Once a Hero

by Jan Thompson

  Jake stared at his wet fingers and touched his ear again. “Did someone just shoot at me?”

  Ping!

  “Get down!” Beatrice pulled him to the ground. The sidewalk was rough cement, and she was sure she had grazed her elbows through her long-sleeved cotton blouse. “Ken, call 911!”

  The crowd was chaotic again. People running, screaming.

  Beatrice spotted Raynelle in the middle of the crowd, running across the street and pointing to the second floor of a parking deck. She stopped, pulled out her Glock, aimed at the gunman, and fired.

  One shot.

  In an instant, Raynelle was surrounded by the local police.

  Chapter Seven

  “A treasure hunter, huh?” Earl’s voice seemed to say he didn’t believe anything Beatrice Glynn had said back at the San Francisco Police Department Central Station.

  He pulled the SUV out of the parking spot and eased into traffic outside the police station. Jake buckled on his passenger side safety belt.

  “You believe a thing she said?” Earl asked.

  Jake didn’t know what to think. It turned out that Beatrice had gone at night with her real face. No prosthetic nose. Her face also matched her identification and passport. Jake felt that she had been herself at the police station.

  Jake figured that if they sent her data to the FBI, he might call his FBI agent friend Stella Evans to check on Beatrice’s real identity, considering he himself now had zero access to any FBI resources.

  Alternatively, they could ask Helen to look into it. She has connections at the NSA.

  Then again, since Beatrice was an American citizen, the NSA spying on her could be a powder keg of a whole host of constitutional problems.

  Jake did not tell the SFPD that he suspected Beatrice to be the same person in the café the night before, and that she had swiped the three-amber brooch.

  To his credit, Earl also didn’t say a word.

  “Who is she, really?” Earl asked again. “I don’t buy all that talk about death threats.”

  “She has proof. Police reports.” Jake wasn’t trying to defend her. “That ex-CIA she hired as her bodyguard seemed to be doing her job.”

  “The sniper must be useless if he missed her and got your ear.” Earl laughed.

  Jake reached to touch his bandaged ear. It still stung a bit, but it would heal. Two stitches at urgent care and he was good to go. “I didn’t get a chance to thank her for saving my life.”

  “You meant when she pulled you to the ground after you had already been shot?” Earl didn’t seem to agree with him.

  “I should try to thank her in person, but we were interviewed separately.”

  “I’m sure she will show up again. What is she looking for anyway?”

  “She didn’t say, but the brooches led to one place.” Jake looked out the window. “Just like those twelve Petros eggs that Helen and Mama Hu uncovered. They all lead to one place.”

  “The Amber Room.”

  “Yep. How could anyone find something that no longer existed in its original form?”

  “Beats me. I’m not a treasure hunter. Not my thing.”

  “Not mine either. I don’t even care about the Amber Room. I just want to see Molyneux behind bars. I’m tired of chasing her.”

  The clock on the dashboard said it was past one o’clock in the morning.

  Jake was wide awake on Paris time.

  Earl was yawning. And driving.

  “Let’s go back to the hotel and get some sleep. Maybe tomorrow we’ll think better,” Jake said.

  “It’s already tomorrow.” Earl laughed.

  “We have so many questions. Maybe we’re asking the wrong questions.”

  “And so many wrong answers.”

  Jake leaned his head on the headrest of the passenger seat, sorting through that day’s finds.

  He had lost his informant, now in the morgue awaiting autopsy.

  He lost the three-amber brooch. Someone had taken it back at the café. Was it Beatrice Glynn? Was it her bodyguard?

  Why did Beatrice need a bodyguard? Was she rich or in danger or both?

  Speaking of Beatrice, why had she been in disguise at the café but not the next evening outdoors?

  If she had taken the brooch, why did she do it?

  Why would a sniper try to kill her—them?

