Finding North

by Christian, Claudia Hall

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  “The cricket said that I do better when I collaborate,” Alex said. “‘You do better work when you collaborate.’ That’s what he said. And I wondered if there are people who can help me, but . . .”

  “You’ll have to travel more,” John said.

  “I miss you,” Alex said. “I miss Joey. I miss Máire.”

  John chuckled and pulled Alex close.

  “I don’t want to sleep even a wink and miss my time with you,” Alex said.

  “Then, let’s not sleep,” John said. “I’m scheduled off work tomorrow to cover Quince’s holiday.”

  “I can sleep on the plane,” Alex nodded.

  “But let’s not mope, either,” John said. “I’ll miss you, too, but the moping is . . . a waste. We’ve done this before, and it only ends . . .”

  “In big fights,” Alex finished his statement.

  “Exactly,” he said.

  “What would you like to do?” Alex asked.

  “I can think of a few things,” he said in a throaty whisper.

  Alex smiled and sat up to face him. Leaning forward, he kissed her.

  “We need to feed the babies around two,” Alex said.

  “Do you think we’ll have enough time?” John asked.

  “Probably not,” Alex laughed. “But we can always start again when they go back to sleep.”

  “I like the way you think,” he said.

  F

  Chapter Seven

  Monday morning

  May 16 — 11:24 a.m. EDT (9:24 a.m. MDT)

  New York City, New York

  “Here we are,” said Orchid, the young female Homeland Security agent, as the limousine pulled into the loading zone in front of a building.

  She waved to the building on their right. Anxious to prove herself, Orchid had met Alex, Raz, and Colin at the airport. Orchid had Asian features and hipster-short, purple hair, a nose ring, and skintight black clothing. Alex guessed she was first-generation Chinese. When she smiled, she looked like one of those Disney fairies. Of course, one look at Raz, and she became all giggles and batting eyelashes.

  “I’ll show you up.” Orchid gave a big, sparkling-white smile.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Raz said.

  “Oh,” Orchid said. “You’d like me to brief you here? In the car?”

  Sitting on the other side of Raz, Alex took his hand and squeezed it. He gave a slight nod.

  “Why don’t you bring us up to speed, Orchid?” Alex asked.

  “Here?” Orchid asked.

  “We’re just in from Denver,” Alex said. “What would you recommend?”

  “Gosh, I know what that’s like.” The woman’s shoulders shifted back, and she sat up straighter. “Travel is so tough. Especially from the west. It took me forever to get used to being here in New York.”

  Orchid looked at Colin and then at Alex. She carefully avoided looking at Raz.

  “I’ll show you up,” Orchid said, and stepped out of the limousine.

  Raz gave a soft groan. Colin chuckled. The driver got their bags, and they went inside the building. The CIA had picked up this converted warehouse for a song when the economy had crashed. The inside of the building had been demolished and the foundation secured. The agency had converted the warehouse into civilian apartments. The sale of the apartments easily paid for the care and maintenance of three floors of secure apartments, including a secure elevator. Completely self-funded, the building was off the budget and away from Congressional oversight. With an unobstructed view of the river, the “Warehouse,” as it was called by intelligence agents, was considered to be the best safe house in town.

  Orchid introduced the ex-military-turned-CIA-operative doorman as “Tom.”

  “Mark?” Colin asked.

  “Hargreaves!” said “Tom” the doorman. “I thought that was you.”

  “You know each other?” Orchid looked horrified.

  “Special Forces,” Colin said. “Iraq.”

  “It’s a small world after all,” “Tom” said.

  Orchid got more and more frustrated when Colin and Tom played the “What happened to . . .?” game by the minute. Unable to tolerate it any more, she regained control by reminding the doorman of his place. They were in the secure elevator on the way to the apartment in no time. On the fourth floor, Orchid took them down a long hallway and opened a door at the end.

  “This is very nice,” Alex said, to ease Orchid’s anxiety.

