by J. K. Kelly
Eve’s body language stiffened much like it had the night before in the fight with the street thugs. Matt stared at her and laughed.
“Bring friends,” he said with grin but then his face turned serious. “Don’t make me regret this Eve – because if you do it will cost you your life.” Then he turned and walked away from her for the last time.
*
He’d done as planned and was now standing at the departure desk at Salzburg’s airport. A quick call to a contact back in Washington would wash his images from Eve and Vicki’s clouds and his number, calls, and texts would be erased from her phone records. He’d booked a first-class, one-way ticket on a five o’clock flight to Heathrow, through Frankfurt. He carried his third bag, the special one, under the seal of a diplomatic courier package. His weapons would follow him across Europe without ever being scrutinized. The bag could not even be x-rayed. He’d also called Charlie and made him promise to pick him up at the airport.
“From what I am told,” Matt said, “the hitmen were in London looking for you. But when they learned you were in Dubai, again, they opted to come after me first and get you when they returned home. You’re not safe there, Charlie. Leave Lois with the dog sitter and come stay with me tonight at the airport. Claire will have more info for us in the morning. We can go hunting together if you’re up for it.”
“Screw that, mate,” Charlie insisted. “Take the terminal train over to the Hilton. I’ll be waiting for you at the bar. Then we can go sort the bastards, just like old times.”
They talked for a few more minutes, enjoying the sharing of news about what they’d each been up to since the Sinclair incident. With a flight delay in the Frankfurt departure, Matt was certain he’d find Charlie fast asleep at one of the bar’s booth tables. When he finally landed, he checked into the Hilton, as he had so many times before, left his three bags with the front desk, and headed for the bar.
But Charlie was nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Matt’s heart sank. He immediately went back to the front desk, retrieved his bags, and took the elevator to his room on the third floor. He intended to arm himself and then head out into the night. His phone vibrated, and Matt drew it faster than ever, hoping it was Charlie explaining why he was late. Instead, it was Dale, and she was bursting with news.
“They’ve offered me the number two at NSA, Matt,” she almost shouted into the phone. “They’ve approved my request for transfer!”
Matt knew that he should be thrilled for her, but he couldn’t under the circumstances. What he had to tell her next would rain on her parade, hard.
“Claire, Charlie’s missing!” Neither uttered a word during the painful silence that followed.
Finally, she spoke, asking for the details. Matt filled her in on his plan, and he could tell her heart was probably sinking even further. She knew him so well, he was sure she could tell from Matt’s silence that he wasn’t just thinking, he was also smoldering.
He’d been in a silent rage in the days since the two hitmen had tried to kill him. Dale suggested they end the call, and she would start making inquiries, formal and informal, through the FBI’s connections to MI5 and Interpol. She’d also reach out to Freddie Morrison, the now acting DNI, to ask for immediate assistance with the CIA and MI6. If anyone could track down one of their own, it was the British intelligence services. With that, she asked Matt what he intended to do next.
“Send me what you have on the two that jumped me in Washington. I’ll find them. If they’ve had anything to do with Charlie’s disappearance, I’ll get it out of them with extreme prejudice. Regardless, they’re dead men walking.”
Dale knew there was no stopping Matt. Her last words to him before they ended the call were simple ones. “Be careful and be discreet.”
Within minutes, Matt had downloaded a secure email from Dale on his laptop. He admired how swiftly the pair who had attacked him had made their move, spent the night at a hotel near Dulles Airport, and flew back to Heathrow the very next morning. One CCTV from a retail store near Matt’s waterfront had picked up the men’s faces as they ran away from the police. Unfortunately, the police hadn’t been able to locate the store’s owner until he arrived just before ten to open. Had they been able to access the video during the night, there was a good chance the facial recognition technology at Dulles would have flagged them before they departed.
