Motherly concern infused the descending cab. Still in her teens, Dawn had awakened Weezy’s maternal instincts. Not surprising. The girl was young enough to be her daughter-Weezy would have had to deliver her as a teen herself, but it was biologically possible. She’d never said so, but Jack suspected Weezy’s subconscious saw Dawn as the child she’d never had and most likely never would.
Glaeken turned to Jack. “Perhaps, when you’re not in active pursuit of the One, you might help her.”
Jack had been thinking about that.
Rasalom, posing as a Mr. Osala, had hidden Dawn away during her pregnancy under the guise of protecting her from the baby’s father. He arranged for prenatal care and for a skilled delivery team… which promptly whisked the newborn away to parts unknown.
Obviously the child-which according to Dawn had some pretty scary deformities-meant something to Rasalom. And if it meant something to Rasalom, maybe it could be used as a lure.
“Yeah. Not a bad idea.”
The elevator arrived at the lobby. Weezy said good-bye and walked toward the entrance, but Glaeken grabbed Jack’s arm and held him back.
“What do you plan for the baby if you find it?” he whispered.
Jack shrugged. “Not sure.”
“I know what you should do.”
Glaeken put his fists together and gave them a sharp twist. The meaning was clear and it shocked Jack. So unlike Glaeken…
“What?”
“Too much is at stake- humanity is at stake. Nothing good can come of that creature. Only evil.”
With that he turned away and pressed the button on his private elevator. Jack stared a moment, then slipped back into his bloody jacket.
“What did he say?” Weezy said as he joined her on the sidewalk.
“He wants the baby found too.”
“I’m glad he’s on board with that. Maybe then Dawn can find some peace.”
Don’t count on that, Jack thought.
3
“Doctor Heinze?” Dawn Pickering said as he approached her stalking spot.
That was what she called this stretch of hallway in the McCready building where she’d set up watch on Kenneth Heinze, MD. She’d totally memorized his office hours and had made a point of being in the building whenever he was. Sooner or later Mr. Osala or Gilda or Georges would appear with the baby, bringing him in for a checkup.
Or so she hoped. He’d been present at the delivery. Didn’t it stand to reason that whoever had the baby would follow up with Dr. Heinze? At the time she’d been impressed at how Mr. Osala had totally thought of everything, even going so far as to have a pediatrician on hand to check out her newborn.
She’d had no idea what they had in mind. She’d been whisked in and out of a surgicenter she could not identify. She’d tried contacting Dr. Landsman, the obstetrician, but he said he’d never heard of her and had left instructions with his office building’s security that she was not to be allowed in. During her pregnancy he’d examined her in his office during off-hours and done his own ultrasounds. She’d thought she was getting VIP treatment but now she realized no one on his staff would remember her. And Mr. Osala and his entire household had vanished.
Her only link was Dr. Heinze. She remembered thinking of “fifty-seven varieties” when she’d first heard his name. But when she looked she found only one pediatrician named Heinze in the five boroughs. She’d thought she was on the wrong track when she learned he was a pediatric surgeon. Why had they thought they needed a surgeon? But one look at this tall, fair-haired man with the round, apple-cheeked face totally dispelled all doubts. He was the one.
But still… why had they wanted a surgeon who specialized in children on hand?
Maybe they’d expected problems. After the quick glimpse she got of her child she wasn’t surprised. The black body hair, almost like fur, the clawlike hands-nobody had prepared her for that. But the most horrifying of all was the tentacle springing from each of his armpits, writhing in the air like little snakes.
And then they’d said he’d stopped breathing and they whisked him away. The next day they told her he hadn’t survived. She’d been so not ready for that. And since she’d already signed him away for adoption, they never let her see him.
But she didn’t believe he was dead. Neither did Jack. And so she was totally determined to find him. She’d let her baby down before-tried to abort him, signed him away to be raised by strangers-but things had changed. She was so not going to let him down again.
Dr. Heinze walked past. He either hadn’t heard her or was ignoring her. She had a chance to back off. And maybe she should. Confronting him was dumb. She needed to hang back and keep lurking. She’d made a point of dressing in business casual and staying on the move so she looked like she belonged here. The research wing of the McCready Foundation’s headquarters had restricted access, but the outpatient areas were open to the public.
Patience, she told herself. Sooner or later the baby would show.
But her patience had thinned, and now it tore. Totally.
“Doctor Heinze?” she repeated.
He stopped and gave her a pleasant smile. “Yes?”
“Remember me?”
He stared at her with no hint of recognition. “Should I? Were you once a patient?”
“My name’s Dawn Pickering and you stole my baby.”
His eyes widened and the apple in his cheeks faded. Now he recognized her.
“I-I did no such thing.”
“Then you helped. Where’s my baby, Doctor Heinze? Where’s my baby?”
He pushed open his office door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please leave.”
She followed him inside.
“Where’s my baby, Doctor Heinze?” She felt herself losing it. No turning back now. “Where’s-my-baby-where’s-my-baby?” Startled looks from parents and little patients in the waiting area as her voice rose in pitch and volume. “Where’s-my-baby-where’s-my-baby?” The receptionist grabbing the phone and calling someone, had to be security, but Dawn was screaming now and it felt so good to scream. “WHERE’S-MY-BABY-WHERE’S-MY-BABY-WHERE’S-MY-BABEEEEE?”
4
“Well, well,” Mack said with a smile as he admitted Jack to the foyer of Rasalom’s former residence. “If it isn’t the hit man.”
Like Glaeken, “Mr. Osala” had occupied the top floor-in this case, floors, since the penthouse was a duplex. Jack had come looking for him, not knowing he was Rasalom, only to learn that he had moved out just a day or two before and taken everything with him.
“Hey, Mack. Osala or any of his staff been around?”
Mack shook his graying head. He had deep brown skin, a Sammy Davis Jr. build, and a Redd Foxx beard. McKinley -his first name-was engraved into the brass name tag that graced his gray uniform.
“No sign, not a word from them.”
No surprise.
“Too bad,” Mack added.
“Yeah? Why?”
“Because I loooove his ride. A black 1980 450SEL 6.9.”
“An old Mercedes? I had him figured for a Maybach, or maybe a Bugatti.”
Mack shook his head. “Uh-uh. That ain’t just an ‘old Mercedes.’ Don’t you dare call it that. It’s one of the greatest saloons ever built.”
Jack knew Mack was baiting him with the term. He knew what he was talking about but bit anyway.
“Saloon? I thought we were talking about a car.”
Mack’s eyebrows rose. “We are, my man. That’s the British term for sedan. But that SEL is a saloon.”
“More like a tank.”
“Got that right.”
Jack pushed the conversation back on target. “Okay, so when Osala moved out, did you happen to notice who did the actual moving?”
Mack gave him an annoyed look. “You take me for some kinda fool who’s gonna let a bunch of yahoos come in here and clean out a tenant’s apartment without knowing who they are and making sure it’s cleared with the tenant ahead of time? Course I did.”