by Keith Yocum
“Hate to say it guys, but she could have been grabbed anywhere in here. She went out at 8:12 p.m., and I gather there are street lights that offer a lot of illumination,” Dennis said. “I looked up the time for sunset on May 22 and it was 5:09 p.m.”
“It was dark when she left,” Winchester said. “The fountain there has colored lights that surround it in a continuing display. And the archway to the clock tower is well lit. It’s certainly not completely pitch-black.”
“No eyewitnesses?”
“None that have come forward.”
“And that’s the pharmacy over there?”
“Yes, but as we reported, they have no record of her purchasing anything. The CCTV confirms she did not enter.”
“Somewhere between the hotel exit and the store over there, she disappeared?”
“Yes,” McCarthy said.
Turning to Winchester, Dennis said, “If you were going to abduct someone from this park, where would you do it?”
He grimaced and looked to his partner. “That’s really not our expertise,” McCarthy interrupted.
“Come on,” Dennis said, walking back through the park, “I’m not going to hold you to it, I’m just asking your opinion.”
“We’re not empowered to provide opinions,” McCarthy said. “I think we already stated that.”
“Winchester, where would you take her?”
“Mmm, probably at the entrance. Back there,” he said pointing to the spot where they entered.
“Rangi!” his partner said.
“Oh, let him alone,” Dennis said. “Come along, Rangi. Show me.”
McCarthy groaned as they retraced their steps to the entrance.
“I suppose I would do it right here, and pull her into this area over there, behind those hedges,” Winchester said.
Dennis left the path and walked twenty feet into a dense growth of short evergreens. He kicked the dirt at the base of the shrubs.
“Yeah, this is where she was taken. Good call, Rangi. The car was probably parked on the side street there.”
McCarthy pouted, while the three men walked back to the hotel.
“Did you want to drive by the Ghorbani’s home?” McCarthy said. “It’s not far from here.”
“No,” Dennis said. “Not now. I’d like some time to myself, thanks. Can we meet again at around 4 p.m. this afternoon?”
“Certainly, but how will you get around? We drove you here.”
“Oh, I’ll just walk around until I find someplace for a cup of coffee.”
“Fine,” McCarthy said. The two New Zealanders walked back to their car and drove away.
Dennis was not trying to dump them; he was exhausted. Or worse.
There was a time several years ago when he was clinically depressed after his wife’s death, and he had taken time off from work. With Dr. Forrester’s help—albeit painful at times—Dennis had come away stabilized and mildly self-reflective. He tried antidepressants, but he did not like them and stopped.
His first case after returning to work took him to Australia, where he met Judy. Their romance had suffered through so many catastrophic disruptions, that it was a mystery to him how he ended up quitting the CIA and living in Perth.
Standing in a chilly parking lot in Blenheim, New Zealand, Dennis felt that brooding cloud of depression hovering. It worried him.
Walk, he told himself. For god’s sake just start walking. Do something. Anything! Don’t let it get you.
The phone rang three times before he answered it, just as Judy was about to leave a message.
“Dennis?”
“Gidday,” Dennis said in his painful imitation accent.
“I see you’ve gone full Aussie,” she said.
“Trying. It’s hard. Can’t stand Vegemite. And Aussie Rules Football, is, well, very strange. But the Sheilas are a bit of alright.”
“Dennis, I have something to tell you.”
He held the phone tightly to his ear since the coffee shop was loud. Judy’s voice had been odd from the start of the silly exchange.
“I’m taking some time off work,” she said. “Starting today.”
“What? Leave of absence from work? Why would you do that?”
“Because I can’t stand it any longer, that’s why. It’s not a leave of absence, just two weeks of vacation.”
“Why now?”
“I can’t stand my job any longer.”
“Jeez, where did all this come from? I knew things were a little crazy with work. And perhaps I should have paid more attention to the shooting. I just didn’t … well, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s not just the shooting, but also the infuriating investigation afterward, and the trifling bureaucratic nonsense. Or maybe it was the shooting. Oh, I don’t know. I just need a break, and I’m taking it. I feel bad for my partner Daniel, but he agrees that it’s best that I do it now before I completely lose my temper.”
Silence fell over the conversation.
“What are you going to do with your time off?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. My mum would like to visit Singapore, and dad isn’t interested.”
“You’ll go stir crazy,” he said. “You can’t go from one hundred miles an hour to ten miles per hour. I tried it, and all I got was a really high handicap in golf.”
“Ha, well, perhaps I’ll take up golf.”
Dennis ran the fingers of his free hand through his short hair, back to front several times.
“I have an idea,” he said.
“Golf lessons?”
“No. Why don’t you come to New Zealand?”
“Perhaps I’ll do that after you finish your assignment. Might be a bit of fun.”
“No, I mean now. Why don’t you come now?”
“Dennis, you’re on assignment. I’ve traveled with you before on assignment, and I’m a complete afterthought to you, which is understandable.”
“Actually, I have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“It’s a police problem.”
“Come again, Dennis?”
