What readers are saying about The Knowing Gene
“The author did an EXTRAORDINARY job with this book. This book is filled with mystery, romance, a man’s love/devotion for his daughter, and a man set on doing the right thing and not being taken advantage of by government agencies. The comedy the author used in this book was marvelous. I laughed several times. I don’t normally read a book a second time, but I did and will be again!” Connie J., NV (amazon.com review)
“I loved reading it – had that ‘I have to know what happens next’ feeling all along. A fun, easy, and engaging read; likable characters and constant action!” Maureen C., WI
“A riveting roller-coaster ride of a story! One of the most compelling books I have read in a long time, ‘The Knowing Gene’ sure knows how to keep the reader hooked throughout the entire novel! It's the perfect concoction of all those delicious ingredients blending into a 5 star gourmet feast for the mind. Spicy characters, robust romance, peppery plot, and a generous dash of humor!!” Nancy M., NC (amazon.com review)
“I finished your book! I read very quickly and am thankful when I get a chance to become engrossed in a story. A good book is an escape, an island of relaxation where that is the only thing you have to think about. It was just that. I was very impressed with the obvious research you did and the pace of the book was great.” Shannen, GA
"The Knowing Gene" is a unique fast-paced suspenseful read coming from first-time author, Robert Lange. The book's protagonist, Christian Faraday, can perhaps best be described as witty, caring, bold, urbane, and technically savvy. Though an amazing number of hair-raising twists and turns, the reader is swept along with the Faraday character during a 24-hour chase as he tries to elude those that wish to capture him. Faraday's accidental acquisition of paranormal capabilities makes the character "invaluable" to many ... a sitting U.S. president, the FBI, and the CIA, just to name a few. And of course there is a nice romance blended in. I think this novel would make a fantastic movie enjoyed by both men and women. Move over James Bond, you've just been outdone!” Jon T, M.D., GA (amazon.com review)
"I finished ‘The Knowing Gene’ last night—What a great book! It is one of those books that you just enjoy reading! There was no blood, guts, sex and crime to carry the reader, just old fashioned good story and mystery. I truly enjoyed it and have rated it up with my Clanceys - I read those over and over even though I remember the endings!!” Lewis, NC
“‘The Knowing Gene’ is a perfect light read which keeps you at the edge of your seat as it takes you from one unexpected twist to another from beginning to end. The pace of the story made it easy to quickly get into and hold your interest, with it almost impossible to put down once half way through. I easily escaped into the story which thoroughly captured my imagination.” Alex L., NY
The
Knowing
Gene
Robert Lange
The Knowing Gene
Copyright © 2010 by Robert Lange
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
Published by Robert Lange at Smashwords.com
ISBN 978-0-9821507-3-3
Library of Congress Control Number 2010921606
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and/or used as fiction. Any similarities to actual events, or persons living or dead is coincidental.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
In loving memory of my father
John B. Lange, MD
1928-2009
Chapter One
It was cooler than Jasper thought right, at least until his blindfold was removed. Although he remained terrified, the walls, floor, and ceiling of rock all explained the damp cool he was feeling and gave him some bearing for where he was. The presence of other children comforted him little; he hadn’t the slightest clue who they were, and they weren’t looking terribly happy themselves.
≈
A perfect northern Nevada spring morning was almost over; mid-seventies and not a cloud in the sky. Just to the west stood the magnificent Sierra Nevada mountain range bordering the states of California and Nevada. In between, lay the more rolling landscape of the Tahoe and Washoe Valleys; with their own splendor of smaller mountains and crystal blue mountain lakes. One of these elevations, Slide Mountain, sat just south of Reno, anchoring both the vast Lake Tahoe and Washoe Lake. Standing 9,700 feet, Slide Mountain offered breathtaking views of not only the splendid valleys, but also of the Sierra Nevada mountain range to the west and the vast desert of Nevada to the east. Thanks to a generous eastward air spillage from the Tahoe Basin, a thermal lift regularly provided local hang gliders ample opportunity to enjoy this beauty from the peace and serenity from high above.
Winding its way up Slide Mountain, the Porsche convertible’s tires screeched as it sped around the curve on the mountain road. Parker shifted gears as he straightened the Porsche out and accelerated on his way to the next curve.
“So you’re coming next Saturday night, aren’t you?” Parker calmly asked as Christian relaxed his grip on the passenger door.
A confirmed bachelor, Parker Farr had been unable to outgrow the fraternity years’ lifestyle he had enjoyed with Christian, despite having become one of the most successful attorneys in Reno. Regularly on Reno’s “Most Eligible Bachelor” list, Parker was one of Reno’s most well-known and recognizable individuals.
“You know how I feel about your parties, Parker. They’re always a nightmare of attempts to fix me up,” Christian objected. “I mean, everyone is really nice and the girls are always cute—extremely cute—but it’s hard to enjoy myself.”
“It’s going to be a special one this year, buddy. Besides, I’ll protect you.”
“Parker, you and I have been partying since our rugby days. I know better.” Christian re-gripped the car door as Parker approached the next curve. “This is just another ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ party, isn’t it? You’ve been having these for what? Ten years?” Christian’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d just said.
“Exactly!” Parker downshifted into the curve. “Quite the achievement, don’t you think? The magazine will be sending photographers and this year’s Bachelorette winners will be there.”
Christian looked at him disapprovingly.
“Listen, Christian,” Parker began as he turned the steering wheel hard to the left. “I miss Stephanie as much as anyone, but you’ve got to come out of that shell sooner or later.”
“It just doesn’t feel right yet, Parker.”
“It’s been over four years, Christian. Even your little girl is anxious for you to move on.”
“Tatum and I will be fine. I will be at the Kappa party at your place next month though.”
Parker and Christian went back to their pledge days at the Kappa Rho Phi fraternity at the University of Nevada, Reno. There they formed the tightest of friendships, not only as fraternity brothers, but also as co-captains of the rugby team and members of the school’s varsity crew.
