9781940740065

by Paul B. Kohler

  Peter’s plan was interrupted when Brett cleared his throat and asked, “What time does the movie start? Are we going to eat lunch before?”

  “What? Oh yeah. Lunch sounds good.” Peter closed the book and handed it back to Brett. “Let’s get changed and head out.

  CHAPTER 6

  Eight days to Linear Shift

  Peter was the first one to arrive for language training on Monday morning. He chuckled at the irony. He hated this aspect of the training sessions most of all, and his desire to learn French was close to nil. He preferred the tradecraft and espionage lessons because he felt like he excelled at them, even though he still needed lots of work.

  When Julie and Hugh walked in, they were in a deep conversation in French. Peter shook his head in bemusement at the ease with which the two could carry on. Julie happened to notice Peter’s irritation and quickly added, “On dirait que quelqu'un se sent exclu.”

  “Oh, ha ha. I can understand you just fine, and no, I am not feeling left out.” Peter turned away so they couldn’t see him roll his eyes. One of the drawbacks of spending too much time with his teenage daughter.

  “It’s OK, Peter, we understand you are not as fluent in French as your partner here,” Hugh began, “but these lessons are here to provide you with the basics of speech .”

  “I can understand it just fine. I’m not sure why I need to speak it fluently. As long as Julie is around, I’ll be okay.”

  “Yes, it’s a real benefit that Julie speaks fluently. However, what if something happens to her? Hugh moved to the sit next to Peter and handed him another training pamphlet. “You don’t have to be exact. You have grasped understanding quick enough. You just need to practice speaking French.”

  Over the next three and a half hours, Hugh and Julie took turns quizzing Peter on various common French phrases and correcting him with proper pronunciations. This was the fourth or fifth lesson since training began; Peter felt he was making great strides toward the end of the session. When he had enough, he proudly asked “Quelle heure est-il?”

  Hugh and Julie both glanced up to the clock on the wall.

  “Very clever, Peter,” Hugh chided. “Looks like our time is about up.”

  Hugh began to shuffle his training materials back into a pile before sliding them back into his manila folder. “Might I suggest that you two continue with your training outside of the warehouse? You will be going on this mission as a couple, and frankly, you two don’t talk or act like it.”

  Peter was well aware of this fact. Even though he found himself attracted to Julie, it was still difficult to treat her like she was his wife. He knew he needed to work on that.

  “How about dinner tonight?” he asked nervously.

  “Aw, gee, Peter. Are you asking me out on a date? I’d love to have dinner with you,” Julie teased, batting her eyelashes.

  “Great. Um, I don’t think we should eat at my house. I haven’t told the kids anything. It’s probably best that they don’t see me having dinner with a strange woman. They might start asking questions. How about I pick you up around 7:30?”

  “So, you think I’m strange?” she scoffed while raising one eyebrow.

  “No, that’s not what I meant!”

  “I’m kidding. That’s fine. How about we go to that new French place downtown? That way we can practice ordering dinner.”

  “Great. And by ‘we,’ you mean me.”

  Julie batted her eyelashes again, and tilted her head innocently. “It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  Peter smiled, and he would have been lying to himself if he thought he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Whose goon do you want to escort us? Yours or mine?”

  “Oh, God. Yours, please!”

  “Works for me. I’ll go have a chat with him before lunch.”

  Peter left the room, and although he had seen Trevor in the warehouse many times, he was not exactly sure where he spent his time during the day. He descended the stairs to the ground floor and walked through the fake French village looking for the rear of the warehouse. He turned down an alley off one of the side streets and found a door marked “Stairs.” He recalled seeing both Trevor and Mark coming and going out of this area a few times. Peter twisted the handle and entered.

  The door opened into a stairwell to a basement level. He scurried down, and at the bottom there was a newly installed door. The door was steel and contained a small wired-glass opening centered at eye level. Peter tried the handle, but it was locked. He leaned close to the glass to see who or what was on the other side. A cement wall. He angled his view, but all he could see was a narrow corridor perpendicular to the door. He instinctively tried the handle again, as people tend to do, but its condition was unchanged. Just as he was about to knock on the door, a voice from behind startled him.

  “What are you doing down here?” snapped Mark.

  Great, Peter thought. Captain Commando.

  “I’m looking for Trevor. Have you seen him?”

  “He’s not down here. Go back upstairs and I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.” Mark circled around and placed himself between Peter and the door.

  Peter didn’t argue and left without saying another word. He found it peculiar and annoying that Mark was protecting the basement. What was down there?

  CHAPTER 7

  Eight days to Linear Shift

  Peter stood motionless in his closet for close to five minutes as he scanned each of his dress slacks and button-down combinations. It had been more than fifteen years since he’d been on a date, and he was nervous. He wondered if he was overthinking it. Was it really a date? he questioned. No, it was just an extended training session on communication, he answered himself. Then why did it feel so much like a date? He had no answer.

