The Vanishing Gary Brown (booksvooks TXT) 📖

that life’s truest reward comes not from what you receive from the world, but from what you give to it.

The director entered the room. She noted Martin’s interest in the picture.

“Mr. Tumba grew up in this orphanage,” she said. “I am enormously proud of him. He came from nothing, destitute and abandoned. Against all odds, he grew up to become a leader and a statesman; a symbol to all of our children that one’s dreams can come true if you possess both the desire and the willingness to work for them.” She extended her hand. “My name is Akimbo Ubweete. Welcome to Sacred Light Mission, Mr. Belgrade.”

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Ms. Ubweete,” Martin replied. “May I present my close friend, Dr. Claire Prescott.”

The women shook hands.

The director motioned to an adjoining room. “Please, come into my office. Tell me how I can help you.”

Martin opened his wallet, removed a worn, crumpled picture. “I’d like to know if you remember this girl. This photo was taken five years ago. She’d be almost eight now. Her name is Melanie. She’s my daughter.”

The director studied the picture. “She looks familiar.”

Martin felt his heart skip a beat. “She’s here? May I see her, please?”

The director shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Belgrade. I said I remembered her. This girl is no longer at Sacred Light.”

“Do you know where I can find her?” Martin asked.

“Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t provide you with that information.”

Her answer stunned Martin. “Why not?”

“Because Melanie, as you call her, has been placed in foster care. And as you can appreciate, those records are confidential. I remember her because she was with us for a very short time. Six or seven months, no longer. You see, most of the young people we receive are teenagers. Melanie was the exception. She was still a child. Few families will accept young adults. But for a three-year-old there was immediate interest.”

“I understand your position, Ms. Ubweete,” Martin said, “but you must understand mine. Melanie was not abandoned. She was kidnapped. She was taken from me and brought to your country without my consent. The only reason she wound up in your orphanage is because her mother’s murderer delivered her to you.”

Martin removed an envelope from his jacket pocket and laid out its contents on the director’s desk.

“These are copies of her birth certificate, hospital records, a picture with me when she was just a newborn, family photographs, her second birthday party--”

“Please, Mr. Belgrade,” the director interrupted. “I have no reason not to believe your story. You would not have come all this way to see me without good reason. I know that. But I cannot help you. Policies and procedures have been judiciously followed. We must adhere to the law. The rights of Melanie’s foster family must also be taken into consideration.”

“Foster family?” Martin said incredulously. “Melanie doesn’t need a foster family. I am Melanie’s family! With all due respect, Ms. Ubweete, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. My daughter was stolen from me. If you know where she is, I demand you tell me.”

“I do not appreciate the tone you are taking with me, Mr. Belgrade.” The director rose from her desk. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Leave?” Martin replied. “You can’t be serious. Tell me where to find my daughter!”

Ms. Ubweete placed her hand on her telephone. “Will it be necessary for me to call the authorities?” she asked sternly.

Martin suddenly realized he had offended the only person in the world who could possibly help him find his daughter. He stood, hoping if his knees would be strong enough to keep him from collapsing.

“No,” Martin replied. “We’ll see ourselves out. But I’ll be back.”

Claire took him by the arm. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not,” Martin replied as he left the director’s office. “I’m far from okay.”

Outside the gates of the mission, Martin leaned against the stone wall and cupped his face in his hands. His legs buckled. He slid down the wall, sat on the ground, and wept.

Claire knelt beside him, wrapped him in her arms, consoled him. “You can’t give up, Martin,” she said. “Not yet. Melanie is down here somewhere. We’ll find her. I know we will.”

“I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,” Martin said. He struggled through his tears to speak. “My little girl is… gone.”

“You’ve got to be strong, Martin,” Claire said. “Now more than ever. But if you can’t, then let me be strong for you. Like you were for me.” She helped him to his feet. “Let’s go back to the hotel. We’ll contact the American Embassy and explain our situation to them. There must be some way they can intervene on our behalf.”

Martin drew a deep breath, steadied himself. “Yes,” he agreed. “The embassy. It’s worth a try,” he agreed.

“Damn right it is,” Claire said.

She raised her hand, hailed a taxi.

77

AS THE CAB pulled away from Sacred Heart into the busy midday traffic, Martin turned in his seat and glanced back at the mission.

Akimbo Ubweete stood at the gate, watching the cab as it drove away. She lowered her hand as though having tried to signal the driver without success, then turned away.

“Driver, stop!” Martin yelled. “Stop the cab! Now!”

“What is it, Martin?” Claire asked. “What’s wrong?”

Martin threw open the door and jumped out. He ran down the street, dodging cars and parcel laden pedestrians until he reached the gates of the mission.

“Director!” Martin called out.

The mission director turned at the front steps, looked back. “Yes, Mr. Belgrade?”

“There’s something you want to tell me, isn’t there? Something about Melanie.”

She walked back to the front gate. “Yes, there is,” she said. She handed Martin a slip of paper. On it, she had written an address.

“I looked up the girl’s file as you were leaving. I don’t know why, but I did. That’s when I noticed the note.”

“Note?” Martin asked.

“The one I had made to myself years ago… about this.” The