A Lone Wolf

by J. C. Fields

  “Hip.”

  “Kind of what we thought. That’s where we extracted it from Wolfe and Picard.” Joseph rubbed his chin. “What airline will they use to transport the samples?”

  “Looks like Delta to Tel Aviv.” JR smiled and turned to Joseph. “With a layover at JFK.”

  “Perfect, we can make the switch there. I’m assuming they are not treating this with a high degree of urgency or secrecy.”

  “No. Flight isn’t until tomorrow. It will be transported via a diplomatic pouch in the cargo hold.”

  “No refrigeration?’

  JR shook his head. “None needed. Bone DNA has a half-life of 521 years.”

  “Didn’t know that.”

  A nod was his reply. JR clicked on a JPEG file attached to the email. It showed a picture of the pouch, the test-tubes containing the DNC and their markings.

  Joseph bent over and studied the photo closer. “They are making this too easy.”

  “Not really. The email was encrypted.”

  “Then, how did…” Joseph paused, smiled and just shook his head. “Never mind.”

  JR’s fingers flew over the keyboard as his attention was drawn to the computer screen on the left. “I can access the luggage routing from here. However, someone is going to have to physically switch the packages at JFK when it lands.”

  “That’s not a problem, they are ready. We just needed to know when and where.”

  Three weeks later, Uri Ben-David read the final report about the DNA samples sent from Mexico. They showed a positive match to Michael Wolfe and Nadia Picard. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In a soft voice he said, “I will say Kaddish for you, Nadia. May you rest in peace.”

  He picked up the phone and dialed a number he had been given four weeks prior. It was answered on the second ring. “Good evening, Uri. Do you have news?”

  “I’m afraid so, Joseph. The DNA from the bodies in Mexico match Wolfe and Picard.”

  Ten seconds of silence followed. “I was afraid of that. Thank you for following up on it.”

  “Did he have any family?”

  “No. Both parents are gone and no siblings. Same with Picard.”

  “What happened to the bodies?”

  “Mexican authorities cremated them a week ago, against our wishes. But they don’t like taking orders from Israel.”

  Joseph’s next request would need to be handled carefully. “How well do you know Gerald Reid?”

  “Professionally, that’s about it.”

  “Somehow he needs to be informed about the DNA results without him knowing I’m involved.”

  Uri chuckled. “We will send a memo to him as a courtesy. Your name will never be mentioned.”

  “Thank you, Uri. I’ll light a candle for Michael.”

  “And I, for Nadia.”

  Part Two

  Present Day

  Chapter 10

  Kansas City, MO

  T he comedy club occupied a renovated building north of the Kansas City Plaza on Broadway. During the week, it operated as a cocktail lounge and open mic nightclub for aspiring new comedians. Located near the UMKC Dental and Law Schools, the club catered to the student population living near campus. Three nights a week—Thursday, Friday, Saturday and occasionally Sunday, if someone famous was available—it drew crowds of multiple age groups depending on the acts featured. Tonight, the audience leaned toward Millennials and Gen-Xers. Tables for four dominated the lounge area, with the occasional two-top bistro table scattered around for those who did not like sitting in a group. The stage dominated the room opposite the bar.

  Two members of the audience paid little attention to the comedian currently on stage. They were there to observe an individual who sat alone at a bistro table near the center of the room. The name on his driver’s license identified the patron as Roger Garcia of Olathe, Kansas. His real name happened to be Samir Nassar, an Egyptian from Cairo, who was in the country illegally. This was his third visit to this particular club since Thursday; it was now Saturday. Tonight, the audience packed the club waiting for the featured act. Thursday and Friday’s crowds had been considerably smaller.

  Michael Wolfe and Nadia Picard sat in a darkened section against the outside wall of the showroom floor, making sure they kept Nassar within sight. They knew his real identity after having spent the last two weeks watching and tracking his movements. Both were concerned about his frequent trips to this particular club.

