Romeo's Tell (A disappearance mystery turned international thriller)

by William Neubauer

  The time passed quickly amid the great sounds of a classic album and the smooth ride of a luxury sports car. As he pulled into Hugo’s, Chad was singing along with Daltrey about the new boss and the old boss. He turned off the ignition just as The Who were putting the finishing touches on what he considered their best album.

  Hugo’s didn’t look like much. Just a run-down warehouse in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a crumbling parking lot and a few huge trucks. Perfect.

  Chad walked around to the left side of the building and found a door bearing a sign with most of the letters of the word OFFICE still visible. Taking just a second to get his names straight—mostly his own—he swung open the door and stepped inside.

  There wasn’t much in this outer office of Hugo’s other than a counter at the far end. Behind the counter were doors to what appeared to be the inner offices. A scruffy looking man with peeper-style reading glasses who looked to be in his mid-fifties sat at the counter on an old barstool reading the newspaper. He didn’t look up until Chad had made his way across the unfinished concrete floor and had been waiting at the counter for several seconds.

  “Yeah,” the man eventually managed.

  “I’m here to see Hugo.”

  “You can talk to me.”

  Chad ignored the suggestion. “Tell Hugo that Mr. Green is here to see him. He’s expecting me.”

  The counter man looked over the top of his glasses at Chad without saying anything. Eventually he turned slowly around and walked about ten feet to one of the closed doors behind the counter. He knocked twice, opened the door enough to poke his head through, and mumbled something to whomever was inside, presumably Hugo. He then closed the door, sat back down in his barstool and resumed reading the paper.

  About a minute later, a short, stocky man came out of the office. This guy was apparently Hugo and, fortunately, he was considerably more personable than his counter help. “Mr. Green, right on time,” he said, extending his hand to Chad.

  “You must be Hugo.”

  “That I am. At your service.”

  “You’ve received payment and instructions?”

  “Yes. Everything is in order. Instructions are clear and we will do everything to the letter. As per instructions. It’s what we do. You have the car?”

  “Right outside,” Chad said, as he motioned in the direction of the front parking lot with one hand and slid the Corvette’s keys across the countertop in Hugo’s direction with the other.

  “And you have one for me?”

  “Of course. Keeping it inside, as per instructions. It’s what we do.” Hugo handed Chad the keys to a 2012 BMW 528i. “Come on around back. You can drive it right out the garage door.” Hugo motioned to Chad to walk around the counter and the two stepped through the door to the main warehouse.

  Hugo’s warehouse possessed a certain aura of chaos. Chad found himself wondering how many fire marshals had to be paid off to keep the place in operation. There was a mix of boxed merchandise, used furniture, old equipment, and vehicles of different types, including what appeared to be a Sherman tank. “A collector friend of mine,” Hugo said, as they walked past the armored relic.

  Just when Chad was afraid they were going to run out of warehouse, they came upon the BMW, way in the back, positioned to drive right out of the building. Hugo pushed a button on his keychain remote and the overhead door began to rise.

  He extended his hand. “Tank is full, Mr. Green. Have a good trip.”

  “You know the importance of timing with delivery?”

  “Time, place, person. No worries. As per instructions. It’s what we do,” Hugo added, repeating his reassuring, if not slightly vague, motto. The two men shook hands.

  Chad started up the spotless BMW and rolled smoothly out through the open garage door. He was only twenty feet away when he noticed the door already closing behind him. He hit the gas, sending loose parking lot slag into the air.

  As he drove around to the front of the building, he noticed the Corvette had already been moved. As per instructions.

  He turned up the stereo and settled in. He had a long drive ahead.

  Chapter 36

  Special Agent Thomas Jarboe was elated. Chad Swan had made his first mistake. Jarboe now had specific information about how Swan would be traveling to his demise at a small tavern in Cambridge, Massachusetts known as The Black Cat. As he rushed down the hallway to Special Agent-in-Charge Fox’s office, Jarboe nearly knocked over a young admin assistant.

  Fox’s door was closed when Jarboe got to it, but this news was too big for doors. Jarboe gave three quick knocks and then let himself in. Fox, who was in the middle of discussing a case with another agent, looked at Jarboe with dagger eyes and an otherwise blank expression.

  “Thomas? We’re in a meeting here.”

  “Sorry Milton, but you’ll want to know this.”

  “I hope so. What is it?”

  “We got a hit on Chad Swan. He rented a car at Dallas/Fort Worth International three hours ago using a known alias.”

  Uncharacteristically, Fox did a little arm pump and whispered, “Yes!”

  Jarboe continued. “He used the same alias six months ago and we’re sure it’s his. We’ll have particulars on the car within the hour and—”

  “We need someone in the Dallas field office to get over there and review the security tapes with the rental employee. I want a physical description of Swan to go with the info on the car. He may well have changed his appearance.”

  “On it. You want to put out an APB?”

  Fox took a second to think. Swan had a history of monitoring police communications and Fox was concerned about the risk of driving him underground again. But at the same time, he didn’t want to leave room to be second-guessed on tactics. “Hmm. Yeah, let’s go ahead with the APB.”

