by Leslie Wolfe
...98
...Tuesday October 18, 10:23AM Local Time (UTC-4:00 hours)
...Bahamas Territorial Waters
...Bahamas
The Sea Ray moved slowly at no wake speed, leaving the Harbour Bay Marina and heading toward the open waters. It had just passed under the Atlantis Bridge, leaving the marina behind and Paradise Island to the right. Then it turned the corner around Paradise Beach and headed north, gently increasing speed. When it was about a mile away from the shore, the Sea Ray stopped and started drifting in the calm currents.
Daniel Krumholz left the steering wheel of the Sea Ray and went below deck. The boat’s owner, Muhammad Sadiq, grunted unhappily when he saw Daniel, his grunts barely audible under the duct tape covering his mouth. His hands and feet were tied with white plastic cable ties. He was trying to worm his way toward the door, moving awkwardly without much success.
Daniel kicked him in the shin.
“Stay there,” he said. Sadiq fell silent and stopped moving, watching Daniel with fearful eyes.
Daniel opened a small pouch attached to his belt and extracted a short-bladed scalpel. He held it close to Sadiq’s face.
“I have a few questions, and you will answer them. If I’m not happy with your answers, I will cut you.”
Sadiq nodded. Sweat was beading on his face, and he breathed with difficulty.
“What’s with all this money?” Daniel asked, ripping the duct tape off Sadiq’s mouth with a quick move and pointing at an open beer cooler loaded to the brim with hundred-dollar bills.
Sadiq didn’t answer. He was panting, struggling to catch his breath.
Swiftly, Daniel ran his blade against Sadiq’s left arm, leaving a bleeding gash right above the cable ties immobilizing his hands. Sadiq yelped.
“The money? Where’s it coming from?”
“Bahamas bank,” Sadiq articulated.
“Whose is it?” Daniel asked calmly.
“Mine...all mine,” he whispered between shattered breaths. “I am rich...I can make you rich...just say how much,” he continued, and then suddenly screamed. Another gash opened right above the first one. He watched with terror in his eyes while his blood flowed freely and dripped into a pool on the floor.
“Whose is it?” Daniel asked again, using the same calm tone of voice.
Sadiq gasped for air a couple of times.
“The council...we all contribute, raise the money.”
“Where do you meet?”
“I...I...” Sadiq stuttered, breathing heavily.
Another cut came immediately.
“Aarghh...Greece,” he managed to articulate, “we meet in Greece.”
“Where in Greece?”
“I don’t know...No! Don’t! I really don’t know; he picks us up by chopper,” Sadiq said, not taking his eyes off the scalpel in Daniel’s hand.
“Who? Who leads the council?”
“I...I don’t know,” Sadiq whispered. He screamed again, a long wailing sound of pain and desperation, as Daniel’s blade cut deep into his thigh, right above his left knee.
“Who leads the council?” Daniel repeated. He was starting to lose his temper; this was taking too long, especially for a frail man in his seventies.
“V...” the man tried to articulate, gasping for air and choking. “Vi...” he tried again, taking his tied hands to his chest and grasping at the collar of his shirt, as if it were choking him. He gasped one more time, a hoarse, gurgling noise, as his eyes glossed over. His head fell to his chest, and he didn’t move anymore.
Daniel checked for the man’s pulse. He was dead, gone, taking his secrets with him.
“Fakakta drek,” he swore in his native language, taking a picture with his cell.
He climbed above deck wearing swim trunks and splashed into the clear waters, executing a nice dive from the Sea Ray’s rear platform. He swam all the way back to shore, coming out of the water right next to the Nassau Harbour lighthouse.
A scooter waited for him there. He took a towel out of the scooter’s small trunk and wiped his face and hands with it. Reaching inside the trunk again, he found a flip phone and speed-dialed a number without looking. His eyes were on the horizon line, where the Sea Ray’s silhouette was barely visible against the hazy sky.
