Part 3
Author: Joann Stroh (comments only in English please!)

 

Kwai Chang Caine quietly entered his domicile. His thoughts turned to his own need for relaxation and solitude. Deciding upon Tai Chi and meditation, to be followed by a cup of restorative tea, Caine gave a contented sigh. The tea was a special blend created specifically for him. It would be part of the process of regaining peace, tranquility and reestablishing his center.

Taking off his hat and shrugging out of his brown cloth jacket, he reached out to hang both on the hook placed just inside the front entrance. Without warning, the jacket and hat dropped to the floor with a soft 'plop.' Caine stumbled forward, reaching out to clutch the door frame and arrest his fall as his vision turned inward and he lost contact with his immediate surroundings. A blood curdling, terror filled scream shrilled through his entire being, FATHER! And then, silence.

"Peter!?"

Within a heartbeat, Kwai Chang Caine was back in the present. He stood with one arm outstretched, his hand squeezing the door frame so hard his knuckles appeared white and bloodless. Each breath was quick and sharp. Straightening, the priest willed his heart and breathing back to normal. Swooping up his coat and hat from the floor, he exited the room and attacked the stairs with the speed and agility known only to a Shaolin Master. Kwai Chang Caine headed for the 101st precinct and Peter's other father.

++++

Paul Blaisdell, with coat in hand, closed his office door behind him. It had been a long day, but a productive one. The pile of paperwork on his desk was now minimal. All he wanted to do was go home to his loving wife, Annie, enjoy a good home cooked meal and relax. Second on his agenda was to retire early for some much needed sleep.

"Frank!"

"Yes, Captain?"

Frank Strenlich was a good friend. He was also a family friend. Being an ex-military man, he attempted, as much as possible, to run the 101st Precinct adhering to military standards. Problem was, it didn't always work, which caused Frank much frustration. He was mellowing, though. Paul was sure of it and believed his stubborn, unorthodox, hyper foster son was responsible. He doubted Frank even realized the change. Maybe you can teach an old military dog new tricks. If anybody can, it would be Peter. Although Frank would sooner have his nails ripped out than to admit it, he had grown to care a great deal for Paul's son.

"I'm leaving for the day, Frank."

"Sure thing, Captain. See you tomorrow. Give Annie my regards."

"I'll do that."

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is our captain actually calling it quits at such an early hour?

Paul glanced around as Kermit appeared at his elbow. "Yep, I've been here since 6:30 this morning, but don't tell anyone. Wouldn't want the mayor to think I am slacking off by not putting in a full sixteen hour day. Don't tell me you are on your way out, too, Kermit? Since when did you start leaving the office at a reasonable hour?"

Kermit smiled. "I'll walk you out, Captain."

Walking across the squad room both men turned, taking the stairs to the first floor and then exiting out into the parking lot.

"Okay, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing much. Just thought you might like to know Laureano made bail about forty minutes ago."

"No surprise there. How much?

"A mere two hundred fifty thousand."

Paul whistled. "Pretty steep. He have any trouble making it?"

"Nope."

Stopping, Paul turned to study his friend's impenetrable gaze. "What are you not saying, Kermit?"

The computer guru shrugged. "Oh, it's the little things that nag at you, Paul. Know what I mean?"

"Yes, and what might those 'little things' be that seem to be bothering you?"

"Just the fact a certain lawyer we both know, whose office happily represents the criminal elite of this world, showed up to bail him out. For such a low-life, Laureano has some pretty high connections. Either he is a bigger player than we thought, or he's on the fast track to becoming one and with some sweet connections."

"I agree. So what's the rest? Spit it out."

"He spent all night and most of today sitting in a jail cell waiting for Mr. High Powered Attorney to make his bail."

"Maybe he is not as high up the ladder as you think."

"No, something isn't right, Paul. This whole thing stinks."

"You're worried about Peter? You think Laureano is going after him?"

