Chapter Twenty Three #2
have told him yourself. Now he's gone, and these bastards here
won't let me out, and—”
“Clara! Mind your language.”
She gave a kind of chuckling wail. “That’s what he said too.
He was so good. He
minded it so much—what you did with that other boy—but once he knew
about Stefan, it was like it didn't matter to him any more, not
really. He just wanted to...”
She
faded off. Laurie said her name, his heart aching at the muffled
rasp of her sobs. Then Foster picked up the line again. “Still
there, Laurie?”
“Yes. You have her. Thank God...” He pressed the heel of one
hand against his brow. “Why is my sister in Interpol custody,
please?”
“It seems that Sasha's promises to stay at home didn't convince
her. Instead of taking a flight back to Seattle, she insisted on
waiting at the airport until the next plane for London departed.
When she saw Sasha boarding, she threatened to yell kidnap unless
Dracinsky bought them tickets and got them onto the same
flight.”
Memories
of Dracinsky’s soldierly deportment flickered through his mind.
“Dracinsky's meant to be her guardian.”
“She is. She’s also an Interpol agent, one of our best. We
haven't been able to protect your family, not the way you wanted.
But when the case against Stefan Petrica came apart, we were afraid
that Clara might be an immediate target. We assigned Dracinsky to
her, under cover as a chaperone with the LYB.”
“But... Clara was safe in Seattle. Why did Dracinsky let her
come home?”
“She took a field decision. She wanted to follow Sasha too,
offer him help if she could—and your sister wasn’t leaving her a
lot of choice. She didn’t dare tackle him on the plane in case he
reacted badly, and when she tried to intercept him at Heathrow he
vanished off into the crowd. In the circumstances, she elected to
come in, at least get Clara into protection. She called for a
pickup.”
Laurie
took a deep breath. He had to stop snapping at the people he now
needed most. He didn’t know why he and Sasha had been left out in
the cold, but Clara had been given her own dragon from the very
start. He owed Foster that much. “Okay. Thank you. Please,
though—you have to help Sasha too.”
“If we had the least idea where he was headed. But we don’t—not
any more than you.”
Laurie
closed his eyes. He evoked a vision of his city. This was where
he’d grown up, where his real life had begun, in a doorway across
from the opera house on the Strand. Sasha had shown him an
alternate universe, a world as complex as its surface counterpart.
The shadows under bridges, derelict tower blocks... So many
foxholes, too many to search in a lifetime. He would start anyway,
go on until it was done, but for now... “I don’t know,” he
whispered. “I don’t know where he would go.”
“I know.”
Laurie
jerked his head up. He had almost forgotten the woman in the grey
hooded top. She was rigid in the doorway, clutching the frame as if
to keep herself from flight. “Yes,” he said faintly, comprehension
beginning to dawn. Yes, she knew, because... “Please. Tell
me.”
“Birchwood Heath.”
The name
hit Laurie like a stone. He had taken Clara back there once, in a
chilly winter dream. He had looked at the place where Mama Luna had
died, and he had felt nothing. Christ, he felt everything now.
Foster’s voice was blasting at him from the receiver—a series of
expletives and commands. He covered the mouthpiece. “Why? There’s
nothing left at Birchwood. The camp was destroyed.”
“The camp was only ever a front. Stefan and the Roma gang lords
used it to distract the immigration people, to give themselves
warning of a raid. There’s a wood behind it with some buildings
deep inside. I think they were used as a lab of some sort during
World War Two. He used to hide out there. He probably still
does.”
Laurie
tuned back in to Foster. He had little choice—she was bellowing his
name, demanding to know if he was still there. “Yes,” he said.
“Still here. I’m guessing you heard that.”
“Laurie, you are not
to go there. You are not to go anywhere near
Birchwood Heath! Stay where you are. I’ll send someone to pick you
up, you and whoever is there with you. Do you
understand?”
“Okay.” That would serve him better than a hang-up or outright
refusal. Okay would bring Interpol down on his head a fraction less quickly
than no. “I
understand. We’ll wait here.”
He set
the receiver down gently. Then he got up and went to stand in front
of the white-faced woman in the doorway. She was shaking visibly
now. “They’re coming out here,” he told her. “The officer I spoke
to says they’ll take you too. Is that what you want?”
She
swallowed hard. “I’ve seen things. Done things too, while I was
with...” Laurie held out a hand and she grabbed it, held it tight.
“Any one of those things could put me away for life. I don’t want
to use it up that way—whatever life I’ve got left. Please let me
use it helping you to save my boy.”
“Tell me your name.”
“Liz Vale. But I once was Elizabeth Petrica.”