It was 8:55 in the evening, London time, when the United Airlines jet landed in the UK and the two disembarked. The many CCTV cameras within Heathrow picked them up through facial recognition technology but then lost them as they split up in the car park, past baggage claim. But what Matt read next left him stunned: Both men worked for British intelligence. And both worked in the same building as Charlie.
It was now early morning in London, and Matt hadn’t slept a wink. He hadn’t even tried to. He studied everything he possibly could about the two characters that had dunked him. One, a Bruce Allan, was a high-level intelligence officer at MI5 who acted as liaison with the secretive MI6. The other, Billy Melville, was in the uniformed security division of MI5. He worked second shift guarding the perimeter of the building, the Thames River to the rear, and a busy road and rail line across from the front pedestrian and vehicle entrance. Despite being from different elements of the service, their CVs showed they worked together in similar capacities at the British Embassy in Moscow, Caracas, and South Korea.
Allan was more of a suit while Melville had played rugby in school. His pumped-up physique was stuffed into his blue security forces uniform. Allan and Melville both had been known to get into scraps with other drunks in the bars and pubs everywhere they had been stationed together. Matt saw that detail as the one that would help him get close without them knowing it. Close enough until it was too late for them.
By the time the sun’s glow began to crack the horizon, Matt was showered, dressed, and had consumed a large pot of room service coffee just waiting for the day to begin. He’d kept the television off. Armed with a Glock 17 hidden in his shoulder holster, with an extra clip, under his sports coat and a compact Glock strapped to his ankle, he looked forward to coming face to face with his targets.
After a moment’s thought, he added a rather aggressive-looking knife to his arsenal. The handle featured finger grooves, and one edge of the blade was sharp and smooth for slicing while the other was designed with a sawtooth for ripping things. He left the rest of his weaponry locked up safely in his special bag, the small combination lock making sure of that.
His plan was simple. So he’d be free and ready to make a move at the drop of a hat, he’d hired a car and driver – a black Mercedes provided by a service known for discreet and competent drivers trained in high-speed maneuvers and offensive and defensive skills. His first stop would be Charlie’s home in Highgate. Departing the Hilton at this early hour, they’d avoid most of the morning traffic.
He had tried calling his friend a few more times during the night, texted him, emailed him, and was able to track down Charlie’s office extension and tried him there. The one call he wasn’t able to make was to the dog sitter who lived next door. He decided he’d peek into Charlie’s bay window, and if there were no sign of him, he hoped to at least find Lois safe next door.
With no luck at Charlie’s, Matt lifted the neighbor’s knocker and heard Lois’s threatening bark. It was still early, and the sitter hadn’t risen yet, but Lois was pitching a fit. Matt noticed a mail slot with a hinged cover. He went down on one knee, lifted the cover, and let Lois sniff her friend. Her bark changed to a much more welcoming greeting.
When the sitter opened the door, Lois charged Matt, as she had the last time he’d come to see her. This time he was ready for her. Luckily the sitter remembered him too.
“I’m so happy to see you, luv,” she said. “I was hoping it was Charlie. I haven’t seen or heard from him since suppertime last night, and that’s not like him at all.”
Matt fussed over the dog
as he always had, but the look he gave the sitter seemed to make her worry even more.
“Forgive me, but what was your name again?” Matt asked.
“Shirley,” she said, reaching for Matt’s hand. He took it but didn’t shake. It was clear they were both concerned for their missing friend.
“Come in, come in,” Shirley gestured and then chased Lois through the house to let her out into the backyard. “I’ll make some tea, if you’d like.”
Matt’s lips formed the only word he wanted to hear this early in the day: Coffee.
Once Lois was taken care of and given a busy-bone to tear into, Shirley and Matt sat down.
“Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary in the neighborhood in the last few days and nights here?” he asked.
Shirley assured him that she hadn’t. Charlie had left Lois with her yesterday morning as usual, and all seemed well. But then she remembered Lois acting up, barking a lot more than usual. At that late hour, around 11, she was normally fast asleep.
