Let Slip the Dogs of War: A Bard's Bed & Breakfast Mystery #1

by Barton, Sara M.

  A terrible thought occurred to me. I had been on the run now for the better part of twenty minutes, and in all that time, my cell phone had not chirped. Not only did Ben not know I was being chased by bad guys, the bastard didn’t even know I was no longer waiting patiently on the side of the road. Boy, was he going to hear about this the next time I got a hold of his sorry ass. But in the meantime, I decided to silence my ringtone. The last thing I wanted to hear right now was a chorus of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love”.

  No sooner had I done that than my phone vibrated, startling me into an upright position as I scrambled to answer it. The number was unfamiliar to me, making me hesitant to pick up. What if it was the bad guys, trying to track me? Mr. Cranky Pants was now standing about thirty feet from me, watching the tiny screen of his phone. Maybe he thought he would hear my cell phone in the woods. Or I would be dumb enough to think it was Ben calling. I let it go to voicemail. When I didn’t answer, he became even more aggravated. Seconds later, he was dialing again, and again my cell phone vibrated. He began walking in my direction and I involuntarily gasped. Luckily for me, he was frustrated and his histrionics were loud enough to cover my panic.

  “Damn!” He dialed again, talking quickly to his partner, Mr. Boxers in a Bunch. “Call her cell phone and then listen for it. I tried it here and got nothing.”

  Again my cell phone shook in my hand. Two minutes later, I heard a chirping sound. Mr. Cranky Pants put his phone to his ear, listening. He gave a disgusted groan before dialing yet again. At this rate, his cell phone would run out of battery power quickly. In this area, reception was poor, and without an antenna booster, that meant battery drain.

  “Pick up, you silly wanker!” he snorted into the phone. A moment later, he went on full alert, drawing himself up to his full height, taking a deep breath, and huffing like the Big, Bad Wolf.

  “Jones, I’ve got your wife. You want her back?” I was stunned, listening to the biggest liar on this side of Lake Champlain. “Let’s make a deal. No, you can’t talk to her, not without an agreement.”

  My fingers fumbled as I texted a message to Ben. “Not captured.” I hit the “send” button, waited to see that it went through, and then shut off my phone completely, not wanting to waste my battery. It was only a couple of words, but it was enough to disrupt the conversation. That’s the beauty of call waiting. I could see that Ben had gone silent on Mr. Cranky Pants and that frazzled the guy. Just as suddenly, Ben was back on the line to the tall man, demanding proof of life before he would agree to anything.

  “I’ll have to call you back. Don’t go far from your phone, because if we don’t make this deal in the next hour, Jones, I’m going to personally kill the bitch in the most painful way possible and it will all be your fault.”

  Even as he said that, I found myself believing him. This was a man who seemed like he relished torture as a tool to achieve his ends. His feud was with Ben, and he would do whatever he had to do to win. That made me collateral damage, and no amount of charm on my part would deter the killer. Mr. Cranky Pants hung up the phone and dialed again. This time, the phone was answered almost immediately.

  “No, no. I haven’t found her yet. Listen, I’ve got a plan. I told Jones we have his wife and that if he wants to do an exchange, it has to happen in the next hour. Now he wants proof of life. I am going to convince him that we’ve got her, but it will take some doing.”

  While the two of them were talking, I checked the hiking map, turned on my phone, and sent Ben my best guess of the coordinates, before turning the phone off again. If nothing else, Ben now would know where to find me.

  A loud thump behind me sent my pulse racing. Something was coming through the woods, straight in my direction. I blinked a couple of times, thinking that I must be mistaken. It surely wasn’t possible. And yet, there it was -- a black bear, small as black bears go, but definitely capable of winning a smackdown with me. Normally when I came across a bear in the woods, I made a big point of putting on a show. I made a lot of noise, waved my arms, talked loudly, all while carefully walking backwards. If I did that now, I would give myself away. If I didn’t, I ran the risk of being mauled by a three-hundred pound ball of fur with very real teeth and serious claws. The only thing that could make this situation worse was if this was a mother and she had a couple of cubs with her.

