Chapter 76

CHAPTER 76

POE MOVED IN a low crouch alongside his partners, a few steps behind Duff, who held his service pistol at his side. Ahead, past the sparse tree line and a tangle of vines and brush, the SWAT team had already reached the first building, or what was left of it. At this point, the colony structures were no more than shells—walls crumbled, roofs caved in, elevator shafts gaping.

The cops swept in, one ruin at a time. Shouts of “Clear!” echoed in succession across the eerie compound.

“Dammit!” muttered Duff. “There’s nothing here.”

“What about other farms on the island?” asked Marple.

“We checked them too last night,” said Duff. “Mostly small family operations and pumpkin patches. Maybe Robinson lied to us.”

“No. This is it,” said Poe. He faltered slightly, then leaned back against a crumbling concrete post.

Marple stepped over and grabbed his arm. “Auguste! Are you okay?”

Poe waved her off. “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. He felt lightheaded and queasy.

The image from Helene’s sonogram flashed into his head. Two tiny shapes floating in a void. Then Helene’s face. Worried.

“Auguste!” Marple again.

Poe took a deep breath and snapped to. “I’m here,” he said. “Ready.”

The next building in line was a large stone structure with an arched entrance. It looked like it had once been the centerpiece of the compound. There was nothing farmlike about it. It was built like a nineteenth-century factory.

“Wait here,” said Duff, holding his arm out as a barrier.

Poe watched with Holmes and Marple as a SWAT team moved through the entryway under a large stone arch. Poe was out of patience. Especially with Duff.

“Wait, my ass,” he muttered.

Poe started running toward the building. He heard a shout, then footsteps.

He glanced back to see Marple and Holmes right behind him. Duff was in the distance, shouting into his portable radio.

Poe and his partners reached the entrance at the same time. SWAT teams were already moving through the first floor. Poe looked up. The second story was totally gone, no structure left. A staircase from the ground level ended in midair.

A massive SWAT sergeant stepped forward and planted himself in their path. “You guys can’t be in here,” he said.

“And yet we are,” said Marple.

“Sarge!” a young SWAT officer called out from the top of another stone staircase. “Down here!”

Poe got to the staircase before any of the other cops. But they jammed him up against the wall and forced their way past. He followed them down, with Marple and Poe close behind.

The stairs led to a square landing, then took a turn to the left for a drop to the basement level. The air was dank and musty. Poe saw Holmes pull out a handkerchief and hold it over his nose.

The corridor at the bottom led to a single door, partway open. A portable generator sat idle in the corridor outside. A SWAT officer kicked open the door and stepped through. He clicked on his flashlight.

“Holy shit!” he called out.

Poe rushed to the entrance, bumping shoulders with the cop. The flashlight raked the room with a wide, bright beam. The space was huge, with its stone floor swept clean. Filling one side of the room was a large curve of blue seamless paper. In front of it was a wooden chair and a table covered in thick padding. Mounted on stands on either side were banks of lights, with cords dangling. A few portable fans sat in the corners. In the center of the room, a sturdy tripod held a top-of-the-line Canon video camera.

“Porn set?” muttered one of the cops.

“Online auction house,” said Poe.

“We’re too late,” said Holmes, sniffing the air tentatively. “There hasn’t been anyone here for hours. The kids are gone. Sold and shipped off. Just like Megan said.”

Two cops moved in with emergency scene lights. They switched them on, flooding every corner of the room. Duff stepped through the door and did a slow 360.

“What in the name of God…?”

Holmes took a few steps deeper into the space. Took in a few more breaths. “Sodium polyacrylate,” he mumbled. “And ammonia.”

“Baby diapers,” said Marple.

In the fresh glare, Poe noticed a row of black equipment cases against the back wall. They were professional grade, with rounded metal edge guards and heavy-duty handles.

Poe reached into his pocket and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He walked to the wall and stood over the cases. Some were battered and worn from use. Others looked brand-new.

He bent down and flicked the latch on the first case in the row. He lifted the lid.

Inside was a tangle of cords and adapters. He moved to the next case, filled with heavy-duty black cables. The third box looked like a camera case, big enough to hold the Canon and a few backup batteries. Probably a set of extra lenses too.

Poe flicked the latch and opened the lid. The interior was cavernous and lined in maroon-colored velvet. Poe bent low, one hand braced against the side of the open case. He reached down, then recoiled, gasping.

He looked down again. Just to be sure.

Nestled in the fabric at the bottom of the case was a tiny baby, barely a week old.

Eyes open. Still warm. Dead.