Jill Oliver Deception Thrillers (Box Set Books 1 - 2)

by Judith Price

  “No,” Jill answered.

  “What else?” Leila urged, growing impatient. Leila was brash most days, but she was smart and the pace of the reading appeared to grate on her nerves.

  Johan shot a look back at Leila. “In the sidebar notes from the analysts … when running both Petrovich and Brown’s name, it states that both Petrovich and Brown were in Afghanistan at approximately the same time, just over two months ago. There’s a high probability they know each other.”

  He closed the file when Jill asked, “It just doesn’t make sense, Johan. Why would David work as a NOC tracking his own father?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said nonchalantly as he flipped the file back open and thumbed to the last page. “David Brown, age thirty-two, NOC for CIA, cover, freelance journalist. Born Robert Barnes, adopted by Stan Brown at age one week.” He looked up at the stunned faces. “David is not Stan’s biological son.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The porcelain clinked as spoons stirred coffee. They were alone now in the small, stark room. Johan left to take an urgent call. He said something about new intel and they waited in anticipation, sipping the hot brew. It had to be well over 19:00 hours by now. Five hours and counting for the uranium buy is what Johan had said before he left the room.

  “I had no clue, Jill.” Leila broke the silence. “I wonder if David knew Stan wasn’t his biological father. It sounds like he’s okay, Jill,” Leila tried to reassure her.

  Jill sat befuddled. What is okay? she thought to herself as she gulped her coffee. She was thinking all right. Her mind sped fast through her tunnels. “He must have known, that’s why he was working on his target. Stan.” Leila looked at Jill and waited for her to say something.

  Silence hung. Then Jill said, “I found a card in David’s pocket. I can’t remember the name of the doctor, but he specialized in DNA testing, Glen something. Could be a story he was working on, I guess.” Jill stopped herself. “Story—did David even write any stories?” she asked with an intentional sting for Leila. The jibe was ignored.

  “Jill, a NOC is not an active agent, you know. They do their normal jobs, waiting for the call. Sure, they’re in specific locations for a reason, blending in, watching, learning. If the CIA wanted Stan, David would have been a perfect NOC for the case. It’s probably why he was recruited. David must have known Stan was not his real father. They also must have known they didn’t get along. I guess listening in on a few calls would have determined that. Jill, your viewing, did you see what they looked like, these men?”

  Pondering, then reflecting back on the mental images, Jill answered, “Yes, all except the fat man.”

  “The fat man?” A pause. “How old was he?” Leila questioned.

  “Don’t know; all I could see was the back of his head. He smoked cigars, though.”

  “What?” Leila's voice leaped with recognition. “Could you see the brand, Jill, the brand band on the cigar?”

  “It’s not like that, Leila. Sometimes you can see details but most of the time it’s just impressions. Words can be full sentences or just impressions.”

  “You said this viewing was different, like a movie, you said?”

  “It was, but it’s not a factual kinda thing. Actually, a viewer has to be careful not to fill in the blanks. It could skew the viewing.” Another pause. “Why?”

  “Stan smokes cigars right in his office and didn’t even ask if I minded when I was there. The jerk.” Leila grabbed a pen and the notepad that sat on the table. She wrote the words STAN BROWN in all caps and underlined it. Then she started her journalistic scribe. Operation Silhouette. She quickly underlined it with several fast strokes.

  “Brussels.” Leila spoke as she wrote and Jill followed her writing on the page. “I ended up in Brussels on assignment for Time. The CIA is well aware of these new ways of spreading terrorism—Al Qaeda disguised as activists, using social networks to enrage people for control of countries or control of oil, its resources. In my assignment brief they mentioned what Johan said. Social networks were hard to control … The US is concerned about it, Jill. Well anyway, I was sent to Brussels with a NOC as there was supposed to be a meeting of people who controlled this Operation Silhouette. I think it was the meeting you saw in your viewing. Was David in your viewing?”

  Jill frowned and said softly, “No.”

