by Phoenix Ford
John felt like he wanted to vomit when he woke up on the dirt floor of a small dark room. He tried to move his arms but found his hands were tied behind his back. Very narrow slits of light pierced the darkness of the room through wide planks that formed the walls. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he looked around what appeared to be some sort of tool shed. Slowly he managed to sit up. My God, where am I? he thought to himself. How nauseated he felt, but he after he managed to stand up he slowly made his way along the walls of the room until he found a door. He pushed with his chest, but the door was secure, apparently locked with a padlock. He continued his exploration of the room in the very dim light finding a rake and a wheel barrow propped against one wall. Continuing very slowly he could just barely see what he thought was a shovel leaning against another wall and a hand saw hanging from a hook.
John's hands felt securely tied, but whatever was binding his wrists together did not feel like metal. Maybe it was some kind of plastic he thought. He eased himself towards the saw. Turning around so that the saw was behind him he started dragging the binding on his wrists up and down the teeth of the saw. It felt as if he might be making some progress, but the binding was very hard. It was difficult to put enough pressure against the saw to cut the binding from such an awkward position behind his back. The saw kept moving because it was hanging loosely from a hook, There was just enough wiggle room in the binding to make any progress at all.
As he heard the men unlocking the door he quickly dropped to the floor and pretended to be unconscious. He felt the warmth of sunlight as the door opened, but he kept his eyes shut. He prayed they wouldn't notice any cuts on the binding.
"Wake up! Wake up!" one of the men said gruffly, shaking John by the shoulder. He let out a soft moan but still did not open his eyes. The men had a brief discussion in Italian, left the storage shed and locked the door again.
I must get out of here before they return, John nervously thought to himself. He stood up again and made his way back to the saw. It took what seemed like about ten minutes, but finally the binding fell loose. "Thank Heaven!" he thought to himself, rubbing his sore wrists. Then he found the shovel and started frantically digging a hole under the wall opposite the door. The ground was very hard and difficult to break. Progress was slow. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious or what time of day it was. "Sylvia must be worried sick," he thought as he continued with the shovel.
At 2 PM Sylvia called Colin at the Embassy. "Colin, we have a problem. John left fairly early this morning to go to Industria Strozzi, and he should have returned by now." She listened to Colin's reply. "Yes," she said. "I called Industria Strozzi. They said they had not seen him there today, though his other due diligence team members are there."
"Give me John's mobile number," said Colin. "We'll try to get his GPS coordinates. Of course if he has been nabbed off the street the first thing they would have done is to destroy or ditch his phone. I will also call the Italian secret service and enlist their assistance. We will turn the city upside down until we find him. What was he wearing?"
After Sylvia described John's clothing she said "This doesn't sound good, Colin."
"Don't worry, Sylvia. We will find him. And don't forget, John is a smart guy. I'm sure he will stick to his cover story until we find him."
"Colin, you and I both know that under torture everyone eventually breaks. Call me if you learn anything, anything at all." She felt sick with worry. John had no training for such a situation.
"Will do, Sylvia."
John had shed his jacket as he worked as quickly as he could with such hard and rocky soil. When he thought there was enough space to barely squeeze under the wooden wall of the shed, he put the shovel against the wall. The boards scraped against his back as he pulled himself out. He found himself in some kind of garden or park. The sunlight was so bright after the darkness of the shed. It was not near any other structure, but there were a lot of trees and shrubs and a seven foot stone wall a short distance away. Cautiously he peered around the front of the shed to be certain his kidnappers were not close by. Then he made a zig zag dash to the wall, staying bent over and hiding behind trees and bushes as much as possible. Finally he made it to the wall. It was too high to pull himself up, but there was a small tree next to it in one spot. He managed to pull himself up on a low hanging limb, and from there he made it to the top of the wall. On the other was a deserted street. He tried to hold onto the top of the wall and then let himself drop to the ground. Looking around, he thought he was probably still somewhere in Rome, but he was uncertain. Nothing looked familiar.
