Secret Shepherd

by James Osborne

The young man was visibly fit and strikingly handsome.

  “Please explain, Dr. Merriman?” Paul replied.

  “Isn’t it rather unusual to hold a job interview for a physician in a grubby tenement building located in a squalid neighborhood?” Dr. Lewis Merriman replied.

  “Does that bother you?” Paul asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Merriman replied. “With my degrees and training, I believe I have every right to be treated with more respect than what this shabby environment would suggest.”

  “I see,” Paul said, glancing around the sparsely furnished shoddy apartment. “Do you recall the advertisement you responded to in the Career Center section of JAMA (Journal of the American Medical Association)?”

  “Well, yes,” Dr. Merriman said. “What’s that got to do with this?”

  “The ad invited compassionate physicians to practice for three to five years at a remote and very basic medical/educational facility in an impoverished African country,” Paul said. “What you see around you is upscale compared with accommodation you will find in rural western Africa. I’ve been there. The living environment is much worse than this, and the work environment even more so... primitive would be a compliment.”

  “Well, yes,” Dr. Merriman said. He paused. “But the sponsor promised above average compensation, plus a bonus equivalent to the total earned remuneration at the conclusion of the agreement. Your point is?”

  “I think we have enough information for now, Dr. Merriman,” Paul said. “We’ve a few more physicians to interview. Someone will be in touch. Thank you for your time”

  Paul stood.

  Dr. Merriman hesitated, looked surprised, and stood slowly.

  “Don’t you want to know more about my academic achievements,” he said. “Did you know that I finished in the top ten of my graduating class at Emory’s school of medicine?”

  “Yes,” Paul said. “I believe you noted that in your application. Emory University has an exceptionally good medical school. That’s one reason why I came here. Your awards and impressive academic achievements testify eloquently to your professional competence, Dr. Merriman. However, I must tell you, I’m concerned with your belief in your own omnipotence. Thank you again for your time, Dr. Merriman. As I said, someone will be in touch within the next few days.” He held out his hand. “Have a nice day.”

  The newly licensed Dr. Lewis Merriman stared at Paul. The young doctor raised his nose, ignored Paul’s offered hand and stomped toward the peeling front door, dodging refuse scattered on the floor as he went.

  Paul smiled to himself.

  ***

  That Evening

  “I’m seeing another possible candidate tomorrow afternoon in Chicago,” Paul told Anne on his cell phone. “Then I’ll be coming home. This fellow today was a disappointment. Darn it. He’s a pediatrician... just the skills that Dr. Rucker needs. In a couple of weeks I’ll be seeing more candidates in Memphis. One is just finishing his residency in obstetrics and gynecology. Dr. Rucker sure could use someone like that, too.”

  “We miss you! Love you!” Anne said. She made no attempt to keep the longing out of her voice.

  “Can’t wait to see you,” he replied. Thoughts of holding Anne in his arms made him struggle to keep his libido from going into overdrive. “Love you too! Please give the kids a big hug for me.”

  ***

  Chicago, IL

  “I understand you’ve just finished your residency in family medicine?” Paul asked.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” replied Dr. Jason Devereau. “Last month, to be precise.”

  “I want to congratulate you on the awards, scholarships and impressive commendations you’ve received in the course of your studies. They’re all listed in your letter.”

  “Thank you,” Dr. Devereau said, smiling proudly.

  “May I ask what attracted you to apply for this position?” Paul asked.

  “My ancestors came from Africa,” Dr. Devereau said, admiring the dark skin on the back of his right hand. “They were kidnapped and brought to the Louisiana area as slaves in the early 1800s. I’m planning to go back to Africa and trace my ancestry.”

  “That’s an admirable thing to do for your family,” Paul said. “It’s a very big job. Any idea where your ancestors originated?”

  “No,” Dr. Devereau said. “Somewhere in western Africa. That’s where this position is, I believe. Once I get there, I can start tracing some of the leads that my family and I have been pursuing from this end. Someone needs to be on the ground over there, you see.”

