Tragic Desires (9 page)

“Got it.”

The yard is overgrown and the back door is boarded shut. We’ll have to get inside another way, a window perhaps. Careful not to make any noise, I check all the windows in the back. I eventually locate one that isn’t locked. The window is broken so it’s easy to open. After I push her through, I go in behind.

The place is a mess. Drawers emptied, pictures torn off the wall, cushions slashed, closets emptied. It’s been destroyed.

I motion to her to come toward me. Then I write to her, “Grab everything.” She nods in understanding.

Gemini walks off to another room so I tag along. She enters what I presume to be her bedroom and goes to the closet where she pulls out a shoebox. I empty the contents into my backpack.

The answers are in this house. I know they are. My gut shouts at me. Think, Drex. Where would you hide something this important?

I quickly
scan the floor. It’s carpeted. I pull a utility knife from my backpack and slice into the carpeting. Gemini looks at me and I shake my head. What I need to know is what’s beneath this carpet. When I lift it up, I find old linoleum. So I move to the next room. I find the same thing in all the rooms.

Grabbing my notepad, I write, “
Attic?”

She
leads me to a door with a narrow set of stairs. I head up and find myself in the attic. There’s no way her mother would leave anything important out in the open. If she were indeed in the Witness Protection Program, she would’ve hidden this type of information safely away. I head to the rafters to check if there are any enclosed spaces up here. Nothing.

Once I’m back downstairs, I check the closets, looking for false walls, but I come up with nothing again.
Frustration mounts. There’s a fireplace in the living room. I write another note. “Ever use this?”

Gemini nods
yes. That blows that possibility.

“B
asement?” I write.

I follow her down some steps. The room’s been redone
, which mean here’s my best chance. The first place I check is the walls. All the pictures have been pulled off so I don’t have to bother with that. The more I think about it, the more I realize that it will be somewhere so obscure that I may have to settle for the fact that we won’t find it.

I write Gemini another note. “
Any walls patched?”

She smiles and motions for me to follow her. We get to the laundry room and she points to a wall
covered with shelves.

I help
her remove the shelves. Behind them is a two-by-two-foot square in the sheetrock that doesn’t quite match the rest of the wall. But it extends to the floor where the molding doesn’t match, either. I dig in my pack and find my multi-purpose tool. I pry the wood away from the wall and behind it is a space devoid of sheetrock. Instead I find a metal box wedged inside. I pull it out and motion to Gemini to head for the stairs. We need to get out of here.

W
e head in the direction of the church, but my instincts proved correct. I hear cars on the street of the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

“Run, and keep to the shadows. Follow me.” She has trouble keeping up so I do the usual and toss her over my shoulder. Yep, this is getting old.

We make it back to the car, and I don’t waste any time getting us away from there. Something tipped them off and I’m sure it was the noise of us ripping the molding off the wall. We have a couple of hours before the Lady Belle arrives, so I head out of town to our designated meeting point.

“You know, you’re going to have to get in better shape,” I tell her.

She inhales and it sounds like she’s just sucked all the oxygen out of the car. “You can kiss my ass. I used to be in great shape until these skull-smashers ruined my life, so before you make any more comments about the crappy shape I’m in, you can shove them all right the hell up your tight ass.”

“Well, I guess you told me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. So why don’t you shut up for a change?”

“A bit touchy, aren’t you?”

I see it coming at me, but I don’t expect the strength behind it. She nails me with a good old-fashioned punch, connecting with my right deltoid. She has a knuckle popped out so it digs into my muscle. Stings a bit.

“Damn, girl. That hurt.”

“Good. Now stop saying such stupid things. I don’t do well with stupid.”

Rubbing my arm, I say,
“Duly noted.”

“Where are we going?”

I want to laugh, but I know it’ll piss her off. “To a friend’s. He lives about twenty miles out of town. That’s where the Lady Belle will pick us up.”

I
grab the phone and call Jeff Stone. It rings a couple of times before he answers.

“
So what’s your ETA?” he says in his Texan drawl, and then laughs.

“
Just leaving San Angelo now,” I explain and tell him we’re closing in on his place.

“Just ring me when you’re a couple of minutes out and I’ll open the gate,” Jeff says.

“Thanks, man.”

“Do you know everyone?”
Gemini asks.

Shaking my head, I say, “No, but when you’re in the military, you get connected.”

“I’ll say. Do you think those guys were the terrorists?”

“Either that or CIA.”

