Nusquam

Kelly nods and sips, thinking of Robert and the long tender nights in Nusquam’s cabin 10. Such untoward devotion to she who snipped...

“I guess I should disclose this meeting is more business than social. But informal... just between us.”

“Here too protect, defend and enforce the American justice system,” Kelly recalling the mission statement when Linda first studied for the department. “Guess you’re always on duty.”

Linda politely smiles, in turn sips her brew then clears her throat suggesting her prospective words are in earnest.

“You may have read in the papers... Michael Mansfield. A clever but nasty con artist, arrested a little over a year ago. Copped a plea, got a healthy, well deserved sentence... but failed to turn himself into Metropolitan Correctional Center.”

“Sounds familiar,” Kelly feigning limited knowledge. “Read something about it in the paper.”

“Well, I’m assigned to track him down. Working on it for three months now. The rascal managed an amazingly efficient disappearing act. It’s as if he never existed.”

Though concerned, Kelly represses a smile. Those rendered to Nusquam in a way indeed do not exist. But there is the question... why the informal meeting over a beer?

“But I still pursue. We never give up on fugitives. There’s always something... some clue overlooked. But this has been difficult. Mansfield did not leave the city utilizing any form of public transportation... you know we have clandestine ways of tracking that. He didn’t own a car... nor did he buy or rent one. No credit card charges since the day after he disappeared. And if he’s living on cash, that’s hard to do for extended periods. A lot of green paper to carry.”

Kelly nods, hoping to show indifference, but instead having thoughts of admiration for Nusquam’s extraction team... stumping even the U.S. Marshal’s Service.

“Any way, it’s standard operating procedure to work backwards on cases like this... from the day of disappearance... build a time line... where Mansfield had been...with whom he met... with whom he spoke. We also interview a lot of people. One theory is that an irate victim wasted him... that some fifteen years in Federal maximum was viewed as too lenient. He took a lot of people... damaged a lot of lives.”

“Makes sense,” Kelly hoping that trail is open... diverting from the real circumstances.

“Yes, you would think. But the bastard specialized on conniving the old, frail and infirm. Not too many blue haired grannies packing roscoes and dumping bodies in the East River. But that aside, think about it. If someone wasted Michael Mansfield, where is the body... and why go to such lengths to hide it?”

“Yes I see.”

“Michael Mansfield had help... powerful help. Well organized, well funded. Who or what organization would come to his aid? He pulled his cons alone. No mob influence ever came to light. And aiding and abetting flight can result in more years than Mansfield got.

“So here we are...” deputy marshal Linda Rankin pausing to look to the bartender.

The wizened man in stained vest nods then quickly looks away when Kelly follows the gaze of Linda Rankin. He guiltily diverts his eyes.

“We traced Michael Mansfield to this bar, Kelly. He had a drink here some four days before he was to report to Metropolitan House. He was with a woman... at this table... she looked like you. The bartender... he’s old but remembers good looking women. And he just nodded in remembering you.”

“So you think I had something to do with Muskrat’s disappearance?”

“How is it you’re aware of his nickname?”

Chapter Fifty

“I know you’ve memorized the tail number, Linda. Part of your job. But you’ll find that the letters ‘LX’ designate the plane as being registered in Luxembourg. And I’m sure the U.S. Marshals Service is aware of the secrecy laws, tedious regulations, mass of paperwork and the layers of bureaucracy in obtaining information from that clandestine place. You’ll be learning enough about Nusquam without having to dig too deeply. So don’t frustrate yourself.”

Investigative mind always at work, before boarding at Teterboro, Linda Rankin did in fact note the tail number of the impressive Gulfstream jet. Yes, it is indeed her job.

“How long is the flight?”

“Probably six to seven hours. The pilots vary the route... vary the speed. The exact distant is not to be determined by timing our journey. As stated, it’s Nusquam... few know of its location. It’s simply a place to be enjoyed... by the members and guests. And do try to stick to our agreement, Linda. No follow up investigation.”

Having misspoken, referring to the con artist Michael Mansfield by his rarely used sobriquet, ‘Muskrat’, having been identified by the rat fink bartender, Kelly ended her ruse, admitting to her long time friend of her complicity on the fugitive’s disappearance.

‘His homophobia took hold,’ Kelly explained to Linda of the disappearance. ‘The prosecutors used it, offering a light sentence in a safe place... in turn for a confession. The judge overturned the deal. In Mike Mansfield’s mind, he had no choice. It was coming to me or fifteen years of cautiously bending for soap in the shower.’

Kelly told her friend what she could, suggesting justice was served... and is continuing to be served. A skeptical Linda Rankin insisted on proof. With a phone call to the Director, a long weekend visit to Nusquam has been arranged, ostensibly on Marshal Service business. But Kelly Devers knows there will be enjoyment. Linda Rankin, after all, is one of us, she reminds herself... such notion being emphasized with the Director.

Before Linda can reassure her friend of limited follow up, her attention is diverted. A stewardess steps from the galley, tray of mimosas in hand. Linda smiles in surprise. The pretty young girl has been stripped naked for the flight. Though reprieved of the Nusquam tattoo, her many steel bands... wrists, biceps, thighs and ankles... her matching steel neck collar... announce her status as servant.

Slinking behind on the cabin floor, clipped to her right ankle, is long thin chain. A second chain hobbles, strung from left thigh band to right, forcing short delicate steps. As the girl nears, Linda notes the elbow bands are loosely tethered behind the back, restricting much arm motion and serving to remind of her status.