by John Sneeden
A whimpering sound came from the left. Drenna pivoted in that direction and saw the silhouette of the girl sitting on a bed.
“Mom,” the girl said.
Drenna felt a wave of shock ripple through her. “Miranda? Is that you?”
The girl quivered with fear but said nothing.
“You don’t have to worry,” Drenna whispered. “I’m here now.”
Drenna took one step forward then froze when she realized there were two people on the bed: Miranda and an unidentified man. His right hand held a clump of the girl’s hair, while the other held a knife to her throat. Drenna tried to discern his features, but his face wasn’t clear in the haze.
“Mom,” Miranda managed to say in a trembling voice. “Don’t let him hurt me.”
Drenna focused on the man. “Who are you?”
He said nothing, but Drenna thought she saw a smile form on his darkened face.
“Mom, please—”
“You’re going to be fine, sweetheart. I’m not going to let you down this time. I promise.”
A moment later, the moon came out from behind a cloud, exposing a portion of the man’s face. He had eyes that were as black as night, and his left cheek was a twisted mass of burned flesh.
Drenna recoiled in horror. “It’s you.”
The man gave a sinister laugh then pressed the knife harder against the soft flesh of the teen’s neck.
“No!” Drenna sat up straight, taking in huge gulps of air. Rivulets of sweat ran down her chest, soaking her T-shirt.
Where am I?
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked around. Things looked sharper. She was in a small room with simple furniture.
The hotel. I’m at the hotel in Nice.
It had all been a dream.
After catching her breath, Drenna finally moved the covers out of the way and swung her legs off the bed. As her feet hit the floor, she felt the hard surface of commercial carpet. Even cheap floor covering seemed to give her comfort. She was back in the real world.
She stood and made her way over to the window then parted the drapes. She didn’t know what time it was, but she guessed it was at least an hour or two past midnight. She let her gaze run past the boulevard toward the sea. The moon hung low on the horizon, its light carving a line across the shimmering waters of the Mediterranean. Yachts were scattered across the calm surface of the ocean. Some were dark, and some had lights on. From a distance, they looked like toys floating in a bathtub.
Drenna let the drape fall back into place and returned to the bed. She sat down and picked up the bottle of water she had left on the nightstand. After unscrewing the top, she guzzled down what was left. All the sweating had left her dehydrated.
As she sat in silence, Drenna wondered if the dream had any basis in truth. Was Miranda in danger? She didn’t think so. She had found that nightmares often centered on things the person feared, but they almost never came to pass. Still, Drenna knew some of hers had come true over the years. It was God’s way of giving her warnings, her now-deceased grandmother had once said.
After considering the dream for several minutes, she decided her own guilt had triggered it. She had failed in the biggest responsibility a mother could have. Even though she had been fully capable of raising her own daughter, she had passed that responsibility on to someone else in order to pursue her life dreams without being held back.
The pain was almost unbearable, and she hoped that one day, it would finally go away.
Drenna glanced at the time on her phone—3:29. It was time to get back to sleep.
Sliding under the covers, she closed her eyes and prayed that God would always keep Miranda safe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Nathan Sprague was a tall, handsome black man with a square jaw and a perpetual five-o’clock shadow. A former linebacker at the University of Georgia, he was in top physical condition, especially for a man in his early fifties. Many who worked out at the agency’s gym said he was the fittest employee at Langley, an organization with numerous SEALs and Rangers in its ranks. Mack Delgado didn’t doubt that for one second.
In addition to his physical prowess, Sprague was also a man of extreme discipline. He was the first to arrive at his office each morning, and he was almost always one of the last people to leave at night. But that work ethic wasn’t just something he kept to himself. He also expected his own people to have that same level of dedication and achievement.
Despite all that, Delgado found Sprague to be a fair man. Even when forced to read an employee the riot act, he would usually help that person correct whatever wrong had been committed.
Sprague plucked a remote control off his desk, aimed it at the wall, and pressed a button. A faint hum sounded as the large screen moved up into the ceiling. He set the device down and looked across the desk at Delgado and Corbin. “Are there any questions?”
Corbin shook his head. “Not at the moment. It sounds like a complex situation, so I’m sure we’ll have a few once we dive in.”
Sprague nodded then looked at Delgado.
“No, sir,” he replied. “No questions at this time.”
“Good.”
Sprague had spent the last hour filling the two men in on their upcoming operation in Cyprus, the disputed island in the Mediterranean. There was talk that Turkish Cypriots had received a large shipment of weaponry into the northern territory they controlled. If some military operation was being planned, it would be a direct threat to the internationally recognized government that was closely aligned with Greece.
It was believed the armaments came from a syndicate operating in North Africa. Delgado and Corbin were going to conduct an operation that would look into whether that was true. They were also going to look into any role the Turkish government might have in the effort.
The two operatives were to spend the next week reviewing all intelligence gathered by the Greek government and the NSA. After digesting the material, they would begin planning a covert mission inside the northern territory. Only then would they travel to Cyprus to initiate the operation.