The yacht exploded as Daniel watched. Satisfied, he hopped on the scooter and started toward the city.
Only scattered debris and hundred-dollar bills remained on the water where the Sea Ray had floated, dispersing slowly on the wavy ocean surface.
...99
...Tuesday October 18, 2:41PM Local Time (UTC+2:00 hours)
...Brunni-Alpthal Ski Resort
...Zurich, Switzerland
Ahmad Javadi was not willing to accept age as a reality of life. In fact, he used every opportunity to defy it, to battle it at all cost, hoping to stay and feel young for as long as possible. Although fifty-seven, he had recently rediscovered his long-forgotten passion for skiing. In his youth, he had been addicted to the buzz of high-speed descents on the slopes of Dizin and Alvarez, in his native Iran. With his current business interests placing him in Switzerland for a while, he was making the most of his stay on the slopes, spending at least one day a week taking ski lifts up to the peaks of Dietikon, Genossenschaft Steig-Baretswil, or Brunni, and then gliding on the sparkling snow all the way down to the base.
On a beautiful day for skiing, with clear blue skies bringing pale violet shades to the fresh fallen snow on the peaks and valleys of the Alps, Javadi was already enjoying his third ski lift ride. Flushed from the exertion and adrenaline, fresh air, and chilly temperatures, Javadi hopped off the ski lift chair and headed straight to the slope. He wanted one more run before having to head back to the city, and he didn’t have much time left. He went for the long Brunni slope, not the short one, adding a couple hundred meters to the eleven-hundred meters straight Brunni had. He enjoyed taking the side slope: the landscape to his right completely undisturbed, virgin, just mountain ravines and fir trees covered in snow. The difficulty of the slope was also satisfying for the experienced skier, giving him the opportunity for high-speed turns and a little more excitement.
Javadi started his descent without delay, pushing hard into his poles to gain momentum fast. He soon left the crowds behind as he took to the right, leaving the main slope and taking the side one. Behind him, unseen and unheard, another skier was catching up fast. The skier, dressed in a white ski suit, was very hard to see against the fresh snow.
Once close enough to Javadi, the skier controlled his speed of descent, giving Javadi the time to get near the curve of the slope, where the descending ski trail came within a foot of the deep ravine. This risky portion of descent was the reason why the long Brunni was marked a triple black diamond, the highest difficulty rating for ski slopes. The three diamonds meant the slope was narrow at times, fast descending, and presented hazardous challenges. The long Brunni challenged its daring skiers with trees, side winds, and the deep crevasse Javadi was preparing to approach. His turn had to be perfect, or else he’d run into a tree on his left, or dive into the chasm opening at his right.
Focused on calculating his turn, Javadi didn’t notice the other skier catching up with him on the inside. When almost parallel with him, the skier shoved Javadi toward the crevasse with a quick push against his upper arm. Javadi flailed, tried to recover his lost balance, and then went over the edge screaming. The mountains generously returned his screams in echoes, multiplied, amplified, screeching against the serene silence only disturbed by the wind whooshing against majestic fir trees.
The skier in white stopped and looked down into the chasm opening next to him. Splayed at the bottom, Javadi was not moving, and a pool of blood stained the snow near his head, spreading rapidly. The skier took a picture with his phone and then resumed his rapid descent. If he hurried, he could still make the 6:15PM flight back home.
...100
...Wednesday, October 19, 8:51AM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)
/> ...Jeevan Ramachandran’s Residence
...New Delhi, India
Jeevan Ramachandran was running late. It was one of those mornings where he couldn’t find anything he looked for. He wasted a few more minutes trying to find his car keys, then finally left his house, slamming the door behind him. He was running twenty or so minutes later than he had intended, although he was rarely pressed for time. As CEO of ERamSys, he could very well come and go as he pleased, but the signing of a software outsourcing contract worth millions with a new American client was one of the very few occasions that demanded timeliness.