  The loft apartment had a master bedroom for Alex and Raz, and an additional smaller bedroom for Colin. It was furnished to give the air of wealthy but not pretentious. The floor-to-ceiling bulletproof windows had an unobstructed view of the river.

  “Do you like it?” Orchid brightened with Alex’s compliment. “I took the liberty of acquiring a wardrobe for each of you.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said.

  Raz went to the kitchen to check for plates, pans, and cooking utensils. He was pleasantly surprised to find the kitchen fully stocked.

  “I had the procurement team get groceries as well, Agent Rasmussen,” said Orchid, her voice rising at the end of her statement. She cleared her throat and blushed. “You should find all of your favorite foods there.”

  Raz opened the refrigerator and nodded.

  “That was kind of you,” he said and rewarded her with a handsome smile.

  Orchid looked like she was going to faint.

  “Would you like to give us your update?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Orchid said. “We’ve analyzed Carlos Santalogo. He was born in Cuba and moved to the US when he was five or six to live with a maternal uncle. No one is quite sure which uncle. His parents remained in Cuba until he was in his twenties. He’s married and has one child, with one on the way. According to his Captain, he took the detective’s exam three times before passing. It looked like he wasn’t going to make detective when some old-timer . . . uh . . . Dexter Zeno was his name. What a name?”

  “Sounds Greek,” Colin said.

  “Anyway, this Zeno is an old-timer with a decent arrest and case-closure record. Before they brought Santalogo up, he’d been on desk duty. Something about losing a partner in 9-11. I guess he never got over it. His file says that he was given the chance to retire or train a new detective. He took the latter, and Santalogo became a detective.”

  Raz cleared his throat. He took out the espresso maker and started to look for coffee.

  “It doesn’t sound like you found anything,” Alex said.

  “Just that,” Orchid said. “Santalogo has been on the DHS watch list because he still has ties to Cuba.”

  “Which are?” Raz asked.

  “He has siblings in Cuba,” Orchid said. She looked around the apartment in case someone was listening. “One of his siblings works for the government of Cuba.”

  Orchid nodded as if that explained everything.

  “What does his sibling do?” Colin asked.

  “Oh,” Orchid said. “I’m not sure. Uh . . .”

  She cleared her throat and began reciting facts.

  “Santalogo likes to surf the ’net after his children go to bed,” Orchid said. “He’s partial to Reddit, you know the site that . . .”

  “We’ve heard of it,” Raz said.

  “Sure,” Orchid nodded.

  “Porn? Drugs?” Alex asked. “Anything we should know about?”

  “No drugs,” Orchid said. “Some porn. His email indicates that he may be having an affair, but it’s inconclusive. The NSA looked into him after we flagged him. He doesn’t fit their algorithm for a terrorist.”

  “Thank you for your assessment,” Alex said. “Do you know where to find him?”

  “His address is in the file here,” Orchid said. “One interesting thing.”

  “Yes?” Alex asked.

  “His partner owns a building not far from here,” Orchid said. “Inherited it from his father. I guess his family’s been in Tribeca for
a long time. There’s something about the building that makes it difficult to surveil.”

  “Why would anyone bother?” Alex asked.

  “The partner, uh . . . Detective Zeno, fits the NSA algorithm,” Orchid said. “But mostly because of Santalogo. No one is real sure how or why he picked this Cuban for his partner. We tried to interview Detective Zeno, but we could never catch up with him. Cagey guy, but all those old guys are. They’ve just seen too much.”

  “Makes sense,” Raz said.

  “Should I bring him in?” Orchid asked. “Put the screws to the old guy to get intel on Santalogo?”

  “No, thank you,” Alex said.

  “We’re here to take a look,” Raz smiled. “We want to assess the situation before we take any drastic measures.”

  “Thank you for your hard work,” Alex said.

  “You’re after this Santalogo guy?” Orchid asked.

