Dreamveil
Page 15That meant only King could open the message. “Upload it to my system and then destroy the original transmission.”
“Yes, sir.” The technician withdrew.
No one had access to King’s private computer array; he kept it completely isolated from the rest of the household terminals as well as the networks used by his various business interests. A subterminal system allowed one-way communication between the household system by accepting uploads, which were then vigorously screened and sanitized before a second upload to the private mainframe. Nothing on King’s system could be downloaded or copied; any attempt to do so would initiate a terminus protocol that would destroy King’s computer as well as every computer that had ever uploaded anything to the subterminal.
It took time for the subterminal to scan, study, and clean the upload before it was forwarded. King used the time to engage his privacy measures, which isolated and secured his living space from the rest of the house and generated an electronic signal that would scramble any listening device within five hundred yards.
He glanced at his terminal, where the words upload completed appeared. “Open most recent encrypted file, password silence-one-one-two-seven-one-nine-five-six-rebirth.”
The terminal’s voice recognition software responded not only to the spoken code but to King’s voice itself, which it instantly compared with the voice print kept on file. Because the voice matched, it accepted the code; if anyone else had tried to use it the result would have been initiation of the terminus protocol.
“Audio file opened,” the system’s computerized voice told him. “Hold, replay, save, or delete?”
“Replay.”
A moment later, a familiar voice came through the system’s speakers. “Mr. King, the partial DNA sample taken from the female prime has been used to resolve the problem with the transerum. Mr. Genaro is now aware of the value of the female and has determined that she is presently in New York City.”
Pain lanced through his head and for a moment split his vision in two before he reached for his phone.
King had obtained much of his communications equipment from various agencies involved in high-tech surveillance and other covert operations. The satellite phone he used to place the call was one of only three in existence; it could not be monitored and any call he made on it could not be traced to the line he called or back to his residence.
The voice that answered was as void of emotion as its owner. “Yes, Mr. King.”
He had to unclench his teeth in order to speak. “How did Genaro find out she’s in the city?”
“I’ve been unable to determine that, sir,” his operative said, “but I believe he’s using some unconventional means to locate them.”
Them. As if King cared about anyone but her. But if Genaro had developed some new technology that could track her . . . “What could he use?”
“Theoretically speaking, a government spy satellite could be programmed to search for them. They all have unique energy signatures that register off the grid. But I don’t think he has enough information gathered to correctly identify a targeted individual.” The operative paused. “He may be using one of them to locate the others. We’ve yet to identify a remote viewer, but it’s certainly not beyond the scope of their abilities.”
King closed his eyes, forcing the pain back. “You told me he was killing everyone he captured in order to harvest their DNA.”
“That is what we’ve been told,” his operative agreed, “and what the records show.”
“A team of trackers has been dispatched to recover her,” was the reply. “They will arrive within the next twelve hours.”
Genaro’s efficiency and decisiveness remained unchanged, but this time he was sending his men into King’s territory. “Send complete profiles and photographs for each member of the team.”
“They’re being transmitted to you as we speak.”
King heard a faint rushing sound in his ears, as if sand was pouring out of them. “Has Genaro tested the modified transerum on a living human subject yet?”
“No, sir.”
Genaro’s uncharacteristic hesitancy gave King a slight advantage, one he would use to eradicate his wealthy rival in Atlanta. “Continue monitoring the situation. When the transerum is tested, report back to me at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
King ended the call and left his bedroom, moving through a short passage and through a door no one but he was allowed to enter. Inside the smaller room the air was much cooler and drier, but still scented with the faintest trace of lily-of-the valley.
He went, as he always did, to her pristine bed, where snow-white Belgian lace cascaded from a gracefully arched canopy to veil the cream linens. They lay pushed aside, as if someone had just risen from the bed. The right pillow still held a slight indentation, and draped on the end of the mattress lay a long robe of pale pink satin.
He reached out a shaking hand, reverently touching the depression in the pillow as he thought of the many nights he had come to this bed and found the ultimate pleasure in her arms. She had been so sweet and trusting, and while she had never truly understood his passion, she had accepted it. Her love had indulged his every desire, giving him all that he had asked of her, refusing him nothing.
