Gone(58)

“No,” Eldridge said. One of the other agents circled round behind Rondeau and started to look him over. “Stay still,” the agent said.

Peter watched this and found it confusing. Rondeau was nearly nude; no pants, no holster, clearly no weapon — why would they think he was armed? Christ, he smelled like piss, too. The agent brought Rondeau to his feet. “Get him up top,” Eldridge said.

“Wait . . .” Peter stepped in front of them, blocking the way out. “What did you see? Did you see the family? Where are they?”

Rondeau only looked at Peter. He had gone completely quiet, his frantic eyes snatching looks at the agents. Eldridge leaned his face toward Rondeau. “Detective? Anything you’ve got that can help us? Do you know where the family is? Anyone else down here?” Rondeau only stared. Eldridge jerked his thumb in the air. “We’ll debrief him out there. Get him medical attention.”

The agent led Rondeau away. The detective hobbled along, eyes down, mysteriously silent. Peter watched them walk off, the yellow FBI letters on the agent’s vest fading into the darkness.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX / Reborn

“Rondeau?” Lights shone in his pupils. Brighter than the sun, dazzling his vision. Rondeau sat on the back bumper of the ambulance, his feet on the ground. A second paramedic took his pulse, checked his vitals. The FBI agent who brought him out stood nearby, asking questions.

“Detective, did you get a visual on the family?”

Rondeau shook his head, cleared his throat. He still had to think the words before he could speak them. But he hoped the worst was over, and that he wasn’t going to have any more hallucinations. “I didn’t,” he said. “See them.”

“What happened to you down there? When did you get the information on Bluestone, and why, for God’s sake, did you come alone?”

He licked his lips and concentrated. “I didn’t come. Call was about Indian Lake. You check with BCI. Dana Gates.”

“We know about that. But there’s no record of you being there. No GPS, no cell phone pings.”

“No towers to ping.” He meant the lack of cell phone towers in Hamilton County. “I had my personal . . . vehicle.”

“Uh-huh. Okay . . .”

“Tamika Levitt. Talk to her.”

The paramedic, a pretty brunette, was taking his blood pressure now. Plastic crackled as another medic opened bandages in the ambulance. He felt warm blood oozing from several places. He knew no matter what he said to the agent, it was useless.

“We’ve tried,” the agent said. “We haven’t reached any ‘Tamika Levitt.’” He grimaced. “Detective, if you say you were in Indian Lake . . . at what point did you head over here to Bluestone?”

Rondeau swallowed. He had no spit. “Didn’t come here of my own volition.”

“I don’t follow.”

“They stuck me,” Rondeau said. But you already know that. He lifted a hand and pointed at his neck. It was especially difficult to form the next words. “Etorphine hydrochloride knocked me out, but laced with something. I think 25-I.”

“I’m familiar with it.”

The setting sun had broken through the clouds, darkening the man’s features. Rondeau felt a ripple of anger, a bite of fear.

“How long have I been missing?” The words were coming easier. He was asking the paramedic, but the agent answered.

“Missing? Last contact we have logged from you is when you spoke to Detective Gates. That was yesterday morning. It’s Tuesday, almost three p.m.”

It was hard to hear, but he believed at least that much from the agent. The powerful drug lasted for at least a day. A day spent entombed in hell.

The agent cocked his head and turned to the paramedic. “Can we check that? Etorphine hydrochloride? Or 25-I?” Rondeau felt like the agent was humoring him.

“Not in the field,” the paramedic said. “I can draw the blood, but we don’t have any way to analyze it.” She was putting ointment on his rope burns. Where do they think the burns came from? he wondered.

“Draw the blood, hand it over to my team. We’ll have it sent to the lab for chemical testing.”

Rondeau felt a shiver at the mention of an FBI crime lab. “My brother-in-law can corroborate,” he said to the paramedic. “If you can find him. Has anyone found him?”

“Your brother-in-law was with you?” The agent crossed his arms. “A civilian? Who is he?”

“Millard.”

“Millard? What’s his last name?”

Rondeau thought, and came up empty. His mind was still so scrambled he couldn’t even recall Millard’s last name. The effects of the drug were powerful. He waited for it to come to him. In the meantime, the agent stepped forward, extending the hand down to Rondeau. “I’m Special Agent Marty McDonough, by the way,” he said.

Rondeau shook the man’s hand. His muscles quivered and he quickly withdrew.

“What do you remember?”

Rondeau was silent.

McDonough leaned to the right, looking past the ambulance. “Shit, here they come. Press.” He snapped his fingers and shouted, walking away. “Hey, hey! Enforce that line there. No one comes past the barricade. They try it, take their cameras.”