Chasing the Night

“And I’m not seeing any signs that you’re doing much to help, Venable,” Joe said. “Don’t you have any idea where Rakovac could be?”

  “I’m working on it. I’m heading for Moscow now so that I’ll be on the spot,” Venable said. “But I don’t have your advantage, Catherine. He’s waving Luke like a toreador does his cape at a bull. You might be able to get close enough to gore him.”

  “After we find those records,” Joe said grimly. “Catherine’s right, it’s not a win-win situation.”

  “Those people in Lima didn’t have a chance. If you want to see a no-win situation, take a look at the photos of the aftereffects of that explosion on your computer. It looks like—” Venable stopped. “It’s hell. I don’t want to have to see the same thing happen on our turf. I’ll sacrifice Catherine’s son and all the rest of you if I can stop that from happening. Now find that son of a bitch. If you tell me where he is, I’ll send an army to get him. But you’d better be damn sure that you have those records before he can destroy them.” He hung up.

  The room was silent as Catherine pressed the disconnect.

  “I won’t give up Luke,” she said shakily. “Venable may be ready to sacrifice all of us for the general good, but not my little boy. I can’t do that.”

  “I know,” Eve said. “Venable is desperate.”

  “Not my son,” Catherine said. She gazed around the room at them. “I’m actually feeling guilty. I won’t feel guilty, dammit. I won’t.”

  “Venable wasn’t fair,” Joe said. “But the choice isn’t fair. I can see where he’s at.”

  “Do you think I can’t?” She shook her head. “The way this damn scenario is shaping up, I may be blamed for Armageddon. Well, let them blame me. I won’t let my son be killed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But what about all those other children who will die if—”

  “Enough of this.” Eve got to her feet. “Stop torturing yourself, Catherine. This isn’t only up to you. We’re in this together. We have to figure a way to get the records from Rakovac and still keep Luke safe.”

  “All this worry about her son may be for nothing,” Natalie said baldly, speaking for the first time. “What if that skull in that case is her Luke?”

  Kelsov flinched. “Natalie, no one can say that you mince words.”

  “Why should I? It’s what you’re all thinking. You should kill Rakovac. That’s all that’s important.”

  “In this case, it’s not all that’s important.” He turned to Catherine. “I apologize. Natalie is single-minded on the subject of Rakovac.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Joe said. “Particularly now.” He turned to Eve. “I think we have to know very soon if Luke is going to be factor in this.”

  She pushed back her chair. “I’ll start right away.”

  “Could we get DNA instead?” Kelly asked.

  “Not enough time,” Joe said. “It’s going to have to be up to Eve.” He glanced at Catherine. “If you’ll trust her.”

  “Do you mean will I trust her not to put my son’s face on that skull no matter what is there?” Her lips twisted. “Tell me, how do you like the idea of that much responsibility, Eve?”

  “I hate it,” Eve said. “But not enough to lie to you. If you think I will, then all of this is for nothing.” She crossed her arms across her chest and stared Catherine in the eye. “Well?”

  Catherine hesitated and then slowly nodded. “I trust you. You’ll tell me the truth.” Her jaw squared. “And I’m going to tell all of you the truth. You want to keep all that horror from happening? So do I. But it’s up to you to save the world. I’m going to save my son. You make your choice, I make mine. They may not coincide. So you’d better watch out for me.” She started clearing the table. “Let’s get these dishes out of the way and leave Eve alone to get to work. Your worktable and your tools are over there by the window. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Keep everyone out of my space,” Eve said. “And keep me supplied with coffee.”

  “And food,” Joe said. “She tends to forget about it.”

  “I noticed that.” Catherine carried a stack of dishes to the sink. “When she was doing the age progression. I’ll see that she’s stoked and primed.”

  “You make me sound like a machine,” Eve said ruefully.

  “You’re no machine. You’re too human,” Catherine said. “Which I imagine is going to make this one of the most difficult jobs you’ve ever done.”

