Claimed by the Secret Agent

by Lyn Stone

  “You were sure of that?

  He nodded, not adding how hard he had tried to use psychometry to verify it but was never able to get his hands on anything of hers. “I obsessed over it, my not being able to persuade everyone to keep looking for her.”

  “Any ransom demands?”

  “None. There was no word from either her or the kidnapper, and a year later her family rotated back to the States. Everybody just wrote her off.”

  “Everyone but you. Did you look further after you grew up?”

  “Pretty intensively for a couple of years after I graduated. Still no trace,” he admitted. “I finally recognized the obsession for what it was, plain old guilt. I figured she was probably dead.”

  “That must have been hard for you to accept,” Marie said, compassion softening her voice.

  “It was. Maybe I projected some of her qualities onto you at first. When I first saw your photo in the file, it reminded me of her. You’re really nothing like her, of course. Sorry if I—”

  “Tried to play knight in shining armor? It’s a guy thing, I guess. At least with the nicer guys. Haven’t met a lot of those, unfortunately. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I won’t. Poor little Betty Schonrock has nothing at all to do with the way I feel about you now. That’s all your fault.”

  “Then I’m glad I told you how deviously deadly I can be. Now you know I’m not a wimp.”

  That was the last thing in the world he’d think. If anything, she was too daring. But what if she hadn’t dared? He shuddered to think what might have happened to the child she had been. Or as a woman in that warehouse tied up on a cot and facing only God knew what.

  “You’re a survivor, that’s for sure,” he said, feeling an inordinate amount of pride in her resourcefulness, courage and independence.

  “Okay! Here he is. What do you think?” she asked, handing Grant her sketchbook.

  He took it and laid the side of his palm on the page where her hand had rested.

  For a long moment, he didn’t even see the picture. The residual energy of hope and yearning she’d left with the sketchbook was so strong it nearly took his breath away.

  Beneath all her calculated preparedness, training and determined self-confidence was a little girl desperate for someone to love her and care what happened to her.

  She had no earthly reason to believe anyone like that even existed, and he had no way to convince her that he was the one.

  His gaze met hers as he looked up from the sketchbook. “You never cease to amaze me, Marie Beauclair.”

  She tossed her hair and preened comically, making him smile. “You’re crushing on me, Tyndal!”

  “Like a ninth-grade geek? I’m sort of past that stage, I think.” Way past that. This felt more like the real thing.

  Marie felt unaccountably good. Maybe Grant was right. She had never told anyone but Mrs. Cox about that episode with her stepfather or her mother’s accusation. Even that had been an edited version. She probably shouldn’t have told Grant all of it, but at least she’d made her point to him quite clear. She was no victim, and even as a kid she’d proved that. At least to herself.

  It bothered her still that she hadn’t reported it all to the police, but she’d been bluffing about the evidence and the diary. The most her stepfather would have gotten was a few years in jail, even if she had convinced them she’d been touched inappropriately. She had known that was an iffy proposition.

  Well, it was over and maybe she’d scared the man so much he’d never tried it again with anyone else.

  Grant had explained his whole attitude with that story about the girl. She wished he’d been able to resolve his early trauma as neatly as she had done her own. What really had happened to little Betty? she wondered.

  Grant had gone to interview Pieter’s grandfather while she tried to find more information on the Internet about the old clinic. It had been a sanatorium during its last incarnation, as Grant had guessed. No names of staff were included. And no reference to Dr. Shapur there or anywhere else.

  The sun was down and it was nearly nine o’clock. Marie logged off, showered quickly and dressed in her dark jeans and black shirt. She pulled her hair back and slipped on her cap. Grant wasn’t leaving her behind. She’d wait in the car if necessary, but she was going.

  Just as she finished checking her weapon, Grant came in. “Mercier called while I was downstairs. You were right about Shapur. He’s Iranian, a physician and a member of the shah’s old retinue, ousted in the seventies by the new regime. He disappeared out of Paris shortly after they went into exile there.”

  “Maybe he came to work for Dr. Shute and just stayed on after the old guy died,” Marie guessed.

  “Yes, he had a work permit and attained citizenship. The clinic was closed down, and Shute retired in the early nineties, the few patients left moved to a facility in Rotterdam.”

  “And since then?” Marie asked as Grant began changing his clothes.

  “Nothing. Taxes have been paid on the place. That’s about it.” Grant seemed oblivious to the fact that she was there, watching him. Or maybe he was showing off; she couldn’t tell. At any rate she didn’t look away. The sight of his bare chest set her hormones dancing, but she stifled the response.

  Even as she thought it, he turned and smiled. Marie quickly looked away, determined to focus on the mission, not his spectacular pecs and abs.

  “So how do we play it tonight? Park down the road, hoof it to the clinic and sneak in?” she asked.

  He paused, obviously thinking about it. She had expected him to jump right on that we and make it clear she was to stay out of things. He looked worried but he nodded. “You’ll be the lookout, while I gain entry. We’ll stay in touch with the ear mics.”

  “All right!” Marie barely controlled her elation. He was trusting her to participate. She’d had her arguments all ready for him, and now she didn’t even need them.

