by Trevor Scott
She heard movement from the chair scraping against the stone patio below, and she knew she needed to shift her mind to a dark place. Time to act, Svetla. She wasn’t sure how long she could play this part, that of a stupid former super model. Well the model part was not a stretch, since she had actually been one until age twenty-five. It had to be real, since the BIS was sure Petros Caras would have done a background check on her, which he had done.
With quiet grace, she made her way to the bed and lay down seductively waiting for the billionaire to enter. Despite his bluster, this would all be over in less than five minutes. It took the man longer to get up the stairs than to finish in her.
Remember, Svetla, enthusiasm and seduction, but don’t over-act.
4
The sun was nearly to the horizon of the Mediterranean Sea off the stern of the Grimaldi ferry from the Tunisian capital to Trapani on the island of Sicily.
Jake Adams stood on the top deck watching the blue wake capped off with white as they skimmed along on the quiet sea. He glanced to the south and could see the rocky Sicilian coast as the waning sun shone off the white rocks, giving them a fire-like glow. He knew this serenity wouldn’t last. It never did.
After the state department man sprung him from the hellish Tunisian prison, he had quickly recovered a bag he had hidden at the Tunis Carthage International Airport, which contained some clothes, another passport, more fake credentials, and, most importantly, cash. He was old school, where cash was king.
Before Rob Pierce, the cultural affairs officer, would set him free to find the American woman, he had insisted Jake check his e-mail on his phone, which contained all the information he would need, in theory, to conduct his investigation, including photographs of Sara Halsey Jones, the two men who had first gone after her, along with a briefing on the woman that included everything anyone would want to know about anyone, from social security numbers and credit card numbers to her proclivity for various specialty foods and wines. Knowing she had been married, Jake had asked Pierce about the former husband. Perhaps he was involved with her disappearance. Not likely. The ex-husband had died of cancer at the young age of thirty, a rare blood cancer not unlike leukemia.
Christ, the woman could be anywhere. Rob Pierce had also decided that Jake couldn’t fly out of Tunisia, which was just fine with Jake. He preferred traveling by boat, train or car anyway—places he could still carry a gun without much difficulty. In fact, he felt naked now without his gun. Especially since he discovered a tail about an hour ago—a man in his early thirties with black hair and dressed with a too-big shirt hanging over his white Chinos. Based on the man’s black boots, his overall physique, and his demeanor, the man was either from law enforcement, the intelligence service, or former military. It usually took one to know one.
Which is why Jake came out onto the upper deck. Not many people were outside. But there was his shadow. Now he had to find the man’s friend. When there was one there was always two. The key was to not let the man know that Jake knew he was being watched.
Considering his options, Jake decided on the direct approach. He slowly strolled along the deck toward the man, who was trying his best not to get caught staring.
What language? Jake stopped a few respectable feet from the man and asked in Italian, “Do you happen to have a cigarette?” Jake didn’t smoke, but it would make the man reach for the pack of cigarettes he could see in his left front pocket.
The man smiled and reached with his right hand. As he did this, Jake grasped the man’s left wrist, twisted it back placing torque on the man’s shoulder and then shoved the man’s chest into the metal and wood railing. Then with a quick strike, Jake punched the man in his right kidney buckling his knees and taking his breath away. As the man slumped to his knees, Jake found the guy’s gun at the small of his back, pulling it holster and all from the man’s belt and clipping it to his own. While he was back there, Jake found the man’s wallet and he flipped it open to view the guy’s driver’s license. Interesting. Athens, Greece.
Jake glanced around and then saw something he had not noticed—a surveillance camera up high on a post. Two actually. One aimed to the bow and the other to the stern. He had been considering whether to throw the man overboard, but someone would see the body fall and call in a man overboard. And it wasn’t like he could interrogate the guy right here. No time and not likely to produce the desired results. He checked his watch. Nearly ten p.m. The ferry would soon be getting into Trapani. He could feel the engines starting to slow.
He had just one choice, since this guy’s friend had to be somewhere close. Still twisting the Greek’s arm, but the man on his knees and starting to recover, Jake shoved his knee swiftly into the man’s back, slamming his face into the rail and knocking him out. Jake let the man settle to the deck and he casually walked off toward the down ladder.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Jake nearly ran into another man. He could have been the brother of the man he just encounter on the deck, and his eyes widened with recognition when he saw Jake. Always more than one, Jake thought.
He looked over his shoulder as he worked his way forward and saw the second Greek man rush up the ladder to the upper deck. Jake had to hurry now. Looking out the side windows, he could see the lights of Trapani closing in, darkness soon upon them. Why in the hell were the Greeks after him this time? Damn it. Somehow those who might have had something to do with the disappearance of Sara Halsey Jones were now keeping track of him. But that made no sense. Not unless the Agency or State Department had a leak. Like that never happened.
Jake kept moving, blending in with the other passengers, who were now out of their seats and heading toward the exits.
Okay, he thought, his eyes open for the two tails he had picked up, Sara must have been safe still. Somehow the Greeks had found out he had been put on the case, and they were here to simply follow Jake to see if he would lead them to the American woman. All right Sara Halsey Jones. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in?
