A Lone Wolf

by J. C. Fields

  “Yes.”

  “I want to be married to you, too.”

  The side of Wolfe’s mouth twitched.

  In a private alcove within the Wilson Air Center FBO at Charlotte Douglas International Airport, Wolfe sat with Nadia, waiting for a response from a recently sent text message. The Beechcraft, now parked in a closed hangar, was fueled, serviced and ready for them to make a decision on their next move.

  The call came thirty minutes and two cups of coffee later.

  “Thanks for calling, Joseph.”

  “No problem. There are more than a few people celebrating Gerald Reid’s departure from the agency.”

  “Not why I needed to talk to you.”

  Joseph’s tone became more serious. “Okay, so talk.”

  “I need a helicopter serial number traced and I need the name of a discreet jet charter service.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Charlotte Douglas FBO.”

  “Finding a discreet charter service won’t be a problem. Give me the tail number and I’ll call you back when I know more. Expect a call from the pilot within the hour. And, Michael?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know anything about a house burning to the ground in rural Virginia last night?”

  “How would I know anything about that, Joseph? Nadia and I are in Charlotte, North Carolina.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” Joseph chuckled. “But thought I would ask.” He paused. “If you’re interested, they don’t have a clue as to who did it. Prevailing theory is professional robbers torched the place to hide a break-in.”

  “I’m sure the owner is not pleased.”

  “He was spotted today in Barcelona by some former colleagues of Nadia’s.”

  Wolfe raised an eyebrow. “Really. What was he doing?”

  “Checking into a hotel near the Las Ramblas area.”

  “Know the name?”

  Joseph told him. “He’s booked for a week.”

  “Handy information. Thanks, Joseph.”

  “Glad to have it available. I’ll call soon.”

  Joseph remained good to his word. A text message contained a photo of a man, a FAA Pilot’s License number and the number three. Wolfe checked the time and found it was approaching three p.m. When he looked up, he saw the man from the photo walking toward their location in the FBO.

  When he arrived at their table, Wolfe stood and shook the offered hand.

  “Are you Michael Lyon?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Stewart Barnett. A mutual friend told me you and your wife need to charter a jet.”

  “Yes, we have a meeting in Barcelona.”

  The pilot nodded. “I have to be in Rome the day after tomorrow. I can drop you two off on my way.” He turned his attention to Nadia. “You must be Mrs. Lyon.”

  Nadia nodded once.

  Wolfe studied the young pilot. His slender build and cocky attitude radiated self-confidence. Faded blue jeans, scuffed brown loafers, an untucked white oxford shirt with rolled-up sleeves reminded Wolfe of several Navy fighter pilots he used to know. “What’d you fly?”

  “F-18’s.”

  “Iraq or Afghanistan?”

  The pilot nodded. “Both.”

  “Marine expeditionary unit, Desert Storm.” Wolfe offered his hand again. “Nice to meet you.”

  Barnett smiled, nodded and shook Wolfe’s hand once again. “Joseph said you were one of the best snipers in theater.”

  Wolfe shrugged and said. “He tends to exaggerate at times.”

  The pilot, wearing a Nike ballcap covering close-cropped dark brown hair and a three-day-old beard showing no signs of gray, tilted his head and gave Wolfe a knowing smile. “Right—good to meet you, too.”

  “How do you know Joseph?”

  Barnett flashed a grin. “I used to work with him, before his current job.”

  Nodding, Wolfe returned the grin. “So did I.”

  “That’s what he told me. He also asked me to give you a message.”

  “Oh?”

  “He said the number you gave him belongs to a private security firm.”

  Wolfe blinked several times. “Was that all of the message?”

  “No, the rest of it didn’t make sense. I guess you have to know the context.”

  “Okay.”

  “He said they canceled their contract this afternoon. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Actually, it does. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Joseph also told me you’re a pilot.”

  “Two engine rating, props only. Never flown a jet.”

