Before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about, the medics
were ringing the doorbell. They strode in with a gurney, also rolling a
portable plasma IV, young guys who looked like they'd be more at home
at a Garden hockey game, followed immediately by two uniformed
policemen, actually policewomen, one short and heavy, with reddish
hair, the other a wiry young Hispanic. (I found out that ambulances
called out for stabbing or gunshot wounds automatically get a cop
escort.) In less than three minutes, Lou was in the blue-and-white
ambulance and on his way to St. Vincent's emergency room.
I rode in the backseat of the squad car as we followed them and tried
to explain what little I knew of what had happened. It turned out to be
an education in the mindless sticking points of the law.
Long story short: The fact that I hadn't reported the burglary of my
apartment that very same day immediately cast doubt on my seriousness
as a truth-seeking citizen; I had no proof the unreported burglary of
my apartment (if, indeed, such had actually occurred) was by some
Guatemalan military attache named Jose Alvino Ramos; since Lou had
never seen Colonel Ramos before tonight, he couldn't possibly identify
him as that burglar either; accusing diplomats of a crime without
ironclad proof was frowned on downtown; and when I stupidly repeated
what Lou had said about Sarah's last words (well, he was going to tell
them sooner or later, it would just come bubbling out at some point),
the whole case that she was kidnapped went into revision mode.
By the time we got to the hospital, I was getting questions that seemed
to imply that maybe it was all a domestic affair--like most of their
calls: some spaced-out chick who'd run away once and got brought back
and then, still unstable and crazy, decided to knife her own dad and
disappear again. Now he was understandably covering for her. Happened
more than you'd think.
I kept stressing that Lou was former FBI and not the sort to invent
such a whopper, but this was listened to in skeptical silence. If it
was a kidnapping, they then wondered aloud what was the motive and
where were the demands of the perpetrators? I was ready to start
yelling at them by the time we parked in the Seventh Avenue driveway of
the emergency room at St. Vincent's.
They next made me cool my heels in the waiting room while they went
back to interrogate Lou. They were with him for almost an hour, then
came back to where I was and asked me to read and sign the report
they'd written.
A troubled girl, who had emerged from a coma and apparently was
suffering bouts of non-rationality, had disappeared and her father had
been stabbed but not seriously. He was the only witness to the incident
and claimed she'd been kidnapped. However, the girl had run away once
previously, and there was no physical evidence she'd been taken against
her will; in fact, her father admitted she had declared just the
opposite. The whole incident would be investigated further after he
came downtown and made a complete statement.
"I'm not going to sign this." I handed it back, fuming.
"Is there anything here that's not factually correct?" The
Hispanic cop was looking me straight in the eye, her expression cold as
Alaska.
The question made me seethe. Sarah was probably already on her way out
of the country, and here I was trying to reason with two women who
practically thought she was the criminal. But I knew a lost cause when
I saw one.
"Forget about it. I want to see Lou."
An intern was coming out and I snagged him, announced I was next of kin
to a patient, and demanded to be taken through the official door and
into the back. At that moment, the stout cop's radio crackled. They
were being summoned to a Christopher Street gay bar where somebody had
just been knifed in a back room. She looked at me, as though to say,
"This sounds like a real crime," and then they hurried out for their
squad car. Christ!
The intern, a young black guy, led me past a row of gurneys and into a
private room at the rear of the huge space. Lou was bandaged all around
his chest and hooked up to an IV and a monitor. He looked better, but I
wasn't sure he'd be ready for what I was about to tell him.
"Hey, how're you feeling?" I asked as I walked in, trying to seem
upbeat.
"Fucking cops." He was boiling, his face actually red. "Where do they
get them these days? McDonald's rejects?"
"Easy, don't get your blood pressure up." I reached over and touched
his brow. It felt like he had a mild temperature. "Let's all just calm
down and try to think rationally."
"Yeah, I'm thinking rationally. You saw that fax I got from Williams."
"You think that was Alex Goddard seated next to her, right?"
"Who else? When she was in her moonbeam phase, she must have heard
about him and gone up there and ended up in his clutches. But why did
she let him take her down to--?"
"He told me he has a clinic in Central America. He called it 'a place
of miracles.' And then Colonel Ramos shows up, part of the Guatemalan
diplomatic corps. Put two and two together. That's got to be where
they're taking her."
"Who knows, but I'm going to get the boys downtown to put out a
missing-persons APB nationwide. Gerry'll do it for me if I ask. Fuck
New York's Finest. They ain't gonna do crap anyway."
