Danielle Steel: Vanished

“I want you to trust me. I have to take you somewhere. Are you all right?” He looked at her worriedly. She had swayed for a moment, and no one had told him she'd fainted that morning.

“I'm fine. I just have a very bad headache.” She winced again, but she followed him into the car without hesitation.

“I'm sorry to do this to you. It won't be as bad as you think, and I'll make it as easy as I can for you …but I need to take you with me.” He started the car, and they drove off toward the West Side, and she looked frightened.

“Are you arresting me?” Was that possible? Was he crazy? Did he think she'd been in collusion with Charles after all? Had Malcolm told him that? His final revenge on her? As they drove west, she looked really frightened.

“Of course not.' He patted her hand gently, and then raised an eyebrow, trying to make light of the moment. “Should I be?”

“I don't know,” she said nervously.- “I don't know where we're going. Should Malcolm be here too?” Like Tom, she was suddenly afraid they were going to ask her to identify Teddy's body, and she knew she couldn't stand it, and maybe John thought he was being kind to her by taking her there alone, but he shook his head in answer to her question.

“No, he shouldn't. You'll be fine with me, Marielle. Trust me. You'll be all right. This won't be as difficult as you think.” He looked at her gently, wanting to kiss her. But right now, they had serious business to take care of.

“Can't you tell me what this is about?” She was almost in tears. All he had said to her in court was “Mrs. Patterson, I have to ask you to come with me.” And Malcolm had looked as startled as she did.

“I can't tell you, Marielle, I'm sorry. Right now, this is official business.” But he patted her hand, and left a smudge of soil on her fingers.

She nodded, trying to be brave as she rode along, but the headache was so bad now she could hardly stand it. He chatted with her on the brief drive, but it was obvious that he was preoccupied, and she couldn't help noticing that he was absolutely filthy, and she wondered why. And he was so distracted he didn't even notice her silence.

A few minutes later they reached the port, and he drove right onto the docks, where half a dozen FBI cars were waiting. And everyone scrutinized her intently as she got out of the car and he helped her.

“I hate to touch you, I'm so dirty.” He smiled and the gentleness of his eyes seemed to help her.

He took her on board the ship then, it was a small German ship, and it wasn't particularly attractive or particularly clean, and there was a terrible smell of cabbage which did nothing to help her headache. It was a freighter which took passengers on too, and the captain was waiting for her in the small dining room, with a serious expression. Taylor introduced her, and half a dozen FBI men were standing by, and she was not sure if they were guarding her, or the captain, or John Taylor. But the captain came forward to her quickly.

“Mrs. Patterson. I am so very sorry. This will be a terrible sadness for my country,” he said solemnly with an awkward bow and an attempt to kiss her hand, but as he said the words to her, the room began reeling. She knew from what he said, that they must have found Teddy's body. She turned suddenly to John Taylor in desperation, almost clawing at him, begging him with her eyes to help her. He pulled a chair up next to her and helped her into it, and signaled to one of his men to bring her a glass of water. And when it came he held it to her lips and let her lean against him, while he almost crooned to her like a mother with a sick child, begging her to be strong and let him help her. But all she could do was shake her head and close her eyes, and want to die again. She knew she just couldn't go through it.

“You're all right, Marielle …you're going to be fine …” She could hear his voice as she closed her eyes, and then opened them. “Jusmore minutes. I want you to look at some people for me …that's all. I just want you to look at them and tell me if you know them.”

“Are they dead?” She was whimpering like a child and he gently stroked her hair with one hand as he touched her shoulder with the other.

“No, they're alive. You're all right. You just have to look at them and tell me, yes or no, if you know them.”

“All right.” She was having trouble breathing she was so afraid, and she was grateful for the chair because she knew she could never have stood up, as everyone watched her. And a moment later, a man was led into the room, escorted by two FBI men. He was tall and blond and very thin, and he had a hard, angry face, and he tried to avert his face from Marielle, but the FBI men gave him a hard shove until he faced her. He stood some five feet away from her and she shrank back toward John, but his agents held him fast, and he didn't try to escape them.

“Do you know this man, Marielle? Have you ever seen him anywhere? Look at him carefully.” She shook her head and said that she hadn't, and she had no idea why she was there, and now she was afraid to ask him. She knew it had something terrible to do with her child, but if they had killed him, she didn't want to know it.

They took the first man away, and then brought the second man in five minutes later. This one was dark and swarthy and he had an ugly scar that ran straight across his face and back down toward his chin, and he looked at Marielle as though he would have liked to kill her. He said something to her in German, in an angry, guttural tone, and she shrank toward John and he was quick to reassure her.

“No one's going to hurt you, Marielle. I won't let them.” She nodded, childlike again, and still so desperately afraid to know what they'd done. And then a woman was brought in. She was blond and heavyset, about thirty. She was speaking frantically in German to the captain of the ship as they brought her in, and he finally shouted at her to be silent, and she looked imploringly at Marielle, as though she expected her to help her.

“What is she saying?” Marielle asked.

“She is saying that she has hurt no one,” the captain explained. She said a lot more then, and the captain finally told her again to be quiet.

“Who are these people?” she finally asked John. “ “That's what I wanted to know from you first. You don't know any of them, Marielle? You're sure?”

“Not a one. I've never seen them before.”

“They've never worked for you, even briefly …or for Malcolm.”

“I don't know. I've never seen them,” she said again. She was certain. John nodded expressionlessly at his men, and signaled for the three Germans to be removed. And when they were gone, he nodded at his men again, and then bent to say something to Marielle in earnest.

“I want you to be very strong … I want you to be strong, Marielle …hold my hand …we're going to show you someone …and I want you to tell me if you know him.” But she was afraid the moment he said the words. She didn't have the courage to look at her dead baby. She had seen Andre when he was drowned, held him in her arms, clutched him to her heart, and she couldn't do it again …she knew it …she couldn't. She began to cry and turned, struggling to be free, as John held her.

“I can't …” she cried, and buried her face against him. “I can't do it …please …don't make me …”

“It may not be him …you have to help us …please …please, Marielle …” He was almost in tears himself, and he hated to hurt her. But the child they had found appeared to be a deaf mute, and did not seem to understand them. They weren't sure if he was drugged, or too frightened to speak to them, or simply didn't speak the language, and the captain didn't recall seeing him before, although the group had been aboard for days. The child looked different than the Patterson boy, but there was something about the eyes that had caught John's attention. The hair color was wrong, and he was much thinner than the photographs he'd seen of him, and older, but still … he knew he had to ask her. He couldn't let the ship sail without asking her to look at him. And some sixth sense had told him that there was something very wrong about these people. But she was clinging to him, and she refused to look at him. And then John's eyes met hers as he held her.