  “Sounds good,” Jarboe said as he made his way to the door. “What about Drake from the Syracuse PD? You want me to let him know about this?”

  “No, I’ll take care of that. And Thomas . . . ,” Fox started emphatically, causing Jarboe to stop in his tracks. “Make sure no one—I mean no one—does anything to spook the daughter. No tails. Nothing beyond the tap. We know where Swan is going to be, when he will be there, and now, what he’ll be driving and what he’ll look like. Let’s keep our ability to trap him in place just in case the APB doesn’t turn up anything.”

  “You got it,” Jarboe confirmed, and then was gone.

  Chapter 37

  Less than three hours after learning that Chad Swan had rented a car at Dallas/Fort Worth International, Fox and Jarboe were working in media room 2 of the FBI Washington Metropolitan Field Office. They were intently watching surveillance footage from the Avis rental counter, courtesy of the Bureau’s Dallas Division.

  “He’s good at keeping his face away from the cameras,” noted Jarboe as he and Fox watched the disappointingly routine transaction. “Look at the way his hand goes up as he turns toward the camera to his left to make eye contact with the clerk. This guy is a pain in the ass.”

  “Well the beard is new,” Fox pointed out. No guarantee he won’t shave it off between now and Thursday night, but we should at least put that out to the team.”

  Jarboe nodded in agreement.

  The two sat silently, wishing the video provided a bit more help.

  “The surveillance boys looked at this already?” Fox asked, just to be sure.

  “Yeah. They didn’t come up with much more. They did mention the tattoo on his right hand. See the scorpion?”

  “Ah, yes, now that you mention it. I missed that.”

  “It doesn’t show up very well in here.”

  “But no denying it’s there. Put that out too, along with the beard and the description of the car.”

  “Anything else?” Jarboe asked as Fox’s iPhone began to sound.

  “Nope. Just keep me posted if anything turns up on the APB.”

  Jarboe nodded, deliberately making eye contact just as Fox turned to
step out of the media room, answering his call with a simple, “Fox.”

  Chapter 38

  Then

  Romeo knew Jill would be quite disoriented when she finally came to. So much the better. Out of necessity, he had taken her to his place while he put a few of the final pieces of his grand plan in place. Even at her sharpest, Jill would not have been able to determine where he had taken her. Given the fog she would be in when she came around, there would be no way she could figure it out. No worries on that front.

  The logistics of Romeo’s plan from this point were rather complicated. He had to move Jill to a remote location where she would eventually be discovered and do so without leaving any possible way to trace her abduction back to him.

  Right now, he had her on a couch in a locked room below ground—unconscious of course. With a little luck, she would remain unconscious until he was able to get her to the desolate spot he had carefully selected for acting out his deluded fantasy, his more-important-than-the-money reason for doing all of this. But unfortunately, that was not to be.

  By the time he had worked out the furtive transportation details and returned to his captive, she was already awake and walking around her prison with an annoying headache. She had had enough of his charade.

  Jill started talking to him as soon as he entered the room. “You should take that silly mask off.”

  Romeo had a sense of where this was going, and his frustration and anger were already rapidly mounting.

  “This has gone on long enough. I’m not sure what game it is you’re playing, but I want to go home now.”

  He started walking toward her. He could tell from the way she was talking to him that she knew his identity and because of that, he had gone very quickly from calculating to raging. He was close enough to touch her now.

  “I know who you are. You’re—”

  Before Jill could speak his given name, he grabbed her by the throat and pushed her back to the couch. He was surprised at the feeling of power it gave him. He never would have expected that having such ultimate control over her would give him such a feeling of potency. He felt—like an animal.

  As her arms flailed uselessly, he laid her down into the couch and straddled her, still giving her no chance to take precious air. He tightened his grip and she felt a life-ending pressure. He knew he should stop. The plan was never to kill her. But it felt so good. And the plan was ruined anyway, the last logical realization he had before his evil core took him—and Jill.

  Jill’s hands straightened and her fingers spread to the point where they almost bent backward. She was out of air. He began to feel deep, visceral pleasure engorge within him as if her life force was being absorbed into his body and building until it would burst in a wave of forbidden, unholy gratification.

  He thought again, just briefly, about letting go, allowing her to breathe. But it still felt so good. How could this be wrong? He brushed the thought aside, incapable of self-control. He gave no thought to how Jill felt at this unspeakably horrible moment, but only continued descending deeper and deeper into the perverted pleasure of snuffing out her life.

  He continued even after her body went limp.

  At length, the wave subsided.

  A young woman—beautiful in every way—was dead.

  And a soulless monster had discovered himself.

  Chapter 39

  Two Months Later

  September, 1987

  The Mines of Paris

  Of all the unique and exotic locations where the Conclave conducted its clandestine meetings, its haven in les carrières de Paris was by far Macbeth’s favorite. The Conclave controlled only a relatively small portion—roughly 12,000 square feet—of the 170-plus mile network of tunnels and caverns, but their domain was elegantly customized, completely secluded, and privately accessible from an ancient, Conclave-owned building in southern Paris.

