by David Nees
The Captive Girl
Book Three in the Dan Stone Series
A Novel
David Nees
Copyright © 2018 David E. Nees
All rights reserved
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by electronic, mechanical or any other means, without the express permission of the author.
The Captive Girl: Book Three in the Dan Stone Series, is a work of fiction and should be construed as nothing but. All characters, locales, and incidents portrayed in the novel are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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For Carla
My greatest fan and encourager. You give me strength when the going gets hard.
Many thanks go to my beta readers, Ed, Chris, and Eric. Without your help this story would remain crude and unpolished. Thank you for the generous amount of time you gave to my endeavor.
Thank you, Catherine for your sharp-eyed proofreading. You found so many things I missed.
Thanks also to Onur Aksoy for his great cover design. He is talented and works diligently with sometimes conflicting directions to produce great covers. Visit his website at https://www.onegraphica.com/
Table of Contents
The Captive Girl
For Carla
The Captive Girl
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Afterword
The Captive Girl
The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter. —Sophocles,
When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers. —Proverbs 21:15
Chapter 1
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T he girl stuffed a change of clothes into her book bag. She grabbed her jacket and opened her bedroom door. Holding back tears, not allowing herself to call up the images that threatened to surface and destroy her composure, she tiptoed down the hall to the stairs. There was inside security in the mansion along with guards who patrolled the surrounding grounds. She knew their pattern having lived with this security all her life. When the guard walked past the entrance foyer, where the grand staircase ended, Evangeline noiselessly descended.
She went around to a side hallway and opened a door to another set of stairs that led down to the basement. She paused at the top of the stairs to gather her courage. The basement held terrors. There were things that went on down there that she didn’t want to know about. Her mother, who had died that very night, had been subjected to the terrors in her sacrifices to protect her child. Now with her gone, Evangeline knew she had to run away. To where she didn’t know.
With a deep breath, she descended the steps and hurried through the corridors, past storerooms which held an elaborate variety of foods including a large wine collection, past other rooms, locked, that Evangeline suspected were the location of the ravages her mother experienced.
She came to a door near the end of the corridor. She had a key, given to her by her mother some time ago for just such a critical moment. They had once before explored the tunnel behind the door. It was an escape route for her father, Jan Luis Aebischer. It would allow him to leave the mansion undetected if there were ever a break in or attack. Herr Aebischer had reason to be cautious. He dealt in large sums of money and he moved them around, hiding them from authorities as needed. Money was not only hidden for his wealthy, tax-avoiding clients, money was also hidden for underworld figures as well as terrorists. Herr Aebischer did not discriminate; for a proper fee he would handle your money. His interest in what you did with it only extended to his desire to protect himself.
At the end of the tunnel was a set of steep steps, almost a ladder. It stopped at a plate. Evangeline turned the wheel that locked the plate in place like a ship’s hatch. It was heavy. She and her mother never actually opened the hatch, but her mother wanted Evangeline to know about it, for this very purpose, to escape should anything happen to her.
Panic arose as the hatch at first refused to budge. Once it cracked open, she knew an alarm would be sent. She had to get it all the way open, get out, and move fast to not be captured. For she was sure the guards would capture her at their master’s command. They were always polite, but she knew to whom they answered.
She braced herself and put her shoulder against the metal plate. She took a deep breath and, using her legs, pushed with all her might. A sharp screeching sound of metal on metal resounded in the stillness of the tunnel; the hatch slowly gave way. With one last push it flopped open.
Rain poured in on Evangeline. She dropped back down, grabbed her bag, and climbed back up the steps and out into the shrubs at the edge of the grounds. The cold rain pelted her. It was late September in Zürich and the weather already showing hints of the cold to come. Now it was rain, soon it would be snow.
She didn’t hesitate, but ran to the fence, threw her bag over, and climbed after it. On the other side, she took a quick look around. The street was empty. The airport and downtown Zürich lay to the south. She set out on a run through the rain, a run to freedom and an uncertain future.
Chapter 2
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R ashid al-Din Said, the son of a successful Saudi businessman and successor to his father’s wealth and empire, had been able to grow his father’s companies and double their worth in the ten years since he had taken over the reins of power. He was now numbered among the world’s billionaires, albeit one with a very private persona. There were few pictures of him and his name was rarely mentioned in reports on his companies. He controlled construction, finance, and resource exploration operations world-wide.