  Wolfe leaned close to Nadia’s ear and whispered, “I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight. I’m going to check his car. Text me if he gets up and tries to leave.”

  She did not look at him, but nodded, her attention still trained on the Egyptian as Wolfe left the expansive room. No act was currently on stage, but as Wolfe disappeared through the entrance door, the lights in the room dimmed and Nadia heard:

  “Your feature act tonight tours comedy clubs around the nation. He is an accomplished actor having just completed a major motion picture with Academy Award winner Tatum O’Neal.” There was a slight pause. “Please welcome to the stage—Jeff Vaughn!”

  Enthusiastic applause and whistles ensued as the comedian approached the microphone. Nadia noticed that Nassar was not clapping, but looking around the room with a neutral expression. He appeared to be checking if anyone was paying too much attention to him. She kept him in her peripheral vision and joined the crowd welcoming the comedian.

  As Vaughn started his set, Nassar returned his attention to the stage.

  “As you can probably imagine, the first thing people notice about me is this 1970s porno-style mustache.” Polite laughter could be heard in the room. “I get lots of comments on it, but I don’t mind. I take them as a compliment. Although some people don’t. The last time I complimented somebody on their mustache, it really pissed her off. I guess there’s just no pleasing my mother-in-law.”

  The audience roared with laughter. Nadia smiled, her concentration remaining on Nassar.

  The comic continued with his routine, but Nadia did not listen as Wolfe settled back into the chair next to her. He leaned in closer to her ear. “We have a problem.”

  She shot him a concerned look, but did not reply.

  “Seems our Mr. Nassar has a trunk-full of assault weapons, handguns and a bulletproof vest.”

  Nadia stared at the stage for a few moments and then turned to Wolfe. “Do you think he’ll try something tonight?”

  “Yeah. Got any ideas?”

  She smiled and nodded just as the comedian told another story.

  He said, “How many of you out there are married?” Good-mannered applause could be heard in the auditorium.

  Nadia gave Wolfe a mischievous grin as she clapped.

  The comedian continued. “How many people here are divorced?” The audience responded louder and a few, “Yeah, man.”

  After a pause he said, “I’m married.” He looked around timing his next words. “Actually, I’m married to my high school sweetheart.” Another brief pause. “She’ll be a Senor next year.”

  The room erupted into laughter and hand-clapping. Nadia noticed Wolfe chuckling for the first time since the comedian started his routine, but his attention stayed on the Egyptian.

  Wolfe turned to her. “What was your idea?”

  “I’ll pretend to pick him up?”

  Wolfe grinned. “You’re kidding.”

  She extracted a small vile from inside her small purse. “Glad we remembered to bring this tonight. I’ve done it before. Remember that fat Iranian in Ammon, Jordan?”

  Wolfe nodded and watched as she unfastened the top two buttons on her blouse, exposing ample cleavage.

  With a wink, she said. “He may be a jihadist, but he’s also a man. Bet he never notices me putting this in his drink. By the way, what is he drinking?”

  “Looks like beer.”

  “Even better.” She stood and walked toward the table where Nassar sat. Wolfe noticed she was swinging her hips just a bit more than normal. K
nowing what would come next, he suppressed a smile as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed three numbers.

  Nadia sat down next to Nassar, who stared at her with wide eyes. “Do you mind if I sit with you. This is the only seat left in the room.”

  The Egyptian quickly looked around and started to protest, but his eyes caught her semi-exposed breasts. As he stared, he stammered, “Okay… Uh… I’m not staying too much longer.”

  Placing her hand on his, she leaned closer. “Be a dear and see if you can get the attention of a waitress, I need a drink.”

  On the brightly-lit stage, Vaughn could barely make out what was occurring in the audience but he did catch a glimpse of the beautiful woman sitting down next to the dark-haired man at a table by himself. He filed the info away as he continued his routine.