  The Retreat—as the Conclave referred to its secret alcove in the deep, intricate web of old limestone quarries—featured a private wine cellar, restaurant, exercise room, and vault in addition to two fully equipped meeting rooms and ten spacious bedroom suites. There was also a small private reservoir where Macbeth occasionally liked to go to wind down. It reminded him of the larger pond beneath the nearby Palais Garnier, depicted in Leroux’s novel The Phantom of the Opera, and incorrectly believed by many to be merely myth.

  A complex web of hidden passages separated the Retreat from the the bulk of the old mine tunnels and protected it from the exploits of cataphiles, the urban explorers who illegally roamed the Paris “catacombs.”

  Despite holding a meeting in his favorite location, Macbeth was not at all happy today. Neither were Iago and the rest of the secretive group. There might even be danger of exposure for the Conclave. A seemingly simple operation had been completely mishandled by their apprentice enforcer, Claudius, who was, at the moment, on the hot seat.

  “So, let me repeat what I believe I just heard,” Iago said to his designated successor. “You planned to kidnap this Chad Swan’s fiancée and then use her as leverage, but the man you hand-picked for the job, your Romeo, killed her instead?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid that is correct,” Claudius said.

  The silence that followed was interrupted by Macbeth. “What is the current status of the original problem?”

  Claudius let out a sigh. “Well, Swan has taken an indefinite leave of absence to search for the missing woman, so he is out of the equation.”

  “So our troublesome cat is skinned another way.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  Iago took in an audibly deep breath in preparation to speak. “It seems we will need to eliminate Romeo to minimize our exposure.”

  Claudius shook his head. “With respect, I would advise against that right now. Romeo has much to lose—his life actually—if his murder of Swan’s fiancée becomes known. And he knows nothing about us anyway. Even if he is somehow tied to the woman’s disappearance, he knew her long before our involvement. It will appear that he had his own motives, regardless of any crazy-sounding story he may try to tell about some obscure man named Claudius paying him to kidnap the woman. Such a story would never be believed. Taking action on him would only create unnecessary risk.”

  The other members nodded pensively, still evaluating.

  In short order, Macbeth announced the decision. “So be it as spoken by Claudius then.” He looked around the table. “Next item.”

  Chapter 40

  Now

  The Wrath of Khan was actually a better flick than Morgan had expected. A bit dated perhaps, but not bad for sci-fi. Not that she could enjoy it really. She was far too caught up in trying to find the part with the supposedly coded message. And she was not having much luck.

  Then, just as she began to consider giving up and trying something else, she heard it. It was Spock when he was giving Kirk a damage report about their ship, the Enterprise.

  Spock was speaking much the same way Chad did when he called Morgan, referring to going by the book and using similar this could seem like that language, but instead of day and night, Spock used hours and days.

  Spock tells Kirk that it will take two days for them to be able to beam Kirk and his party back to the ship. But just two hours later, Kirk flips open his communicator and Spock is ready for him. Knowing their communications were being monitored, Spock and Kirk had conversed in a code where “days” really meant “hours.”

  Morgan turned off the TV, done with the Wrath of Khan until who-knew-when she would have time to watch the rest of it. Apparently, her father had reason to believe that someone was listening in on their call. Wow, he took a chance on me figuring this out, Morgan thought. But then again, he knew his daughter well enough to know she wouldn’t rest until she understood all of what he’d said.

  So, she reasoned, if days were really hours in the movie conversation, then her father must have meant day was really night when he said “day could seem like night.” Clear enough. But what
about the rest of what he said?

  He had also said “Spanish could seem like English.” What the hell could that mean? She reasoned that this reference must relate to the place. And, following the same “this could seem like that” pattern, it seemed logical that she must be looking for the name of a place in Spanish.

  Black Cat in Spanish would be Gato Negro. But she knew of no place called Gato Negro. She took a minute and checked online. No Gato Negro within a thousand miles. Could her father really expect her to travel that far? She thought not.

  Then she remembered his exact words. He hadn’t just said “Spanish could seem like English.” He had said “Spanish could seem like fractured English.” Fractured English? So there was something wrong with the words “Black Cat?”

  She started repeating “Black Cat” over and over to herself, knowing this would cause it to lose its meaning to her and thus free her from preconceptions. She allowed herself to hear it rather than see it. “Black Cat, Black Cat, Black Cat, Black Cat, Bla—”

  And then it hit her. Like a lightning bolt.

  A smile came slowly to her lips as she said softly to the picture of Chad Swan on the side table in her living room, “Nice Dad. Nice.”

  Chapter 41

  Four Days Later

  Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Despite the inexplicable fact that the APB on Chad Swan and his rented Corvette had turned up nothing, Special Agent-in-Charge Milton Fox was about as confident as he could be that everything was properly in place for Operation Iron Noose. From his vantage point in the parking garage across the street from the Black Cat, he had an excellent view of the planned meeting place as well as a line of sight to the positions of half of the 25-member task force he had assembled to apprehend Chad Swan. That task force consisted of FBI special agents, federal marshals, Massachusetts state police, and local Cambridge police as well as Detective Tom Drake from the Syracuse PD.