The Bone Collector, page 24
Boone pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. After several seconds passed, he looked at Park, expression grim. “Anchali, this is Boone. Call me as soon as you get this. Gift’s fine, but I’m afraid it’s urgent. Please call, no matter the time.”
Tears spilled over Gift’s cheeks then, his ragged sob echoing through the gym.
“I’m taking him back to my room.” Park looked at Mac. “Keep trying to reach Anchali. I’ll try to get Satja on the phone. He might be overseas but if he’s not, he’ll have a location for Anchali.” To Boone, he said, “I trust you can clean this mess up quietly?”
Boone nodded.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Gift jumped to his feet. “I think I’m gonna be sick again,” was the only warning they got before he lost the contents of his stomach for what appeared to be the second time.
When he stopped retching, Gift allowed Park to guide him outside, holding him close as they trekked back to the Peregrin dorm. Park couldn’t wrap his head around how things had gone so wrong so fast. An hour ago, Park had been planning all the ways he would take Gift apart after dinner. Now, Gift was falling apart all on his own. But Park wasn’t sure he knew how to piece him back together.
Park got Gift home and set him on the lip of the bathtub, stepping out to try to call Satja. Just like Anchali, it went to voicemail. Park left a short message, similar to Boone’s, letting him know Gift was fine but that something had happened and it was urgent he talk to Anchali.
Once he returned to the bathroom, he stripped Gift down to his underwear. His concern turned to fury once more as each piece of clothing fell to the floor. Gift had cuts everywhere. There were four along his left arm and three along his right. A long open gash over his left thigh and another, lower, on the same leg. There were others, too. More superficial, shallow as cat scratches, but others were deep.
Park couldn’t help but picture Gift going up against the much more muscular Aspen, doing his best to fend off blow after blow from a real sword. By rights, Gift should be dead. While Aspen was likely no swordsman, he definitely had more combat training than someone like Gift. That was why he’d gotten the job.
Every breath Park took felt like barbed wire around his lungs, but he forced himself to try to remain calm, for Gift’s sake.
He used the first aid kit, gently cleaning each wound with sterile water, starting with the one on Gift’s fluffy cheek, now even puffier due to the swelling. “You’re gonna have a scar, ouen.”
Gift just nodded.
“You’re too quiet, wan-jai. You’re scaring me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Gift didn’t even flinch as Park closed his cheek with the medical glue. “I’m thinking my mother’s dead,” he said flatly. “My mother’s dead and I’m still here.”
“We don’t know she’s dead. Your mom is one of the toughest people I know. She’s smart. She’s skilled. Don’t count her out just yet, ouen.”
Gift nodded, like he thought Park was just humoring him. But he wasn’t. Anchali had been an impeccable operative. She’d seamlessly blended her mundane desk job with her more clandestine activities. She was lethal at close range, better at hand to hand combat than Park or any of the others on their team. But more than that, she was smart. She’d managed to manipulate her way out of far more dangerous situations than an assassination attempt, especially if the killer was as inept as Aspen.
But Park didn’t argue. He just cleaned Gift’s wounds then turned on the shower, stripping them both down and helping Gift under the spray. He allowed Park to manhandle him, silent as the older man carefully bathed him and washed his hair, washing himself as the conditioner sat in his hair.
Out of the shower, Park dried him off, helping him step into borrowed boxer briefs and an old t-shirt before leading him to bed and tucking him in. “I’m going to make you something to eat so you can take some meds.”
Gift snatched his arm, dragging him down to the bed with a strength Park didn’t know he possessed. “No. Stay with me. I’m not hungry.”
Park should have insisted Gift eat, but one look at his pleading eyes and it was over. He climbed into bed beside him, gathering him into his arms. “Sleep, kon-dii.”
Gift shook his head. “I can’t. My mom could be out there, hurt or dead. How am I supposed to sleep without knowing she’s okay? I know we didn’t really understand each other but she was still my mom.”
“I know, ouen. Your mom loves you very much. That’s how you ended up with me in the first place.”
“Did she say anything to you when you talked to her the other night?”
Park’s stomach churned. “I didn’t. She didn’t answer. And she didn’t call me back.” He hadn’t thought much of that at the time. He’d been too distracted by Gift.
But now, they both understood how dire that sounded. Park reasoned with himself that Anchali often traveled for work; it wasn’t uncommon for her to be unreachable. But knowing that did little to quell his unease.
“What do these people want with me?” Gift asked. “My mom said the first attempt was retaliatory, something to do with foreign policy. But then why did Aspen try to kill me? I thought the instructors here were all…vetted.”
Park kissed the top of his head. “They are.”
Gift had a point. Park tried to recall if anyone had ever told him the conditions of Aspen’s hire. Who had done his background check? Who had vouched for him? Both Suri and West knew Aspen. Pike, too. He was network. An agent.
Could he have been a sleeper? A double agent, maybe? But who had he worked for? What foreign power would benefit from killing Gift or even Anchali? If it was revenge, why? Why all the subterfuge? Were there others? Kendrick had promised Park that all staff would be fully vetted by a company that specialized in this sort of thing.