  “We’ll have to remedy that on the way over.”

  Barcelona, Spain

  Originally built and opened in 1859, the Hotel Espana kept up with the times by remodeling on a regular basis to maintain its four-star rating. The hotel offered the perfect spot for Gerald Reid to use as his temporary residence during his stay in Barcelona. It offered two amenities, close vicinity to the Las Ramblas area and next door to the Gran Theater del Liceu. Reid almost forgot he was in Barcelona on business when he discovered which opera was currently in production at the theater. He bought tickets and decided to spend one night engrossing himself in Puccini’s La Boheme in a foreign theater.

  The opera, scheduled for the evening, did not distract from the business he needed to conclude while here. After arriving at the hotel, he set out along the narrow streets of ancient Barcelona, checking and double checking to make sure no one followed him. Satisfied his arrival at an obscure tapas bar near a parking garage in the center of town went unnoticed, Reid found a table in the back and waited.

  The man Gerald Reid traveled four thousand miles to meet appeared unhappy as he approached Reid’s table.

  Asa Gerlis asked. “Why are you here?”

  “Did you not agree to meet me?”

  Gerlis took a deep breath, blew it out sharply and sat down. “You are here. What do you want?”

  “We need to finish what we started two years ago.”

  Shaking his head, Gerlis stared at Reid but remained quiet as a waitress set two cups of espresso on the small table. When she was gone, he took a sip. “They are dead, Reid.”

  “No—they are not.”

  “Just because you think you saw Wolfe for a brief moment in a car next to you does not prove anything.”

  “What about the photograph?”

  “Someone at the agency getting back at you for all the hell you gave them over the years.”

  “They are alive. They are alive and they know everything.”

  “Now you are being paranoid. No one but you and I know. Canfield is dead and took the information with him to the other side.”

  “Still…”

  “Let it go.”

  “No. What will it cost to have your associate finish the job?”

  “If you want to waste your money, go ahead. I will not participate in this nonsense.”

  “How much?”

  “Half a million Euros. Do you want to spend that much on a myth?”

  Reid nodded. “If you want no part of it, I’ll meet with him.”

  Gerlis sipped his coffee as he studied the ex-CIA bureaucrat. “I will tell him you wish to speak with him. If he agrees, he will get in touch. If you do not hear anything within two days, it means he is not interested. Then go home.”

  “I’ll find someone else if he’s not interested.”

  “You have not been in the field for a decade or more, Gerald. Times are different. You do not have the contacts you once had and your ambitions have made you lazy. Your tradecraft is sloppy. A blind beggar could have followed you here today.”

  Reid stared wide-eyed at Gerlis.

  The ex-Mossad agent stood, leaned over slightly and said in a low whisper, “If my associate decides to take your money, he will contact you. In the meantime, try not to get yourself killed on the streets of Barcelona.”

  Gerlis walked out of the small café.

  Reid took a sip
of his coffee and stared at the empty seat across from him.

  Chapter 32

  Barcelona, Spain

  N adia Picard watched as Asa Gerlis exited the small café. The narrow streets, crowded with tourists, helped disguise her interest in the man. She took her cell phone and sent a three-word text to Michael. He would pick up Gerlis’ trail—her objective was to keep an eye on Reid.

  Following the man bordered on comical to Nadia. While he tried several diversions to ward off anyone on his tail, she saw through them immediately. Eventually, he arrived at his hotel and sequestered himself in his room. With the help of a young concierge who could not take his eyes off her cleavage, Nadia was told Reid had tickets for the opera that evening. Satisfied with her discovery, she returned to their hotel room several blocks from the Hotel Espana and right across from a famous theater.

  Three hours later, Wolfe entered the room. “Found it.”

  Nadia smiled. “Where?”

  “He has a small villa in a secluded area north of Manresa near the foothills of the Montserrat range. Pretty country. What about Reid?”

  “He purchased tickets to La Boheme tonight. Is he an opera fan?”

