by Fiona Quinn
That meant a safe house. Suz closed her eyes as she took in a shaking breath. “Yes thank you.”
They moved together toward Suz’s car.
“Wait. They don’t have a key to my house,” Suz said.
Lynx merely lifted a brow. Iniquus operatives didn’t need keys. They could open locks in their sleep. It was child’s play. “Prescott looked like he’s got a stick up his ass,” Lynx said.
“He didn’t appreciate my foresight and preparations.”
“Hmm.” Lynx pulled the strap of Suz’s purse from her shoulder and handed the bag over to Suz. “Here they got this from your classroom.”
“What does ‘hmm’ mean?”
“It means that this might get interesting. I’m going to give my company a heads up and they’ll probably give you some legal support. Before I made that phone call to my friend, an agent removed me from your line of sight while you were interviewed. It’s interesting that they wanted you isolated.”
Suz looked around, “Where’s your car? Do you need a ride?” She reached into her purse and pulled out her keys.
Lynx took the keys from her hands and fobbed open the car. “An ISO took my vehicle and my dogs. I’ll catch up with them when we get out of this area,” she said, referring to the Iniquus Support Officers whose job it was to make everything run smoothly, whatever was needed. Lynx opened the driver’s side door and stuck a foot in. “I’m going to drive your car. I don’t think you’re in any shape to be a focused on the road.”
After Suz was settled into the passenger side and pulling on her safety belt, Lynx reached up to adjust her mirrors. “The ISO will help me run counter-surveillance to make sure no one follows you to the safe house. Now,” Lynx smiled as she backed out of the parking lot, “shall we run by the hospital first so you can get a well-deserved hug from Jack?”
Suz turned to see Lynx’s face. “But Jack was supposed to be released by now. It was out-patient surgery, and he’d only be at Suburban for twenty-three hours. Isn’t he at the barracks?”
“No.” Lynx reached to put a hand on Suz’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Of course, you wouldn’t know. Jack’s been having complications.”
Suz closed her eyes as fear danced down her spine. “What kinds of complications?”
6
Suz
7:00 p.m., Monday, February 14th
Safe House, Secret Location
When they pulled into the garage that made up the first story of a three-story townhouse, Suz was surprised to find that there was a bag of clothes, a bag of food, and a bag from the liquor store, sitting in the back seat of her car.
“Your ISO bought you some pieces, just yoga pants and sweaters, undies and pajamas so you could feel comfortable. He went in the back door got your dogs and hiked out through the woods. We didn’t want anyone to see any of us. And there were a lot of eyes on your place. So he didn’t stay to pack you a bag.”
“Thank you,” Suz said, reaching instinctively for the bag of alcohol first. She had been promising herself a drink since she stood on the ladder outside of her classroom. Lynx gave her a knowing wink. “Jack said Bailey’s was your best friend in times of emotional meltdown. I assumed that would be your state of mind. It would be mine.” She laughed like this was all fun and games. “Girl! You hoisted sixteen little kids out of a second story window and hid them in the woods for eight hours. Not a tear stained cheek among them. That is some kind of awesome. Jack is so proud of you. It was killing him not to come get you.”
It didn’t sound to Suz like Lynx was fishing for comments, but it must have been noted that Suz had declined to go see Jack. That he was feverish and on an antibiotic drip, and she was dirty from the woods, so it would be better not drag germs into the hospital, didn’t seem like it passed muster with Lynx as a viable argument. Lynx had given her a gentle smile, but Suz had been reading eyes and faces as a teacher for a long time, and she knew that Lynx didn’t buy the explanation and was a little worried about what this could all mean.
They walked up the garage stairs into a great room. It had the feel of a hotel to it. The non-descript corporate décor lacked any personal touches. The art on the wall had been mass produced. It was clean and didn’t smell stale. It was fine. Suz noticed that there was heavy drapery on the windows.
Lynx followed her gaze. “Kevlar lined – not that that’s going to be an issue for you. But some of the people who have stayed here made it a practice to crawl around on the floor rather than walk upright.” She grinned. “So it’s policy that we tell everyone. It won’t stop a grenade but it will stop anyone from seeing in, getting a bead, and taking a shot.”
“Okay, thanks.” Suz said, a little bit at a loss.
“I also have to say that you are in a safe house; this is not a prison. You are free to come and go as you please. It’s better not to though. Every time you go out, eyes will see your face. I’d give this situation 24-48 hours and something else will peak in the news. Funding and interest will fall off over that time. Okay?” She turned and put a key on the coffee table.
“Yeah sure, okay.”
Lynx checked her watch. “I actually need to take off. I’m working an assignment.”
Suz nodded.
“Last thing, call the Iniquus operator and tell them when you’re leaving. I don’t need to be in the loop, though I’ll stay in touch.” Lynx was giving her a hug.
Suz felt numb. She nodded her understanding to Lynx, and Lynx left.
Suz stood in the middle of the living room, wondering what the heck to do next, and how to get her body to do it. She’d start with a bath and Bailey’s.
***
“I’m fine. I swear.”
