Birthright: Pray your past stays hidden (Alex Turner Book 1) Read online

  Colin took the man’s hand and noted the strength in his grasp, “This will be our second terminal op together, Mr. Stevens; let’s make sure this one goes as smoothly as the first. We should leave now and meet Eddie York.”

  They wasted no other words and climbed into the quarter of a million-dollar SUV and sped toward the exit gates of the private facility.

  Eddie York was dressed in oily overalls, surrounded by machine parts, and expertly working on repairing a motorbike engine’s carburetor in the metal shop of the Juvenile Detention Center when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He put down his spanner and turned to face Oscar.

  “You’re popular these days. Your guardian is waiting to see you in the holding area,” said the friendly prison officer.

  “My guardian?” questioned Eddie.

  “Yeah. I think it’s the first time your uncle has come to visit. I’m giving you thirty minutes. You have my permission to access the gardening facility and show him and his attorney the grounds.”

  “Cool, I’m on it.”

  “Good. Go get showered. Scrub some of the motor oil off you. Get cleaned up. You want to make the right impression with your family. And don’t take too long, they’re already outside, waiting.”

  “I’ll be quick, I promise.” Eddie got to his feet then paused, “Hey, Oscar. The envelope you gave me is in my room. How do I get it mailed?”

  “I’ll take care of it for you later.”

  “Thanks.” Eddie grinned, “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite goon?”

  The harsh gray concrete walls of the detention facility were only broken up in two areas, at the front entrance where visitors were greeted by a small grass strip and potted ferns, and inside the building’s grounds, where a walled-in zone held a section designed for agricultural use. This featured a large lawn, tilled dirt for planting vegetables, thick bushes, and a dozen fully grown fruit trees, all of which were used for prisoners to practice and develop their gardening skills in the hope of providing for future rehabilitation, work experience and possible job placement after release. Four benches waited between the trees so inmates could reflect upon the problems that had put them there, and on their uncertain futures.

  The guards opened the entrance to the outdoor complex, allowing prisoner number B-472, Edward York, outfitted in his orange detention center issued jumpsuit, to enter the restricted garden compound, accompanied by his legal guardian, Marcus York, and his lawyer, Jonathan Harris. Those were the names on the court papers submitted by the two visitors and accepted by the facility’s officers without question that afternoon.

  Eddie walked with the men into the Juvenile Hall’s quiet wooded area.

  “No way you’re my uncle. I know, because I haven’t got one. And what’s with the weird Aussie accent?”

  “It’s English, actually. And why didn’t you say something to the guard if you don’t believe we’re related?” asked Colin.

  “Because it’s a break for me. I’m not part of the gardening detail and they don’t usually let me hang out here in the sun, so I wasn’t going to call foul on you.”

  “They wouldn’t have believed you anyway. Our paperwork is immaculate. Let’s sit.” Colin pointed to one of the benches and sat down. Eddie followed suit, while the third person, Mr. Stevens, hovered behind them.

  “What’s the real deal why you’re here?” Eddie stared Colin in the eyes, fearless, “Did I rip off your ride or something?”

  “Nothing so trivial. Let’s just say you’re important to my employer.”

  “That makes a change. I’ve never been important to anyone. Not even my mother.”

  Behind the two of them, unseen by Eddie, Mr. Stevens pulled out a small syringe concealed in the lining of his jacket’s sleeve.

  “I read about her. She died.” Colin was matter-of-fact, not offering sympathy.

  “Yeah, OD’d. My whole family’s gone. I’m the only one still alive.”

  “Yes,” said Colin. “But not for much longer.”

  Eddie changed his stare. He was confused now, “What?”

  As he locked his questioning eyes on Colin, Mr. Stevens drove the syringe into the back of Eddie’s neck.

  Eddie felt the sharp pain of the needle and managed one word, “Fuck…” He tried to struggle but his arms and head became too heavy to lift.