I listened wondering how to impress my bright idea upon him. The
chances were Ramos was taking Sarah back to Guatemala. Probably right
this minute. For some kind of unfinished business. Or just to hold her
there as an insurance policy that Children of Light would never be
mentioned in my picture.
"I seriously doubt a missing-persons alert is going to do any good Lou,
because I seriously doubt she's going to be walking the streets of this
country. That bastard Ramos is taking her where he knows he can hide
her."
"You mean . . . Jesus." He stared at me as though the idea had never
crossed his mind. I think he'd just repressed it. "What are we going
to--?"
"The only thing we can do. I'm going down there. I'm going to go
straight down there and locate Alex Goddard."
"That's an exceptionally lousy thought process." His voice seemed to be
coming from a great distance.
"Why? Give me one good reason why. You think the police down there are
going to bring charges against a colonel?" I really could have used
some encouragement. "It's the only way--"
"Morgan, you've always been high-strung." He sighed and then winced.
"Ever since you were a kid. I worried about you then and I'm worried
about you now. I don't want you to go down there and get into trouble.
Because believe me, that's a seriously wrong place to get crossways
with the pricks who make the rules. You don't know your way around that
Third World craphole. Wouldn't be that hard to end up a statistic. We
can alert the embassy. Have them start looking for her."
"Listen, there's a lot more going on between Alex Goddard and me than
you know." This was definitely not the time to tell him about the
babies, or about Carly and the threats. "Trust me. I'm going down
there. In the morning, if I can. Who knows? Sarah and Ramos might even
be on the same plane."
As I was finishing that pronouncement, two nurses came in rolling a
gurney and announced that his room was ready. Then they gave him a
sedative.
Was I being irrational? The thing was, though, what would you do? I was
absolutely sure Ramos had taken her. So it was obvious that was where
he would go next. He was a "diplomat," apparently, so he could easily
fudge the passport formalities.
As the nurses were helping Lou onto the gurney, I stood there holding
his hand and thinking about what lay ahead. Steve was in Belize and
maybe not even reachable, but I decided to start by giving him a call
the minute I got home.
Then a middle-aged WASP, with dark hair, slightly balding, strode in
the room. The photo ID on his chest read "Dr. M. Summers."
"So, how's the patient?" he enquired cheerily, ignoring me as he
immediately began checking the chart at the foot of Lou's bed.
"Felt better," Lou said, not being taken in by his pro forma cheer.
"Well, we're going to make sure you get a good night's rest." Dr.
Summers finished with the chart and started taking his pulse. "What's
left of it."
"How long am I going to be in here, Doc?" Lou asked, flinching as the
nurses removed the IV stuck in his arm.
"A couple of days. For observation. To make sure there're no
complications." He smiled again. "You're a lucky man, Mr. . . .
Crenshaw. Just a superficial cut. But we don't want you out playing
handball for a few days." He turned and gave me a conspiratorial wink,
then glanced back. "Okay, up we go."
"Can I come with him?" I asked, not optimistic but hoping.
The doctor looked genuinely contrite. "I'm really sorry, but he's going
to be fine and visiting hours are long past. You can call in the
morning. And you can come up anytime after two P.M. tomorrow. Let's let
him get some rest now."
I walked around and took Lou's hand, hot and fevered, feeling so
agitated.
"Don't think about anything tonight, okay? Worrying won't help. Just
get some sleep. I'm going to find her, I promise you."
"Don't--" He mumbled some words, but I think the sedative the nurses
had given him was seriously starting to kick
"Look, you can call down to 26 Federal Plaza tomorrow. See what they
can do. In the meantime, let me follow my nose."
He tried to answer, but he was too far gone. I then watched wistfully
as he disappeared down the sterile alley of beds.
After I stopped by the desk and helped them fill out the insurance
forms, I caught a cab downtown to retrieve my Toyota. The time was now
two-fifteen in the morning, but I still had plenty to do. When I got
home, the first thing I did after I walked in the door was grab a phone
book and call American Airlines. They had a flight, in the morning at
nine-thirty. I gave them my credit card specifics and made a
reservation.
I no longer thought that Alex Goddard's Children of Light and its
Guatemalan accomplices were merely doing something shady. My hunch now
was that it was completely illegal. They were getting hundreds of white
babies in some way that couldn't bear the light of day, and they were
prepared to do whatever it took to prevent me from highlighting them in
my film. And with the Army involved, and now Sarah taken, their game
was beginning to feel more and more like kidnapping. They certainly
knew how.
Sarah had become a pawn, and all because of me. I almost wondered if
I'd been unconsciously led to him by her, though that was impossible.
