by JT Sawyer
Now, with some time off, he relished the thought of spending a few days with her. After the ordeal they had been through in Arizona earlier in the fall, he had felt a bond that he’d never known with a woman before. He was willing to go the distance but didn’t know how things were going to pan out with his contracting position working for the Israeli military and with Dev’s insane work hours. If nothing else, he’d finish out his two-month contract with the military and head back to Arizona just in time for the cattle round-up at his friend’s ranch.
Thirty minutes later, he maneuvered through several neighborhoods with eclectic architecture and up a winding road that led to the Leitner household. The small two-story home was framed by cedar trees which accentuated the faded white walls of the old structure. He removed his helmet and slipped it onto the leather seat then removed a carefully wrapped bouquet of flowers from a rear compartment. Walking up the inclined driveway past a manicured row of elderberry bushes, he could hear Eva and Dev in a heated discussion in the kitchen at the rear.
“What a surprise—Dev’s discussing work,” he mumbled as he strode up, clearing his throat as he approached the back door to announce his arrival.
Eva flung the dish towel in her hand down on the counter and replaced her stolid expression with a warm smile. “Ah, my dear Mitch. Please come in,” she said, holding open the screen door and then greeting him with a hug. “You are always so punctual.” She looked with delight at the flowers and then pulled them close to her nose, inhaling the fragrance. “And what a sweet boy.” She looked back at Dev who was busy stirring sauce in a stovetop pan. “He’s something, isn’t he?” She winked at her daughter while Mitch walked into the kitchen. Dev glanced at Mitch’s face, which he tried to drain of tension by emitting a smile.
Eva was the boisterous one in the family who made up for her daughter’s introverted nature. She could hold a one-sided conversation the entire evening if allowed to and Mitch often wondered how Dev was related to such a chatty creature. Still, her effervescent personality was infectious and she always made him feel at ease.
“What, no flowers for me?” said Dev, who looked up from her culinary duties.
Mitch smirked. “Actually, I brought a new folding knife I just got and thought you might find the sight of that more exciting.”
“Now that’s more like it—though you can bring me flowers sometime too.”
“You know my daughter well,” chimed in Eva, who was setting plates on the round oaken table.
He suspected Eva was probably already planning out wedding invitations for the two of them. She had secretly confided in him one night at dinner, while Dev was in the kitchen, that her daughter was clearly excited to have Mitch in Israel. He saw it too in Dev’s eyes on rare occasions when her work commitments melted away.
Dev tilted her head and gave a smug grin. “So, you’re not going to storm off from this meal too and hide in the hills like you did the last time we met, are you?”
“Ah, yeah, sorry about that. Just a little occupational mishap I probably should’ve informed you about. Honestly, I didn’t think my students would rush me during dinner in a crowded street.”
“Uh-huh, sure you didn’t. I think you saw the price of our meal and made your getaway.”
“Ouch. I can be cheap but not when it comes to dining with a lady.”
Once the meal was ready, everyone moved into the dining room. The plum-orange sun was hanging on the cusp of the city skyline in the distance, its rays piercing the bay windows on either side of the oak table. The braised lamb and garden-fresh asparagus along with the side dish of pine nuts were eagerly consumed in between small talk about Mitch’s mantracking work and Eva’s discussion of visits with her extended family around Israel.
After dinner, Dev and Mitch retreated to the front patio, enjoying some baklava and coffee which Mitch was certain had a hint of rum in it despite the older woman’s wistful denial. Eva insisted on staying in the kitchen to clean up, though she poked her head in often enough to make Mitch wonder just how much dish-washing she was doing.
When he’d finished his last forkful of the sticky treat, Mitch looked over at Dev, whose ebony hair was haloed by the setting sun. He found his words stuck in his mouth as he spoke, trying to take in her lovely features but feeling apprehensive instead.
“Look, I know you are probably swamped with a thousand work issues right now but I could use your help with something—with tracking a person down.”
“I thought that was your specialty,” she said, nodding towards his boots.
“Not on this one. I’m without the resources I had when I worked with the FBI so any assistance would be appreciated. I’d be willing to hire Gideon even, if that helps, though I might have to take out a loan.”
“Who’s the subject?”
“Robert Schueller. Bob was a friend of mine from when I was in the army. He was a professor of physiology at the army’s cold-weather testing lab in Natick, Maine. When I was stationed there, he was doing research on survival under extreme conditions and needed test subjects. My Special Forces team was selected to undergo the study. Bob and I shared a common interest in survival—me with what happens in the wilds when a person is reduced to having only their bare hands and Bob with the physiological side of how the human machine endures environmental stressors. We kinda fed off each other’s enthusiasm and became fast friends. He and his family welcomed me in as one of their own. He’s been working as a professor in microbiology at Cornell University for many years since leaving the military but his wife confided in me that he still has some dealings with the DOD on occasion, though that’s about all she knew.”
“Have you spoken with him lately?”
“The last time I saw him was four months ago at his daughter’s wedding in Boston.”
“So was he abducted or did he voluntarily drop off the radar—mistress for instance, or another family somewhere. I have to ask, Mitch. In my business such things happen all the time.”
