Mediterranean Sea.
He hailed a taxi, trying to focus on getting the hell out of Libya and getting all of his new information to London. He needed to check out of his hotel and get to the airport. He had a long flight across the top of Africa. He’d start writing his full report on the plane.
Christ, it was true. This was huge.
Children were being stolen around the world by a global trafficking ring and he had more information and now pictures of the key players. Corley inspected the back of his tie, checking the tiny memory card, the backup he’d affixed to his tie clip.
It was all there.
He was free and clear, he thought, as the lights of Benghazi flowed by.
36
Los Angeles, California
Emma Lane looked at the woman in the mirror.
She stared into her red-rimmed eyes, at the tiny ridges on her cheeks and hair that needed to be brushed.
Was she crazy for what she was about to do?
Emma searched her room. She was in the same hotel that she and Joe had used when they came to the fertility clinic two years ago, after making the biggest decision of their lives.
She was terrified then.
“Why are you afraid?” Joe had asked her.
“What if it doesn’t work? What if we never have a baby?”
“It’s going to work out.”
He took her in his arms and her fear melted because she believed him.
It was going to work out. It had to work out.
And it did.
It worked out beautifully, until the day her world exploded.
Emma sat on the bed.
She ached for Joe. She needed him now, because here she was, back where their dream began, fighting her way alone through a nightmare. Your baby is not dead! the mystery caller from California had said. Your baby is alive. Emma had replayed that call a million times as her determination battled her doubt.
“Am I doing the right thing, Joe? Will I find Tyler? God, I miss you both so much it hurts.”
As Emma looked around her empty room, a wave of encouragement passed through her. She ran her hands over her face, collected herself, and considered her situation since leaving Wyoming.
She’d left a note for her aunt and uncle on the kitchen table at her house in Big Cloud. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right. This is something I have to do.” She’d taken out several thousand dollars in cash from the bank, left her phone and credit cards behind. She did not want anyone to find her.
Or stop her.
She stood, went back to the mirror and summoned the will to apply a little eye shadow and a bit of cover-up. After she finished getting dressed, she called a cab.
The Golden Dawn Fertility Corporation was on West Olympic Boulevard, about a mile from the Staples Center. It occupied the third floor of a three-story rectangle of dark green glass that reflected the McDonald’s and 7-Eleven across the street. The reception area was finished with a soft pink-blue-and-yellow floral pattern. Emma thought she detected a hint of baby powder in the air.
“May I help you?” said the young woman at the desk.
“Yes, I’m a client, Emma Lane. I’m here for Christine Eckhardt.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I’m in the city on business but this is an urgent matter. Christine was our advisor. She helped us with our baby boy. I brought my files and I need to see her.”
“Please, have a seat. I’ll see if she’s free.”
The waiting area had white cushioned chairs. Family magazines with laughing babies on the covers were fanned out on the table. It had been over two years since she and Joe were here. Emma was glad she’d called earlier today to confirm that Christine Eckhardt was still at the clinic and on duty today.
“Excuse me,” the receptionist said, “Chris just stepped out of a meeting. This way please.”
They went down the hall to a corner office where Christine pulled her attention away from her computer monitor, closed a file and got up from her desk. Her metal bracelets clinked as she hugged Emma.
“Goodness, Emma!”
“Hello, Chris.”
Christine was in her late thirties. Her hair was a bit longer but her smile was as bright as Emma remembered.
“I am so sorry about what happened, Emma,” she said. “When word got to us, I didn’t know what to do. My condolences, I am so sorry.” Christine indicated the small sofa. “Forgive my rudeness-please wait here. It’ll take me five minutes to finish up a meeting. Would you like coffee, tea, anything?”
“No, thank you.”
Christine stepped into the hall. Emma overheard her telling the receptionist that she had to leave by 3:00 p.m. that day for a meeting in Pasadena. Christine’s office was orderly, just as it had been when Emma was here with Joe. Christine had been so sensitive, so patient. Emma never forgot her compassion and sincerity in answering all of their questions, including the one Joe had about Christine’s car.
“Is that a ’68 Beetle?”
Emma almost smiled because it was still there in the same framed photo on her desk, a restored blue VW. Christine and her husband were leaning on it at the beach. “It is a ’68. What can I say? I’m a child of hippie parents.”
A faint chime of bracelets announced Christine’s return. She closed the door and hugged Emma again before sitting on the sofa next to her.
“I am so sorry. Is there anything I can do, Emma?”
“I need your help.”
“I’ll do whatever I can.”
“I’m not sure how much you know about what happened.”
“There was a terrible accident back home in Wyoming and your husband and baby were-” Christine couldn’t say killed.
“Yes,” Emma swallowed and squeezed the tissue in her hand. “I was thrown from the car and before it caught fire I saw someone rescue Tyler from the wreckage.”
A question began to take shape on Christine’s face.
“But you told police? They looked into it, right?”
“They don’t believe me. No one does. But it’s true. I was there.”
Christine hesitated. “I know.”
“Besides, they never found any evidence of Tyler’s re-” Emma paused. “They found no trace of him in the crash. They say he was incinerated.”
“Oh, Emma.”
“I don’t believe it. I know what I saw that day.” She stared into a crumpled tissue. “And not long ago, after I got Dr. Durbin’s letter saying that he’d notified the clinic here about Tyler’s death, I got a phone call in the middle of the night from a stranger, a woman. She said, ‘Your baby is not dead. Your baby is alive. That’s all I can tell you.’ The call came from the Los Angeles area. The police looked into it, but they don’t know who made it. They told me it was a wrong number and that I’d imagined the conversation, but I know what I heard and in my heart I think it has something to do with the clinic.”
Emma searched Christine’s eyes.
