Connect the Dots

by Denise Robbins

  “I couldn’t risk another idiot screwing up my perfect plan.”

  “You sent Dick in to scare me off the scent. He followed your orders.”

  Again, he nodded. “Only you kept showing up.”

  “At the black sites.”

  He stopped moving, stood inches from her, his sour breath blowing into her face, fanning her hair as he tried to compose himself. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his fingers curl into a fist, and she prepared herself for a blow. It never came.

  “What was your plan? What did Kyle know that you did not want revealed?”

  Richard cocked his left eyebrow.

  “I deserve to know that much.”

  “You deserve whatever I choose to give you. You need to learn that if you want to live.”

  “Live or survive?” she asked returning his glare.

  “Kyle did not want to see reason. He refused to look at the bigger picture.”

  “The bigger picture,” she murmured.

  “Yes! Damn you!” His spittle sprayed her face.

  “The oil.”

  He smiled at her, a wicked grin that met eyes dancing with fire. “The oil. It’s my job to keep the energy corridor growing and divert oil and gas so its delivery to the West is no longer dependent on Russia.”

  Holy moly! Doing that could potentially cause Russia to lose seventy percent of the country’s revenue.

  “You blew the pipeline to force Russia’s hand. You wanted them to advance on Georgia. That was why our own troops were there. Not for any joint training effort, but to prepare them for the war you orchestrated.”

  He shrugged.

  “But why?” It hit her. “That way the US and Georgia could retaliate, not attack. Russia appeared as the aggressors, not us. And it gave you another reason to have more US troops sent overseas to protect and build the Silk Road and Georgia.”

  “You’re too smart for your own good.”

  Uh-uh. Richard looked down at his shoes, tipped back on his heels. That was only part of it.

  “Who took my father’s Purple Heart?”

  His head jerked up. “You did. Why?”

  “You really do ask too many questions.”

  Pain stabbed into her shoulder muscles and Charley bit down on her lip, willed it away, breathing through her nose. When it subsided, she met his gaze.

  “I knew your father.” The statement stunned her as if punched. “We had both been on assignment in Russia during the cold war. On his last assignment, he blew it. He ended up shot and took credit for the success of the mission, a mission I planned. They gave him the Purple Heart.”

  “A flawed plan.”

  “It was not!”

  “My father got shot! It was flawed. He was never the same after that.” He died broken hearted after losing his one true love. Espionage.

  “You killed them both.”

  Richard moved to her, invaded her space. “You’re next.”

  Charley’s heart slammed painfully against her chest. “They will know it was you. Someone will put it together when I’m found here.”

  “They won’t find you in Georgia. Remember, you’re a ghost.” He stepped back and grinned lopsided. “This was only a convenient stopover. No, you’re going for another ride.”

  “To another black site?”

  Richard did not answer her. “Too damned smart.” He shook his head and walked away from her, his black shiny shoes clicking against the floor, echoing off the walls.

  When the door banged shut like a metal coffin lid, panic and fear set in. She trembled uncontrollably.

  The door swung open again and four hooded men came rushing into her room. Did they honestly think it took four of them? One ninja-dressed man unhooked her legs from the wall while another released her arms. Charley sighed in relief. When the guard let go of her, the muscles in her legs gave out and she started to tumble. One of them grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back up and against a solid wall of chest. In any other situation, she would have thanked him. Instead, she kicked her shackled legs.

  “Let me go!” Weak from the hours of standing, she missed her targets and her effort did nothing but irritate the man holding her who squeezed a little tighter, cutting off her air supply.

  While she fought for oxygen, one of them slammed a hood over her head. “Darn you!”

  The four goons lifted her off the ground. “Where are you taking me?” No one responded, not that she had expected them to.

  The sound of a metal door scraping against metal caught her attention. They walked, carrying her out of the room. Somewhere down the corridor, she heard something pop and a rush of warm air hit her. In the distance, she heard an engine start up. The whine of an airplane motor roared to life.

