The Orphans (Orphans Trilogy Book 1) Page 6

  “That works for me,” Charlie said.

  “Two weeks,” Dr. Huang repeated to make sure that it was 100 percent clear. “Not three. Not four.”

  “Two weeks. I got it. Thank you.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever you’re planning on doing, be careful. And good luck.”

  Charlie nodded appreciatively.

  They both said their goodbyes and then headed their separate ways: Dr. Huang to his home-cooked dinner, and Charlie to retrieve the flash drive and decipher the cryptic contract. While Charlie had not intended to confirm the who and the what in his parents’ and Walter’s deaths, he had. And now he could only pray that translating the file would give him the why that he desperately needed.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  As soon as Charlie returned to his house, he went straight to his computer and opened the contract file. He tried a couple web-based translation programs, but just like Walter, he had no luck whatsoever. All reported errors.

  Recalling that Walter had said it looked like it was written in Hebrew, Charlie did a quick search for any synagogues in the area and found one that was only a couple miles away. With everything that had been brought to light, Charlie knew it was even more essential that he made sure that the temple’s rabbi, or anyone else he would confide in, wasn’t on the contact list.

  Even after he had confirmed that the rabbi was in the clear, Charlie decided that it was best to print a copy of the contract. That way, he could maintain possession of the drive at all times. It stored too much indispensable material to risk any chance of an accidental deletion or file corruption. Charlie hit print on the file, and then made for his parents’ home office to retrieve the copy.

  Charlie had yet to reach the office when he first caught sight of the black fumes that had filled the room and were pouring into the hall. Without thinking, he sprinted for the office doorway.

  Upon entering the smoky room, Charlie feverishly scanned for any sign of flames. He found none. While there was plenty of smoke, there was no fire.

  Charlie wafted away the dark gray clouds in attempt to improve his view. Slowly but surely, the room began to clear, and Charlie discovered the source: the printer, a few plumes of smoke still billowing out of every orifice of the machine.

  Charlie performed a cursory inspection of the printer. Everything appeared to be in order. Chalking it up to a fluke electrical issue, Charlie simply unplugged the printer’s power cord to prevent any further problems and retrieved his printout from the tray. He pocketed the piece of paper and then headed for the foyer.

  Charlie opened the front door but didn’t even get one foot outside before he was stopped in his tracks. Just ahead of him, beginning to make their way up the front porch steps, were Terry and his two bodyguards.

  CHAPTER TEN

  If Terry had stopped by only a couple hours earlier, Charlie’s reaction would have been drastically different. As it was, Charlie felt his heart jump up from his chest and into the back of his throat, and his mind raced faster than the entire field on the final lap at the Indy 500. Had Terry been following him? Did Terry know that he knew? Was Terry there to kill him? Did he stand any chance if he ran? Those were just a few of the questions that shot through Charlie’s head in rapid succession.

  Not only did Charlie determine that his window for running had closed just as soon as he had opened the front door, but his fear had turned his feet to cinder blocks. His mind could tell his legs to move all it wanted to, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He was forced to accept whatever was coming his way, good or bad. However, he knew better than to think that good was really an option, and braced himself for the worst.

  Terry stopped; the corners of his mouth sagged. “Hey,” he said, his voice surprisingly melancholy.

  Charlie was completely caught off-guard. It wasn’t the “Get him,” or “Take him out,” that he had expected, and there was no sudden bum-rush attack like he had anticipated, either.

  Terry calmly continued up the porch steps. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said, in the same affected tone, “and figured I’d stop by to make sure you’re holding up all right after Walter’s passing.” He laid his hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

  Charlie had to fight to keep himself from cringing. He wanted to scream, “Murderer!” so the whole world could hear, but he knew that would only seal his fate. Just because Terry had not acted as swiftly as Charlie had predicted did not mean his men couldn’t strike in a moment’s notice. Charlie doubted whether he could even get the first syllable out before Terry’s sunglassed gorillas dispatched him in some fashion. No. His safest bet was to act normal, to play along, to pray that Terry and his men didn’t know that he knew anything, and to do his best not to let them know that he did.

  “Thanks,” Charlie said, solemnly. “I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s the least I could do,” Terry sighed. “Walter was a good man. No. He was a great man.”

  “He was. He was a great mind, and an even better person.”

  “Just like your parents.”

  “Just like you,” Charlie said with a faint smile to help sell words that couldn’t have been further from his heart.

  “I don’t know if many people would consider me a great person,” Terry said with a chuckle. “I mean, I try. But your parents and Walter didn’t have to. It was just who they were.” Terry nodded somberly before withdrawing his hand and changing gears. “Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you were holding up all right. I’ll let you get back to your grieving.”

  “Okay,” Charlie said, with more enthusiasm than intended. He instantly regretted it as Terry honed his expecting eyes on him. Charlie quickly realized what Terry was waiting for. “Normal Charlie” would have never let him leave so easily, even given the circumstances. He clumsily added, “I mean, you don’t gotta go. We can hang out or something.”

