by Vonnie Davis
“Ask him if his bathroom is in the basement.” The auld man smirked. “Didna ye say ye had a present to buy fer little Colleen? Let’s head off and shop for the sprite before we head for Donnel’s.”
Ronan knew his niece well enough to realize if he didn’t buy something for both sisters he’d be in big trouble. He bought them matching pink teddy bears—one small and the other larger.
Ronan and Earnan took a taxi to rue du Bac and hiked the three flights of steps to Donnel’s apartment. They knocked and a dark-haired man with silver highlights at his temples answered. Donnel hadn’t been back to Mathe Bay since he moved to Paris three years ago, except fer a few funerals and always on his mother’s birthday. He laughed and gave them each a boisterous hug.
“Someone from home. I can’t tell you how nice it is to see you. I’ve got your rooms ready, but they’re small.” Donnel invited them into a wide foyer, decorated with a marbletop table and a statue of a naked woman in the corner. Glass doors hung open to what he called his salon. The walls were painted yellow and his sofa was ivory leather while his chairs were navy. Ivory and navy plaid valances topped the French windows that opened onto a wrought-iron narrow balcony. A bar sat across one corner and in a little windowed alcove were his desk and computer equipment.
“I’ve not started dinner yet. I thought we’d talk first after you get your bags put in your rooms. All I’ve heard about this case is what the government allowed in the news. I’m hoping you’ve got more information.”
“Aye. Much more and if ye want it, I can get ye the computer evidence Anisa copied from the moles working in ICAT.”
“You’re kidding? Yes, see if you can do that.” Donnel scribbled something on a slip of paper. “Here’s my email address here at home.”
Once Ronan was in his room, big enough for a bed and a small dresser, he texted both Creighton and Kendric, asking if they still had what was on the external drives Anisa turned over and could they email it all to Donnel.
Then Ronan walked into the salon and began telling Anisa’s story, starting with her educational and training background and moving on to her finding the sticky note on her coworker’s monitor.
Chapter 25
Donnel took notes on a legal pad, stopping from time to time asking questions at the incredulity of some of her training and torture exercises. When Ronan told him about the broken bones and the scars on her back, Donnel’s jaw dropped. He began pacing after Ronan mentioned the waterboarding. “Good God in Heaven. Why?”
Ronan began recounting the events of the day the two helicopters came to his log cabin. How she shot the pilot and the helicopter crashed on top of his truck in one big explosion. Donnel poured whisky. “Bloody hell, I’ve seen action flicks that weren’t this good, Ronan.”
Ronan pointed to the wounds on his head and ears. Pulled up his shirt and showed the bullet wounds.
Donnel slumped in his navy leather chair. “No one was arrested for this?”
“Anisa killed three of them. Me bear killed the fourth.”
“Yes, but who was behind it all? Who executed the order?” Donnel drained his glass.
“The woman who snuck into the hospital to poison Anisa told her it was the CIA.”
“Poison?” Donnel’s eyes widened. “Now we’re adding poison to the mix of this bizarre story?” His voice rose in shock.
Earnan slid to the edge of his seat on the sofa. “This is where I come in. I have research on the toxin that was used. It came from a rare frog found only in Australia.”
“Ye gotta be shittin’ me!” At last, Donnel’s native Scottish burr returned. “What the bloody hell kind of frog?”
“A Copper-backed Broodfrog.” Earnan handed the papers to the lawyer. “Only a few organizations in the world know of its existence or its power.”
Donnel scanned the research, flipping the papers. “This stuff causes complete paralysis or death.” His incoming email dinged, and he opened the mail, read it, and printed it out. “The email is from Kendric. He’s only sending files Anisa copied fer now.
“The other external drive shows movies taken of her in her home by bugs and hidden cameras. Some were of her in her shower and she asked him to keep those as private as he could. He says the decision to use them at the trial is up to you, her fiancé.” Donnel stared at Ronan.
“Whatever ye think builds a stronger case. I just want her home with me.”
