by Dawn Kunda
It wasn’t long when he saw the side road, brush and limbs crowding the view of what appeared to barely be a path. He slowed and turned right. Pulling into the gravel and pothole-filled drive, he stopped far enough in where he wouldn’t be seen from the main road.
The sun had turned to a heavy orange globe just above the tree line. His stomach whined as he stepped from the car. He should’ve grabbed food before leaving the city. Mary probably needed food too. He wouldn’t let himself consider that he couldn’t find her. The thought gave him a chill, even though the temperature wasn’t low enough for that feeling until the sun dipped behind the horizon. Although it was cooler than by the seaside, which he was thankful for.
He stretched his aching arms and legs, acquired from the constant driving and tightness of surging adrenaline. Checking his perimeter out of habit, he felt alone. He walked in front of the car and looked down at the patterns in the dried dirt. Two different sized tire treads looked relatively fresh. The width of the marks matched sizes of a car and a truck.
Another shot of adrenaline covered the ache and the need for rest as he convinced himself that he found the road. The road would lead him to Mary. She was more than a partner, and his chest tightened at the thought of what shape she might be in. His hand went to the gun at his back and he pulled it into a ready position.
Again scanning the area, he partially slid back the cartridge until he saw brass. Letting the slide pop back into position, he kept the gun in his hand. The view down the road became quickly obscured by the leaning vegetation. He wondered how far this road wound through the mountain and if it truly would lead him to Mary. Sure it would. He couldn’t think otherwise. He hadn’t found any other fresh tire tracks in his search and the coordinates fit.
He also considered if there’d be a place to turn around further in, how many enemies might be stationed, and whether she remained alive and unharmed.
He paused while reaching for the door handle. He trusted himself and he had a plan. His training prepared him for fast thoughts, action, and discreet retreat. History of these mountains, dating back to the world wars, taught many soldiers to avoid the remote forests of the Taurus Mountains. This wasn’t winter, so he had one advantage over the many who had died traversing the geography.
Quietly opening the car door, he stepped in. He didn’t have any other alternative avenue to pursue. Sitting behind the wheel, he left the seat belt and the lights off. In the quiet of the woods, the engine sounded like a freight train taking off with the extra spark of initial ignition highlighting the surge of energy in the transmission. It was all in the imagination.
As the car crept forward, he forgot about the sound and watched ahead as far as possible. He slowed with each curve as he turned the wheel and anticipated a head-on with activity of any sort.
Without an encounter with the enemy, he saw a split in the path. He noticed the tire tracks followed the straighter length, so he swung down the opposite trail. A widening of the trees with only a patch of tall grass to accent the narrow passage gave him an opportunity to swing the vehicle around. He parked it against the trees already in the shadow of the sinking sun.
He’d walk from here.
Chapter 32
Agent Victor Grant pulled at his necktie. Certain the document he waited to read would contain one extreme or the other of what would happen to his Agents Reiss and Guevin. It could clear their names and bring them home. More likely, the information would be their end. If they went down, so would he.
Agents Borland and Duchaine leaned in front of the computer screen, blocking his view. He almost didn’t care. His stomach twisted, signifying a bad outcome.
As he considered his options, which he had carefully chosen, Duchaine and Borland backed away from the screen.
“Go ahead, Vic. You won’t believe what your agents uncovered, assuming they’re responsible for sending this.” Agent Duchaine waived Grant in front of the evidence.
“Hey, I only send in the best,” Grant joked. He casually assumed position in front of the screen as Agent Borland wiped his brow and let out a low whistle. Duchaine nodded his head in agreement. “Am I gonna need a drink after this?”
The others laughed as an obvious release of nervous energy.
Once Agent Grant settled his stare on the screen, there was no going back. The exchange of the men behind him became soundless. The bright letters covering the screen revealed a simple list of names, titles, and positions or occupations. They could be a series of contacts necessary for any business until matching the names with the source. The formulas and maps solidified his darkest fear.
He recognized a few of the most wanted on the national list of terrorists. These did not have occupations attached, only military titles according to Egypt’s terrorist ranking. The names of specialists and professionals included scientists and engineers. Their subjects of expertise were vaguely familiar.
His eyes faltered on the next two names. He blinked and pulled his glances off to rub the strain and surprise from his mind. No titles or occupations had been typed next to the Americans. It wasn’t necessary to highlight or signify the meaning of placing the two Americans on a list derived from the depths of a terrorist’s desk. Roman Chenzira hunted until he found, used, and then killed his prey. The prey consisted of Calvin Guevin and Aaron Baier.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you with your agents, Vic.” Grant noticed the slight relief in Borland’s voice. Borland’s agents assumed other positions, countries and problems away from Egypt.
Grant masked his momentary lapse of professionalism by wiping sweaty palms on his pant legs before he turned to exchange comments. The whole operation in Cairo had a sour taste from the beginning. His boss, the Director of the CIA, Agent Kreis, had been vague on the purpose of the exchange of information between the clandestine ops and the inner chambers of Egyptian terrorism.
