-23-
July 11, 2007
The Western Coast of Ireland
The ocean surged onto the pristine beach, washing over Junie’s bare feet. Cold, but refreshing, and much more comfortable in this small dose than when she’d been hip deep in it after the sun went down.
Incredible that just over a week ago, this same gold-sanded stretch had been black with oil.
Her short-cropped hair—the same color, almost, as that poisonous liquid—buffeted around her face, leaving her ears uncovered in the brisk wind. She stared out over the grey-blue water as she pulled up her hood.
If she hadn’t been here, wearing gloves slicked with residue, sudsing a seabird in hopes of saving another fragile life, she would never have believed it. A Tier Three oil spill suddenly gone, evaporated within hours.
Not to mention her own illness.
According to the medical professionals, she’d been very ill, unconscious for most of three days, and then she’d suddenly recovered. From what, they didn’t know. They’d been unable to provide a diagnosis.
And then there was the faintest memory of a dream…of a green-eyed man who’d come to her in the hospital.
Junie shivered, but not because the wind from the ocean was cold.
Suddenly she became aware she wasn’t alone on this lonely stretch of beach, this three-kilometer run of sand studded by harsh grey boulders, and edged with foaming sea.
A man walked toward her. He was dressed inappropriately for beachcombing in a dark business suit. His shirt beamed pristine white, topped by a dark jacket, a long black duster, and dark pants. A matching dark tie striped the shirt, bisecting the white with its mark. His hair—nipped short, along with the neat beard and mustache—was as black as her own, but his skin was several shades darker than her ivory complexion.
“Hello.” He greeted her with a short bow, then thrust his hands into his pockets, winging the open edges of the duster behind them. “A bit chilly here today.” Though his English was excellent, she heard the accent that told her he wasn’t a native speaker.
“Yes, indeed.” Though they were alone, she felt no sense of alarm, no instinctive heightening of the senses. “Though not so cold as it was during the evening hours last week, when I was trudging through that water.”
The polite expression on his face morphed into one of interest. “You were here? Did you see the oil spill?”
“I was one of the people using liquid dish detergent to wash the gulls,” she told him. “It’s amazing that it suddenly”—she flapped her hands in vague explanation—“dried up.”
The man nodded. “I find it hard to believe myself. Oil just doesn’t dry up.”
“It never has in my experience. And I’ve worked on three other spills.” Sensing his interest hadn’t waned, she added, “I’m a zoologist, and when something like this happens—well, I have to be here. It was very strange. I was working with the others all day, and into the night—well past midnight—and then we went to bed. But I couldn’t sleep, and I came down here by myself. And the oil was gone. And then I became ill.”
“You’re the one, then. How fortunate I should meet you here. My name is Inspector Hamid al-Jubeir,” he explained, and thrust out his hand. “I’m investigating the murder of the man who owned the ship that spilled, and the company that produced and sold the oil.”
“Junie Peters,” she replied as she shook his hand, wondering why he wanted to talk with her. “The man who owned the ship was killed?”
“In a most peculiar fashion,” the inspector told her. “He was injected with oil. But it wasn’t actually oil, which is why I am here. And pleased to speak with you.”
Junie stared at him. “It wasn’t oil?”
He shook his head gravely. “It was oil, and yet it wasn’t. Our forensics laboratory tested it, and determined that it was indeed oil, but it wasn’t aged. It was…well, the word they used was ‘new.’”
“New?”
“As if it had just been created—as if the process had happened only days or weeks ago, instead of millions of years.”
Junie had to pull up her hood again, for the wind had tugged it back. “How strange. I’ve never heard of new oil.”
“Neither has anyone else I’ve spoken with. And so I came here. I thought there might be some residue left on this site we could analyze to see if it was the same substance. Since it has evaporated so quickly, it can’t be the same oil on which we live. When you were ill. Pardon me for my curiosity, but it’s my understanding the illness came when you visited this locale.”
“Yes. When I came here alone and discovered the oil was gone. I became dizzy, and passed out.” The vague image of the man in her hospital room swam abruptly into her memory. “He—there was a man, dressed in doctors’ whites. He told me—he apologized and said I wasn’t supposed to be around. No one was supposed to get hurt.”
The inspector didn’t seem confused by her staggering language. Nor did he seem impatient. He waited while Junie searched for what she wanted to say.
“I think…I think there was a man who visited me at the hospital. Who caused me to get better. He put something in my nose that I inhaled, like a nebulizer. And then he left. But he said they didn’t mean to harm me, and that I would be well then.”
Al-Jubeir pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “Was this the man you saw?”
She took the paper, opened it, and looked at the face. “No. No, it wasn’t him. My visitor had green eyes. Brilliant green eyes.”
Siberia
Marina didn’t know how long she was left in her room before the door finally slid open.
She remained seated in the large chair across from the entrance. Her father walked in.
“What’s going on? Where’s Gabe?” she demanded. And then she stopped, her words dying in her throat.
A second man walked in. It was her father.
Marina gripped the arms of her chair, and in her shock turned to look at the first man. The bald one.
“More lies, Dad?” she snapped.
How could she have mistaken that handsome, healthy man for her father? When the two stood next to each other, it was so obvious they bore only the faintest resemblance. Dad, frail and slightly hunched, with sallow skin that hugged gaunt cheekbones…thick, messy hair that needed a trim, brows just as dark as the other’s, but scraggly and wiry, like spider legs.
And the other man—handsome, confident, almost youthful.
“Lies?” the first man repeated.