  “Anas, look!” said Mr. Boxers in a Bunch, returning to the SUV. “Little bears!”

  “Where?” Anasi now had his handgun out and he was searching the horizon.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get out of my way, Nizar!”

  “Are you going to shoot the bears? That is unnecessary, Anas.”

  “Do not tell me what is or is not necessary,” replied Mr. Cranky Pants, waving the gun in Nizar’s direction. “Or I’ll kill you, too!”

  Two shots rang out in succession, and they echoed through the stillness of the woods.

  “Take these and dip them in the bear’s blood!” Anas thrust my sunglasses into his partner’s reluctant arms.

  “What are you going to do with these?” Mr. Boxers in a Bunch was clearly a worrier.

  “Just shut up and do it!”

  Five minutes later, as I continued clinging to the largest pine tree in the bunch, Anas snapped a photo of my bloodied glasses and sent it to Ben.

  “That should work. Now when we call him, he will be ready to cooperate,” Anas insisted.

  “You think this will work, even though she is still out there somewhere?”

  “It will do for now. We still have to find her. Philippe wants Jones’ wife dead.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s part of the assignment.”

  “I say screw the assignment. We should get the hell out before Philippe turns on us.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” There was a dangerous tone in Anas’s voice, but Nizar didn’t seem to notice it. He kept up his end of the conversation.

  “I do. What’s the point? He’s probably working for the French anyway.”

  “Actually, Nizar, you are wrong.” Anas took out his gun again and shot his partner, point blank. “He is working for me.”

  Nizar’s knees folded up and he crumbled to the ground, his face a death mask of shock and dismay. Anas shook his head.

  “You should have just shut up, but no. You had to keep talking. That’s what you get, Nizar, for running at the mouth.” He reached into Nizar’s pocket and removed his wallet, cell phone, and weapon, transferring them to his own. Then he dragged his partner into the thick brush, doing his best to avoid the blood now seeping from Nizar’s head. As soon as he was done, he pulled out his cell phone again. I assumed he was calling Ben again, but that proved to be wrong.

  “Afarin, it’s me. I ran into a little trouble up here.”

  Did I hear him right? Was he really calling the little Persian tart who had ruined my bookstore? This was all about Marbury books?

  “No, it failed. Fatima’s body was found before it burned. Ben ended up screwing Philippe over, so he actually helped us. We chased the wife into the woods. It’s just a matter of locating her. We’ll use her as leverage, to get Jones onboard. Because.” I couldn’t hear the conversation on the other end, but it didn’t sound like Afarin was in agreement. “If you want to use Jones for the Damascus penetration, I have to eliminate her. As long as she is alive, he will be focused on saving her. Once she is dead, he will be easier to manipulate, especially when it looks like the CIA hired Grapon to burn him.”

  Anas listened for a while, occasionally adding a “yes” here and a “no” there. Finally, Afarin gave him a chance to respond.

  “Only if your guy at the FBI can deliver. Jones has to believe the CIA tried to force him out of retirement by killing his wife. He’ll deliver the package to Syria, especially if he believes it will give him a chance to screw over the guy that is responsible. That will eliminate the CIA station chief and secure Aleppo for us. No, that’s what your fathe
r planned and we will stick to it. We cannot change it without his authority. No,I will not be swayed. It is up to the Admiral to contact me with his decision. I do not answer to a woman!” I could tell Anas thought little of Afarin’s skills as a strategic planner of intelligence operations. She, on the other hand, continued arguing across the miles. Anas still wasn’t buying it.

  “If he was fine with Fatima being eliminated, you should be, too. The important thing is to send the package back to Syria. Once Salwan knows it’s in our possession, he will cooperate. That will give us a double agent in place in the new Syrian government.”

