I didn’t know what to think at that moment. The revelation of my daughter’s existence had rendered me speechless, motionless. I lowered myself into the chair behind me. She’s alive. My daughter is actually alive.
It wasn’t until Delacroix interrupted my thought process that I began to realize my purpose. I had a daughter, and I needed to get her back.
“What now?” Delacroix asked.
I suspect he still wasn’t sure if he was to live or not. He would. He was more valuable to me alive.
“Tell me everything.”
Delacroix started at the beginning with a phone call he had received from a stranger who wanted information about a patient of his. “He said he would compensate me generously for that information.”
“This was after I had hired you to deliver my child?”
“Yes.”
“Who was he?” I asked.
“That’s the problem. I don’t know. At first I thought it was a joke. But he called again and again. And then one day an envelope, with ten thousand euros inside, was mysteriously left on that end table next to you. It contained a note that simply stated there would be more if I were to cooperate.”
“What happened next?”
“I assumed this person was serious. Not only did he break into my apartment, but he left me money. There was a number, so I called it. We set up a meeting at a small church not far from here. He instructed me to wait inside the confessional booth.”
“Go on.”
“That’s when he asked about you.”
“By name?”
“No, of course not. He said a woman had hired me to deliver her baby. He gave a description, and from there I gathered you were the person he was inquiring about.”
“What did he want?”
“Details at first. How far along was the pregnancy? When was the expected delivery date? What hospital would it take place at?”
“And?
“I answered his questions, and that was it. He told me to wait five minutes and then left. I did what he said and found another envelope on the floor outside the confessional booth. It contained twenty thousand euros and a note stating he would be in touch.”
“When did you hear from him again?”
“Not for a while. In fact, I assumed I had seen the last of him. But a week before your delivery date, he contacted me.”
“Another phone call?” I crinkled my brow.
“No. Here, in my apartment.” Delacroix’s eyes widened. “He was waiting for me when I returned late one night. He told me if I didn’t do exactly what he asked, he would hurt my family,” he said, punctuating his words with his hand. “He had pictures of my parents, my sister, and her family in Amsterdam. He had their home address, even where my sister and her husband worked and where their children attended school. He knew everything. I had no choice.”
“What did he want?”
“Your child. At first, I told him no. It was impossible to simply hand over a newborn. How would I explain that to the staff? But that’s when he told me he would provide the staff. All I had to do was make the appropriate arrangements at the private clinic; the one you and I had agreed upon.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “How do you explain the dead baby I saw, the one I buried?”
“He provided that child,” he said with shoulders raised and outstretched arms. “It was all his idea, to make the switch. He wanted you convinced that your child had died during birth.”
“What did this man look like?”
“I don’t know. He had a mask on. Like the ones worn by soldiers or the police.”
“A balaclava?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“What about the staff members?”
Delacroix shook his head. “They arrived that day already dressed in scrubs and wearing surgical masks. Two were male, and they were brandishing handguns. The others were all female and assisted me. They might have been Arabic. One of the men did all of the talking. He spoke in English with no noticeable accent.”
“And your contact, did he show up for the birth?”
“No, but he did call before and after the delivery.”
“There was no need for a cesarean birth.”
Delacroix shook his head and again avoided my gaze. “That was part of the plan, a reason to use anesthetic and put you under. Once the switch was made, the staff left promptly. I never saw or heard from them again.”
“And the one behind this plan?”
“He told me to keep my mouth shut or he would follow through with his threats to hurt members of my family. I’ve never mentioned a word about what happened. That is, until you showed up.”
Delacroix appeared to be telling the truth. I hated him for what he did and wanted nothing more than to make him pay, but as it stood, he was the only real connection I might have to locating my daughter. I had to wonder if the person who contacted me online, Tark, was the same person who had contacted the doctor.
“Does the name Tark mean anything to you?”
“No. Should it?”
“Have you told me everything?”
“I have. You must believe me.” Delacroix clasped his hands together and held them up in front of him. “I’m sorry. Had I known his intentions were to kidnap your child, I never would have given him any information.”
Bullshit! You might not have known that, but surely you don’t think someone throws that sort of money around merely for information. I nearly killed Delacroix then. “You’re not supposed to hand over patient information to begin with. But more importantly, you and I had an agreement.” I stood and walked around the table. “No one was to know you were delivering my child.” I leaned down, my face a foot from his. I brought the titanium blade into view. The razor sharp edge inches from his cheek.
Sweat poured down the sides of Delacroix’s face. His breaths were choppy, his body rigid, and his eyes wide with anticipation. “You do remember that was part of our arrangement, right? Punishable in only one way.”
14
It took much restraint, but that night I left Delacroix alive, something I rarely do with people who have wronged me. And he had done just that, in the worst way possible. But he had also provided me with the confirmation I needed to seriously consider my next move with Tark. That information had extended his life, even though I had specifically told him years ago that any breach of our contract by him could only end in one way.