  He cleared his throat, then added, “I want you to stay well hidden and keep watch from near the road, where I’ll park the car.”

  Marie gave a grunt of disgust. “Grant! What is it with you? Do you treat the women you work with this way?”

  “I haven’t worked with women. I told you I work alone,” he said evenly, barely a hint of defensiveness in his voice. He pulled on his jacket and fished the car keys out of his pocket.

  “It’s because I’m a woman, though, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, an admission of sorts.

  “How do you get away with being so chauvinistic?” she demanded, throwing up her hands in frustration.

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry if it makes you angry.”

  “It makes me mad as hell! You don’t think I’m capable of anything!”

  “No, it’s not that,” he argued, shifting restlessly. “I just can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. Or worse.”

  She pushed past him and went out the door. “Well, get over it. I’m going in with you, at least up to the house, where I can help if you’re outnumbered.”

  “No. We need someone near the turnoff to keep watch.”

  “This is not your call.”

  “It is my call! I’m running this op, Marie. You’re with me only because of Mercier’s insistence, but I can override that if you get in the way!”

  They argued all the way downstairs. Pieter met them in front of the desk and stepped in their way. “I couldn’t help overhearing.” He made a wry face, meant to look ingratiating, which it did, Marie thought. He was cute and he knew it.

  “You were loud and I overheard you. Look, I know you are an American agent, sir. Grandfather told me about the badge. Something nefarious is going on at that old clinic he spoke of, isn’t it? I would like to be of help.”

  “Absolutely not,” Grant said.

  Marie turned to Grant. “He could keep watch by the road.”

  “We can’t involve civilians, Marie. You know that,” Grant said. “Besides, we don’t know what’s g
oing on out there. If I had any real evidence that anything was, I would call in the local police. We’re only doing reconnaissance at this point.”

  Pieter straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. “I wasn’t always a civilian. I did my military service.”

  “He qualifies as an agent of opportunity, and we do need another pair of eyes and ears,” Marie reminded Grant. “Give him a mic and station him near the turnoff.”

  “Yes, do!” Pieter insisted. He was obviously hungry for a little excitement in his life.

  Grant hesitated, then stared straight into Pieter’s eyes. “You have a vehicle?”

  “I do. Shall I follow yours?”

  “Yes, and follow my directions to the letter. This is a kidnapping we’re investigating. More than that I can’t divulge. Whatever you see, hear and do must remain confidential or you’re liable to international censure, stiff fines and prison. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Will I need a weapon? I have one.”

  “Under no circumstances are you to go armed, and I did not hear that admission of owning an illegal firearm.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “If you hear any disturbance at all—shots or shouts, any commotion at all—do not approach the conflict. Get back on the main road and call the police immediately. Will you do that?”

  “I will. Give me two minutes to get rid of the white shirt and find something dark to wear.” He looked over his shoulder at them. “Wait for me!”

  Pieter looked like a kid on Christmas morning. Grant looked like a man on death row. “I hope we don’t regret this.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Marie assured him. “You made his day.”

  Pieter returned in a flash, dressed all in black, and followed them out to Grant’s vehicle, where he was fitted with an ear mic and given instructions on how to operate it. Grant smeared dark cammo paint on his own face, then hers and finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he striped Pieter’s.

  She smiled to herself, liking Grant enormously for that small consideration.

  To Marie, Grant snapped, “You get your orders on the way. Let’s roll.”

  She’d just bet she would get orders. Grant had definitely morphed into commando mode. She understood the ramifications of that. He was in charge and she was subordinate. At least in his mind.

  Grant quickly dismissed his qualms about letting Pieter come along. It was a done deal, and he’d probably come in handy by warning them if a car approached. Should be safe enough. After all, that’s where he had planned to park Marie to keep her out of trouble.

  Now he’d have to find a relatively secure place near the clinic to have her hide out and keep watch. It shouldn’t take him that long to scout around inside the place and see what he could find.

  If they were holding Cynthia Rivers there, he’d find her. If not, maybe he’d discover some clue telling where she was being held. The main thing right now was to get her back alive.

  Everybody with a badge was looking for Onders, so he would be captured eventually. Hopefully, he would give up the identity of the other guy, the one who had kidnapped Rivers. Grant was convinced Onders hadn’t done that one. The old man was the wild card. How did he fit into this?

  Earlier on the phone, Mercier had theorized that the terrorists were using the old doctor as a front and were keeping him alive in case anyone came there to check on the place. He had warned there might be a whole gang of them, but Grant didn’t think so.

  Forty minutes later Pieter, his old Volvo and Grant’s vehicle were secluded in a small grove of trees across the road from the cutoff to the clinic.

  Marie didn’t object when Grant led her on foot up the long drive and to the east wing. There, the shrubbery grew high enough for her to stand behind it unobserved. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Call me if you see anything out of the ordinary. “We’ll rendezvous in one hour or maybe less if I’m successful. If I’m not back by then, phone the police.”

  “One hour,” she affirmed. Then she grasped his forearm. “Be careful, Grant.”

  “Nice to know you care,” Grant said, and dropped a kiss on her war-painted cheek. Then he faded into the night, looking for the best point of entry.