Quickly John made his way down the street until he came to an intersection. He was quite a sight, disheveled with dirt all over his white shirt and brown slacks. Blood seeped through the back of his shirt where he had scraped himself crawling under the wall. His hands, face and hair were covered in dirt with bits of grass and leaves sticking to his body dripping with perspiration. At the intersection he saw a traffic policeman.
Approaching the cop John asked "Excuse me, do you speak English? I need help!"
"How may I help you?" asked the policeman, appraising John's appearance suspiciously.
John was relieved the policeman spoke English. "I was kidnapped and just escaped! I must call my wife."
"We must go to the station," replied the policeman, looking somewhat warily at John. "Come with me." The policeman led him to his vehicle. When they got inside the vehicle the policeman picked up the receiver of his radio and called the station to report what had just happened.
"Am I still in Rome?" asked John, not recognizing any of the buildings.
"Yes, signor, but we are in the outskirts of Rome far from the center of the city. Where were you when you were kidnapped?"
"I was about to enter the Piazza Navona," replied John. "I felt a slight prick on the back of my arm, and then everything turned black. I was unaware of anything until I woke up on the dirt floor of a storage shed near here. I managed cut the binding they used to tie my hands behind my back. I found a shovel and used it to dig a hole under the wall and crawled out. I must look like a train wreck." He brushed some of the dirt from his shirt.
The policeman smiled as he drove the car. "Well, let's just say you probably need to take a shower."
When they got to the station they entered the office of another police officer, presumably the captain. John gave the man his name and told him he was a U.S. citizen. The officer said "We must take your statement."
"I understand," said John, "but first, may I please call my wife? She must be worried sick." Fortunately he had memorized the number of the Italian mobile phone Sylvia was using while they were in Rome.
"Certainly," replied the officer. He spoke excellent English with a thick accent. "What is the number?" He dialed the number and handed the receiver to John.
Sylvia answered on the second ring. "Sylvia, it's John! I was kidnapped, but I escaped! I am now in a police station."
"Thank God!" she exclaimed. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, except for a few scrapes and scratches I am not injured, although I'm covered in dirt. The police want me to give a statement." He then listened while she spoke. Afterwards John looked at the police officer on the other side of the desk and handed the receiver to him. "She wants to speak with you, sir."
The officer listened while Sylvia spoke with him. "Yes, of course. We will keep him here until you arrive."
"Angelo, I cannot believe you failed me again, right here in your own city!" screamed Eleanora when he arrived at her villa. "Can't you do anything right? This has all the makings of some kind of undercover operation, and now because of you they are about to catch up with me!"
"We must remain calm, cousin. What evidence could they possibly have against you? Despite any suspicions there's nothing to prove you did anything," he replied. "I suggest you stick to your usual routine. It is important to look and act like nothing has happened. My men are combing the city to find those people again."<
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"What confidence you give me!" she sarcastically replied. "If anything comes back to haunt me I will personally skin you alive! Don't let yourself think I lack for other resources!"
"Now Eleanora, there's no need for threats. I will do everything possible to bring the situation back under control."
"How?" she asked incredulously.
When Sylvia arrived at the station she had an Italian secret service agent with her. The Italian agent took care of formalities with the police officer, and after a short time they left the station in the Italian secret service agent's car.
"I really must call Industria Strozzi. May I use your mobile?" John asked Sylvia.
"Don't worry, we have already taken care of all that. I spoke with one of your colleagues and told them you had a stomach virus and would not be able to be there today. I confirmed that your team have what they need. I also called Professor Arnold, first when I was pretty certain something had happened and then again after you called me from the police station."
"Those thugs must have drugged me. They took everything I had on my person -- billfold, money, credit cards, my passport....everything!"