“No, you’re not.” Emma was her best friend since kindergarten. Of course, she couldn’t fool Emma. “And you shouldn’t be. In the last day your fiancé was in surgery, you decided to dump him, and you were in a live-shooting incident.”
“I’m not dumping Jack. Don’t ever say that. Dumping makes him sound like he’s at fault or that he’s not good enough. The truth is, I have to leave him because I’m not good enough for him. He deserves better than me. He deserves someone who has the stamina and backbone to support him in anything he chooses to do. And I’m not capable of that level of strength.”
“Pshhh listen to you.”
“I’d rather not.” Suz’s fingers traced over the shape of the side-table lamp. “I wish I were home. Maybe I should come visit? They said on the news the school will be closed for the foreseeable future. Lots of repairs. . . new staffing positions to be filled. God that’s so horrible.”
“Coronado isn’t a good plan. Too many military types around here. You need to get away from your worries.”
“Okay what’s a good plan then?”
“I’m flipping through some websites. There are some package deals out there. . . here’s one. No that won’t work. . . Ah, here’s one for St. Martens on the Last-minute Deals site. It includes an all-inclusive resort, spa package. I could swing this. I can use some of my time off and meet you there. Starts this Thursday the 17th. How about that?”
“Send me the link and let me take a look at it. Right now, I’m going to pour a second Bailey’s and get in bed. I haven’t slept since Saturday. And Em . . .? Thanks for talking me down off my emotional ledge. I feel much better now.”
“Go. Get in bed. But stop with the Bailey’s. You know you’re a drinking lightweight – one and you’re done. Get some sleep. We’ll hash through all of your problems when I see you Thursday in St. Martens. I love you.” She paused and when she spoke again her voice was thick with emotion. “I’m really glad you’re safe.”
“Thanks, Em. I love you too.”
Suz put the phone down on the table and burst into tears.
7
Petr
22:40 Hours, Monday February 14th
An apartment, Washington D.C.
“Sir, I have a report.”
“Very well,” the graveled voice came over
Petr’s burner phone. Petr had no idea who exactly was on the other end, but the signature growl was easily distinguishable.
“Sir, Pavel and most of the Zoric family were apprehended Friday night. He and Musclav did not play their roles today. We ran into other problems as well.” Petr tried to hide the fact that his shaking was making his teeth rattle.
The man on the other end of the line did not appreciate problems, and he tended to make them, and all those who allowed them to happen, go away, quickly and permanently.
Petr waited for a response and, getting none, continued with his report. “Once the communication was received that our team should proceed with the Saints Assault, we began immediately by putting surveillance on the Levinski’s home. St. Clair is in Illinois at Navigational Defense, Inc. Their headquarters is hosting an extended fishing and hunting weekend. St. Clair is not expected back until Wednesday.” Petr paused again, silence met him. “The Levinski children left Monday morning, much earlier than was expected.” He traded the phone from one hand to the other as he swiped the sweat from his palms. “They were accompanied by their driver, who also serves as their body guard, as well as the nanny. The father is on a buying trip to Bern, Switzerland – there is an annual jewelry show. The mother left at the same time. As far as we can tell, the parents are together out of the country.”
“Good.”
The single syllable shut down Petr’s thought process, and he blinked several times before he could realign the sequence of events he was relating. “The Levinski children were taken to the pediatrician’s office. Then they took the girl and the nanny home. The driver took the boys to school.”
“Did you collect the girl at her home?”
“No, sir. We were directed to make no contact outside of the school, and too if she is too ill for school, keeping her alive in the next stage might have been a challenge thereby creating further problems with St. Clair.”
“Agreed.”
Petr swallowed the glob of phlegm that was choking him. “Nadia and I followed the boys to the school. I walked right in behind them. I shot the bodyguard, and Nadia grabbed the boys. They ran with her easily, thinking that she was saving them, I’m sure. They were put in the van and given a drink dosed with rohypnol. My last report from the courier is that both boys are still asleep, and they are still about five hours outside of Panama City, Florida. Our boat is sitting off the coast waiting for them to approach.”
“I was extremely displeased to see that the school was not destroyed. The authorities will know that the children are missing, and there will be a national search for them. This will brighten the fears of the Americans and movement could become difficult.”
“Yes, sir. I believe, though, that the authorities might just now—or maybe not even yet–be realizing that the boys are missing.”
“How is this?”
“The parents and St. Clair are out of town as I explained. The Levinski’s nanny is French speaking and has very poor English so will not be watching American media. The daughter, Rebeca, is ill and may not ask for her brothers. And the bodyguard who is in charge of their transportation is dead. His body has not yet been identified, according to news reports. That might take days to accomplish, they’ve reported. Also, on Mondays, the boys have sports classes, they often eat in a restaurant and do not return home until around this point in the evening.”
“Yes, but the boys are still five hours from the shore line, you said.”
“The GPS shows the van reached Jacksonville, Florida, and has already turned west. Authorities will not think to spread their search to that distance.”