“Not Bob—his only mistress is his work.” Mitch balled his fist and swallowed hard. “Margo, his wife—I just spoke with her a few hours ago. She said he was last seen disembarking a plane at Heathrow Airport. She’s gone through the police already but all they said is he was seen leaving with a young woman once he got off the plane.” He paused and ran a hand through his hair. “They think this is the same woman who hacked up a police officer in the parking garage.”
Dev rested her hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Mitch. I could tell there was something wrong when you arrived.”
Mitch just nodded his chin, containing the fury and anguish that was brewing inside him.
“Research—what was Schueller involved with?” said Dev.
“Last I recall from his geek-speak over a beer was that he was studying the effects of neurotoxins on the body. He did his graduate work in viral pathogens in the nineties. DOD took an interest in all such research after the ricin terrorist attacks in Japan, employing guys like Bob to provide data on other potential threats. I don’t know much beyond that. He’s ventured into microbiology in recent years which is what he’s been researching at Cornell.”
“So, your government must be spearheading a search effort if one of their own went missing under mysterious circumstances.”
“You’d think. I imagine some wheels must be turning but who knows to what extent. You know that if things get messy for an agency, deniability of your assets rises to the forefront. Plus, I don’t even know if this is connected with his research or if he was just kidnapped to extort money from his family, though that seems unlikely given no contact has been made with his wife.” Mitch leaned forward in his chair, interlacing his fingers. “The thing is, Margo said he was heading to London to present his research on biopathology at a closed-door government think-tank, so I’m guessing there has to be a connection.”
“Was anything of his stolen?”
“Officially, no, but who the hell knows for sure. That’s why I can use som
e help on this if it’s not going to be putting you in over your head with everything else you’ve got going on.”
Dev put her jade-green coffee cup on the glass table between them. “I’ll get my people right on it—I’ll tell the board, if they ask at all, that I’ve taken on a promising new client.” She reached over and brushed her fingers over the top of his weathered hand. Dev looked up at him and he could see the warmth in her eyes as the noise from the city below disappeared.
He folded his arms over his chest, his shirt sleeve sliding up slightly to reveal an old, jagged scar on his left forearm. He noticed Dev staring at and shook his arm to lower the sleeve.
“That’s one you haven’t told me about,” Dev said with her eyebrows raised.
“Some things aren’t worth talking about.” His face tightened at his words. “Will you call me when you have something—anything on Bob or this mystery woman?”
Dev could tell by the crooked shape of the scar that it wasn’t caused by a knife or shrapnel from an explosion but was most likely from a bullet round that grazed his skin. She’d seen the type before and knew that such wounds went beyond the flesh. She nodded in response to his query then raised her empty mug, changing the subject.
“We can stay here and try to imbibe more of my mother’s water-drowned coffee or head downtown for drinks, if you’d like.” She nudged his shoulder. “I’ll even buy the first round, cowboy.”
He grinned slightly. “That’s mighty fine of you, miss, but that’d just be plain wrong to let a lady get drunk on her own tab.”
“Who said anything about getting hammered? Besides, I can probably outdrink you.”
“Really—you think so? Then this game is on.”
Chapter 6
Gideon Consulting was a three-story building nestled near the center of Tel Aviv, its glass-lined exterior blending in with the rest of the corporate facilities lining the bustling downtown region. The business nameplate on the lobby doors only indicated GC in gold letters above the address and revealed nothing about its role as a premier kidnapping and ransom company that had its hand in global operations. The entrance was key-coded and a plain-clothes guard stood inside to the right, greeting staff as they entered for the day shift. The burly man’s shoulder-holstered Glocks went unnoticed by visitors and their discreetness belied the fact that all of Gideon’s staff were armed. Even the secretary behind the stainless-steel desk near the elevators had an MP-5 mounted under the frame.
Gideon was the creation of Anatoly Leitner, Dev’s father, and a large photograph of his image was mounted on the wall opposite the lobby doors. Since his untimely death in the U.S. three months earlier, Dev had struggled to hold onto the reins of his business. The pressures of managing a large company of over one hundred and twenty staff comprised largely of alpha-male warriors, while coping with her own grief, made for a rocky start.
Under Dev’s direction, the company was starting to explore work in Latin America and expanding their operations in Eastern Europe. She had worked enough in Africa to know just how volatile and deadly that region was and she wanted to avoid any further assignments there if possible. Working in Somalia and Sudan had gotten her too jaded to military dictatorships, armed bandits, and the frequent sight of decaying bodies in the alleys and she had vowed to pull Gideon’s involvement out of those perilous third-world countries despite the protests of senior Gideon advisors who reminded her of the lucrative nature of those contracts. Most of her father’s former clients were corporations who signed on with Gideon as a sort of pre-emptive kidnapping insurance policy. Many were multi-national oil firms that employed workers in politically charged climates and needed assurance that their staff could be rescued without months of red tape and negative attention from the press.
Dev had just finished her morning briefing with her board of directors when she returned to her office, where Mitch was waiting.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, standing up from the leather seat beside her desk.