  “We’ve been looking into all Cubans in the US,” Raz said. “The president keeps saying he will close Gitmo. He wants to be sure that the Cubans in the US are not going to cause any trouble. We don’t want the Bay of Pigs all over again.”

  “Good point.” Orchid nodded as if Raz’s nonsensical logic was grounds for international policy.

  “Colin?” Alex asked. “Colin will escort you out. Thank you again. This is lovely, more than we could have ever asked for.”

  “Great intel,” Raz said. “Gorgeous place to stay. Thank you.”

  “I’m happy to help.” Orchid beamed at the praise. “Call me if you need anything.”

  She looked Colin up and down before shooting a glance to Raz.

  “Anything,” she repeated.

  Colin followed her out of the loft. Alex went to Raz and put her hands around his neck. He held her close.

  “Surveillance?” Alex asked in his ear.

  “Four cameras in every room.” Raz’s eyes indicated the location of the four video cameras in this room. “We have to assume there’s audio.”

  Alex nodded.

  “Ammunition?” Alex asked.

  “Baseboard cabinet below kitchen bar,” Raz said. “Military-grade shotguns and explosives as well.”

  Alex nodded.

  “Closets?” Raz asked.

  She kissed his cheek and broke off from his embrace. He tapped her rear. She gave him a suggestive smile and went into the bedroom. She opened the large walk-in closet. It was filled with gorgeous gowns and designer suits in her size. While not the special luxury of Claire Martins’ designs, the clothing was perfectly suited to her. She did a cursory check for GPS tags in the seams of the clothing. Sure enough, every gown and outfit had a tag. She checked Raz’s closet before going into the small bedroom to check Colin’s closet. Raz looked up when she came out into the main open area of the loft. She nodded.

  She opened her laptop. Using the building’s Wi-Fi, she pinged Xavier, their computer expert. Less than two minutes later, X sent Alex a coded IM about Jesus statues made out of lard to confirm that everything she did on the Internet would be recorded. Alex was concerned about who was watching over the shoulder of the CIA and Homeland Security. She didn’t want to take the chance that persons of the Linear A variety were listening.

  She looked up when Colin returned from escorting Orchid downstairs. He gave Alex an almost-imperceptible nod. She smiled. Colin had made an arrangement with the doorman not to record their movements.

  In order to give their team video of them using the apartment, Alex went into the kitchen to help Raz put lunch together. Together, they went to the dining room and then into the bedroom. Alex and Raz undressed and lay down on the bed. They each used the restroom and took showers. They went back into the kitchen and began preparing a meal.

  Colin went into his bedroom and rifled through his closet. He unpacked his suitcase and changed into his bodyguard outfit. He then took off his clothing, went into the bathroom, and lay down on the bed. They moved around the apartment for a little more than an hour.

  “Sir?” Sergeant Dusty’s voice came from Alex’s laptop.

  “Yes, Sergeant?” Alex asked.

  “You are clear,” Sergeant Dusty said. “We have enough tape to cover your absences. However, we can only cover you for two, maybe three hours, tops. There’s simply too much active surveillance in the building.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Alex said.

  “Turning control over to you,” Sergeant Dusty said. “Do you remember how . . .?”

  “I’ve got it,” Colin said. “Thanks, Dusty.”

  “Sir,” Sergeant Dusty said. “Enjoy your trip.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Alex nodded to Colin, and he turned the surveillance back on.

  “We’re going out,” Alex said to Colin.

  “Shall I get the car, sir?” Colin asked.

  “No, thank you,” Raz said.

  “We’re looking forward to the walk,” Alex said.

  “Yes, sir,” Colin said.

  Raz held open the door to the apartment for Alex. Colin followed them out the door. They took the elevator to the main level, where they checked out of the building. They walked along the river for a couple miles, paying close attention to the agents following them. They turned around and started back toward the apartment building. Two blocks from the building, they took a sharp turn into the city. They lost their tail inside the Tribeca Performing Arts Center. When they were sure they weren’t being followed, they cut down a short, tree-lined alley filled with parked cars to a small, three-story apartment building. Raz took a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door. They went up a shabby stairwell to a door on the third floor. Raz unlocked the door.