  “Yes, I do,” Paul said, “But you understand this position is quite demanding. The one physician there often works twelve to fourteen-hour days, sometimes sixteen-hour days. It’s a grueling pace... and frequently she works seven days a week.”

  “A woman?” Dr. Devereau said.

  “Yes... an eighties-something GP. She and her late husband have operated the clinic since they opened it more than half century ago.” Paul replied.

  “Really?” Dr. Devereau said. “She’d be my boss? A woman? Is she the only physician on duty?”

  “Yes to all three questions,” Paul said. “It’s only fair to warn you, I can’t imagine how you’d find time to pursue your genealogical project while there.”

  “Oh,” Dr. Devereau said. “I think there’s been some misunderstanding here. I just assumed I would be the physician in charge, and there would be guaranteed days off, like here in America, with a vacation allotment befitting my position.”

  This guy didn’t do his homework, Paul thought. He wants a base to go off in search of his ancestors.

  “Thank you for your interest, sir,” Dr. Devereau said, standing up. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

  “Me too,” Paul replied, standing while making an effort to conceal his frustration. “Thank you for your time.” He was relieved Dr. Devereau was withdrawing voluntarily. “I hope you find a position suitable to your needs.”

  Damn! Paul thought.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Westland Place

  London, UK

  “How’s your American accent?” Paul said.

  “Quite good, as a matter of fact,” Ahmed replied, curious. “I was born into a west-coast one.” He glanced at Paul and smiled uncomfortably. This was the first time Ahmed had been in Paul’s office since trying to rob him. “Actually, I had to develop a British accent when I was quite young,” he added. He looked around sheepishly at the priceless art adorning the walls.

  “How come?” Paul asked.

  “I was born in San Clemente, California,” Ahmed said. “My mother was American. She met my father there. He’s British-Iranian... worked as a technician for a Boeing supplier near San Clemente. I have dual citizenship, American and British.”

  “When did you come to Britain?” Paul asked.

  “As a toddler. One day, my father got fired for beating up a foreman. My mom and I stayed there for two years after he came back to England, then she moved us here. My brother was born here. But my father wasn’t too happy about having to support a family again... took it out on us.”

  “You said you’re a dual citizen?” Paul said.

  “Yes,” Ahmed replied. “May I ask why you’re so interested?”

  “How would you like to go back to America for a while?” Paul asked. “Maybe even for a couple of years, perhaps longer?”

  “You obviously have something in mind,” Ahmed said. “And, yes, going back to America is attractive. I’ve no real family here—only my father and we don’t see each other anymore. It would be good for both you and I to get away from England for a while, right?”

  “That former gang of yours is none too fond of you or me,” Paul said. “You know that Mehregan and Rajavi found out you spied on them for Scotland Yard?”

  “Yeah. Screw them!” Ahmed said. “I’ll never let those bastards rule my life again! Not a chance. I’ve been accepted into the economics program at Open University. The prep program at Ca
mbridge that you got me into qualified me for Open University. I’m very grateful, Paul, but there is a problem. I don’t want to give that up.”

  “I could use your help with something,” Paul said. “What if you could do all three? That is, continue your course, give me a hand there, and put distance between you and those hoodlums?”

  “Are you serious?” Ahmed replied.

  “Sure,” Paul said. “The Open University programs allow students to take courses not just anywhere in the UK but anywhere in the world.”

  “Of course, I should have checked that out!” Ahmed said. “Yes, I’m interested in going! You said you have a plan in mind?”

  “We’re going to look into some business opportunities in America, in the Appalachians.”

  “Where’s that?” Ahmed asked.

  “It’s a region of highlands and mountains, some of it quite remote, in the eastern US. It stretches from Ohio south to Alabama and Mississippi. The people in some areas are extremely poor.”

  “That’s a big area,” Ahmed said. “What kind of business and what do you need me to do?”

  “I’m doing some scouting for an investor,” Paul said. “It helps people set up businesses. Usually, folks need to learn new skills like entrepreneurship, business planning, math, and so on. That’s where we come in, Ahmed. Those business economics courses you have been, and will be, taking ought to be helpful. Would you be willing to pass those skills along to interested people... things like basic math, how to set up spreadsheets, do basic budgeting and even some strategic planning?”