"I don't know. Maybe he already has. The guy gets booked last night and then sits quietly in jail for almost twenty-four hours waiting to make bail? I checked. He did not even make a phone call last night. His lawyer just shows up and pays him a short visit. In the meantime, our boy is on his best behavior. Doesn't so much as let a fart. Then about an hour ago, he receives a call. Quietly returns to his five-by-eight cell with a big smile plastered on his ugly little face. Thirty minutes later Mr. High-Powered attorney shows up and Tony Laureano is out of here at the tune of two hundred fifty thousand. You tell me, Paul. Sound suspicious? Do you have any idea where your kid might be at the moment?"

The worry lines in Paul's forehead deepened. Glancing down at his watch, he looked back at Kermit. "It's three forty-five and Peter was due to pick Sinclair and Rykker up at Iverson Field forty-five minutes ago."

"He has not kept the appointment."

Both men turned at the sound of the quiet voice and stared into the enigmatic face of Kwai Chang Caine.

"What do you mean, Caine? Where is Peter?"

"I do not know. I heard only his voice call out to me. I felt his terror and then..." The priest shrugged one shoulder, his outstretched hands dropping to his sides.

"Is he alive?" Paul held his breath.

"I do not know what has befallen our son, Captain. I do know he is in great danger. He has not left this plane of existence. I would know."

"Come on, let's go back inside. Maybe we can reach Sinclair and see if maybe he is with him. If not, maybe he's heard something."

Paul knew he was grasping at straws but at the moment it was all he had and it gave him something upon which to focus.

All three men walked briskly back inside the building housing the 101st.

++++

Sitting in the airport coffee shop, P.T. Sinclair looked at his watch.

"That's about the tenth time you've checked your watch. I know he's late, P.T., but you know Peter, he's not known for punctuality."

"Yeah, I know. It's just...."

"Just what?"

"A feeling. I've got a bad feeling." P.T. reached inside his jacket, pulled out his small black cell phone and began dialing.

"Calling Paul?"

"Yeah, maybe I can reach him at the station. Maybe he's heard from Peter."

"Strenlich, 101st."

"Frank, this is P.T. Sinclair. Is Paul still around by any chance? It's urgent I speak with him."

"Sorry, you just missed him, P.T.. Can I help you with anything?"

"Peter hasn't been in, has he?"

"No, and if he's smart, he won't show up here. The captain left strict instructions that he is not to show his face around the office for the next three days."

"Yeah, I know. He was supposed to meet me at the airport at three and he hasn't shown yet. Maybe he had car trouble, or hit heavy traffic along the route."

As Sinclair spoke, Frank looked up, spotting Paul, Kermit and Caine entering the squad room.

"Hold on, P.T.. Looks like the captain has returned. He's just walking through the door. I'll patch you through to him."

"Thanks, Frank."

"Captain, P.T. Sinclair on line one. Sending it through to your office."

The three men quickened their pace, entering Paul's office and closing the door behind them just as the phone rang.

Paul snatched the receiver from its base. "P.T., Paul here. Is Peter with you?"

"No. I was hoping he was with you. He's almost an hour late. Rykker and I arrived at three on the dot. No Peter."

"Shit!"

"What is it, Paul?"

Rykker, listening to the one-sided conversation with growing concern, thought back to his earlier hunch on the plane, the one about things getting a whole lot more interesting. This definitely was not what he had in mind.

"I don't know. At least not yet. Caine and Kermit are here. Caine seems to have a special connection with our son."

"Yeah, I know. What does he have to say?"

"He knows only that something has happened to Peter, but doesn't know what. He says he is still in great danger."

"Does he have any idea where the kid might be found?"

"No, but Kermit thinks it may have something to do with the undercover case Peter just came off of. Ever hear of Tony Laureano?"

"No, don't believe I have. Somebody important?"

"He is the top guy in the drug and stolen car ring case Peter's been working undercover on for the last couple of weeks. He was arrested last night and made bail about forty-five minutes ago, thanks to a well-known and very expensive mob lawyer. The scenario doesn't quite fit the individual. Besides, Kermit's hunches are usually pretty damned reliable."

"I agree. Listen, Rykker and I will pick up a car here at the airport and meet you at the station in about twenty minutes, or sooner depending on the traffic, okay?"

