Anika dropped to one of the mechanic’s stools, shoulders sagging. “Skip,” she whispered, “I need a phone. I have to warn Randall about New York and share the calculations about Israel that I’ve been running in my head.”
“What about New York?”
“Just… I need a phone, please. It’s complicated. I designed a model for effectively spreading a new virus in Rockland County, New York.”
He walked over to a table and shrugged out of his jacket. “No phone, Anika. Too risky. That’s my office over there. Remember it’s bugged, so say nothing. At all. Period. If anything goes south, crawl up on the desk, open the trap door, and climb up into the dead space between the ceiling and roof. There’s a bedroll there. But for now, there’s a big chair. You’re exhausted. I want you to go get some sleep while I figure this out.”
Skip watched her walk wearily to the office, glance around suspiciously, and flop in the chair. He figured she was asleep before he pushed the send button.
Skip frowned, went over to open his toolbox, and pulled out his sat phone, then he walked out of Anika’s hearing range and punched in the number. “Randall. What’s the word on the post office? I’ve got a letter ready to be put in an envelope. Do you know what the postage is going to be?”
“Glad to hear you can finally write. We were worried that you might have been detained by other obligations.”
“Tell your team to take a close look at securing the big apple tree. I got a guy here who wants to do some picking. Probably an old grudge, having lost first prize at the fair. Your team can figure out where the fruit is the most vulnerable to worms and other pests.”
He heard a long pause before she said, “Which big apple tree. You got any idea when your guy wants to do his picking?”
“The one to the north.”
“Understood. We really appreciate you going the extra mile.”
“Just don’t forget the reason for the call. I need to know the postage.”
“We’ll have that for you as soon as possible.” A pause. “Check the mail when you get home. Anything else?”
“Negative.”
Skip heard the call terminated from the other end.
A delivery truck pulled up outside the shop, and Helmut stepped out and slammed the door. He had a plastic grocery sack swinging from his hand. He was smiling, whistling, his fake black mustache curled like a villain’s. At the sight of Skip, he gave a thumbs up, then looked around. “Where?”
Skip pointed. “Crashed in the office chair.”
“You’ve pulled one off for the books, my friend. Snatching your principal out from the jaws of… What’s wrong?”
“Pretty sure communications have been compromised.”
Helmut lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “How? It’s a scrambled, line-of-sight, focused beam, magic quantum satellite phone. Q bragged, remember?”
“Yeah,” Skip said and stared at the satellite phone. “Pray Randall works out a quick extraction for Anika and Schott, then—”
Skip’s cell rang. “Guten tag.”
“Alpen Motorrad?” Q’s voice came through. “Uh, I don’t know how to explain this but I just lost a motorcycle.”
“How?” Skip asked coldly.
“It was here one minute and gone the next.”
Skip sighed.
“More trouble?” Helmut asked.
“Schott’s gone.”
“What? What possessed him to do something so stupid?”
Q’s voice came through the phone. “Hang on. There’s a knock at the door. Maybe it’s him.”
Skip listened, hearing Q as he opened the door, saying, “Yes? What can I…”
Then came the sound of the phone clattering loudly as if dropped onto the hard floor. A sodden thump sounded. Then a crunching… followed by an ominous silence.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
As he walked down the street, Mark Schott cast furtive glances behind him, trying to remember every spy movie Denise had forced him to watch. He’d hated those nights, sitting in the living room, eyes fixed on the TV, watching Matt Damon as Jason Bourne. Throughout the entire movie, he’d dissected every twist in the plot, every miraculous escape, and told himself how far-fetched it all was.
Now I’m god-damned living it.
Wracking his brain, he tried to remember every detail. Movies—fantasies though they were—still used consultants to create the illusion of reality. So, how many of the things he’d seen on television were actually based on fact?
“Why didn’t I pay more attention?”
Because he’d been an arrogant professor and an intellectually superior prick.
He surveyed the street as surreptitiously as he could. And another fact came crashing down on him. He was an American, in a German city, who didn’t speak a word of the language. He had a couple of hundred Euros, no identification, an illegal pistol, and a cell phone.
Mark stopped short, blinking, wondering at the limits of his stupidity, or even if there was such a thing.
“Come on, Mark. Figure this out.”
Get your ass back to the safe house before you’re arrested by the Munich police.
Instead, he walked into a coffee shop on the corner, ordered a cappuccino, and sat by the window, watching the street. As he sipped, a sense of desolation grew within him. Where the hell was Denise? He closed his eyes, trying to imagine it from her perspective. And Will? Christ, he was only fourteen, bright and sensitive. And little Jake? What was it like to be nine, abducted, and scared witless?
“God, Denise.” He rubbed his jaw, feeling his short beard. So, when a man had destroyed everyone he’s ever been in contact with, how the hell did he atone?
He worked the problem.
Pulling Michelle’s cell phone from his pocket, he blinked at it.
Work the problem…
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Arms crossed, Maureen Cole braced herself against the desk and listened to the speakerphone on Amy Randall’s desk. As Skip recounted the latest setback, Maureen watched Randall’s expression turn anxious.
She felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her heart. Anika was free.
Randall’s office was nice, accessed through a secretary out front. The place had wood-paneled walls, bookcases, a plush carpet, high ceilings, a huge desk, and a separate workstation. Photos of the president, the Secretary of State, and George Washington hung on the walls, while the photo of an older couple—who Maureen figured were Randall’s parents—stood on the desk.
Skip’s voice came through the speaker. “Helmut reports that the safe house is trashed. Electronics are smashed and equipment scattered about.”
“And Nelson?”
“Who?”
“The CIA tech.”
A two-second pause. “Dead.”
“How is Anika?” Maureen called from across the room.
“Safe, but exhausted,” Skip answered. “Says she has information that will help Israel and New York. Best to get her out as quickly as possible.”
“We’re working on that,” Randall told him.
“I could get her to Ramstein, walk in through the A Gate, and place her on a military jet for home. No one would be the wiser.”
Randall gave Maureen a guarded look, then added, “There are some additional considerations we’ve been forced to take into account.”
After a short silence, Skip growled, “What?”
“You’re just going to have to trust me on this. You’re in a ‘need to know’ circumstance.”
“Come on, Amy. I’ve been in the trenches before. If it was just my ass, I’d say sure, I’ll take the risk but Anika didn’t sign on for covert work. You need to get her home.”
“Soon, but not now.” Randall steepled her fingers.
“Madam Assistant to the Secretary,” Skip’s irritation was plain. “I advise you to have a military transport waiting at Ramstein, because that’s where I’m taking Dr. French.”
“I’ve already…”
&nb
sp; Maureen vigorously shook her head, face cold as stone.
“Just a moment,” Randall said, stabbing the mute button. “What?”
“Come clean with him,” Maureen suggested. “Skip and Anika are both desperate.”
Randall thumbed the button again. “Okay, Murphy, here’s the problem: Anika’s father is missing. We’re fairly certain ECSITE kidnapped him. We’re worried that ECSITE will use him—”
“Christ! Why didn’t you tell me that when you first learned of it?”
Randall leaned forward. “Need to know, Murphy.”
“All right. I’ll explain it all to Anika.”
Maureen heard the connection break and stopped pacing, trying to calculate the next domino to fall. It was probably in Israel but maybe somewhere to the north of Manhattan…
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Skip studied the distant compound through his high-powered lens. Since he’d extracted Anika, the place almost appeared to be on holiday. Only occasionally did people cross the grassy area behind the palace. The usual line of morning commuters no longer queued at the gate for admission. Only the patrols were as active as usual, their dogs and machine guns reminiscent of a military compound in a war zone. Zoakalski seemed to have forted up.
Was this the same guy who’d shot up the Italian villa? The one who’d snatched Anika from the very arms of the FBI? What the hell was Zoakalski up to?
Stephanie’s Jaguar hadn’t made an appearance. So, where was she? Keeping a low profile until Zoakalski cooled off? Or had she ditched the Jag in favor of something less conspicuous? And, in that case, was she running or hunting?
“I don’t know what to think.” Skip pulled back from the scope and glanced at Anika where she lay on a sleeping bag, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Even in the dim light, he could see she was scared silly.
“Skip, I’m not kidding. I have to get back to DC.”
“I know.”
“Why can’t you get me home?”
Skip bowed his head for a moment. “I think Randall is afraid you’ll stop cooperating with the government if ECSITE hurts your father.”
“For God’s sake, I already knew they had him. Zoakalski told me! I’m trying to get home so I can show them how to protect the country from my own model!”
“I understand that, I’m trying—”
“No, you don’t,” she hissed in a frantic voice. “I’ve seen their bioweapons lab. The number of diseases they have stored is huge. Zoakalski’s team is working on my model as we speak and they’re good. Really good.”
Skip rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Actually, Anika, for the time being, I think you should focus on yourself because I have the feeling the DOD plans to use you for bait.”
She seemed to be holding her breath. “Randall told you that?”
“Not yet. But I’m pretty sure that’s where this is going.”
She curled up on her side on the sleeping bag. “What do you think I should do?”
He studied her thoughtfully. “I can’t advise you either way. I agree that Zoakalski is not the kind of guy you want to underestimate but getting you home may be beyond my ability.”
“Why can’t you just have someone drop me at Ramstein, like you said? I’ll find a way to get home by myself.”
Skip exhaled hard and studied the compound through the lens again. “Let me try to…”
His phone rang. Skip hit the button and placed it to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Skip?” Mark Schott said uncertainly. “I have a message for you. Mi Chan Li wants to know if you’re familiar with Spago. It’s a restaurant in Garmisch. She sends her regards and asks you to meet her there at five. A table outside has been reserved for the two of you. She says to ride the Ducati. Alone. Her people will be watching but you are guaranteed safe passage. She just wants to talk.”
“About what?”
He heard Mark swallow hard before saying. “She would like to discuss a trade.”
“Ask her how I can be sure of her good intentions.”
After a pause, Mark said, “She said to tell you she owes you one. That you’ll understand.”
He severed the call.
