“Sure, why?” Malcolm asked.
“Airport security claimed she’s a major drug importer,” Paul said. “I don’t believe that for one second.”
“How so, Milord?”
“She’d been stabbed, beaten and was semi-conscious,” Paul said. “But she was able to whisper some interesting information before the paramedics arrived... asked me to go to an address. It appeared like she was trying to give me instructions about what to do with what she said I’d find there. She said her name is Janet Wallis, and that she’s a DEA agent assigned to Interpol. She showed me her ID, just before the airport cops grabbed it from me.”
“I must say, Milord.” Malcolm said. “I was surprised when Deon told me you’d called from the plane that you were having to land in Amsterdam. Who could have imagined what happened after that? My word!”
“I’m going back to Amsterdam,” Paul added. “If I understood that woman correctly, and I believe her, she had been working undercover to expose a drug trafficking and human smuggling operation using that airport.”
“You’re going back, Milord?” Malcolm said. “After what you’ve been through?”
“Yes, Malcolm.” Paul said. “I hope she’s okay. Judging from her injuries, she may still be in hospital. If not, maybe Ken and Richard’s contacts there can help. Failing that, I’ll try locating the address she gave me. Maybe I can figure out from there what this is all about.”
“Shouldn’t you leave that to local authorities?” Malcolm asked.
“Under normal circumstances, of course,” Paul replied. “But I’m not sure who I can trust there.”
***
Ken Hagerman’s Office
“Richard tells me you’re thinking about going back to Amsterdam,” Ken said.
“Yeah,” Paul said. “I told you about that Interpol agent, Janet Wallis. I want to see if I can track her down. Sure hope she’s okay. I’m curious about an address she whispered to me and what that’s all about.”
“I’ll let my friend on the Amsterdam force know you’re coming,” Ken said. “Before you go, however, I think you should look at some security video from the Amsterdam airport,” Ken added. “I just got it.”
A TV monitor set up in Ken’s office appeared to have been in use before his arrival.
“That friend,” Ken said. “The one who got you released... he sent me this video. It confirms what he told me on the phone. Drug trafficking at that airport is getting out of hand. He’s convinced that at least one airport security squad is in on it, maybe more.”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “Janet Wallis warned me about that while we were waiting for the paramedics.”
“This video confirms it,” Ken said. “It’s from a security camera in the baggage handling area. The camera had just been installed along with several more. Only two or three senior airport security people know about them.”
Paul watched as baggage handlers scurried about their business. The video was running double time. After a few minutes, Ken slowed it down.
“Watch this sequence,” he said.
Two men dressed in airport security uniforms were pushing a luggage cart up to a counter. A woman behind it, dressed similarly, gestured them around to one side. All three load some two-foot cube-shaped boxes from under the counter onto the cart. One of the men left. The other remained and handed a gym bag to the woman. She pulled out stacks of money and appeared to count it as the video ends.
“That woman is Janet Wallis,” Ken said.
“I see,” Paul said, raising his eyebrows. “Obviously, she’s well enough to leave hospital…”
“Yeah,” Ken said. “This was recorded two days ago.”
“Your friend should know where she is then,” Paul said. “She told me she was working undercover.”
“No,” Ken replied. “She’s missing. A source told Amsterdam police she’s disappeared... and so has the money... a couple of million euros.”
“Oh, oh!” Paul said. “They think she’s dirty too?”
“Yes,” Ken replied. “And by the way, an Amsterdam police drug detector dog checked those boxes after they came off a direct flight from Ankara. The dog signaled on all of them. They stuck probes into the bottoms... cocaine... huge amounts. Amsterdam police followed the shipment to a local gang address. They arrested everyone there, but got just a few of the ringleaders, dammit! No sign of Janet Wallis. Police are holding off arresting the airport security squad you saw until they have enough evidence to round up everyone involved.”
“When did you say you’re going back to Amsterdam?” Ken said.
“Right away,” Paul replied. “I’m going to do what Janet asked me to do. My instincts are telling me she’s clean. Besides, I made a promise to her. Why do you ask?”
“That trip could be risky,” Ken said. “But I know you’ll not be dissuaded. So would you be willing to act on behalf of MI5/Interpol, and let us know what you find... especially if you locate Wallis?”
“Of course,” Paul replied.
“There’s something else,” Ken said. “We have reason to believe your arrest was part of a plan to turn you over to that crime syndicate for execution.”
“Shit!” Paul said. “Those buggers are determined, aren’t they? Please keep this to yourself, okay? I can’t have Anne or even Richard finding out.”
“As you wish,” Ken said. “I know you’ll do whatever you think you should.
“May I inquire whether Ms. Willis asked you to do anything else after finding the address?” Ken asked. “Did she tell you where to deliver what you found?”
“She told me where to locate a package at that address, and to turn it over to her undercover contact in the Amsterdam police. I have a phone number memorized.”
“Before you contact the CI, please give me a call,” Ken said. “We need to be sure that CI isn’t compromised. The package may contain important evidence that Interpol and we can use to take down that syndicate and the gangs associated with them. That includes Ahmed Mousavi’s former gang.”