  “I love this apartment,” Alex said.

  The apartment was comfortably furnished with hardwood floors and soft furniture. There were two small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living area. The apartment was old but clean and well kept.

  “Wow,” Colin said. “How did you find this?”

  “My wife Vicki grew up here,” Raz said. “We bought it from her parents when we got married. They were retiring to Florida, and it worked for us. It was close enough to the World Trade Center that she could walk. I was in the precinct.”

  Raz shrugged.

  “Why did you keep it?” Colin asked.

  “It was Alex’s idea,” Raz said. “She thought it would be nice to have a place in the city. I owned it outright — or Vicki had. Her parents would sell it only to her, so she was the sole person on the title. She still is. Anyway, I have a service come in once a month to clean. They were here last week. It’s not as fancy as the Warehouse — no food or expensive clothing — but it is private.”

  “I’m with Alex,” Colin said. “It’s perfect.”

  Raz nodded. They set to work looking for surveillance devices. Finding nothing, they sat down on the couch.

  “Let’s find Dex,” Alex asked.

  Raz went to the small desk in the corner of the room and turned on the ancient desktop computer. He went to use the restroom while the computer came up. Alex pinged X, and he replied that their connection was secure.

  “Here we go,” Raz said. He sent a satellite trace on his old partner.

  Alex picked up the landline and called the precinct.

  “He’s at his desk,” Alex said. “Are you ready?”

  Raz nodded.

  “Let’s stalk us some police detective,” Colin said.

  Laughing, they left the apartment. They’d walked three blocks before they picked up the agents tailing them. They made their way to the 1st Precinct and New York City’s finest. Once there, they took a table at the bar across the street and settled in to wait.

  F

  Chapter Eight

  Monday afternoon

  May 16 — 1:41 p.m. MDT (3:41 p.m. EDT)

  In the mountains outside of Colorado Springs, Colorado

  Troy waited until the horse and rider had moved out of the way before pulling into a parking space. Getting out of the car, he tried to get his
bearings. He was standing on the edge of an open field. There was a horse ring on his far left and a large horse stable on his right. The facility was a hive of activity as they got ready for the after-school crowd.

  “Troy!”

  Hearing his name, Troy looked around for the caller. His sister, Helen, had spotted him from near the barn. She raised her right arm and gave him an enthusiastic wave. He returned her wave. He grabbed his backpack from the SUV and started in her direction.

  Last November, he’d visited Helen in the therapeutic treatment center. After a lifetime of horrific abuse — and a full mental breakdown when their father was arrested — she could barely hold a conversation without crying. A month later, she’d said she wanted to come to Colorado to spend the holidays.

  She never returned to the treatment center. Alex’s mother, Rebecca, had helped her sign up for training in therapeutic horsemanship at the Air Force Academy Equestrian Training Center, seventy miles south of Denver outside of Colorado Springs. The first week, she was a mass of insecurity. When wounded veterans arrived for the trainees to practice their new skills, Helen began to thrive.

  Helen was born to help people. Three months later, she was their most popular paraprofessional. She had a way of getting through to people. If everything continued to go well, she would begin training as a therapeutic riding instructor in the fall.

  “Did you bring the boys?” Helen asked.

  She gave him a radiant smile. Over the last months, the sunshine and horses had made her body muscular and strong. Her long hair hung in a salt-and-pepper braid down her back. She looked around for Troy’s boys.

  “This is not that kind of visit,” Troy said.

  “Oh, well,” Helen smiled. “I can always hope.”

  Troy hugged her.

  “Do you want to go inside or talk out here?” Helen asked.

  “Where would you be most comfortable?” Troy asked.

  “Let’s take the horses out,” Helen said. “Gennifer doesn’t get enough attention these days. She’s quite fond of you for saving her from the glue factory.”

  Troy chuckled, and she smiled.