  Colin began to talk, his voice flat and cold, “You’re feeling the first of two toxins. It causes paralysis and prevents you from moving or calling for help. The second is about to kick in. You’ll know when it has, because you’ll find it difficult to breathe and your chest will feel like an elephant is sitting on it. That’s because your heart has stopped. I’m told the next few seconds are very painful.”

  Eddie’s eyes opened wide with horror as his body started to convulse uncontrollably. Suddenly, with a tremendous spasm, he fell sideways on the bench, sprawling across Colin. As he lay there, Colin put two fingers against his neck and waited. Then he looked up at Mr. Stevens.

  “No pulse. You know the plan. Explain the boy has had a seizure, and his uncle is staying with him as he’s distraught. Make sure they call the hospital and the coroner.”

  Stevens turned and ran back towards the detention facility’s doors. Colin watched him go, then stared down at Eddie and stroked the hair from his eyes, “A sad day. You were the last of your line.”

  The receiving office became a place of mayhem. The entire center went into lockdown, as they enacted the standard procedures set for an emergency, and officers herded the juveniles back into their cells. Two of the guards who had training in medical first response, rushed into the garden area to see what aid they could be to the stricken boy, while Oscar stood with Mr. Stevens listening to the account of the events. Even before he finished, Oscar grabbed the desk phone and dialed frantically.

  A maintenance van, a few hundred yards from the detention center, was already on alert. It was parked next to a telephone pole and call junction box. Orange cones closed off the area, and cables stretched from the phone company’s equipment to the vehicle.

  Inside, a man and a woman wearing PacBell uniforms waited patiently for the LED indicator to light up, showing the anticipated call was being made. Suddenly it burst into life, signaling it was time to put everything into action.

  The woman nodded to her partner and calmly clicked a switch on her headset. “County General. How may I direct your call?”

  She paused as she listened, before replying, “What is the victim’s condition?”

  The man smiled; her rehearsed tone was perfect.

  She spoke reassuringly, “I’ll have an ambulance dispatched immediately to the Juvenile Detention facility. And yes, I’ll notify the coroner for you, but hopefully they won’t be needed. Please have your guards standing by to allow their vehicles access and avoid delay.”

  She clicked the switch to off and removed her headphones, “We’re a go. I’m relaying the message now.” She hit SEND on her cell and a pre-typed text went out. Job done, she slipped the phone into her pocket, “Okay, the plan is in motion. Remove the wiring, put everything back together and we’ll get out of here.”

  The man opened the van’s door and stepped onto the street to retrieve the orange cones. As he lifted the first, he heard urgent sirens splitting the air. He looked in the direction of the sound and smiled; they were responding even quicker than he had anticipated.

  The two paramedics seemed in a state of distress at being unable to save the young boy, and placed him on a wheeled gurney, covering his lifeless body with a white sheet. The coroner recorded their actions and took a brief report from them, before having Oscar witness and initial his form. He tore off a copy and handed it to Oscar for his records.

  The entire facility remained in lockdown as they rolled the seventeen-year-old boy’s body out of the detention center. Oscar walked with them, his head hung low and his hand resting on the side of the gurney as he paid his last respects to his favorite inmate.

  Eddie’s corpse w
as loaded respectfully into the back of the coroner’s van, where two men in scrubs waited for the tragic cargo. The double doors shut on the three of them and the large vehicle pulled slowly away.

  Concealed from sight and feeling the motion, the men started with their assigned tasks. One removed a big sheet revealing a metallic silver coffin, while the other unclipped Eddie’s unresponsive body from his restraints. They lifted the corpse from the gurney and lowered it carefully into the coffin, and reached inside, checking something, then shut and locked the heavy lid of the boy’s final resting place.

  Their job done, one of the men grabbed a wired microphone to relay a message to the driver up front. His words were simple, “All secured and ready. Go.”

  The lights on both the coroner’s van and the trailing paramedics’ ambulance blazed on, and the two ominous vehicles sped up and raced together through the busy San Jose streets, their sirens and urgent blue and red rooftop displays causing the cars in front to pull over out of their way.

