Scavenger by David Morrell Read Free Book Online Page B

use them on climbing expeditions.”
    “And for sailing,” Bethany added.
    “And flying,” Ray said. “But the GPS units in jets are considerably more sophisticated.”
    “Some new cars have them, also,” Viv said. “But why do we need—”
    “There’s one for each of you,” the voice told them.
    Amanda watched the others reach under the table. Apprehensive, she did the same. The object her fingers unclipped was silver gray. It had a screen similar to a cell phone, but there wasn’t an array of buttons. Instead, just a few buttons protruded on each side. The top had an image of a globe, then the word ETREX. The name of a particular model? Amanda wondered. At the bottom was another word that she guessed identified the manufacturer: GARMIN.
    Viv noticed her confusion. “Never used a GPS receiver?”
    “No.”
    “It has maps, an altimeter, and a compass. When you turn it on, it orients itself to the signals from global positioning satellites. Then you enter map coordinates to chart a course or find a location. Hey!” Viv yelled at the ceiling. “What are we supposed to do with these?”
    The voice ignored the question. “Go to your rooms. Each closet has a change of clothes. Return to the front door in ten minutes.”
    “And then what?”
    “The forty hours begin.”
    9
    “This is what I learned so far,” Detective Ortega said.
    Tortured by his emotions, Balenger sat rigidly at a desk in the Missing Persons office of Manhattan’s One Police Plaza. The echo of phones and conversations filled the corridor outside.
    “First, I called Oglethorpe University in Atlanta,” Ortega said. “They never heard of a professor named Adrian Murdock. Not in the history department. Not in any department. I described the man you spoke to: gray hair, gray mustache, thin. That fits a lot of professors. Oglethorpe agreed to email faculty photographs for you to look at.”
    “The man I saw won’t match any of them,” Balenger said.
    “You know how this works—keep asking questions, keep getting information, even if it eliminates a possibility. I contacted the city clerk’s office. Up until 1983, that property was indeed owned by someone named Victor Evans. I checked with the phone company and got the numbers for all the people with that name in the New York City area. One of them turned out to be the man who owned the building back then. But he doesn’t know a Philip Evans, and he never had a son.”
    Balenger looked dismally at the cardboard cup of tepid coffee in his hand.
    Ortega checked his notepad. “Yesterday afternoon, my partner and I spoke to people who live on that block of Nineteenth Street. They say a truck arrived Saturday morning and unloaded the chairs and tables. Late in the afternoon, the truck came back to take the furniture away.”
    “That’s when Amanda and I were removed from the building,” Balenger said.
    “Probably. If a date-rape drug was used, no one would have needed to carry you. You’d have been marginally conscious and able to walk. True, you’d have been unsteady. But the truck would have blocked the view from the opposite side of the street, and the tables and chairs being carried out would have distracted anybody watching from the buildings on either side. You and your friend would have seemed just a couple of people being helped into a car.”
    “More likely a van. Something without windows.” Balenger’s hands felt cold. “A lot of people were involved. The woman who called herself Karen Bailey.”
    Ortega read a description from the notebook. “Matronly. Fortyish. No makeup. Brown hair pulled back in a bun. Plain navy dress.”
    Balenger nodded. “Plus, the people who showed up for the lecture.”
    “You said several of them walked out during the presentation?”
    “Yes.” Balenger concentrated, remembering. “A lot of people,” he emphasized, “too many to keep a secret. Maybe the audience didn’t understand what was really happening. Maybe they were paid to