“Maybe she saw a rabbit in the backyard,” she suggested. “But that’s all I can recall that was out of the ordinary.”
Matt nodded.
“Do you think anything’s happened to CC?” she asked, then apologized. “That’s my nickname for him, CC, that is.”
Matt smiled. I hope to find that old bastard soon so I can tease him with it, he thought to himself, but he wasn’t optimistic. Matt was certain at this point that these two incidents were related somehow to Thomas Sinclair. And his two attackers had been after Matt, and now Charlie, for revenge.
But who would have ordered the hits? He had asked himself that same question, over and over, for the last 12 hours.
To a large degree, Matt was a loner by choice. He’d tried to do what he thought was right in Washington, but that had made him a ton of enemies, powerful ones, with connections around the world. Charlie, like a small handful of other confidants on both sides of the oceans, had traveled a similar path in the UK. But this was the first time anyone had come after them for revenge as a reaction to their service.
“Shirley, can we look around Charlie’s? Maybe there are clues as to his whereabouts,” he suggested.
Minutes later, Matt was in full FBI crime scene mode, searching for anything helpful he might find. He’d asked Shirley to remain behind with Lois so neither would disturb anything he might come across. Shirley had obliged quite happily, but Lois was not pleased at all – she loved Matt, and as some dogs do, she seemed a bit higher strung than normal when sensing something wasn’t right.
Frustrated when he’d found nothing that seemed to indicate foul play, a threat, or a last-minute meet-up, Matt observed the sparkling clean home, sensing the familiar presence of its missing owner – and felt an overwhelming sadness. After thanking Shirley for her help and for taking care of the dog, they exchanged cell numbers, and both promised to call if they saw or heard anything from Charlie.
Heading back to the Mercedes after watching Lois chase after a squirrel, Matt’s instincts began to scream. He stopped and scanned the surrounding area, feeling as though he was being watched, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Charlie lived in a quiet neighborhood, and a stranger in a surveillance vehicle or an unfamiliar person walking through would stand out.
Come on out, you bastard, he thought. We can finish this right here and now. But, he added to himself, only after I pull Charlie’s whereabouts out of you in a very painful way.
Soon after, Matt was back at MI5. This time the security screening would go much differently. Someone there would most assuredly take issue with an American with an attitude walking through the front door with two guns and a warrior knife.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
As Matt approached the security checkpoint, he had already pulled his FBI credentials and had them open in his raised hand for the guards to see. The special symbol affixed to the lower right corner indicated he had an international gun permit, honored everywhere except in China and North Korea.
“I’m FBI, I am armed, and here to see Charlie Chaste up on the third floor,” he said slowly and clearly. He met the two first guards’ questioning stares with a level gaze and waited for them to wave him through.
Matt had burned the photo images of Allan and Melville into his brain. He expected he might see Melville, the guard dog – the muscle, but knew he would have to put on his best performance so the man wouldn’t suspect he’d been tagged. After a few phone calls made to higher-ups on other floors, Matt removed his three weapons and placed them inside a lockbox in the guardroom off the lobby. The ranking guard would have one key, Matt the second, and it would take both to open it when his visit concluded.
An escort led Matt into the elevator and off at the third floor, leaving him at Charlie’s office. Charlie’s admin, who Matt had clearly not hit it off with on his last visit, was away from his desk, so Matt took a seat and waited for his return. With the door to his friend’s office closed, he was tempted to try the knob, but without any known friends in the building, he opted not to push his luck further than he already had.
When the admin turned the corner and saw Matt sitting there, he nearly dropped the cup of tea he was carrying. “Oh, it’s you,” he said.
Matt watched closely as the puzzlement in the young man’s face turned to irritation as he made his way to his desk. Matt had seen this reaction hundreds of times. Something was up. The admin seemed to be thinking on the fly, or at least trying to, as he struggled to come up with Matt’s unexpected appearance. Matt wouldn’t let on that he knew something was awry. He’d play the concerned friend from the States, there to try to find his friend.