It was also at UNR that Christian met Stephanie; accidently colliding with her during the fraternity’s spring ‘Naked Marauder’ dash around the university’s Quad one April evening. Christian was quickly forgiven as she immediately fell for his quick humor and charm, not to mention his boyish good looks and athleticism. The two equally athletic and adventuresome co-eds started dating immediately and quickly became inseparable until her death four years ago. Tatum was Christian’s fifteen-year-old daughter, and their only child. Tatum not only inherited her parents’ zest for living, but also her mother’s stunning looks and personality.
“It’s only a matter of time before I get you back in circulation, you know,” Parker replied as he steered his Porsche onto the pull-off behind the blue Dodge pick-up truck with hang gliding gear in the back; joining a dozen or so other vehicles using the spot that day to launch their gliders.
As the two exited the convertible, they heard a familiar voice. “Come on, you two. Conditions are supposed to be phenomenal today. The wind aloft forecast is calling for perfect hang gliding conditions. It’s not to be wasted.” Two years Christian and Parker’s junior, William Graham was the super energetic member of this close knit gang. William had abandoned his nine-to-five job eight years out of college to pursue his love of aerial sports, eventually earning U.S. and World Championship titles in both hang gliding and paragliding. An enthusiastic promoter of the sport, it was William’s concern for the depression he saw Christian falling into after Stephanie’s death that prompted him to arrange this monthly outing among the fraternity brothers still in the area.
The strong thermals of the area generated wind currents capable of lifting experienced pilots well over 17,000 feet, providing gliders unparalleled views of scenic northern Nevada and eastern California. The group was becoming quite skilled as a result of the outstanding conditions and their talented instructor.
“Where’s the wind going to take us today, William? Think we’ll make it into California?” Parker inquired as he and Christian headed toward their gear. Parker knew William loved to circle around Tahoe while the rest of them bounced around the Washoe Valley, trying desperately to get above the 8,200 foot level from where they launched themselves. William had taken more of a Border Collie role with the group since Parker accidentally came a tad too close to the Reno International Airport’s Control Zone for the FAA’s comfort.
“I’m always expecting you to end up in the Pacific, Parker. According to the soaring reports I’m hearing for today, the Coast Guard might just need to be on the lookout for you in a few hours.” William knew that the conditions were a glider’s dream; too bad he was stuck with these amateurs, as much as he loved them.
“I’ll just be happy if I can get over 11,000 feet sometime in my lifetime,” Christian commented.
“I’m betting today is that day, Christian. I’ve got your oxygen systems ready; I’m pretty sure you’ll be needing them today,” William noted as he finished up the equipment prep.
Parker and Christian grabbed their gear from William and headed towards the main east launch site to join the rest of this month’s crew.
As usual, William took off first with the others following his lead. William had a sixth sense for finding the best thermals. Starting just outside the guard rail, he ran about ten steps down the hill over loose rocks before being firmly lifted off the ground. Initially sinking down to 7,600 feet, he quickly found a strong south easterly, six hundred feet per minute thermal, lifting him well above launch altitude. One by one, the remaining five fraternity brothers followed William down the hill.
Before long, the pilots were well above 14,000 feet, heading straight for the rough horizon of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. It was a dream for Christian to reach that height; an incredible sense of serenity to observe the splendor of this amazing creation of nature from the silence of a glider.
“Better get your O2 ready, boys,” William’s voice crackled over the radio, pulling Christian back to reality. “I just hit a strong south westerly that’s gonna give you the ride of your lives!”
This is going to get even better? Christian thought to himself while a few of the others were heard “YEEEEHAWING” over the radio.
Suddenly Christian felt the thermal grab him and pull him over Washoe Lake. This was followed by another jolt, which clearly was not a thermal, but more like turbulence when riding a plane. It only seemed to affect him, not the glider, and knocked him harshly to the right. Then it felt as if it were twisting around his body. Just as suddenly it ceased and the flight was calm again; but not calm enough that he didn’t feel the need to get on the radio and ask William if it was going to be this bumpy the entire way.
“What are you talking about, Christian? This is the smoothest thermal I’ve ever hit. Anywhere!” William replied.
Christian felt another jostle, this time to the left, forcing him to grab his grip tighter when suddenly the glider surged ahead faster than Christian knew was right, no matter how strong the thermal.
“William!” Christian yelled into his microphone, while the mechanisms of the glider were stressing in ways that they clearly weren’t meant to do.
Although William was at least two hundred yards ahead and a hundred or two feet higher, Christian could see William twist around in his glider looking back at him, only to lose sight of him as his own glider then vigorously pulled him hard to the left.
Suddenly, Christian’s direction reversed and he was facing back towards Slide Mountain.
“Hang tight, Christian. Pull to the right,” William was heard urgently over the headphone. “I’m on my way.”
Trying desperately to control the glider, Christian shifted his body around to no avail. “I’m trying, William. I’ve got no control. It’s like I’m being pulled.” Suddenly, the glider quickly shot up several hundred feet, followed by another sharp turn to the right. Christian was then heading perilously close to tree level on Slide Mountain before another unexpected thrust, this time taking him back up and to the left.
Heading straight for Lake Tahoe and losing sight of the others, Christian began to really panic. “It’s breaking up, William!”
“Use your ‘chute Christian,” William frantically replied. “Just like I taught you.”
Trying not to let the twisting and turning overwhelm him, Christian began the procedures William had made them practice at least a dozen times. Christian began repeating to himself “Look, Grasp, Pull, Look, Throw, Pull. Look, Grasp, Pull, Look, Throw, Pull,” while looking for, then grabbing, the rip cord. Continuing the sequence despite the erratic movements he was undergoing, Christian eventually cleared himself from the glider and the parachute began to deploy as he accelerated downwards. It was not quite as much of a free-fall as he would have expected; the turbulence continuing, albeit not as pronounced. His body continued to be tossed about, although the parachute remained unaffected. Slowly, the movements ceased and a sense of warmth enveloped his body that put him slightly at ease as he floated towards the rocky slope of the mountain.
