Epilogue
Four Weeks Later
15:27 Zulu Time—TUCSON, ARIZONA
This would be one of the last times for a long time that Jill would be in Arizona, or America for that matter. She tried not to dwell on the sad beauty of Tucson as she headed towards the airport. The glass house in the Catalina Mountains sold in less than one day. The trunk of the taxi was filled with only insignificant attire that held no memories. It was almost 10:30 p.m. Beside her sat a briefcase and inside were two files. One on Stan Brown, the other on David Brown. She glanced at her pouch of clay numbers and a plane ticket to Istanbul, Turkey.
A week after she was back in Tucson, Jill had received a call from Eric. Interpol had called him regarding a reference. “They want your skills, Jill, and I think you should take their offer seriously,” he counseled. “You could help so many more people globally.” Jill accepted the job through Interpol in New York City knowing her first assignment was in the field. Two months working with Europol in Istanbul—the new hub of Al Qaeda. Jill needed to get as far away from her past as she could. And Turkey was just the place.
Inside the file on David was a translated copy of the schematic. The original words in Chechen were names of people and their position and what each individual's role was in the plan. According to the pages in Stan's file, David was working with Stan. His name was in bold letters below the words “Communication Tower.” In her copy she had read David's name over and over again. The only reason Jill had a translated copy was because she had a copy of the scan in a hidden file on her computer when she first sent it to Karine. No one knew she had it. Not even Eric.
Jill had explained to the colonel what she thought was in the file that night at the prison after she regained some sort of coherency. But he just snatched up the files and the box and demanded Jill leave the prison immediately. Later she was told by Eric that the colonel needed to save face. It was an Arab thing, he said. And he was certain Stan was no longer receiving any VIP treatment. You wouldn't want to attempt to pull the wool over an Arab police colonel, definitely not in a country with strict laws. Jill wouldn’t wish their interrogation techniques on anyone, and as for Stan, well, she didn’t care anymore.
David a traitor, how could this be?, she asked herself every moment of every day since. Jill felt a nagging about what Zayed had said just before they left the hospital. Leila and Jill talked about what he must have meant. How well do you know David? Jill sighed at this thought. How could she have been so wrong? So off? How could she have loved a man that would work with such an evil person? David hated his father. None of it made any sense, well that was until Leila told her what she had discovered.
Sure, there were things that didn't make sense in the past year. But Jill excused David's absences and closed-door conversations as just part of his job. With the confirmation at GSG that David was a NOC almost made it all add up. It was Jill's plan, when she found David, to confront him about it all. But now that was too late. And right now she didn't feel anything.
Leila didn't believe David was a traitor either and the more she snooped around in the CIA for information, the more she uncovered intel about the plan. After Jill's prison visit, they spent the next week searching in the UAE for any information on what had happened to David. The hospital told them that Zayed had checked out the night before Jill's viewing in the desert. But the desert was a big place and they were searching on their own. She'd tried viewing several times more and got nowhere. Not so much as a scribble surfaced. Jill didn't know if she would ever be able to remote view again.
Jill and Leila pushed hard to see Stan before leaving for Brussels. They were told it was in the two governments’ hands to sort out. Dribbles of information were sent from the UAE to the US regarding Stan and what was in the file. But that was classified. Eric had urged them to leave before anything negative happened to them.
They spent round-the-clock time in Brussels searching and reviewing anything they could get their hands on to try and determine what had changed the course of Jill’s life. They found nothing.
No one knew any more details of the Star of David, or they wouldn't talk. When they went back to the old church where the star once laid, it was gone. “Burnt down in a fire,” the old man next door said.
Based on Jill's viewings, these social network demonstrations called Operation Silhouette were set up as a ploy to distract the Chechen Mafia, US, and Russia for what Jill believed to be the Ochrana group. Stan's group. Well, at least that was what Jill thought.
No one believed her, not even Eric. But Leila did, she witnessed Jill's viewing and she was determined to find out the truth. Determined to clear David's name and what she discovered made even Leila think twice about her employer.