  “Sure!” Ahmed replied. His eyes lit up with excitement. “I remember my mom telling me, ‘You could be a good teacher someday.’ Guess it’s time to find out. Sounds like what you have in mind will need a lot of money, right?”

  “That’ll be up to the investor,” Paul said. “The big challenge is finding local people ready to do something about their circumstances. If we do, then maybe we can help them create successful ventures and encourage others to do the same.

  “Do you know what kinds of ventures your investor might be interested in?” Ahmed asked.

  Paul was impressed with Ahmed’s insight and enthusiasm.

  “Depending on local interest, there may be potential for construction, forestry, tourism, agriculture and maybe others,” Paul said. “We’ll have to look around. But multi-nationals control most of those already.”

  “Let me get this right, Paul,” Ahmed said. “You know an investor willing to take on multi-national conglomerates? From what I’ve read, they can be pretty nasty.”

  “I’ve a lot of confidence in that investor,” Paul said.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  MI5 Offices,

  London

  “They found your cell number during a raid, Paul,” Richard said. “It was in a note intended for the head of Amsterdam’s biggest drug gang. Know anything about that?”

  “Not much,” Paul said. “As you know, I went back to Amsterdam looking for the woman I helped at the airport. Janet Wallis is an American DEA agent assigned to Interpol. Both of us were kidnapped. You know all of this, Richard. What’s going on?”

  “Did you know that Wallis is in custody?” Richard said. “One of our guys just heard that Amsterdam’s elite anti-smuggling unit arrested her yesterday. They’re keeping her incommunicado at the present time. Any idea what that’s all about, as well?”

  “Good heavens, no!” Paul said. “And as to why, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “My colleagues told me you’d say that,” Richard said. “They want me to bring you over to answer some questions.”

  “I hope you’re joking,” Paul said.

  “Wish I was,” Richard replied. Paul’s father-in-law looked down at his hands. “I must ask you to come along with me.”

  “Of course,” Paul said. “Just as soon as I call Malcolm Witherspoon.”

  I wonder if Agnes somehow put Richard, or someone else, up to this? he thought.

  “I’ve been ordered to not let you do that just yet, Paul,” Richard said, holding out his hand. “I’ve been instructed also to ask for your cell phone. I’ll keep it for you.”

  ***

  Paul was taken to a room used by MI5 for interrogations.

  The door opened and three people entered. A man and a woman that Paul didn’t know walked in first. The third person that entered behind them was a surprise.

  “Hello, Paul.”

  “Hello, Ken,” Paul replied. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Ken said.

  His face wore a serious look.

  “Lord Winston,” the man said. “My name is Maurice Eldridge. I’m with MI5’s anti-smuggling task force. We have reason to believe you have been working with a woman named Janet Wallis. Is that correct?”

  “No, that’s not correct,” Paul said. “I know her. Janet was injured a few weeks ago. I helped her until paramedics arrived. Most recently I helped her escape from people who kidnapped both of us. She believes our kidnappers were involved in a Turkish smuggling operation using Schiphol airport as a hub.”

  “I should tell you that Janet Wallis does not work for the DEA or for Interpol,” Eldridge said. “The DEA has never heard of her and Interpol has had a warrant out for her arrest for years. Amsterdam police have her in custody now.”

  “The DEA doesn’t know her?” Paul said. “You can’t be serious!”

  “This comes as a surprise to you, Lord Winston?” the woman said. “My name is Maryanne Chernowicz. Mr. Eldridge and I are on the same task force.”

  “Yes, it does surprise me,” Paul said. “Janet was very convincing... showed me her ID. Looked authentic. Are you quite sure the Amsterdam police have the right person?”

  “Oh, yes,” Eldridge replied firmly. “Right down to an impressive display of identifying scars on her body.”

  “Do you believe him?” Eldridge asked Chernowicz, inclining his head toward Paul.

  “No,” she said.

  “Now, listen here!” Paul said.