Chapter Two
Samuel Harris stepped up to the microphone on the crowded steps outside the downtown Reno offices of the FBI. While missing children’s cases always gathered a great deal of news coverage, this one in particular had attracted significant attention. Not only was the local media represented in the mayhem Harris looked out upon, but the national media as well. The usual local news vans were now accompanied by the big trucks from network and cable news services, including CNN and Fox.
As head of the Nevada FBI, Samuel Harris usually wasn’t involved in the day-to-day management of such operations. However, this case had escalated well beyond the norm. Once a third child had mysteriously disappeared, he knew that this was no normal missing children situation.
Earlier that day, twelve-year-old Jasper Thomas had been riding his bicycle to join some friends at their favorite fishing spot on the Truckee River. Never having arrived, the police later found his bike just off the road with his fishing pole leaning against a tree.
In the twenty-five years Samuel Harris had been with the FBI, this was the most frustrating case he could remember. A middle-aged man with a spare tire beginning to show on what appeared to have been a very fit body in its earlier days, Harris always had a stern look, with a flash temper to back it up. He had nonetheless mastered the highly political system that was the Bureau, rising in rank from a field officer to one of the most respected Bureau state chiefs—a Special Agent in Charge. He had requested the Nevada position three years earlier to bolster his experience in the gambling world to help solidify his next target, Section Chief of Racketeering for the FBI. Cases like this mildly irritated him as they took the focus off of his real love of more intellectual criminal activities.
An impressive figure behind the microphone, Harris stood an imposing 6’2” and clearly gave the impression he was in total control of this, and usually any, situation. He read a brief prepared statement to the gathered press.
“The hearts and prayers of all of us working on this case go out to the Thomas family. Jasper is a bright young man and is greatly loved by all that know him. The FBI and local agencies are working tirelessly on all leads and information pertaining to his disappearance. We have no clear indication at this point that Jasper’s disappearance is in any way related to the five recent acts of missing children cases. We do suggest however, that parents take every precaution with their children to minimize any risk.”
He was sure the cases were all related, but didn’t want to startle the community any more than absolutely necessary.
The questions started flying at him immediately.
“Was there any sign of a struggle where his bike was found?”
“Are any of the families having custody issues?”
“Have the parents been contacted by the abductors?”
“Were any personal possessions recovered at the scene?”
“No, not sure, no, and yes.” Harris responded in rapid fashion. Harris was not a believer in providing the press any more information than necessary, and in fact disdained having to deal with them at all. He answered a few more questions, then excused himself to go back into the offices, along the way ignoring requests of producers from the national talk shows to schedule some interview time.
≈
Inside, Harris made his way to the situation room, joining agents Dawson and Carver, his key Reno field agents. With various personal, state, and federal rewards for the combined cases currently totaling over five hundred thousand dollars, and the national scrutiny on the case becoming more intense by the hour, Harris was in no mood to hear excuses. This case was alarmingly similar to one in Texas two years earlier, where a dozen children disappeared over a four week period, under equally mysterious circumstances. That case was never closed, and the children never recovered. It was still a sore point in the Bureau and the State Bureau Chief’s career came to a screeching halt as he was assigned to a nowhere desk job back in Washington. Samuel Harris was not going to let that happen to him.
“What’s the latest, boys?” Harris asked Dawson and Carver as he entered the ‘war room’ where they hovered over a map on the conference table.
“Nothing new, sir,” Dawson responded. “We’ve cross referenced all information and still have nothing in common. We’ve got agents questioning anyone remotely involved with the boy and residents near the scene, but no information of substance from what we have so far.”
“State or local agencies have anything to report on vehicles yet?”
“They’re coming up dry. No sightings out of the ordinary and all available surveillance tapes from nearby gas stations and convenience stores show nothing revealing either. We have local teams scouring these areas,” Dawson pointed to areas on a map on the table. “State police have set up road blocks,” pointing to other areas on the map, “here, here, and here. But whoever has him is probably long gone by now.”
The cases had been scattered around the Reno area; two in the northeast, one south, this one and another in the western suburbs; yet another near Carson City. There was no pattern in any of the locations — not time of day, similarity in ages, genders, or ethnic backgrounds. The only thing consistent was the relative seclusion of the areas where the children were abducted.
Several psychics had called the hotline offering their assistance, but through years of wild goose chases and false leads, the Bureau learned long ago that any information they provided was either too vague or just plain wrong. There wasn’t sufficient time or resources to waste on these self-promoters in this case.
“Damn it!” Harris was clearly frustrated, which was not at all an unusual state for him, but certainly more frequent since this case began. “Increase satellite monitoring of all rural areas, especially the desert and wooded terrains, for potential hide outs.”
Turning to Carver, Harris continued, “Let’s set up round the clock surveillance on all known area sex offenders.” Thinking for a moment, he then added, “I want more detailed victim correlation, including blood type and any genetic characteristics. Compare your individual findings to the organ donor requirements directories.”
He simply refused to let what happened to Bragg down in Texas happen to him, even if he had to stay up twenty-four/seven to supervise this case. Before the Texas missing children’s case, Jason Bragg had been one of the Bureau’s most respected senior agents. He and Harris had practically grown up together in the Bureau and had been friends throughout their careers. Harris always looked him up during his periodic trips back to headquarters. Harris had watched Bragg’s psyche go from a hard-charging, ‘whatever it takes’ approach, to a much more docile and reserved demeanor. It appeared as if he had resigned himself to counting the days to retirement. The least Harris could do for his old friend was to request Bragg’s assistance and expertise on this case. Possibly if the two of them together solved the case, it would help get his career, and psyche, back on track. Besides, he had to pursue every possible avenue to get this situation resolved.