  Finally deciding on the charcoal-colored slacks, he pulled them on before grabbing a matching shirt and moving back into the bedroom. Peter was startled to find Brett silently sitting on the end of the bed.

  “Hey, champ. How long you been there?” asked Peter.

  “Not long. About as long as it took you to pick out your clothes,” Brett answered with a grin.

  “Hey. No comments from the peanut gallery,” Peter teased. “What’re you doing in here anyway?”

  “Just thought I’d help you get ready. It’s your first date in, like, forever.”

  “It’s not a date, Brett. It’s just a work thing.”

  “Are other people going to be there?”

  “No, it’s just going to be Julie and me.”

  “Yep, it is so a date,” kidded Brett.

  Peter acknowledged his son’s jibe. It was a date, and he found himself excited.

  “So, who is she dad? Is she pretty?”

  “She’s just a coworker. And yeah, I think she’s attractive,” Peter said as he slid into his shirt.

  “Can I meet her? I mean, will Tori and I meet her?”

  “Not today, kiddo. Maybe next time.”

  With shaky hands, Peter struggled buttoning his shirt. Tucking and slipping his belt through the loops also proved a challenge, as his thoughts were on calming his nervousness. As Peter finished dressing, Brett sat quietly, his gaze roaming.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you still miss Mom?”

  Peter stopped knotting his tie and turned to face Brett. The question took him by surprise, and he suddenly realized that he had not thought about Minnie since asking to take Julie on this French communication date.

  “Sure I do, buddy. I loved your mother. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “I know. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.”

  “How so?”

  “They’re good thoughts. Remembering her making my lunch before school or reading to me before bed. Just things like that.”

  Peter sat next to his son.

  “Do you remember when we were up camping? After we got unpacked and put the tent up, we started to make dinner and mom had forgotten
to pack the meat from the fridge. You were so pissed.”

  “At first . . . . But we made a great Cooper team effort, remember?”

  “Yeah, we made s’mores for dinner. That was my favorite camping trip.”

  “Mine too, kiddo. Mine too.”

  Peter and Brett sat in silence on the foot of the bed for a few more minutes. “Look at the time. I’ve got to get going. The driver is going to be here in five minutes. Want to talk more when I get home? I don’t think dinner will go too late.”

  “Nah. You have my permission to stay out late tonight. You deserve it, Dad. It’s about time, you know?” Brett grinned.

  “Well, thanks for your blessing, kiddo. Means a lot.”

  The black town car arrived at La Merise ten minutes before their dinner reservation. Trevor, dressed in a black suit and tie, stepped out and quickly moved to the rear passenger side to open the door for Julie. He held his gloved hand, palm up, in front of the door for her. Julie accepted the hand as she pulled herself out of the backseat. She was wearing a black sleeveless dress that ended just below her knees. She had open-toed, strappy heels to match, which made it difficult to steady herself without assistance.

  “Merci, Trevor,” Julie said as she stepped away from the car. Peter popped out the rear driver’s side.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come in and wait in the lounge?”

  “No, sir. I’ll be fine. Just send me a text when you’re finished. I’ll be a few minutes away,” he replied before climbing back behind the wheel.

  “OK then. Shall we?” Peter offered his arm to Julie and began to escort her toward the restaurant.

  Julie slid her arm into his and fell into stride. “Thank you, sir.”

  As they approached, the door opened with assistance from the doorman. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening,” Peter offered in return.

  “Peter, this is supposed to be a French lesson. You should try,” suggested Julie.

  Stepping through the door and away from the doorman, Peter said, “But he’s just a kid. Do you think he understands French?”

  “I think you’d be surprised, that’s all.”

  They walked through the vestibule and approached a gentleman in a black tuxedo and white gloves.

  “Hello. We have a dinner reservation under Cooper,” Peter said to the man behind the podium.

  The maître d' looked down and scanned the list in front of him. After a few moments of reading names and comments, he looked up and said, “réservations pour les deux?”

  Stymied, Peter replied, “Uh, yes, reservations for two.”

  Julie nudged him slightly. Peter was quick to the hint and responded in French this time.

  The maître d’ nodded, told them that it would be just a moment, and asked them to wait there. He stepped away from the podium and disappeared into the bowels of the restaurant.

  Peter leaned over slightly and said to Julie “That was weird. This must be a pretty authentic restaurant to require their staff to speak French.”

  Julie didn’t reply but just smiled knowingly.

  A few moments later, the maître d’ returned and asked them to follow.

  “Merci!” Peter replied confidently.

  Their table was situated in a private alcove near the rear of the restaurant. The maître d’ pulled a chair away for Julie as Peter sat across from her. Before leaving, he informed them that their waiter would be with them shortly.

  Peter looked across the table at Julie, who was beaming with pride. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with this?”

  “Whatever do you mean, Peter?” Julie replied, with a lovely, devious look in her eye.

  Peter smiled at her. “I thought so. French lesson indeed.”