  FIFTY

  “Damn!” The GPS signal led him straight to the Georgia Ministry of Internal Affairs building. “Shit!” The MOIA’s structure consisted of everything to do with security and policing, including the Counterterrorist Centre. “Oldest trick in the book.” Hide what you do not want others to see in plain sight.

  It wasn’t as if he could go through the front doors and announce himself. The security detail would arrest him as soon as he walked through the metal detector. Undeterred, Jake drove past the large white building, pulled into a spot down the road, and parked. From the duffle bag, he extracted a Walther MPK submachine gun and snapped in a magazine then slung the strap over his shoulder. His clutch piece already strapped to his ankle, he tucked his Glock in the waistband at the back of his pants.

  With the GPS still in hand, he hopped out of the jeep and went in the direction of the back of the building. As he rounded the corner, a white van pulled away from the building screeching its tires as it left the lot. Looking back at the white structure, he saw a double-door still swinging shut. “Gotta love handicapped access.”

  Jake jumped a small hedge and sprinted for the door. He reached it with an inch to spare, shoving his hand between the frame and the door and pulling it back so he could squeeze inside. The only light was an illuminated exit sign above the entrance. The Ministry was shut down for the night. Sliding his Glock out of his waistband, he checked the GPS then followed the signal, staying close to the wall, merging with the shadows.

  As he reached a closed room, he paused and listened. Some of the doors had glass peek-in windows and whenever he encountered one, he peered inside. Apparently, the lower level of the building did not house offices. The only things he saw in each of the small rooms were a single table and two chairs.

  “Shit!” Footsteps. He slid inside one of the rooms with the windows and waited. The footsteps grew louder, closer. Jake held his breath as he watched a tall man with gray hair in a navy jacket exit the building. Exhaling, he stepped back into the hall, shutting the door silently behind him.

  He had to be close. The damn blinking light and the text said he was at ground zero. He checked the room across from where he stood. Nothing. When he entered the room on the opposite side of the hall, Jake stopped cold as the door screeched shut. He swore Charley’s fragrance hung in the air, an unmistakable scent of mango and coconut. Fishing a small penlight out of his pocket, he walked further into the space, casting the beam left to right traversing the floor. What he saw chilled him to the bone. On the floor next to one of the chairs was an eyebolt.

  Sweeping the light higher around the area, the beam reflected against something in the far corner. Jake drew nearer. Another eyebolt protruded from the cement wall. The scent was stronger. She had to be here! He started past the table, heading toward the door and halted. A strand of long, blonde hair shone in his beam against the dark metal tabletop. For one second his heart stopped beating. She had been here. Where was she now?

  On silent feet, Jake went back into hall. When he reached the end of the corridor, he went into a stairwell. He had two options, up or down. His bet was down. He descended the stairs two steps at a time, halting at the landing. Opening the door a crack, he listened before entering th
e next floor.

  Where the hell was she? He wanted to scream the question. Two doors down on the left-hand side of the hall, he heard muffled voices. Weapon poised to fire, he inched closer to the room, and reached for the handle. For one quick moment, he contemplated bursting in on whoever was inside. Then logic broke into his conscious. This had to be covert. The last thing he wanted was to give anyone reason to shoot Charley. His only goal was to locate and extract.

  He slinked past the occupied room and noticed the doors changed. These doors had small metal plates at the base of the doors that slid across like prison doors did, so guards could deliver food without having to unlock the door. There was another slide opening in the middle of each door so guards could handcuff a prisoner before entering the cell. Swallowing hard, the fear and knowledge that Charley could be in one of the cells, he went door-to-door pulling the plates aside and peering inside.

  Damn it! He was almost at the end of the floor and still he had not found Charley. The damn GPS lied. Shoving the device into a pocket, Jake decided to go on instinct and slipped into the last room.

