Дэвид Балдаччи - Mercy

inch by solid inch, Atlee Pine watched the battered coffin being lifted to the surface from where it had rested six feet down for nearly two decades. Coffins and bodies were not supposed to be retrieved. They were supposed to stay right where they were planted, at least until a dying sun lashed out across space and bid farewell to all on earth.

But, for Pine, it was just that kind of day.

Just that kind of year, actually.

She gazed over at a black crow as it stridently cawed from its perch on the branch of a sickly pine overlooking the pierced grave. The bird seemed to think its meal was being delivered up as a boxed lunch, and the creature was getting impatient.

Well, I’m thirty years impatient, Pine thought.

Pine was an FBI special agent. Five eleven in bare feet, she possessed a muscular build from years of lifting massive amounts of weights, first for athletic glory, and currently to survive the rigorous demands of her occupation. Some agents spent careers mainly on their butts staring at computer screens or supervising agents on the streets. Pine was not one of them.

Her normal beat was in Arizona, near the Grand Canyon. It was a lot of ground to cover, and she was the only FBI agent out there. Pine preferred it that way. She hated bureaucracies and the paper pushers who lived and died by their stifling mountain of rules that got you nowhere fast. Certainly not with putting bad people away, which was really the whole point for her.

She was currently in Virginia working on something personal. This was her one shot to get things right in her life.

Next to Pine was her administrative assistant at the Bureau, Carol Blum.

Pine and Blum were searching for Pine’s twin sister, Mercy Pine, who had been abducted from their shared bedroom in Andersonville, Georgia, when the girls were just six years old. Pine had nearly been killed by the abductor, surviving by a combination of sheer luck and, Pine supposed, her absolute unwillingness to die. She hadn’t seen Mercy since. It was an incident that had destroyed the Pine family and stood as the one traumatically defining moment of her life.

They had tracked Mercy’s whereabouts to a place near Crawfordville, Georgia, in Taliaferro County, the most rural and least populated county in the state. She had been given the name Rebecca Atkins and had been kept as a prisoner until she’d escaped many years ago. Now the trail was as cold as a morgue freezer.

Joe Atkins, one of her captors, had been found murdered the day after Mercy had escaped. His wife, Desiree, had disappeared at the same time. Pine had unearthed that her sister’s kidnapper was a man named Ito Vincenzo. He was the brother of Bruno, a mobster who had held a grudge against Pine’s mother, Julia. She had acted as a mole for the government in its successful attempts to bring down several New York crime families back in the 1980s. Members of crime families did not like to be brought down. They held it against you. The Vincenzo family had certainly held it against the Pine family. At the urging of his murderous brother, Ito Vincenzo had tried to obliterate the Pines, and had largely succeeded.

The Bureau had recently put out a PSA using an image of Mercy captured at the exact moment she had broken free from her improvised prison cell. Pine had hoped that if Mercy was alive she would see the notice and come forward. That had not happened, so Pine had decided to work on a different lead.

Years ago, her mother had told Pine that her father, Tim Pine, had killed himself. Subsequently, she had learned that Tim was not her biological father. A man named Jack Lineberry was. Lineberry had been nearly killed in an attack aimed against Atlee Pine in an unrelated case. The revelation that he was her father had stunned Pine, but what she had found out recently had shocked her just as much, if not even more. That was why she was here.

I know all families are dysfunctional, but mine seems to be the undisputed world champ in that competition.

The coffin finally reached the surface and was shifted away from the hole and set on the grass. Its metal carcass was visibly damaged by water, and also by sitting in the earth all those years. She wondered how preserved the contents would be.

A forensics team hurried forward, quickly prized open the coffin, and placed the human remains in a body bag. They zipped it up and loaded it into the back of a black van, which was quickly driven away. Pine thought she knew who was in that grave. But thoughts weren’t enough, certainly not for an FBI agent, or a grieving daughter, hence the exhumation. DNA identification was as definite as it got. That would reveal who had been in the coffin, of that she was certain.

Pine had never been to this grave in rural Virginia, for the simple reason that her mother had lied to her about where her father’s supposed suicide had taken place. Her mother had also told her that her father had been cremated and his ashes scattered by her at some unknown place. All lies. But then again, it seemed everyone had lied to her about her past.

She now believed the man in the grave was none other than Ito Vincenzo. He had apparently discovered Tim Pine’s whereabouts and come to exact revenge on him. Only he had ended up being the one to die.

Pine had also been led to believe that her parents had divorced because of irreconcilable differences related to their guilt over Mercy’s disappearance. Now she knew that Tim had faked his death, and her mother had voluntarily left her remaining daughter shortly thereafter. Julia Pine had in fact joined her ex-husband, and they had vanished together.

And left me all by my lonesome. Thanks, guys. What great parents you turned out to be.

Pine looked at Carol Blum. In her sixties, a mother of six grown children, and a longtime employee of the Bureau, Blum had become something of a surrogate mother to the federal agent, to some degree taking the place of the one who had abandoned her.

Blum stared resolutely at her boss, who had her hands shoved deep into her jeans pockets, and whose features held a frown that seemed to run out of room on her face.

“How soon will they know if it is Ito Vincenzo?” asked Blum.

“Hopefully a couple of days max. I gave them samples of his DNA.”

“How’d you get those?”

“From his son’s and grandson’s bodies. A familial match under these circumstances constitutes a slam dunk.”

“Yes, of course,” Blum said quickly. “There’s no other way a DNA connection to the Vincenzo family could be in that grave.”

They walked back to the car and drove off.

“So what now?” asked Blum.

“We have some time, since the Bureau has given us an official leave of absence.”

“It was the least they could do after you and Agent Puller solved that case in New York.”

John Puller was an Army investigator who had teamed with Pine to run to ground a blackmail operation that had reached into the highest levels of the country’s power structure. Puller had been shot in the process, but he was on his way to a full recovery.

“You were in on all that, too, Carol. And you almost lost your life because I screwed up.”

“You also saved my life.”

“After needlessly putting it in danger,” countered Pine. As she turned out of the cemetery she added, “If Mercy sees the PSA she might come in. That would be the ideal scenario.”