The success provided ample wealth for his family. His younger brother, flamboyant and charismatic, served as the public face of the firms under Rashid’s ownership. He was happy to let him play that role. His brother was good at it and it kept the spotligh
t away from Rashid.
He had just landed at the Frankfort airport in his private Gulfstream jet. His agent was there to greet him at the private hanger. Rashid was dressed as a western businessman, forgoing his fine robes. The western suits seemed so confining, but worked well in the colder climate. He was privately processed through customs and sat back in the large Mercedes while the driver slipped out of the airport. The authorities knew who he was and how many deals he made around the world, sometimes with German partners. Although he didn’t like the country, Rashid was a regular and welcome guest in Germany.
“Can we drive around the perimeter without anyone noticing?” He asked as they exited the airport.
“Yes Sayyid. Later I can show you detail photos but it will help for you to see the area yourself.”
Rashid looked out of the window as the Mercedes drove along the Airportring Road. The road circled the airport and its runways, giving a view of the take-off and landing activities. There was a convenient place along the road for plane watchers to park. Frankfort was one of the busiest airports in the world and possibly the second busiest in Europe after Heathrow in London. He would be inspecting that as well on this trip.
Later he reviewed all the pictures and approved the reconnaissance work done by his Frankfort office. That afternoon he took off for London. He was a jet-setting businessman inspecting his empire on a whirlwind tour. In London his agent repeated the actions that occurred in Frankfort. That evening he departed for Paris and spent the night in a penthouse suite at the Mandarin Oriental. The next morning Rashid drove to Gare du Nord, one of Paris’s largest train stations. After sitting and watching the throngs of travelers coming and going, he drove to Charles de Gaulle airport to inspect it as he had done at Frankfurt. Later he was briefed on the Amsterdam airport.
On his evening flight home Rashid went over the tour in his head. He had observed the lineup of planes, the crush of travelers at the airports and the Paris train station. He smiled. His idea was bold. It would take everyone by surprise.
He had been disappointed by the failure of his plans to insert sixty terrorists into the U.S. under Tariq Basara’s supervision. The result had been the death of all the terrorists. Rashid’s subsequent investigation indicated that a very small operation, possibly the work of a single person, had thwarted his insertion plans and led to the death of the sixty jihadists. It was a major setback.
For now, Rashid would turn his attention to Europe with bold moves that would sow terror among the capitals. It was to be a coordinated attack. Citizens would be unnerved, governments would topple or be compromised, and enclaves of Muslims in Europe’s large cities would rise up in support of the fighters. The message would be to cast the attacks as reprisals for actions against the Muslim faithful. Europe would grant ever more accommodation, hoping for peace and stability, thereby advancing the inevitable victory over the continent.
Christianity was dying in Europe. The western culture was in decline along with birthrates. His terror operations would cause the population and governments to cower in the face of Islamic strength. Then he would let birthrate demographics do the rest and turn his attention back to the U.S.
The explosives would be placed on major rail lines of the French TGV bullet trains. These high-speed trains, traveling at over one hundred miles per hour were a marvel of luxury and sophistication. They linked the major cities of Europe and were prized as engineering marvels. The explosions would be timed to create disastrous derailments. Teams of infiltrators would insert themselves onto the ground near the runways of the Frankfort, Amsterdam, Charles de Gaulle, and Heathrow airports. In a coordinated attack, they would fire Panzerfaust 3 launchers sending rockets into the waiting planes lined up to take off. They would target not only the cabin but the wing tanks to trigger engulfing fires. Meanwhile gunmen armed with their automatic weapons would assault the terminals of those airports. Other assault groups would attack at the Gare du Nord railway station.
Chapter 3
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P ietro Conti had a problem. His boss, Jan Luis Aebischer, had directed him to hire someone to find and rescue his daughter, Evangeline, and kill the man who had taken her. She had run away two years ago and her father had recently learned that she was working for a Croatian pornographer. Working was not the correct word for it as Pietro had learned. The man kept a stable of women under his control using a combination of drugs and intimidation. The girl was not free to leave, he was certain.
His problem was not the task, he was not squeamish about such an operation; it was the instructions that he was not to hire a hitman connected to the underworld. Herr Aebischer didn’t want any trailing liability from this operation and he didn’t want to be blackmailed for more money after the fact.
Pietro had few options. Herr Aebischer had forbidden him to hire a man they called “the bookseller”. This was the man Pietro usually contacted if there was any dirty work to be done, work that one didn’t want any connection to. Besides the man didn’t do people rescues. He handled an assortment of thieves and assassins, and Aebischer didn’t want those men connected to his daughter.