“Bloody hell, when Aunt Edweena called me, all upset over your intended’s legal situation, and asked would I help, I had no clue she was handing me the case of the century. Kendric also sent her paperwork for seeking political asylum in Scotland and the case number she was assigned. What do ye say we just order in some food and concentrate on going over all the evidence?” He laughed. “I canna believe this could all happen to one woman. I mean, what are the freakin’ chances?”
“There’s more. I went to her hospital room at the American Hospital this morning to see her and let her know Earnan and I were here fer her.”
Donnel pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair, staring first at Ronan and then Earnan. “Hospital? Why is she in the hospital? Is she still suffering from being shot and the frog poison?”
Earnan narrowed his eyes. “Want me theory? Whoever took her from Mathe Bay put her in the army dispensary right away. They scheduled tests she’d already had and passed at our hospital. When she told them she’d had unprotected sex, the doctor started talking about doing a D&C right away and they shipped her off to the American Hospital.”
Donnel glanced at Ronan. “How far along is she?”
“Ten days, tops.”
Donnel propped his forearms on his knees. “Then could they even tell?”
“They needed a reason fer her to expire.” Earnan shrugged. “Too much anesthesia—accidently. Too deep of a scrape to cause hemorrhaging. Just to name a couple examples. Problem solved. The woman who knew everything couldna talk anymore to anyone.”
Donnel leaned in. “Ye really believe this?”
“As a doctor, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Why put a reasonably healthy woman in the hospital? Plans were set in motion. By who, we didna ken. Me guess is whoever was working with those two CIA men. What was his name again, Ronan?”
“A Frenchman. Major André Mouzon. It was his wife who traveled to Scotland to poison Anisa and came back again to shoot her. She’s dead now.”
The pizzas arrived and Donnel set them on his large glass coffee table. He brought in plates, napkins, and beers. He opened one of the boxes of pizza. Tomato and cheese aromas filled the combined salon and office area.
Ronan took a slice and slid it on a plate. “During my visit with Anisa, when her nurse came in, she got all testy and ordered me out until visiting hours. When we went back, Anisa’s room was locked and she was gone. Taken by the French government. A Major Mouzon, in particular. A man she felt was part of Todd and Mitch’s illegal activities. Now I have nay idea where she’s at.”
“Oh, bloody hell.” Donnel stood to remove the pile of pages from his printer. “This is some deep shite.”
As they consumed pizza, Donnel read over the intel Anisa had copied from files on Todd Anderson’s computer. Kendric had also sent along the code to view the record of deposits by the Russian government into a Swiss account belonging to Todd, Mitch, and André.
Donnel rubbed his forehead. “Now, these Todd and Mitch bastards are in jail, charged with being the traitors Anisa had once been labeled as. So, as far as we ken, she’s on trial for stealing the drone and going AWOL. And Major André Mouzon is in the clear with all the funds from Russia at his disposal.” He whistled. “Major’s got a nice retirement fund built up.”
“The feckin’ bastard’s got me woman somewhere.” Was she okay? Being fed or being beaten? What if they were whipping her again, leaving more scars? His heart actually ached fer her.
Donnel opened a laptop and tapped away. “I’m surprised the man’s not taking personal leave
. Here’s a recent news report. André’s wife just went missing on a skiing trip in the Alps. Avalanche. He gave the date.”
“Christ, that’s the day I killed a woman who tried to shoot Anisa when the intel wasna where she thought it should be. I was in the process of shifting and still had me claws and teeth.” Ronan slid the laptop around so he could see the picture of the woman.
“That’s definitely the woman I killed. She’d shot the two policemen guarding our hospital room and was aiming a pistol with a silencer at Anisa.” He picked up another slice of pizza.
“So, Major Mouzon had a double reason to see yer fiancée put behind bars forever. Looks like I need to do some digging on him after I read over all this material. How are you at doing research, Ronan?”
“Tell me what kind of stuff to look fer and it’ll be done.”
Anisa trembled in the cold concrete room. She’d been through worse, she could survive this, too. She thought of her hot, steamy nights in Alabama. Mind control. She’d had that drilled into her in survival camps. She recalled how the high humidity made her sweat. How bugs stuck to her skin. A shiver danced over her skin. Obviously, her mind control needed some work.