Jill sat in disbelief as Leila told her the story. “You were right Jill, your viewings were correct.” Some how this did not give Jill any relief. “Stan cracked once he got to Guantanamo Bay. Cracked like a fat baby. He sounded pathetic actually, from what I understand. I think he was worn down by the questioning of the UAE authorities before he was extradited. He'll be locked up for many years; he'll die there, Jill.”
Leila then began to tell Jill that there was definitely a plan to execute a nuclear device and make it look like it was the Russians who did it. “But here's the kicker,” Leila chimed. “When Stan was questioned about David and his whereabouts, he said he didn't know and that David had given him his ring so no one could positively identify him during the operation. He fanatically denied killing him. Apparently David wanted you to have it if anything happened to him. Sounds so sweet, doesn't it? Not! Enter Petrovich. It was his knowledge of nuclear weaponry that kept the uranium enriched. He despised the Chechen Mafia and it was his way of payback, and earning a few big bucks too.”
Leila discovered that several years ago the Chechen Mafia set up a demonstration that was planned for the media. It was designed to prove how powerful the mafia was to the rest of the world and boast of its nuclear power. Because the then CIA director had played it down, the Chechen Mafia lost its clout. That left the mafia desperate to make a deal. The pipeline was the collateral they needed to prove to the world that they were serious players. A report in a Saudi newspaper speculated that both the US and Russia were in a race to make a deal with the mafia. To control the oil.
Two of the men that Stan worked with were mercenaries and part of a rogue group that had broken away from the Chechen Mafia. They met with David in Afghanistan. Apparently there was some sort of ambush and they fled. They lost contact with David until Dubai. It was the Chechen Mafia that had been tracking Jill. But the mercenaries were also tracking her, tracking David.
“Something's not adding up though, Jill. I called a few higher-ups in the CIA, but no one is talking about this operation. And what’s even more odd is that David's name is still in our NOC database. It's almost as if David was a double agent, under cover so deep that even Stan didn't realize it.”
Jill didn't know what to believe. The CIA was clearly working to suppress the details. Frank Wells from CIA in Dubai was a good indication of that. The hush from them was a telltale sign that perhaps the Saudi paper was right.
She was numb with pain. Her heart no longer ached, for it was broken. She couldn't get into the tunnels. If Jill's viewings were accurate, then Zayed was now dead and so was David. She didn't believe that Stan would be gracious enough to hand her David's ring. She would never believe him. Not now, not ever.
There was no memorial service for David, for his body was never found. His colleagues had stopped calling now. Jill’s phone was disconnected after she said good-bye to Leila. She left nothing behind.
As she pulled up to the airport there was only one thing left to do. As the driver dropped her bags on the curb, Jill stood and dialed Karine. She looked towards the lights in the airport and saw people moving around inside. Even this late at night airports were always busy. Then something caught her attention. Something in the shadows. She could make out a figure
standing there watching her. As she tried to focus her eyes on the dark figure, a large truck pulled up behind Jill. Its headlights flashed the shadow. Jill's phone fell onto the concrete, cracking, when she saw David.
More ...
Find out what really happened to Jill when Matthew McGregor kidnapped and tortured her.
PRIMAL DECEPTION: A JILL OLIVER THRILLER is a prequel. FBI Special Agent Jill Oliver works as a Crimes Intelligence Analyst in the Remote Viewing department—a clandestine department set up to assist Homeland Security. When the FBI Violent Crimes Unit requests the assistance of the RV department to help track a brutal serial killer—The Iceman, Jill Oliver finds herself in a horrific situation and has no choice but to push past both the physical brutality and psychological cruelty that no human should ever have to endure.
This psychological thriller seeps into the evil that lurks in the human spirit and twists into something you will never want to recognize again.