  Wolfe shrugged. “Wouldn’t know.” He retrieved his cell phone from his back pocket and started typing as he walked toward the bathroom. Before closing the door, he said, “Just asked Joseph. Hopefully, we’ll hear soon.”

  When Wolfe returned to the bedroom, he was staring at his answer. “Apparently a huge one.” He sat on the bed next to Nadia. “That means we have an opportunity to get into his room tonight. Do you know what floor?”

  She nodded. “I know the floor, the room number, and already have a passkey.”

  “I won’t ask where you got it.”

  “Let’s just say someone was staring at my tits when he should have kept his eyes on his passkey.”

  Wolfe laughed. “Third button?”

  She nodded again as she undid all of the buttons on her blouse.

  Wolfe slipped off his sweatshirt and said as he embraced her. “Yeah, I can see where that would distract a guy.”

  Wolfe surveyed the crowd filing into the opera house through the open balcony door of their hotel room. He stood back inside the room and used binoculars to study the faces of the patrons as they passed through the theater’s front entrance. Without taking his eyes off the crowd, he said, “There he is, tux and everything. Wonder where he got that.”

  Nadia walked up behind Wolfe and wrapped her arms around his waist. “The Concierge. His hotel has an agreement with a rental place for tourist to rent formal wear.”

  “Is this guy going to recognize you when we go in?”

  “Doubt it. He’s probably off duty by now.”

  Looking at her, he grinned. “How do you know that?”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, I might have made a date with him.”

  Now laughing, Wolfe shook his head. “Where?”

  “Opposite end of Las Ramblas. I told him I was staying at the Hotel Barcelona.”

  “You’re mean.”

  “He was horny.”

  Chuckling, Wolfe put down the binoculars and glanced at his watch. “Performance starts in twenty minutes. We’ll wait and then go to his room. You have the flash drive?”

  She nodded.

  The halls of the hotel were unusually quiet as Wolfe and Nadia approached Gerald Reid’s room. Since most of the hotel guests were attending the opera, the chances of meeting someone were slight. Wolfe moved the passkey over the electronic lock sensor. When he heard a click, he opened the door. After they entered the dark room, he extracted a small Maglite from his jean pocket to illuminate the interior. The object of their search could be seen on a small table against the wall next to the bathroom. Nadia slipped on a pair of latex gloves and walked toward the closed laptop plugged into a power strip on the desktop. While Wolfe held the light, she sat and proceeded to open the computer.

  While it booted up, she inserted the flash drive into a USB slot on the side and waited. An internal light on the drive flashed five times, stopped and then flashed ten times. Satisfied, she detached the device, closed the lid and looked at Wolfe. She placed the small unit in her jean pocket and whispered. “Done.”

  He nodded and swept the Maglite around the room. He too, slipped on a pair of latex gloves and walked over to the nightstand. After handing the flashlight to Nadia, he opened the top drawer. Nothing. He checked the small closet and found only one suitcase. This he placed on the luggage stand next to the desk.

  Wolfe ran his hands along the sides and flat surfaces feeling for anything unusual. He found it on the left side. As he pulled on the fabric, they heard the distinct sound of Velcro separating. He extracted one of the objects and held it next to the light. It appeared to be two passports bundled together with a rubber band. After removing the band, he held it closer to the light and flipped through each. He glanced at Nadia and smiled. He returned his hand to the opening and pulled out the second object he had felt earlier. He held a bundle of 200 Euro notes. Wolfe whispered, “Looks like we found his stash.”

  He slipped the bundle into his back-jean pocket along with the passports. After returning the suitcase to the closet, he nodded his head toward the door. They were outside the room and walking toward the stairs five seconds later.

  As they entered the lobby, Nadia did a quick look to see if the young man she spoke to during the afternoon had returned. Not seeing him, they walked nonchalantly across the room and through the front exit. She dropped the passkey and the gloves into a trash receptacle before they returned to their hotel.