“You’re the only thing good about it so far.” She tossed a thick stack of manila folders on the desk then ran her fingers through her thick hair, letting out an exhale. “We’ve just lost another stakeholder, this time a company in the U.S. who said they no longer require our services if we won’t cover Africa. That’s the second corporation in six weeks.”
“You told me before that Africa is where the dollars are flowing these days for ransoming hostages.”
“True, but we’ve lost enough of our personnel there over the years and I just don’t see any need to sacrifice three of our people to rescue one worker who decided to break company protocols and play dumb tourist on his day off. I’ve lost enough fine men since my father’s passing that pretty soon it’s going to be me and Jacob, the guard at the front door, keeping this place afloat.”
Mitch frowned and walked to the window, looking at the grounds below where a steady flow of clients were walking out of the other buildings while Gideon’s doors were still. “Maybe you need to look at restructuring things to a more manageable size and one that doesn’t cause such an elevated blood pressure every time you’re here.”
“Maybe, cowboy, maybe, but you didn’t come here to advise me.” She opened up her laptop and clicked on a file that pulled up black-and-white security camera footage from the Heathrow Airport. “So come look at this,” she said, pointing to the figure of Bob Schueller after he exited the plane. “Notice this blond-haired woman walking parallel in the distance to Schueller, occasionally glancing over at him.”
Mitch squinted at the screen for a moment, finding it difficult to pull his attention away from his troubled friend. Dev enhanced the photograph and then compared the woman in it to a picture from a passport. “These documents were obtained from a colleague who works in international customs. “This woman, Jessica Yin, shows up on the passenger manifest—she was seated next to your friend during the flight, in first class.”
Mitch strained his eyes, taking in the details of the half-Asian woman’s face and glancing back to the footage from Heathrow.
“So, what’s the connection?”
Dev pulled up another file which showed four images of Yin taken in different cities around the world. Each time her hair was a different color and length. “Chau, Yin, or whatever her real name is, is implicated in over a dozen corporate espionage cases over the past ten years. All of them are connected, in some way, with bio-tech research and pharmaceuticals. You tell me if that doesn’t link her to your friend’s disappearance.”
Mitch was gripping the edge of the desk, his fingers turning white as his breathing constricted with each glance at the woman’s image. “Margo, his wife, said that he hadn’t been working on anything out of the ordinary at the university. He was merely going to London for a routine conference. It didn’t sound like anything top-secret. I mean, hell, the DOD wouldn’t have even let him leave the country if it was a security risk.”
“Well, something caused him to appear on Yin’s radar or whoever is pulling her strings.”
“Ah, shit, Bob,” he said, tapping the picture of his friend. “What did you get tied up with? Maybe you weren’t even aware of the well you’d dipped into.”
Then he settled his gaze upon Yin, his eyelids narrowing. “Now I just need to locate this hellish fiend and pay her a visit.”
“Mitch, this is a job for MI6 and your U.S. agencies. I have some contacts that we can turn this over to.”
“So Yin can get hung up in an interdiction battle with all the countries that want their hands on her. No thanks.”
She started speaking in a monotone voice. “I’d like to help further but this is as far as my company can reach out.” She turned the laptop towards him then clicked on another screen which showed her company’s darknet facial recognition program, pulling up the image of Yin followed by GPS coordinates to a location in Austria. “I have to go grab some coffee and I may be gone for a few minutes and won’t be able to acknowledge to the board that someone glean
ed information from my device during that brief absence.” She looked straight ahead and then walked to the double doors and exited, leaving Mitch alone.
Mitch’s crooked grin diminished after she left and he stared at the screen again, committing the information to memory. “Austria. As for you, Ms. Yin, your life may be forfeit.”
***
That night, back at his studio apartment, Mitch couldn’t sleep. His thoughts were focused on the upcoming mission and the welfare of Bob. His head hurt from the stress and he found himself unable to turn it all off. A hundred scenarios played out in his head including the dreaded one that involved him making a visit to Margo to tell her the bad news. Have to stay focused—he’s still alive. He has to be. Don’t let doubt undermine your training.
Mitch decided to go over his gear one more time which would keep him occupied for a while. He pulled out the Berenson leather jacket from his duffel bag. It was designed to look like a standard jacket but was tailor-made by a friend of his who designed tactical accoutrements for the Secret Service. In addition to the triple-stitched seams and reinforced shoulders to support weight for stowing weapons, it had a plethora of concealed pockets. Each of these contained specific items that he had used over the years during undercover work with the FBI. Every piece of gear was carefully selected for its practicality and durability.
In an internal zippered pocket near the chest was a tactical flashlight, a spare battery, a small first-aid kit, and a mini-tourniquet. Opposite that side was a velcroed pocket containing a small monocular, a chem-light, a button compass, and a finger-sized portable phone charger. In his outside pockets were assault gloves, a N95 dust mask, two protein bars, two energy gels, and a reflective blanket along with a bottle of iodine tablets for water purification. In a hidden shoulder compartment was a plastic handcuff key along with $100 in assorted bills and a few silver coins.