police found her. During his fifteen years with the Bureau, Alec had seen too many people come apart when faced with the victimizer of a loved one, and although Erin seemed remarkably composed, her sister was her Achilles’ heel.

She shouldn’t go anywhere near Garth.

Unfortunately, Alec didn’t think he could stop her. He had a feeling she didn’t make idle threats. She
would
somehow get in to see Garth with or without his help. At least if he was along, he could control the situation. Or attempt to.

Plus, traveling with her to California and back gave him time to talk her out of an even crazier notion: approaching William Neville.

They had nothing on Neville except suspicions. And with his money and connections, Erin could only get herself into trouble. If Neville’s hands were clean, she could trigger an embarrassing political situation. And if he was dirty? Well, that would make things even more sticky. Alec doubted she’d get any information from him. Instead, she would become a target and damage whatever chance they had of finding Cody Sanders.

So Alec was relieved when she showed up outside the departure gate just five minutes before the steward planned to close the door. She carried an overnight bag and looked harried and disheveled in jeans and a white oxford shirt, her short dark hair windblown, her cheeks flushed from running. With a nod, she acknowledged him, but stopped to talk to a tall, gangly man who’d been hanging around the gate area.

Alec couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the man was clearly agitated. Erin shook her head repeatedly and stuck out her hand. With obvious reluctance, the man gave her a large envelope, then threw Alec a look meant to maim as Erin headed over.

“Thought you weren’t going to make it,” he said.

“Disappointed?”

“Nope.” He led Erin over to the desk. “I have a feeling we’re all a lot safer if I keep an eye on you.”

She laughed, the first time he’d heard it, and it made him smile. Under different circumstances, he would enjoy getting to know this woman.

They spent another couple of minutes checking in and changing Erin’s seat assignment, something he’d arranged while waiting, despite the full plane. Then he threw one final glance into the waiting area before following her down the Jetway. The other man had left.

“Who was that guy?” he asked as they took their seats.

“Jealous already, Agent Donovan? And we hardly know each other.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t the first time she’d used a throwaway line to divert one of his questions. So he kept quiet and buckled his seat belt. Sooner or later, he’d find out the truth about Erin Baker. He was a patient man.

Then, as the plane taxied down the runway, she said, “He’s my assistant.”

She was, of course, lying. Getting past airport security without a ticket these days—especially in any of the three D.C. area airports—was no small feat. Alec suspected it would take a bit more than a plea from someone trying to deliver an envelope to their boss at a boarding gate. It was just another indication that Erin Baker wasn’t exactly what she claimed.

Alec let it go again, this time just until the plane was airborne, when she pulled a file from the envelope given to her by the man at the gate, and opened it.

“Your assistant has access to confidential court documents?” he said, seeing the heading of the top sheet. “California court documents?”

She didn’t look up from her reading. “He’s not really my assistant.”

“No kidding.” Alec made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. “So, when are you going to tell me the truth about who you work for?”

“You know the truth.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Dr. Baker. I know only part of the truth.”

Ignoring that, she said, “I need to know something about Garth before going in there.”

It was far from an explanation, but it was a start. It was honest. So he let her read, taking each page when she’d finished with it and reviewing it himself. He’d scoured the FBI files on Garth, but it couldn’t hurt to look it over again. Maybe see something new. And it wouldn’t surprise him if she’d gotten hold of information his files lacked.

When Erin finished reading, she pushed back in her seat and closed her eyes. “He really is a lowlife, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“And they gave him a deal.” She shook her head, her eyes still closed. “Hard to believe.”

“I expect since none of the girls would testify, the district attorney thought it better to get him off the streets than risk him beating all the charges in court.”

“You’re probably right.” She sounded tired.

“You didn’t know much about him before this, did you?”

She hesitated. “No. My mom shielded Claire, and consequently me, from his trial. And everything else having to do with Claire’s abduction, for that matter. She wanted us to forget it ever happened.”

“Do you blame her?”

“No. But it wasn’t possible. Our lives had been thoroughly turned upside down twice in a very short period of time. First when Claire disappeared, then when she came home. We’d lived for four years wondering what had happened to her, or if we’d ever see her again.” She paused, and he imagined her steeling herself against the painful memories. “I never would have admitted it at the time, especially to my mom, but I thought Claire was dead. And it was my fault.”

“
Your
fault?”

She turned her head against the headrest and gave him a bitter half smile. “I guess that part wasn’t in your files.”

Evidently, he was missing a lot of information about Erin Baker. Something, he realized, he’d really like to change. Something he shouldn’t even be thinking about. Not now when all his focus needed to be on finding a missing boy and a serial kidnapper known as the Magician.

“I was supposed to be watching Claire the day she disappeared, but I couldn’t be bothered.” She turned away, to stare out the small window. “I wanted to spend the day with my friends. So I bought her an ice cream and told her to get lost. And, well”—her voice broke, but she regained control quickly—“she did.”

Alec squelched his automatic impulse to assure her of her innocence. Her sister’s kidnapping was not Erin’s fault. No matter what she’d done or not done that day. Unfortunately, he knew nothing he could say would do any good, or change her mind.

He’d seen it a hundred times with family members of missing children. All the
what if
s and
if only
s. They never led anywhere, never changed a thing, but they seemed to satisfy some innate need to put the blame somewhere, on some
one
more concrete than a nebulous stranger. The only problem was it also tended to destroy marriages and sometimes whole families. At the very least it damaged the person taking the blame upon him- or herself. And he had to wonder what it had done to Erin Baker, what it had shaped her into, what she’d become underneath that tough exterior.

He’d like to take her hand and offer comfort. Just the simple human contact. But that, too, like his earlier thoughts, was inappropriate. Besides, he doubted she would allow it.

