by J. C. Fields
Reid straightened his five-foot ten frame as he kept his hazel eyes focused on the monitor. “Kendra, who’s on the desk tonight?”
“Not sure. I’ll find out.”
Reid heard the clicking of nails on a keyboard.
“Barry Tan.”
“Would you mind giving him a call?”
“Just a moment.”
Reid’s mind raced as he determined what information he needed and in what order.
“Tan,” a bored voice answered over speakers next to the big monitor.
“Good evening, Barry. Assistant Director Reid here.”
The voice grew serious. “How may I be of assistance this evening, sir?”
“I need a bio and current location on an ex-CIA operative named Michael Wolfe.”
“Yes, sir. Should I call you back or email the data?”
“This is an urgent request. Can you call us back?”
“Yes, sir. I will call you as soon as I have the information.”
“Thank you.”
The call ended as Reid continued to stare at the frozen image on the monitor glancing at the sniper hide above and to his left.
The return call came an hour later. Reid answered.
“Sir, it’s Barry Tan.”
“Yes, Barry. What did you find?”
“Not much, sir. I’ll send the bio to your email address, but his only known address is a problem.”
“How so?”
“Well…” The silence was deafening as Reid waited. “Uh—well, sir, the location is a homeless shelter in Canton, Ohio.”
Reid laughed.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Expected, Mr. Tan. Our Mr. Wolfe is good at subterfuge. Thank you for your efforts, son.” The call ended and Reid nodded slowly as he paced the office space within the converted guest house.
Kendra Burges pushed her glasses up her nose. Ten years younger than Reid, she was a slender five-foot-seven and his assistant since she joined the CIA twenty-one years earlier. Both were unmarried and kept their personal lives quiet. Kendra, during work hours, wore blocky black glasses which did not enhance her oval face. Her brownish-blonde hair was thin and normally kept in a ponytail. She strived for plain and accomplished it with great efficiency. After hours, the glasses were exchanged for contacts and she used a touch of makeup. She emerged as a pretty woman—not gorgeous, but attractive.
As a well-trained Company analyst specializing in digital imagery, both still and motion, she assisted other departments when it became politically expedient for both of their careers. Both were ambitious and the relationship depended on Reid’s rapid rise within the hierarchy of the agency. She liked Reid’s status and he liked what she did for his career. They made a great team.
The building they occupied stood adjacent to Reid’s rural Virginia estate. The property contained twenty acres with a four thousand square-foot residence and the separate guest house. After his parents passed away, Reid, being the only child, had inherited the property. Ten years later, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in renovation, the home reflected his personality and as time went by, reflected Kendra’s, too.
After ten minutes of pacing, Reid stopped. Without looking at his watch, he turned to her. “Kendra, what time is it in Tel Aviv?”
“Five thirty-six a.m.:
“He’s awake. I need to talk to my counterpart with Mossad.”
“I’ll find the number.”
Using a secure landline, Reid called the number Kendra provided. The answer came on the fourth ring.
“Good morning, Gerald.”
“Sorry to call so early, Uri.”
“Nonsense. My day started an hour ago. What can I do for you this morning?”
Uri Ben-David ran the counter-terrorist division of Mossad. He kept his tone professional, Gerald Reid being an individual he did not care to interact with.
“I’m looking for someone: Nadia Picard.”
Silence was his answer. Reid waited.
“So are we. What is your interest in her?”
“Actually, I’m looking for the man she disappeared with, Michael Wolfe. I was hoping you might have some insight into their whereabouts.”
“It seems Wolfe was in the right spot at the right time in Barcelona. I take it you’ve seen the security camera recordings.”
“Yes. What did you conclude from it?”
“Someone drew them together for a reason. Apparently to kill them.”
“I concur. Who?”
“We have our suspicions, but no proof. Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”
“That’s why I’m calling. We analyzed an assassination video and found it faked.”
“Oh, whose assassination?”
“Asa Gerlis.”
“Interesting. What makes you think his death was faked?”
“The pixel count was inconsistent where they joined the facial image and the body. The image was manipulated. At least that’s the conclusion of our analytical team.”
“Interesting.”
“Any idea of why he would fake his own death?”
“I can’t answer that question because we didn’t question the authenticity of the video. We will have to re-examine it.”
“Who would benefit from Gerlis disappearing?”
Once again, silence was the answer. After more than twenty seconds, Reid heard, “The only person I can think of would be Asa Gerlis.”
“Why?”
“Without going into any detail, he was under investigation. That’s all I can say at the moment.”
“I see. That would be a good reason not to examine the video. Everyone wanted it to be real.”
Unseen by Reid, Ben-David rolled his eyes and reminded himself of why he did not like interacting with the man. “No comment.”
Reid chuckled. “I would feel the same way if the circumstances were reversed.”
“I will have the video examined and get back to you.”
“Thank you, Uri.”