To find out more about the author of the Jill Oliver series, visit. Www.judithprice.com
***
Judith’s second novel is under construction. INDECENT DECEPTION: A Jill Oliver Thriller is a fast-paced suspense thriller about Jill Oliver, a terrorist profiler for Interpol. When on assignment with Europol in Turkey Jill uncovers a document transfer of an authentic cash note worth $100 million, the largest ever produced in the world. Clearly authorized by one of the pro-government’s highest bankers Jill breaks open a money laundering scheme that is connected to one of the largest terrorist groups in the world. Along the way to uncover its intended use, Jill stumbles across a horrific kidnapping sex slave ring.
www.judithprice.com
Feel free to email me with feedback or questions
[email protected]
Thank you for taking your precious time to read this story.
Primal Deception: A Jill Oliver Novel Book 2 Prequel
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved © 2012 Judith Price
"There is a vast and cavernous gap between what I think a human is capable of, and what I think I would do in a given situation. Just because I scribed it doesn't necessarily mean I subscribe to it." Author A.T.H. Webber
More On The Series
Find out more in the Jill Oliver series at www.judithprice.com
SUDDEN DECEPTION available in print, Kindle and audio on Amazon, iTunes and Audible
PRIMAL DECEPTION available in print and Kindle on Amazon
Prologue
She blinked, trying to adjust to the light. Her head slowly pounded out the haze. She shivered as her breath fogged the air. The hue of the yellow light bounced off the glistening walls of what appeared to be a glass cave. A five-foot-tall, oddly-shaped black hole interrupted the reflections on the jagged walls of ice.
When her mind finally connected to her body through the cloud of grogginess, she flinched. She tried to move her arms, her legs. Nothing. Gravity pulled the back of her head down; she winced as she tried to raise it. She struggled to recall what had happened, her neck throbbed as she clenched her teeth and tugged hard at her arms. Her body jerked at the realization that her hands were bound at the wrists by an old tethered rope. Her legs were bound at the ankles, hidden from her in the darkness that surrounded the hue of light. A sharp shrilling sound squeezed through her teeth when she realized she was hanging upside down. Naked.
Her body hung strapped to a thick beam of wood, like a stuck pig awaiting the fire. Frantically, she pulled, and pulled. With more forceful movements, the rail began to move. “Ehh, ehh,” her voice croaked. She let out a primal grunt. She wasn’t about to give up. She couldn’t feel her hands or feet, but she didn’t care about that right now. She struggled more–then abruptly, she stopped moving.
What was it—a rustle? No, a shuffle? She held her breath. The rail slowly swung. She thought she heard a whirring sound in the distance, like a generator being started. She slowly let out her breath. More shuffling noise.
“Hello,” she whispered. No one answered. Hanging silent for a moment, she tried to get her bearings. Fear bubbled in her stomach as she remembered.
Her eyes focused on the man coming swiftly toward her from the shadows. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head up. Spit spattered her face as he spoke. His breath smelled of mint.
“You bitch, you whiny little bitch,” he hissed. “You think you are so tough, so smart, so brave.”
She swallowed hard and said nothing. She focused on his evil face and forced out a single word. “Matthew!”
One
An innocent child is born. A child trusts by nature. A child loves by nature, all things good. Why then does evil grow within some who walk this earth? Is evil a seed within all humankind waiting to be nurtured? Is it destiny for those consumed with evil, or do we all have a choice? Why does one child become good and another evil?
When Jill Oliver was a little girl all she wanted was to be loved. She could play for hours in the warm sun. Picking flowers, talking to her invisible friends. After all, she was a big four-year-old girl. And big girls were always loved if they behaved.
***
Jill Oliver Now
Jill screamed. The rain pounded down toy cars and fire trucks in the dark night. Jill looked up the dirt walls that surrounded her. “Help, help. I know you are there. Help, please help.” The rain formed a small stream at the mouth of the hole then ran down the wall, pooling around Jill’s bare feet. She was dressed in a tattered pink nightgown a few sizes too small for any sort of comfort. She let out a sharp screech as she whirled at the sounds reverberating around her. All she could see were more dirt walls—slowly sliding downwards from the rain.