  The space was bigger and cooler, he thought as a chill skittered up his arms. Inside the room was another, smaller, glass-enclosed room. Jake stepped into the doorless space and ran his flashlight across a set of metal shelves. One shelf held cameras, both digital and video. Another shelf held orange jumpsuits. He swung the light around the room, swept it across the table, and stopped.

  His heart plummeted like an anchor to his stomach, crashing into the depths of his anguish. Sitting on the table was Charley’s bag, the source of the GPS signal. “Fuck!” At the end of the table sat a trashcan and inside it Charley’s clothes. That was it. Screw the covert approach.

  Jake jerked the door open and stormed into the hall, his target the room with the voices. He would beat her location out of them if he had to. Halfway there his satellite phone buzzed. He slid back against the wall, fished it out of his pocket, and flipped it open holding it up to his ear.

  Waldo’s voice came over the line. “I think we have a Charlie Foxtrot.”

  “What?” Jake asked in as low a murmur as he could manage.

  “Charley isn’t there.” No shit! How did Waldo know?

  “That plane just landed here, in Armenia.”

  “And?”

  “She was on it.”

  Anguish ripped through Jake as he ran for the stairs, shoving the phone back in his pocket as he sprinted past the occupied room.

  “Hey!” Someone shouted as he hit the door to the stairwell at a dead run.

  He swung his arm back and let off two rounds before he bolted up the steps. A shot rang out in the enclosed space. The bullet missed his head by inches, hitting the metal doorframe as he pushed the door to the next floor open. Running, he tugged on the strap of the Walther MPK submachine gun, shoved the butt into his shoulder, and swung around spraying the area with bullets as he completed the turn.

  His heart jack hammered inside his chest as the bullets sang against the cement. He ran for the exit, hit the release for the door, and saw glass shatter in front of him. It bit into exposed skin but he didn’t stop. He twisted and pulled the trigger.

  A man screamed behind him as someone shot in his direction.

  When his feet hit pavement, he whirled back toward the building, squeezed off a couple of rounds and tossed a little surprise into the doorway. As the two chasing guards reversed direction and ran for cover, Jake did not wait for the results. He leapt the hedge, jumped into the jeep and turned the ignition in one fluid movement. Just as he pulled into the street, a loud bang reverberated from the underbelly of the Ministry building.

  FIFTY-ONE

  This time her captors did not drug her for the plane ride, the very short plane ride. Once the plane had lifted off, Charley had counted one Mississippi, two Mississippi, and so on until they touched back down. By her count, they had been in the air less than thirty minutes. If she survived this, knowing her approximate distance from Tbilisi would give her a better chance of determining her location.

  Lying on a hard, flat surface, her hands and feet bound, her head covered, Charley heard the snick of a lock then felt something slide over her feet and up her body. The shackles at her wrists went loose and large hands grasped her upper arms and tugged her to a sitting position. Then she was hoisted up and whatever they had encased her feet in slid up higher. Her dark vision went completely black and her air supply became hot and moist.

  Oh no! She was in some kind of bag. Charley kicked and punched at her prison wall. Thrown over a shoulder, she turned her head toward the muscle that bulged and poked at her. She opened her mouth and through layers of fabric bit down. Satisfaction came in the sound of a muffled scream.

  Heavy feet struck against metal stairs and she bounced against her captor. The movement flattened out. She expected to be tossed into another van but instead the guy kept walking. Charley started counting to herself.

  Less than ten minutes later, she heard a slap followed by the whoosh of an automatic door.

  * * * *

  Tree limbs whacked against the jeep as Jake put the pedal to the metal, rushing back to Armenia. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Without taking his foot off the gas, he gripped the wheel and reached into his jeans, pulling out the phone.

  “Go.”

  “The embassy.”

  “Which one?”

  “US.”

  “Can you see her?”

  “No. I didn’t follow them inside.”

  “How do you know it was Charley?”

  “I saw her hair spilling out of the big mail sack they stuffed her in.” Jake clenched his jaw muscles.

