SECRET OF THE ICON (Donavan Chronicles Book 3)

by Tom Haase

  "What the hell are you doing here? Who are you?" Bridget shouted, running toward them. Both Scott and Gerti were being tied up, their mouths quickly taped over. She approached a lone man standing by himself, staring at her.

  "Are you deaf? What the hell are you doing here?"

  Without any warning, the man swung the butt of his rifle straight at her head. That was the last thing Bridget Donavan saw.

  CHAPTER 4

  Washington, DC

  Office of the Deputy Director of the FBI

  Matt waited in the anteroom for Deputy Director Rose. The secretary didn’t even look at him or offer him coffee or a drink. The DD forced him to wait for thirty minutes, which Matt assumed to be some form of disciplinary action in itself, but it gave him the time to reflect on the loss of John. He questioned his own decision and his heart filled with regret that a man under his command had lost his life. That thought burned into his consciousness like a branding iron being applied. But he concluded his actions embodied the correct course to take to protect American lives from those who intended to do harm to his country. At this final thought, he saw the secretary walk toward him, he believed he made the right call and now he would have to live with the results and the loss of John.

  The receptionist told him to go into the inner office. After knocking once, he entered. Deputy Director Rose, a thin man with graying hair and pasty skin, sat behind a massive wood desk. He wore a dark blue suit and a pale blue tie that accentuated his almost ghostly appearance.

  "Special Agent Higgins, you fucked up. I mean big time," were the first words out of the DD’s mouth. "Your mission at the farmhouse was to observe and report only. You went off and played John Wayne. Now we have a dead agent. What do you have to say for yourself?"

  Matt waited a moment before he responded. He needed the few seconds to compose and to control his anger. He hadn’t really expected this type of intimidation technique. To show his own irritation, he put his hands behind his back and went into a military parade rest position.

  "My actions were dictated by the situation, sir. The terrorists intended to transport a large shipment of weapons. I couldn’t allow that to happen. Therefore, I took action to stop it," Matt said without taking his eyes off the man.

  "That's not your call,” the DD shouted. “Your job is to obey the orders you are given."

  "I thought my job was to protect American citizens from any acts of terrorism."

  "We had high hopes for you.” The DD stood up. “You were sent here from Des Moines on temporary duty to see how you would fit in at the national level. In my opinion, you have failed. Your temporary duty here is suspended and you are to return to Iowa, hopefully, never to be seen here again. You got an agent killed, and there's no excuse."

  Matt opened his mouth to say a few words in his defense.

  "Dismissed," the DD said, cutting Matt off before he could speak. He waved his hand signifying the final dismissal.

  Matt came to an attention position, rotated, and departed from the office. He wanted to hit someone, anyone, anything. It wasn't his fault. He took what he deemed the right course of action. He went out into the hallway, extracted his cell phone, and dialed the number the president gave him years before.

  The conversation lasted less than a minute and the president told him to do what he needed to do. Matt already knew what he needed to do. The call served as just a gesture on his part to the man who secured him the FBI position.

  Matt closed the cell phone, placed it back in his pocket, and walked with purpose to the outer door to the DD's office and entered. He did not look at the receptionist, nor did he stop by the secretary’s desk. He simply pushed open the DD’s door.

  "What the hell are you doing back here? I told you where to go."

  Matt unbuckled his jacket, took out his service weapon and his badge. Then he held them out in front of him and slammed them down on the desk. The DD pushed back from his desk at the vehemence displayed by Matt.

  "Fuck you, you arrogant asshole.” Matt strode out of the office, leaving the door open. He slammed the outer door on his way out of the building. Once outside, he realized what a beautiful day enveloped the nation’s capitol. However, he felt extremely tired after being up all night. He decided to walk to his apartment in Alexandria. A long walk, but it would give him time to clear his head, think about things, and decide what he wanted to do in the future.

  At this moment, he didn't really have a future.

  CHAPTER 5

  Athens, Greece

  When Bridget regained consciousness, someone ripped the hood off her head. She blinked her eyes to try and gain focus. She shook her head to get strands of her red hair out of her eyes. The bright overhead lights caused some confusion in her mind in addition to the pounding just above her left eye. Focus, she told herself. Get a grip. Don’t let the fear overpower you. Fear is the mind killer. She took a deep breath and moved various parts of her body. She didn’t find any other damage to herself and tried to get up, but the bindings on her arms and feet prevented that.

  “Hello, Bridget,” a voice said.

  She tried to remember. Yes, she recognized the voice. She’d thought that more fear could possibly grow in her than already existed. She was wrong. When she recognized the voice, more fear rocketed into her mind.

  She tried to talk, but her mouth felt like sandpaper, her throat parched, preventing any intelligent sound. Someone from behind grabbed her hair, pulled her head back and poured water over her. She took as much as she could into her mouth. She felt the pure relief in her dehydrated throat. Her voice returned.

  “Hello, Mr. Schultz,” she managed to get out in a rather raspy voice. What would he do to her?