“Why do you think the CIA wants me?”

“Because the terrorists do. They think you know something if the terrorists want you. Besides, now that we have this box, there may be something in here that they really do want.”

She shifts in her seat and looks at me. “Why all of a sudden? Why not try to get me before now?”

I pause to think for a minute and then it hits me. “Your accident. You said you were missing for a couple of days, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Did your boyfriend
file a missing person’s report?”

“Yeah.”

“Then your picture was plastered all over the news. That’s why. These people have been hunting down your mom for a long time. Let me ask you something—do you resemble her?”

“M
aybe a little. She was dark haired but had intense blue eyes. She was really pretty. I’m not even close to what she looked like. Where’s that backpack? I’ll show you a picture. I have tons.”

“It’s behind my seat, but my guess is you’re a dead ringer for her. And that’s how they found you.”

She fumbles through the pack. When she pulls out some photos, she shows me a picture, and I take a quick look. “You’re a mirror image. No wonder they’re after you now.”

The rest of the ride is silen
t. I ring Jeff when we’re a few minutes out and the gates are open when we arrive. We drive down the half-mile road to his house. He’s on the porch, waiting for us.

“Hey
, bro. Thanks for doin’ this.”

“No worries.”
We man-hug.

“Jeff, this is Gemini.” They shake hands and he invites us in. He offers us drinks but we both decline, asking only for water.

“So, what brings you out to my country? I know it must be more than an ice pack. You look like you got into a bit of a tussle.”

“Long story
. And yeah, she needs an ice pack.”

“Dude, when have you ever had a
short
story?”

It’s the damn truth. “You’re right. But this one is complicated and you’re way better off not knowing, if that’s okay with you.”

“I got you. So what time is your ride?”

I glance at my watch
. “Should be here in a couple hours. Huff’s supposed to call when he’s an hour out. And you’re sure it’s okay for my helo to land here?”

“Yeah, I’ve got that huge open field out back.”

“I remember. That’s why I thought of you. Jeff, would you mind if we had a little privacy? We need to review some stuff.”

“Not at all. Give me a second and I’ll bring you the ice.” He shows us into a small den and closes the door as he leaves. A couple minutes later
, he’s back with ice and is gone again.

Gemini looks at me
. “Isn’t that a little rude?”

“Naw, he’s fine. He knows how I operate.”

She shrugs and doesn’t say anything. I open my backpack and pull out the locked metal box. I rifle through my pack looking for my lock-pick tool and set to work. I hand the opened box to Gemini. It did, after all, belong to her mother.

She holds onto it. Then she runs her fingers across the top and stares at it for a
second. “I’m scared of what this thing holds, Drexel. What if I don’t want to know what it tells me? What if I just want to be Gemini Sheridan from San Angelo and stay that way forever?”

Placing my hands on her shoulders, I say, “No matter what’s in this damn box, you
are
Gemini Sheridan from San Angelo. You’ll always be that girl. That’s how you were raised and that’s how you’ll live the rest of your life. What’s in that box will only tell you why evil people want to kill you. It won’t change who you are in here,” I point to her head, “or in here.” I point to her heart.

She nods and hugs the box to her chest
. “Well then, Drexel Wolfe, we might as well get this over with, huh?”

T
here are many
defining moments in one’s life, but only a few that impact it so much that you’ll remember them forever. This will be one of those. When I open this box, I know that if I live to be a hundred, I’ll remember every single thing about this.

My hands shake as I unlatch and lift the lid. Inside are envelopes, stuffed thick with papers. Some are letters addressed to a Rachel Miller in New York City. I open them,
one at a time, and as I read, I hand them over to Drexel. The chess pieces begin to move into place and I am delegated the most difficult and crucial player: the pawn.

Rachel Miller, whom I can only assume at this time is my mother, was put into the witness protection program
after doing something for the CIA. The letters I’m reading have nothing to do with that, but they’re letters to Rachel from her family in Connecticut. Apparently I have, or did have at one time, relatives in Connecticut. Grandparents, perhaps even aunts, uncles, and cousins living on the East Coast. They talk about her modeling career in New York and things such as that. Then there is an obituary, citing her terrible drowning on the Jersey shore. There were no witnesses and no one knows what happened, only that her body washed ashore after being reported missing for over a week. She was identified by dental records. That was the end of Rachel Miller.

I feel such a profound sense of sadness for this woman who had to give up the life she knew in order to save
herself. Even her family thinks she died. But where do I play into all of this?

