Primary Valor, Jack Mars [black female authors .txt] 📗

hadarrived, or at one time believed he had.

The man was here. He stood andcame out from behind his desk to meet them. He wore an impeccably tailored bluepinstripe suit and a red tie. He had white hair, narrow shoulders, and a bit ofa stoop. His nose was the beak of a vulture, redder than the rest of his face. Hiseyes were sharp, but bloodshot, and his face was lined. He looked like a manwho hadn’t slept in days. Perhaps he was ten years older than Don. Perhaps hewas a thousand years older.

“Don,” Bill Ryan said. “I want tointroduce you to my good friend Miles Richmond.”

The man offered his soft hand, andDon took it, careful not to squeeze it very hard. Men of a certain age oftenbecame fragile with arthritis. There was never a way to know until it was toolate. Don didn’t have that problem. His problem was not crushing such a hand.

“Miles, Don Morris and I were atthe Citadel together, many years ago, and we’ve remained close. Other thanthat, I suppose he needs no introduction.”

Richmond shook his head. He lookedDon directly in the eye. “No. No, he doesn’t. You’re a fine American, Don. Andwe’re very proud of the work you’ve done. The country needs more men like you.”

“Thank you,” Don said.

He didn’t offer a compliment inreturn. America didn’t need any more lobbyists in fancy offices. America didn’tneed more vultures tearing the flesh of the body politic. Miles Richmondprobably knew what he was without having to be told.

“Won’t you sit down?” Richmondsaid.

He indicated a meeting area withplush high-backed chairs situated on either side of a low, solid block of heavyblond wood. The block made a coffee table of sorts. A thick book, AtlasShrugged by Ayn Rand, sat upon it. On the cover, a muscular man carried theentire world on his shoulders.

The men sat down, three chairs ina rough triangle.

Richmond gestured at the block ofwood between them. “A Zen master from Japan gave me this table.”

“It’s quite something,” Don said. Hebarely glanced at it.

“He told me that the key to life…”

“Miles,” Bill Ryan said, cuttinghim off. He said it gently, but it stopped Richmond’s patter like a suddengunshot. Richmond looked at him. His eyes were furtive, almost afraid.

“This is hard,” Bill said. “We allknow that. But there’s no need for games, or niceties, or ice breakers. Don isn’tthat kind of man. I don’t think any of us here really are. Let’s just get toit.”

Now Richmond looked at Don. He sawwhat was in Don’s eyes, and nodded.

“Okay. Okay. Don, I want to thankyou for taking this meeting.”

Don shrugged. “Bill and I go allthe way back, Miles. He vouched for you. That’s good enough for me.”

Richmond took a deep breath. Hestared at the table now.

“There was an abduction,” he said.“We think it was Thursday night into Friday morning. Did you read the newsabout it?”

“I only know what Bill told melast night. I didn’t want to prejudice my thinking about it. I wanted to hearit from you. The news…”

Don stopped, then started again. “It’snot how I get my information, generally speaking.”

“I understand,” Richmond said. Hewas still staring down at the table. His mouth hung slack for a moment. Hespoke, but it was as if he had forgotten there were others in the room withhim.

“Charlotte. Her name is Charlotte.My youngest son’s daughter. My… uh… my granddaughter. Charlotte. Hasdisappeared.”

He looked up at Don, his headmoving in a convulsive jerk. Tears were already streaming down his face.

“I bounced that child on my knee. Whenshe…”

Richmond’s voice cracked. He shookhis head emphatically, tears flying off his cheeks. His teeth were grittedtogether.

“When she was small.”

Don nodded. He felt for Richmond,perhaps more than the man could know. Don had gone through the same experiencewith Margaret, less than six months ago now, when she was taken by thehijackers. He remembered those moments in the San Juan airport, desperate,alone, like his heart had been ripped out through his chest.

No. That wasn’t right. There wereemotions that could not be explained by words. It was deeper than words, it wasan agony from deep in human memory, from a time before language. It was a firethat had burned through Don, burned him away completely, as he tried not toimagine all the terrible things that could be happening to his beloved wife.

He had come through to the otherside, and Margaret had been saved. But that was because men like Luke Stone andEd Newsam had risked their lives to bring her back. Brian Deckers, a man whohad never even met Margaret, had given his life to do so. Don Morris had beenlucky to have men like these in his life.

Miles Richmond did not know suchmen. But he did know Bill Ryan, and Bill Ryan knew Don. Don was here for thatreason—because Miles Richmond and Bill Ryan lived in a world of rich,well-connected and influential men doing each other favors. Don didn’t lovethat fact, but he did understand, deep in his bones, the terror Richmond wasfacing.

A shadow had reached into Richmond’slife, suddenly and without warning, and now it was breaking him. The darkness,the beast, the pure evil that so often seemed to rule this world. It wasripping him to pieces. He was breaking, and when he finally did break, he wasgoing to come all the way apart.

“We need your help, Don,” Billsaid. “If there’s anything at all...”

“Oh my God,” Richmond said. “Oh myGod. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

His chest began to heave, gaspingfor air. He covered his mouth with his hand. A low moan began to emanate frombehind that hand.

“Miles,” Don said. “I promise youthat I will do everything I can. I work with people who…”

The moaning became louder.

Then, just like that, the dam,which the man had held in place by an effort of will, broke under theonslaught.

Miles Richmond, one of the mostpowerful men in Washington, DC, high born, a multimillionaire, a man who hadgone to all the right schools and who had made all the right moves, began toscream.

CHAPTER FIVE

1:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

Queen Anne’s County, Maryland

Eastern Shore of Chesapeake Bay

 

The telephone on the kitchen