The Chamberlain Files Book 2
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James F. Timmins
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17.1K
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48
Prologue
File Two: Marketable
Detective Jack Chamberlain is back in the high-paced sequel to Three Card Monte! When a close high school friend—and wife of the vice president of an international bank—goes missing, Jack and his partner are thrust into the dark and seedy underbelly of the Boston Underworld, where they’ll find out that anyone and everything is marketable...
Her hands rested lightly on the steering wheel of the Carbon Black GMC Yukon Denali. The SUV handled nicely on I-95 north as it crossed the state line from Massachusetts into New Hampshire.
The speed limit dropped to 55 and she eased up just a bit on the gas, bringing her speed down to an honest 60. No sense in traveling too fast and drawing attention.
Staties always seemed the most difficult to seduce, so why take the chance of getting a hard ass if she was pulled over?
The SUV still had that new car smell which was accentuated by the pleasant scent of plush leather.
The dials on the dash were lit with a soft green, barely illuminating her brown cotton summer dress, embellished with a pattern of dark blue orchids.
The cool air-conditioning eased the heat of the hot July night, while gently blowing her shoulder-length, dark chestnut hair.
She glanced in the rearview mirror at the gunnysack lying in the back. The sack was motionless, which was a blessing considering the cargo.
The woman inside the sack had been her riskiest abduction yet. She had been specially ordered and unlike anything she had done before, but the payoff was going to be huge.
That’s all that really mattered, wasn’t it?
The Piscataqua River Bridge rose up ahead signaling her approach to the Maine state border, its green steel I-beam structure standing high above the surrounding cities of Portsmouth and Kittery.
The landmark meant another hour to go before she reached the safe house.
***
She pulled into the garage and turned off the engine as the door began to shut automatically. Abby entered the garage through a side door, wheeling a hospital stretcher.
She stopped, her head bowed in patient submission, at the back of the SUV. Rea pushed a button on the console and the rear hatch slowly rose as she exited the vehicle.
She straightened out the hem of her dress; it had begun to stick to her thighs from sweat, even in the air-conditioned coolness.
“It went well, I assume?” asked Abby in a thick New York accent.
“Yes, very well. Almost too easy. Some people just trust too much,” she said as she helped transition the gunnysack to the stretcher.
“Be careful with her though, she is worth a lot of money, a unique order from a very high-end client. We can’t sell damaged goods.”
“I know, Rea. We will take great care of her. What’s our transport date?”
“They must be delivered in 30 days.”
“They? Is there more than one person in this sack?”
“Not quite yet, but soon there will be two. She is due to give birth in a matter of days. Make sure there are no complications or incidents, as both are required as part of the sale.
“Once the baby is born, do whatever you need to do to ensure the mother is cooperative.”
“Does Leon know about this?”
“Yes, he has been informed of the situation and is making the necessary arrangements. Be careful with sedation; there can be no harm to the child before birth.
“Make certain you tell Jessica they are not to be handled in the normal manner. It is essential that both mother and child are in excellent condition upon delivery.”
“Understood, Rea, I will see to it.”
“And what is the status of 143?”
“She is available now, if need be. However, we would prefer to keep her until the end of the week,” said Abby.
She began to wheel the stretcher towards a ramp that led down to a doorway at the back of the garage.
Rea followed the forty-year-old woman who was dressed in black jeans and a white medical smock.
She quickly made her way down to open a heavy, steel security door and held it open so the stretcher could pass through. Beyond the door was a long corridor with a gentle downward slope.
The whitewashed cement walls and floor kept the corridor cool, the only warmth coming from the fluorescent lights overhead. The 150-foot corridor ended at a stainless-steel elevator door.
Rea pushed the button and the doors opened immediately. She pushed the down arrow as soon as the stretcher was across the threshold and safely inside.
“I would like to see 143,” said Rea as the elevator silently descended the thirty feet to what was called simply The Hotel. “I will make an assessment and decide for myself her availability.”
“Very well,” said Abby as she pushed the stretcher into a well-lit common room with plush black leather couches and easy chairs.
A large HDTV hung on the wall with a shelf of DVDs under it holding the latest releases from Hollywood. “Make yourself comfortable while I take 146 to triage for an examination.”
Rea walked over to a bar made of raised burnt wood with a heavy varnish. Behind the bar were bottles of expensive scotch, aged whiskey and bourbon, spiced rum, tequila, and several brands of vodka.
She took a bottle of Stoli Elite vodka from the shelf, poured a whiskey tumbler full, and drank half of it in one pull. The clear liquid went down smoothly.
She felt her body warm to the hint of citrus and caramel that made this her drink of choice. She refilled the glass, turned on the gas fireplace, then sat on the cool leather couch.
She finished the tumbler, removed her knee-high black leather boots, and then lay stretched out as the warmth from the fireplace and the vodka washed over her.
***
Abby woke her sometime later to inform her that 146 was resting comfortably and awaiting an examination from Leon, who would be there later that afternoon.
Also, that 143 was awake and Rea could see her when she was ready.
Rea stretched her tired muscles, then slowly pulled on her boots. Abby went off to the kitchen to prepare the various meals that were needed.
Rea opened an ornate mahogany door beside the bar and walked down a hallway of dark blue Berber carpet and stark whitewashed walls.
Every few feet, metal security doors were positioned across the hall from each other. She stopped outside the door that had a magnetic clip holding an index card with the number 146 written on it.
She turned as Abby entered the hallway with a tray of steaming soup and a salad. Abby stopped at the door and inserted a key to unlock it.
“Abby,” began Rea. “146 is to have a name if we are to be successful. Please refer to her going forward as Mommy.”