In his search Pietro had come across rumors that a minor arms dealer, Guzim Lazami, had been marked for elimination. He was trying to make a play and strike out on his own, using his own connections and not going through the established hierarchy of dealers. Some criminal bosses were not happy and the betting on the street was that Guzim might soon be eliminated. He certainly was acting like his life was under threat.
Pietro’s long shot was to follow Guzim around and hope to hire whoever could get close enough to kill the gun dealer. Anyone who could get close to Lazami and kill him would have to be very good at what he did. Pietro knew that the man loved dance clubs. It was one of his passions and therefore a possible weakness to exploit. That idea brought him to the Lightspeed Dance Club of Milan. It was holding its largest rave of the year and Pietro, knowing Guzim was a fan, hoped he would be in attendance. Maybe, just maybe, someone would try to take him out.
Dan had been stalking Guzim Lazami, an Albanian/Italian, for almost a month now. He had spent countless hours on many rooftops and hills, waiting for the shot that didn’t materialize. Jane, Dan’s handler back at CIA headquarters and the woman who had recruited him, had noted Guzim had recently escalated his security, perhaps because he was striking out on his own and knew others might object. He was certainly careful. He rarely went out and when he did, he minimized his exposure, getting into armored cars while in garages and running with bodyguards covering him when he had to step out in the open to get from car to building or the reverse.
As a sniper, Dan’s instinct was to strike from afar. Distance was his friend; the more between him and his target the less likely he would be discovered or engaged by the enemy. The safer his strike would be. Guzim’s cautious nature was making it hard for Dan. The hit would have to be done at close range even though that was against all of Dan’s training and instinct. But where?
The only chink in Guzim’s defenses was his enthusiasm for dance clubs, especially the wilder ones that held marathon raves. This attraction, with the attendant crowds, created an opportunity, but Dan would have to do the job at close range and then make his escape. One of the hottest clubs was the Lightspeed Dance Club in Milan. It was listed as a “must see” on all the guidebooks for dance club enthusiasts. It attracted a young, energetic crowd that would rave the night away with the club spilling out customers in the early morning hours.
When reconnoitering the club earlier in the week Dan had noticed metal detectors at the entrance. So, the day before, early in the morning when the club would be closed, Dan pried open the bathroom window and climbed in. He taped his double-barrel .22 caliber derringer along with a stun grenade to the back of a toilet water tank.
Once he was near the club entrance, Dan found a spot to wait. He had to mark Guzim’s arrival. He didn’t want to be hunting for him inside, not knowing for sure if
he had shown up. Sure enough, at about 10:30 pm, an SUV, pulled up and three men piled out. They formed a perimeter around the curbside back door of the vehicle. Then Guzim stepped out and the group quickly shuffled into the club, bypassing the line waiting to get in. When Guzim had disappeared inside, Dan strolled up to the doorman and, after flashing a one hundred Euro bill, was passed through, leaving the bill in the doorman’s hand.
Stepping inside, the music assaulted Dan’s senses. He had to fight off an immediate sense of disorientation. The heavy beat pounded away at him, vibrating his bones. Lights flashed and spun around the room like droplets of water, some of the light was split by mirrored balls hung from the ceiling, scattering the light like broken crystal around the room. Dan wandered through the space to get acclimated and to locate Guzim. There were two bars made of Plexiglas at either side of the room with islands of booths placed around the dance floor. At one end of the room, on an elevated platform, the DJ was busy at his turntables.
People danced with their arms in the air, often seeming to just jump up and down to Dan’s untutored eye. The kaleidoscope of lights made it hard to see clearly. There was a background of ultraviolet light that made white shirts shine brightly and cause day glow colors to come alive. Many females had the glowing colors painted on their arms and face. The result was a surreal tribal look. Most everyone had glow sticks wrapped around their necks. The effect of it all was very synthetic and futuristic.
Why would you subject yourself to this abuse? Dan found it hard to relate to the scene and wondered why Guzim, who was around forty liked this atmosphere. Trying to hold on to his youth?
The arms dealer was sitting in a booth reserved for VIPs near the dance floor with his guards around him. There were three good looking women sitting with him as well. People came and went greeting and glad handing him. Other women came up, but it looked like Guzim had picked his bevy for the night. The body guards spent their time scanning the clubbers that swirled around the table. Wouldn’t want their job, especially tonight. Most of those who came by the booth were oblivious to Guzim’s true identity and only knew that he was wealthy and connected.