For his part, Delgado was just happy that they wouldn’t be required to travel for at least two more weeks. That would give him additional time to look into the possible whereabouts of Drenna Steel.
Since the meeting seemed to be wrapping up, Corbin pushed his chair back and started to get up.
Sprague held up a hand. “We’re not done. We have another matter to take care of.”
Corbin reluctantly sank back into his seat.
“Let’s talk about Drenna Steel,” Sprague said.
Delgado felt a pinch of anxiety. Even though he knew the whole matter had to be addressed, he had hoped to put it off for at least another day.
Sprague slipped on a pair of reading glasses and looked at his computer screen. “I just got another email from the director wanting to know why he hasn’t received the final report on her death.” Sprague’s eyes went back to the two men. “I know it may seem like a mundane task, but we need to put this thing to bed.”
Delgado and Corbin exchanged a glance.
Hearing no response, Sprague said, “You have until the end of business today to finish up the report. Is that understood?”
“It’s actually ready now,” Delgado admitted.
“Then where is it?”
The two operatives exchanged another glance.
“Sir, there is something we need to talk to you about,” Corbin said.
Over the years, Delgado had learned that their boss hated it when people beat around the bush. Even though there might be consequences, they normally fared better with him by being blunt and straight to the point. With that in mind, Delgado decided to get right to the heart of the matter. “Sir, we believe Drenna might still be alive. That’s why you don’t have our report.”
Sprague gave him a blank stare. Delgado couldn’t tell whether the news had simply shocked hi
m or he was trying to hold back his anger. He hoped it was the former.
Corbin decided to speak into the uncomfortable silence. “Although we’re still looking into it and can’t make any definitive statements, Mack and I believe there’s a good chance Drenna may have survived the accident.”
Sprague pulled off his reading glasses aggressively, something he often did to convey he wasn’t happy. Delgado braced for the volley of epithets about to come their way.
“And why wasn’t I apprised of this before now?” Sprague bellowed.
“We didn’t want to bother you until we had something concrete.”
“Bother me? You think Drenna Steel might still be alive, and yet you chose to keep me in the dark? The very moment this thing went past a gut feeling, you should’ve brought me in.”
“Much of the evidence is circumstantial,” Corbin said. “And the tangible evidence we do have isn’t definitive. I still can’t sit here and tell you with one hundred percent certainty that Drenna survived, although it is what I believe.”
“Did you not hear what I just said?” Sprague growled. “I said you should’ve brought me in the moment this went past a gut feeling. Heck, you should’ve brought me in when you had a gut feeling.”
Delgado nodded but said nothing.
Sprague’s expression seemed to soften. “Okay, okay. Walk me through this. Tell me what you have so far.”
Delgado spent the next twenty minutes going over all the evidence they had gathered, starting with the circumstantial. He reminded Sprague that the body had never been found, despite local law enforcement having access to software that pinpointed where the currents would have taken it. He also told Sprague that local authorities had found no traces of alcohol in Trevor Lambert’s blood. In other words, he hadn’t been drinking at all. He still could have run off the shoulder in the fog, but since he’d traveled to his uncle’s cabin many times, that scenario seemed unlikely.
Saving the best piece of evidence for last, Delgado recounted the story of finding the bracelet along the riverbank then seeing what appeared to be the exact same bracelet in a photograph of Drenna. He reminded Sprague that if it was hers, the only way it made it onto that rock was if she made it to shore. Had it fallen off when the truck went into the water, it would have sunk straight to the bottom.
Once Delgado was finished, Sprague leaned back in his chair and stuck the hooked end of his reading glasses into his mouth. He seemed to be digesting everything he had just heard. He had a stern look on his face, but Delgado couldn’t tell whether it was anger or concentration.
After a full minute of silence, Sprague removed the glasses from his mouth. “So you never told the FBI about the bracelet?”
“No, I never shared it with them.”
Sprague exhaled loudly but said nothing.
“There was so much trash along that river,” Delgado explained. “Bobbers. Fishing lures. Lines. I didn’t realize the bracelet was significant until I matched it up with the photograph in her apartment. Once I saw that, I knew I had something. I also knew if I turned it in to the FBI now, they’d nail me to the wall.”
“Is that it?” Sprague asked. “What else did you find?”
Delgado considered whether to tell his boss about the CCTV footage of the woman entering the food hall. He was never able to positively identify Drenna, but when the footage was coupled with the other pieces of evidence, it all painted a compelling picture.
Even though it wasn’t conclusive, Delgado realized his boss deserved to have all available information. “There is one other thing. I’ve reviewed CCTV footage of a woman walking in downtown Arlington a few days ago, and it’s my belief that woman is Drenna.”
Corbin looked at him with a mixture of surprise and irritation. Delgado hadn’t told anyone about the footage yet, not even his partner.
“I won’t even ask how you got your hands on that,” Sprague said. “What makes you think it was Drenna?”
