John Hawks: The Dark River

“Thanks, Lars. I can handle the rest.”

“If you scroll down the credit card bill, you’ll see that she paid for a visit to a women’s health clinic. Do you want to see if she got birth control pills or had an abortion?”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” Michael said.

The little red light disappeared from the screen, and once again he was alone with Clarisse. Carrying a little plastic bag with the makeup, the young woman continued through the store and stepped onto the escalator. Michael typed in a few directions and switched over to a new camera. A lock of brown hair rested on Clarisse’s forehead and almost touched her eyes. She brushed it back with one hand, and then gazed around at a new display of merchandise. Michael wondered if she was looking for a dress to wear to a special event. With a little more help from Lars, he could access her e-mail.

The electronically activated door glided open and Kennard Nash entered the room. Nash was a former army general and national security adviser who was currently the head of the Brethren’s executive board. There was something about his stocky build and brusque manner that reminded Michael of a football coach.

Michael switched to another surveillance camera-goodbye, Clarisse-but the general had already seen the young woman. He smiled like an uncle who had just found his nephew perusing a men’s magazine.

“What location?” he asked.

“Paris.”

“Is she cute?”

“Definitely.”

As Nash approached Michael, his tone became more serious. “I’ve got some news that might interest you. Mr. Boone and his associates just concluded a successful field assessment of the New Harmony community in Arizona. Apparently your brother and the Harlequin visited this place a few months ago.”

“So where are they now?”

“We don’t know exactly, but we’re getting closer. An analysis of e-mail messages stored on a laptop computer indicates that Gabriel is probably a few miles away from here-in New York City. We still don’t have the computing power to search the entire world, but now we can focus on this particular location.”

Becoming a Traveler had given Michael certain abilities that helped him survive. If he relaxed in a certain way-didn’t think, just observed-he could slow his perceptions so that he could see split-second changes in someone’s facial expressions. Michael could tell when someone was lying, could detect the thoughts and emotions that everyone concealed in their day-to-day lives.

“How long will it take to find my brother?” he asked.

“I can’t say. But this is a very positive step. Up until now, we’ve been searching for them in Canada and Mexico. I never thought they’d go to New York.” Nash chuckled softly. “This young Harlequin is crazy.”

And now the world began to slow within Michael’s mind. He could see a hesitation in Nash’s smile. A quick look to the left. And then a split-second twisting of the lips into a sneer. Perhaps the general wasn’t lying, but he was definitely hiding some fact that made him feel superior.

“Let someone else finish the work in Arizona,” Michael said. “I think Boone should fly to New York immediately.”

Once again, Nash smiled as if he had the high cards in a poker game. “Mr. Boone will stay there for one more day evaluating some additional information. His team found a letter during a search of the compound.” General Nash paused and let the statement linger in the air.

Michael watched Nash’s eyes. “And why is that important?”

“The letter is from your father. He’s been hiding from us for quite a long time, but it appears that he’s still alive.”

“What? Are you sure?” Michael jumped out of the chair and almost ran across the room. Was Nash telling him the truth, or was this just another test of loyalty? He examined the general’s face and the movements of his eyes. Nash looked superior and proud-as if he enjoyed this demonstration of his authority.

“So where is he? How can we find him?”

“I can’t tell you at this time. We don’t know when the letter was written. Boone couldn’t find an envelope with a postmark or a return address.”

“But what did the letter say?”

“Your father inspired the formation of New Harmony. He wanted to encourage his friends and warn them about the Brethren.” Nash watched Michael pace around the room. “You don’t look very happy about this news.”

“After your men burned down our house, Gabe and I kept this fantasy going. We convinced each other that our father had survived and was looking for us as we drove around the country. When I got older, I realized that my father wasn’t going to help me at all. I was on my own.”

“So you decided he was dead?”

“Wherever my father went, he was never coming back. He might as well have been dead.”

“Who knows? Maybe we can arrange a family reunion.”

Michael wanted to slam Nash against the wall and slap the smile off his face. But he turned away from the older man and regained his composure. He was still a prisoner, but there were ways around that. He had to assert himself and guide the Brethren in a certain direction.

“You killed everyone at New Harmony. Correct?”

Nash seemed annoyed by Michael’s blunt language. “Boone’s team achieved its objectives.”

“Do the police know what happened? Has it become news?”

“Why should you be concerned with that?”

“I’m telling you how to find Gabriel. If the media doesn’t know about this, then Boone should make sure they find out.”

Nash nodded. “That’s definitely part of the plan.”

“I know my brother. Gabriel visited New Harmony and met the people who lived there. This event is really going to affect him. He’ll have to react, do something on impulse. We need to be ready.”

Gabriel and his friends were living in New York City. A minister from Vicki’s church named Oscar Hernandez had arranged for them to stay in an empty industrial loft in Chinatown. The grocery store on the ground floor took sports bets, so the store had five phone lines-all registered in different names-plus a fax machine, a scanner, and a high-speed Internet connection. For a small payment, the grocer allowed them to use these electronic resources to substantiate their new identities. Chinatown was a good place for these transactions because all the shopkeepers preferred cash to the credit cards and ATM cards that were monitored by the Vast Machine.

The rest of the building was occupied by different businesses that used undocumented immigrants as workers. A garment sweatshop was on the first floor, and the man on the second floor manufactured pirated DVDs. Strangers walked in and out of the building during the daytime, but at night everyone was gone.

The fourth-floor loft was a long, narrow room with a polished wood floor and windows at both ends. It had once been used as a factory for fake designer handbags, and an industrial sewing machine was still bolted to the floor near the bathroom. A few days after they arrived, Vicki hung painter’s tarps on clotheslines, creating a men’s bedroom for Gabriel and Hollis, and a women’s bedroom for herself and Maya.

Maya had been wounded during the attack on the Evergreen Research Center, and her recovery was a series of small victories. Gabriel could still remember the first night she was able to sit up in a chair to eat dinner, and the first morning she took a shower without Vicki’s help. Two months after they arrived, Maya was able to leave the building with the others, limping up Mosco Street to the Hong Kong Cake Company. She waited outside the street stall-wobbly, but determined to stand on her own-while an elderly Chinese woman made cookies like crepes on a black iron griddle.