  The chair creaked as Leila shifted back, flipping her pen deftly through her fingers. “If your viewing was accurate, Jill, then that picture of the star I took meant something. That must be where they meet. Anything else you can think of?”

  Jill nodded slowly. “Johan said Cyprus, right?” Leila nodded. “In my viewing the men were talking of transferring money from Cyprus; I think it was by boat to Germany.”

  They both stared at each other but Leila said what they were both thinking : “Do you think the fat man in your viewing was Stan?”

  Jill’s tensed body language affirmed yes.

  Before Johan could sit down, Jill asked. “Have you ever heard the word Ochrana, chief?”

  He stood, clearly thinking. “Ochrana, no. Sounds Russian.” Och-ra-na he wrote in his notes. “I can run the name. Why? Where’d you get that name?”

  Jill looked at Leila and was surprised when Leila said, “I heard it from an informant in Brussels. Jill and I were just discussing this and we think it may have something to do with Operation Silhouette. There’s more, Johan. This informant also said there’s a large shipment of cash being moved. It’s coming via Cyprus and it’s coming to Germany. Maybe it's the same cash that Stan is moving?” Johan’s mouth drew open. “I think whatever is happening with Operation Silhouette has something to do with Petrovich and the buy tonight. What’s the new intel?”

  “The analyst’s are still analyzing.” He rolled his eyes. “Who is this informant?”

  Leila made up a half-cocked story and the chief raised his brow in disbelief but said nothing. With a swift brush against his arm, Leila flirted just enough to settle his suspicion and he moved hastily towards the door.

  “I find it hard to connect an American businessman with the purchase of nuclear devices. What would Stan want with anything like that? Moving cash to protect himself from US taxes I could understand.” He didn't sound convinced.

  Jill said, “Run Ochrana with the star of David.” He gave her a funny look and closed the door behind him.

  “I think we’re getting close now,” Jill said with renewed hope. “Stan Brown, that bastard!”

  Chapter Thirty

  The sounds of the clay tiles splattered across the table. “I don’t know, Leila. If the chief walks in, he’ll think I’m a loon,” Jill said with hesitation.

  “Who gives a rat’s ass,” Leila said as she clicked the lock on the door. She hurried back to the table as Jill began moving the numbers. “What can I do?” Leila offered.

  “Nothing. You just need to be quiet.”

  Leila zipped her fingers across her lips and leaned back in her chair. After several minutes of humming. Jill chanted, “Ochrana.” More chanting and then “Operation Silhouette …”

  ***

  “Shukran, thank you” the fat man said as he sucked on the shisha pipe. The bright blue hose coiled into an Arabian bong. The small Bangladeshi man scurried away after setting down the tray. The tent was grand. Majestic billowy strands of maroon fabric fluttered as the air conditioners breezed cool air. The tent walls heaved in and out as the wind outside swirled sand into the air.

  Bright red cushions lay on the sand, and the fat man’s legs splayed, too fat to crisscross as he sat. A normal-sized man would not have squashed the eight inches of cushion into the ground as he did. His heels touched what looked to be an intricately woven Iranian carpet. The flecks of gold that stitched the sides were flattened under the weight of his shoes. The wash of color from the dangling lanterns kept the backside of his head a silhouette.

  Two men dressed in black fatigues stood guarding each side of the door flaps that opened out to the hot
desert. The long coil hissed as the fat man sucked before puffing out the smoke.

  It was Petrovich who spoke first with his think Slavic accent. “We finally meet again.” His dark eyes glared as he looked at the fat man. “Why are you here? There is no need to take such a risk.”

  The fat man took another pull on the pipe, this time slower. “Some things I need to take care of myself.” The fat man patted the large black suitcase that lay beside him.

  “I’ve been told your lab rats have inspected the package and that everything is as we’ve promised,” Petrovich said as he leaned back and rested his right arm on the back of the bright cushions.

  A mousy waiter scurried back, smiled widely, and said, “Another flavor, sir? We have apple, cherry, and—” The fat man’s fingers lifted together in annoyance as he dismissed the servant.