  A mile ahead was County General hospital. The speeding vehicles blew past it without slowing. They were heading for a different destination.

  The gates of the private terminal at Mineta International airport were already open in anticipation of the somber procession. The medical vans slowed to a respectable pace, extinguished their lights and followed the waiting black Bentley to the gleaming Gulfstream prepared for their arrival.

  A forklift was standing by next to the jet, and moved the heavy coffin up into the G650’s large cargo hold where it became the only item in the eerily empty space. It was strapped down to stop it from shifting in flight, and the doors were closed and sealed.

  Colin walked with Stevens to the base of the jet’s stairs. He turned to the big American and offered his hand. The two men shook and said nothing as they parted company. Colin went up inside the plane, and Stevens returned to the Bentley, where he was driven off without even a backward glance.

  Had he not left so quickly, he would have seen the plane taxi to the runway, its engines engage and the jet scream skyward to begin the five thousand three-hundred-mile journey to its ultimate destination.

  Colin, the lone passenger onboard the sixty-five-million-dollar jet, reached into the liquor cabinet and removed the bottle of Macallan Scotch he knew was waiting there. It was a rare indulgence, but he had saved this particular bottle to mark the conclusion of his task and celebrate a job well done. As he poured the twenty-five-year-old single malt and savored the way its warm brown colors danced over the ice cubes, he realized he might not receive the acclaim he felt was deserved, but simply knowing what he had managed to achieve after all these years, when so many others before him had failed, was reward enough.

  There was a slight shudder as the undercarriage retracted into the wings and he smiled to himself, recognizing the sound; wheels up, they were on their way. Time to send the message. He unlocked his cell phone, retrieved a 212 number from his contacts and texted two words in all caps, STRIKE EVERYTHING.

  Colin Brown turned his phone off and relaxed back into the comfortable leather seat. This is how he liked things done, to have all goals accomplished and nothing left behind to attract the attention of the curious. After completing such an extended, stressful mission, he was finally leaving America, a country that had consumed much of the past three years of his life, and going home. He might even commemorate the occasion by having a second whisky before settling down to grab a few hours’ sleep on the long flight ahead.

  Below him, in the luggage hold, the silver coffin remained locked in place. Inside, an unmoving body lay there. Next to it, a green oxygen cylinder hissed very softly. And strangely, a hint of color returned to the corpse’s lower lip.

  CHAPTER SIX

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  Alex Turner was unaware of the beautiful morning in Wisconsin. He had not left his dungeon since returning from New York two days before. With his commissioned quest concluded, he’d thrown himself back into his interrupted work. He had a book to finish, a thesis to read and term papers to grade. He wasn’t sure where he would find the time to do it all. And for some reason he was finding it hard to concentrate. It took him a while to realize why, and when he did rationalize it, he was taken by surprise. He missed Cate’s company.

  In the past, he’d always worked alone. Even before he lost his wife and child, he did his most effective work without anyone else around. He enjoyed the solitary, monk-like life of a driven academic. But now, he found himself missing Cate. Something about her had brought out the best in him. For all her foibles; her love of computers, her meeting up with her old University friend in New York, her spirited interruptions, she had many positive attributes. And it was their contrast of styles which made things flow together so well. Hopefully, he thought, there might be a project in the future we can once again collaborate on.

  The ringing on his desk interrupted his reminiscence. He stared at the phone as it sounded a second, then a third time. He didn’t get many calls put through by the University switchboard; they knew better than to disturb him. Finally, the insistence of the ring made him act, and he reluctantly picked up the receiver. “Yes?” he demanded.

  He recognized the distinctive voice even before the man announced his name, “Professor Turner? I’m calling from the San Jose juvenile detention facility. It’s Oscar Ramirez.”

  “What can I do for you, Oscar?”

  “I hope you don’t mind me bothering you. I got this number from your paperwork. This is about Eddie. He had asked me to send your wallet back to you and I need to confirm your mailing address is the same as listed on the forms we have here.”