"Don't worry, John. We'll have all those things replaced in a flash. The important thing is that you are safe and not injured. Nevertheless, we're going to another safe house for a brief time so that you can shower and change clothes. As a precaution, the Embassy is sending a doctor they use occasionally for matters that require discretion to give you the once over. We have food waiting too. You must be famished."
"Actually I feel nauseated. Whatever they injected into my body made me feel sick, though the feeling is wearing off now."
"That's good," Sylvia smiled. "I would kiss you on the cheek, but I'm afraid it's too dirty," she laughed. "You know, you might make a good agent!"
"Well, tell me this: Did you learn anything today?" he asked.
"Yes!" replied Sylvia. "The contessa called the monsignor this morning. They're planning to meet the day after tomorrow for him to give something to her that he's getting from somebody else. She was intentionally vague in their conversation, but she's flying to Cyprus on November 4th prior to some deal that's supposed to go down on November 7th. I'm virtually certain this has something to do with events in Syria. We already thought that the anti-Islamic State terrorists must be getting supplied from Cyprus. It all makes sense. Cyprus has long been a departure point for many black market people smuggling equipment and other supplies to sanctioned countries in the Middle East. Our people will continue monitoring the contessa's phone, but meanwhile if you are agreeable, I'd like you to accompany me to Cyprus. I know you have no business there, but we could pose as newlyweds or a couple having a tryst. Being with you really adds to my cover."
"Now don't get too carried away," she smiled, "but I am happy to see you smiling after what you just went through. In view of what has happened, on second thought I'm not certain you should go to Cyprus. Really, we could manage without you."
"Sylvia, you cannot keep me away! After what those thugs did to me I will go by myself even if you don't want me with you! Nobody is going to do that to me and get away with it!"
"Okay, John. I just don't want anything else to happen to you. You haven't been trained to be an operative."
"That's true, but I think I have already proved I can handle myself pretty well." Actually he felt like he needed a drink but quickly dismissed the thought.
"We should learn the contessa's flight details later today," said Sylvia, "but my suggestion is that we take a fast train to Bari, Italy this afternoon and travel from there by a private MI6 plane to Crete. From Crete a motor yacht will take us to Cyprus as if on a honeymoon cruise. MI6 will make all the arrangements. It will be much more discreet. No one will be able to track us. If our people at the Embassy pick up another telephone conversation between the contessa and the monsignor and learn where they will meet on November 3rd Colin will tail them and try to hear their discussion. Hopefully he will learn more details. Meanwhile you and I will be well on our way to Northern Cyprus. We should arrive there on the yacht well in advance of the contessa's arrival on November 4th."
"Okay, but why can't we fly to Crete from Rome? Why do we need to travel to Bari?" he asked.
"We could fly from Rome," replied Sylvia, "but the plane we're going to take is in Bari. It will give you more time to recover from your ordeal too."
"Where exactly will we go on Cyprus?" he asked.
"We already know the contessa's deal is supposed to go down at the facility of a freight forwarder in Kyrenia, a port on the northern coast, but the specifics depend on what Colin hopefully learns."
"How can Colin do learn anything if they meet in a coffee shop or on the street?" asked John.
"Don't worry, we have all sorts of listening devices," she replied with a mischievous smile.
"It sounds like fun to me," said John. "So James Bond, 007, not to mention the prospects of a honeymoon cruise with the most beautiful British spy I know." John flashed her a wide grin.
"Well, waking up on the dirt floor of a tool shed with your hands bound behind your back is definitely not glamorous!" Sylvia smiled at him and patted his dirty arm.
CHAPTER 32
Just after 3 PM Eleanora sat with Angelo in her library viewing the security camera videos from the costume ball.