  “Miss Donavan, I flew over here to see you and to watch you die. Anyone who steals from me takes me for a complete fool. You thought to take my five million dollars and get away with it. You are indeed the greater fool.” He took a sip from a coffee cup and replaced it on a small table beside the chair he occupied.

  “We didn’t steal your money.” She managed to sound more like herself with this statement.

  “Oh, I see. You gave me a fake bible, instead of the original Bible of Constantine, and afterwards you cashed my check for five million, but you don’t consider it robbery?”

  Bridget bowed her head. She needed to think of a logical and reasonable response. She’d known this day might be inevitable and tried to prepare her position. Nothing prepared her for this and nothing was what she had right now.

  “We didn’t know it was a fake when we gave it to you.” She tried to stare into his eyes.

  “I don’t believe you. You cashed my check and disappeared. We were supposed to enter a partnership to conduct future projects. You completed two such ventures and I believed you and your brother could be valuable in continuing to conduct that sort of business, which would have been very lucrative for all. You, however, decided to double-cross your new partner on the first opportunity.”

  Bridget knew what he said appeared to be the truth from his perspective. There was no denying his position. She needed to respond, but he didn’t look like he wanted to hear anything from her at this moment. She hoped he would at some point.

  “So I have no choice,” he said. “I can’t allow this transgression to go unavenged. I admit I owe you something for saving my life in Washington. I’ve thanked you for that and even entered into a partnership with you to show my gratitude. You betrayed me. As a favor, I’ll dispatch you quickly instead of what I want to do.” Schultz took another sip of coffee.

  “We didn’t betray you and we didn’t know we gave you a fake bible.”

  “Shut up. I don’t want to hear any of your lies or excuses.” Schultz came out of his chair with such speed that Bridget winced, fearing he would kill her at that moment. She believed him capable of such an act.

  “Please, listen,” Bridget said.

  “No. I had you taken and you alone will pay for that deception, as I believe you are sin
gularly responsible. Gerti is with Scott and I’ll not kill him because of my daughter’s love for your brother. I believe he didn’t plan this deception. You did.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Bridget finally shouted her denial.

  “Of course you did,” Schultz insisted.

  “I didn’t find out till your daughter told Scott what happened. He just told me a few days ago. Please listen to me. Jonathan McGregor switched the bibles in the hour before we handed them to you. We didn’t have any idea it wasn’t the original. Somehow McGregor managed to get away with it and leave me believing I held the original. That is the bible I delivered to you.” Bridget took a breath. Her throat now dry again.

  “You expect me to believe that a priest stole it?”

  “Yes. That was his mission and why he was helping us. His objective was to recover the bible for the Vatican. He took it that last night in Washington,” Bridget paused and waited for this to sink in.

  “I don’t care. You are the one who cashed my check and stole the money as far as I’m concerned. You’ll be the one to pay.”

  He walked toward her, pulled an automatic pistol from a shoulder holster, and pointed it at her head.

  “Now it’s your time to die.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Pella, Greece

  Gerti attempted to roll over in order to see Scott. She remembered the screams he let out as the men pounced on him. She heard the SUV’s roar away with the abducted Bridget. A rock jarred her spine when she did roll over. Damn that hurt.

  She couldn’t talk with her mouth taped over and now lay on her hands trapped under the small of her back. She rolled herself over to get closer to Scott, her black hair now totally filled with dust and dirt. She could hear him breathing. At least he lived, but now she must get free. A table with the tools Bridget used for the dig rested about thirty feet from her. She attempted to get up and hop, but her initial efforts to accomplish standing only resulted in slamming back to the ground. With a supreme effort, she started rolling like tumbleweed in spite of the small stones almost piercing her front and backsides, finally reaching the table.

  With her hands around a leg of the table, she shimmied up to a standing position. She rested on the table where she saw a hammer, a chisel, some small brushes, and a small excavation knife. The knife became her target. She scooted over to its location on the tabletop and bent backwards to grasp it. Sweat poured down her forehead and now stung her eyes, then ran onto her ample breasts. Exhausted, she rested for a minute.

  With the knife in her hands, she maneuvered it to a position to cut the plastic binds. It took her a good twenty minutes to cut them with the minute strokes she applied with her hands behind her back. Finally, the plastic snapped. She ripped the tape off her mouth and then cut the ties on her legs. Once freed from the bindings, she rushed over to the supine Scott.

  “Scott. Come on, wake up,” she gently slapped him on the cheek. He didn’t move. She ran back to the table to recover the cell phone she left there on her arrival from the bakery. Not there. She returned to Scott and searched his shirt pockets and pants for his cell, also missing. The attackers must have taken them. She looked at the single vehicle left after the help and the tough-talking guard absconded. Two of the tires on it were flat.

  She started to drag Scott toward the vehicle. At least it could run on two tires until she found help. After she dragged him a few feet, Scott started to move and moan. She released him.

  “Scott, are you okay?” What a dumb question, she thought.

  He moaned again. Slowly he opened his eyes. He looked at her with a weird expression.