Shuffling with the crowd, Jake quickly made his way off the ferry. He’d never been to Trapani, but had spent a lot of time in Italy and Sicily. As he walked down the pier toward a row of taxis, his phone suddenly startled him. Not many people had his cell number. In fact, he could count the number of calls he’d gotten on this particular phone without the use of his toes. He considered letting the phone go to message, but then remembered that the Tunis cultural affairs officer had said he would get a call from his contact when he got to Trapani.
Retrieving the phone from his pocket, he looked over his shoulder to find the Greeks. They were just coming down the gangplank.
“Yeah,” Jake said into the phone.
“Is this Jake Adams?”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No. Who is this?” Jake repeated.
“This is Senator James Halsey.”
“Right. And I’m Santa Claus. Seriously, who is this, what do you want, and how did you get this number?”
“A woman named Maria,” the senator said and hesitated. “She said to ask you about some hotel balcony in San Remo.”
Crap. Maria was a persona used by an old more-than-friend from his Agency days and beyond. They had spent a number of vacations in San Remo, Italy. If she was using her Maria moniker, then this poor senator had no idea who she really was. Probably a good thing, since she had worked her way up fairly high in the Agency these days.
“The breeze flows through the sheers,” Jake finally said. It was one of their safe phrases.
“Maria is quite the looker,” the senator said. “If you spent any time with her at all on the Italian Riviera, you’re one lucky guy.”
“Long time ago,” Jake said, noticing the Greeks had caught onto him just as he found a taxi. “Just a minute.” He shoved the phone against his chest and said to the cab driver, “Aeroporto, per favore.” The cabbie nodded, Jake threw his small backpack onto the seat and he scoo
ted down, feeling the gun he had taken from the Greek man for the first time. He shifted the gun so it wouldn’t blow a hole in his butt and then got back onto the cell phone with the senator. “Parlate inglese?”
The taxi driver shook his head emphatically no.
Jake smiled and said to the driver, “I’ll bet you have a small penis.”
The driver shrugged and drove off.
“Sorry about that,” Jake said to the senator on the phone. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“I take it you’re in Sicily,” the senator said, his Texas accent flowing freely now.
The taxi slowly worked its way through the pedestrians, the driver honking his horn indiscriminately.
“Yeah, I’m here. I have a flight to Rome in the early morning.”
“Good. I just wanted to thank you for doing this for me.”
“No problem. I take it you helped with my legal issues in Tunisia. Thank you.”
“I just made a phone call, but I will deny any knowledge of that affair.”
I’ll bet, Jake thought. He guessed the senator could get in some deep shit for helping free a murderer, regardless of who was killed.
Jake looked ahead and could see the two Greek men waiting at the curb. He pulled out the gun and placed it against the window, smiling at the men as they passed.
“I was told to expect a call from a contact,” Jake said, “but I had no idea you would be contacting me directly.”
The senator let out a deep breath of air on the other end. “Well, I don’t know if you know this, but we sent two other men to find my sister and they have both disappeared as well.”
“I heard,” Jake assured him. “I’m guessing I had just the one get out of jail free card from you.”
Hesitation. “I’m not expecting you to do anything against the laws of Italy,” Senator Halsey said.
“I understand. But I already have two men tailing me. Greeks.”
“Sara was in Athens doing her research.”
“Right. So this is probably good news.” Except that somehow there was a leak in the chain of contacts.
“How so?”
“The Greeks found out I’m on the case. If they had Sara they wouldn’t care about me. And if she was dead, they’d also have no reason to follow me.”
“Shucks, Mister Adams, you’re a blunt man.”
“I’ve got guys with guns following me around. I don’t suspect they’re from my fan club. I don’t have time to beat around the bush. And call me Jake.”
“It wasn’t a criticism, Jake. I like forthright folks. Now, do you have all the information you need to start in Rome?”
“I got everything but Sara’s bra size.”
The senator laughed. “Sorry, but I’m very thorough. And last I heard it was a thirty-four C.”
Jake looked outside and noticed they were already approaching the international airport. He checked over the gun he had taken from the Greek. It was a 9mm Glock 19, old and well used, but probably quite reliable. Looking at the driver, he slid the magazine from the handle and counter 15 rounds and then slid open the slide to see another in the chamber.
“Are you still there?” the senator asked.
“Yeah, just seeing I’m getting to the airport. Will I be able to contact you at this number?”
“Yes. It’s my personal cell number. Please keep it private.”
Christ, he wasn’t born yesterday. “Right. I’ll call you when I get to Rome.” Then Jake hung up.
The taxi pulled up to the curb and Jake paid the man, giving him a modest tip. Nothing to make him stand out. Then he got out and headed into the terminal. He verified that there were no more flights to Rome that evening. Then he wandered around, removed the sim card and the battery from his phone and placed pieces in various garbage cans around the terminal. He had memorized all the data given to him by the embassy man, Rob Pierce, and if he needed a refresher he could pull it up from his e-mail. He had also put the senator’s phone number to memory. Jake had a feeling he might need to call the senator at some point, but he also guessed that someone could be tracking him through his phone. Caution more than paranoia.
