by Dave Edlund
“Oh, boy. It’s a long story, most of which I can’t tell you—or anybody for that matter.”
“What do you mean?” she protested. “You can’t just disappear and not tell me where you were or what you were doing. You didn’t even call me.”
“I know… and I’m sorry. But I couldn’t. Please try to understand.”
Jo frowned. Clearly she wanted an explanation and all she was getting was an apology. She decided to try a different approach. With a stern look she eyed her father. “You weren’t doing anything illegal, were you?”
Peter laughed, trying to brush off her question. He knew she wasn’t serious. But he also read the concern in her face. His mind flashed back to an image of Maggie scolding Jo when she was five years old. The similarity was uncanny: not just the expression, but the tone of voice, the inflections.
Peter ever so slightly shook his head. He wasn’t going to let his mind slide into that dark pit of despair—not tonight. He was determined to enjoy the evening with Jo. Now that she was grown up with her own life and responsibilities such times were increasingly rare. And even better, Peter had his good friend Jim to share and enrich the event.
Peter forced his awareness back to the present. His smile faded and his eyes seemed to be pleading for understanding. “Of course not. I was involved in some government business, that’s all. The details are classified. Jim works for the government. He’s a former Navy SEAL, and now he works in the intelligence community.”
“I should have figured,” she said, turning her head, her eyes boring into Jim. “You dragged my dad into something, didn’t you?” It was definitely an accusation. Jo didn’t expect her question would be answered honestly. The polite and friendly lady that Jim had met only minutes earlier had vanished, replaced by a no-bullshit businesswoman who wasn’t going to have her queries brushed aside.
“Whoa.” Jim held up his hands and leaned back. “Peter, why don’t you tell Jo a little bit of what has gone on. Just keep it short—you know, the Cliff’s Notes version. Don’t mention any military or scientific details. I think she deserves at least that much.”
Jo glared at Jim, her dour expression not softening, and then turned her attention to her father.
“Well, it involves your grandfather and his work. There are unfriendly governments who would like to stop him, because he could be onto a solution that would make it unnecessary to import oil in maybe ten or fifteen years. Some countries don’t want that to happen, because they need the money they make from selling oil.”
“Don’t go into any more detail on that topic,” advised Jim. That earned him another glare from Jo.
“So, your grandfather took a team of graduate students up to the Aleutian Island where I have my hunting cabin. They were planning a few weeks of field work. But a group of terrorists attacked them. There were two U.S. marshals that Jim had attached to the team for protection. One was murdered. Jim arrived with his team, and the plan was foiled before your grandfather or any of his students were murdered.”
Jo’s eyes softened, the anger vanquished. “Grandpa’s okay?”
Peter nodded. “Yes. He’s moved his research to a secure facility in Sacramento. I’ve been helping him get his equipment set up.”
Joanna was staring at her father, reading his expression. “But that’s not all, is it?”
Peter didn’t answer.
“You were there, right? On the island.”
Peter nodded slightly. “Yes, kiddo. I was there.”
Joanna was silent, contemplative.
“Jo, your father is being very modest. He was instrumental in saving those people’s lives.”
“And the terrorists? What happened to them?” Jo pressed further, still unwilling to let it go.
Jim answered, cutting Peter off. “Some were killed, some were captured.”
Jo was fidgeting with her fork, staring blankly at the wine glass. Her eyes were moist, but not tearing… yet. “Did you kill any of them, Dad?” Her voice was steady, not betraying her emotion.
“Do you really want to know?” Peter answered.
Jo nodded, and she raised her eyes from the wine glass to meet her father’s.
Softly Peter answered, “Yes, I did. Because if I didn’t, they surely would have murdered your grandfather and everyone else. I’m not proud of what I did, but it had to be done. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”
She couldn’t hold back any longer and first one tear, then a second, edged down her cheeks. She held her linen napkin to her face, drying her eyes. After a moment, she composed herself again but resumed twirling her fork.
“I’m all right, Dad. It’s not that at all. I’m just glad that you and Grandpa are safe. These things are always what you read about. It’s never supposed to happen to you… or to people you know.”
Peter took a deep drink of his martini. The world had changed again for him and his daughter and son, in ways he could have never anticipated. Just as it had when Maggie died. These were not small, evolutionary changes, but major rents in the fabric of their lives. It would take time for his wounds to heal.
After a rather uncomfortable silence, Jo asked, “How is Grandpa? Does he like his new lab?”
“He’s fine,” replied Jim. “His work has been sponsored by the government. They set up a fantastic lab for him in Sacramento. His whole team is there, working hard.”
“He took a leave of absence from OSU, Jo. Dad plans to return to his position next year.”
The conversation turned to lighter topics as dinner arrived. Peter struggled to lock the memories of Chernabura Island and Moscow away—at least for now. Jo had calmed down, and she seemed to take a liking to Jim. But then again, Peter had remembered that Jim always was proficient at charming the girls.
They finished their meals, and feeling comfortably full, all passed on the dessert menu. The additional food orders for the house-sitting MPs were brought to the table along with the check. Peter paid and included a large tip, as was his practice.