Matt stood up, ready for Act One. He extended his hand. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t remember your name.”
“It’s Jason, Jason Roberts. Didn’t know you were coming to visit Mr. Chaste? You weren’t on his schedule.”
“Ah, he must have let that slip,” Matt said casually. “I flew in last night and was hoping to catch him here. I’m just passing through this time, and I owe him a meal.”
Roberts stepped behind his desk and began shifting papers and report folders with nervous energy as if he’d only arrived at the office, when he’d clearly been here for hours. This is going to get interesting, Matt thought.
“You had a beard the last time you stopped in, didn’t you?” Roberts asked.
“Yep, but that’s long gone. Have you heard from Charlie, is he coming in today?” Matt asked.
“Not yet, Agent Christopher,” Roberts answered, then took a seat at his desk and reached for the phone. “Want me to give him a ring?”
“Matt, call me Matt,” he insisted. “We’re all friends here.” He paused. “Yes, please give him a call. But first, tell me where I can find the WC and the coffee maker?”
Roberts pointed. “Around the corner and just down the hall.”
Matt gave the admin a thumbs-up and then started in that direction, but turned around and came back a few seconds later, popping his head around the corner. Roberts wasn’t moving, phone in hand, staring into space as if trying to decide what to do.
“How do you take your tea?” Matt asked.
The admin jumped and blinked up at him, startled.
Matt laughed. “Dude, you need to get laid, or switch to decaf!”
Roberts put the phone back on the receiver, shook his head, and then picked it up again and hit a speed dial number. “Trying him now, Agent. Matt,” he corrected himself. “Ummm… I take my tea sweet, a little milk.”
When Matt returned with two hot drinks in hand, Roberts was standing inside Charlie’s office with a tall, older man dressed in a dark gray suit.
“Agent Christopher, please come in,” the man gestured.
Matt put both cups down on Charlie’s desk and extended his hand. “Matt Christopher, FBI and a good friend of our Charlie, and you are?”
“David Erickson,” he said as he shook Matt’s hand. “I’m with MI6, and I liaise shar
ed activities and intel with Charlie on a frequent basis.”
“Funny,” Matt responded, “he never mentioned you.” Erickson seemed confused by the remark. Matt had baited him to see where he might take it.
“Consider me as sort of his Helene Coleman.”
Matt frowned, unsure what to make of the remark. Was this a dig or a warning signal… or something else entirely? Time would tell.
“My condolences on her passing,” Erickson said.
“Thank you. So, as I told Roberts here, I was in the area and stopped in to see Charlie. But it seems Roberts has lost track of him. Odd, don’t you think? I hope he’s not shacked up with one of his Thai masseuses again.”
The admin was shocked by the comment, but Erickson laughed. “Oh, Agent Christopher, we’re going to get along nicely. Yes, there seems to be an issue regarding his whereabouts.” He turned to Roberts. “Jason, you can leave us now.”
The younger man quickly excused himself and closed the door behind him. Erickson looked to Charlie’s leather chair but instead chose a seat on the well-worn cloth sofa near the wall.
“How many nights do you think he slept on that while he was on the hunt for something or someone?” Matt asked as he sat in the chair across from Erickson.
“Too many. But in the interest of time, we need to get down to it and sort a few things. Yes?”
Matt smiled and leaned forward. “Let’s do that,” he replied and then listened as Erickson laid out his immediate concerns.
First, he did divulge that Charlie had indeed gone missing. The normal protocol for an experienced field operator like Charlie was that he checked in by text or call every 12 hours. When he missed his ten o’clock send the night before, the security services that monitored field agents had notified Erickson, and they began a simple search of the most obvious places.
“We sent someone by his home in Highgate last night, but the lights were off, no one answered the door, and there were no signs of anything out of the ordinary.”