  “We’ll get through it.” Eve moved over to the worktable and began to set out her equipment. “Together.”

  “How long will it take?”

  She shrugged. “At least a day and a half for the initial setup and depth measurements. After that, I never know for certain. The sculpting can go fast or slow. It depends on…” She made a face. “It’s not like the age progressions. That’s much more logical. The sculpting is more creative and tells the tale.” She looked at Catherine. “It’s during that part of the process that I could lie to you if I chose.”

  “But you won’t choose,” Catherine said. “And since you’re going to take that long, I believe Kelly will be stuck with my help while she’s working on the Rakovac report.” She stared sternly at Kelly. “And no complaints.”

  Kelly smiled. “I’m not complaining.”

  “Joe?” Eve’s gaze was narrowed on his face. “I saw your expression when you were talking to Venable. You’re not going to sit around waiting for me to finish.”

  He shook his head. “Everything has changed. I can’t let Rakovac cause a disaster of that scope. I’m a cop and it’s my job to protect. You’re safe here with Catherine and Kelsov and don’t need me. I’m calling Venable back to see what I can do about finding Rakovac on my own. I’m going into Moscow to start pushing Venable.” His lips tightened. “Though this time I don’t believe he’s going to take much pushing. He sounded scared shitless.”

  “Why should he be different?” Eve said. “Let me know as soon as you find out anything.”

  “If,” Joe substituted as he headed for the bedroom. “The word is definitely ‘if.’”

  He was right, Catherine thought. She had thought there was uncertainty before, but now the prospects seemed infinitely worse. Darkness was all around them, and nothing was clear.

  Except that the clock was ticking for Luke.

  And for all those other thousands of innocent victims Rakovac was planning on destroying.

  Chapter

  13

  “Food,” Catherine said firmly. “You’ve skipped two meals, and I promised Joe I’d keep you fed.”

  “‘Stoked,’” Eve said. “Isn’t that the term you used?”

  “Whatever. You’ve been working for a solid twelve hours without a break.”

  “I’m in a hurry. You’ll agree there’s a certain urgency to my getting this finished.”

  “You still need food. I have a ham sandwich and a salad for you. Just eat it, and I won’t bother you again for another four or five hours. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Eve wiped her hands on her cleansing cloth and moved away from the worktable to the kitchen table across the room. She needed the break anyway. Her eyes were stinging from focusing on the precise measurements, and the back of her neck was starting to ache. “What would you do if I said no?”

  “Nag.” She sat down across from Eve. “The alternative is force-feeding, and I’m trying to avoid it. It tends to arouse massive resistance.” She lifted her cup of coffee to her lips. “But you wouldn’t let it go that far. You have the sense to know that you need fuel to keep on going.”

  “There you go again. ‘Stoke.’ ‘Fuel.’” She picked up her sandwich. “But you’re right, I’m sensible. Sometimes.” Her gaze wandered back to the reconstruction on the table across the room. “I do tend to get involved.”

  “Yes, like the way you became involved with me. Venable warned you against it, didn’t he?”

  “You know he did. I even tried to listen. It didn’t work out,” Eve said. “But
that wasn’t the kind of involvement I was talking about.”

  “Your work,” Catherine said. “That reconstruction that looks like—”

  “A nightmare.” It wasn’t difficult for Eve to realize the impact her work on the skull had on Catherine. Right now she was at the stage when she’d just put in the depth markers that resembled dozens of swords sticking out of the skull. It looked as if the skull were being tortured. “I told you that I didn’t want you to watch me working on it. I was afraid it would hurt you.”

  “I tried not to do it. I couldn’t help myself. There was a kind of morbid fascination.”

  “There’s nothing morbid about what I’m doing,” Eve said quietly. “I’m bringing him home. I don’t care whose child he turns out to be. He’ll have a face, an identity, and I hope eventually a name. Perhaps someone will remember him and think of him with love. That’s all I care about.”