Next he went outside and found an airport shuttle to an old town hotel. He would need his strength and only a good night’s sleep could provide that.
5
Washington D.C.
Senator James Halsey stood next to his prize quarter horse that he had brought with him from Texas, a piece of the Lone Star State that would never get out of his blood. Whenever he needed to clear his head from the crap that seeped through every crack of the political scene in the nation’s capital, he found his therapy in a good ride.
Having just clicked off the phone with that mystery man, Jake Adams, Halsey glanced at his reluctant riding partner, his lawyer and advisor, Brock Winthrop. The man had grown up in Boston and had not known the first thing about horses until the senator forced him to start riding with him a year ago. Halsey didn’t trust anyone who wouldn’t get his balls smashed by leather on the back of a good horse. Winthrop was not just reluctant, though, he was downright afraid of horses, and the horses could sense it, giving the lawyer almost no control whatsoever.
The senator smiled as he nimbly got onto his spotted gray mare and shoved his right boot into the stirrup. “Jesus, Brock, loosen up on the reins or you’ll drive that bit to his eyes.”
“Sorry,” the lawyer said. “I thought this was like the parking brake. And I’m not sure my feet are right in these things.”
Brock Winthrop was just a little over five feet tall, with features like an actual professional jockey, or that of a female gymnast, only with more hair on his head and less muscle structure. Halsey had considered a few times the possibility that the man’s parents had done some sort of gender selection upon birth, and selected the wrong way. But the man was a damn good lawyer and advisor.
“The stirrups are fine, Brock,” Halsey assured him. “Let’s start off slowly. No need to work up a lather.” Washington was hot and steamy this late June evening.
Once the senator’s mare started in motion, the lawyer’s horse seemed to simply follow her lead. “That gelding you’re on was her colt,” Halsey said. “He’ll pretty much follow her anywhere she goes.”
Once they got away from the stable and out into the open green pasture, the lawyer gave his horse a little kick to come up alongside his boss. “Senator, what can you tell me about this new man you hired to find Sara?”
Senator Halsey looked at his friend. They had known each other since they both attended Yale law school together, with Halsey a year ahead in the program. “When we’re out here alone, Brock, just call me Jim like you always have.” He hesitated and watched his old friend try to smile, despite his obvious pain in the saddle. “You need to rise up with the gate of the horse or you’ll end up singing soprano in the church choir. There’s a natural flow to every horse’s movement. Don’t buck that motion. You won’t win the battle against a half ton of muscle. But also let him know who’s the boss or he won’t respect you.” The same could be said about humans, he thought.
“Okay, Jim, I’m trying. About this man you hired.”
Halsey hadn’t forgotten. He just wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share. “I don’t know that much about him. What have you found out about Jake Adams?”
“I. . .how do you know I looked into him?”
Halsey smiled. “You just told me.”
Shaking his head, the lawyer said, “Right. Well, there’s not much to tell from my end. My contact at State couldn’t tell me much other than the fact that Adams had been an Air Force officer in the intelligence field. His work in the CIA is still classified. I did find out a little about some of his cases since going private.”
Senator Halsey knew most of those exploits already, but he didn’t want his lawyer to know this. “Such as?”
“A few years ago he single-handedly took down a Kurdish terrorist group,” the lawyer said.
Actually that wa
s more than a decade ago, Halsey remembered. He had been in the House at the time on the Intelligence Committee and had gotten a briefing on that case.
“And?”
The lawyer hunched his shoulders just as the horse rose up sharply, with comical affect. “I hear he somehow avoided the entire Chinese Army, on the run for days, and then parachuted into Russia to stop the theft of our airborne laser system.”
Halsey smiled, knowing his advisor and lawyer was only partially true. Adams had actually been dropped from a B-2 bomber in a classified pod system. “Sounds like you have a man crush on Jake Adams.”
“Maybe a little,” Winthrop said. “So, I’m guessing he should be able to find your sister.”
“I hope so,” Halsey admitted.
They rode for a while in silence.
Finally, the lawyer said, “You just talked with Adams. Where is he now?”
Senator Halsey considered the question. Brock Winthrop had felt a little hurt when he had been told that he would no longer be running the search for Sara Halsey Jones. “Is this about me taking a more active role in the search for Sara?”
Winthrop pulled back on the reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt stop. The senator made the same move with his horse. “Jim, I really think you should let me take control of this.”
“She’s my sister.”
“All the more reason to let someone else run lead.”
Halsey thought about it and realized his advisor and lawyer might be right. Besides, sometimes it was nice to be able to focus the blame of failure on someone else should the effort to find Sara fail. Not that he expected that result. Much like his new searcher Jake Adams, he had never really failed at anything in his life.
“All right,” Senator Halsey agreed, giving a little click with his tongue and a slight jab with his boots in the mare’s ribs, sending them forward again. “You keep track of Adams. But make damn sure you don’t piss the guy off. Now that we got the man out of prison we have no leverage hanging over him.”