  As Nassar looked around for a waitress, Nadia passed her hand over the man’s beer. Drops of liquid could barely be seen spilling into the glass. Bubbles formed but dissipated before Nassar returned his attention her. Once again, his eyes locked on her chest. “I can’t find one.”

  “Oh, that’s too, bad. Thanks for trying.” She stood and walked away. Nassar visually followed her for a while, then returned his attention to the stage.

  The comedian saw this as he started his next joke. “Anybody here ever drink so much you don’t know where you are or even how you got home at night?” Some of the younger members of the crowd agreed with whoops and applause. “To me, that’s how you can explain some of these alien abductions.” He pointed toward the dark-haired man, once again sitting alone at his table.

  At that same moment, Nassar was taking a long pull from his glass of beer, getting the courage to leave the bar and go to his car.

  “Take, for instance, this guy. He could have been abducted a few moments ago by a beautiful alien. But apparently, he’s had too much to drink.”

  The crowd laughed and applauded. Nassar’s eyes widened as the crowd looked at him. This was not in his plans—he needed stealth, not attention, to carry out his mission. As he stood, dizziness swept over him. He grabbed the table with both hands and noticeably swayed. The effects of the drug Nadia slipped into his beer, combined with the fact he seldom drank, intensified his intoxication. Glancing around the room, all he saw were people staring at him. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “Allah ‘akbar. Death to America.”

  He then proceeded to fall forward, causing the table to collapse. The beer fell, shattering on the floor and sending shards of glass and beer everywhere.

  The comedian, not missing a beat, said, “Guess he won’t be getting abducted by aliens tonight.”

  Wolfe and Nadia slipped out of the club and were sitting in their Jeep as three police cars screeched to a halt in front of the club’s entrance. She turned to him. “How did they get here so fast?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I called 911 as you were walking over to his table.”

  She suppressed a smile. “Afraid he would go home with me?”

  He shot her a quick glance and a sly grin appeared. “Nay, I was afraid you’d give him a heart attack.”

  They both laughed as more police cars, lights and sirens in full emergency mode, arrived.

  It took thirty minutes for the police to discover the hidden weapons in the trunk of Nassar’s Toyota Corolla. Once they did, more unmarked cars arrived with men and women wearing FBI windbreakers.

  Wolfe, satisfied with their role in the takedown, slowly drove the Jeep out of the parking lot and turned south on Broadway. The two were quiet as he steered the vehicle, lost in their own thoughts. As Wolfe merged off of South 71 onto South 49, he took a quick glance at Nadia. “You okay?”

  She smiled, returned the glance and nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking. I would like to spend some time at the property. I miss the solitude.”

  “Want to go there instead of the condo?”

  She nodded.

  He did a quick calculation in his head, “It’s just past ten We can be there by three in the morning.”

  “Good.”

  Chapter 11

  Somewhere in Southern Missouri

  T he clock on the Jeep Grand Cherokee displayed 3:11 in the morning. After navigating the rugged pathway from the highway to his home, Wolfe took a deep breath as he stared at the back of his underground house bathed in the Jeep’s headlights. Nadia stirred in the seat next to him, having dozed the last fifty miles of their trip.

  Wolfe frowned as the hairs on the back of his neck twitched. He placed his hand on Nadia’s arm and said, “You awake?”

  “Kind of. Why?”

  Extracting his Walther PPK from his ankle holster, Wolfe turned to Nadia. “Something’s not right. Do you have your Glock?”

  Now fully awake and with a wrinkled brow, she reached for her small purse and removed a slim Glock 43. She held it so he could see it in the dim light of the dashboard.

  “Back me up.”

  “What is wrong, Michael?”

  “Maybe nothing, but I just got the same feeling I had when I saw you in the crosshairs of my scope in Barcelona.” He flipped the door lights switch to off, eased the driver side door open and slipped out. He cautiously advanced around the earthen berm toward the front of the house.

