A Lone Wolf

by J. C. Fields

  She shook her head. “He might have, but I don’t remember the name.”

  “Did you report him missing?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you tell the sheriff about this friend?”

  Nodding, she wiped her eyes. “They didn’t seem to give a shit. One of the deputies I spoke to told me he had disappeared before, sometimes for weeks.”

  “Did you talk to the lumberyard?”

  Looking up, she glared at Wolfe. “They told me they made a mistake in hiring Bobby—he was back to his old habit of not showing up for work. It felt like I was the only person worried about him. Everyone else blew it off as Bobby acting like his old self again.”

  “You didn’t believe that?”

  “No. We’ve been dating for two years. He’s not like…” She stopped, her eyes grew wide and the sobbing returned. After a few moments, she calmed and finished her sentence. “He wasn’t like that anymore.”

  Wolfe turned to a window next to the fireplace and gazed over the yard. “Why is Bobby’s truck so clean inside?”

  “He did that before he let me use it.”

  Nodding, Wolfe remained quiet for a long time. Nadia busied herself with Jana as the two went to the kitchen to make coffee.

  Five minutes later, Nadia walked up behind Wolfe and placed her hand on his back. “Do you want some coffee?”

  He shook his head. “I need to have a talk with Sheriff Bright. Somebody is lying to us.”

  “I’ll stay here with Jana while you’re gone. She’s been by herself since he disappeared.”

  Wolfe turned. “I won’t be gone long.”

  “When was it ruled a suicide, Sheriff?”

  “Yesterday. No evidence of criminal intent, Michael. No signs of a struggle, at the site or at his cabin. Were you ever in the military?”

  Wolfe shook his head. Bright knew him only as Michael Lyon, a local businessman who helped Bobby Benson.

  “It’s hard on some guys. Some never get over the experience. I was a marine, just like Bobby. I guess I was lucky, I’ve seen more shit as a sheriff than I did as a marine. You know, of course, veterans have a higher percent of suicide than the general population. Especially those with PTSD.”

  Wolfe patience was growing thin. “Did you talk to the girlfriend?”

  “Several times. She was unhelpful.”

  Wolfe did not respond immediately. He stared at Bright for several moments realizing the sheriff was done with the matter. “How long had he been dead?”

  “Coroner believes about three weeks. Did you get a hold of the brother?”

  Wolfe nodded.

  “He won’t take my calls.”

  “I know, he told me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He basically disowned him.”

  “Great. Now what do we do with the body?”

  Wolfe suddenly realized the sheriff was telling him the subject was closed, no more discussion. “I’ll handle the arrangements and pay for the service. Have him taken to one of the local funeral homes.”

  “Which one?”

  “Don’t know. Which is the best?”

  “Cooper-Mason.”

  “I’ll get in touch with them.”

  After returning to Jana Meyer’s house and picking up Nadia, he drove straight to the funeral home. Wolfe went in and returned five minutes later.

  “They agreed to extract DNA from the body for me.”

  Nadia nodded. “Who’s going to do the test? It’s not like we have a lot of choices around here.”

  “I’ve got a plan. Do you think she’s lying to us?’

  She shook her head rapidly, her long hair flowing back and forth with the sudden movement. “No, her grief is genuine.”

  “Kind of what I thought, too. Just wanted your perspective.”

  “I am still trying to get used to this small-town atmosphere. I do not understand how everybody can be so friendly and then so uncaring if you make one mistake. It is certainly a good thing no one knows our past.”

  Wolfe chuckled. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  Silence prevailed as they drove back to their underground home in rural Howell County. Ten minutes later, she turned to him. “You are too quiet. What are you thinking?”

  “I can’t figure out why the sheriff lied to us the night we called him from Bobby’s cabin. He already knew he was missing, yet…”

  “I did not think of this. He acted like he did not know anything about Bobby.”

  “Yeah, it appeared to be a big surprise.”

  “What now?”

  “The marines should have a DNA signature they can compare. There is only one person I know who has the ability to get the sample compared to his marine record, no questions asked.”

  “Joseph?”

  “Yeah, one of only two people in this world I trust.”

  She smiled. “And, just who is the other person, Michael Wolfe?”

  He returned her smile and glanced at her. “You.”

  “That was the correct answer. You are permitted to sleep with me tonight.”

  They both laughed.

  One Week Later

  The small bistro in Arlington, Virginia maintained a reputation as an out-of-the-way gathering spot for authentic Parisian food and an extensive wine list. Joseph Kincaid sat at a corner table in the back, waiting for Wolfe to arrive. A glass of French Bordeaux sat in front of him as he checked the crowd for anyone paying too much attention to his presence. None appeared to care.

  Wolfe arrived ten minutes later. After shaking his hand and sitting across from his old CIA controller, he said, “This place looks familiar. Have we met here before?’

  “Years ago, Michael. Before you left for Israel. We sat at this exact table.”

  “I thought so.”

  “So, why did you want to meet me so far away from the DC crowd.”

  The corner of Wolfe’s mouth twitched. “Let’s just say I’m not overly excited about being spotted by certain individuals.”