"We'll be waiting." Paul replaced the receiver in its cradle. Looking up, he saw Frank standing in the doorway.

"Frank?"

"I'm on it, Captain."

Strenlich turned and headed back to his office to do what he did best; putting out APB's, checking hospitals and morgues. Providing support was his field of expertise. With his young, hot-shot detective, he certainly got enough practice.
<Dammit, Pete, what have you gotten yourself into now!? You better be okay, or I'll kick your butt myself.>

++++

Peter moaned, slowly becoming aware of the numbing cold.

<Why does my face hurt? Shit! Feels like I'm lying on wet cement. Hope that means I'm alive. Must be, hurts too much to be dead.>

Slowly forcing up heavy lids, he blinked several times, finally bringing his surroundings into focus. The effort needed to actually move body parts was, for the moment, beyond his muddled brain's ability.

<Damn! Why is there an entire percussion section thrumming through my head?>

His body felt heavy sprawled against the soggy ground. Small rocks bit into his bruised and battered flesh. Rain pelted down against his exposed body as the throbbing in his head increased.

<Shit, where am I? Nope, brain not working. All answers on hold.>

Peter decided he wasn't quite ready to discover what else did not work. Hazel eyes drifted closed, retreating back into the safety of darkness.

++++

Caine stood just inside Paul Blaisdell's office, listening to the captain's phone conversation with his wife and Peter's foster mother, Annie.

"Honey, we're doing everything we can. I promise you, babe, we'll find him. He hasn't

been missing long. No, there's nothing you can do except stay at home just on the off chance he might show up there or call. P.T. and Rykker are on their way. A lot of people are looking for him, sweetheart. We'll find him. Uh huh, uh huh. Kelly's there? Good. I don't want you to be alone. Right. I'll call just as soon as we have any news. I love you too, babe. Bye."

Paul sighed. Resting his elbows on the desk, both hands rubbed his face. "God, I hate doing this to her."

"We will find our son, Captain. You must have faith."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do, Caine."

"Captain?" Strenlich stood at the door with his head jutting inside Blaisdell's office.

"Anything yet, Frank?"

"Not yet, but something should turn up soon."

"I hope so, Frank, I hope so. Where's Kermit?"

"That's what I came to tell you. He called a few minutes ago. Said to tell you he is on his way to meet Rykker. They may be onto a hot lead. He will call in as soon as they've checked it out."

"Thanks, Frank."

"We'll find him, Captain." Frank turned to retrace his steps across the squad room, back into his office to continue providing backup.

Caine turned slightly, observing the entrance to the squad room with anticipation. Within seconds P.T. Sinclair entered, making his way across the room with long strides, coat flapping out behind him. Kwai Chang Caine watched his approach, taking in the thick silver-gray hair and the strong, graceful strides. <Yes, the years have been very good to you, my friend. Your chi is strong. My son's grandfather. Laura's father.> He had been looking forward to meeting P.T. Sinclair again since learning from Paul this morning that P.T. was alive. Caine smiled.

Reaching Paul's office, Sinclair returned Caine's smile, sticking out his hand to grasp the priest's in a warm handshake. Smiling broadly, the two men embraced, patting one another on the back.

"It's damn good to see you again, Kwai Chang."

"I am grateful our paths have once again crossed. I only wish the occasion was a joyous one."

"Isn't that the truth. Have you heard anything?" Hope laced his words as he glanced at both men.

Paul shook his head. "No, not yet. I understand Kermit and Rykker may have a lead?"

"Yeah, little brother picked up a rental car at the airport. Last I saw of him, he was breaking the speed limit with his cell phone glued to his ear. If anyone's got connections, it is Rykker. I'm sure we will be hearing from him very soon, one way or the other."

Both men looked over at Kwai Change Caine as Paul spoke, "What about it, Caine? Anything from Peter, yet? Any feelings, vibes, anything at all?"

During some of their discussions before P.T. left on his most recent business trip, Peter had tried to explain to his grandfather the unexplainable connection he and his father shared. Knowing how much Caine loved his son, P.T. didn't find it as difficult to believe as Peter might imagine. His face now reflected that belief in the form of hope.