  It was unclear who the dead sniper was. What was clear was that Raynelle would probably not be charged for the killing. There were hundreds of witnesses who saw the sniper shoot at the crowd. Besides, she had a multi-state license to carry a concealed weapon.

  The SFPD wasn’t forthcoming to civilians about criminal investigations, of which Jake was one now. They didn’t answer to him.

  How quickly he had fallen from being undercover to being suspended and now fired.

  “What are all the wrong questions?” Earl parked the vehicle at their hotel. “Ah, like you said, we’ll sort it out in the morning.”

  Jake nodded as he began to suspect that San Francisco had taken him further and further away from his target: Molyneux.

  She was probably plotting another terrorist attacking Europe.

  And there was nothing Jake could do right now to stop her.

  Unless he could find her first.

  He was confident there was a connection between the treasure hunter and Molyneux. From all his years of working undercover as part of Molyneux’s organization, he knew that she was looking for the Amber Room. Not for history’s sake, but to sell the panels to the highest bidder so that she could fund more atrocities.

  If Beatrice and her bodyguard were also look for the Amber Room, they might run into Molyneux.

  Perhaps he should join forces with Beatrice.

  Hmmm.

  He’d have to think about that.

  She might not be a friend at all. What if she was hired by Molyneux to look for the Amber Room? Many mercenaries and treasure hunters worked for her that way.

  Still, why wouldn’t they keep what they found for themselves?

  Which side was Beatrice Glynn on?

  “Hey, Earl?” Jake thought of something else.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hugo still in Brussels?”

  “Uh-huh. Living the life.”

  “Can he check on Javier et al in jail? Maybe they could shed some light on what Molyneux might be up to regarding the Amber Room. You know how she’s been raising funds through the sale of stolen artwork and jewelry.”

  Earl nodded. “Good idea. Maybe between Hugo and Helen, they could get us more information.”

  “And see if the name Beatrice Glynn shows up anywhere near Molyneux.”

  “You worked for her for three years. Never heard of this woman?”

  “Nope.” Jake shook his head. “I don’t know how many people work for Molyneux or who they all are.”

  “You think Glynn works for her?” Earl made a face to show disgust.

  “We don’t know, do we? We know that Molyneux cannot leave France—not legally. She has to send people to do her dirty work for her. Someone who has a US passport would be allowed into the USA.”

  “Where the three brooches are supposed to be.”

  “And we lost the one we could have had.” Jake wondered who else was working for Beatrice the treasure hunter, and how big her organization was.

  And the missing three-amber brooch bothered him. Was he losing his agent acuity? “We’re back to square one.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  Chapter Eight

  “He’s bluffing. He doesn’t have the one-amber brooch, but that makes me think he knows where it is.” Kenichi seemed confident of his finding, but it scared Beatrice.

  It was a rainy morning in San Francisco, and they had finished breakfast without Raynelle, who had gone off somewhere to decompress alone.

  Beatrice paced the floor in their hideaway townhouse. “Where did you get that information?”

  “Gimme a pay raise and I’ll tell you.” Kenichi chuckled.
“Otherwise it’s best if you don’t know because then you won’t be liable in court.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a failsafe way to protect me.” Beatrice rolled her eyes. “I think I know what you did but I don’t like it. I don’t want you breaking any law to get us to where we need to go.”

  “What do you think I did?”

  “When I was talking to Jake at the wharf, you hacked into his phone via mine because we were mere inches apart.”

  Kenichi wiggled his eyebrows. “So it’s Jake now, huh? Not Agent Kessler or anything formal?”

  “He told me his name is Jake.” For whatever reason. Maybe to gain her trust. “Okay. So you scanned his phone.”

  “He’s not very techno savvy, but enough to use a burner phone. There was nothing in it. He made a few calls but they were all untraceable. No text messages.”

  “But he has a photo of the one-amber brooch.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past the FBI to entrap anyone.”

  “Well, he’s not FBI anymore.” Beatrice told him what happened at the police station.