Chapter Thirty
Malcolm’s Office
“I need a few doctors,” Paul said.
“Really, Milord?” Malcolm said, his eyes sparkling with humor. “You seem healthy enough... are you ill!”
“No,” Paul chuckled. “Seriously, this is a bit outside your frame of reference but I need your help.”
“It’s not an intrusion at all,” Malcolm said. “I love doing this. Good gracious, Secret Shepherd is why I find myself bounding out of bed every morning these past months. I’ve not felt that motivated in years.”
Paul smiled.
“I’ve been a solicitor for over thirty years, Milord,” Malcolm added. “I’m tired of practicing law. It’s not the least bit challenging anymore. I needed something else. This is it! Thank you for that. You pay me well, extraordinarily well, in fact, and thank you for that, too!”
“I’m delighted to hear you’re enjoying this,” Paul said.
“Yes, indeed,” Malcolm said. “Would you mind telling me why you need several doctors?”
“They’re for the clinic in Sierra Leone,” Paul said. “It needs two family doctors and a pediatric surgeon, plus nurses, teachers and some other help. Could you have someone research the top medical schools for potential doctors and develop a short list of candidates?” Paul said.
“Anne is working with a recruiting firm to find nurses,” he added. “She’s drafting ads for their major newsletters. We need doctors and nurses willing to devote three to five years there. Secret Shepherd will pay them better than what they’d earn if they were working in the west, plus a generous bonus at the end.”
“Gender, history, race, marital status?” Malcolm asked.
“Not important,” Paul said. “Just a love for children and a commitment to give their best. One other thing—I’ve been thinking about Ahmed. I’m going to be looking into some potential projects for the Secret Shepherd Foundation in America in a couple of months. I want to take him w
ith me. It would be good experience for him and, frankly, he needs to get away from England for his own safety. Do you know if he’s free to leave the country?”
Malcolm raised his right eyebrow. “Are you quite certain you want to take him along?” he said.
“Yes!” Paul replied firmly. “I need to go to Amsterdam for a few days. When I get back, Anne, the kids and I are going for a short visit to Colorado. I’ll be returning here for some House of Lords work and then I plan to go back to America on Secret Shepherd business. I want to take Ahmed with me... be good experience for him.”
“Yes, Milord,” Malcolm said. “I understand from Joan that Ahmed’s undercover work got him exonerated from all charges. I guess he had better make sure his vaccinations and passport are up to date. I’ll ask Simone to work on the arrangements. She’s become a whiz at making your travel arrangements. By the way, Joan and Ahmed are getting along very well now. She’s become almost like a surrogate mother to him.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Paul said. “Ahmed sure was an angry young man not so long ago.”
“This is good for her too,” Malcolm said. “Being a woman in her late forties. I don’t suppose she’ll mind me telling you that she and her husband, Michael, weren’t able to have children. Then they got too preoccupied with their careers... they ran out of time to adopt.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Schiphol Airport,
Amsterdam
“Good afternoon, Mr. Winston.”
The woman in the customs booth spoke with impeccable English. She was looking at his US passport. “What brings you back to Amsterdam, all the way from Colorado Springs, USA?”
“Business,” Paul said, smiling at the pleasant customs agent. “I’m looking into some investment opportunities.”
“Welcome back to the Netherlands,” she said, stamping his passport and handing it back to him. The use of his ‘civilian’ US passport avoided drawing attention, unlike the British passport that revealed his title and attracted all the presumptive privileges and dreaded deference that went with it. He was relieved his earlier arrest apparently wasn’t known to customs.
Paul pulled up the handle on his wheeled carry-on and headed out of the terminal to find a taxi.
“Grand Hotel,” Paul told the driver who’d swung his car sharply ahead of another, cutting it off. The two vehicles almost collided. The other driver blared his horn and cursed through his open passenger side window.
“Was I supposed to take that one?” Paul asked as he settled into the back seat of the cab.
“Oh, no sir,” the driver said. “I was first in line. It is okay.”
Paul chuckled to himself about how the driver had become first in line. He heard a Middle Eastern accent. Such accents were commonplace in England and the US.
“Why you come to Holland?” the driver asked.
“Business,” Paul replied. He was pleasantly surprised at the cabbie’s friendliness. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to rest on the drive into town.”
“Of course,” the driver said, turning down the volume on the radio. The tune that had been blaring out loudly was distinctly Middle Eastern.
Paul leaned back and rested his head on the back cushion. He’d spent a busy day at the House of Lords and was ready to relax. It was a long drive to downtown Amsterdam. He allowed himself to slip into a nap.
***
Over breakfast the next morning, Paul reviewed in his mind once again the instructions an injured Janet Wallis had whispered while helping her earlier during his unplanned stop in Amsterdam en route back from Sierra Leone.