The call ended and Reid could not help smiling. “Apparently, your discovery of finding the video of Gerlis’ death as a fake is going to be inconvenient for the Israelis.”
Kendra stood and stretched. “It’s late Gerald. I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll join you, my love.”
Uri Ben-David knocked on the open door leading to the office of Mossad’s director, Yosef Freidman. The man was standing next to a credenza pouring a cup of coffee from a carafe.
“Ah, Uri, come in. Would you like coffee? Ida just brought a fresh pot in.”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well. What was the urgent matter you called about?”
“There’s been a development in the murder of Asa Gerlis you need to know about.”
“Oh, what is that?”
“His death was faked.”
Freidman was about to take a sip of his coffee but stopped. He frowned and walked back to his desk. “What do you mean faked?”
“For lack of a better way to explain it, his face was Photoshopped onto the body of the real victim.”
Freidman set the coffee cup on his desk and turned to look out the only window in the room. “When was this discovered?”
“My counterpart with the CIA called about it early this morning. We checked their work.”
The Director remained silent.
Ben-David continued, “They are looking for Michael Wolfe and Nadia Picard. They believe, like we do, someone arranged for them to be in the same place at the same time in Barcelona—someone who wanted both of them dead.”
“Who was Nadia’s controller?”
“Asa Gerlis.”
“I realize that, Uri. Who was assigned after Gerlis’ supposed murder?”
“No one had been assigned because she was on personal leave. I checked on the reason.”
“And?”
“The note in her file said she was in Paris caring for her ailing sister.”
Freidman nodded.
&nb
sp; “There’s a problem with that, sir.”
Frowning, the Director stared at the top of his desk. “Let me guess. She doesn’t have a sister.”
Ben-David shook his head. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Okay, Uri, what’s going on here?”
“At this point, I would only be speculating.”
“Speculate.”
“Asa Gerlis faked his own death to avoid us completing our investigation into his extracurricular activities. Since he was supposedly dead, there was no need to expend further resources to investigate. The file was classified top secret and buried.”
“What was found?”
“Uh, as you know, when he immigrated as a teenager to Israel, he had papers identifying himself as a Polish citizen. After completing his compulsory military duty, he joined the Mossad.”
The Director nodded.
“He wasn’t from Poland.”
Freidman slowly massaged his temples. “Where was he from?”
“We think somewhere in northeastern Kazakhstan.”
“You think.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are not positive.”
“No, sir.”
“Was he Muslim?”
“No, he was Jewish, but he was also Russian.”
The Director closed his eyes and sighed. “Are you telling me we’ve had a mole inside the Mossad for twenty years?”
“It would appear so.”
“Do you think Gerlis is the one who set up Nadia and Wolfe?”
“Now that we know he’s probably still alive…” He nodded.
“Why? Why would he go to all that trouble?”
“We don’t have enough facts to speculate. However, there was another development overnight.”
“What was that?”
“Blood found in one of our safe houses in Mexico City was been identified as Picard’s and Wolfe’s.”
Friedman remained quiet.
“No bodies.”
The Director sipped his coffee. “It’s Mexico, Uri.”
“Yes, I know. But, without bodies, it is hard to verify they are dead.”
“I would agree.”
“One more thing,” said Ben-David.
“Yes.”
“Their Spanish passports washed up on shore in Veracruz, a couple of kilometers apart.”
Freidman’s expression remained neutral. “Interesting. Picard is smart and well trained, as is Wolfe.” He paused for a moment and sipped his coffee. “Make a note in her file she is missing and presumed dead. Tell no one of your suspicions, but assume they are alive. Go slowly, but find them. Find them before Gerlis does. Maybe Nadia knows something Gerlis wants kept quiet.”
Ben-David nodded and left the Director’s office.
Chapter 8
Somewhere in Southern Missouri
A Week Later
N adia watched from the main window of the sheltered home as Wolfe drove the Jeep Wrangler south. She followed it until it disappeared over a rise nine hundred yards from the house. Closing her eyes, she wrapped the blanket tighter around her. Wolfe had quietly gotten out of bed at dawn to make the trip to his friend’s cabin on the southern end of the property. Even though he’d tried not to wake her, his absence next to her in bed and the sound of his departure had disturbed her.
She stood another minute, watching the spot where the Jeep went out of sight. Her thoughts turned to the past two months. Smiling slightly, she walked to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Being around Michael had cured her of her preference for tea.
As the coffee brewed, she changed into jeans and a baggy sweatshirt to ward off the slight chill in the house. Fall had come and gone along with the beautiful colors in the surrounding trees. As Michael had told her, the coming of winter brought different shades of grays and browns over the landscape.
During times when they were apart, her thoughts drifted back to the night Asa Gerlis had told her of Michael’s departure. As she sipped the freshly poured coffee, she closed her eyes and remembered.