He climbed behind the wheel of his black Cadillac Escalade, parked right outside his house. He started the engine without wasting any more time, and shortly he was driving on the freeway, heading for the office. He pushed the pedal to the metal, trying to compensate for the delay in his departure, honking and swerving constantly around slower traffic.
Concentrated on his demanding maneuvers, he didn’t hear anything. He only felt a slight tickle on his right ankle, and when he looked down to see what it was, the sight froze the blood in his veins. A large king cobra slithered on the car floor around his legs, holding its terrifying head slightly elevated.
He didn’t think; he just reacted. He slammed on the brakes, but the large snake interpreted his sudden move as a sign of aggression. The cobra elevated its head farther, expanded its hood, and attacked, sinking its teeth deep into Ramachandran’s right thigh. He screamed, swerved erratically, and came to a full stop after hitting a pole.
The pain he felt in his thigh spread quickly as the neurotoxin in the snake’s venom made its way through his blood stream. Soon he was paralyzed, in agonizing pain yet without being able to move or make a sound.
A man on a motorcycle slowed as he drove by, taking a good couple of seconds to look at the victim through the car’s window. He took a picture and then accelerated and disappeared into the heavy morning traffic.
...101
...Friday, October 28, 6:09PM PDT (UTC-7:00 hours)
...Tom Isaac’s Residence
...Laguna Beach, California
They ate quietly, the only noises being the clinking of cutlery on plates, the occasional request to pass the salt, or the filling of a glass.
“We’re awfully quiet today,” Alex stated the obvious. “Normally I’d blame it on the excellent food, but this time it feels different.”
“Oh, are you saying the food is not that great?” Tom asked.
“Oh, no, quite the opposite,” Alex reassured him. “It just feels different. When we get together to celebrate the end of a case we’re more lively than this,” she explained, turning toward Robert Wilton and Sam, both attending such dinner celebrations for the first time.
“I think this is great,” Robert commented, pointing at his half-emptied plate.
The skirt steak, grilled with buttered Portabella mushrooms and served with Claire’s signature mashed potatoes, was excellent.
“Absolutely agree,” Sam said, raising his bottle of beer toward Tom.
Steve observed quietly, not interrupting the dialogue. Brian, at his side, was finishing his steak. Lou had finished his meal altogether, after wolfing down the steak in a few large bites.
“Alex, can I get you anything else to drink?” Claire asked. “I see you’re holding an empty glass.”
“Yes, Claire, please. I would love another angry mojito. They’re really good.”
“I’ll make that,” Tom offered. “Always leave work assignments to the highest qualified workforce, right?” Everyone chuckled. “What else can I bring you? Robert, another beer?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Me too,” Sam said.
“Me three,” Brian joked.
“All right, full round of drinks coming right up.”
He came back shortly, as everyone was finishing up.
“I think I know what it is,” Alex said, “with our silence. The case we’re celebrating, it’s closed but not quite, and I think this bothers you all just as much as it bothers me.”
“You have a point there, kiddo,” Sam said. “But we have, in fact, fulfilled our mission.”
Steve lit a cigar and leaned back more comfortably in his chair.
“Have we, really?” Alex asked. “Yes, we prevented a disaster of immense proportions by thwarting a plan to steal our elections. Never before has a terrorist organization planned to decide our next American president somewhere outside our borders. Yes, we countered that plan. We have achieved that. We have also prevented the multi-point terrorist attacks scheduled to happen at some point in the future. We, all of us here, have restored the integrity and safety of our Election Day and election process. And your friends,” she said, pointing at Sam, “took care of the bad guys. Even better, none of us are in jail. Yet.”
She paused, allowing time for anyone who wanted to interject, but no one did. “This is all the good stuff. But I still don’t know who X is. We still don’t know who the leader, the architect of this plan was. You have to give it to him; it was a great plan. It almost worked. It took Robert’s solid conscience combined with sheer luck to get us to find out this much about them and reclaim the integrity of our elections process.” She stopped talking, deep in thought, her fork stuck in mid-air.