Marina glared at him, and an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. “You must be brothers. Related somehow. That’s the first lie.”
“Viktor, you never told Marina that you had a brother? A twin?” False surprise cloaked his words.
“Twins? So you are my uncle.” The shock colored her voice.
“My name is Roman.”
“Marina…” Her father’s voice was thready, pleading. “I warned you to stay away.”
“By email! You sent me an email!” Now Marina stood, and she kept her voice steady and calm, though it threatened to crack. “If you had told me anything over the years, it might have prepared me to discover that our family hadn’t died out, and that it’s still alive and that I have an uncle—and perhaps other relatives. What is this place and what are you involved in? And how did I get here?”
“These are your roots, my dear,” Roman told her. Easiness and a level of pride played in his words. “You have finally come home. I only wish we’d been able to bring you here in a more pleasant manner.”
“You call kidnapping me and throwing me in the back of a truck pleasant? Breaking into my house with a gun?” Marina was much shorter than Roman, but she didn’t let him intimidate her. She faced him, hands on hips, and let her fury show. What did she have to lose?
“A gun?” Roman’s face showed its first authentic emotion since he’d walked into the room. “We don’t use guns. Violence of that nature is forbidden.”
“Well, someone tried to use it on me. And blew up my father’s house—and nearly ran us off the road. If that’s not violence, I don’t know what is. What the hell do you want from me?”
“We disdain the use of firearms, but there are other methods to conduct our business. And as it turns out, you weren’t actually brought here against your will, were you? You came on your own.”
“Nevertheless, clearly you wanted me here. One of you did, at any rate. Was it you, Roman? Is part of this a way to manage my father?” As if it was going to be difficult to manage him without any leverage. The man was a mere shell. Standing next to his twin, Dad appeared even more frail and pathetic. Marina couldn’t imagine they needed her presence in order to influence him.
She’d risked her life to come here. Because of him. Her skin crawled when she realized what a non-person he was. The vacancy and weakness that came and went from his eyes made her cold. She was swarmed by memories of his inability to care, to support, to listen, to be present to her in any way.
Roman spoke smoothly: “You needed to be here because you are a Skaladeska. You are of our blood and we wanted to make sure you remained safe.”
“Safe from what?”
Roman looked at her, searched her face, steepling his fingers. “We are about to implement an operation that will capture the attention of the world, and secure its respect.”
“For what purpose? To let them know the Skalas live and breathe?”
“That and more.” He gestured to her chair. “Sit, please, my dear. There is no sense in stalking about the room when you can be comfortable. You aren’t going anywhere.”
She’d known that, of course, but hearing the words spoken so clearly was a blow. “Where’s Gabe? What have you done with him?” She sounded too much like a deranged heroine from a gothic movie, but she didn’t care if her words were panicked and clichéd.
“Gabe? So that’s his name. He wasn’t quite as forthcoming with that information as I would have liked.” Roman smiled, his handsome face turning cold.
“You hurt him.”
“One must do what one must.”
“Am I to be tortured next, then?” she asked, standing again, pushing herself nose to nose with her uncle. Her uncle.
Roman laughed and turned to take her vacated seat. “Since you don’t wish to sit… Of course you won’t be tortured. You are one of us. You are an important piece in this whole puzzle, so you will be nothing but honored.”
She didn’t believe him. “Where is he? If I’m to be honored, I demand you allow me to see him.”
“Is he your lover?” Roman asked idly.
“No. And even if he was, it’s irrelevant.”
“It’s not irrelevant if you get with child.”
Marina could hardly speak, she was so shocked and outraged by such a comment. “You must let him go. I demand that you release him. He’s done no harm—”
“I beg to differ, Mariska.” Roman stood, towering over her. Anger tightened his face. “He brought you here—or you brought him here. No matter. You are welcome; he is not. We do not allow outsiders unless they become part of our clan.”
“So you’re going to kill him?”
“Would it matter to you?”
“What a ridiculous question.”
“That may be so, but your relationship with him does matter. It is in my interest to know how the last member of our line is procreating or continuing it.”
“You have no control over my personal life—or any part of my life. Who the hell do you think you are?”
Her father spoke for the first time. “Marina, it’s important for us—for Roman and myself—to know who will father your children and when that will happen.”
“Is that what this is all about? Controlling my ability to procreate? Well, you’ve wasted a whole lot of time and energy, because I can’t get pregnant. So you can release me—us—now and let us on our way.”
The two men stared at her, then Roman said, gently, “I am sorry for that, Mariska. I see how it pains you.”
“I have accepted it.” She turned away, furious that her eyes had begun to sting. What kind of a fool was she? “Now that we’ve cleared that up, you can take me to Gabe.”
Roman sighed. “Although that is an important one, Mariska, there are other issues to consider. I—”
He stopped suddenly and pulled a small device from a deep pocket. It resembled a cell phone, and Marina watched as he used his fingertips to pad through something on a small screen. Then he flipped it closed and looked up at her. “I apologize. We will have to finish this discussion at a later time. Viktor, you will accompany me.”
Before Marina could react, Roman reached out his hand and smoothed it over her jaw in a sort of caress. “You will be well cared for. If you need anything, you’ve only to push that button.” He gestured to a small oval indentation in the wall. She wouldn’t have known it to be anything more than an unusual decoration, but when she touched it, a soft whirring opened a panel in the wall displaying a computer screen.
When she looked back, the two men were gone and she was alone with a menu-driven computer screen offering television, movies, games, food selections.
Forget that. She had to find a way out of this place.