“The Dr. Forrester disappearance. It’s a criminal investigation, not an intelligence investigation. I’m a little out of my element on this one, though I think I’m faking it pretty good. I feel like Inspector Clouseau in The Pink Panther or something.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No, well, not drinking a lot. Maybe I’m just rusty or something. But I can’t figure out her disappearance. It really doesn’t make sense, and I think someone with experience in criminal work could help. Like you.”
“You do understand that you’re privy to top secret information that is illegal for me to see?”
“You wouldn’t see the information because I’d just talk to you about it.”
“Dennis, you have been drinking. That’s absurd. You’re exposing yourself to serious repercussions, and I’m not going to be part of that. How many days do you have left on this thing? Twelve days or something?”
“Yes, exactly twelve days and that’s why I need your help.”
“First, stop drinking. Second, give it your best shot, and take the money and run. You said yourself that the entire case is nonsense.”
Silence.
“Dennis?”
Silence.
“Dennis, speak to me.”
“I think I’m a little messed up.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I thought I was fine until last night. Then I had a terrible dream. About my father and mother. All that family shit. I don’t know why suddenly that came up. Maybe it’s the Dr. Forrester thing. She opened the lid on that part of my life, and I thought I could put the lid back on. Feels strange that now she’s missing.”
“Are you de
pressed? Like you used to be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, Dennis,” Judy sighed. “Heavens, why did you take this assignment?”
“I thought it would occupy me, at least briefly. Remember, they came after me; I never sought it out.”
“Why don’t you quit and just come back to Perth?”
“I can’t do that. I’ve never quit an assignment in my life.”
“But you quit the agency, remember?”
“That was a job, not an assignment. Once I start, I never stop. I’m afraid to quit.”
“Afraid of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dennis, you’re worrying me, do you know that?”
Silence.
“Where are you staying?” she said.
He gave her the hotel in Blenheim.
“I’ll call you after I make reservations.”
Perhaps it was the knowledge that Judy would be joining him soon, or perhaps it was the walk around the pleasant little city of Blenheim, but Dennis felt buoyed somewhat when McCarthy and Winchester picked him up in the parking lot.
“Charming town,” Dennis said.
“Yes, it is; we’re quite lucky here in New Zealand. Away from most of the world’s problems,” McCarthy said. “Good climate, law-abiding citizens, and a great outdoor lifestyle.”
“Well, not completely law-abiding,” Dennis said. “Someone snatched our Dr. Forrester.”
“Ah yes, well, there is that,” McCarthy said. “I guess we can’t escape all the world’s evil. Luckily, we have nothing here for anyone to covet. Except for our rugby team, perhaps.”
Winchester chuckled. “Hands off our All Blacks.”
“That’s the name of your national rugby team?” Dennis said.
Both men nodded from the front seat.
“You know, I thought Aussie Rules football was complicated, but when I watched a rugby match on TV, I had no idea what they were doing except beating the crap out of each other. And just when the game gets interesting, the ref blows a whistle, and they stop and gather in some kind of circle to push each other. And no helmets. Why no helmets?”
“Real men don’t need helmets,” Winchester said, sharing a sideways grin at McCarthy.
“Right,” Dennis said.
They drove in silence as Dennis watched the town slide by. The call from Judy had revived him; he was now bantering, not brooding.
Keep focusing on the case, he thought. Don’t let that damn cloud overwhelm you. The hunt; focus on the hunt.
“In about a block, we’ll be passing the Ghorbani house on the right,” McCarthy said. “He’s at work and she’s out at a women’s club meeting. You’ll notice it’s only twenty minutes from the park. That’s how close they are to where Forrester was staying.”
“Our folks suggest they brought her back here unconscious or disabled,” Dennis said. “Took her inside and kept her until they got what they wanted, and then disposed of her body. Sound about right?”
“That’s what we understand,” McCarthy said.
“My report says our folks got into the house a month ago when the Ghorbanis were both out,” Dennis said. “They found nothing of value inside the house; no DNA, no blood, no nothing. But the report says there was Forrester DNA found in the couple’s car. Both on the back seat and on the right-hand interior door handle. If this were a court of law I’d say the case against the Ghorbanis rests on the DNA in the car. Otherwise, it’s purely circumstantial. Would you say?”
The two men in the front both shrugged.
“Hello?” Dennis said.
“Yes?” McCarthy said.
“What do you think?”
“Think about what?”
“Christ!” Dennis said. “What do you think about the validity of the agency’s report?”
“We told you already, Dennis; we don’t have an opinion on the report.”
Dennis suddenly felt angry; he was not sure why. The two men in the front seat were polite, though not terribly forthcoming. He knew their answers were vague, but he was sure they had been warned to stay neutral: keep out of the Yank’s way, let those idiots do whatever they want.
Threads. Facts. Details, Dennis repeated to himself. Follow the threads, not the bullshit.
“You guys are useless,” Dennis said, looking out the window.
“That’s unfair,” McCarthy said, his voice an octave higher than normal.
“You’re telling me absolutely nothing. Zero. I can see why your bosses wanted me to huddle with you two bozos. Mutt and Jeff.”