“Are you okay?” Drexel’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

“I guess so. This is all so unreal. Why would she do all this? What did she know?”

“I’m hoping we’ll find out as we dig deeper. How’s your head?”

“It’s good right now. I usually do pretty well at night.”

“No pain meds?”

“No. I want a clear head for this.”

He nods and I continue to rummage through the papers. I find an old birth certificate in the name of Rachel Marie Miller. And then I find something else deeply disturb
ing. I jump to my feet, dropping the metal box, spilling its contents. The piece of paper floats to the carpet in slow motion, like a feather in the wind. I stand unable to speak or move.

“What is it? What did you find?” Drexel is holding my arm, but the most he can get out of me is a shake of my head. Back and forth it
moves, like a metronome. He snaps his fingers in front of my face and I see them; I’m simply too shocked to say anything. Can that possibly be me? Was that me at one point? Is that why she was no longer Rachel Miller?

Drexel looks to the floor to search for what I saw. When he spies it, he picks it up as I watch him, still in slow motion. He moves to me and his voice is stretched and garbled. Why does he sound so weird? When my legs start to crumple, my brain figures it out, but it’s too late and
my lights go out.

There’s something nice
and cool on my head. I touch it. A bag of ice. There’s a large, warm hand on mine, and my thoughts pinball until they begin to make sense.

My
lids flutter open and his face comes into focus.

“Hey. You okay there?” he asks.

“I think so.” I move to sit up but he gently pushes me back.

“Not so fast, Gemini. You fainted on me. Let’s take it easy for a minute.”

He’s right, so I nod. What happened? And then it hits me. Holy shit. My real name.

“Drexel! Did you see that birth certificate?” My words are frantic.

“Yeah.”

“That’s me! It has to be. That’s my birthdate. What was that name again?”

He hands it to me and I take a long look at it. It’s from the state of New York. I was born in New York City. My real name is Amira Assaf.
Holy fuck!

“Holy shit. My
father. That’s the connection. It has to be with that kind of name. Amira Assaf. But why didn’t she name him on the birth certificate?”

“Maybe she didn’t want him to know.”

“Then why give me an Arabic name?”

“Good question. So he must’ve known, but didn’t want to be named.”

“Or maybe he thought he was.”

The questions are so numerous now
, I can’t think straight. I take my time sitting up. “All these years you think you’re this one person. And then you find out you’re not who you think you are.”

He
doesn’t speak. Is there anything he can say?

“My mom was the least likely person to be involved in something like this. She must’ve been a terrorist too.” The thought of that makes me want to scream at her, and then cry. Why would she do such a thing?

“Maybe she just knew him and she wasn’t a terrorist. You’re leaping to conclusions now. Don’t do that until you have all the facts.”

“Maybe she was a turncoat,” I say as I grab more papers. Now I find things addressed to Michelle Sheridan
, and a letter entitled, “Project Gemini.” Finally, my hands land on another envelope with my name written across it in my mom’s handwriting. Part of me wants to rip it open right then and the other part is petrified to find what it reveals. All of my information is contained in here. The rest of the box holds nothing but meaningless papers. At the very bottom is another small envelope with my name on it. I open it; inside is a key. I want to tear my hair out.

“Gemini,
that letter may tell you everything. And the other may be a key to a safe deposit box. You said you had one, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“It could be for the same bank.”

“But you said I could
n’t go there without raising flags.”

“True, but let’s see if Colt can do anything on his end.”

Drexel calls Colt and they have a conversation while my mind churns with this information about my mother. What happened to you, Mom, that you did all this? Suddenly, a thought shoots through me. My mom was smart … smart enough to keep us alive all those years. She wouldn’t have put those boxes in the same bank. No way. And besides, even if Colt helps, as soon as they access my account, the CIA will be notified.

“Drexel, no.” He looks at me and I tell him to end the call. When he does, I explain all of this to him.

“We were just discussing that.”

“Is Colt trustworthy?” I have to know this.

“Yeah. I can’t say the same for the rest of his men, but he is.”

“Can’t his calls be traced?”

“What are you getting at?”

“If the CIA is looking for me, wouldn’t they be tapping into his stuff?”

“He didn’t tell them he had you.”

“What about the other men
?” I know I’m paranoid, but I can’t help it. “And this Jeff guy. It all seems too easy.”