  “That, I didn’t know.” Kenichi looked a bit stunned. “Maybe I should keep a better eye on him.”

  “At the police station, there was a man with him,” Beatrice said. “I heard the name Earl but I didn’t catch the last name. Sounds like someone who works for Helen Hu?”

  “Might be. I’ll keep one eye on Jake and one eye on Earl then.”

  Beatrice prayed for Raynelle, hoping that she was okay, and that she would return to them in one piece. Pressure had been the reason Raynelle had left the CIA in the first place.

  Treasure hunting was supposed to be a piece of cake compared to what the CIA did every day.

  Then again, maybe they should just pack up and go home to Charleston.

  “I think I know what you’re thinking.” Kenichi didn’t look up. “You’re asking yourself if this is worth the trouble.”

  “How did you guess?”

  Kenichi chuckled. “How many times in the last five years have you asked yourself that very question?”

  “Too many times. I may not be cut out for this.” Beatrice sighed. “It’s getting dangerous. Like tonight.”

  Beatrice had told the SFPD exactly was she presumed happened. That Raynelle thought the sniper was going after her. After all, she had hired Raynelle to protect her, having received several death threats in the last year. The proof that the sniper was going for Beatrice again was that Jake’s ears were shot inches away from Beatrice’s face.

  It meant she was either getting closer to finding the Amber Room, or she was about to cross paths with Molyneux and somebody wanted her out of the way.

  “But you end up always saying the same thing,” Kenichi reminded her.

  Beatrice nodded. “We have to press on.”

  “The sooner Molyneux is gone, the better the world will be.”

  “Thank God we don’t have to get to her ourselves. We just need to lead the authorities to her. Then again, that’s easier said than done. How many times have they failed to follow up?”

  “Maybe this time your Jake might succeed.”

  Beatrice ignored his jest. “Did you say you think he knows where the one-amber brooch is?”

  “I suspect so.”

  “Because?”

  “Philomena knew where all three brooches are. That’s why we tracked her, remember? So she showed up at the café with two brooches—one on her lapel and one in her hand.”

  “She gave the three-amber brooch to Jake, and Raynelle picked it up for us somehow.” Beatrice wished they could have entered the café to find the one-amber brooch, though that was a shot in the dark. “We suspect that the one-amber brooch was either still in the restaurant or maybe Philomena took it off her lapel and put it in her purse.”

  “All of which would be at the SFPD evidence locker.”

  “Or the morgue.”

  “If they suspect foul play, her belongings wouldn’t be in the morgue,” Kenichi corrected her.

  Beatrice sat down. “I have spent too much time and money on this to quit now.”

  A knock on the door startled them both.

  A Sig Sauer appeared out of nowhere in Kenichi’s hand. He motioned for Beatrice to get to the back room. Beatrice did so without a word.

  Soon, she heard Kenichi call her name. “It’s Ray.”

  When Beatrice came out of the room, Kenichi was saying, “Where did you go?”

  “To clear my head.” Raynelle washed her hands in the kitchen sink and then found something to drink. “What’s been happening while I was away?”

  “Did you get any sleep?” Beatrice asked.

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you get some sleep and we’ll talk later?” Beatrice suspected that poor bodyguard of hers had gone through enough for the night. “I think we’ll have more information this afternoon or evening.”

  “A whole lot more information, I hope.” Kenichi got busy on his laptop. “I’m still collecting data on Philomena. Someone killed her, obviously.”

  “Or she committed suicide. Drank poison or something?”

  Kenichi gave Beatrice a look. “You’re so old school.”

  “What? It’s possible.”

  “The more likely scenario is for someone to murder her because she had at least two of the brooches we need to find a map that would lead us to the whereabouts of the Amber Room.”

  “If we find the rest of the panels, it would be the first time they see light since 1943,” Raynelle said.

  “But first, we need to complete this brooch set.” Beatrice pulled the three-amber brooch from the pocket of her cargo pants and displayed it on her palm. Raynelle had given it to her in the van. “One thing we have to remember, people, is that I don’t sanction breaking the law to get ahead of Molyneux.”