As it stood, I couldn’t rule out any future usefulness from him. He had played a role in my daughter’s disappearance; he might be able to help with her recovery. Somewhere in the world, my daughter was alive.
On the train ride back to Saint-Hubert, I went over everything Delacroix had relayed to me. According to the doctor, this mystery person had provided information, a description that fit me. Once he established that he had found the right doctor and patient, his plan to kidnap my daughter went into effect. But that was not the information I found interesting. In order for this plan to work at all, this person had to have knowledge of one very important factor—that I was pregnant to begin with.
It wasn’t a coincidence. This wasn’t a case of human trafficking and me being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This person knew about my pregnancy and sought me out.
How was as big of a question as was why. I had told no one about my condition. As soon as I knew, I immediately went into hiding and remained that way, until Long showed up at the cottage. I retraced my steps from the beginning of my pregnancy to the time I gave birth and couldn’t come up with anything definitive.
I never told the father; in fact, I had cut off all contact the moment I knew. There was the possibility that someone kept tabs on me during those nine months. Surely if they did, they would see my belly. I couldn’t physically hide that, at least not toward the end. I wasn’t saying no one saw me; I had contact with people in the normal course of living my life—shopkeepers, taxi drivers, people in general—but no one that knew me or my profession. I had eve
n kept my friend, Long, in the dark. A difficult decision, but one I felt necessary.
I thought about my fellow assassins, the ones who were part of my clan. The ones who thought I had something to do with the death of Ma, our figurehead. Still, I couldn’t simply narrow it down to them.
There were, of course, the individuals I had been hired to kill. It’s possible their family or people loyal to them had figured out I was the assassin responsible, and sought revenge. I couldn’t discount an angry prospect I had turned down, and there were a few.
In fact, when I thought about it, I could rationalize that most people I’d come in contact with could have reason to kidnap my daughter. But still, not a single person stood out. At least not at the moment. I knew then that I had no choice but to accept Tark’s contract. It was the only way I could determine what he knew. Was he in possession of my daughter, or just information on her whereabouts? He could also be a hired agent, nothing more than a messenger.
I also had to seriously consider the fact that Tark knew nothing of my daughter’s whereabouts. That he had somehow stumbled across this information and had decided to use it toward his advantage. If that was the case, Tark had just shortened his life.
He was an adversary withholding information about my daughter for his own benefit, to use me in as many ways as possible. My goal was to minimize that while extracting as much information as I could from him. And, of course, kill him.
15
I returned to Saint-Hubert later that night, around eleven p.m. When I arrived at the cottage, the lights were off, and I wondered if Long had left or gone to sleep early. I took the same precautions I always had and approached from the rear of the property. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit on edge. Someone knew about my pregnancy, which meant they likely knew where I lived. I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain if my location had been compromised or how much it mattered at that point.
I slipped my blade out of its sheath, holding it close to my thigh as I entered the cottage. After a quick search, I made my way back to my office, where I found a note from Long. He’d had a contract come through shortly after I left.
Eager to resume contact with Tark, I posted an invitation on the Board for him to join me in a private chat. Experience told me whatever he had in mind would be much more complicated than a simple hit. While I waited, I fixed myself a cup of tea and snacked on gingersnaps. I had gotten in a habit of eating them while pregnant, and it was a tiny way to stay connected to my daughter.
It didn’t take long for Tark to respond.
Tark: You’ve decided to accept my offer?
Sei: Tell me more about the contract.
Tark: I need you to escort the Black Wolf out of Turkey.
I was afraid Tark would say that, not that killing him in his jail cell would be any easier.
Sei: Babysitting isn’t my expertise.
Tark: I heard you move like a ghost. Surely you can achieve the same with another person.
Sei: Exactly how do you expect me to break the Wolf out of prison? Magic?
Tark: That I can help with.
Tark told me that Russia had secured the right to extradite the Wolf. They claimed he had killed a high-ranking officer in the Ministry of Intelligence. Once he was back in the hands of the Russian government, Tark assured me there would be no court proceedings, and they would simply execute the Wolf or use him as their own personal hitman.
The Black Wolf was currently incarcerated in Diyarbakir, a city located in southeastern Turkey about one hundred kilometers north of the Syrian border. His transfer had already been scheduled to take place in nine days. It was a twenty-minute ride between the prison and the airport. That was my window of opportunity. Tark went on to tell me that the Turkish prison used armed convoys of three to four vehicles to transfer high-value prisoners. He said it would be no different with the Wolf.
I couldn’t disagree with the plan. Grabbing the Wolf while he was on the move would be our best chance at succeeding. I’d taken out marks who rode in secured convoys; it was not terribly difficult. However, my objective wasn’t to kill—slightly different, but manageable. The way I viewed the situation, so long as the Wolf did everything I said, he would survive.