Then she heard it again. Mumbling. She couldn’t see anything as the rain pelted her face, her squinting eyes. Only the moonlight lit up the large drops as they shot down into the dirt hole. More mumbling—she thought she heard the word ‘bad.’ Her body shivered violently as she began to panic. How long had she been in this hole? How did she get here? Had she been here before? Jill couldn’t remember.
“Hello, help me. I’ll be good. Please help me.” Jill pleaded. She was hysterical now and began pawing at the tall wall of dirt. Mud splattered her face as she tried to claw her way out. She was yelling now and swallowing dirt. Choking. Mud coagulated around her thighs and pulled her down. “Hel—” Choke.
The sides of the hole gave way as clumps of mud, dirt and stone toppled onto her. Suffocating her. Then, her ears began to ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. She heard the familiar screech tone followed by “You’ve reached my voice mail. You know the drill. Beep.”
Instantly Jill pulled her elbows to her sides and lifted her face off the pillow and huffed. “Breathe, Jill, breathe,” she told herself aloud. The light on the screen-saver glowed, illuminating the room. The time read 3:15 a.m. and the white noise from her noisemaker harmonized the pelting rain on her window. “Stupid dream,” she spat.
When her heart rate slowed, Jill rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. A strand of hair fell into her eyes. She whooshed a breath, blowing it out of the way. Jill ruminated what to do next? Lately the dream, the same dream she’d had her whole life, had become more frequent. Normally, after the nagging dream, she’d get up and mix her usual I-can’t-sleep-so-I’ll-have-a-drink of Glendronach scotch to sooth the edge off the sharp dream—to help her get back to sleep.
But tonight she laid under her bedding, still enjoying its comfort and warmth on this chilly night. Getting out of bed right now was just not an option and then she remembered … Jake. Shit. FBI Special Agent Jake Acker, or should she say Mr. Man Candy feebee. Argh, she thought to herself, Why the hell did I do that? What am I, a teenager acting on a dare? Stupid Jake. Jill pinched her nose and recalled earlier that evening when she’d had a
little too much beer at that local hangout for agents and decided that it would be a brilliant idea to arm wrestle to prove that a woman could take down a buff man. When he let her win, he gave her a dare back—to go into the men’s bathroom. It was all in fun until he kissed her. Now, maybe she should reconsider and have that scotch hot toddy instead of kicking herself in the ass for being well … an ass.
The sound of her neighbor’s dog, Bert, barking from across the road, interrupted her thoughts. Why is Bert out so late? It’s three o’clock in the goddamn morning. Jill flopped the covers off and stood. The cool air hit her fast as she moved towards the window. A flash of light stopped her in her tracks. She looked at the crack in the curtains. Another flash, then another, the beam of light intruding into her room.
As a Crime Intelligence Analyst and part of the Remote Viewing department at the FBI, Jill had a desk job. She knew how to use a gun—it was part of her training—but she didn’t own one because she felt safe in the burbs. It was a quiet street—a cul-de-sac. She didn’t need HTH—hand-to-hand—combat for her position either. But the FBI offered it so she trained hard. She didn’t need a gun.
The new FBI Remote Viewing department, originally set up under the CIA as a clandestine department, assisted Homeland Security with defense intelligence. Now, with more homegrown terrorists on the rise, they wanted to tap into this type of intelligence research and engage it as a powerful national defense tool. Testing had begun with top-secret, distant targets, often involving life-or-death situations, which is how the good folks at the CIA proved that such controversial techniques worked. Nevertheless, it was a hard sell to get the department up and running in the FBI. Most of the gray suits at the FBI looked at this intelligence technique as psychobabble, but viewers had produced accurate information that saved lives. There was no crystal ball. It was indisputable: hard, proven science, akin to a modern-day Google utilizing the unconscious resources of the brain’s functionality. It has been said that every human has natural psychic ability, but only a very few know how to use it. Jill was one of those few.
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