Bragg had been consulting Harris by telephone and e-mail over the past couple of weeks and was due to arrive later that day. Harris was looking forward to greeting his old friend personally at the airport.
Chapter Three
As the afternoon began to wind down, Parker pulled up to the gatehouse of the quiet gated community of Sierra Vista, just southwest of Reno at the foot of Mount Rose. Christian and Stephanie decided to move their young family there when Tatum was a toddler in the late 1990’s. When building their dream house, they took full advantage of the huge open spaces and spectacular western views of the rugged Sierra Mountains. Within a year they were followed by Parker, who built his ultimate bachelor pad on a nearby lot.
“Afternoon, Mister Farr, Mister Faraday,” the elderly man at the gate cheerfully greeted the two men. “Beautiful day, wasn’t it?”
Parker slowed as the gate began to open. Christian opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head. “Afternoon, Charlie,” they spoke in unison, Christian a bit groggily.
“Don’t mind him, Charlie; he’s had a little too much excitement today.”
With the gate fully opened, Parker began accelerating into the neighborhood, both men waving goodbye to the guard.
“You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital, champ? Last chance.”
“Really, I’m fine, Parker. Nothing a beer and little relaxation can’t handle.”
Pulling into Christian’s driveway, they noticed a red Volvo convertible, a clear indication Tatum had friends over; at minimum, her best friend, Nicki.
“Looks like you have to get past the girls first.”
“They’re probably as tired as I am,” Christian replied with relief. “They’ve had lacrosse practice all day. Besides, mid-terms are coming up and they’re probably studying.”
“You’re so dense. Even I know teenagers better than that,” Parker laughed. “Let me help you inside, buddy.”
“Really, I’m only a little shaken,” Christian protested. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Sorry, I’m going to tell Tatum to keep an eye on you, since I know you aren’t going to.”
Parker was right, and deep down Christian knew it. Academics seemed to be the furthest thing from Tatum’s mind, far behind sports and her newly found interest in the opposite sex. But then again, if she wasn’t into those things, he’d be worried about her even more; a fact that he remembered whenever he started getting himself too concerned.
The two men entered Christian’s foyer to the sound of several girls yakking and giggling in the great room just ahead.
“DADDYYYYYY!” Tatum shouted with a big smile on her face. This was immediately followed by a chorus of the other three teenagers in the room with a cheerful “MISTER FARADAY!”
A total of four fifteen- and sixteen-year-old girls, still in their workout clothes from lacrosse practice, were on the sofa gathered around Tatum’s laptop, eating popcorn and engrossed in something on the screen.
Christian had always been popular with Tatum’s friends. Never stern or judgmental, Christian had often been more of a friend to these girls than just another boring parent. His easy going demeanor, quick humor, and his ability in disarming potentially contentious situations, always made Tatum’s friends happy to be around him.
“Hey, Uncle Parker! Have you two been out trying to kill yourselves again today?” Tatum asked.
“Mister Faraday, aren’t you a little old to still be playing college jock?” one of her friends added, making fun of his exhausted look.
“Your dad came pretty close to it today, Tatum. Got in an argument with some pretty intense thermals.” Heading into the kitchen, Parker continued, “Promise to keep an eye on him tonight, will ya? He’s a little shaken up I’m afraid.”
“Mister Faraday, you’ll never make it to ‘stud of the nursing home’ if you keep up at your pace!” added one of the other girls, quickly accompanied by a chorus of giggles and a high five between a couple of the girls.
“Cute, Baliya.” Christian stuck his tongue out at the girls while he sat down in his recliner and turned on the massage control. “And I suppose you girls are up to something intellectually challenging and worthwhile?”
“As a matter of fact,” Tatum informed her father as she turned the laptop so the screen faced him, “we’re just checking out Nicki’s modeling portfolio.”
“Now there’s something that will get you girls into college,” he commented as he noticed the little girl he had known since she had been a two-foot tall tomboy now appeared as a high fashion model in her online portfolio. “Seriously though, NikNak,” he added as the girl got a look of anticipation of a pending compliment on her face, “you’ve really mastered those crayons quite well!”, referring to the actually quite exquisite make-up on her in the photo.
“I’d reconsider the use of those disposable cameras if you’re really serious about this though,” Parker added as he returned to the room with a frosted mug of beer for Christian.
Both Christian and Parker knew this was definitely professional photography, even if they weren’t aware that it was done by one of the most respected fashion photographers in Las Vegas.
As Christian quickly produced a ‘got ya’ smirk, Nicki took the kernel of popcorn she was preparing to devour and flicked it smack in the center of Christian’s forehead. This was followed quickly by at least a dozen more kernels from the other girls. He thanked the girls and began enjoying the kernels one by one as he retrieved them off his body and chair.
Nicki and Tatum were about the same height, somewhere around the 5’8” mark, although he couldn’t keep up with exactly how tall Tatum was. Tatum had definitely inherited her mother’s all-American girl next door modeling potential while Nicki had a more edgy fashion-oriented look.
Placing the beer on the table next to Christian, Parker whispered, “God help us if they ever try to conquer the modeling world together.” Turning back to Tatum, “I’ve got to run, Tatum. Make sure he rests well. If he faints on you or anything, call me right away.”
“Will do, Uncle Parker.” Tatum waved to him as he headed out the door. “Thanks for being a good nurse today.”
“And don’t forget next Saturday, Christian,” Parker added, peeking his head from behind the front door just before closing it.
“Aren’t you girls facing mid-terms next week?” Christian frowned. “Don’t you think that you should all be at OneStudyPlace dot home, not OneModelPlace dot com?”
