by W. J. Lundy
“Tommy?” he heard from the phone.
“Yes sir, it’s me,” he answered, failing to hold back a stiff yawn.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were sleeping. I had heard you’d arrived in Greece, and I wanted to speak to you before the meeting.”
Tommy looked at his wristwatch and saw that he’d been traveling nonstop for over twenty-four hours. He looked out of the window and could see that they were stopped on a narrow street, the only building a white stone church. Ahead of his own car were several matching dark sedans and a pair of navy-blue SUVs. “It’s okay. We’ve just arrived at the church; I needed to wake up anyway,” he said. “Any word from Elias?”
“He’s safe, and I’m taking care of him.”
“What do you mean ‘taking care of’?” Tommy asked absently.
“I’ve been looking for a man on the inside. I’ll make sure Elias has what he needs to keep frying the bread.”
Tommy let out a small laugh, finally understanding. “Thank you, sir– Elias is good people.”
O’Connell exhaled before continuing. “But that isn’t why I called. I’m glad I got to you before you went inside. There are some things I have to tell you.”
“Things?”
“Yes, Tommy. That thing you asked me to look into—about your background and people asking questions.”
Tommy paused. “You found out who was helping the Hyena, who was digging into my past?”
“Yes, and you’re not going to like it. His name is Ziya Fayed. He is an Interpol agent out of Paris, France. Simon was aware of his involvement, he claims that Agent Fayed was helpful even, so helpful you might owe him a favor.”
“I owe him? I’ve never heard of him.”
O’Connell chuckled a response. “Well, you are about to meet him. He is the man that brought Sarah out alive. They’re making him out to be a real hero.”
“And you’re sure it was him, this Fayed is the rat?”
“Very sure. I’m holding a file of every record he accessed on you. Some of this stuff goes back to your earliest personnel records with the Army. But I’m sorry, Tommy, I don’t think there is anything here that we could use against the man. From all of this, it could just be he was doing his utmost to bring Sarah home, and it looks like that is exactly what he did.”
Tommy paused again; he thought about the flyer with his ID card photo on it, the news of him crossing the border, and how they knew it was him so quickly. “Sir, let me ask you, did he access a military identification photo of me—it would be probably ten years or older.”
Tommy heard papers flipping then stop. O’Connell laughed. “Oh yeah, looks like you were fresh out of Army basic training. You have the skinhead haircut to prove it. Why do you ask about that specifically?”
“Because a few days ago, the Hyena distributed wanted posters of me with that photo on it. That is a direct tie between this Ziya character and the Hyena.”
O’Connell sighed. “It’s still not much to go on.”
Tommy grunted. “I’ll know when I see him, I’ll shake him down and get him to talk.”
“No, there is something else, Tommy. You can’t go after him. There is a reason this meeting is happening in a church before they fly Sarah home.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re a wanted man, Tommy. The Feds aren’t happy; they claim you’ve broken a dozen or more laws. They also were not pleased to find out I was looking into Ziya Fayed and hunting for a connection between the Agent and Abdul Nassir.”
“The FBI?” Tommy asked. “Why would the Bureau care what happens in that shithole.”
“No, the FBI is as curious as we are now that I shook the trees for them and knocked off all the low-hanging fruit. It’s the State Department and the Agency. Abdul Nassir is a known asset of theirs, and they weren’t happy to find out he’s dead. And yeah before you ask, I think there is a connection to Fayed and they are burying it, but—”
“But what?” Tommy asked.
“You have to let it go, son. Let it go or they will come after you.”
Tommy sat speechless, trying to take in the information. They took his sister and now they want to come after him for getting her back. He shook his head and looked up as he saw Simon Arnet, the man from the Vatican, approaching his car. Tommy put the phone back to his ear. “Thank you, sir, we’ll talk more about this later,” he said disconnecting the call.
Opening the door, he stepped onto the sidewalk just as the Swiss Guard approached his door. Seeing him, the man rubbed his chin then extended his hand. Tommy returned the handshake and stared at the man. Tommy began to speak when Simon held up a hand, stopping him. “It’s better that you don’t say anything. You are here to see your sister, then we will help you leave. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Help me leave?”
The man nodded, “We will provide you sanctuary inside the church for the meeting, and we will see that you are free to leave and not be followed, but after that there is little we can do.”
“But Sarah, she’s here.”
Simon smiled, “Yes, your sister is here.”
“Does she know?” he asked, “about what happened over there.”
Simon shook his head. “No, she knows nothing of the role you played, but I do, and I appreciate all of it. But not everyone does, including some of the men inside.”
“You’re sure I won’t be arrested?”
“Not here. But you will be if you stick around.”
“I understand. Can I see my sister now?”
Simon smiled. “Yes, of course.”
The man turned and walked toward the church entrance with Tommy holding close by his side. They walked past the tall wooden church doors and turned a corner to a less ornate side entrance. Simon put his hand on a brass doorknob and looked back to ensure Tommy was still with him. He slowly dipped his chin then opened the door and ushered Tommy in ahead of him.
She was in the center of the room sitting on a high-backed chair. Dressed in dark pants and a long sweater, she had a blanket draped over her shoulders and her hair pulled back. She looked up at him standing in the doorway and her eyes filled with tears. Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her. He half expected her to be dressed in her usual penguin suit. He froze, not knowing what to do. He choked, holding back his own emotions until she approached him. He softened and she fell into his arms.