What did Ronan think when he returned to find her room empty? That nurse was a traitor. Thanks to her she’d been taken from the comfort of a warm room to the dank cold of this dirty cell. She smiled. Ronan had come to give her comfort. To tell her he’d get her back somehow. He had the strongest, yet the sweetest ways of showing his love.
A key rattled in her lock and the rusty tumblers clanked open. The smell of Chanel No. 5 accompanied Major Mouzon as he stepped into her room with a five-foot-long reed pole. So, he would beat her. But why the perfume? The last time she’d smelled it was…
“Recognize my wife’s favorite perfume? She loved the fragrance because it was so classic.” He twirled the pole, shifting it from hand to hand as he circled her. “I’m wearing it tonight in her honor when I kill you.”
She stood and moved toward the center of the room. Don’t let your opponent corner you, one of her instructors had drilled into her. “So, twice you sent your wife to kill me? How in God’s name did you ever make Major? Tell me, are your lips sore from all that ass-kissing? Because you didn’t make rank on your brainpower. No way in hell.” For once it felt empowering to use some of the insults she’d had thrown at her over the years.
André’s face reddened with anger. He swung the pole and hit her hip. The sting took her breath away for a minute. He swung for her upper arms; she grabbed the pole. On a small jerk and a strong push, she had him in the corner. She swept his legs, knocking him down, where she quickly straddled him. Gaining control of the pole, she shoved it under his double chin.
“Now tell me, why you are so intent on hurting me? What have I done to you?”
He swung a fist making contact with her jaw. “Bitch, you made Major before me. Everyone thought you could do no wrong. Anisa Brosseau this and Anisa Brosseau that.” He swung again; this time she jerked her head back. “Every idea you came up with was extraordinaire. Mine were torn apart as old-fashioned and common.”
“So all of this has been over a man’s wounded pride?” She exhaled a bark of laughter. “You weren’t getting your way so you secretly turned on me, although we were fellow countrymen? Yes, I was moved ahead in rank, André Mouzon, that’s because you weren’t put through all the torturous training I was. Believe me, I’d sooner you had been. It wasn’t my choice to go through all that cruelty.”
“That’s Major Mouzon to you!” he barked. “I’m not the one who’s lost my rank. I’m not the one being brought up on charges and, no doubt, being sent to jail, if you live through the night. I could see how things were going here. And the Russians were paying more than the French. Much more.”
“Traitor!”
“No. Idiot. Opportunist. You deserve everything bad that happens to you. Because when I sent my beautiful wife to kill you, she was the one who died.” He coughed and fought to push away the pole.
Anisa tilted her head to the side and glared at him. “Now that was your fault. Never send a model to kill a warrior.” She did a backflip, pole in hand.
“You consider yourself a warrior? Bullshit. You’re just a nosy bitch who hacked into some computer files you had no business seeing. You kept digging and digging until you’d discovered it all. Then you copied files upon files of intel. You deserve to die.” He grunted to stand.
“Gee, Major, you better lose a little weight before your next physical. You got that middle-aged spread going on.” He’d always been on her about her weight, insisting she was over the limit for her height. How nice to rub it in for once. If she was going to jail, she might as well have some fun along the way. “Or don’t the Russians care how much you weigh when you go to withdraw money from your Swiss bank accounts? Just so long as you can waddle into the bank.”
He charged for her like a raging bull. And she showed him what kind of warrior she really was.
Chapter 26
At eight-fifty, Anisa was escorted into the small courtroom used for military hearings and court-martials. She limped slightly, but it was her bruised and battered face and arms that caught everyone’s eye. After she’d verbally harassed Major Mouzon, he’d damn near gone berserk, but his fighting skills were lacking.
Granted, he’d worked her over pretty good. Her one eye was completely swollen shut, her nose broken, and her lips distended and cracked. On the other hand, both of his eyes were blackened and four of his front teeth were missing. His arms were bruised, as were a couple of his ribs, severely, if not cracked. After she’d broken his knee, she’d taken the cane to his ass and left several welts until he’d begged for mercy. Since she was a sweet, gentle soul, she’d granted it. After all, who liked a mean bitch?