“Oh, hush and drink your beer, Daddy, this is important stuff,” Tatum scolded him as the girls got back to the laptop to discuss the different outfits and looks in Nicki’s portfolio.
Given the day’s events, Christian was more interested in enjoying his beer than verbally sparring with teenage girls, although such rhetorical exercise was often one of his favorite sports. Christian was particularly exhausted this evening. The girls continued their laughing and gossiping as Christian finished up the mechanical massage from his recliner and downed the remainder of his beer.
Gathering himself, Christian stood up and bid the girls farewell. “See you girls later. I think a long soak is in order. I’m afraid you’re doing dinner tonight, sweetheart. And I’m hungry, so make it good.”
With their youthful smiles and exuberant voices, the girls all at once told him it was great to see him and they would surely see him later in the week. After blowing them all a kiss goodbye, he sluggishly headed up the stairs.
Chapter Four
Samuel Harris had pulled a lot of strings to get Bragg’s assistance on this case. While it clearly made sense, there were several powerful people in the FBI that still felt the heat from the failure of Bragg to close the Texas case; they were not anxious to have him involved in this case in any way. Harris had finally gotten approval by convincing the right people that they might have a similar unclosed case on their hands unless Bragg was able to help compare patterns and other evidence. Harris had never been as worried about the outcome of a case as he was this one; not only for the Bureau, but for his own career as well.
For his part, Bragg was anxious to get back out in the field, hopefully recovering his name, and possibly his career, in the process.
≈
The sun was just setting as the United Airlines flight from Denver landed in Reno. Inside the plane, Jason Bragg could feel his blood beginning to flow as it had in the past, the thrill of field work rejuvenating his mind and spirit. While excited, he was also deeply concerned that if they were unable to close this case, it might be a fatal blow to what was left of his career.
“Glad to be out of Washington?” Harris greeted Bragg with his hand outstretched as he entered the terminal from the plane.
“Samuel! Great to see you again,” Bragg responded as he reached out his hand. “Thank you so much for getting me involved. It’s great to be out in the field again.”
“Hey, thank you. I’m not sure we’ll be able to close this without your insight.” Harris was trying to keep his friend’s confidence and spirit up, understanding that Bragg needed his support.
As they made their way to the parking lot, the two discussed the latest facts and the work Bragg had been doing on the case back at headquarters.
“To be honest with you Jason, we’re no closer to who is responsible than the day before the first abduction,” Harris explained as they walked. “These guys are clean, not leaving us a thing to go on. This is the most frustrating case I’ve ever been on.”
“This is almost déjà vu,” Bragg replied. “I’ve reviewed all the case files and compared them to what you have been working on here. There is no doubt in my mind that we’ve either got the same crew, or a very good copycat.”
“Any new theories?”
“I’m afraid to say there aren’t, at least not yet. When you and I sit down with your team we might be able to come up with some thoughts.”
They got in the car and began driving towards the nearby FBI Resident Agency office as Harris received a call from Agent Dawson.
“We have a reliable lead on some unusual activity at an abandoned motel on the east side of town,” Dawson told Harris. “Infrared imaging has confirmed several people in the building.”
“Sounds like something is going on there that shouldn’t be. Do we have enough to get warrants?”
“Already in process, sir.”
“Okay, coordinate with the Reno police. Get the building surrounded and SWAT in place, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Reno International Airport is located just southeast of town, not too far out of the way Harris was already driving. Making the necessary changes on his car’s navigational system, Harris updated Jason, “Looks like you get some field action right away. Ready?”
“I’ve been ready for years, Samuel.”
≈
Harris directed his car into a long-neglected area of Reno which was littered with abandoned vehicles, assorted garbage, and graffiti-decorated buildings, most which hadn’t seen maintenance in decades. A dozen or so police cars were waiting to proceed on his orders. He pulled up to the sedan where Agents Dawson and Carver waited.
“What do we have here, guys?” Harris asked his agents as he climbed out of his car to review the building.
“We haven’t gotten a good view yet, other than general movement of several people,” Carver responded. “We’ve got agents with cameras going in now,” he added as he directed them to a surveillance truck to view the monitors.
The four of them entered the truck and watched as a scope camera was inserted under one of the interior doors of the motel. They watched as several twenty-something men sat at a table with a pile of money at one end and packages of some sort at the other.
“What is the satellite showing?” Harris inquired.
Agent Dawson directed him to another monitor and pointed to an infrared image of several people in the room they were monitoring and one person in an adjoining room.
“Okay, so if that is one of the missing kids, there’s no one standing guard. Let’s neutralize the ones at the table and he should be safe,” Samuel said thinking out loud. “Is everyone in position?”
“SWAT leader ready?” Agent Carver spoke into his radio.
“All set,” a voice responded.
“We’ve got three hostiles just to the right of the door, and one unknown in an adjoining room at ten o’clock,” Carver informed the SWAT leader.
“Roger,” The voice responded.
Samuel nodded to Carver, who then spoke again over the radio, “You’ve got a green light.”
≈
The SWAT team burst through the door with rifles drawn and ready. Four of the team headed to the right and yelled “FBI!” with guns instantly aimed at the three men at the table. With precision timing, two SWAT officers headed to a door of the adjoining room, and kicked it open. The men at the table started to reach for weapons but quickly thought better of it and lifted their hands above their heads.
As the adjoining door was kicked open, the officer of that team entered with his pistol ready. There he found another twenty-something male that had been sleeping. Startled, he reached for a weapon, but thought the wiser of it as he stared down the barrel of the agent’s gun.
Bragg, Harris and his team had been watching the action unfold over the monitor. Seeing no children, Harris instantly became irritated. “Damn!” Harris yelled. “Just a bunch of drug dealers.”
“Still,” Dawson noted, “it doesn’t look like a bad haul.”
Harris looked at Dawson and snarled. Right now he could care less about any other arrests, even if they bumped into one of the Bureau’s Ten Most Wanted. He was interested in only one case.