Skip hit the end button and looked back at Anika. “Schott says Mi Chan Li wants to discuss a trade at a restaurant in Garmisch. Now, there’s a twist I never saw coming.”
Chapter Eighty
Mark handed the phone back to Michelle. He still had a hard time thinking of her as Mi Chan Li. Her ‘associate’, Yang, sat back in a chair, his arms braced on the back. His thick gray hair, square face, and hard eyes betrayed no emotion as he asked, “He will come?”
Mark shrugged, frightened half out of his wits. “I don’t know. He sounded suspicious.”
“He’ll come,” Li announced. “He’s that type of man.”
Mark glanced around the small room. No more than five paces by three, the furniture consisted of a bed, small table, and a chair. The walls were painted in scarlet. Red fluorescent lights added to the garish quality. The air carried the scent of perfume and, to his dismay, short ropes ending in loops hung from each corner of the cheap bed frame.
“Herr professor is uncomfortable in a whore’s bed?” Yang said and gestured around. “What better place to remain out of sight than a brothel, eh? The locals are used to furtive men entering and leaving at all hours of the day.”
Mark took a breath. He could hear faint music, occasional laughter and voices. Sometimes, people had passed beyond the door, their German unintelligible.
“Come,” Yang said, rising from the chair, his stiff leg making the action awkward. “There are people waiting to see you.”
Li leaned forward, her dark eyes close to Mark’s as she flicked a knife open and severed the zip ties that bound his wrists and ankles. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Why?” Mark tried to read her expression. Now, he was even more scared than he had been.
He stood, tottered as circulation came back, and followed Yang out into an ornate hallway. Indirect, red lighting reflected from foiled wallpaper that depicted giant red roses. The faint scent of marijuana carried on the perfumed air.
Yang in front, Li behind, they made their way down the hall past closed doors. Passing an open one, Mark glanced in to see two young women in provocative lingerie sitting side-by-side on a bed. Both had cigarettes hanging loosely between their index and middle fingers. When they glanced his way, neither could have been older than twenty, their eyes flat and dismissive.
At the end of the hall, Yang produced a key and unlocked a padlock from a hasp. Then he input a code into a keypad set into the wall and the door clicked.
Mark was ushered onto a landing and found a stairway headed down.
Yang limped his way down the steps, unlocked a second padlock, and input his code into another keypad. “Double security,” he said. “Wouldn’t want anyone in the basement pounding on the upstairs door. Could lead to questions.”
Mark bit his lip, dreading what he’d find behind that last door.
When it swung open, Yang stepped back and motioned for him to go first. “You’ll want private time.”
Mark gave the man a sidelong glance, wondering what would happen if he kicked him in the bad leg.
Michelle would slice my guts open with her knife. She’d stayed close behind him all the way down, her entire attention fixed on him.
Mark stepped into the dark room. Yang flicked on a light—and slammed the door shut.
Mark wheeled, grabbing the doorknob, trying desperately to open it. Then, in frustration, he slapped a hand against the heavy steel. The faint sound of steps faded into silence.
He turned, staring around. The walls were concrete; dark floor joists cluttered with cobwebs composed the ceiling. Boxes were stacked here and there and several old beds stood along the far wall.
The air carried a dank smell and the floor was featureless concrete with a single drain in the center. Pipes ran past the two fluorescent lights hanging from the joists.
/> Something moved on one of the beds, and he stared, seeing a familiar face peering at him.
Mark cried out as he rushed across the floor, gazing incredulously at the bound figures on the beds.
“Jake? Will? Denise?” he dropped to his knees beside the bed, pulling the tape off Denise’s mouth.
“Oh, God,” Denise whispered. “Get us out of here.”
Mark pulled strips of gray tape from Will’s mouth, then Jake’s. Jake was crying, his chest rising and falling. Will looked terrified, watching with bright, unbelieving eyes.
“Are you okay?” He pulled futilely at Jake’s zip-tied wrists.
“Oh, God. Oh, God,” Denise kept repeating. “Just get us out of here.”
Mark staggered to his feet, looking around the room. “We’ll be okay. Hang in there. I’ll find something.”
A search of the boxes turned up nothing useful. Most of it was old bedding, moldy and worn. Finally, on a lip of the concrete wall, he found a bottle. Its bottom was thick with some dried substance. Grasping it by the neck, he broke it on the floor and crossed to the beds.
“Hold still.” He carefully severed the zip ties, helping Denise sit up. Then he went to the boys, cutting the bindings.
“Daddy?” Jake cried, flinging his arms around Mark’s chest and burying his face.
“Shhh. It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right.”
Will flung himself at Mark. “Dad, where have you been?”
“I’m here now.” Hot tears welled in Mark’s eyes and for what seemed an eternity he clutched the boys to his breast.
Finally, he pulled free and looked at Denise. Her hair and clothing were filthy. She gazed at him like she didn’t really see him.
Is she in shock?
He crossed to her with the boys following close behind him. Taking her hand, he asked, “Are you all right?”
With vacant eyes, she shook her head. “What did we do to deserve this?”
“It’s going to be all right.” He had no idea what to say.
Fracture Event: An Espionage Disaster Thriller Page 26