On their way out, Peter made a point to thank Bernie. As usual, Bernie was surprised that Peter would even mention it.
The trio walked past the now-closed shops located in the Old Mill District. Upscale clothing stores and art boutiques dominated the scene. Jo took a moment to admire a beautiful Donna Young landscape on display in the window at Old Lahaina Gallery. It was a masterful and pleasing landscape, a blending of oranges and yellows highlighted with deep greens and a splash of brilliant red.
They continued on to Peter’s condo and walked up the steps. Remembering Jim’s earlier advice, Peter first knocked, then opened the door a crack and announced their presence. They stepped inside and were greeted by Jones and McNerny with Jess at their heels. The MPs looked hungrily at the foil-wrapped paper plates containing their take-out orders. Jo took the plates and placed them on the granite-topped island in the kitchen, inviting Jones and McNerny to take a bar stool and enjoy the food while it was still fresh. The men didn’t need to be asked twice.
Peter asked, “So everything was fine while I was away?”
After swallowing a mouthful of alder-plank salmon, Jones replied, “Yep, no problems. Jess was great. She’s a real sweet dog. Took to us right away.”
Then McNerny added, “Oh, you might want to have your alarm system checked downstairs. Got a false alarm about a week ago. We investigated and nothing was out of place, no sign of a break in.”
Peter thought about that for a moment. He never had issues with the alarm system before. It was necessary because of the security associated with the work he did at EJ Enterprises, but he really didn’t consider theft or vandalism a concern. Bend was a very safe community, and he lived in a very safe location in that very safe community. Still, his government customers demanded a minimum level of security.
“Yes, I’ll do that. You looked around, and there was no sign of forced entry at windows or the exterior door?”
“Yes, sir. We checked everything. It was clean. Must have been
a false alarm, but you’ll want to have the system checked out—make sure the master controller is fine.”
Jones and McNerny continued devouring their meals. This had been a fantastic assignment for them—house sitting Peter Savage’s beautiful condo, complete with bar and pool table, and a delightful selection of restaurants within walking distance. Yeah, they could get used to this type of work.
“So, what are your plans for the near term, Jim?” asked Peter.
“In the morning I’ll be wrapping up this operation with a briefing for the Colonel. Beyond that, I can’t say for sure. But there never seems to be a shortage of crises, so I’m sure he’ll have two or three operations lined up.”
“Well, remember my invitation. It would be great to stay in touch; we should have done so all along. Anytime you want to go up north to the cabin for some fishing and hunting, you just let me know, okay?”
“To tell you the truth, under the circumstances I didn’t really get to enjoy the beauty of the island. I’d like to correct that.”
Jim and Peter shook hands and clasped each other on the shoulder. Jo could see the depth of their friendship in that simple universal act.
The MPs had just finished their meals and were placing the paper plates into the garbage. “Come on, boys. We better get out to the plane and go home. The morning will come early enough.”
They picked up their duffel bags sitting on the floor by the door. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” said Jim.
The taxi waiting outside tapped his horn. The driver could see people at the door, and he wanted to encourage them along. The meter didn’t start until they were in the cab.
Hearing the horn, Jim moved out the door behind his two men. Peter and Jo watched them climb into the taxi and drive off.
Peter closed the door, and Jo gave her dad a big hug. “Are you okay, Dad?”
“Yes, kiddo. I’m okay, and I’ll get better with time. Why don’t you get a cup of tea, and I’ll take Jess for her evening walk. Should be back shortly.”
“Sure, Dad.”
Peter put a leash on Jess. He was still wearing his jacket. “Let’s go, girl!”
Jo closed the door behind her father, and then turned on the CD player. She knew her father had a rather eclectic mix of music—Jimmy Buffett plus a fair selection of country accented by a healthy dash of eighty’s rock. She put in a disc that was labeled “Rock, Misc.” She smiled as the first track blared “Rock the Casbah” by the Clash. Oh well, no accounting for musical taste.
As Jo walked into the kitchen she thought she heard a creaking sound. She stopped and turned around, half expecting to see someone in the great room. But, of course, no one was there. The house was empty except for her. She shivered involuntarily. Dad will be back soon, she thought.
She continued into the kitchen and put a pot of water on the stove and then pulled down a cup from the cabinet. As she was placing a black-tea bag in the cup, she heard it again. Definitely a creak, like a loose floor board. She picked up the remote controller and muted the stereo.
The condo was silent—dead silent, and that lack of sound was frightening to her. Her nerves were getting on edge. She felt an irrational fear pricking the back of her neck. She shivered again and had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder.
Then she remembered her dad kept a gun hidden in a book in the great room.
She was at the bookcase in four quick strides and pulled the book off the shelf, placing it on a nearby end table. It was bound in a deep shade of emerald-green leather. The gold lettering on the cover read The Art of War. Jo understood that her father had not chosen this classic compilation by Sun-Tzu randomly. She remembered her father’s advice a dozen years earlier when she was just learning to shoot, “If you ever find yourself in a fight, carry enough gun.” How odd she thought that advice at the time when she was still untouched by heartache and the world seemed much more innocent.