Chapter Five
The yakking and giggling of the girls was replaced by the annoying ‘boy band’ sounds from the stereo by the time Christian returned downstairs after his long bath. The sound of chopping could be heard as he neared the kitchen, the centerpiece of their home. Stephanie’s primary passion, next to being married to Christian and raising Tatum, was cooking. Stephanie’s father was a chef of his own widely renowned Chicago restaurant and Stephanie had learned the love and art of cooking from him at a very young age.
When they purchased the lot in Sierra Vista, Stephanie claimed all design rights to the kitchen in exchange for allowing Christian free rein with the rest of the house. As a gift to the couple, Stephanie’s father not only assisted her with the design of their dream kitchen, but also picked out and provided them with the finest professional appliances and cooking utensils. The floor and walls were Italian marble, the countertop Rocky Mountain granite, and the extensive cabinetry was solid cherry. In the center of the kitchen stood a cooking island, complete with professional gas stove, food preparation area, and mini-sink. Above the island was an iron pan rack that displayed the finest gourmet cookware.
Entering the kitchen, Christian admired Tatum as she chopped the peppers like a pro. Watching her reminded him so much of Stephanie. Stephanie and Tatum would spend hours together in the kitchen and Tatum learned quickly, now moving around the kitchen and managing the equipment like a seasoned chef. She definitely developed the same love for the art of cooking her mother had.
“Something smells wonderful, sweetheart,” Christian greeted Tatum as he gave her a kiss on her forehead.
“You’re lucky I love you and you’re aching so bad, Daddy, otherwise you’d be having frozen.” Tatum slid the chopped vegetables into a waiting pan.
“You’d never do that to me, and you know it.”
“After that anchovy smothered stuff you made for me last week, I wouldn’t feel too confident about anything I’d put on your plate,” Tatum smiled impishly as she handed him some plates to set the table with. “So you’re going to Uncle Parker’s party next Saturday, aren’t you?”
“You know how I feel about his shindigs, Tatum. They aren’t fun without your mother by my side. I’m tired of being cornered with yet another woman that thinks she can hook me.”
“Daddy, maybe one of them would be right for you. Besides, if you would just find a nice woman, she could help me take care of you.”
Tatum had wanted her father to begin dating for some time. As much as she loved her mother, she knew her father needed someone to share his very affectionate spirit with. Besides, Tatum really did miss having another female around.
“How many times have we had this discussion, Tatum?” Christian replied with a hint of frustration in his voice. “Have you ever seen any woman who could in any way compare to your mother?”
“Just because someone isn’t perfect, doesn’t mean you can’t have a meaningful relationship.”
“Besides, we make a pretty good team, the two of us.”
“A team of what? Psycho chefs?” she replied. “Besides, in a couple of years I’ll be off to college and you’ll be in this big house all on your own.”
“Oh, I think I’ll be able to hold down the fort just fine,” Christian replied as he exited to the patio to set the table.
≈
While dinner cooked in the oven, Christian joined Tatum at the kitchen table where she was watching the evening news.
“Anything interesting in the news today, sweetie?” Christian inquired as he sat down next to his daughter.
“Another kid has gone missing. This time it’s a twelve-year-old from over near the Truckee.”
They both watched as the video from Samuel Harris’s press conference aired.
“I don’t think they have any idea what’s going on,” Tatum added. “They’ve apparently come up clueless in all these cases recently.”
“I just don’t understand this kind of stuff. What the hell is the matter with people that they need to do this to children?” Christian was never one to get angry, but any harm to innocent children, or animals, really bothered him. “I want you to be extra careful, Tatum. Who knows what’s going on out there? Please stick with your friends while you are out. Don’t go anywhere alone. Okay?”
“I wouldn’t worry, Daddy. If anyone got hold of me, they would end up paying you to take me back,” Tatum joked as she went over and gave him a kiss on his nose. That was her special place; not even Stephanie had been allowed to kiss Christian on his nose. “Besides, we travel in packs and usually have lacrosse sticks. Who would want to mess with us?”
That put Christian a little at ease, but this whole situation really disturbed him nonetheless. He couldn’t remember anything like it in his many years of living in the area. Tatum was his only child, and he wasn’t expecting to have any more.
They listened to the reporter spell out the details of the six missing children and the apparent lack of connection between them.
“The FBI has not been able to link any of the families, but the few clues police have regarding the abductors certainly makes it appear as if they are related,” the news anchor reported. “With so few clues and the continued serial nature of these disappearances, it is highly recommended that you and your children take extra precautions until the abductors have been apprehended.”
≈
The adjoining patio was one of Christian’s favorite spots. The tile from the kitchen continued out onto the patio, which had a 180 degree view of the mountains. It was here that Christian had enjoyed Stephanie’s incomparable meals and company as they savored the amazing northern Nevada skyline.
The sun was just setting over the rugged crest of the Sierra Nevada mountain range as Tatum joined her father, carrying her latest culinary masterpiece. “Voilà!” Tatum announced as she placed the plate on the table in front of Christian. “Bon appétit.”
≈
After finishing dinner, they cleaned the dishes and the kitchen together before Tatum went upstairs to get her studying done for the coming week. “Remember now, if I’m going to be able to retire at fifty, you need to get a scholarship,” he reminded her for the three hundred and seventy-second time.
“I think it would be good for you to wait till you’re sixty-five, Daddy,” Tatum suggested. “All you’re going to do every day is go out and try to kill yourself anyway,” she added, followed by a playful sticking out of her tongue.
As Tatum headed upstairs to begin her homework, Christian went into the family room for some serious relaxation prior to getting ready for another week at the office. Just as the kitchen was Stephanie’s design playground, Christian had paid particular attention to the design of this room. He strongly felt that this was where the family would spend most of their time together. He wanted a warm relaxed atmosphere which would encourage conversation and quality family time.