Drexel looks
at me squarely. “I can understand why you’d say that. And yeah, it does seem easy. But it came at a steep price a few years ago.” He stops and looks like he’s muddling through some things in his mind. He finally says, “Jeff, Colt and I served together on a task force in the Middle East. I trust them with my life. Therefore, you can trust them as well. Do you follow me here?”

“Yeah, I do.” If it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me.

“So, now we’re back to square one in trying to figure out what this key unlocks. Did your mom have any favorite places she liked to visit? Vacation spots? Things of that nature?”

“Yeah, we’d go to Panama City, Florida
, a lot. She always wanted to be where there were crowds.”

“Anything closer?”

“San Antonio and Austin. She loved the River Walk in San Antonio. Even though it was touristy, she liked that kind of thing. I used to think she was nuts, but now I guess she felt like she could melt into the crowds and feel safe. She also liked going to the zoo in Austin. And UT football games.”

“All big
, crowded events. Try to think if she would’ve left you clues anywhere too. Was there anywhere in particular you would stop when you’d visit those places?”

I scoot my butt to the edge of the sofa and drop my head into my hands. He’s there, right in front of me, asking me if I’m okay.

“That’s a question I’m not sure I can answer.”

“I meant physically.”

“I’m sick, Drex.”

He gives me a lopsided smile.

“What?”

“Only my close friends call me that.”

“Sorry. I ran out of energy to say your whole name.”

“I wasn’t chastising you. I was letting you know it’s okay for you to call me that.”

“I’m afraid to read that letter. I don’t know if I want to know what it says.”

He takes my hands and
says, “I can read it for you. And then if it’s bad, I’ll let you know. You need to know what’s in it, Gemini.”

He’s right. Why does he always have to be right? “You would do that for me?”

“Yeah. Finding out what’s in there is paramount to your safety.”

I fumble through the pile of papers and hand him the letter. He gently opens the envelope and I watch his face as he reads it. He gives nothing away. Then he lifts his head and asks, “Are you ready?”

“You tell me because I don’t know.” My hands are clenched together and he pries them apart.

“Gemini, knowledge is your best defense. One thing is clear. Your mother loved you more than anything.”

“Read it to me,” I say.

My dear sweet Gemini,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer living and for that I can only say I’m sorry because there are so many things I wanted to tell you myself. You were so young and there was so much to say. I had intended to tell you everything when you turned twenty-one. But since that day never came for me, I wrote it all down here so you would learn the truth from me, and not the lies that I’m sure others are trying to convince you are true.

Let me start at the beginning. By now you’ve learned a few things about yourself, namely that your birth name is
Amira Assaf. When I was eighteen, I moved to New York City to pursue a career in modeling. It wasn’t as easy as I was led to believe. The money wasn’t there so I was forced to earn it through other means. I know you will think terrible things of me, and I suppose I don’t blame you, but I did what I had to do to survive. Perhaps I should hang my head in shame, but I won’t. I’m not proud of what I did, but the past is the past, and it cannot be changed.

Through my modeling, I was introduced to a man who told me he would see that I would be given a means to earn a lot of money. He became my pimp, if you will, and I became a high-paid call girl. That’s how I met your father, Hakeem
Assaf. Hakeem was a Middle Eastern oil tycoon who spent a great deal of time in New York. After seeing him for several months, he asked that I give up my life as a call girl and become his mistress. I agreed because I was in love with him. He set me up in a lavish apartment and I lived a grand lifestyle. He treated me with the greatest respect and kindness and showered me with gifts.

Then one day, to my surprise, I learned I was pregnant with you. At first I feared telling Hakeem because I knew he and I could never be married. But I knew I had no choice. When I finally told him the truth, he was ecstatic. I’d never seen him so filled with joy.

The day you came into this world was the happiest day of my life. Hakeem chose your name because Amira means princess, and he said you would always be his darling princess. He was the most attentive father I’ve ever seen and when he held you, he was filled with so much love for you. You look a lot like him, though he said you are exactly like me. You have his eyes. As you grew older, I would see so much of him in you.

When you were two years old, we were in the park one sunny afternoon when a woman struck up a conversation. She told me what a beautiful child you were. After she left, I noticed a note in your stroller. It said there were people who had information about Hakeem and asked me to meet them at a coffee shop.

I was confused, but curious at the same time. I knew the coffee shop and deemed it to be safe, so I went. Sitting at a booth were two men in dark suits. They saw me enter and asked me to take a seat. What they told me turned my world upside down.