  Anas’s face went through a series of gyrations as he listened to the sharp voice on the other end. He sucked in his breath several times, clearly wanting to level her with force, but she held her own. Maybe that’s why Josh never stood a chance when Afarin used her charms on him. Clearly, she was a persistent little vixen.

  “I must go,” Mr. Cranky Pants announced. “Jones’ wife is still missing and I must find her. No, I do not wish to discuss this later, Afarin. I will only discuss it with your father. I don’t care what your title is. You are a woman, and no woman tells me what to do.” With that said, the chauvinistic Anas hung up.

  Chapter Eleven --

  I huddled in the cover of the pine trees, listening, watching, wondering what would come next. I could hear the little bear cubs wandering through the woods, looking for their mama, and it made me feel like hog-tying Anas to a tree, smothering him with honey, and letting all the bears in the Vermont forest have at him. What kind of bastard shoots a black bear that’s only being a black bear? It was gratuitous violence that served no purpose, other than to make him feel powerful. He had a gun. He used it. He was king of the forest, until someone else with a bigger gun came along. Nizar probably would have concurred, if he wasn’t so dead.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw Anas dialing his phone yet again. Perhaps he was calling Ben. I wondered if he assumed his little game worked out just fine. If so, he probably wasn’t expecting Ben’s response, whatever that might be. I began to imagine what my husband would do to rescue me. Perhaps he would arrive at the end of a rope, repelled from a helicopter. Or he would descend on the scene with a caravan of 4-wheel-drive emergency response vehicles filled to the gills with men in black. I had no doubt that whatever Ben’s plan was, it would be a doozy.

  “Vasily, it is Yuri. I need you to brief Voinovich. Yes, yes, I know. Homeland Security will hold Grapon for several days. No, Jones is still convinced that Grapon was involved in Fatima’s death. Here’s what I need you to do. Bring a couple of guys and meet me in the woods. Jones’ wife got away and we have to find her, because she is our leverage. Forget about the old man! Jones is a professional. He knows Edward will sacrifice himself and fall on the sword to protect him. The only person Jones will try to protect is his wife, and I have her boxed in here. Leave the Bard’s and get your ass over here now. You come in from the west with Alexi. Have Serge come in from the east with Petra. Tell Boris to meet me on the dirt road. We will either drive her further into the woods or we will find her, but she will not go home tonight. No, I had to eliminate Nizar. I have a contingency plan. If we can’t capture her, we will tell Jones we have her and force him onto a plane. We’ll just kill her when we find her, at our leisure. But we must get that package into the air as soon as possible, in Jones’ hand. We want the death of the CIA’s station chief to look like revenge by Jones. When the package arrives, it will also be destroyed, and Hashim will turn on Jamil. We will have the minister in our pocket to do our bidding, and we will knock out the Iranians at the same time.”

  I sat back on my fanny, stunned by the turn of the conversation. Anas was Yuri? This was a Russian game to use the Iranians to set up the Syrians? More importantly, they were setting up my Ben to get the job done. They wanted him to go to Syria to murder the CIA station chief. The Russians were jockeying to gain some level of control over the Syrians, the Iranians, and the CIA. I was damned if I was going to let that happen.

  Yuri continued to make his phone calls from his impromtu outdoor office while I carefully composed a text. I included the details I overheard, along with a warning to expect Alexi, Serge, Petra, and Boris. As soon as I pushed the button, I shut down the cell phone again and waited to be rescued.

  By seven-thirty, I was thirsty and hungry, the sun was going down, and I was beginning to worry that my husband had not received my texts. Where was he? The minutes since I left him and his CIA colleague at the side of the road had turned into hours, and the hours were beginning to accumulate. The bear cubs had found their mother’s bloodied carcass and were now wailing over their loss, no doubt unable to suckle. By sunset, I had a sinking feeling that I was a goner, powered by the fact that Yuri had encouraged his people to bring night vision goggles with them. Certainly they would have the advantage in darkness.