Dennis felt the car suddenly lurch left into a parking lot of a small strip of retail stores and come to a halt.
McCarthy swung around, his face pinched in anger, “You just hold on there, Cunningham. Unless you expect us to risk our careers dealing with you and your bloody agency, you should be more respectful. We have direct orders to refrain from offering up anything more than facts that have already been confirmed. Those are our direct orders, and for the record, even if we felt inclined to break those orders, you would be the last person we’d choose to do that with. You’re boorish, unpredictable, and don’t instill much confidence.”
Dennis’s mouth moved into an impish smile.
“Hey, Rangi,” he said. “My guess is that you’ve been tracking the Iranians for a while, right?”
“Don’t answer him,” McCarthy said, staring at his partner.
“Yes, for some time,” Winchester said.
“Rangi!” McCarthy said.
“And why exactly?” Dennis asked.
“We keep tabs on anyone suspicious that is located in the valley.”
“Why?” Dennis said.
“Waihopai Station,” Winchester said. “Electronic listening post at the end of the valley. Code name IRONSAND. We operate it, but you blokes use it too.”
“Sorry, but isn’t New Zealand pretty far off the grid for intelligence gathering?”
“Not really,” Winchester said. “Radio waves travel quite far. And there’s the Southern Cross Cable.”
“Got me there. What’s the Southern Cross Cable?”
“Do we really need to be talking about this?” McCarthy said.
“It’s not classified,” Winchester said. “The cable is part of the trans-Pacific network of communications cables. Runs in a big loop under the ocean including New Zealand, Australia and the United States.”
“Ah, let me guess—some organization with a listening post might be tapping the cable,” Dennis said. “And the listening post itself is of some interest to others. So, the Ghorbanis came under suspicion because they’re Iranian expats and they’re near the station.”
“Yes,” Winchester said.
“Are the Ghorbanis bad guys?” Dennis asked.
“Rangi, you should stop,” McCarthy said.
“Yes, looks that way,” Winchester said.
“How bad?” Dennis said.
“Medium bad.”
“Does ‘medium bad’ mean they’d capture and torture a US psychologist for intel on her patients?” Dennis asked.
“Not in my definition,” Winchester said.
“How about the Ghorbanis’ friend Lajani? Bad guy?”
“He’s an idiot,” Winchester said.
“Bloody hell,” McCarthy said, starting the car. “Would you please stop, Rangi?”
“Well, who do you think snatched Forrester then, if not the Iranians?”
“Who said she was snatched?” Winchester said.
“Damnit, stop it, Rangi!” McCarthy said. “I’m going to have to report you.”
“McCarthy, you are such a pain in the ass,” Dennis said. “Rangi’s not harming anyone. At least he’s trying to help. Whereas you’re trying to impede. Do you realize those idiots in Washington are planni
ng to take action against Iranian operatives somewhere in the world because they think they’re behind the disappearance? I’m the guy who’s going to save some poor Persians from being blown up in a car in Beirut or shot in the head while buying a baguette in Paris.”
“That’s not our responsibility. You Yanks can do whatever you want; you do anyway,” McCarthy said.
“The report I have stated emphatically that an Iranian team of expats here in Blenheim abducted and tortured Dr. Forrester. They said there is DNA evidence and corroborating sigint that ties the expats to the disappearance. I read the sigint, and unless I’m a complete idiot—don’t answer that McCarthy—the sigint intercept is innocuous and could mean anything.”
“Right,” Winchester said. “Glad someone else sees it that way.”
“They were using code words,” McCarthy said. “We all know that.”
“Actually, can we back up? I’m trying to figure out what Rangi meant when he said, ‘who said she was snatched?’ Help me a little on that one, Rangi.”
“What if she wanted to disappear?” he said. “It happens.”
Dennis stared at the back of Rangi’s head in the passenger seat.
“Shit,” he said.
“You asked.”
“Yes, I did,” Dennis said slowly. “Yes, I did.”
“You think she might have run off with someone? Maybe had an accomplice? Or she was depressed and killed herself?”
“No idea,” Winchester said.
The car stopped suddenly in front of Dennis’s hotel.
“Have a good day,” McCarthy said drily.
Dennis read the intercepted text messages a dozen times and was impressed. While he had a very poor opinion of sigint in general, the current state of tracking was ingenious.
The text messages were between Farhad Ghorbani in Blenheim and Ramin Lajani in Wellington. The messages were in Farsi and translated by agency linguists. To Dennis, the messages were mundane and probably a code of some sort.
Ghorbani: we are going to melbourne. can we stay with your friend?
Lajani: yes, I will tell him
Ghorbani: you are most kind
The exchange took place eleven hours after Forrester disappeared. According to the GCSB, Lajani immediately sent an email after that exchange to an Iranian expat friend in Melbourne, Australia. According to the Australian Security Intelligence Organization, ASIO, the friend in Melbourne sent a text message to a Syrian expat friend of his in Brisbane, Australia. The Syrian sent an email to a friend in Lebanon.