He still felt uneasy about the uncomfortable night he’d spent in the detention unit on that trip. Airport security and Amsterdam police had apologized profusely and returned his cell phone, passport and other possessions. Regardless, his instincts were telling him that he was part of some unfinished business he knew nothing about.
Paul was startled as he emerged from the hotel entrance to find the same driver from the airport waiting for him. The driver jumped to his feet when Paul walked out the door.
“Your car, sir,” the cabbie said, smiling and bowing slightly.
“What are you doing here?” Paul said, amused and a bit suspicious.
“I came to drive you, sir,” the man said. “Fixed rate... all day if you wish. I will wait for you, for as long as you like. No extra charge.”
They haggled briefly and agreed on a rate for the day.
The driver reached into the front seat of the cab, “Some coffee just for you, sir... cream and sugar if you wish.”
Paul looked suspiciously at the coffee. But the cup had a hotel logo, and was even double cupped so the hot coffee wouldn’t burn his hands.
Hey, hotel brand... should be okay, he thought.
He pried up the small drink opening. The aroma was inviting.
“Black,” Paul replied. “Thank you.”
“We go now?”
“Yes,” Paul said, climbing into the back seat.
The driver jumped behind the wheel. “Address?” he asked.
“Vinkebrug,” Paul replied. “Take Highway N200. I’ll give you the address when we get closer.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said, pulling sharply away from the curb.
Paul heard car horns behind him. He smiled.
Hey, I didn’t see any dents in the car, so he must be able to get away with driving like a maniac, Paul thought. Maybe that’s a good thing, in heavy traffic like this.
He sipped the inviting coffee, careful to avoid spilling it on his clothes as the swaying taxi lurched through the dense traffic. The rich aroma of the hot liquid was inviting.
The taxi sped through the suburbs of Amsterdam giving Paul a glimpse of the remarkable metropolis of 2.5 million people. He was impressed with how the Dutch had reclaimed land from the ocean, and over the ingenuity and hard work needed to preserve it.
With his coffee almost finished Paul decided to lean back and enjoy the ride. He was feeling the need to rest a bit more before reaching Vinkebrug. There he’d get the driver to drop him off and wait while he went in search on foot for the address Janet Wallis had given him.
When I get back to the hotel I’ll see if I can find her and check how she’s doing, he thought.
Paul felt as though he’d slept well but decided to lean back anyway. His eyelids were feeling heavy.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Somewhere
In Amsterdam
Paul woke slowly. He mind felt clogged. It took a moment to realize he was lying on his back on a hard table in almost total darkness.
He tried to sit up but couldn’t. It confused and then annoyed him. Wide leather straps were pulled tight across his chest and waist; both hands were secured with cable ties to the sides of the table. His feet were bound together.
“What the hell is this all about?” Paul said out loud, more to himself than to anyone who might be nearby.
A piercing headache added to his disorientation.
What happened... what’s going on? he wondered, certain that he’d been drugged and kidnapped. He knew why.
“Anyone here?” He tried to shout through a dry throat. The weak sounds he managed were pathetic. They made his head throb harder.
“Yeah,” replied a faint woman’s voice behind him.
“What’s going on?” Paul said. “Where are you?”
“Behind you, on your left,” the woman replied weakly. He could barely hear her voice. “Against a wall.”
“Will you please come here and untie me?” Paul says.
“’Fraid not,” she said. “I’d like to but I’m chained to the wall.”
Shit! Paul thought.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“At the airport early last week,” the woman replied. “You helped me. I don’t know your name, though.”
“Janet Wallis?” Paul asked.
“Yeah,” she replied. Her voice was weak.
“I’m Paul. Paul Wi
nston... from London. Got here yesterday. You were in pretty bad shape when I last saw you. How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better,” she said. “Got stitched up and kept in hospital for a week. Caught a cab to my hotel. Didn’t get there. Turns out, the driver and an armed thug who forced his way into the cab were kidnappers. Been here ever since.”
“You may have had the same driver as I did today,” Paul said. “I was on my way to find that address you whispered to me. You piqued my curiosity. Then I was going to try finding you, to see if you were all right.”
“That’s what I was trying to do, too,” the woman said. Paul heard a weak chuckle. “Go to that address, that is.”
He turned his head as far as he could in the direction of her voice. In the gloom, he could just make out through the corner of his eye a figure squatting on the floor with her back against the wall.
“Hi,” she said, straightening slightly. “You’re American, right? I was born in Durham, North Carolina, but I travel mostly now.”
“Yeah,” Paul replied. “Colorado Springs.”
“Sorry that I got you into this mess,” Janet said.
“Me too,” Paul said, sharing a little humor. “But I suspect I had a little something to do with this as well.”
“I told you at the airport I work for Interpol,” Janet said. “I’m working undercover for an Incident Response Team... that is, I was working undercover. I’ve been blown. We’ve been tracking a smuggling operation from Turkey that’s shipping cocaine, heroin and other drugs all over the world. Amsterdam is one of their distribution hubs. They’re also running a human smuggling operation. We’ve a confidential informant in a local gang that’s linked to them.”
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