“We got lucky this time, but let’s face it,” she continued, “this X has thought up a plan that has greatness in it, boldness. He has some serious cojones, this guy. X is smart, calculated, a brilliant orchestrator able to forge a global game of immense reach with laser precision. It bothers me that he’s still out there, planning his next move. We think we won, but in fact, the devil’s move is next. The game is still on, and it will be on until we catch X, or whatever we want to call him. And what exactly do we know about him?”
“We do know a little more than before. We know for sure he’s Russian, and his nickname is V, or that’s his initial. We know last time the group met in Greece, somewhere within a half hour by chopper from Thessaloniki. That’s the extent of what we know, unfortunately,” Sam said.
“Not nearly enough to call the case done,” Alex said bitterly. “I know you said that some of these cases take a long time to really close, but I’m not a spy, Sam, I don’t have your patience. I want the bastard to hang now. I wanna know who he is. I wanna look him straight in the eye while we take him down.”
“Spies aren’t patient by choice, kiddo. They’re patient by need. This is the game we have to play. It’s covert, all smoke and mirrors, and you have to wait, wait like a spider who weaves its web and waits. Sooner or later it will work if the web is woven well. We’re working on that, right, kiddo? So take it easy, ’cause this anger I sense brewing inside you will only get you to screw up. Only a cool-headed agent is able to interpret information accurately. A hot-headed, frustrated one will get emotional and then get killed.”
“I’m not an agent,” Alex said, and to her own surprise, with sadness in her voice. “I am not spy material.”
“Yes, you are,” Sam countered, “and a darn good one. If I weren’t retired I’d try to recruit you for the CIA right now.”
“Don’t you dare,” Tom said, “she’s all mine.”
Steve chuckled.
“Sorry, Sam,” Alex joked. “Tom pays way better than the government.”
They all burst into laughter.
“Alex,” Robert said as soon as the laughter subsided a little, “you might not be happy with the outcome of this case, but you protected us, my wife and me, and we’re both very grateful to all of you. You and your terrific team saved our lives.”
Alex nodded, accepting the compliment, but her bitterness remained. “Helms is still out there, chased by the Israelis. Your lives might still be at risk. Robert, be very careful. Helms is still in the wind, so even that’s not closed yet. And we might still go to jail over this, at some point in our lives, you know.”
“Sure, but something tells me we won’t,” Sam reassured her. “This is not how such th
ings are handled. No one wants this kind of story to make it out to the public, so they wouldn’t risk it at this point, even if they somehow learned about it. It would make the responsible agencies seem like they’re asleep at the wheel, right? No one has any interest whatsoever in blowing this thing wide open now, or at any time in the future. Plus, we did nail us some fairly big terrorists, right? That should buy us some slack with law enforcement agencies.”
Lou nodded vigorously. “Yep, yep,” he whispered.
“I agree,” Steve said, his first words in the entire evening.
“Well, I might have to disagree, unfortunately,” Robert said. “I had to inform my boss, the main shareholder of DCBI. A few days ago, I brought him up to speed and offered my resignation. He wants me to stay until after Election Day and fully oversee this engagement, but afterward I’m out. Early retirement I would call it, if everything else were OK. However, at that time Campbell might want to hold me accountable for what I have done. I could go to prison for the rest of my life, or be executed for treason. God only knows.”
Alex looked at Tom, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Umm...not really,” she said. “During the course of our investigation we have ascertained that Melanie’s heart failure was induced through prolonged and carefully timed exposure to certain drug mixes. She was poisoned. Her heart failure was induced, Robert. Not to mention a DUI doesn’t automatically disqualify heart transplant candidates. We’ve checked. You were set up. You are not a traitor; you are a victim. Melanie is a victim too.” Alex looked at everyone around the table. “And we’re willing to testify to that.”
“Yep,” Sam confirmed.
Tom raised his glass toward Robert and smiled with kindness.