  Alex risked a smile. The boy was living up to his word, “That’s the correct address. I’d be grateful to get it back. I must have dropped it when I was visiting him. Eddie said he would look for it. How is he?”

  There was silence on the line before Oscar spoke again, “He’s dead, Professor.”

  “Dead? That’s not possible. How?”

  “He had a grand mal seizure yesterday. It turns out there is a history of those kinds of medical problems being common in his family. The blessing is Eddie wasn’t alone when he passed. He died in the arms of his uncle.”

  “His what?” Alex had a hard time forming the question.

  “His uncle. He was the one who explained how seizures ran in their family.”

  “You’re sure it was his uncle?”

  “Yes, sir. Marcus York. I saw his identification myself.”

  It was Alex’s turn to fall silent. Finally, he said, “Thank you for letting me know,” and hung up.

  He sat motionless, transfixed, staring at the phone, before reaching for the thick file marked Global Pharmaceuticals. He flipped it open, and there, on the very first page bearing the heading Edward York, were the words, NO LIVING RELATIVES, circled in red ink.

  The square box of a room wasn’t large, only twelve by twelve feet, and felt even smaller because of the medical equipment jammed into it and the high, metal-framed bed wedged against the center of one of the walls.

  Lying on the bed, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, torn open at the chest by paramedics gaining access for CPR, was a young boy with long hair. His left hand was wrapped in a bloody bandage, his neck tipped at a contorted angle to the side, as if from rigor mortis.

  “Arrgh!” the noise from the corpse shattered any illusions of a peaceful afterlife, and Eddie jerked awake, his face a portrait of pain caused by the sudden movement. He collapsed back down and raised his hand to his head.

  “Shit, that hurts,” he said to himself, and sat up again, but much more slowly.

  He gazed around the room, puzzled. Where was he? It didn’t seem like a hospital, more a kind of converted office. But why all the medical equipment?

  He contemplated the question but had no time to come up with an answer because of the heavy footsteps outside and the voices echoing toward him.

  The door opened, and Colin Brown, accompanied by a man dressed in
surgical white, entered. They saw Eddie lying there, unmoving.

  “When will the drug wear off?”

  “It should be soon, Mr. Brown. The dose you administered him was on the high end of my recommendation. It could easily have been fatal.”

  “It did its job and worked perfectly. It got him here. The sample was good?” He pointed to the bandage on Eddie’s hand.

  “It seems to be. We do need to reconfirm the match, and having the adequate tissue to run a series of tests is helpful to eliminate any possible doubts, but as of now, even with only the first provisional trial completed, it’s more than ninety-nine percent certain.”

  “You’re sure? We have to keep him alive until we know.”

  “I’d stake my reputation on it. Though it would be beneficial to have better facilities than this.”

  “Where did you think we’d take him? To your ward at St. Thomas’ hospital? I had everything you said you needed brought here. Keep him unconscious until the final results are in, then we’ll discuss options.”

  “Understood. I’ll ready a sedative for when the nerve agent wears off.”

  “Do it.” Colin’s clipped utterance left no doubt his words were an order as he turned and marched out of the room.

  The doctor let him leave and waited until the door closed to prepare the requested dosage. He retrieved a syringe from a drawer and filled it with a milky fluid. He pushed the plunger gently to expel excess air when…

  BANG!

  Eddie hit him hard from behind, across his head, with the edge of a metal tray. The doctor crumpled to the ground, out cold.

  The boy grabbed the fallen syringe and plunged it in the doctor’s exposed neck, emptying its contents into him. “I hope you got this dose right, doc.”

  The man shuddered as the serum took hold. Eddie recognized the shakes and knew what was happening, “Trust me, you’ll have one hell of a headache when you wake up.”

  Eddie bent forward and stripped the white coat from the prone doctor, then pulled off his shoes and slipped them on. They were a little big, but with the choice being those or bare feet, they would have to do.