A knock on the apartment door startled her. Michael wasn’t due for another hour. With caution, she approached the door. Instead of a peephole, Michael had installed a miniature wireless security camera in the door’s eye-level hole. A video screen on the wall to the left of the door showed a fisheye camera view of the hallway. With a Glock 26 held in her right hand behind her back, she approached the monitor.
Anger and disgust set in when she saw who was there. Asa Gerlis.
Without opening the door, she said, “I have company coming, Asa. What do you want?”
“He’s not coming, Nadia.”
“Who is not coming?”
“Michael. May I come in?”
Her breathing grew shallow as she hurriedly unlocked the door to let her Mossad controller into the apartment. Face-to-face meetings were discouraged, but here he was. She kept the Glock hidden behind her.
Of average height for an Israeli male, Gerlis was shorter than Nadia, which allowed her to look down at him. His round face, short, prematurely gray beard and close-cropped hair made him appear older than his forty-five years. During the few physical meetings they’d had, she’d found his piercing gray-blue eyes predatory.
“What do you mean he’s not coming?”
Gerlis surveyed the small apartment before he answered. “He left on a six-p.m. flight for Atlanta.”
“He would not leave without telling me. You are lying.”
The shorter man shook his head. “No, he will not be back. He tendered his resignation and left the country. I am sorry he did not tell you.”
She remained quiet, trying to determine the truthfulness of what he told her. “Why did he resign? He never mentioned anything to me about it.”
Gerlis shrugged. “Maybe he is not the person you think he is. He is a dangerous man, Nadia. Men like Wolfe are impulsive and narcissistic and will do what they want when they want.”
Now she knew Gerlis was lying. But if Michael had actually left the country without telling her, maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought.
“So why are you here?”
“To offer comfort.” He spread his arms, inviting her into an embrace.
Her revulsion brought the Glock from behind her back as she pointed the pistol at Gerlis’ face.
“Get OUT.”
“Nadia, I am here as a friend.”
“You are not my friend. GET OUT.”
With a slight grin, Gerlis nodded and walked toward the door. As he was about to open it, he turned. The Glock was still pointed at him. “You will find I am not lying. He is gone, Nadia. Get used to it.”
Michael’s entrance through the front door ended her reminiscing.
“I hope I didn’t wake you when I left.”
She shook her head and took a sip of her now stone-cold coffee. She wondered how long she had been thinking about Gerlis’ lies. “I made coffee. Would you like some?”
“Yes, it’s cold out there.”
She poured a mug and handed it to him. “How is Bobby?”
Wolfe grinned. “I think he has a girlfriend.”
“You think?”
The grin intensified. “I saw a few feminine touches in the living area of the cabin.”
Nadia crossed her arms. “And how would you recognize a feminine touch?”
“A discarded bra next to the sofa.”
She laughed. “Good for Bobby.” She walked quickly to Wolfe and embraced him.
He returned the hug. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I just felt like it.”
Smiling, he enjoyed the moment.
With the Jeep loaded with their luggage and Nadia’s laptop, they prepared to leave the Howell County home. She sat in the passenger seat as Wolfe engaged the security system and locked the front door. Once behind the Jeep’s steering wheel, he glanced at his wristwatch. “We should be there in plenty of time to meet Joseph.”
She nodded. Her eyes did not leave the h
ouse.
“You like this place, don’t you?”
“Yes, more and more each day.” She turned to him. “What if we decide to live our lives under our new names and forget about Barcelona? No one is going to find us. If they try, JR will let us know.”
He smiled and placed a hand on her thigh. “For now, we will do nothing. If JR determines someone is looking for us, we will return here and make plans.”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Nadia. I also want it to be a long life.”
She nodded and returned to staring at the house.
Joseph slid the contract across the small glass breakfast table where the three sat. Wolfe picked it up and flipped through the pages.
“This spells out your compensation and expense reimbursement. It hasn’t changed since the last time we worked together. No one—and I mean no one except JR and me—will know where you live or where you are at any given time.”
Wolfe skimmed the three-page document and returned his attention to Joseph. “US Marshal Investigative Services?”
“Yes.”
“How’s that going to work? Won’t I have to report to someone?”
“It gives you the authority. It doesn’t mean you actually work for them. You will be working under a Presidential Executive Order originally signed by the first President Bush. That order established my team. We were originally designated to work overseas, but since the military ramped up Special Forces, we aren’t needed over there as much. However, our services are now better suited to working within the United States, where the military isn’t allowed to function.”
Wolfe nodded as he read the document again. “How many of us are there?”
Joseph just smiled.
“Okay, got it. Need-to-know only.”
“Yes.”
“What will I be doing?”
“The tasks will vary. Mostly the same thing you did as a hired gun. You just won’t need the rifle.”
“Explain.”
“Michael, you work best by yourself. You’re a lone wolf, no pun intended.”