"Only that he lives. He is injured and his illness grows."

"You mean his cold?"

"Yes, Captain, but it is growing into more than a simple cold."

"Damn!" Addressing Sinclair, Paul explained. "Peter seems to have a predisposition for pneumonia. He pushes himself to the limit. Doesn't take care of himself. Thinks he's invincible. We have almost lost him a couple of times to that damned illness!"

Two of the three men startled at the ringing of the phone.

Grabbing the receiver, Paul answered, "Blaisdell! Kermit, where the hell are you? Is Rykker with you?" Staring across at the other two men, he quietly listened with only an occasional "Yeah, uh huh" and a final "Where?"

Hanging up, Paul quickly moved from behind his desk. "This may be it, gentlemen. We need to get over to the Towers building. Kermit and Rykker think they've found something." Paul grabbed his coat as they left the office.

Many pairs of eyes followed their departure and not a soul doubted the capability and power of these men, as they headed for the stairs to begin their search for Peter.

Paul shouted over his shoulder, "Hold down the fort, Frank! I will let you know if anything develops."

"Sure thing, Captain. Good luck!"

++++

< There's something I'm supposed to be doing, but what the hell is it? Think, Peter, think. I was on my way to.. to... Oh, yeah! I gotta pick up granpop at the airport at 3:00. Can't be late. Right, but something happened. It was… it was... what? Think, dammit! Maintenance truck, road closed. Truck with...with blade. Sounds. Loud, screeching, ripping sounds. Oh god...>

Eyes snapped open. Everything blurred, focused and slowly sharpened. Not daring to move, lest he awaken the pain residing just below the surface, Peter's eyes zeroed in on a small life and death drama being played out approximately two feet away. A large, shiny black beetle was waging an all out war to climb the stem of a small plant. For the moment, the insect's struggles became his only focus. Just as the beetle managed to get its feet onto the plant, fat drops of rain splattered against its hard little body, knocking it back to earth where it simply renewed its efforts.

<I know there must be a lesson in this somewhere. Maybe...life is nothing if not one continuous struggle? Sounds good. He immediately found himself rooting for the beetle.
First, let's try the legs.>

Bending his knees, he raised the soles of both feet skyward.

"So far, so good."

Gingerly, Peter attempted to move his arms. His left arm, although stiff and aching, seemed to be otherwise uninjured, but moving his right arm sent an instant flare of pain shooting up into his shoulder and neck. Eyes shut tightly, gasping, Peter lowered his feet and drew the right arm in against his body. Rolling over onto his back, he was unable to contain the shout of pain generated by such movement.

<It must be broken, dammit!>

Now on his back, the young detective stared up into a darkening gray sky. Scrunching his eyes closed, his breathing increased, as saliva flooded his mouth. He desperately fought down the urge to heave. Knowing there was nothing in his stomach to bring up didn't help. Dry heaves would be every bit as painful. His chest felt as if it were caught in a vise.

Several minutes passed before Peter again opened his eyes and squinted up into the falling rain. Slowly turning his head from side to side, he attempted to analyze what came within his limited range of vision.

<Oh shit! I'm on the side of a mountain!>

Slightly lifting his head, he attempted to survey the area.

<Where is my car?>

Exhausted, he slowly lowered his head back to the wet ground while frantically searching his memory.

<My car is gone. I must have been thrown out when those bastards pushed me over the side. The car rolled, but I can't remember what happened after that.>

Closing his eyes, Peter's anguished words filled the void around him, "I'm going to die, alone on the side of this damned, God-forsaken mountain!"

He fought against the rising panic. Attempting to push himself into a sitting position, he quickly dropped back to the ground, the effort taking its toll on his meager reserves. His body sank a little deeper into the water and mud as hot tears mingled with the cold rain running down his face. He didn't doubt for a second that he was going to die this night, here in the muck and driving rain, without a soul to witness his passing. He would never again see his father, his grandfather, or his foster family. The opportunity lost to say goodbye, I love you. Peter wondered if they would find his body, or would he be left to rot, a feast for the buzzards? Maybe just a pile of sun-bleached bones someone might come across one day and never know what happened to him, how he got here. Not even a marker, or a grave for his family to visit.