  “Sorry,” she said and remembered she needed to cut him free and remove the tape. In all her rush to get him to a doctor or some type of help, she hadn’t removed them. She rapidly cut him free and ripped off the tape.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. Then with both of her hands she pulled him up. He wobbled a little and leaned against her shoulder.

  “Who the hell were they? Where’s Bridget?” Scott asked.

  “They took Bridget. Everybody is gone but us, and we have a car with only two tires. Come on, let me get the first aid kit from the car and treat your bloody nose. Anything else hurt bad?” Gerti asked.

  “No, but my right side feels like I might have some bruised ribs from the kicks those bastards gave me.”

  Gerti attended to his injuries in the car. While doing this, she reflected on the events of the morning. Somehow the attackers knew exactly where they were and staged the event to get Bridget and no one else. She said this out loud to Scott as she worked to clean the blood from his face.

  “I noticed they didn’t rough you up in any manner. Why?” he asked.

  “I think I have an answer. It’s not one you want to hear.”

  “Go on, out with it.”

  “I wasn’t hurt in any way. I conclude my father gave those orders. He’s behind this,” she said. She put away the medical kit and looked at her handiwork. “You look much better.”

  “So what does that mean? Tell a befuddled me after I had my brain rattled. Explain,” he said, as he looked into her eyes.

  “You said you didn’t know where Bridget was after she delivered the bible to my father. She left the next day without telling you where she headed. I believed you, and I think he did too. He blames Bridget for the whole thing. I hate to say this, but I know my father. He can’t let an injustice done to him go unpunished even after your sister saved his life.”

  “You think he plans to kill Bridget?” Scott almost shouted this.

  “I’m afraid that’s not out of the question. I hate to say it, but you may never see your sister again and there’ll be no connection to my father for you to investigate or speculate about.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “I’m thinking about how he found us. Perhaps, after she left he somehow put a tracker in your phone or in mine. Both our phones are missing. I only texted him yesterday and said we’re vacationing in the Mediterranean. I didn’t tell him we’re in Greece.”

  “Where would he take her?”

  “I have no idea.” Gerti stared out the window. “Wait, just wait a minute. Maybe I do. Think about it. He can’t drag her through an airport, even a private airport operations building. Too many people and too many questions in a foreign country. As a kid, I remember my father brought us to Athens for holidays in the early spring. He owned a house in Kaffisia. It’s a wealthy suburb of Athens. Yes, I remember it now. I know where it is.”

  “Do you think he’ll take her there?” asked Scott.

  Without another word, she put the vehicle in drive and floored the accelerator. She wanted to get to the main road as quick as possible — the tires and their rims be damned. From the highway they could get a ride to Thessaloniki and then a plane.

  “We have to get to Athens fast. That is our best hope to save your sister.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Savannah, Georgia

  The sun eased over the western horizon as Mike crossed the Talmadge Bridge and arrived in downtown Savannah. He didn’t take notice of the beautiful so-called Spanish moss hanging from the live oaks on the tree-lined center sections of the city streets. Nor did he recognize the detailed city planning by the founder coming up on three hundred years ago. He became distracted when trying to figure out what went wrong on the weapons exchange. After the long drive, he felt he had to make changes in the way he conducted his business. He turned right on Abercorn Street and at Lafayette Square he drove his BMW Z7 into the underground parking spot in his rented condo.

  After the firefight at the farmhouse, he stopped on the road about a mile away. The homegrown terrorist already fled, but the men who sprung the ambush must still be there and so also his precious icon remained in the building, an object that he could never abandon. He chastised himself for endangering it and swore to change his care of it in the future. After a half hour, another vehicle sped past him going to the farmhouse and in
a few minutes returned with another person in the car. He took this opportunity to go back to the scene and recover his icon with the place deserted. He thanked the Almighty his prize remained where he left it and he departed with it once again in his possession.

  It took exactly eight hours to drive from Roanoke to Savannah. He delayed his departure until after he heard the local news about the shoot-out. It appeared that most of the terrorists were killed. Once Ashil handed him the money for the weapons they were technically no longer his and he made sure the money was in his rented Hummer as soon as the shooting started. After returning the rental to the airport, he recovered his BMW from the long-term parking and left Roanoke at noon.

  Mike went up to his third-story apartment in the condo building and headed straight to his small bar. He immediately poured a double vodka and quickly downed the libation. He poured another. The lights of the city were coming on and the lamppost outside the building emitted its muted rays through the trees below. He looked out the window and saw the towers of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist not a hundred yards away.

  Things had gone well until that FBI agent shouted from the hillside. The entire operation comprised of a million-dollar windfall. He now possessed six years experience in this business and never encountered any major problems before. Someone assuredly talked.

  He looked at the suitcase with half a million dollars in it. It was the second half of his money. They delivered the first before the arms were put on the truck for delivery at the drop-off point near Roanoke. His system had always been foolproof.

  He opened the suitcase and took out his icon. He placed it in its special place on his fireplace mantel and secured the glass case covering it. He said a small prayer of thanks for getting out of the ambush alive and blessed himself in the Orthodox manner.