“You do not think that the authorities are already wise to the children’s disappearance? The school would not apprise them?”
“No, sir, Nadia and I walked in with her young son just behind the bodyguard. The boys had not signed in yet. The school believes all three of the Levinski children were absent today. Nadia grabbed the boys and her young son yelled to the boys to run for their lives. Nadia’s son was very handy in getting the boys to believe that Nadia would save them. Also, I should report that there were three other adults in the area. I made sure that no one who saw the incident survived to tell what it was they saw. I removed identification and keys from the bodyguard and drove his car away.”
This was met with silence. Petr knew that to babble on with details would not be a wise move. He forced himself to wait. Silently. His bowls cramped.
“So it was the others who failed.”
“Sir, there should not have been a failure. Everything was going according to plan – better than we could have hoped. The gunmen herded the children. The explosive trucks parked against either side of the school ready for detonation. All was readied.”
“What was the mechanism for the bombs’ detonation?”
“A cell phone device so that we maintained control should our timing not work out the way we had planned. Since we were jamming cell phone signals to prevent emergency calls, this would necessitate a time after our team evacuated, that the jammers were stopped from inside the school, and then our call made from a distance. To this end, we had a jihadist from the Paraguayan camp who wished to be a martyr. And this is as far as we proceeded.”
“Why is this?”
Petr sucked in a long breath, filling his chest to capacity. “We had given ourselves seven minutes from evacuation. At the six-minute mark, our point man, the jihadist, would need to deactivate the jammers. At the seven-minute mark our phone call was made. The call did not activate the bombs. At first we believed the jihadist had forgotten to take the pill that would calm his nerves and had gotten what the Americans call ‘cold feet.’ Or perhaps, he took the medication and it had affected him in an unintended manner. But this was not the case. The FBI had arrived on scene. They entered the auditorium and the jihadist shot himself before the six-minute mark.
“You are sure he is dead?”
“That, sir, I do not know. I can only report what was on the news. Perhaps the Americans have taken him into custody and do not wish anyone to know. It is possible. But doubtful. There were many reporters there watching. They arrived even before the police and ambulances. I’m sure they were counting the bodies as they were removed. And the children, of course, were in the auditorium with him. And this is what they said happened.”
“The jihadist is dead. Well that at least is good news.”
“Indeed – though he knew little of the plans and spoke no English, he had heard names and seen faces in the transport. It is better that he is now enjoying his rewards. However, there is an interesting piece of information that was gathered.”
The voice on the other end of the line grunted.
“Our team followed the mission plan as if we were not already in possession of the boys. When they got to Caleb’s room the teacher had followed the protocol one expects from American teachers — lights out, door locked, children stuffed into a corner of the room blanketed by the teacher. That door was easily kicked in.” Petr sniffed and swallowed, trying to clear his throat, giving himself another moment before he had to reveal this new piece of information. “This was not true of Ari’s class.”
“Oh?” For the first time, the voice rose in energy.
“Gillian Molloy’s classroom was barricaded. The team used C-4 to blast open the doorway. The students weren’t in the room. But the door had been secured from the inside. The only other way out of the room was through the windows; and because of the dip in the land, this classroom was effectively on the second floor. The team checked the windows. One was unlocked, and there was a rope ladder hanging down from the sill.”
“They knew we had targeted the boy?”
“It would seem. Though, that isn’t logical is it? Why would Ari be protected and not Caleb?”
“Ari was the first born of the twins.”
“Still, sir, in this culture the extra caution for one and not the other makes little sense. I left Jones at the school to watch how things transpired after
Nadia and I drove away. Jones reported that a single class had disappeared, and they had had word that a single teacher had evacuated her class to the woods. They sent an operative and her dogs after the children to tell them it was safe to return. It was confirmed that the teacher was Gillian Molloy, and it had been Ari’s class hidden in the trees. It seemed odd to me at the time, so I’ve instructed Jones to keep an eye on where Molloy went following the incident. Jones reported that the people with whom she was driving used a team and counter-surveillance moves to lose a tail. They would have succeeded, but Jones had taped his phone under the woman’s bumper, and it was quite easy to get the GPS coordinates. She remains under surveillance.”
“Hmph. Here, listen they are talking about it on the news now. Turn your TV to Channel 13 News.”
“Yes, sir, I will call you back.” Petr touched the phone to release the call and closed his eyes for a brief moment of respite, before he reached for the remote, and turned to Channel 13.
“And welcome back. It’s time for Hound News with Lisa Hassel, and Berry Greg — America’s number one trusted news team for sniffing out the truth.”
Berry slid to the edge of the round couch he shared with his colleague. Lisa sat to his right in a bright pink, skin-skimming, mini-dress. Berry swiveled to Lisa. “Tonight, I smell a rat.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
“A big fat rat. Did you all see where our reporter caught a rather angry conversation between St. Basil’s heroine first-grade teacher and the FBI?” Berry looked directly in the lens so that all of America knew he was talking to them personally. “Does anyone else think it was rather odd? This Miss Molloy – is that her name?” He swung toward Lisa for confirmation.