She stood at attention alone at the defendant’s table. A man in a kilt and a fancy jacket joined her. “I’m Donnel Matheson, yer lawyer,” he whispered. “I need ye to sign this paper applying for Scottish citizenship. ’Tis the next step in your seeking asylum. I’m trying me best to rush things through with the contacts I still have in the UK. Now, Anisa, before the court proceedings begin and pandemonium breaks loose. That is, if ye want to marry Ronan…”
She snatched the pen from his hand and signed everywhere he indicated.
“Sign this second copy for us to keep. Who beat ye? Has anyone examined ye?”
“Major André Mouzon. He came to my cell last night. It was his wife who poisoned me and later tried to shoot me. No one’s examined me. He threatened my life if I told. Like a little threat would close this big mouth. Besides, wait until you see him. He’ll be the one on crutches.”
The French Military Review Board ambled in and took their seats at the front table. Their gazes went from Anisa’s beaten face to the man standing tall beside her.
Anisa was so nervous, she nearly jumped out of her skin when bagpipes played along with sounds of men marching through the back door, their steps in unison. She whirled around to count ten men in kilts and fancy jackets with golden braid and other decorations. Bringing up the rear was petite Effie in her plaid sash over a turtleneck, plaid skirt, and plaid baffies. Creighton and Ronan led the procession. As soon as Ronan saw her face, his face hardened bright red in anger.
“I’ll sit behind me woman.” He stood back to allow all the clan members and Effie to file into their seats. Creighton waited, too, taking the seat next to Ronan, no doubt to keep him from killing someone. Ronan leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck. “Beloved. Are ye okay? Were ye beaten?”
“Not as much as my attacker, luv. I can’t believe you’re all here.”
The man in a French military uniform sitting in the middle chair at the tribunal table pounded his gavel. “This is a court-martial, not a circus. Anisa Brosseau, is the man beside you your legal counsel?”
Donnel stood and replied in rapid-fire French. “I am, your honor. May I approach the bench to show my legal documents to practice law
in France? I am Donnel Matheson, a resident of Paris, living on rue du Bac.”
“You may.” The Frenchman motioned him forward.
He carried his documentation to the bench for everyone’s perusal. “I represent the defendant in this trial since she is engaged to my cousin and is in the process of seeking Scottish citizenship.” He presented that paper as well. “She’s already filed forms for political asylum and residency. Here’s a copy of her form with the governmental stamp and case number affixed.”
They kept both the citizenship and asylum papers before returning to Donnel his legal proof of being able to practice law in France.
The judiciary branch of the French military began his opening speech. Dry facts, quickly delivered.
When prompted, Donnel began his history of Anisa’s military career. He moved on to her discovery of secret intel. On a movie screen, he played parts showing how her apartment and car were both bugged and wired with cameras. Using a PowerPoint presentation, he presented reports she had turned into her American CIA supervisor, with a date stamp, that were never forwarded to anyone else in ICAT.
He introduced emails between Todd Anderson, Mitch Franklin, and French Major André Mouzon and agents in Russia. Next, he detailed deposits from the Russian government to Swiss accounts held by these three men. He mesmerized everyone with the facts he’d so methodically assembled.
“If you’ll take a look at my client, you’ll see she had a visitor at her cell last night. That visitor who beat her was Major André Mouzon. Anisa, would you stand and show everyone your injuries?”
She did amid much whispering and gawking.
Donnel continued, “Now, Major André Mouzon, would you stand and remove your sunglasses to show how Anisa used her extensive military training to desperately fight you off?”
“I will not! This is preposterous.” His voice whistled and lisped from the loss of his front teeth. “I refuse to have a man in a skirt tell me what to do.”
The officer in charge of the proceedings pointed at him. “I see nothing wrong with his request. Remove your sunglasses. While you’re at it, stand and present your hands for our inspection.”