  “We can’t get there by the book,” Kenichi protested. “That’s why your brother…uh…”

  “My brother what?” Beatrice was surprised Kenichi brought up Benjamin. What was that about?

  Beatrice remembered the time her bother had sent Kenichi to work for her. Benjamin had run extensive background checks on the mononymous Kenichi—although Beatrice had discovered that his last name was Kobayashi—and he was in the clear. No criminal records. Long history at the NSA and CIA and Special Ops. He was at least forty now, but his skillset was perfect for the job of assisting Beatrice on this long quest to find the lost Amber Room.

  In fact, it had been Kenichi who had recommended Raynelle, a fellow CIA officer, to work for Beatrice as well. That worked out for all of them because the one condition of Kenichi’s employment was that he would never show his face in public.

  Unfortunately, the introduction of Raynelle into Beatrice’s team made her brother rather upset. Somehow Benjamin detested government agencies, calling them wasteful. Beatrice knew that his opinion was probably borne out of the fact that the CIA did not help their father. Once they had no use for Thomas Peterson, they discarded him. He had to make a living somehow, and Beatrice suspected that Dad went back to his old ways—which caused him to run into his ex-wife, who then killed him.

  To this day, Benjamin refused talk to Raynelle on his own volition. He would only say a few words if Beatrice made him communicate with Raynelle for one reason or another.

  Kenichi, on the other hand, had earned Benjamin’s respect. Always working in the dark shadows, Kenichi would supply Beatrice with everything she needed. He had fished her out of water so many times she had lost count.

  It had been Kenichi, upon her orders, who had discovered the coordinates of the fishing vessel holding Jake Kessler hostage. She had made the call to Helen using an altered voice, but if Kenichi hadn’t gotten her the longitude and latitude, Jake would have died.

  Jake.

  He was only a few inches taller than she was as they stood at Fisherman’s Wharf, though she was wearing chunky boots.

  He had a pleasant disposition. If she hadn’t known who he was, she would ne
ver have guessed that he was an FBI agent. That might be how he had been successful in deep undercover for three years in Molyneux’s gang.

  Who ratted him out?

  “Ken?” Beatrice sat down next to him on the couch. “When you have a minute…”

  “When do I ever have a minute?”

  “Maybe like this week?”

  “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  “Can you somehow find out who told Molyneux that Jake was undercover?” Beatrice asked. “By legal means.”

  “What for?”

  “The more we have on Jake—perhaps the more we can offer him—the more leverage we have.” Beatrice and Jake both had a mutual enemy: Molyneux. The old adage might be true. Maybe the enemy of Beatrice’s enemy might turn out to be a friend.

  Besides, he had a calming voice. If Beatrice were to die, that was the last voice she wanted to hear, ushering her into eternity. Then she would see Dad again.

  But who would watch over her brother?

  So no. I can’t die just yet. There’s so much work to be done.

  Her fear was that in encroaching on Molyneux territory, death could come before her time.

  Chapter Nine

  Philomena Caddock owned a pricey log cabin in the woods somewhere outside the coastal town of Eureka in Northern California.

  Unbelievable.

  “I thought she was on welfare,” Jake said, adjusting his seat belt. He leaned back on the passenger seat, trying to get some sleep. It was past midnight, and they had left San Francisco more than five hours before.

  He wanted to drive, but Earl had insisted.

  It rained most of the time on Highway 101, with the windshield wipers on full speed thwacking away the heavy droplets of rain until they stopped at Eureka to get gas and midnight snacks—even though it wasn’t midnight at that time.

  They went east, into the forest in the thick of night, with rain all around them and very low visibility.

  “She’s faring well is all I can say.” Earl drank his cappuccino.

  “The cabin’s worth half a million dollars. Who do you think paid for it?”

  “Paid in full, no less.”