The only new accomplishment of this operation resulted in American agents’ names being handed to the terrorists. The proper divisions of the CIA contained the rest of the foreign names from the list and information on their involvement in illegal activities. Activities not mentioned or suggested on this scanty list, such as actual terrorist moves, gave little credence for the list to be considered of utmost importance, but Vic Grant knew better. The danger alone had made the mission a ridiculous affair. This was not the normal protocol for agents to pass information back to their homeland. His agents were in trouble and he needed to get them out, especially Reiss and Guevin. The other agents had been there for two years, give or take a couple months. Everything went down the pipe like a pile of sludge since he sent the pair of special agents.
Chapter 33
Dense branches rested on the top of Cal’s newest rental. Without any hesitation, he slipped out of the car and opened the back door. Grabbing his bag off the floor, he unzipped the side panels.
The street thugs, near his fortunate choice in the final hotel, had supplied him with weapons and a small amount of useful articles. Obvious technology such as a magnetic GPS, knives, and short lengths of rope filled his hands in his first plunge into the pockets. Other useful items only the experienced would have a use for resulted in a collection of razors, hornet spray, and an assortment of dark-colored women’s makeup and compacts complete with mirrors.
As he realized, anything could be possible and he wouldn’t be caught off guard.
Looking into the compact, he covered his face and hands with a mix of dark colored eye shadows. Next, he shoved the stash in his jacket pockets in accordance with their relation. He hid the razors and ropes in one side pocket and the compacts filled the other. He temporarily stuffed his “new” ten millimeter to the side of his belt buckle. The knives were tucked on the other side of the buckle.
Depositing the GPS remote in an inner chest pocket along with the magnetic device, he readied himself for the other end of the dirt road. He clasped his gun and slunk off to the edge of the trees and followed them back to the main trail.
Ducking under the plentiful, early fall leaves and thick evergreen branches, he followed the browse line of the select trees nibbled on by the wildlife. He hoped the line would mostly follow the road, and give him notice of what he prepared to encounter.
The moisture of the ground and the coating of needles and a few early fallen leaves afforded silent, steady steps. In his predator mode, Cal’s senses magnified. He identified at least a half dozen different bird whistles. After baking in the sun at their peaks, the trees varied between sweet and spicy as the heavier evening air plunged the scents to the forest floor. As long as the moon, a heavy crescent due this evening, and stars caused shadows and illumination, he’d have no trouble watching his surroundings after the sun set.
He traveled a stealthy gait for the next twenty minutes. Pausing every six or seven steps to listen, he abruptly held his breath. Nearly sure that the mix of the forest sounds had a visitor, he slipped behind a hardwood trunk. Peering around the broad wood, the trees and vegetation blocked a view of the new sound he heard. He prayed that the sound had come from his own breath while it whispered through his head.
It came again. The sound imitated the crashing of skin against skin and not in a pleasant manner. The next thud resounded as if a heavy vehicle door was slammed.
Cal readied his hand on the grip of his gun as he crouched and snuck from behind the tree. He constantly checked all the angles from his position and moved to the next tree along the line they created.
After he covered another fifty feet, he noticed the not-so-forest-sounding noises magnified. Tucked behind a fir tree, he flattened to the ground and crawled away from the browse line under the lowest branches. As a scene unfurled in front of him, probably a hundred feet away, he gripped his gun and fingered the trigger.
Hiding beneath the bristly branches, he studied what he’d found. Part of a non-descript, wooden cabin protruded from behind the far edge of a van. Another vehicle lined up in front of the van. The little he could see of it didn’t verify it as Mary’s rental, but he had no doubt that he’d discovered what he sought.
As the light dimmed in the woods, exact colors were obscured. The van could be black, gray, or dark blue. Gray is the most obvious color used when someone doesn’t want to be noticed. The cabin’s siding held no color. The wood had weathered against the elements. He couldn’t detect any windows in the front. The door appeared newer than the rest as it looked to be constructed of solid wood with a steel handle large enough to have a dead bolt. Most likely, other locks and protection had been installed if this building was used as a safe house or hideout.
He assumed it belonged to Chenzira’s stronghold. He left room in his assumption that Chenzira’s men hadn’t taken Mary, yet he didn’t know of any other connection interested in their plight. It’d be a strange coincidence for an offensive attack from another enemy at the same time as the Egyptian terrorists honing in on the agents.
While he considered alternative problems, a set of black boots appeared underneath the far side of the van. They stood in one spot, as if studying the side of the van. Then the unidentified feet moved to the back, shuffled a bit, and returned to the front.
Another set of boots joined the first. Cal heard voices, yet couldn’t make out what they said. It didn’t sound like English, so to hear it up close wouldn’t matter. One of the voices rose as a metal object slammed against the side of the van.
Two more sets of boots came at a run, stopping short of the first grouping. After a heated discussion recognizable in any language, the two retreated. Cal watched the two separate and head for the other side of the clearing. He lost sight before they quit moving.