"Stop it there!" exclaimed Eleanora, looking at the freeze frame shot of the couple dressed as Isabella and Ferdinand. "As I recall, there was a woman assistant with the American lawyer, John McRae, at Angolaturbine in Paris. Of course they could have dyed their hair to change their appearance, but he definitely did not have black hair or a mustache like this man. And it seems like the woman was thin unlike the woman dressed as Isabella. However, I only saw them briefly as I walked past a conference room where they were working. What names were used to purchase this couple's ticket to the ball?" asked Eleanora, looking at Angelo seated next to her.
"Alison Newton and Thomas Oliphint," said Angelo. "But those names are probably not their real names if they really are the people of concern to you."
"Well, that was definitely not the name of the man in Paris, but I don't know the woman's name. Please keep trying to find them again."
"I have men watching the airport and the train station and have posted others at strategic locations around the city," replied Angelo. "If they are still in Rome we will find them."
Sylvia and John had arrived at the Rome train station separately in new disguises. He was dressed as an elderly priest in a gray wig, heavy eyeglasses, without a mustache and somewhat bent over with a cane. She appeared to be very pregnant with a scarf over her dark brown wig. They sat in a private compartment on the train to Bari. It was now only a couple of minutes past 6 PM, but it was already almost dark outside as John peered through the window. They had been on the train an hour or so and had changed back into normal clothes. "What time do we arrive in Bari?" he asked Sylvia. He stared at her because she looked so different once again. She still wore the brown wig and scarf but had discarded the cushion inside her dress that had made her look pregnant. Without the gray wig, John's hair was now dark brown. Sylvia had helped him stick a new thick brown mustache above his upper lip. They had both changed into jeans and light weight jackets.
"What names are we traveling under this time?" John asked Sylvia.
"Let's see," she said, digging into a side-pocket of her valise next to her. She pulled out a passport and handed it to him. "This time you are Ronald J. Hartford with a Canadian passport, and I am your wife, Catherine Ann Hartford, also with a Canadian passport. And here is your new billfold with both. Visa and Mastercard, a Canadian driver's license showing an address in Calgary, several business cards, five hundred euros, and three hundred forty-three Canadian dollars. The credit cards are activated. If for any reason we are separated and you need more cash you can use either card at an ATM using the password 8-1--4-7. When we arrive in Bari we'll take a taxi to a private airport where we will board
the plane. Then sometime in the wee hours of tomorrow, November 2nd, we'll board the yacht in Crete and travel to the port of Kyrenia in Northern Cyprus. I'm not certain what the procedures are for arriving by private yacht, but I will find out before we get to Cyprus. As you know, once a foreigner is admitted to an EU country there's no passport control when traveling from one EU country to another. Nevertheless we will probably be required to show our passports to the port authorities. As I mentioned before we left the apartment, as soon as Colin learns the contessa's travel details he will call me. Hopefully she will call the monsignor again to suggest where they should meet tomorrow. Hopefully it will be some coffee shop or restaurant where Colin can hear the details. Once she arrives in Cyprus MI6 will have undercover agents tracking her movements and trying to learn when and where she will be meeting the freight forwarder. She already made a reservation at a beach hotel near Kyrenia, so if all else fails MI6 can follow her to her meeting."
"Will any local police or secret service people in Cyprus be providing security for us?" asked John.
"No, not in Cyprus. It's too risky to notify them, especially in the northern part of Cyprus. However, there will be two other MI6 operatives there in addition to Colin if he gets there in time. We will need to stay alert and be very careful. You must memorize the satellite mobile telephone numbers for both Colin and me in case something else goes wrong. If for any reason we are separated you should take a bus to Nicosia and go to the US Embassy which can call Professor Arnold. If we find definite proof of Eleanora's involvement with activities in Syria we may be able to stop her in her tracks. I certainly hope so because if the Islamic State were to discover some link between the explosions at their mosques and other facilities in Syria and the Vatican, even if only in appearance, they will be able to use it as a rallying cry to Muslims all over the world. They will call it a new Crusade. Even after so many centuries the Crusades are still used by many extremists in the Middle East to portray Western Civilization as their evil enemy."