The few days left in the week and weekend were tedious and slow, but on Monday they boarded their flight and that afternoon got Maria in for an MRI by Dr. Thomas Wright’s staff. Dr. Wright was considered one of the world’s leading brain surgeons.
As the test results came back and the neurologist’s review was submitted, Dr. Wright verified John’s worst fears: Maria had Grade Three Malignant Meningioma. Surgery would have to take place, and soon.
Numb, his legs moving independent from the churning blankness in his mind, John checked himself and Maria into their room across from the clinic. With help from some medication, Maria dozed off. John fell into a chair in the sitting room, lost in disbelief. Then his phone rang.
“Hello?”
“John, Dr. Wright here. How’s everybody holding up?”
“As well as can be expected, I guess. Maria’s asleep. We just need some hope to cling to, you know?”
There was a heavy silence. “Well unfortunately, I actually wanted to speak with you privately about the seriousness of Maria’s tumor.”
John’s stomach tightened. Could it possibly get worse?
“I’m not here to frighten anyone, especially not Maria, but I think you should know that after surgery and chemotherapy, there’s around a 25 percent chance of survival. Maybe 30.”
John blinked. Their daughters. What about their daughters? God, no. He wouldn’t know how to ease them into adolescence and adulthood on his own. They’d need their mom. He needed her. Please…
“I just want you both to understand the situation and be prepared for the possible outcomes. I’m sorry. John? Hello?”
But John had come untethered from reality, a foreign panic tingling in his extremities. What if this nervous detachment remained? He couldn’t raise his girls as a zombie. He hung up and dialed Charlotte. By the time she answered the phone, John realized he had tears running down his cheeks and he was sobbing.
“I’m at the Mayo Clinic with Maria and it’s not good news, it’s the worst news you can imagine and… and I don’t know… how I can…”
“Try and relax, take a breath,” Charlotte said gently.
John did, but it didn’t seem to help. Not much. “As you know, Maria was having bad headaches in Rome. We came back and saw Dr. Brindt, and he recommended we go to the Mayo Clinic. And Charlotte, Maria only has a 30 percent survival chance. 30 percent. Two weeks ago everything was fine. We were fine…”
He heard Charlotte draw a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Do the girls know?”
“Not yet. I’m flying them in tomorrow.”
“Should I come? I’d be happy to get on a plane.”
John wanted to say yes. The thought of having Charlotte by his side instantly soothed his anxiety. But she shouldn’t. “Thanks, but let’s wait and see what happens. You have a lot going on right now.” He looked down, tears dropping onto his jeans. “I just needed to hear your voice is all.”
“You’re in my prayers, John.” She paused. “Always.”
CHAPTER ten
Anne’s train brought her into Brussels in the early afternoon. She dressed down, and in black jeans and a hoodie took to the streets. Long and lean with shiny blonde locks, she didn’t quite fit in where she was headed, but fortunately she was experienced with such situations. Molenbeek was a neighborhood in Brussels known for breeding terrorists, and it was the perfect hiding grounds for these men.
Located across from a canal and the hip Saint Catherine area, the neighborhood looked anything but dark and dangerous. But with high crime and drug rates, the media commonly referred to it as the “Chicago on the Seine.” Muslims now made up 35 percent of the area, and ISIS was a large recruiter there. Police presence was weak at best.
Anne headed to The Pitchman pub, a small yet popular watering hole for locals. As she sat down, she quickly attracted the attention of two young patrons sitting at the bar.
“Hi, pretty lady,” the taller of the two said in thickly accented English. “This is for you.” He set a pink cocktail down on the table. Little did they know this beautiful woman was carrying a Glock 19 in her fashionable handbag. With high capacity magazines and a laser light, this handgun would strike surgically in the right hands. Anne also had a CQD knife strapped to her calf with a custom blade.
“Hello, handsome strangers,” she said with her most disarming smile.
As she chatted with the men, it became clear they wouldn’t be of any help. They were more interested in her breasts than in local politics. She stood to excuse herself when she spotted a man walking in with an onerous look on his face. At over six feet tall with a shaved head, he was anything but local. This man looked every bit hard, cold and dangerous. He spotted Anne with the two young men and made his way over to the bar. Then he stood silently, glaring at the men.
The men grew flustered.
“Ah, we are going to be leaving now. Goodbye, pretty lady.” They practically ran out the door.
The big man sat beside Anne. Without looking in her direction he asked, “May I join you for a drink?” His voice was hard and deep. Turkish.
“I’d enjoy that very much.” Anne crossed her legs and leaned closer to the man. She was familiar with this kind of personality—she had to feed his ego as much as possible to get what she wanted from him.
“My name is Yusuf. I am here from Turkey. And who are you?”