Sei: Once we’re free of the convoy, then what?
Tark: You will take him to a location along the border of Syria. But let me be clear. You must deliver the Wolf alive. If he dies, the deal is off.
Sei: What exactly am I receiving in return?
Tark: I will tell you where you can find your daughter.
Sei: How do I know if you are speaking the truth?
Tark: You don’t. But if you want any chance of seeing her again, you’ll have to trust me.
16
I had a little over a week to plan and execute the contract, which was completely ludicrous. Because of the time constraints, I would need help and access to equipment while on the ground in Turkey. And I knew just the person who could help.
Basir Kashani was a Turkish arms dealer I had known for eight years. He had a base of operation in Cyprus, about seventy-five miles off the coast of Turkey. He was extremely familiar with the Turkish landscape and had a long list of helpful contacts within the country. Most importantly, I could trust him.
I met Kashani when he was struggling to break into his particular line of work—illegal arms trade—and we had crossed paths through a mutual contact. I did him a favor; I took out his competition. Not purposely; the man in question was my mark. However, to show his appreciation, Kashani promised to return the favor. It was time for payback.
I sent an email to the address I last had for him hoping it still worked. I signed off with the pet name he had for me. Kashani never understood the idea of having a single name; he thought it strange and from the moment we met, had always called me Sei-Sei. I was in luck. A few hours later, I received a reply from him.
The following afternoon I touched down in Cyprus at Larnaca International Airport, a major travel hub for passengers traveling between Europe and the Middle East. I exited the jet walkway and entered a modernized terminal. High-end shops and restaurants lined the walkway to immigration and baggage claim in the Arrivals Hall. I traveled light, as usual, needing only my knapsack. I preferred to acquire necessities when needed and dispose of them when finished. My clothing consisted of jeans, a pastel button-down, tennis shoes and dark shades. I looked like every other traveler passing through.
Kashani had instructed me to look for a silver Ranger Rover once outside the terminal. “The driver will be wearing a black baseball cap,” he wrote. It took me a minute or so to find the vehicle matching that description. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t quite see the driver inside. But since I saw no other vehicle fitting the description, I headed straight for it.
The weather in Cyprus was in the low seventies with mild humidity. The skies were clear, and the sun shone bright. Night temperatures would drop to a low of fifty degrees Fahrenheit. I could expect slightly lower temperatures in Diyarbakir.
When I got within ten feet of the vehicle, the driver door opened and out stepped a stocky man with olive skin. He wore khaki pants with a white polo shirt neatly tucked inside. A black baseball cap sat on his head. He held up his hand as I approached. “Please remove your glasses,” he said with a slight Turkish accent. He took a moment to look me over. Satisfied, he opened the passenger door for me.
Once we cleared the terminal and merged onto the highway, I asked how he knew he had picked up the correct person.
“Basir said you were Asian.”
“There a lot of Asians passing through the airport.”
“He said you were small.”
“That’s it?”
“He said you were pretty.”
He added nothing more and kept his eyes on the road, which suited me. I preferred using the time to think about next steps rather than force small talk.
We remained on the highway for fifteen minutes before exiting and making a serie
s of lefts and rights on the surface streets. I noticed seagulls in the air and assumed we were near Kashani’s residence. He’d mentioned he had a view of the beach.
We turned onto a street lined with thick brush that ended into a small cul-de-sac, which had one driveway leading into a walled enclosure. Black steel gates opened as the Range Rover approached and an armed guard appeared and waved us on.
We followed the road for another fifty yards before an impressive Mediterranean-style mansion came into view. The first thing I noticed were sculpted dolphins leaping out of a fountain anchoring the roundabout. The second was Kashani waving from a balcony on the second floor. He had the same wide smile, and his hair had thinned, but he looked more or less exactly how I remembered.
“Sei-Sei,” I heard him call out as I exited the vehicle. “It’s so good to see you. Please come upstairs.”
The driver escorted me into Kashani’s palatial residence. The foyer, a room itself, opened into twenty-foot-high ceilings, from which the centerpiece, an opulent chandelier, hung. The floors were white marble, and a double staircase leading to the second floor had an ornate banister. Impressive paintings hung on the walls like giant picture windows. Kashani appeared just as we reached the second floor. In each hand he carried some sort of fruity drink.
“Welcome, Sei-Sei,” he said, holding one of the glasses out to me. “Enjoy. Don’t worry; it’s alcohol free.”
Kashani and I spent the next hour or so catching up while we lounged on a balcony with unobstructed views of a sandy beach that led to never-ending aquamarine. A deliciously scented sea breeze blew gently through my hair against a melodic backdrop of lapping waves and squawking gulls.
[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter Page 27