  “I’m almost there.” He clipped the phone shut and tossed it to the passenger seat.

  He came into the clearing near the airport, yanked the wheel hard to the left sending dirt flying then slammed the brakes and jerked to a stop almost hitting Waldo.

  “Where is she?” Jake cut the engine and hopped out.

  “They took her in the basement door over there.” Waldo aimed a shaky finger at the US Embassy not more than two hundred yards away.

  “How many?”

  “Four went in then two came back out and headed toward downtown Yerevan.”

  Jake bobbed his head, soaking in all the information Waldo relayed. He walked back to the Jeep, opened his duffle and replaced the magazine for the submachine gun and the percussion grenade.

  “I’m going with you.”

  Jake turned to see Waldo standing directly behind him, a 9-millimeter firmly grasped in his beefy hand. The man wanted to protect Charley as much as he did. Jake shook his head.

  “No. You need to stay with the plane.”

  He started past the older man but Waldo grabbed his arm and hauled him up short. “Damn you! She’s mine.” Jake heard the tears in the other man’s throat, the same tears that threatened to choke him. He understood.

  “You drive,” he ordered Waldo and rounded the vehicle.

  Waldo climbed in and turned the engine over.

  “You wait outside in the Jeep.”

  Waldo nodded.

  “You better be able to run old man because when we get back to the plane I want to be airborne before they even get a whiff she is missing.”

  “Not a problem.”

  When Waldo reached the back of the building, he pulled up and let Jake out. “Bring her home.”

  “Don’t shoot unless you have to.”

  Waldo agreed with a slight nod and Jake turned and sprinted for the Embassy basement doors.

  * * * *

  They dumped her. Still in the bag, her wrists and ankles shackled, they dumped her onto a mattress, knocking the wind out of her. The door clanged shut behind their retreating feet. She wanted to sigh with relief that she was still alive but she wondered for how long. Was this a temporary reprieve or her permanent home? Whatever it was, Charley had to come up with a plan.

  First things first, she had to get out
of the bag. With a lot of wiggling, shimmying, and tugging, she managed to get the bag down past her shoulders and let her arms out. Wrists still shackled, she tugged the black hood from her head and gulped in air. Once her pulse had slowed and her chest stopped heaving, Charley got to a sitting position and freed herself from the canvas sack.

  The room was pitch black except for the sliver of light that crept under the cell door. On elbows and knees she crawled to the door and peered under it. She saw no movement, no shadows. Sitting up, she felt along the door for the handle. When her hands encountered the lever, she tugged with all her might. It did not budge.

  She sat down, her head resting against metal. There had to be a way out. Even if she made it out of the room, how would she get out of the building without a weapon?

  “Come on, Charley, use your head. What would your father do?” Elbows against knees, head in her hands, she closed her eyes and pictured her father. In her mind’s eye, she saw him standing in the cell with her in his khaki pants and blue cotton button-down shirt that matched the color of his eyes, her eyes.

  “Patience, Charley.”

  Patience? She did not have time for patience. Her life was about to be snuffed out. She had to act.

  She pictured her father shaking his head, his dark-blonde hair not moving as he tsked her. “I keep telling you, you gotta have patience. The opportunity will present itself.”

  Charley looked up to shoot the ghost of her father a death glare when her gaze skimmed the bag. A slow grin spread across her lips. “I love you, Daddy. You were always right.”

  She crawled back to the sack, pulled it over to the door then sat back and waited. Patiently.

  FIFTY-TWO

  The door to the building opened with ease, which surprised Jake. He stepped through and pressed himself into a doorway, waiting. His Glock held in his hand and rested it against his thigh as he listened. The only sound he heard was the pounding beat of his heart.

  Jake crept from door to door, waiting and listening. When he reached the stairwell, he slunk back into the shadow, held his weapon across his chest, and aimed at the door. He remained still as the door swung back and two hooded men walked out. Hoods?