Peter felt the darkness approaching, stealing up on silent feet, closing in around him. He was so dammed tired and cold. Retreat seemed to be the wisest choice. Focusing inward, the journey began, deep down into the secret place within his soul. A place of safety away from this place of death and loneliness.

++++

The police sedan swung to the curb and parked directly in front of the well-known Towers building, located in an exclusive part of the downtown district. Two heads quickly turned toward Kwai Chang Caine as the priest gasped, his body tensing.

"Caine, what is it? Is it Peter?" Paul barely managed to get the question out ahead of Sinclair.

Shaolin vision focused inward. His body was being bombarded by his son's overwhelming emotions; cold, gripping terror and deep despair. It broke his father's heart.

<Peter!> He reached out to his beloved child, searching, but his probing was met with silence. <Please, my son. You must not lose your hope. We will find you. We are coming, Peter. Believe! >

Looking first at one and then the other, Caine spoke forcefully, his voice expressing the depth of his concern. "Let us go quickly. We must find Peter. He will not last much longer."

They entered the Towers lobby and approached the elevators. Paul punched the button, waiting for the elevator to descend.

"Kermit said to meet him on the twenty-fourth floor. Go to the end of the hall and knock at the door marked private."

"Believe me, those two know what they are doing, Paul. If they believe they have found someone who can help us locate Peter, I'm confident they have."

Paul, P.T. and Kwai Chang Caine entered the elevator. It was a silent ride to the twenty-fourth floor with each man caught up in his own thoughts, hopes and fears.

Reaching the door marked private, Paul rapped loudly. The door suddenly swung open, revealing a man the size of a small mountain. He stared at them briefly before inviting the trio to enter with a mere nod of his head, as he turned, moving off into the room. Not a word was exchanged as the three men followed the giant through large, wooden double doors into an opulent office. Being trained observers, all three instantly surveyed the room. Kermit and Rykker sat in one of several expensive overstuffed chairs placed at a comfortable distance away from the large oak desk, which could only be described as a work of art. 'Power furniture' popped into Paul's head. Furnishings built to impress and intimidate.

Rykker and the man sitting behind the oak desk rose as they entered. Kermit remained seated, green sunglasses in place, giving the appearance of a man without a care in the world.

Gesturing toward each individual, Rykker made the introductions.

"John, this is my brother, P.T. Sinclair, Peter's grandfather. Paul Blaisdell, his foster father, and Peter's natural father, Kwai Chang Caine. Gentlemen, this is Jonathan Berringer, an old friend of mine."

Berringer nodded to each man as the introductions were made. "Please, be seated. I believe we have serious business to discuss."

P.T. and Paul sat gingerly, leaning forward in their chairs. Kwai Chang Caine simply stood to one side, fingers locked together, hands hanging casually in front of him.

"Time is running out, so I will make this short and to the point. Rykker has filled me in on the details. I am a business man, but I am also a family man. I have children and grandchildren. Believe me, I understand about family and this is definitely about family. You are looking for your young man, Detective Peter Caine. In the line of duty, it appears he has recently managed to make himself a very dangerous enemy. Let me emphasize, gentlemen, this man does not work for me, but I do, indeed, know of him. In fact, he and one of his henchmen are at this very moment in a room just down the hall being, how shall we put it, slightly detained? I have spoken with him briefly and I assure you he now has a better perspective of the situation. In a few moments I will leave the building. Here is the key to Room 405," Berringer removed a key from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, held it up briefly and placed it on the edge of the desk, "which is located down the hall on the intersecting corridor to your left. I am quite confident you gentlemen are more than capable of obtaining the information you desire. Good night."

Jonathan Berringer picked up his briefcase, gave a slight nod of his head and exited the room with the giant trailing behind.

Several seconds passed in silence. The men glanced briefly at each other and then focused on the key. P.T. stood up and walking over to the desk, picked up the key. Turning it in his palm, he uttered one short sentence. "Let's go!"

 

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3   Part 4

Back to author's index      Back to Story index