Delgado explained that the CCTV camera was located across the street from a place Drenna Steel was known to frequent when she needed to meet with someone or think through some difficult issue. He then laid out the other factors that suggested the person in the videotape was Steel: the disguise that seemed out of place for the time of day, the way the woman cased the area before entering the food hall, and the limp.
“Although you seem convinced it was her, I’m not so sure. I see people walking around inside buildings with sunglasses all the time. Still, when you put all of these pieces together, it certainly suggests there’s smoke. We just need to find the fire.”
Delgado nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
“When all of this is over, we’ll have a long talk about the lines both of you crossed,” Sprague said after a short pause. “But there isn’t time for that now. We need to keep moving with the evidence you’ve gathered so far.” He looked at Delgado. “What are you working on right now?”
“Nothing at the present time. I’d like to monitor Drenna’s family members to see if she makes contact, although that could put us in a difficult spot if we’re caught spying on a private citizen.”
“One of our own people could be in danger, so we’re going to have to operate outside the box.” Sprague thought for a moment. “Steel has a sister named Elena who lives here in the area. I actually spoke to her right after the accident. She never hinted that Drenna was alive, although she might have been covering for her.”
“I could go talk to her again,” Delgado said. “I could tell her we’re finalizing our report and need to ask a few more questions. I can ask a few pointed questions and see what her reaction is.”
“That’s a good idea, but don’t press her too hard. We don’t want this to be an adversarial sort of thing.”
“I’m going to emphasize that it’s all routine,” Delgado said.
“Drenna also has a daughter, but that’s irrelevant because the daughter isn’t a part of her life,” Sprague said.
Delgado’s eyes widened. “She has a daughter?”
“You didn’t know?”
Corbin and Delgado shook their heads. It was news to both men.
“She got pregnant while in college. I think it was her junior or senior year. Anyway, she chose to go through with it but gave the girl up for adoption soon after birth.” He hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything. That secret stays between us.”
“Does the daughter live locally?” Corbin asked.
“Yes.” Sprague picked up a yellow notepad and flipped through the pages. “Her name is Miranda Blake. I looked her up just in case we needed to reach out to the Blake family, but Elena told me there was no contact between Drenna and the girl. Apparently, the adoption agreement specified that no contact was allowed unless the parents gave their consent. According to Elena, Drenna had decided to wait until the girl turned eighteen. I was going to notify them once we concluded our report. Even though there was no communication, I had determined it was something the Blakes would want to know.”
“How old is the girl now?” Corbin asked.
“Fifteen or sixteen, I think.”
A long silence fell over the room.
Finally, Corbin said, “If Drenna doesn’t want to be found, then it’s going to be extremely hard to find her.”
“She’s not the one we need to focus on,” Sprague said.
Corbin’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“If Drenna is alive and hasn’t checked in, then it means that wasn’t an accident. Someone ran that truck off the road. Someone tried to kill her.”
“You knew her better than we did,” Delgado said. “Any ideas who it might have been?”
“You hit me out of the blue with this, so I’ll need time to think that through. In the meantime, I need you to make this a priority over Cyprus. You need to direct your full attention to finding out who might have wanted Drenna dead.” He leaned forward, his eyes lit with a fiery gaze. “And it starts right here in this building.”
> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Nice, France
O’Sullivan’s Whiskey Bar was nestled along the pedestrian section of Rue de France. Like many Irish-themed pubs across Europe, it had a red wood exterior and narrow rectangular windows that offered a limited view of the interior. Hanging above its entrance were the national flags of Ireland and France.
Drenna arrived at the front entrance of O’Sullivan’s at seven thirty sharp. She wore slim jeans with thin rips above the knee and a sleeveless white top. It was an outfit that she hoped would draw Botha’s attention while at the same time not be an obvious attempt to do so. She had thought about wearing stylish wedges but knew they would impair her ability to run or defend herself if that became necessary later in the evening. Instead, she had chosen a pair of black fashion sneakers.
Her sole accessory was a burgundy clutch containing a burner phone, a credit card, a few euros, lip balm, and a pocketknife. Driscoll had offered to give her a small Springfield XD pistol that would fit in the tiny purse, but she was concerned about not being able to pass through security at Botha’s apartment building. If she was caught with a gun, the entire operation would fall apart.
After entering the pub, Drenna headed straight for the bar at the back. As she wound through the maze of tables and booths, a cacophony of voices hit her from every direction. Unlike most restaurants and bars in Nice, the conversations were predominantly in English. It was almost certainly the favorite watering hole of every British expat and tourist in the area.
Earlier, Driscoll and the other two agents had moved into place. Although she didn’t look in his direction, Drenna knew that Vinay Rana was sitting in one of the booths to her right. That would allow him to keep an eye on things inside the pub. Simon Driscoll was currently sipping coffee in a café across the street. If all went according to plan, he would follow Drenna and Botha when they emerged later in the evening. And just to make sure all their bases were covered, Alan Bowles was set up in a small park across the street from Botha’s apartment building.