  Terry took a second before responding, “Unfortunately, I do. As I’m sure you already know: Money never sleeps, it only takes power naps. And even those are rare.” He gestured to his men. “Cain, Max, let’s go.”

  Charlie sighed inwardly as Terry and his men turned to leave. But his relief was short-lived, and the anxiety returned tenfold when they made no effort to go. Terry just stood with his back to Charlie and tapped the toe of his Italian wingtip shoe on the porch. Each tap pounded Charlie’s eardrums like a nearby thunderclap.

  “Actually, there’s one more thing,” Terry said as he turned back around. “Did Walter happen to say anything to you?”

  “About what?” Charlie said, choking on his words.

  “I don’t know … anything?” A slight grin crossed Terry’s mug, as if to say that “anything” didn’t really mean anything, but actually something in particular.

  It was apparent to Charlie that Terry knew he had information but didn’t know how much or what, exactly. That was the real purpose of his visit. It was a fact-finding mission. Only after determining the facts would he respond accordingly.

  Charlie went catatonic as his mind replayed all of the things that Walter had said, both the night before and in the video. Charlie knew that he couldn’t tell Terry anything, but at the same time, he needed Terry to believe that he was telling him everything. It was the only way he might save himself.

  “No,” Charlie said. “Remember, he wasn’t at the funeral.”

  “Of course. But you saw him after the funeral, right?”

  The way Terry had said it, Charlie got the sense that he wasn’t asking him if he had seen Walter as much as he was reminding him that he had. Charlie could feel every muscle in his body tightening and his carotid artery beginning to bulge from his neck. He told himself to stay calm, to stay normal, but the fact that he was continuously getting caught in his lies made it nearly impossible. “Oh. Yeah. I did,” Charlie admitted. “He was here when I got home.”

  “And … did he say anything?
”

  “Nope,” Charlie asserted without thinking it through.

  “That seems weird, don’t you think?” Terry said, feigning confusion. “He was here, but he didn’t say anything. He just left without saying a word?”

  Of course that wasn’t the truth. He was busted again. Charlie had dug himself into such a deep hole that he could barely see the light at the entry. He needed to give Terry something, anything that might help him climb his way out. Or else Terry might push in the excess soil and bury him alive.

  “We talked,” Charlie said. “He just didn’t say much. That’s what I meant. I, uh, told him what you said about my dad and he agreed. Then he said he had to get going.”

  Terry peered right into Charlie’s pupils. “That’s it?”

  Charlie felt Terry’s eyes on him like a spotlight. He swallowed hard, the air getting caught halfway down his throat. “Yep,” he squeaked, desperately hoping Terry would finally buy it. Beads of sweat began to pop from the pores on his forehead while he waited for Terry to shoot down his most recent lie.

  After a long moment, Terry calmly replied, “That’s too bad. We’ve been having a lot of trouble with your father’s prototype, and I was hoping he might have said something that would help me fix it. But I just don’t know if that’s gonna be possible now. Which is a shame. The world needs it.”

  “Yeah, it does,” Charlie said, still uncertain if Terry was satisfied or if a whole new line of questions was about to come.

  “Anyway,” Terry said, finally easing up, “let me give you another one of my cards”—he dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card—“just in case you ever misplace the first one. These things are so small, it happens all the time. It never hurts to have an extra.” He handed the card to Charlie.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Charlie said. And lucky for him, he hadn’t intended to say anything more, otherwise he would have definitely stopped short when he noticed that the card wasn’t as crisp and clean as the one Terry that had previously given him. The corners were bent and there was a pronounced crease down the center, as if it had been crumpled.

  “After all,” Terry said, “we still need to iron out the details on your internship.”

  Charlie said nothing. He just kept gazing, zombie-like, at the folds in the business card. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the same card Walter had taken from him. Charlie determined that had to be how Terry found out that he had spoken to Walter. Terry must have taken the business card from Walter before they did whatever they did to him. That was where he got his information, and his suspicion. It was also an admission of guilt and potentially a thinly veiled threat.

  “You want the internship, right?” Terry said. He waited a second for Charlie to respond. After he didn’t, Terry added, “Do you not want the internship?”

  Charlie’s head shot up. “No! I mean, yes! I mean, I do want it,” he said as if his life depended on it, because as far as he knew, it might.

  “Good. I was getting a little worried I was going to lose you to someone else. Just shoot me an email whenever you get a chance, and we can start the negotiations.”

  “Great,” Charlie said, forcing a smile.

  Terry smiled back and then headed down the porch steps. The younger bodyguard, Max, followed Terry, but the older guard, Cain, held back. He stood perfectly still, his sunglassed eyes never leaving Charlie.

  Charlie did his best to avert his eyes from the imposing stare, opting to watch Terry and Max; but eventually, Charlie caved. He glanced up at Cain, focusing on the N-shaped scar on his cheek.

  Cain tilted his head so their eyes were forced to meet.

  Charlie saw himself in the reflection of Cain’s sunglass lenses. Then, out of nowhere, Charlie caught three faint blue sparks of light burst across the right lens like shooting stars.