“Heather. I’m from the U.S. on a quick business trip.”
His mouth turned up into a sort of sneer. “Funny. Women, especially those from United States, would never come into such a bar. Why are you here?”
She shrugged casually. “I come to Brussels once a month, and honestly? I’m tired of all the tourist hangouts. So I came across the river to see what it’s like here.” She daintily sipped her drink. Patted her lips with a napkin.
“Dangerous, it can be very dangerous for a single woman here. You should go.”
Anne laughed. “I appreciate your concern. I’ll go after I finish my drink. If I may, what brings you here all the way from Turkey?”
“I am visiting friends for a month,” he said quickly, his eyes darting downward.
Her pulse quickened—already she was beginning to see cracks in his armor. “If I were to enjoy dinner in this neighborhood, is there a place you might recommend?”
“The Zern is a good restaurant,” he grunted. “Just down the street. You would enjoy it.”
“Wonderful.” Anne smiled. “Thank you.” As she stood and began to walk away, Yusuf stopped her.
“What kind of business are you in?” he asked.
“The personal protection business.”
He smiled. “Would you like some company at dinner?”
Jackpot.
“I sure would,” she said.
✽✽✽
As they entered The Zern, it was obvious Yusuf was much more than a visitor. The customers there knew him quite well and gave Anne second and third looks. As they ordered some wine and dinner, Yusuf went into an instant interrogation session, his voice direct and cold.
“Where exactly are you from, Heather?”
Anne was unfazed. “I live in Chicago, but my job takes me to many places. I’m employed by large corporations to coordinate protection for their senior executives when they travel.”
She knew he didn’t believe her, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t believe him either and he knew it too. They were playing a game of brain chess—and her record was undefeated.
“I came to this area because of its reputation with crime and terrorism,” Anne continued, enjoying herself now. “It’s my job to keep my clients away from danger. I’ve caught wind of some people that may be walking the streets looking for new income streams.”
Yusuf looked her over, his dark eyes shining. “So you’re looking for people that may abduct your clients for a ransom? I find this interesting. You must get paid very well for such a job.”
“Well, not that it’s any of your business,” she said playfully, “but yes,
I am compensated very well. After all, the job takes me to places that aren’t quite a vacationer’s paradise. Please excuse me,” she said, rising to head toward the restroom. As she stood and reached for her purse, she was able to snap a couple of sneaky photos of Yusuf on her phone. In the restroom, she looked them over.
“Okay, Yusuf,” she whispered. “What’s your real name, and where are you hiding those women?”
As she returned to the table, before she could even sit down, Yusuf crossed his arms and spoke. “Maybe I can help you. But it will cost your clients a few dollars. What is it you’re looking for?”
“We were informed that three men were recently in Morigny, France completing some work there. They were directed to Brussels to follow up on their business. Can you help my clients find these men?”
“If I can come up with suspects, are you willing to pay $10,000 per name?” he asked swiftly.
Anne now knew she was with the man everyone in the neighborhood knew was the boss. “I’m sure my clients would be more than happy to compensate you accordingly.”
“Meet me back at the bar tomorrow at noon. We will see if I might have some answers for you. I will want my compensation in cash, U.S. dollars, yes?”
“I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bring the cash with you.”
“Of course.”
With that, Anne paid for their meal and headed back to her hotel. It was too late to call Brett—instead she forwarded him the photos of Yusuf.
The next morning as she enjoyed her room service, Brett called. “You know how to find interesting characters, I’ll give you that. Your new friend Yusuf is actually a one Demir Aksoy, a well-known under the table businessman with a shady reputation. He’s been connected to terrorism in the past but now specializes in the resale of ammunition and people. I’m sure he knows your men. Whether or not he decides to expose them to you is another story. When are you seeing him again?”
Demir Aksoy. Was he on the phone with someone now just like Anne was, learning that her name was not in fact Heather and that she was an informant for the Vatican? “Noon, back at the same bar.”
“Anne, I’d like to have someone monitoring the meeting.”
“Thanks, but I’m used to working on these things alone. I’ll be fine. This guy wants to get in my pants—I know how to work him.”
Brett sighed. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Will do. Thanks for the info.”
Anne had her contact send funds to a Vatican account in Brussels. She arrived at the pub exactly at noon to find Demir seated at a corner table by himself.
“Good afternoon, Anne, you look quite lovely today.”
He had on a shark tooth grin. Anne smiled back. Game on. “Afternoon Yusuf. Let’s get right to business, shall we? I’m sure you want your funds.”
Demir leaned back, turning serious. “You’re looking for some very important people, Anne. Each of them has significant terrorist reputations.” He took out a piece of paper and slid it across the counter. “Here are their names and where you can find them.”