Gift startled when Park sat up and snatched his phone where it lay charging on the side table. Park pressed a hand to his uninjured cheek in apology. Gift rolled onto his side to stare at him, his fingers tangled in the sheets, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
Park forced himself to focus on the task at hand, calling Boone who answered almost immediately. “What’s up?”
The echo told Park he was still in the gym.
“What’s the name of the company that conducts the background checks on the employees?” Park asked, skipping the pleasantries.
“Elite Protection Services. Why?”
“Do you have a number for them?” Park asked, ignoring the question.
Boone sounded slightly suspicious as he said, “Of course, I do. But it’s after hours.”
“You must have some kind of emergency contact,” Park pushed.
Boone sighed. “Texting it now. Are you going to explain to me what’s happening right now?”
As soon as I’m sure you’re not a part of it.
“I will as soon as I figure it out.”
Park hit the number as soon as the text came through. He didn’t recognize the area code, only that it was a U.S. number.
A deep voice answered on the second ring. “Avery.”
The man didn’t sound surprised to be getting a business call this late at night, though Park knew from experience that jobs like Avery’s rarely had office hours.
“My name is Park Chen and I’m calling from the Watch. Is this a secure line?”
“It is,” Avery replied.
Park combed his fingers through Gift’s hair. “We’ve had a breach. One of our instructors just tried to kill a student. I would like to know who ran the background check and what they found.”
Park expected some resistance, maybe even some defensive posturing, but the man simply said, “Name?”
“Aspen. Jeremy Aspen.”
“Jeremy?” Gift muttered, sounding incredulous. “I was almost murdered by a man named Jeremy?”
Park tried not to smile as Avery said, “Hold the line.”
Park put the phone on speaker then gathered Gift back into his arms, expecting this Avery person to find the name of the employee and then give him a generic answer, telling Park he’d look into the issue himself and get back to him. Or maybe he would leave him on hold indefinitely?
Avery was back in less than five minutes. “What did you say the name was?”
Gift was tracing patterns on Park’s bare chest.
“Aspen.”
There was a long pause before Avery said, “There’s nobody in our system by that name. We have no record even showing they’re employed by the Watch.”
Park frowned. “How is that possible?”
Avery made a noise that suggested he was just as stumped as Park. “All hires are subjected to a background check that takes approximately six months to a year to complete. This man isn’t even on our radar.”
Gift’s hand stopped moving when Park said, “Could it have been erased from your system?”
“Absolutely not.”
“So, how did he end up an instructor here?”
Avery scoffed. “Now, I have no proof of this but if I was a betting man, I would put my money on Marshall Kendrick. He hasn’t wanted our involvement since day one.”
Kendrick. Fucking Kendrick. Of course, it was.
There was a rustling sound on the line and then a soft male voice from a distance said, “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”
“Coming, babe. Just one more minute.” To Park, he said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Park started to say no, then asked, “That depends. How deep down the rabbit hole do your background checks go?”
“My analysts could tell you what you wore to your kindergarten graduation if I needed them to.”
Park was about to put that to the test. “Then I need you to run a background check.”
“On Aspen?”
Park glanced at Gift. “No. On Marshall Kendrick.”
Avery laughed. “You do realize that running a check on a man like Kendrick is going to require far more creative measures than our top secret security clearance, right? The man is a high-ranking government official. We won’t be able to do this the usual way.”
“I understand.”
“What you want us to do is highly illegal,” Avery emphasized.
Park sighed. “If you’re not comfortable—”
Avery cut him off. “Oh no. Don’t misunderstand me. I would love to do this for you. I just need you to acknowledge that you want us to do whatever is necessary to get that information, even if it’s outside the bounds of criminal law?”
“We’re long past worrying about what’s legal, Avery. Do whatever it takes. Hack the CIA, the NSA, Homeland Security. Hell, hack the fucking pentagon.”
Avery laughed. “Call me Jackson. As long as you’re sure…”
Park would shoot the president himself to keep Gift safe. “Let me be clear, Jackson. I don’t care if you have to dig up his dead mother, hire a psychic and hold a seance. I want to know everything that man’s done since he was old enough to walk.”
“My pleasure. I’ll call when I have something.”
Then he was gone.
Gift gazed up at him with those wide brown eyes Park once found so innocent. “That was kind of hot.”
Park chuckled. “Oh yeah?”
“Mm.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Do you really think Kendrick would try to kill me or my mom?”
“I really don’t know, ouen.”
Before Gift could respond, a song began to play faintly from the bathroom. Gift jerked his head towards the sound. “My phone.”
Gift was up and off the bed before Park could stop him. He rushed after him, standing in the doorway as Gift answered.
“Pa?”
Park prayed Satja would tell Gift something that would put his mind at ease about Anchali. He couldn’t make out the man’s words, but he sounded calm. Of course, Satja always sounded calm. He was the epitome of diplomacy.
“Speakerphone, ouen,” Park said softly.