  “Only one thing left to be confirmed,” said Petrovich. “As we’ve agreed, you will not use this technology on my homeland. Mother Russia does not need your capitalist pigs there; your country has done enough damage.” Petrovich leaned forward and shot a menacing look towards the fat man. “If I hear anything like this, I’ll kill you myself and then I’ll kill your family one bone at a time.” The guards stirred as they cradled their AK47s.

  “You need not worry, my brother,” the fat man drawled. “I have better uses for it.”

  ***

  Jill dropped the pen onto the newly scribed pad and exhaled. Leila stared blankly at her. Jill blinked several times as clarity faded back in. She couldn’t decide if Leila was looking at her in admiration or if she was thinking Jill was a Goddamn freak. They both gazed down at the pad. “What the hell is it?” Jill said as she studied the drawing.

  “I was wondering that myself as you drew it. Man, that’s some spooky shit to watch.” Leila flicked the pad and turned it towards herself. On the page was a large thin triangular shape that seemed too large to fit onto the page.

  Jill grabbed the notebook back and began to write below the odd shape. Fat man, silhouette, Petrovich. Then she took a sip of her cold coffee. Leila read her notes upside down; it was a journalistic skill that Jill knew she cherished.

  “Did you see the fat man’s face?” Jill shook her head no and began to put the clay numbers back in their pouch. Jill was tired after this viewing, more so than usual. It took more energy on a cellular level, especially when she was concentrating on a particular subject. But again this viewing was not a typical remote view. She could see even more vividly than the last time.

  “Tell me everything,” Leila demanded. “What did you see?”

  “A fat man in a tent talking to a man that looked like Petrovich.” Jill shuddered and continued, “There were also two men guarding the doors—ya know, the kind we had the pleasure of meeting here.”

  “Chechens,” Leila added. “What the hell did those men want with David anyway?”

  All Jill could do was shrug, as she did not know. “There were Chechens in Doha, in Kushka, and now Hamburg. It has to do with me, Leila, not you.”

  “Well, somebody really wants something from you, Jill.”

  “What’s odd is that I could swear I was being followed in the US even before I left for Doha.” Leila's brow arched.

  “Anyway, in this viewing they were meeting in a tent. I think they were in a desert, Leila, ‘cause it looked like an Arabian tent.”

  “Desert? Do you think it could be Dubai?” Leila gently tapped the notebook. “What does this look like to you, Jill?” Leila questioned, examining what Jill had drawn.

  Jill looked at the thin triangle type shape on the page and began to run her fingers along the sketched lines. It looked like a blueprint drawn by a child. Jill’s finger continued to move along its lines and the tip of her finger brushed the needle-nosed tip of the triangle at the top of the page. Inside the triangle were rectangles that looked like vertical cubes of ice stacked end to end, forming the triangle.

  Jill looked swiftly towards Leila in recognition. “I’ve seen this before, Lei. It was in a flash I had when I first found out David was missing. See this line here?”

  As Jill traced it, Leila looked down again at the page, her head tilted to the right when she echoed,

  “Flash?”

  They both studied the bumpy line that stretched horizontally across the page.

  “I call it a flash card that I sometimes get. It was this picture, as if I was watching it from above. It was like a needle shooting through something fuzzy, like pillows, like a cloud.”

  The handle of the locked door jiggled and clicked as someone attempted to open it. Johan’s voice came through loud. “Ladies, open the door please. It’s GSG policy not to lock the doors.” Defiantly Leila rolled her eyes and unlocked it.

  “We haven’t heard from our man on the inside,” he said as he rushed in, shut the door, and sat down. “He’s missed his last two checks.” Johan’s head lowered. “All indications are that the buy will not be happening tonight.” He made an inaudible grumbling.

  “Do you think it has to do with our capture earlier? We spooked them maybe?” Jill asked.

  Leila. “Anything on Stan?”