  Back in their room, Wolfe checked the opera and noticed patrons mingling just inside the entrance. “Must be intermission.” He turned and saw Nadia counting the Euro notes. “How much?”

  “One-hundred-twenty Euro notes.”

  Wolfe frowned. “I wonder how much I missed?”

  She looked at him. “Does it matter? You got the passports”

  He nodded. “It should be enough to make him panic.”

  Grinning, she said, “It is not like he can go to the police and tell them he had two fake passports stolen.”

  “No, he won’t go to the police. He’ll probably email Gerlis or message him somehow. Will you be able to read his emails?”

  “If the program we got from the hacker works.” She paused and looked up at him. “Michael?”

  “Yes.”

  “If he accesses one of his bank accounts, we will get his username and password. Is that why you took the money?”

  He nodded. “I want Gerald Reid to be broke and without access to more money. Then he will really start to panic.”

  Reid exited the Gran Theater del Liceu in the company of two females and another male. Wolfe watched through binoculars as they conversed on the street outside. One of the women hugged Reid’s right arm and laughed as he gestured with his left. He pointed toward his hotel and then in the direction of Las Ramblas.

  “This is funny, Nadia.”

  “What is?”

  “Reid either met someone at the opera or he hired an escort.”

  “The concierge told me I could make a lot of money escorting single men to the opera.”

  Wolfe smiled and shot her a quick glance. “How much?”

  “He said it would depend on my involvement with the men and their financial status.” She shook her head. “I felt like I was talking to a pimp.”

  Wolfe returned to watching Reid. “We’re in Spain, Nadia. You’re thinking like someone from a small town in the United States.”

  “It felt creepy.” She paused. “Am I becoming Americanized, Michael?”

  He grinned. “A little.” He lowered the binoculars and turned to her. “Looks like the group is heading toward La Rambla. Let’s go.”

  Reid and his party were already walking toward Las Ramblas when Wolfe and Nadia walked out of the hotel. They entered the narrow street crowded with tourists and late-night partiers moving toward the area.
>
  Nadia asked. “Can you see them, Michael?”

  “Yes, about twenty meters in front of us. They’re about to turn right.”

  Nadia thumbed something into her cell phone and stared at the results. “There are several tapas bars in that direction.”

  “Let’s give him an opportunity to have a few drinks. Then we can have a little fun.”

  Michael and Nadia observed Reid and his three companions enter a place called Via 70 Wine Bar. They took up station across from the bar at an outside table area of a small coffee shop. Both ordered espressos and settled in to watch Reid and his companions begin the night’s revelry.

  As he sipped his coffee, Michael turned to Nadia. “I’m having a hard time figuring out what in the hell he’s doing. He’s in a career crisis, he knows we’re alive, and yet here he is, four thousand miles from home, partying with people he doesn’t know.”

  Nadia tilted her head and glanced at Michael. “He had a meeting with Gerlis today. What if he is waiting for Gerlis to do something?”

  “Or arrange something.” Wolfe smiled. “Like a meeting?”

  She returned the smile. “Yes, like a meeting.”

  “If it is a meeting, who would it be with?”

  “Someone who could help him with his problems?” She looked at him over her espresso cup.

  “I wonder.” He sipped his coffee. “Do you think it might be the man they hired to kill us?”

  “Maybe, if he’s still active or even alive. Individuals in that line of work sometimes have short careers.”

  Wolfe stared across the street at the tapas bar. “Should we rethink letting him know we’re in Barcelona?”

  Nadia did not respond as he continued to study the four individuals across the street. Reid and his companions sat at a table with numerous glasses of wine and several trays of tapas. They were laughing and ignoring their surroundings. Wolfe set the cup down after a final sip of his expresso. He gave Nadia a slight smile. “It would have been fun, but we can probably learn more by monitoring his emails. He’s let his guard down tonight—let’s not give him an excuse to raise it.”