Waking Wolfe

by S L Shelton

  I was taken aback by his question. He shook his head as if he were shaking a bug out of his ear. “I’m sorry. Of course it’s serious, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” He paused a long moment, regrouping his thoughts.

  “I want to apologize to you. I want to apologize to Barbara, but she isn’t here, and it’s my fault.” I could see the pained sincerity in his face.

  “I don’t understand,” I replied.

  He composed himself. Some of the agony he had been displaying had just shifted to some place more private within him. He was a little less pained when he continued. “I gave Barbara my place on the tour boat...and I did so at the ambassador’s request.”

  Deception.

  “He had been concerned that his daughter wouldn’t have someone her own age to engage with. My effort to please the ambassador put another innocent person in harm’s way.”

  The formal shift in the tone of his explanation and the way he said “another innocent person” was put in harm’s way made me believe there was more to this than a simple apology or collateral guilt. He was somehow responsible for this...or at the least, tangled in it. It was interesting that my new onboard inner voice had confirmed my suspicions as well.

  “There’s no need to apologize to me,” I said.

  “I feel I must make amends somehow, nonetheless.” He paused again and then sat. I followed his lead and sat opposite him. “I understand you have been searching for her. And though you have not been very forthright in sharing what you’ve discovered, it appears you have made some inroads.”

  “I’m not sure what I’ve discovered,” I said, giving him a vague half-truth in keeping with the rest of my answers.

  “I don’t suppose that there is any way I could convince you to abandon your efforts.”

  “No,” I said plainly.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said and then stared at me for several long seconds before he stood. “Well, Mr. Wolfe, it was a pleasure meeting you.” He extended his hand to shake mine. I replied in kind. “I wish you luck in your goals and hope you meet with more success than we have.”

  More deception, came the whisper in my ear.

  He’s afraid of my involvement? Then why is he letting me go? He clearly outranks the consul general. Then it hit me. If he is involved, then he likely thinks that it’s better that I’m out there and not in here sharing my information with the CIA.

  I got a mental pat on the back from my other self.

  As Deputy Miller walked out the door and down the hall, the consul general came back into the room. It was the first time I’d really seen her in full light. She was an attractive woman. Younger than I’d thought when she was in the dark of the street and in the SUV. But that probably had more to do with the fact that I had always pictured diplomats to be middle-aged or senior citizens, given appointments like this as rewards for political service.

  Though her hair was flecked with some gray, it was still quite blond. She was not tall. No more than an inch or so over five feet. I would guess her age to be around forty-five, and she seemed to be fit, if not athletic, in carriage and appearance. Her smile came easily—a trait most suitable for a foreign service officer, and her Texas drawl along with her confident presentation made her ideal for the diplomatic corps and command. I found it impossible to dislike her, though her purposes seemed to be at odds with mine.

  “Mr. Wolfe. Again, I’d like to apologize for the events of last night and for your detainment.” She handed me my phone. “But as promised, you are now free to go. Captain Temple is making arrangements for your transportation back to your hotel or wherever you would like to go.”

  I guessed it would be too much to ask for a ride to Dusseldorf, not to mention it would give away my next steps.

  “Captain Temple?” I asked.

  She smiled. “The man who accosted you in my vehicle,” she said with a grin. “John.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said sincerely, noting the addition of the last name to my growing list of players. “Where is Barb’s phone?” I asked, hoping.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Wolfe. Ms. Whitney is a family member of State Department staff. I can’t give her phone back to you. It may also be vital evidence in our investigation.” She stepped closer to me. “Once again, for your safety, I would implore you to cease your independent efforts toward finding Barbara. It may also...put us at cross purposes.”

  “I thank you for your concern, ma’am,” I said, clearly not moved by her sentiment.

  She pursed her lips together tightly. There was frustration there, I could see, but beneath it was something she wanted to say. Her face was instinctively pressing her lips together to stop her from speaking. I decided to help her loosen them.

  “Ma’am. I understand exactly what you must be going through right now. I will promise you this: if I find myself in any situation that would be improved by the engagement of the United States Government, I will call you.”

  She tilted her head to the side, squinting her eyes and measuring me, before turning and slipping her arm through mine. “That would make me very happy Mr. Wolfe,” she said as we started to walk down the hallway to the stairs. “I have to admit, any assistance in our investigation would be much appreciated. We seem to be at a disadvantage, and it’s not a position we usually find ourselves in,” she added, honestly, surprising me with her candor.

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to disclose anything to these people, but I couldn’t resist the urge to help this woman. She was too damned likable. Before I could talk myself out of it, my lips were moving. “The man who did this,” I said, putting my hand to my chest and ribs, “was a Serb by the name of Majmun.” She stopped mid-stride and turned to look at me with surprise. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know his real name,” I continued.

  “Do you know the whereabouts of this man?” she asked hopefully.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Mr. Wolfe! You didn’t—”

  “No ma’am. I did not.”

  “Who...?”

  I smiled at her, tight-lipped, indicating that was all she would get from me. She smiled in reply, reading my expression perfectly with her diplomat’s skills. “You, Mr. Wolfe, are quite...surprising,” she said, resuming our arm-in-arm stroll to the covered carport in the rear of the consulate. There, Captain Temple and a black SUV were waiting for me. She stopped as we got to the vehicle.