  Johan shook his head. “They're running more intense intel now, but at first glance there has been no apprehension of large sums of cash or deposits into any German banks. Not yet anyway. We ran the word Ochrana. Seems you have a very interesting informant.” He glanced slyly with half a giggle towards Leila. She didn’t return the flirt. “Ochrana really didn’t pull up much, but when the analysts ran Ochrana with the Star of David it almost sent our computer systems on fire.” Johan began to read faster. He was clearly trying to keep his cool; after all, he was German.

  “Ochrana, the Star of David,” he continued in forced monotone, “has been sporadically reported over the years. Seems to be an old legend and has never been taken seriously. Like those conspiracy theories you read online or listen to on late-night radio. One world power, the world is ending, you get my drift. I think your informant might have had a few too many whiskeys. But here is something you will find of interest, Jill. Stan Brown just landed in Dubai approximately five hours ago.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jill and Leila rushed out of the black Audi and stepped into the Hamburg airport. They were practically running to their gate as Jill held her rib cage with her right arm, only allowing herself to wince a couple of times.

  “I understand that Germany has solid ties to Israel, but seriously, they are not able or willing to help us in the UAE? He didn't believe there was a connection with Stan either. That’s bullshit! ”

  “We’ve got the contact for the intelligence broker he trusts. I guess that’s all we can expect. Frankly, based on what’s been happening, he’s vetted and right now that is all I care about,” Jill huffed. “I don't think he believed anything we said after he ran Ochrana anyway.”

  The A340 was run-down. The carpet reeked grunge as they walked back down the soggy aisle towards the emergency exit row. As the flight hit cruise at thirty-nine thousand feet, Leila said, “You were right about Johan. He would have laughed us out of the GSG for good if you had told him about your abilities.”

  “There’s more that I haven’t told you,” Jill said, her gaze fixed on the bulkhead in front of her. Without leg room in the exit row, it was awkward and uncomfortable. Leila sat in silence with only the sound of the dishes clattering in the galley to be heard.

  Before Jill continued, she looked around the airplane. There was an older man seated by the window across a row of empty middle seats, and no one sat in the seats behind them. Only when she felt comfortable she began to speak again. “In the viewing at GSG the fat man appeared to be buying something, or it seemed that way anyway.”

  “You mean like what was supposed to happen tonight at GSG?”

  There was a pregnant pause and then Jill hushed the word, “Yeah.” It was only one word but Jill already knew what Leila was thinking. Minutes passed and then the inevitable question came.

>   “Err … don’t take this the wrong way, Jill, but these viewings that you do—is it possible to project into viewings what is happening in your life? Seems over-the-top to think you’re seeing Stan Brown buying uranium from this guy Petrovich. Like you said, Jill, filling in the blanks?”

  “I know…” Jill tapered off and started into the tunnels. She wasn’t sure how long she was in there when Leila spoke.

  “Where’s that trolley dolly?” Leila said snidely. “Guess we have to help ourselves.” Leila fidgeted in her seat. Ten more minutes passed before they were finally served wine in plastic wine glasses. “This ain’t no first class,” Leila continued to grumble, trying to keep herself occupied while she waited for Jill to say something.

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Jill said as she sipped from the plastic glass.

  “The thing that gets me, Jill, is why Stan? Just doesn’t make sense. What would he want to do with uranium?”

  “Yeah,” Jill said halfheartedly.

  Without notice, Leila jumped up and clicked open the overhead, stuck her hand in her bag, and pulled out some paper. Leila clicked her pen on and began to write. “Okay, let’s assume the fat man is Stan. So far we have him in Afghanistan winning a contract. We also have Petrovich there around the same time. Then today you have a viewing of Stan buying something from Petrovich in some sort of Arabian tent.” Leila scrawled.

  “That would make sense of why David is in Dubai then. But David wasn’t following Stan. Stan just landed there,” Jill added.

  “Also, David went missing just over a week ago, not two months ago when Stan was in Afghanistan.” Leila started tapping her pen on the page. “What are we missing?”

  “So David’s a NOC and his target is Stan.”