Anne was aware that once she gave him the funds, she was an immediate target. He wasn’t giving her any information without the thought of eliminating her once she left the pub.
“Thank you, and here’s your compensation.”
She handed him a brown paper bag stuffed with cash. As he gave the funds a review, he continued. “I’m not sure how you take care of your issues, but if you have time shall we have dinner during your stay?”
Anne knew he had no intent on seeing her past this meeting. “Why don’t you leave me your number?”
He shook his head. “If you’d like to meet, call the bartender here at the pub and he will arrange our dinner.”
They stood and politely shook hands. To everyone else in the restaurant just a normal man and woman saying goodbye. But Anne was now a target. She’d have to work fast to find Demir’s team before they could eliminate her.
CHAPTER eleven
Neither John nor Maria slept much these days. This morning they had an appointment with Dr. Wright to review the upcoming surgery. Their daughters were arriving at the airport that afternoon—John would meet them at their gate.
It was decided the surgery would take place the following day. Better to get it over with than to wait and worry any more than necessary. Dr. Wright tried to put Maria and John at ease, but it was obvious that this surgery would be anything but easy.
The morning of the surgery, the family got up at 5:00. Maria was fully checked in by 5:45. Surgery would begin at 7:00 and was estimated to take four hours.
John watched Maria hug her daughters goodbye, kneeling on the floor to squeeze them tight. John and Maria’s eyes met over Alka and Kayla’s shoulders, and John could see that she was crying. She smiled weakly at him, and he smiled back. Tired. Petrified. Filled with dread.
“It’ll be easy, right?” Alka asked of the operation. “Just to make sure your brain’s working good?”
Maria squeezed her eyes closed tight, so John answered for her. “Right,” he said. “Just to make sure.”
Three hours into the surgery, Dr. Wright’s surgical assistant came into the family waiting room with an update. “Mr. Adams, little Misses, the surgery is going super.” He lowered his voice as he turned his attention away from the girls and to John alone. “We’ve found a number of tumors that have been effectively removed, with one larger one to go. I’d like to give you an idea of what to expect, but with the brain, we just never know.”
John pulled his girls in close and hugged them tight. They were quiet, but John knew their minds must be full of questions. What was going to happen to their mom? What would they do if she never woke up?
Two more nerve wracking hours passed when finally Dr. Wright came out. “Hey troopers.” He sat down opposite the family and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Well, we worked very hard to remove as much of the tumors as possible. There are areas that we just couldn’t touch for fear of severe repercussions. Your mom will be in the recovery room in a few minutes and you should be able to visit her in an hour. John, can I see you for a minute?”
The two moved off into the far corner of the room. John could see Kayla and Alka whispering, heads bent together.
“Maria’s going to require some strong ongoing chemotherapy. To be quite honest, her tumors were severe. Let’s keep our fingers crossed going forward.”
John understood. “She still has existing tumors, and the chemo doesn’t guarantee anything.”
“Unfortunately, yes, that’s the way you should approach the severity of her illness. But many stranger things have happened, and our technologies have greatly improved.”
“Dad?” Kayla asked from across the room, her eyebrows furrowed. “Is Mom going to be okay?”
John took a deep breath and walked toward them. “Honey, Mom’s really sick. But the people here and at the other hospitals are going to do everything possible to get her better.”
Alka considered this for a moment. “So we have to give her extra love,” she devised.
John nodded. “She’s going to require all the love we’ve got.”
CHAPTER Twelve
The locations of Anne’s men weren’t open to visitors, so she’d have to weave a scheme that would lure them away. She contacted the bartender at the pub and asked him to request she meet Demir that evening at Szuzzos, located just outside the Brussels business district, at 8:00 p.m.
Anne now had to work quickly to track down her killers before they could find her. She understood how these brutal assassins worked—they would operate as a single unit. They were hostile and would want her to die a slow death. She had to eliminate all of them, but not before determining the status of the two missing priests. Because there was no word about them, it was surmised they’d be used as a negotiation tool for either cash or the release of other terrorists.
Dressed in baggy dark blue Egyptian pants that could ea
sily hide her weapons, a loose sweater and laced-up boots, she was ready to take to the streets. She also wore a baseball cap, her hair hidden underneath. Her pursuers would be somewhere around the restaurant; she knew each face and name from photos Brett had forwarded her. She’d spent the previous night studying every detail. It was time to flip the switch and become the other Anne.
As she approached the block where the restaurant was located, Anne studied the vehicles parked in close proximity. All the cars looked normal except for one delivery van with no rear windows and blacked-out side windows. Investigating a bit closer, she could see a male seated on the driver’s side. Though it was evening, he wore black sunglasses and gloves. Walking slowly to the rear of the truck, she saw another male.
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