The large two-level octagonal room featured expansive floor to ceiling custom windows on the western walls, French doors leading out to a large patio, and magnificent views of the Sierra Nevada range. Inside, the room had extensive wood moldings and ample bookshelves to encourage reading, Christian’s favorite indoor pastime. He deliberately did not include a TV in this room. A large two-sided fireplace was shared with the kitchen and framed on this side by river rock from floor to ceiling. A balcony from the upstairs hallway on the east wall incorporated the room into the living level.
Hung about the room were personal pictures going back to when Christian and Stephanie played intramural sports together in college. There were all sorts of sports and recreational pictures; some of Stephanie’s modeling photos, including her Maybelline and Clairol campaigns; and a few movie posters from films she had been featured in. Also scattered about the room were Tatum’s baby pictures and many photos of Tatum and her friends as she was growing up. Christian was a perfectionist when it came to making the room a gallery of their lives. It was definitely the most inviting room in the house, the three of them enjoying many memorable moments here.
Christian relaxed back in his massage chair and pressed the control, starting the vibrator and massager; a well-deserved treatment after the long day of hang gliding. The chair was one of his favorite pieces of furniture. It was a gift from Tatum two years earlier. After seeing him stretched out in pain after a long weekend of whitewater rafting with his friends, Tatum snuck one of his credit cards from his wallet and purchased this top-of-the-line massage chair, which she presented to him for his birthday the following week.
One of the many things Stephanie taught Tatum was how to deal with her father. “It’s often easier to seek forgiveness than to get permission,” she would tell her daughter. Stephanie taught her that a tilted head, a pair of raised eyebrows, and a slight frown would go a long way toward turning her father into Jell-O. She also warned her, “If you ever try it on me, kiddo, I can’t tell you how far it will backfire!” Whenever the ‘charm’ approach didn’t work, Tatum would pull out her formidable debating skills, which usually left her father speechless. She’s gonna be one damn good attorney, he often thought. If there was ever a man that was wrapped around his daughter’s little finger, it was Christian. Once he got over the sticker shock of her ‘gift’, he realized she was thinking only of his best interests and was quickly forgiven, as usual.
Christian had strategically placed the chair so it could easily swivel for maximum sight of either the fireplace or the panoramic view through the massive windows. He kept his stereo remote stored in the chair’s side pocket and the side table next to it held the books he was currently reading. Emotionally, it was the safest place in the house for him. That it put him another month away from retirement was just no longer important.
This was definitely an evening for some mellow jazz. Christian was a prolific lover of music; all kinds of music. One could just as likely find him tuned into opera as country, rock and roll, or a Broadway musical. He always went to sleep to classical though, preferably Mozart or Chopin. But a quiet evening after a hard day called for a little soothing jazz like the John Pizzarelli Trio or Harry Connick, Jr. Nothing could make him float into relaxation more than a light massage and gentle jazz.
As Christian eased back in his chair and began to lose himself in the music, he reminisced fondly on the day, recalling the stunning images from the magnificent flight. He smiled as his thoughts turned to Tatum’s excellent dinner and how well her mother had trained her in the kitchen. Eventually his thoughts turned to the missing children report and a feeling of sadness temporarily overwhelmed him, but he eventually began floating off into the music; the children remaining in the back of his mind.
After several minutes of total relaxation, Christian’s head suddenly became cluttered with information. He sat up, quite startled. This was not the kind of information that one just dreams up. It was as if he had just read or seen it on TV. The information was as clear to him as anything he knew to be unquestionably as a fact.
It was the missing children. He knew everything about them. Their names, what they looked like, where they lived, their height, weight, and color of their hair. He knew their parents’ names and addresses. He knew exactly how they were abducted, as if he had seen each abduction himself. But most importantly, he knew where they were and who had them!
None of this seemed possible to Christian. He decided to get up and walk around the room to contemplate this information that appeared in his head out of nowhere. There was absolutely no question in his mind as to its validity. “Tatum!” he anxiously called into the intercom. “Come down here. Quick!”
Pausing from her geometry, Tatum wondered what in the world was so urgent. Am I in trouble? “Is it good or bad?” returned her voice back over the intercom. She always asked him that, trying to figure out if she needed to brace herself for something she had done wrong.
“It’s weird! Just get down here right away,” he replied as he went back to sit in his chair, totally confused.
“Sit down,” Christian instructed Tatum as she entered the room. “I need some help.”
“Sure, Daddy. What’s up?” Tatum said as she sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, wondering what was going on.
“That story on the missing children on TV, how many did they say there were?”
“Six. Four boys and two girls.”
Yup, he knew that.
“And their names?”
“They only mentioned two names. The one abducted today, Jasper Thomas, and a girl from last week, Samantha something. I don’t know the others. Why?”
Christian had only peripherally followed the story. He got up and went to the front door foyer where the day’s paper remained unread as they both had been too busy with their outdoor pursuits all day to pick it up.
“Here,” he said as he handed the paper to Tatum, “I’ll bet there is an extensive story on the kids in this issue. Could you find it and open up to it?”
Tatum could clearly see a certain anxiousness in her father that she had never before witnessed. As he returned to his chair, Tatum was perplexed; it was so unlike her father to be so tense. “What’s this all about?”
“I’m not sure. Have you found the story yet?”
“Yeah, here it is,” she replied as she spread the paper out next to her on the sofa.
“The names of the other kids, are they John Patterson, Kerrie Phillips, Mark Delford, and Austin Blake?”
“Hmmmmm,” she pondered as she scanned the story. “Yup, here it is. Mark Delford, Kerrie Phillips, Austin Blake, and John Patterson. Those are their names.” Tatum looked up with a puzzled expression on her face, “How in the world did you know that?”