  Catherine nodded. “I know it is.” She looked back at the reconstruction. “You always give your reconstructions a name.” She paused, then forced herself to continue. “What did you call him?”

  “Not Luke,” Eve said. “Even if I hadn’t wanted to hurt you, I would never call a reconstruction by the name of someone who is a possible. I’m always afraid it might influence the sculpting in the final stage. His name is Jeremy.”

  She could see the relief on Catherine’s face. “That’s a nice name.” She studied the reconstruction more carefully. “I’m trying to be objective, but it’s not easy. I’ve got this weird maternal feeling that you’re torturing my child. Why those stick-pins?”

  “Depth markers,” Eve corrected. She finished her sandwich and leaned back in the chair. She wanted to get back to work, but she could spare a few moments to ease Catherine’s disturbance. “What do you know about forensic sculpting?”

  “Not much. I read up on the age progression because I knew I was going to ask you to do it.” She grimaced. “But I never wanted to see you do this voodoo.”

  “It’s not voodoo. There’s a science to it up to a point, when instinct takes over.”

  “The stick-pins,” Catherine prompted. “AKA depth markers. Why do you do that?”

  “They’re tissue-depth markers. They’re made of ordinary erasers. I cut each marker to the proper measurement and glue it onto its proper point on the face. There are over twenty points of the skull for which there are known tissue depths. Facial tissue depth has been found to be fairly consistent in people of the same age, race, sex, and weight.”

  “How do they know?”

  “There are anthropological charts that give a specific measurement for each point.”

  “What do you do then?”

  “I take strips of plasticine and apply them between the markers, then build up to all of the tissue-depth points. Someone I know once called it a sort of connect-the-dots.”

  “Is it?”

  “If you want to dumb it down. Only it’s three-dimensional and a hell of a lot more complicated. It’s necessary to concentrate on the scientific elements of building the face, like keeping true to the tissue-depth measurements as I fill in between the plasticine strips, considering where the facial muscles are located and how they affect the contours of the face. And then there’s the nose, which is a real headache.” She took a sip of her coffee. “But you don’t want to go into this right now. I could dazzle you with measurements of the nasal spine and the midphiltrum tissue measurements and how I finally get down to the basic answers, but all I really want to do is make you comfortable with what I’m doing to Jeremy here. It’s not voodoo, it’s science.” She smiled. “And instinct. After all the measurements and calculated judgments, it all ends with Jeremy and me one-on-one. In those hours, I’ll try to let him tell me who he really is. I think perhaps he will. That’s what this is all about. Do you understand now?”

  Catherine nodded slowly.

  “Good.” Eve finished her coffee and got to her feet. “Because I have to get back to work. What have you been doing when you weren’t trying to make me eat? Has Kelly come up with anything?”

  “Nothing definitive. I’ve been combing through the reports too, but I can’t see anything that will help us. Kelsov has been tapping all his contacts and no one knows anything. It’s as if Rakovac has dropped off the edge of the world.”

  “We should be so lucky.” Eve moved toward the worktable, where her reconstruction waited. “I talked to Joe on the phone this morning and he said Venable was working frantically to locate the bastard but time is running out.”

  “What about Homeland Security? Dammit, can’t they just close down the airports?”

  “Venable gave them all the information he has but you know they won’t act without more proof. That’s why that suicide bomber threw out that red herring about belonging to another terrorist group. Homeland Security is running around trying to pump everyone about members of Red Darkness.”

  “Typical. One of the CIA’s major problems is getting other agencies to listen to them. There’s so much bureaucracy and competitiveness that we often wonder who we’re fighting. But we know why we’re fighting, and that has to do.” She took Eve’s plate and carried it to the sink. “You need rest. Can’t you take a nap?”

  “I’ll take a few hours right before the final smoothing and sculpting. I have to be fresh before I begin that part.”

  “I’d think that would be a given.” She didn’t look at Eve as she rinsed the plate. “I’m trying not to bother you, but will you let me know as soon as you finish?”