  ***

  Earnscliffe

  “Daddy, have you heard from Paul today?” Anne asked. She had called her father on his cell phone. “He hasn’t returned my calls. I’m worried.”

  “I saw him briefly this afternoon, Princess,” Richard replied truthfully. “Something’s probably keeping him late. I’m absolutely sure he’s safe and sound.”

  Richard bit back the guilt at not telling his daughter there was nothing to worry about.

  ***

  Westland Place

  Downtown London

  “Lord Winston’s office. Clementine Shackleford speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Hello Mrs. Shackleford,” Ahmed said. “This is Ahmed Mousavi. May I speak with Lord Winston?”

  “Hello Mr. Mousavi,” Mrs. Shackleford said. “Lord Winston left about two hours ago. He was on his way to meet you.”

  “I’m worried,” Ahmed said. “We were supposed to meet at my place over an hour ago. I haven’t heard from him. That’s not like him, is it?”

  “Oh no, certainly not!” Mrs. Shackleford said, the concern clear in her voice. “I’m certain that’s where he said he was going. Have you tried his cell phone?”

  “It goes directly to his voice mail.”

  “And his home?”

  “Not yet, Mrs. Shackleford,” Ahmed said. “I don’t want to worry Lady Winston if he’s not home. I’m checking other possible places first.”

  “Perhaps you should try his father-in-law, Richard Meriwether. Do you have his number?

  “Yes, thank you,” Ahmed said. “He’s on my list.”

  ***

  Joan Hamilton’s Office

  “No, my dear, I’ve no idea where he might be,” Joan told Ahmed.

  “We were supposed to meet at my place well over an hour ago, Mrs. Hamilton,” Ahmed said. “I’m sure he would have called if something had delayed him.”

  “That would
be my take,” Joan said. “Have you called Mr. Witherspoon?”

  “Would you mind checking with him?” Ahmed said. “I’ve got a couple of other calls to make. I’ll let you know if I locate him.”

  “I’ll do likewise,” Joan said.

  ***

  Ahmed’s Apartment

  “Paul’s almost three hours late, Mr. Witherspoon,” Ahmed said. “He was supposed to be here at three o’clock.”

  Alarmed by a conversation with Joan Hamilton, Malcolm had called Ahmed and asked for a summary of the calls he’d made trying to locate Paul.

  “I don’t like the sound of this!” Malcolm said. “Not one damned bit! I’m going to file a missing person’s report with Scotland Yard.”

  “Thank you,” Ahmed said. “Will you call his father-in-law or should I?”

  “I’ll do that,” Malcolm said. “I know Richard. And, I’ll call a friend of his and Paul’s, Chief Superintendent Ken Hagerman at Scotland Yard.”

  ***

  MI5

  London

  “I would strongly suggest you not do that,” Maurice Eldridge said. “Perhaps we should place you in custody as well.”

  “I do not make idle threats... ever!” Malcolm Witherspoon replied. His gravely voice had a deeply sonorous Churchillian tone. “I would advise you to think twice about the threat you just made... a very stupid one... and one that you may very well live to regret deeply, Mr. Eldridge!” Malcolm’s eyes simmered with fiery anger. His face was crimson. “You had better damned well believe I’ll be all over the news media starting this evening unless you release my client immediately!” Malcolm demanded. His voice was just one octave below a full-out shout. “Do you understand me?” This time his voice was at full throttle.

  “Hold on Mr. Witherspoon,” Eldridge said. “Calm yourself.”

  “I will not!” Malcolm thundered. “You will release Lord Winston this instant, or I will be calling my contacts at The Times and News of The World straight away!” Malcolm held his index finger above the dial pad of the cell phone in his hand. “I’m going to tell my reporter friends that rogue agents at MI5 have kidnapped Lord Winston on a frivolous cockamamie excuse and refused to charge him with anything, because THEY DO NOT HAVE ANYTHING! And I will tell my reporter friends that MI5’s rogue agents threatened to jail ME, his solicitor, in an attempt to muzzle me from speaking publicly about their—that is you, Mr. Eldridge and you, Ms. Chernowicz— about your profoundly stupid illegal behavior. Do I make myself clear?”