  As my despair began to deepen, I felt an odd sensation against my my breastbone. I wasn’t sure what it was at first. Perhaps an insect had landed on me, for the tiny vibration felt much like insect feet on my skin. But then I realized it was my locket, the one Ben gave me for our last anniversary. Sure enough, when I placed my hand upon it, I could feel it moving. And when I opened it up, there was a tiny pinprick of radiant light glowing in the growing darkness. It must be a sign, a message from Ben. He had not deserted me, nor had he failed to receive my texts. Help was on the way. I hoped the CIA brought out their big guns and Yuri was blown to smithereens. If anyone deserved such an ass-kicking, it was the ruthless Mr. Cranky Pants, who was proud of his handiwork with poor Fatima’s death. I was going to have a front row seat to the showdown, and I would be rooting for the good guys.

  With nothing else to do but sit and wait, I tossed around the information I had overheard. I wondered who Hashim and Jamil were, and how Fatima was connected. But most of all, I wondered what the package was that Yuri wanted delivered to the CIA station chief responsible for Syria. Was it some kind of smart bomb? Or maybe it was a chemical weapon?

  “Bea!” came a hiss from my right. I levitated about three feet off the ground. “Come on! I’ve got to get you out of here!”

  “Ben! Where are you?” Never before had my husband’s voice sounded so sweet as I glanced around, trying to discern the silhouettes of the pine trees from the one that mattered most. “Oh, it was horrible!”

  Ben loomed like the silhouette of a big, black fly against the fading light of the forest. When I tried to wrap my hands around his neck for a kiss, I was greeted by so much equipment piled on top of his head, I felt like I was feeling up the Six Million Dollar Man. He had his own set of night vision goggles attached to a helmet of some kind. Where had that come from? And where was the rescue team? “Not now, babe. There isn’t time! Move it!”

  “Did you just say ‘move it’?” I started to protest, but I felt a hand grab me and yank me to my feet.

  “Hush! They’re in the vicinity! We have to go now or we won’t get out!” With that, Ben gripped my left elbow in his hand and hurried me down the dirt track at a fast trot. “Don’t say anything until we get to safety. It’s imperative!”

  Fifteen minutes later, we left the dark dirt trail and began making our way through the untamed woods. It was slow-going as we stepped carefully on the uneven ground, desperate to keep our progress as quiet as possible. It seemed to me that we were going out of our way to get to where we were going, but after zigging and zagging through the forest, we finally emerged into thigh-high scrub, which then became knee-high grass. By the time we reached the dark sedan at the edge of the road, my legs were raw from the beating they took at the hands of the wild rose shrubs, thistles, and blackberry canes. The only thing that would have added insult to injury would have been stinging nettle.

  “Mr. Williams” hailed us in the darkness before opening the door to the back seat and encouraging me to climb in. I noticed “he” took the front passenger seat, leaving Ben to climb in behind the wheel. The interior light had
been turned off, no doubt to prevent us from unfortunate discovery. Ben started the engine on the unfamiliar sedan, adjusted the seat and mirrors, and then slid out smoothly onto the deserted highway, pulling a U-turn in the darkness. A flick of a switch brought up the headlights, illuminating the pavement. As he settled back in the bucket seat, he began to accelerate. It looked like we were headed back to Colchester.

  A short time later, we passed a dark SUV and a dark sedan parked at the end of the dirt trail. It looked like Yuri had called out more assistance, because the matching pair of Foo dogs were leaned up against their respective vehicles, clearly doing guard duty.

  Ben and “Mr. Williams” were busy maintaining an eye on potential interceptors as we covered the miles, leaving me to my dark thoughts. Where was the big rescue? With only Ben and a woman posing as an old man to get the job done, wasn’t the CIA taking a very big risk? Surely Yuri and his crew were a danger to national security, especially if they were setting up the CIA station chief in Syria. And that didn’t even count Philippe Grapon’s participation in the scheme or Fatima’s death.