  Julie nodded her head in admission of her chicanery.

  “By the way, have I mentioned just how wonderful you look tonight?” Peter said.

  “Yes, you have. I think that was three times now. But keep it up; a girl loves to hear compliments.”

  Peter was about to expound on her choice of outfit but was interrupted by the waiter. “Bonsoir. Puis-je vous offrir un verre au bar?”

  “Seriously?” Peter asked Julie sarcastically.

  Julie nodded.

  Peter replied in the best French he could muster, ordering a French 75 for Julie and a scotch and water for himself.

  After their waiter retreated, Julie said, “Not bad. Your enunciation is improving.”

  “I do my best.”

  “How’d you know what I wanted to drink, by the way?” Julie asked.

  “I took a shot. If it’s not good, we’ll get you something else.”

  “It will be fine. I’ve had one before, and besides being a bit strong, it’s pretty good. Are you trying to get me drunk?” Julie winked.

  Peter could feel his face redden, and hoped that it would not surpass the hue of Julies lips.

  “What looks good?” she asked, opening her menu.

  Peter opened his, too, and was relieved that it was in English. He smiled and looked up at Julie. They both laughed at the irony.

  After ordering dinner for them both, Peter tried his best to make small talk.

  “So, Jules, where are you from?” he asked.

  “Well, I am native to California. I grew up in Sacramento and moved to the Bay area about six years ago.”

  Peter studied Julie’s facial expression as she spoke and decided right then that he might very well be smitten. Her face was quite exquisite. She had beautiful hazel eyes and high cheekbones. Not wanting to gawk too long, he nervously glanced down at the table.

  “How about you, Peter? You’re a native right?” Julie asked, never withdrawing eye contact.

  “Yeah, for the most part. I was actually born in Chicago, but we moved west before I started grade school. My grandparents came over from England in the early 50s.”

  “Oh, how interesting. Have you been to England to explore your heritage?”

  “I have. I was in the army many years ago and traveled there for a few weeks on leave. I would love to go back and visit more of the countryside. Have you been?”

  “England? Sure, a few times. But France is my passion. My ancestors are French and came from a small town called Oradour-sur-Glane. Have you heard of it?”

  “It sounds sorta’ familiar, but I’ve never been to France. Do you go back often?”

  “Not as much as I’d like. Besides, I no longer have family there. The town was destroyed in ’44, toward the end of World War II.”

  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, which was broken by the waiter dropping off their entrees.

  “Your mother and stepfather are here, right?” Peter asked after the waiter left. “Any other family local?”

  “Yes and no. My stepfather lives near Berkley. My mother passed away a few years ago. I was an only child, so it’s just me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be silly. She passed away a while ago. I’ve moved on,” replied Julie, as she took the first bite of her Osso Bucco.

  “Hey speaking of that night, the general must have come down on you pretty hard. You looked pretty shaken up when you came to the briefing.” Peter probed, before diving into his own meal.

  Between bites, Julie replied “Yeah, a little. He basically told me he owns me, and that I have to do whatever he says.”

  “He said that? Why does he think that?”

  “He didn’t say it in those exact words. He thinks he owns me because of something he is holding over my head. Something that happened a long time ago and I’d rather not talk about.” Julie said, looking away from Peter.

  “No pressure, Jules.” Peter said assuringly. “How did they know you were there in the first place?”

  “You see, that’s what has me stumped. I was very careful not to be followed. I didn’t want any of this to come down on Frank, but they still found me there.”

  “I totally get what you are saying. It seems Trevor and Mark k
now where I am all the time, regardless of whether they follow me or not.”

  “Do you think they bugged us with some kind of tracking device ?” Julie asked.

  “I wouldn’t put it past them. I’m not sure what to think anymore.”

  The conversation paused briefly, and they both idly played with their food.

  Feeling full, Julie pushed her plate away and said “You have . . . two kids, right? Any other family?”

  “Nope. Just the kids. I think of my friend Benny as a brother though.” Peter furrowed his brow and frowned.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “It’s probably nothing. It’s Benny. He’s disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? From where?”

  “Do you remember that night at Herb’s when you and Mark were asking Stella questions? It was just before Applegate convinced me to sign up.”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, ever since that night, Benny and Stella have vanished. Gone. Nobody has seen either of them since.”

  Julie looked concerned.

  “Do you know something?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. After you conned us, Mark dropped me off and sped away in a hurry. The next day when he picked me up to head to your house, he was wearing the same clothes as the night before. It looked like he hadn’t slept. I asked him if he had a good night, but he was rude and told me to mind my own business.”

  “Do you think the two are related?” asked Peter.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I know the general was pretty upset with you for talking to your friends about the mission.”

  “Again, I didn’t say anything!”

  “Well, the general thinks you did.”

  “Do you think he kidnapped them?”

  “Possibly. I wouldn’t put anything past him, if you know what I mean.”