  Nadia waited a few seconds, making sure no one followed him and left the Jeep herself.

  It took ten minutes to determine the house was secure before he replaced the Walther in its holster. Nadia descended the stairs and shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Taking a deep breath, Wolfe looked around. “Notice anything unusual?”

  She nodded. “It does not look like anyone has been here for a while. I thought Bobby was to check on the place every other day.”

  “He normally does…” Wolfe’s eyes widened and he swore. “Shit, come on.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they determined Bobby had not been at his cabin for a while either.

  Wolfe pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number.

  Howell Country Sheriff Harold Bright weighed in at around two hundred and sixty pounds. A tall, broad-shouldered man, his shaved head and profound paunch added to his ability to intimidate would-be violators of the law. Wolfe felt a grudging respect for the man. The sheriff had spent twenty years as a Marine before being elected to his current position. And over the course of the last three years, had become a strong advocate for Bobby, helping to raise funds to assist in his recovery from PTSD.

  The sheriff’s car, emergency lights still rotating, sat parked in front of the cabin. Bright stood in the middle of Bobby’s living area and stared at Wolfe, reflections from the beacons illuminating the man’s face in sequence. “How long’s it been since you spoke to him?”

  “At least a month. We’ve been out of town. What about yourself?”

  “Probably six months. Haven’t seen him in West Plains for a while, either. What made you suspicious?”

  Wolfe blinked several times before answering. “He watches our place when we’re gone. When we got back a few hours ago, I could tell he hadn’t been there.”

  Bright nodded. “Doesn’t look like he’s been here for a while, either. Place’s spotless. Okay, I’ll have someone stop by tomorrow and see if we can determine how long he’s been gone.”

  Wolfe handed the sheriff a business card. “That’s my cell phone. Would you call me if you find out anything?”

  The big man just nodded.

  Two days later, as the sun peeked above the trees to the east of the underground home, Wolfe stood outside the front door under the overhang, a cup of coffee in his hand. A heavy frost covered the pasture to the south and a cloud formed with each exhaled breath. Steam swirled from the mug as he brought it to his lips. He felt a presence behind him as Nadia, dressed in leggings, sweat shirt and a quilt draped over her shoulder, pressed against his back. She wrapped it around Wolfe.

  “You’re cold.”

  “A little.” He pointed to a spot sixty degrees above the horizon. “See that?”

 
She looked in the direction he indicated. “Those are birds, Michael. Lots of them around here.”

  He shook his head. “Those are not just birds. Those are turkey vultures. They’re scavengers with highly developed olfactory senses.”

  Nadia kept her gaze on the distant birds, which were barely discernible in the glare of the sun. “I thought vultures were only in California.”

  Wolfe smiled. “They’re mistakenly called buzzards in this part of the country. I don’t know their scientific name, but their common name is turkey vultures because they look like wild turkeys when on the ground.” He paused for a brief moment. “Notice anything particular about their flight pattern?”

  “Not from this distance. I can just barely make them out.”

  Nodding, Wolfe continued, “They’re circling. Their olfactory senses allow them to locate dead carcasses underneath a canopy of trees.”

  She stiffened. “Do you think…”

  “Possibly. I need to check it out.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  He turned to look at her. “You don’t have to, Nadia. He was my friend.”

  She gave him a grim smile. “I know, but we are in this together. Besides, we can search more ground faster if I help.”

  Looking back over his shoulder, he stared at the birds again. “I hope it’s a deer or something.”

  The circling birds appeared larger as they drove toward the tree line in the Jeep. Dressed in hiking boots, flannel shirts, jeans and Carhartt jackets, Wolfe and Picard trudged into the wooded area as the temperature hovered around freezing. Searching in grids, they quickly covered multiple acres of the timbered landscape, keeping in touch via small hand-held radios.

  Three hours into their search, Wolfe heard, “Michael, I found something.”

  He stiffened. “Where are you?”