  “You know I will,” Eve said absently as she adjusted one of the markers on the left cheek. Clear your head. Concentrate. She had to get this part done with absolute accuracy. Yes, time was important, but she couldn’t let that influence her. “I know what it means to you. I think I’m almost done with…” She trailed off as she become lost once more in Jeremy’s world.

  She didn’t hear Catherine as she left the room.

  3:40 A.M.

  It was time to begin.

  Eve got off the couch and went into the bathroom and washed her face. She’d had two hours’ sleep but spent the last two hours just lying there and forcing herself to relax. It was enough. She’d known that she was too charged to sleep for long. Adrenaline would get her through as it always did.

  Are you ready for me, Jeremy?

  She moved toward the worktable.

  He was waiting for her.

  She stood before him.

  The blank face was without identity or life.

  And I’m ready for you, Jeremy.

  Come to me.

  Whisper your secrets.

  Tell me how to bring you home.

  She started to work.

  Sensitivity.

  Care.

  Delicacy.

  Don’t think.

  Let the tips of fingers smooth, build, smooth again.

  Help me, Jeremy.

  The clay was cool, but her touch was warm, almost hot, as her fingers flew over the face.

  Generic ears. She had no idea whether they had protruded or if the lobes were longer.

  Nose? Another mystery.

  You solve it, Jeremy.

  It became shorter, slightly turned up.

  Mouth?

  Generic again. She had figured the width, but the shape was unknown. No expression. That could change everything, and it might affect the measurements.

  Eyes?

  Incredibly difficult. She had no measurements and practically no scientific indicators. Don’t get frustrated. For heaven’s sake, don’t rush. Just study the shape and angle of the orbits. The size of eyeballs was all pretty much standard and grew very little from infancy. Study the angle of the orbits and the ridge above and decide whether Jeremy’s eyes should protrude or be deep-set or fall somewhere in between.

  All right, you’ve done it. Now leave the orbits. Don’t put in the glass eyes yet. It always disturbed her concentration to see the reconstruction watching her as she worked.

  No o
ffense, Jeremy.

  More smoothing along the line of the cheek.

  Not quite right.

  Fill in.

  Smooth.

  Mold.

  Don’t get carried away. You can’t let go yet. Don’t forget to check the measurements.

  Nose width. Correct.

  Projection. As accurate as she could make it.

  Lip height. Correct. She’d brought the top lip down because it was usually thinner than the bottom. There’s a major muscle under the mouth, build up around the area.

  Shape.

  Mold.

  Smooth.

  Deepen the creasing around the nostrils.

  Cheeks fuller.

  Fill in.

  Okay, now let go.

  Let’s come home, Jeremy.

  Her fingers flew feverishly over the child’s face. Forget the measurements. Forget the science.

  Smooth.

  Mold.

  Fill in.

  Come out, Jeremy.

  Help me.

  Who are you?

  I don’t want you to be lost any longer.

  Smooth.

  Mold.

  We’re almost done.

  Smooth.

  Mold.

  Enough.

  She drew a deep breath and pushed the hair back from her face. She was shaking, and her face was flushed as if she’d been racing.

  She had been racing. It had been over three hours since she’d started the final phase, but the time had flown.

  Don’t look at his face. Not yet.

  She opened her wooden eye case. Brown eyes. They were the most common. She carefully inserted the eyeballs into the cavities. “We’re done, Jeremy. We did it together.”

  The brown eyes stared back at her from the reconstruction.

  Jeremy or Luke?

  Step back. Look at him.

  No, don’t look at him.

  She turned on her heel and strode toward the bedroom. She threw open the door. “Catherine.”

  Catherine jerked awake. “What is it?”

  “I promised you I’d tell you as soon as I finished.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Is it—”

  “I don’t know. I never see the reconstruction as a whole while I’m working on it. It’s just a blur. I thought it was your right to see it first. Get the photo of Luke at age five.”