Ignoring her question, he continued, “John disappeared last month on the twenty-eighth on his way home from school; Kerrie on the thirtieth walking to the mall; Austin, on the second of this month, after little league practice; and Mark on the eighth on his way to school. Right?”
“Hmmmmm, right, right, right, right. How do you know all that?”
“I have no idea, honey, I just know it. I know it as clearly as I know my name or your name or that Reno is in Nevada. What’s really scary is that I know just as clearly where they are and who abducted them!”
Tatum sat in disbelief as Christian instructed her to see if there was a number to call with information. “Daddy, there is no way you can know all that. You could get in real trouble making a false report, you know.”
“I’ll remember that if I am ever tempted to make a false report. In this case, however, I do know where they are.”
Despite her reservations and objections, she provided the phone number, and he dialed it.
“Missing children’s hotline,” said the voice on the phone.
“Yes, I know where the six missing children are and who is holding them,” Christian quickly informed the operator, an officer with the Nevada state police.
The hotline had been receiving dozens of tips per day, and it was this officer’s job to try to sort out the real from the unlikely, and the urgent from the back burner. “Let me understand this sir, you know that the children are alive and where they're being held?” The officer responded with a bit of skepticism in his voice. He’d received a lot of calls, but not one claiming to have such concrete information. He was in no way convinced that this caller really had any information that was of value. Since the total local, state, and federal reward money exceeded the half million dollar mark, there were a lot of people trying to get a piece of it.
“Yes. They are all together, being held by two men and a woman. Although locked up, they are all safe and reasonably well taken care of. They are being held at an abandoned mine just southwest of Virginia City. It’s the old Willet Silver Mine,” Christian stated with a high level of urgency in his voice.
The caller certainly sounded confident and detailed enough, but the officer was not yet convinced that Christian was for real. “Okay, sir, and how are you aware of this information? Did you see them?”
“No, I can’t explain how I know, but I assure you that you will find the children, as well as their captors, exactly where I said.”
“Did someone else give you this information, sir?”
“I’m not quite sure how I came across it, but I can guarantee you will find them there. But be careful, one of the abductors plays lookout in a shack outside the mine. You’ll need to approach from the rear and cut off his communication with the two accomplices inside holding the children. Otherwise you’ll jeopardize the kids.”
“Okay, sir, we’ll check into this right away. Could I get your name and number in case we need to get back with you?”
“Christian Faraday. 775-555-6413. Listen, if you doubt me, let me add that Austin had a wallet with five dollars, a library card, and a Best Buy Gift Certificate. Kerrie had an iPod, and Jasper, of all things for a twelve-year-old, a Kindle in his backpack.”
Christian was totally perplexed, but at the same time he knew he was correct.
Chapter Six
While Harris and Bragg were reviewing the complexities of the case in a conference room at the Reno FBI office, Agent Dawson entered with a sense of urgency.
“We’ve got a tip on another location. The caller claims he is absolutely positive that all the children are alive and being held in an abandoned mine shaft near Virginia City,” Dawson reported.
Harris looked at him skeptically. “Think it’s credible?” They received so many tips that it was a tough call on what to immediately follow-up on. They already had one false raid today, and he wasn’t looking forward to another, especially this late in the day.
“I listened to the recording, and he sounded legit. He was also privy to personal information that hasn’t been provided to the press. He wouldn’t say how he knew where they are, but he was specific, as well as insistent.”
“I’m listening,” Harris informed Dawson.
“This is what we’ve got.” Dawson pressed the ‘Play’ button on a portable digital recorder. Harris and Bragg both raised their eyebrows in interest as they listened to Christian’s voice.
Once the recording concluded, Dawson continued, “We’ve checked the satellite for the location and infrared gives us what appears to be two warm automobiles in two different shacks, and a body in one of those as well. There is also a faint signal in a small area which appears to possibly be the entrance to the cave.”
“This sounds quite promising. Let’s get everyone in here and evaluate potential actions,” Harris told Dawson. “If this lead is for real, we need to approach this scene carefully. Also, get more satellite images and find out everything we can about the mine and the surrounding area. Have all roads in and out of the area blocked off, making damn sure everyone remains well out of sight. Get as much backup out there as you can. I don’t want anyone going in or out of there until we’re ready to go in.”
≈
Within ten minutes the conference room was crowded with lead representatives from the local and state police, FBI, and the head of the SWAT team. In front of them on the conference table was a detailed topographical map of the surrounding area.
Harris introduced Jason to the team, then played the recording for all those gathered. He then showed the real-time infrared images on the projection screen.
“As you can see, the call appears legit. We’ve got slight heat here,” pointing to image on the screen, “which looks to be the mine entrance. The two separate shacks here,” he pointed to another spot on the image, “clearly have warm vehicles inside them, with a body obvious in this one.”
Harris then pointed to a topographic map on the table. “There is one road leading to the mine, which is otherwise surrounded by rough terrain. This leaves them, and us, only one entrance and exit.” Turning to the head of the SWAT team, he continued, “Any thoughts on how we should approach this, Jeff?”
Jeff Perry, a lean man in his mid-thirties, was an ex-Navy SEAL. Jeff had been heading up the Nevada SWAT operations for the last three years and had yet to have a failed operation. None of his men had been injured, much less killed, and all suspects apprehended without fatality; although a few had wished they hadn’t put up any resistance. Jeff was an extremely serious man and had rarely been seen to crack a smile.
“I’ve had a few operations in areas with very similar terrain,” Jeff responded. “We can send several men in on foot over this minor pass, right here,” he said as he pointed to a spot on the map. “There’s access from the river just east from where they can reach it. Once there, we can neutralize the suspect in the shack from the rear while we simultaneously secure the mine entrance. Even the slightest sound will echo in an area like this. It would be helpful to have a flyby sound cover, but not so close as to be suspicious. Does anyone have any information on the shacks, or the mine itself?”