Turning on the lamp, she opened the book. There it was—a deep blue Colt Commander pistol. She had been hunting with her father before and had even shot this pistol on a few occasions—she was competent with a gun.
Picking up the pistol, she carefully pushed the slide back just a quarter inch. Yes, there was a round in the chamber. She flipped the safety off. But rather than sitting tight with her back in the nearest corner, gun and eyes focused on the room stretching out to the front, waiting for her father to return from the short walk, she instead decided to search the house for a possible intruder.
It was a grave mistake.
She thought the sound had come from the hall or the guest rooms. Jo deliberately moved into the hallway, gun held firmly at waist level, pointed directly to the front. She entered first one bedroom, then the other. No one.
There was still the bathroom. She approached apprehensively. The sound must have come from the bathroom.
This was a small room. If anyone was in there, she would be very close by the time she was aware of their presence. She paused, almost trembling with fear. In her mind she imagined the intruder waiting in the bathroom, just inside the doorway, ready to grab her when she entered.
She continued to approach.
Then she swiftly flung her back to the wall and sidestepped into the bath, gun extended to the front.
But no one was there.
Maybe she was only imagining the presence of an intruder after all. Maybe the sounds she had heard, the creaking of floorboards, were just the sounds of an old building.
Thinking her imagination was playing into her fears, she shook her head and turned to walk back to the kitchen, relaxing her grip on the pistol and letting it fall to the side of her hip, pointed at the floor.
As she spun around, she gasped, and her whole body reflexively tightened. Standing right in front of her was a strange man. He had an evil curl to his lips that looked like a sadistic smile of sorts. The gun in his hand was pointed at Jo’s forehead.
“I’ll take that pistol, thank you,” was all he said. His speech was heavily accented and that, combined with his black hair, made Jo think he was from Mexico or Central America.
She slowly surrendered the gun. Now she was defenseless.
But she also knew that soon—hopefully very soon—her father and Jess would be back.
Chapter 41
October 23
Bend, Oregon
Vasquez Ramirez had been waiting for this opportunity. Although he had received the stand-down order from Rostov, he would not be denied the sweet taste of revenge. Besides, it would probably be weeks before Rostov learned that Peter Savage had been murdered. Little did Ramirez know that Rostov would no longer be giving orders.
As promised, Rostov had delivered the preliminary intelligence report purchased from an American agent, probably a low-level transcriber, but Vasquez would never know for sure—nor did it matter. The report detailed how a SGIT team had thwarted the attack. But a key element was the independent action of Peter Savage, son of the principal target. This, according to the report, bought sufficient time for the SGIT team to arrive on site and gain the advantage. The report also made mention of the spetsnaz sniper team and their final act in eliminating Pablo Ramirez.
With this knowledge, Vasquez had a couple of scores to settle, beginning with the man he felt most responsible for the failure of his brother’s mission, ultimately leading to his brother’s death.
For two weeks he had been watching the building where Peter Savage lived and worked. He had seen the two men—presumably a security detail—come and go, but there was no sign of Peter. Still, he waited and watched.
About a week ago he had picked the lock on the exterior door to the downstairs business. As the door opened, the alarm activated, and a loud siren began to blare. Quickly, before he was discovered by the security men, Ramirez placed an unobtrusive magnetic bypass on the door alarm switch. He closed the door and darted around the corner of the building just as the security men came down the stairs to search the business.
With the
magnetic alarm bypass in place, Ramirez could now enter the building at will by picking the door lock. Patience, he told himself. The predator must be patient, and eventually the prey will become careless.
Having seen Peter Savage arrive with a young woman and another man this evening, Ramirez became more alert. The target was present. And then he watched as the three men departed, leaving Peter and the girl alone. It was time.
Ramirez moved toward the building, planning to enter through the downstairs door as before. Suddenly, the front door to the condo opened, and Ramirez smoothly blended with the shadows, watching. To his delight, he observed Peter exit the condo with the dog. He surmised that Peter was taking the pet for an evening walk. Luck was finally rewarding his persistence. With only the girl in the condo, now was the time to strike.
He quickly picked the lock on the exterior door and entered. As expected, the magnetic bypass on the alarm functioned flawlessly. There was enough light from the street lamps entering through the thin window shades for him to move across the concrete floor without disturbing any office furniture or work benches. Reaching the stairs, he began to climb the wooden steps quietly but quickly. At the top of the stairs, he presumed, would be another door into the living space of the condo. If that door was also locked, he would have to pick the lock swiftly, but for a man of his skills that was not a problem.
As Ramirez climbed the stairs, he felt his adrenaline flow. This was a familiar feeling. He was on the hunt, pursuing the most dangerous and challenging game. When he first started in this business, he was attracted by the money. Now, he was sure he would pursue this sport just for the exhilaration.
He was half way up the old wooden staircase when the loose board beneath his foot creaked. Ramirez instinctively froze. His weight was fully on the board. It seemed loud, but maybe it wasn’t heard on the floor above. He had to continue moving up the stairs for he knew Peter Savage would be returning before too long.