Gift fumbled to comply, finally hitting the right button.
“Where’s Anchali?” Park asked in Thai.
“When I heard from her three nights ago, she was still somewhere in Phuket for a meeting. What the hell is going on?”
Gift looked at Park for help. Park did his best to summarize the events of the last two hours or so, with Satja becoming more and more distressed as he spoke.
When Park finished, Satja asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m alive,” he mumbled.
“And I’m so grateful for that, noo,” Satja said, relief evident.
Gift flushed, gaze sliding to Park as if to see whether he’d picked up on the term of endearment. He had. Mouse. Satja called Gift “mouse.” It fit. He did have a rather mouse-like appearance sometimes.
“I need to talk to mae,” Gift said. “Why would someone want to hurt us?”
“I don’t know, noo,” Satja said. “Your mother’s been out of high-risk operations for years. There’s no reason for anyone to come for us now.”
“But there was before?” Gift asked.
Satja switched to heavily accented English. “Your mother was an operative. It was always dangerous. People were always turning on people. That’s why I was so happy when we got you. Our little mouse. Your mother finally got what she always wanted and agreed to leave the field.”
Park frowned. What she always wanted? Anchali had said numerous times she hadn’t wanted children. Was Satja just saving face? Rewriting history? Maybe it was Satja who always wanted children?
Something tugged at Park’s brain. Something just out of reach. Something triggered by Satja’s words. When we got you. He said got you, not had you. It was an odd turn of phrase. Maybe he misspoke? He was speaking English. But Satja went to an international school just as Gift had, and he spoke English as well as Gift. Was Park reading too much into a single word?
Suddenly, it was Kendrick’s words crashing down on Park’s head.
“I’m surprised we didn’t have him flagged for the program from the beginning…”
It meant nothing at the time. Park didn’t have all the information back then. He didn’t realize that all students at the Watch were adopted. If Gift was Anchali’s son, why would Gift have been a candidate for the program?
When we got you.
Got you.
Got you.
When we got you.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Park really was just overreacting to a misspoken word. Perhaps this wasn’t the time or place to worry about such a thing, but it was a splinter under his skin and now, he couldn’t let it go. He’d never seen Anchali pregnant. She could have faked the whole thing. But why? She’d been so upset when she discovered she was pregnant. She’d even told Park she’d considered an abortion and said she only changed her mind because she’d been shot the night he was born.
This had to be Park overthinking things, but he still couldn’t let it go. He left Gift, giving him privacy to talk to his father in the bathroom, and called Archer.
“Did you talk to Jackson?” he said in lieu of a traditional hello.
Park spoke in a low murmur, keeping his voice down. “Yeah, I did. Long story short: Kendrick might be dirty. Don’t breathe any of this to Kendrick until I know more.”
“Alright.”
Maybe it was because he’d just talked to Jackson, but he asked, “Your friend, the hacker. Do you think you could ask her for a favor?”
Archer was silent for a beat before asking, “What do you need?”
Park hesitated. “This stays between us?”
“Yeah, man. Sure.”
“I need her to look into Gift’s birth. More specifically, I need her to try to find any record of Anchali being pregnant, doctor’s notes, hospital visits, Gift’s birth certificate. Anything that proves she gave birth to him.”
“What’s going on?”
Park sighed. “It’s nothing to do with today’s…incident, just something Satja said to me isn’t sitting right. I…I’m just following a hunch.”
“You think Gift was adopted?” Archer said quietly.
“I-I really don’t know. I think it’s a possibility. Kendrick hinted as much the day he offered me the job. I just didn’t put two and two together. I don’t even want to hint at it being possible until I know for a fact. He’s been through enough.”
“How would Kendrick know that Gift was adopted?”
“He was her handler back then. He’s the one who told me Anchali had been shot and almost killed the night she gave birth to Gift. Maybe it was a diversion of some kind? Satja said something else that confused me. He said Anchali finally got what she always wanted when she got Gift. But Anchali never wanted children. She said they would interfere with her career.”
“I don’t know, man. But I’ll look into it. I’ll text you if I find something.”
“Thanks.”
Gift had killed someone. He’d killed someone and then freaked out about it...in front of a bunch of killers. Park had spent the last two hours attempting to care for him and console him, which was nice. But Gift didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t killing Aspen that had sent him spiraling—it was what he’d said about Gift’s mother. Surely, even trained assassins were entitled to a meltdown over their potentially dead moms…right? Would Park believe him? Would he send him home? Did he even have a home to return to? Or would it be Gift consoling his shell of a father when he realized his wife was gone? Even though his grandparents had arranged his parents’ marriage, they’d eventually grown obsessed with each other. Gift knew his mother could live well enough without his father as much as he knew the opposite wasn’t true.
Gift’s heart squeezed, like unseen hands squeezing water out of a wet washcloth.
His father would be destroyed.
“You can talk to me, dek dee.” Gift shivered at Park’s smooth voice, his words pressed into Gift’s hair. “Tell me what’s happening in that head of yours.”