  “Fair enough. What’s on your mind?”

  Both men stopped their conversation as a young college-aged girl took Michael’s drink order. When she left, he responded, “I need a DNA sample compared to military records of Sergeant Robert Benson.”

  “Why the interest?”

  “There are too many inconsistencies about his death.”

  “Such as?’

  Wolfe took a sip of the Chardonnay the waitress had just left. He smiled and took another. “He was one of my spotters during Desert Storm.”

  “I remember now. Who’s the other one?”

  “Rick Flores.”

  “He’s with the FBI, trains bureau snipers.”

  “Huh, didn’t know that. Rick’s a good, man. He doesn’t know about me, does he?”

  “No. Like the rest of the FBI, he thinks you’re dead.”

  “Good, keep it that way.”

  A nod was his answer.

  “Anyway, I ran into Bobby Benson a little over five years ago in West Plains. He was having issues with PTSD. I helped him get back on his feet and he assisted me with the construction of my home. We fixed up the cabin on the southern edge of my property as a place for him to live. Since then, he found a girlfriend and was promoted where he worked. He was doing good.”

  “Glad to hear. There’s a however in this story, isn’t there.”

  Wolf nodded and sipped his wine. “A big one. He disappeared about four weeks ago. No one seemed to care except his girlfriend. And me.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nadia and I found his body deep inside a wooded section of my land. It appeared he committed suicide.”

  Joseph was quiet. He studied his Merlot and took a sip. “Appeared?”

  “Yeah, he had a Ruger SR22 in his right hand and a small entry wound above his right ear.”

  The expression on Joseph’s face did not change, except his attention was on Michael, not the glass of wine. “What are the inconsistencies?”

&
nbsp; “The Bobby I knew was left handed. He could barely wipe his nose with his right.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  “His military record listed a brother—Kevin, in Albany, New York. We paid the man a visit.”

  Joseph stiffened.

  “Don’t worry. We introduced ourselves as Mr. and Mrs. Lyon.” Wolfe paused and took a sip of his wine. “He’s an attorney in a not-so-successful law-firm. He also could not have cared less about Bobby and tells a completely different story about him.”

  “Siblings sometimes don’t like each other.”

  “I wouldn’t know. He claims Bobby didn’t have PTSD and was always right-handed.”

  “Huh. Maybe he didn’t know Bobby had it.”

  “No, I even showed him a picture. He told me, in no uncertain terms, the man in the picture was not his brother.”

  A frown was his response.

  “Since the brother disowned him, I took care of the funeral and we buried him the day before yesterday. But not before the funeral home extracted a DNA sample.” Wolfe reached into the inside pocket of his leather bomber jacket and handed Joseph a tan postcard-sized envelope with a small vial in it. “I need this analyzed and compared to Bobby’s military record.”

  Joseph accepted the packet and immediately placed it in an inside pocket of his navy-blue blazer. “What are your suspicions?”

  Wolfe shook his head. “Not sure yet.”

  “But you have a theory.”

  This time the answer was a nod.

  “And that is?”

  “This is pretty farfetched, Joseph.”

  “That’s okay. I like farfetched.”

  Wolfe smiled. “The man who spotted for me in Desert Storm and the man I helped in West Plains are two different individuals.”

  Chapter 14

  Washington, DC

  D eputy Director of Analysis Gerald Reid listened to his morning briefing as the various department heads summarized overnight events. His promotion to Deputy Director four weeks earlier had solidified his goal of being Director within the next few years. He listened intently, trying to decide who among his direct reports were competent and who were not.

  At forty-five minutes into the scheduled hour-long meeting, Kendra Burges entered the conference room, walked quickly to his side, handed him a sheet of paper and bent down to whisper in his ear. As he listened, his eyes widened and a slight smile appeared on his lips. When she finished, she left the room as quickly as she entered. Reid continued to stare at the page handed to him.

  He raised his hand and the current speaker stopped. Standing, Reid cleared his throat. “I apologize for the interruption. I need to terminate our meeting early. Please be prepared to stay a few minutes longer tomorrow. Thank you all for your time.”

  With this statement, he exited the conference room through the door leading to his office.

  Kendra stood next to his desk. He looked at her. “When did this come in?”

  “It was originally sent to the individual who took your old job. She received it yesterday morning and apparently decided the information wasn’t important enough to forward immediately. I just got it a few moments ago.”

  Reid nodded, his anger at the delay squelched by the sheer implications of the information. “Were there any additional confirmations?”

  She shook her head. Reid sat behind his desk, taking his attention away from the memo. “I want to see the actual photo.”

  She nodded and told him how to retrieve it on the laptop. Two minutes later, he was staring at the image of Michael Wolfe passing through a TSA security gate at Reagan Washington National Airport.

  Kendra pointed at the picture. “Security cameras took this snapshot at 6 a.m. yesterday. The facial recognition software flagged it from an alert you posted after Wolfe and Picard disappeared in Barcelona over two years ago. Apparently, the alert was never canceled.”

  Reid did not comment right away. He stared at the photo and zoomed in on it. “Were there any other hits at the airport?”