  “I wish you good luck, Mr. Wolfe. I believe you’ll need it.” Then she reached out to shake my hand. “I hope you are reunited with that girl of yours—soon. I’ve never met Barbara, but I know her father. He is a good man, an honorable man. I hold him in high regard—and I can’t say that for many,” she stated plainly, letting her folksy Texan drawl wrap her words with sincerity. “Take care of this young man, John. We don’t meet many like him,” she said—though I suspected the comment was more to flatter me than to inform the Captain of my character.

  I stepped up into the back of the SUV, followed by Captain Temple. As soon as he closed the door, the SUV lurched forward. I looked up at the driver and saw his reflection in the rear view mirror—sporting a bandage across his nose. He glanced up to catch me looking at him and scowled.

  “Mr. Wolfe. I want to apologize for earlier. You seem to have a talent for bringing out the violence in people,” Captain Temple said, smiling. I heard our driver grunt agreement.

  “Thank you for the apology, Captain. I’m sorry as well. My provocation toward you was not deserved.” I spoke stiffly, but sincerely.

  “No need. You played that situation well,” he said, flashing me a knowing grin. “But it’s your proclivity for attracting violence that I would like to talk to you about.”

  “Captain,” I said, cutting him off, and then I switched direction mid-thought. “What are you a captain of, by the way?”

  The driver looked up in the mirror to see if I would get my answer.

  “It’s an old title. I used to be a captain in the Navy,” he replied simply, easily. He was ma
king friends—I would play along.

  “Ah,” I said.

  “Your proclivity,” he said, returning to the subject. I sat back to hear his lecture. I was surprised at its absence.

  “We aren’t babysitters, Scott. This is serious business,” he said, his tone somber and frank. I noticed he had shifted gears on me again, calling me Scott instead of Mr. Wolfe. “But if you find yourself in a situation over your head, or something you think we could handle better, I want you to call me,” he said, handing me a business card.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, not committing to anything.

  “Don’t thank me. Before this is done, you may wish we had kept you in the basement of the consulate,” he replied and then grinned. “And here,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a wad of Euros. “Petty cash in compensation for your trouble and injuries.”

  “Thanks,” I said, surprised. But I glanced up at the mirror just in time to see the trace of a smile on the face of our driver disappear.

  Deception, I thought. What are you two up to?

  I tucked the cash into my jacket pocket, and we rode in silence the rest of the way to the hotel. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it wouldn’t be long. I’d need to hurry—I was a day behind schedule.

  **

  4:10 a.m.—Damstraat, in Amsterdam

  The SUV pulled up in front of the alley entrance to my hotel, and John was opening the door before the vehicle came to a complete stop. He hopped out of the SUV and held the door open for me as I gathered my bag, which he was holding out for me to take.

  “I believe this is yours.”

  “Thank you,” I replied and I stepped out onto the cobblestone of the alley entrance.

  “Be careful,” he said sincerely as he reached his hand out to shake.

  “I always am,” I replied with a grin, grasping his hand firmly—though not too firmly.

  He got back in the SUV and waved as they sped away down the street. I walked back to the hotel, being very careful to be respectful of the neighbors, and then headed up to my room silently. I was just about to open my room door when a door down the hall popped open and a head looked out.

  It was Kathrin. There’s no way you heard me coming up, I thought.

  She rushed up to me, barefoot in a t-shirt that covered her to the top of her thighs. At first I thought she was going to jump up on me, but she stopped short, looking at me curiously. “Are you well?” she asked quickly.

  I looked around the hall to see if we had disturbed anyone else as I brought my finger to my lips, begging quiet. After sliding my key card into the lock and opening my door, we went in—where she immediately started with the questions.

  “Oh my God! Who are they? Did they hurt you? Are you a spy? A criminal? Why did they let you go?” Except for the German accent, the stream of questions made me think of Bonbon.

  I raised my hands to try to slow her questions. “They were US government. I’m not sure what part of the government,” I said, starting to answer what questions I could. “They didn’t hurt me...after the abduction anyway.” Then I paused and looked her in the eye. “Thank you for that, by the way. That was a very brave thing to do for a stranger.”

  She smiled and blushed.

  “As to spy or criminal. No to both. And they let me go because I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, answering all of her questions.

  “Then why did they take you?” she asked pleadingly. She knew there must be more to the story.

  I hesitated. She punched me in the arm. “Tell me!” she said. The punch woke a flash of agony from my burns, eliciting a twisted expression of pain on my face. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed quickly and sincerely, holding both hands only inches from my arm as if to hold something in place.

  “It’s okay,” I said and then turned to my duffel bag on the dresser as I readjusted my shirt over my wound. I zipped my bag closed and then made a cursory check around the room to be sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. When I was satisfied I was all packed, I turned and saw that she was still standing there, staring at me with an expectant expression.

  “You didn’t answer me,” she said in a bored tone, looking as if she would stand there all night unless I answered her.

  She would not be dissuaded—I could tell.

