No. No. The word echoed through Lucys mind. This disaster didnt make any sense. Gwen would never make this kind of mess or leave it for someone else to find. Where are they? Lucys heart stalled out in her chest.
Gwen. What shed intended as a shout came out as a rasp. She cleared the terror from her throat and tried again. Gwen! She raced to the kitchen. The destruction wasnt as bad here, though the chairs were out of place and Jacksons stroller was missing.
Maybe theyd missed the terror. Gwen often took Jackson out for a walk before dinner. Lucy clung to that hope right up until she noticed the cracked wood frame around the back door latch. Fumbling with her phone, she dialed Gwens cell phone number. No answer. She ended the call before the voice mail greeting finished. Tears threatened to spill over as Lucy raced upstairs, hoping the baby would be in his crib, safe and oblivious to the destruction downstairs. Jackson wasnt there.
Her legs weak and shaking, she returned to the kitchen and leaned against the countertop, struggling to breathe. The signs were all too clear. Something awful had happened to her sister and nephew. She couldnt make her heart accept it. Picking her way through the house again, she searched for a note, missing valuables, anything to put this chaos into context.
She stood there, helpless and scolding herself. Calling 911 wouldnt help, and she didnt know the local equivalent to reach the police.
Who could possibly gain from targeting a widow and infant? Lucy didnt have enemies and very few friends were aware of her overseas move. She and Gwen had decided to save the announcement for the annual Christmas letter, a cheerful high point to counter the sadness of the past year. She dialed Gwens number again and left a pitiful voice message this time, pleading for a reply.
Devastated, Lucy fell to her knees, the baby blanket shed found in the hallway clutched to her chest. Her sobs tangled with fear and desperation. Who would do this? Crime in this area was practically nonexistent. Everyone theyd met in this quiet, isolated part of France had been friendly.
Too isolated to be random, a small voice in her head declared. Dieter Kathrein might be a recluse, but he was also a legend. The estate was well-known and he had enough staff to make it obvious when he was in residence. At his age, with his massive business success, hed racked up a few enemies along the way. The attack could be retaliatory and Gwen and Jackson were taken by mistake.
Her boss could help. He would know who to call and he had nearly limitless resources. Hed help her navigate the system, help her through the next steps. His money and influence would make recovering Gwen and Jackson a priority for the authorities. On a surge of hope, Lucy went into her office, where she wouldnt have to look at the wreckage while she spoke with him.
She jumped a little when her cell phone rang in her hand. Gwens number showed on the screen and Lucys body sagged with relief. Gwen! Where are you? Are you okay?
Lucy, we arent hurt but you need to listen very carefully.
Gwens voice, normally calm and strong, trembled with fear. The sound dragged Lucy back to that terrible day when her sister had called to say her husband had died. Gwens sorrowful tears and inconsolable shock on that day still haunted Lucy. Where are you? she asked again.
In Her sisters reply ended on a startled gasp.
Lucille. Dieter Kathreins curt tone confused and startled her all over again. This call shall suffice as proof of life.
Mr. Kathrein? Shed left his offices less than an hour ago. Had the kidnappers grabbed Gwen and the baby and then attacked his house, as well? Whoever planned this knew how to cull the weak, seizing the elderly, a young mother and a helpless baby. Are you injured?
I am well. He didnt sound the least bit rattled by the circumstances. In fact, this was the tone he used in his business conversations. We are negotiating new terms.
Pardon me, sir?
His English was flawless, though gently rounded by a French accent when he was stressed or tired. Then the accent grew heavier and something else seeped in, drenching the words with a harsh elegance that was tougher to understand.
Negotiating. He enunciated each syllable and added something at the end that sounded closer to German, which only confounded Lucy. Your sister and her son are with me. They are safe. They will remain safe as long as you do as I say, young lady.
You have Gwen and Jackson? She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to wrap her mind around it but couldnt. Behind her closed eyelids she saw the mangled parlor, the broken bits of the few treasures theyd brought to France. Why? How, when and where all needed answering, as well, but she limited herself to one question at a time.
They are leverage to ensure your cooperation, he stated, as if it should have been obvious. You love your family, correct?
More than anything, she whispered. He knew how much those two people meant to her. Gwen and Jackson were all she had left. She and Gwen had lost their parents in a plane crash during Lucys second year of undergrad. Gwen had been the steady, reassuring voice of reason when grief would have derailed Lucys goals. She swore. How could you do this?
As I thought. Look in your desk drawer. The top one. There is an envelope.
Thoroughly devastated, she did as he directed, withdrawing a plain white envelope. Only the weight of the paper gave away the means and quality of the man behind this treacherous attack.
Did you find it? he demanded.
Yes, she replied, lowering her voice. Countering belligerence with a calm and composed response was a trick shed learned in her MBA program. In her early days with Kathrein it had been surprisingly effective at defusing him when he grew agitated over something.
Everything you need is in the envelope. A man seeking to ruin my grandsons political plans went digging through my background. My past is irrelevant! Nosy reporters, Kathrein ranted. It is no more than slanted, ancient history and vicious rumors. My Daniel is a good boy. He will not pay for the mistakes of my youth. Family is everything, yes?
Yes, she agreed. Apparently one member of his familyhis only grandson and heirwas worth her entire remaining family combined. The envelope crinkled as her hands fisted, wishing she could wring his leathery, wrinkled neck. Her pulse hammered behind her temples. She had to think, to find a way around this. What kind of threat, what ancient secrets from his past had pushed the wealthy recluse to these drastic measures?
The man stored electronic copies of these damaging rumors in a Gray Box, Kathrein said.
Gray Box. Memories that Lucy would rather have continued to forget emerged, vying for precedence in her troubled thoughts.
As outlined in your instructions, he went on, you will retrieve every document and then destroy everything in the cloud, removing all traces of the electronic records.
Break into a secure Gray Box? Kathrein had no idea what he was asking. Rush Grayson, the brilliant creator of that particular secure cloud storage service, had contracts with the United States military and intelligence agencies. His proprietary Gray Box encryption was that reliable and impossible to hack. To date, there had never been a successful breach. What youre asking is impossible, Mr. Kathrein.
Youd best hope not, Lucille. Since the man I contracted was not successful with the password and such, I presume it will require a more feminine ingenuity, he suggested.