Adjusting his position under the tree, Cal glanced at the half of the perimeter of the clearing which was viewable from here. With the light quickly fading, he didn’t trust his vision to reveal all the traps he knew would be found. He’d already viewed four men who weren’t on a vacation and he thought a fifth hid along the part of the edge of the clearing that he could see.
He still hadn’t ascertained Mary’s existence among the guarded place. She would have to be either inside the cabin or in the van. He needed a better view, so he crawled from under the tree and scouted out his next hidden spot.
A group of rocks and boulders brought him another twenty-five feet closer. He could hear the conversation at this vantage point. It still made no sense in a foreign tongue until he heard the name Hasari, Agent Ranier’s alias, shouted in a command.
Chapter 34
Agent Vic Grant slowly rose from the chair he had settled in to finish reading the document, which changed his whole itinerary. For the day, he would remain calm and act as if the list didn’t change his plans. Before he had a chance to determine how much of the rest of the week, month, and his lifetime would have to change with his emerging decision, Agent Kreis opened the door and stuck his head inside.
“Grant, you’re supposed to call home.”
Vic froze for a moment. He felt an instantaneous shock go through his system.
“Why, did my wife call?” Vic didn’t have a wife. The long-standing joke in the CIA office brought a chuckle from the agents Borland and Duchaine. Most agents never married or had experienced divorce along with the strain of the job.
Who wanted a man, or woman, whose life was a secret? A secret filled with global danger from other countries and underground activity even the most creative mind knows nothing about. The reports on the news were filled with the disinformation and lies to appease its audience. The real information was held deep within the bosom of the agency and no citizen of the US or any other country would ever know the full scale of what went on.
“Don’t know. I was given a message to tell you to call home.” Agent Kreis backed up to shut the door, then pushed it open again. “Maybe you have a sweetheart waiting for you.” He snorted, then added, “Call home, then all of you meet me in my office.” He tapped the side of the door, and then swung it shut.
At least Kreis gave Vic an out. “I told her not to call the office,” he informed the two men as he pushed out a laugh. “I’ll meet you in a couple minutes.” Vic quickly nodded to the other two men and exited the room.
He walked stiffly to his office knowing full well that the call had come from Agent Guevin. At least he had a clue that his agents were still alive. He knew Cal expected him to take a call that evening at the pub. Whether he’d make the call or not depended on what Kreis had in mind when they’d meet in a few minutes. Vic didn’t think the result would be favorable.
* * * *
Cal made a slow circle around the camp of the terrorists. Ranier must be the leak back at the Hidden House. Why else would he be with these men?
From what he could see, five men outfitted the group. Three stationed themselves around the perimeter now. He recognized Agent Ranier talking with the fifth man, who appeared to be in charge.
He made his next move to a shelter of brush. He could see in the front window of the van at this point. Wanting to stand and look further into the van, he waited a few moments to make sure his subtle movements hadn’t been detected. The men continued to talk next to their vehicle while the outside guards did a poor job of keeping their positions discreet. Guess they figured no one would find them on a dead-end dirt road. One fidgeted with his machine gun, another sat on a log with his weapon hanging loosely between his spread knees, and the last held a semiattentive posture.
Cal slowly rose up on one knee, straining his neck to get a better view. Not quite good enough. Exerting the muscles in his tired thighs, he lifted up at a snail’s pace until he reached a slightly bent posture. He didn’t dare rise any further. He couldn’t let anyone see him, or his chances of getting away alive would be nil.
Taking one step forward gave him a vantage spot. He could see more of the interior of the van. Only a speck of the sun portrayed any light and would be gone within minutes. At the same time, the moon made a slice in the opposing sky. He gained little leverage with it.
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The man with Ranier slid a side door open and the interior light flashed on. Cal saw Mary’s head slumped to the side as she sat in the back seat.
His body went rigid with anger. It had nothing to do with his need for her as a woman. He grew furious at the injustice terrorists played on the innocent and even more at how they treated the few professionals hard at work to make the world a better place. And they had the woman who knew how to chip away at his resistance against more than a one-night rendezvous. Apparently his anger did have something to do with her womanhood.
He couldn’t see if she was awake, alive—he’ll assume she was at this time—or if she lay in an unconscious state.
* * * *
Vic couldn’t concentrate on any of the messages left on his desk and didn’t need time for the call to home. He needed phone time later at the pub. He walked around his desk, driving himself crazy wondering what the meeting would entail. He grabbed the back of his desk chair and began to sit, when a sudden change of mind and adjustment of adrenaline brought him back to stand straight up.
Shoving a hand in his pocket, he covered the small space to the door and swung it open. He’d be ahead of the game and get right to Kreis’s meeting. He couldn’t make a plan of his own until he knew what Kreis had in mind for their next move.
He put on a bold stance and climbed the stairs to the office. Rounding the last corner, he heard voices. Apparently Agents Borland and Duchaine arrived early, also.
Kreis’s door stood open as Vic approached. He instinctively slowed his pace, and bent forward as if it would help him hear the conversation.
“…tell Grant?” The hushed voice came from one of the agents.