  “No, that’s the only one.”

  “Have you checked flight manifests for his known aliases?”

  “I have someone on it right now. So far, there was a Patrick Ryan on the passenger list of a United flight to Denver, but the age was wrong.”

  Reid turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. “How wrong?”

  “The boy was only ten.”

  He nodded and returned his attention to the laptop. “What was the percent of certainty this person is Wolfe?”

  “About eighty-eight percent.”

  “Hmm… Not exact, but close.” He turned from the laptop to stare at his assistant. “If he is, in fact, alive, it means, Picard is as well. How they fooled the Israelis with the DNA will be a matter for a later investigation. For now, we will assume they are both alive. If we get lucky, they’ll make another mistake, so we need to be ready.”

  “What are you classifying him as?”

  With a grim smile, Reid looked at Burges. “For now, we will classify our search as a possible foreign threat. Use his German alias and passport photo for identification.” He turned and stared at the photo on his laptop again. “We are putting a soft inquiry out for Mr. Hans Lauer, a possible German terrorist.”

  The notification was short, a one-line mention at the end of the President’s detailed morning briefing. Not the one given directly to POTUS by the Deputy Director of the CIA, but the more detailed one provided to the National Security Advisor. Joseph’s position as the new president’s NSA meant this report landed on his desk. He stared at the name and thumbnail photo, read the notice again, and frowned. The photo was old, at least ten or fifteen years. Michael did not resemble the photo anymore. His concern centered more around Gerald Reid’s motivation for putting the inquiry out than him being able to locate the ex-sniper.

  As the NSA, Joseph was allowed certain privileges other members of the White House staff were not. A personal Samsung Smart Phone rested in its usual spot in the top right-hand drawer of his desk. He typed a short five-word message. How soon to secure comm? He replaced the phone in the drawer and went about his normal routine.

  “Wonder what this is all about?” Wolfe showed the text message to Nadia, who frowned. He continued. “We haven’t been to the condo for a while. Think we should go?’

  She nodded. “Yes, it is too depressing here. I’m ready for a change of scenery.”

  He smiled. “Have you listened to yourself recently?”

  “No, did I say something wrong?”

  “Not at all.” He chuckled. “You’ve started using contractions. You just said I’m instead of I am, like you usually do.”

  She sighed. “I am becoming an American. Pray for my soul, Michael.”

  Still chuckling, Wolfe typed in a short reply to the text message from Joseph. Three to four hours.

  He hit the send icon and waited. His reply came two minutes later. Call this number. The number was displayed after the message.

  Satisfied with the communication, he packed their laptop in a backpack.

  After setting all of the security measures in the house and securing the multiple locks, they drove toward their condo near Branson.

  Two and a half hours later, Wolfe unlocked the front door to their condo. The air was stale and the temperature cool. While Nadia attended to the thermostat, Wolfe retrieved the laptop and proceeded to make a secure VoIP phone using procedure learned over the course of their existence as Michael and Nadia Lyon.

  When the call was answered, Joseph asked. “What time did your flight leave out of Reagan?”

  “Around six a.m. Why?”

  “Your image was caught on a TSI security camera.”

  Wolfe was silent for a few moments. They had received a text message from JR during their drive over alerting them to the incident. Remembering the hacker’s request for Joseph to be unaware of this monitoring, he did not mention it. “Who activated the facial recognition search?”

  “Don’t know
. The only reason I know about it is a mention in our daily brief about a soft inquiry and BOLO on your old German nom de guerre.”

  “How many times was my image caught?”

  “From the information I have, only once.”

  “Good.”

  “How did you fly back?”

  “Reagan to Atlanta then to Des Moines. I used my private plane from there.”

  “The positive is there is no mention of a Michael Lyon in the briefing, only the German name. Which tells me they couldn’t trace you after you went through the security gate.”

  Nadia looked at Wolfe with concern. He glanced at her, smiled and shook his head. With his attention back to the call, he said, “Nadia and I will avoid commercial flights for the foreseeable future. We can use my plane if needed.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on Reid.”

  “Thank you.” Wolfe paused for a few seconds. “Have you received anything back on the DNA analysis?”

  “Yes, about an hour ago. The DNA you gave me matched the records on file with the Marines. The body you found in the woods was the Robert Benson you served with in the Marines.”

  Wolfe drummed his fingers on the table where the laptop sat. The corner of his mouth twitched as he stared out the window. He returned his attention to the laptop. “What does his Marine file say about his handedness?”

  “His military file indicates he was right-handed.”

  More silence as Wolfe took in the information. “Okay, Joseph, keep me updated about Reid and whatever he thinks he’s trying to accomplish.”

  “Will do.”

  The call ended and Wolfe turned to Nadia. “Did Bobby ever spend the night at Jana’s house?”

  Nadia nodded. “She mentioned it several times when I was getting my hair trimmed. Why?”

  “I’m not too worried about the airport incident. We’ll just be more careful when we fly. Something is very wrong here. We need DNA from the man Jana was seeing.”

  She tilted her head slightly. “What about his cabin?”