That selflessness, that unstinting generosity—that was true love.
King turned slowly toward the painting hanging on the south wall. He had commissioned her portrait just before she had come to him, and the world- renowned artist had captured every nuance of her being: the pale gold of her hair, the exquisite whiteness of her skin. Her eyes, large and beautifully blue, looked down at him, shining from within. All the love she had brought into his life he saw in her gentle smile, her thin hands.
He could not bear to look upon her for more than a few moments; so great was his grief that he turned and moved to her little vanity table. The dainty pearl necklace that she had set out to wear that day curled beside the ivory brush and hand mirror she had used that last night. Some strands of her hair remained caught in the bristles of the brush, and when he brought it to his face he could smell her sweetness and goodness.
Carefully he set down the brush exactly where it had been in the thick layer of dust that he never noticed. When he glanced in the curved mirror, he saw only his own eyes, dark with the pain he bore, wet with the tears he refused to shed.
“Soon we’ll be together again, Alana,” he murmured. “Very soon, my love.”
PART TWO
Chasse
Manhattan Police Department
100 Centre Street
New York, NY 10013
Case #: J5720
Incident Location: King Estate, 371 Riverside Drive, Manhattan (at 109th St.)
Date: September 29, 2008
Missing Person Information
Name: Alana King
DOB: 11-7-92
Age at Disappearance: 16 years
Race: W Sex: F Height: 5’4” Weight: 105 lbs.
Hair color: Blond Hair Style/Length: Straight, shoulder-length Eye Color: Blue Complexion: Fair Build: Thin
Medical, Mental, and Physical Condition: Physically frail; mentally incapacitated and medication-dependent (See attached psychiatric profile)
Prior Medical History: Various surgeries to correct birth defects (See attached medical records)
Birthmarks/Other Identifying Marks: Tattoos on both inner forearms (See attached photo)
Piercings: None
Teeth: (See attached dental records)
Jewelry: None
Employer/Work/School: None/None/Home Tutored
Circumstances of the Disappearance: On the evening of September 28, 2008, the estate security system was deactivated due to equipment failure. During the failure Ms. King left the premises without alerting parent or household staff and did not return.
Known reasons for disappearance of minor: Father reports that daughter is mentally incapacitated and under close psychiatric care but may have stopped taking antipsychotic medications.
Please describe any additional information that may be helpful to assist in locating the missing person: A $100K reward is being offered by Gerald King (father) for information leading to the recovery of minor.
In authorizing this missing persons/runaway report, the parent(s) hereby agree(s) that MPD will be notified as soon as the missing person/runaway has returned home or is found. (Initialed by parent)
Signature of Investigating Officer
Det. W. J. Patterson Jr.
Chapter 6
The kitchen staff began to arrive for work at D’Anges while Rowan was sorting out and shelving the dry goods that had been delivered. As they came in, each one of the line cooks eyed her apron and then her face, but no one came over to her, said hello, or otherwise acknowledged her presence. Instead they went to their stations around the kitchen and began preparing for their shift, talking to each other in low tones and occasionally giving her a quick look.
She didn’t scowl back at them, but she didn’t bother to paste a friendly look on her face, either. She knew enough about chefs and cooks from reading books about them and the service industry to recognize that as a new hire she had yet to prove herself, and until she did she would be treated as an unwelcome outsider.
Rowan also saw that she was the only woman in the kitchen—Dansant’s staff was apparently all male—which obviously wouldn’t help matters.
The shortest guy on the crew finally came over to speak with her. He was a burly, balding Italian who looked like he busted kneecaps on his days off. “You got a name, kid?”
She placed the last bag of rye flour on the shelf. “Rowan Dietrich.”
“I’m Lonzo.” He didn’t offer a hand, but turned and started pointing to the others. “That’s Manny, George, Vince, and Lou. Dishwasher’s Enrique, but he don’t speak English too good. Bernard’s the sous-chef, but he’s late again.” He gave her the once-over. “Why’d Dansant hire you?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">