Whatever had happened, the remorse I now felt was overpowering. It was,
in fact, an intensified version of the guilt that had dogged me for the
past fifteen years, the horrible feeling I'd somehow let her down, not
done enough for her. I could have flown back for her high school
graduation, but I was cramming for grad school finals and didn't take
the time. Things like that, which, looking back, seemed terribly
selfish. And now I'd brought this on her. God.
Okay, I thought, glancing at the clock, time to start making it up to
her. Screw up your courage and wake Steve.
The problem was, Lou had been right about one thing. It'd been years
since I'd been to Guatemala, and I wasn't sure I knew beans about how
things operated down there these days. I was high on motivation and
only so-so in the area of modus operandi. I needed Steve's help in
plying the tricky waters of that part of the planet. He was busy, but
this was definitely "us against the world" time, so maybe he could
drive over to Guatemala City and help.
I picked up the phone again and punched in the number of his hotel in
Belize City, which seemed to be embedded permanently in my brain. That
wonderful accent at the desk mon, and then they were ringing his room.
I had no reason on earth to assume he would be there, but . . .
The click, the voice, it was him.
"Sorry to call so late, love. You said you missed me, so I've decided
to find out if it's true. Your coming attraction is about to arrive."
I guess I was trying to keep it flip. After our talk that morning, I
wasn't entirely sure where we stood anymore.
"Who . . . Morgy, is that you? God it's two . . . Are you okay?" Then
he started coming around, processing what I said. "You're coming . . .
Honey, that's great."
As I noted before, he always knew how to give a good reading, sound
sincere, no matter what the occasion.
"Actually, I've just made a plane reservation, and I'm going to be in
Guatemala City tomorrow, just after noon." I hesitated then thought,
why beat around the bush? "Care to meet me there?"
"That's terrific," he declared coming fully awake. "But why don't you
just come to Belize City? Can't you get flight? It's actually not
nearly as wild here as the travel books--"
"Well, I've . . . Look, I'd rather not talk about this on the phone.
But do you think you could get free and drive over I really could use
your help. I've got a situation."
"Well . . ." He paused. "I could be there by late tomorrow assuming my
rented Jeep still operates after last week and the roads haven't
totally disintegrated. Where're you going to be staying?"
"I don't know. Got any suggestions? I want to keep out of the
limelight."
"Then try the Camino Real. It's like a Holiday Inn with plastic palm
trees. Definitely low maintenance and low profile. Hang on, I'll get
you the number."
Which he did, though I could hear him stumbling around the room in the
dark. Then he continued.
"But listen, here's the bad news. I've got to be back here day after
tomorrow. I just got a special permit to do some night shooting in the
jaguar preserve down by Victoria Peak--you remember the rain forest I
told you about?--but it's only good for one night, and I hear rumors
there's an off-season hurricane forming in the Caribbean, which means
I've got to stick to schedule. After that, though, I'm free again."
"We'll work it out." I was thrilled he would just drop everything and
come. Maybe we were over the rough spot about the baby.
He didn't bring that up and I didn't either. Instead we killed a few
minutes, and then I let him go back to sleep. I wanted to say I love
you, but I didn't want to push my luck.
After that I called the hotel he'd recommended. The exchange was more
Spanish than English, but they had a room. Apparently lots of rooms.
Next I rang Paula Marks, even though it was terribly late. She must
have had the phones off, but I left a message telling her to be
careful, with a postscript that I'd explain everything later. Just
stick close to home.
Finally I called David's voice mail up at Applecore. I told him I had a
personal crisis and was going to Guatemala City. I'd try to be back by
the end of the week, hell or high water, but no guarantees. And if he
touched so much as a frame of my work print while I was gone, I'd
personally strangle him.
I don't remember much of what happened next. I basically went on
autopilot. It's as though I dropped into a trance, totally focused. I
packed my passport, a good business suit, the tailored blue one, and
also a set of mix-and-match separates, easy to roll and cram in.
Finally a couple of pairs of good (clean) jeans, a few toiletries, and
then, thinking ahead, I also threw in my yellow plastic flashlight. I
almost always over pack, but not this time.
Oh, and one other thing. For airplane reading I grabbed a Lonely Planet
guide to Central America that Steve had left behind--I guess he figured
he was at the stage of life to start writing them, not reading
them--that turned out to be very helpful, particularly the map of
Guatemala City and the northern Peten rain forest. I then collapsed
and--images of Sarah's emaciated face haunting my consciousness--caught
a couple of hours' sleep.
The next thing I knew, it was 9:20 A.M. and I was settling into window
seat 29F on American Airlines Flight 377--next to a two-hundred-pound
executive busy ripping articles out of the business section of _El
Diario_--headed for Guatemala City.