  Trust her, my other voice whispered into my ear. This secondary presence, although helpful, was beginning to get disconcerting. I was quite sure I didn’t like it.

  “Someone I know was on the boat before it exploded. I came to look for her,” I explained. “My actions sent up some red flags.” Her face showed she was puzzled. “Red flag. Warning. Achtung,” I elaborated.

  Her eyes flashed understanding. “Who was this person?” she asked.

  “My girlfriend,” I stated plainly.

  Her expression didn’t change. “And did you find her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Yet?” she repeated.

  “Yet,” I confirmed.

  She studied me for a moment and then said, “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Do you know Dusseldorf?” I asked with a grin.

  She was taken aback. “I meant I would carry a bag or tell you where the train station is!” she exclaimed. “Not going for terrorists.”

  “Okay. In that case, no, I’m fine.” I replied, winking at her.

  She hugged me gently before turning and leaving my room. I waited to hear her door close down the hall before I slipped out the door, carrying my duffel and shoulder bag. I quietly walked down the hall to the closet I had stashed my backup phone and iPad in, and then silently removed the grate. After retrieving my hidden treasure and then reattaching the cover on the vent, I turned just as the hairs went up on the back of my neck.

  “Are you sure you aren’t a spy?” I heard behind me.

  My heart jumped and tensed at the intrusion; she’d scared the shit out of me. I spun around to see her standing there, fully clothed, boots unlaced, tucking her long-sleeved, purple t-shirt into her olive drab fatigue pants.

  “Shhh,” I said, pressing my finger to my lips.

  I found it odd that this strange girl was so persistent in her pursuit of me. Why is she doing this? I asked myself.

  Trust her, came my other voice.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. Trust her. I replied within my head. And why should I trust you?

  No answer—it had been worth a try.

  Her backpack, formerly mine, was hanging from her fingertips.

  She followed me, out of the closet and down the stairs to the foyer, where I stopped at the desk. She laced up her boots while I placed my room key in an envelope and wrote my room number along with a brief note explaining that I was checking out early. Kathrin stood at the door, looking into the dark as I tucked in a couple hundred Euros from the wad Captain John had given me. She looked over her shoulder toward me.

  “It will be hard to find a taxi this early,” she said, slipping the straps of her backpack over one shoulder. “Especially mit the lack of tourists to draw them out.”

  “I know,” I whispered as I sealed the envelope and placed it on the desk. “It’s not that far to walk if we have to.”

  She nodded mildly before pushing the door open for me. As we walked out of the building and into the street, she scanned our surroundings with mechanical precision. The action seemed somewhat out of character for a young, disaffected woman from Germany, but it mirrored my own, newly formed sense of paranoia.

  I looked at her as she marched beside me with a determined look on her face. I could tell she was still trying to figure out if she should be with me—so was I.

  We turned left on Damstraat and headed for the Dam, scanning the streets for a cab. We were nearly to the National Monument at the Dam before I managed to flag one down. Though I could have walked all the way to the station, my tired body was grateful for the reprieve.

  “Centrall alstublieft,” I said as we climbed in, making room for Kathrin to drop her bag between us. But instead, she scooted a
ll the way over next to me and put her bag on the other side. The heat from her leg was noticeable against mine, and I shifted uncomfortably at the familiarity it intimated. I had to exert a great deal of effort to not think about how good it felt.

  We were silent on the way to train station. Kathrin looked over her shoulder, out the back window several times during the trip. I sorted through the bills that the captain had given me to take an accounting as we glided quickly through the predawn, nearly traffic-free streets. When we arrived at the train station, I handed one of the hundred euro bills to the driver, saying, “Dank u wel.”

  He looked frustrated at the size of the bill, obviously not wanting to cut change for that much. We got out and I motioned with my hand, indicating he should keep the rest.

  His face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “Heel erg bedankt!” he said exuberantly.

  Kathrin and I walked into the station and found the commuter train platforms before looking for a ticket vending machine. Kathrin was keeping a close eye on what I was doing as I looked up the rate for a ticket to Paris. She shot me a curious glance as I inserted more of the hundred euro bills that the Captain had given me.

  The ticket printed and ejected from the machine along with my change. I handed Kathrin the change.

  “Paris?” she asked.

  I winked at her and repeated the process, letting the machine again spit out the ticket and change before handing them to Kathrin.

  I looked around the station once before shouldering my bags. Kathrin followed suit with no more questions, though a question was deeply etched on her face. We walked casually down the platform a short ways, Kathrin close behind me.

  “We need to find another vending machine without cameras facing it,” I whispered to her.

  “But we have our tickets,” she said in a soft voice.

  I shook my head. “No we don’t… not yet.”

  I alternated between looking at the ticket and up at the ceiling as we slowly walked along the corridor. To the casual observer it would appear as if I were looking for platform numbers.

  I spotted a cluster of cameras with no red lights on the opposite side of the tracks, so I stopped at a small magazine and coffee kiosk, ordering two lattes, a bag full of muffins, sandwiches, a magazine, and several bottles of water. I handed the cashier the last hundred the captain had given me and stuffed the change into my pocket before turning to see a puzzled look on Kathrin’s face.