  Chapter 13

  M arie couldn’t stay put. She had to know what was going on inside there. If there were any vehicles on the property, they were closed inside those outbuildings with no windows.

  The clinic had windows, though. So many of them. Light spilled out the cracks between the drapes in what must be the main living area. Grant had gone around back. He would be inside by now. She crept to the window and peeked in. The room was empty, but in a few moments she heard voices and the clack of footsteps on the tiles.

  She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the tones were angry. When they reached the room she was watching, she recognized Onders immediately.

  He was gesturing frantically to the other man, a larger, darker and more menacing version of himself. Now that they were farther inside the room, she could hear them. “Why must I go, too?” They were speaking in Dutch. Onders demanded in a near whine, “You can do this one yourself.”

  “Brussels is next, and we do it together so there will be no mistakes. The Explorer is repaired?”

  “It is. Here are the keys.” Onders reached deep into a pocket and came out with a key ring.

  “Good. It’s settled. Come on. Shapur has cooked for us.” They left the living area.

  Marie was tempted to go inside, but she remembered Grant’s orders. What if she were caught? It could compromise the whole mission.

  No doubt she and Grant could take these two down now, but if the two responsible for Cynthia Rivers’s kidnapping clammed up at capture or were killed in the process, she might never be found. Maybe Grant would locate the woman and they could wind this up tonight.

  Moving like a wraith, Marie left the window and slipped back to the stand of shrubs where Grant had left her. She shielded the dial of the watch he had given her and lighted it to check the time. Ten minutes to rendezvous. She had cut it close.

  She heard a slight rustle behind her and crouched, gun drawn.

  “It’s me,” Grant whispered from the shadows. “Come on!”

  He darted across the small stretch of lawn that separated the main building from one of the smaller ones. Moonlight made them vulnerable when out in the open, but she doubted anyone inside was keeping watch. Onders and his friend were probably eating, and she doubted the old doctor could see much past his nose.

  Marie stayed low as she ran, noting for the first time that Grant carried someone over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. Rivers, she hoped.

  With the outbuilding between them and the clinic, he carefully dumped his burden onto the ground. Then he retrieved a light stick from his pocket and broke it open, providing a low level of illumination.

  Marie had expected Cynthia Rivers, but it was the old doctor.

  “Why did you make me go with you?” the doctor sputtered. “Who are you?”

  “Shh,” Grant warned. “Do you know who those men are, Dr. Shapur?”

  Shapur nodded as he straightened his old robe, obviously trying to resume what dignity he had left after being treated like a sack of potatoes. “Of course I know. Claude Onders is the grandson of the man who owns the clinic. The other is his partner.”

  “They’re kidnappers,” Grant informed him. “We’re looking for the young woman one of them kidnapped in Amsterdam yesterday. Did you know they did that?”

  Shapur took a few seconds to answer, looking from Grant to Marie and back again before he replied, “I learned of it today, and I was very near finding out where they have put her,” Shapur said. “They believe I am senile and partially deaf, so they haven’t bothered to guard their words.”

  “Then she’s not here?” Grant demanded, grasping the old man by the shoulder. “You’re certain?”

  “No, but not far from here, I think.” He paused, then added, “They plan to dispose of her
on their way to Belgium, so they must have left her somewhere off the road north.”

  “And they’re probably planning to dispose of you before they leave,” Grant warned.

  “No, no, they have no cause to do that,” the doctor argued. “Claude told me earlier that he would return by the weekend with supplies and I should make the place tidy for them.”

  “You can’t trust his word after knowing what he’s done!” Marie exclaimed.

  The old man smiled, his features ghostly in the meager light. “Oddly enough, I do. He needs me here, you see.”

  “You’re his front,” Grant said.

  “His what? Oh, yes, I take your meaning.” He shook a gnarled finger at Grant. “You should let me go back inside and learn more from them so you can find that young woman. Meanwhile, if they leave, you should follow them and find her.”

  Marie grabbed Grant’s arm and tugged him a few feet away from Shapur. “We need to get him safely away from here.”

  “You get him safely away, back to the road,” Grant ordered. “Then drive him back to the hotel. I’ll handle those two.”

  “I’ll take him to Pieter, but you wait here for me, Grant. Promise me.”

  He turned away from her and Marie saw him tense. “Shapur’s gone!” he rasped, throwing up his hands. “Where the hell did he go?”

  Marie peeked around the corner of the outbuilding and saw a shadow approaching the side door where Grant must have brought Shapur out. “There! He’s going back inside. Man, he moves pretty fast for an old dude! Now what?”

  “We hope he’s not in on the whole thing. And barring that possibility, pray he doesn’t do anything to make them suspicious before they leave. He said they were going to Belgium next?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard them discussing, so that checks out.” Too late, she realized she’d given herself away.

  “You heard them when?” Grant asked, his voice like cold steel.

  “I only went around to that window.” She pointed. “I didn’t go inside.” She rushed on, hoping to avoid a tongue-lashing for ignoring his orders. “What I heard verifies what Shapur said, so at least we know the direction they’ll take. Like he said, we can follow them when they leave and find Rivers.”