  Charlie had no idea what the flashes were, but he didn’t need to know to be completely freaked out. He fought against every muscle in his eyelids to keep them from going wide and showing any sign of the panic that was overtaking his body.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Charlie hid behind the family-room curtains, fighting to reclaim the breath that had been scared clean out of him. After what had seemed like the longest thirty seconds of his life, Cain had finally left Charlie and rejoined his boss and partner. But Charlie was certain that Terry and his men weren’t through with him just yet, they were merely deciding what to do with him. They had to do something. As hard as he tried to hide it, he had tipped them off to the fact that he knew something. He knew that made him a liability.

  Charlie took a deep breath, counted to three, and then slowly peeked his head out from behind the cloth curtain. He had expected to find Terry and his men gritting their teeth and pounding their fists into their hands as they stormed back toward the front door. Instead, Charlie barely caught sight of the bumper of Terry’s Bentley before it disappeared down the road.

  Charlie let out a long sigh. He was safe from Terry and his men, if only for the time being. Charlie didn’t know how long that time might last, but he knew that he had to make the most of it. He still had work to do. He still had a contract to translate. He waited a couple minutes before hopping on his bike and heading in the opposite direction of the Bentley.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Temple Beth Israel was only a short ride from his house, but it took Charlie much longer than any mapping service might have predicted, on account of his head being on a swivel and all of the detours he made in attempt to drop any unwanted followers. He was also slowed by thoughts of the blue sparks he’d seen shoot across Cain’s sunglass lens. Each time he recalled the bizarre flashes and Cain’s icy stare, he felt an equally icy chill course through every vein in his body.

  Night had fallen by the time Charlie finally arrived at the reform temple, and the service for Simchat Torah, the end of the annual Torah cycle, was still in session. Not wanting to be out in the open, he hid with his bike in some nearby bushes.

  Charlie scanned the surrounding area for anyone or anything suspicious. He saw nothing. He didn’t hear anything, either. In fact, it was so quiet that his own breathing was the only sound he picked up. Against the dead silence, it seemed impossibly loud, like something that could—or would—give him away.

  Charlie was in the process of trying to quiet his breaths when he spotted a man in an all-black sweatsuit approaching from the nearby sidewalk with the biggest Rottweiler Charlie had ever seen. The man had a build identical to that of Terry’s younger bodyguard, and had his sweatshirt hood pulled over his head.

  The man continued towards Charlie before stopping abruptly, no more than forty feet away. His dog let loose a ferocious snarl.

  Charlie couldn’t help but release a nervous yelp in return.

  The hooded man shot a glance in Charlie’s direction. The light of a streetlamp reflected off of his face. His eyes were hidden by the same sunglasses that Terry’s men wore.

  Charlie covered his mouth with his hand as the man reached into his pocket. He was going for his gun, Charlie was sure of it. Charlie closed his eyes and waited for the bang and whatever pain might follow.

  After a couple seconds and no sound other than a little crinkling, Charlie lifted his eyelids. He found the man hunched over, in the process of retrieving the mess his dog had made in the grass with a small plastic baggie. The man’s sweatshirt hood had fallen off and revealed his glasses were actually prescription lenses. Charlie exhaled softly as the man continued on his way.

  Shortly after the man and his dog disappeared, the service ended and the attendees started to spill out of the temple. As soon as the last person had exited, Charlie crawled out of the bushes and slipped inside the synagogue.

  Rabbi Samuel Klein, an older man with more gray hair than brown, was working on his next sermon when Charlie stepped through the office threshold. The rabbi looked up from his work. “Come
in, my child,” he said, his voice still carrying hints of a faded New York accent.

  Charlie hesitated for a second. “Um. Just so you know, I’m not actually Jewish. If that matters.”

  “It does for some things, and not as much for others. But I assume you’re here for good reason. So come in, have a seat.” He motioned for Charlie to do just that.

  Charlie made his way into the office and took a seat in the chair across from the rabbi. “I don’t know if this is even something you can do, but I need your help translating this,” Charlie said as he retrieved the printed pdf from his pocket and handed it to the rabbi.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Rabbi Klein said. He grabbed his reading glasses from the desk, adjusted them on his face, and then started to peruse the paper.

  Charlie watched anxiously. “I was told that it might be Hebrew, but none of the web translators recognized—” He stopped when he noted the troubled look on the rabbi’s face.

  Rabbi Klein skimmed a couple more lines before putting the paper down and removing his spectacles. “Where did you get this?”

  Charlie didn’t want to lie to the rabbi, but he also didn’t want to divulge any more information than he needed to. “I found it on someone’s computer.”

  “If I was you, I would steer clear of that person.”

  “So you can read it?”

  “Yes, I can,” Rabbi Klein said. “This is written in Hebrew, but not modern Hebrew. It is written in the original Hebrew script, which is not commonly used these days. It has not been used much over the last twenty-six hundred years, for that matter.”

  Charlie had no idea what to make of this information. There was no way the pdf was that old; it was a computer file, after all. Maybe someone used the dated language to make it harder to decipher. Charlie wasn’t sure, nor did he really care. In the end, he was less concerned with the age of the script or reasons for its use than he was with the actual content. “What does it say?”