“Then the call came from the Family Welfare Office in San Francisco,” she said, obviously unaware of the directions his thoughts had wandered. “And everything changed again.

“We were so excited, numb almost with joy. Mom and I flew out to San Francisco to bring Claire home, but she was different.”

He could imagine. He’d seen Claire’s smiling second-grade class picture. And he’d seen the snapshot of the girl found in San Francisco four years later. It was hard to tell she was the same child.

“I’d braced myself for Claire being older, taller, and I would have easily adjusted to that. But she was broken. In some ways we could see, but in ways we couldn’t, too.” She paused again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Only we didn’t know it right away.”

“I’m sorry, Erin.”

She smiled tightly and looked at him, embarrassed, he guessed. “You’re sorry.” She let out a half laugh. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You didn’t sign up to listen to me whine.”

“Forget it.” He shrugged. “It gives me a better idea why you’re so intent on seeing Garth.”

“Yeah, well, while my mother was alive, the focus of her life was getting Claire better. Now . . .” She shrugged. “I just figure it’s time someone looked into making the man who took her pay.”

She fell silent then, and, after a bit, pushed back as far as her seat would go and shut her eyes.

“It’s a long flight,” she said, her voice reverting to that of the cool, standoffish woman he’d met yesterday. “I’m going to get some sleep. Since you look like you haven’t slept in a week, Donovan, I suggest you do the same.”

William was on his way back to Washington when the call came in on his secure line. His assistant answered, nodded, then handed over the phone. He knew before a word was spoken that it was about Erin Baker.

“General, I have some information about the woman.” Even on a supposedly secure line, his men would be careful about using names.

“Go on.”

“She boarded a nonstop flight to San Francisco about an hour ago.”

“Alone?”

“No, she met a man at the airport. Tall, blond. A suit. Possibly a cop of some kind, could be a fed.”

Donovan. They were going after Garth. William would have to get someone in California to meet the plane. And take care of Garth. Whatever he knew, it was too much. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Before getting on the plane, she talked to another man in the gate area. No identity, but we’re working on it. He gave her an envelope of some kind. Didn’t look happy about it. So we followed him when he left the airport.”

“And?”

“We lost him in McLean.”

“You lost him?” William had no patience for incompetence.

“He turned into Langley, General.”

William let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She’d met someone from Langley. “Which means . . .”

“Yes, sir, that would be my guess.”

“Erin Baker is CIA.”

The nonstop flight from Dulles took almost six hours, getting them into San Francisco a little after seven Pacific Time. Then it had taken another hour and a half to get a car and make the drive to San Quentin State Prison. So it was almost nine by the time they stepped into the chilly half-light of the prison, and a heavy iron door clanged closed behind them.

Alec glanced at Erin, and caught the brief flash of emotion in her eyes before she shut it down. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he asked. “This is the man who held your sister hostage.”

“That’s exactly why I need to be here.”

Alec understood, better now than he had before leaving D.C. Still, he’d tried to change her mind on the drive from the airport. Not that it had done any good. He might as well have been talking to a wall. “Let’s do it, then.”

The warden wasn’t happy about their showing up so late, but a quick call to Quantico had overcome his resistance. They were on a manhunt for a child abductor, and the investigation couldn’t wait for a more appropriate hour.

They followed a uniformed guard down a long, sterile corridor, their footsteps echoing off solid walls. The place smelled of men and sweat, anger and fear, and the scent of disinfectant attempting to mask it all. They passed a small squirrelish man with a mop, who watched them without lifting his head from his work. Other than that, they saw no one.

At the end of the hallway, the guard ushered them into a stark conference room, containing four chairs and a rectangular steel table, all bolted to the cold concrete floor. Two small windows, set high, were black holes in the dingy space, while the ceiling drenched them in green fluorescent light.

Erin shivered and rubbed at her arms.

Alec sympathized. The room made even the harshest of police interrogation rooms seem warm.

They sat, and Alec opened his briefcase, pulling out a carton of cigarettes and a yellow notepad. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and a different guard escorted Garth into the room. He wore leg and wrist irons, and the guard shoved him into the lone chair across from Erin and Alec, released one of his hands, and cuffed the other to an iron ring on the table.

Garth’s eyes flicked over Erin, then dismissed her.

Too old, Alec suspected, and the thought made him want to pummel the creep. “Thank you,” Alec said to the guard.

“We’ll be right outside if you need us.”

Alec nodded, waiting until they’d left before turning his attention to Garth.

“I’m Special Agent Alec Donovan,” he said while resting his hand on the carton of cigarettes. “I have some questions.”

“So? Why else would you be here?”

Alec tossed a single pack of cigarettes to the inmate. “As a gesture of goodwill.”

Garth snatched the pack, but took his time opening it and lighting up. After his first long drag, he said, “So, what’s the FBI want from me?”

Alec took out a picture of Claire, the way she’d looked the day the police found her in this asshole’s den—much older than her twelve years. “Recognize this girl?”

Garth shrugged. “Can’t say that I do.”

“But you can’t say that you don’t, either?”

In answer, he took a deep drag of the cigarette and blew it out in Erin’s direction. “Who’s the woman?”

“I’m Dr. Baker,” Erin answered, though Alec had specifically forbidden her to speak. Not that he expected her to take his orders. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.

“A shrink?”

“Tell me about the girl,” Alec said, reclaiming Garth’s attention.

He shook his head. “Nothing to tell.”

“She was found in your house the day you were busted.”

“How about that.”

“She was twelve, and the oldest of three girls living with you.”

“Crazy kids. Must have broken in.”

“You cut a deal with the DA.” Alec scooted forward in his chair. “He dropped the kidnapping charges in exchange for a guilty plea on the drug charges.”