Both of them ignoring the pain in their bodies, they held on tight. Tommy spoke with his voice breaking. “I thought you were dead. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he whispered in her ear, now unable to hold back the tears.
Tommy bit his lower lip and looked down at her. From across the room, he spotted a group of men clustered in the back, all in dark blue suits but one. The last man wore a tan sport coat, his skin was bronze and when he saw Tommy’s gaze, the man turned away nervously. He knew it had to be Fayed, the man was a cowered and cowards all reacted the same way. Tommy’s muscles stiffened as he fought an impulse to confront him. He wanted nothing more than to fly across the room and attack.
Sarah pushed away from him, blocking his view of Fayed, and looked into his eyes. “I can’t believe you traveled all this way to see me.”
“I’d do anything for you, Sarah,” he said, pulling her back into a hug keeping his eyes locked on Ziya Fayed.
34
Tommy didn’t mind waiting. His time training as a sniper taught him to enjoy the waiting. And for this he could wait days if he had to, but he knew it wouldn’t come to that. The room was dark with the blinds closed, the city lights blocked out. Night had fallen and ambient sounds of busy streets filled the air. Tommy sat in an overstuffed chair in a corner, alone in the dark, a glass of fine cognac in his hand. He wore dark denim jeans and a tight, black T-shirt. His wounds were finally healing, but he could still feel the tightness of the scar. His mind, still weary, was cloudy and visions from the past continued to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.
/> He sipped the liquid and felt the burn as he swished it in his mouth before swallowing. It didn’t take much for him to learn everything about the Interpol agent, Ziya Fayed—the man named as the one who’d taken sudden interest in his past and arranged the miraculous rescue of his sister. Of course, he owed the man a personal debt of gratitude, and it was one he intended to pay.
Tommy had put in the time to learn everything about Fayed. Using old trade craft from his previous position, he studied the inspector’s routines, his habits, where he lived, and where he dined. Most of the man’s history, although well concealed, was there to be found if you knew where to look. The hard part was verifying his connection to the Badawi Brigade. That proved the most difficult. After the death of Abdul Nassir, the inspector cut all his connections to the organization. He even appeared to be going clean, putting himself on the right track.
After bringing Sarah out of Syria and arranging her transfer to authorities, he was promoted off the Middle East desk and given a meritorious promotion to Assistant Director. Fayed came from a prominent family and was considered a member of the protected class. No investigation would be mounted against him. The State Department declared him off limits and any inquiry about his relationship to Abdul Nassir was quickly met with subpoenas and cease and desist orders.
Ziya was a golden boy at home and things were looking up for the man who was already considered a fast-tracking professional. With no official interest in pursuing Fayed and State actively preventing it, Tommy relied on O’Connell for one last favor: the funding to build a case against the investigator and the last remaining link to Sarah’s capture.
Of course, if you didn’t turn a blind eye, all the red flags were there. The man lived above his means. When he drove, he drove the nicest cars. He traveled frequently to places often only visited by the wealthy. He made frequent trips to the conflict zones that were only loosely related to his official functions. Donovan knew from the start that this was a man corrupted by outside influences, and once the dots were connected, it was confirmed.
The counter-terrorism expert known as Ziya Fayed was dirty, and Tommy had the proof. Colonel O’Connell had funded his expedition—this investigation—and now that the dossier was complete, Tommy’s work was done. The files had already been sent back to Washington to be hand delivered by courier to Colonel O’Connell the next day. Before the colonel had time to pour his morning coffee, the papers would be delivered to his front door.
It was enough evidence to confirm Fayed’s connection with not only the raid on the church and the kidnapping of the nuns, but to several other crimes spanning the last half decade. Within hours of O’Connell filing the report with the FBI and the CIA, Assistant Director Ziya Fayed, the gem of Mideast investigations, would be arrested by the same agency he represented.
With the job done, Tommy was now once again officially unemployed. What he was doing now was completely off the clock. This was personal. Tommy relaxed, sitting back in the comfortable chair. He was ready to go home, even though he hadn’t decided where that would be yet. In the morning, he would go to the train station and buy a ticket to anywhere—preferably some place remote, maybe the Swiss Alps or a small town in Austria to hole up for the winter. From there, he didn’t know. Maybe he would finally go to the islands. He’d put away enough money to live comfortably for several years, and after that he would still have the accounts accumulating funds from his pensions. He didn’t require much, he was a simple man.
He heard soft footsteps in the hallway and brought the suppressed Browning pistol onto his lap. He watched the shadows dance under the crack at the bottom of the door. He listened to the sounds of a key entering the lock and the bolt clunking home. The door opened, and a man stepped into the room. He reached for the switch and flipped it on and off again. He cursed when the light failed to come on. There was a low glow from the kitchen, and the man moved through the dark entryway and fumbled with a lamp on an end table. A click, and the room was lit. He moved toward a table and dropped his keys and mobile phone onto a porcelain tray.
Fayed froze, his body suddenly still as he spotted the uncorked bottle of Martell Cognac on the kitchen counter. The man’s arms tensed, realizing his error of walking through the dark room, not immediately sensing the danger and leaving. Slowly, he turned toward the living room, where the curtains swayed from an open balcony window. A stone-cold shadow in the corner chair moved and a lamp clicked on. Fayed recognized the man instantly. His body constricted with fear and his brown eyes grew wide upon spotting Tommy Donovan in the flesh, holding a suppressed pistol pointed directly at him.
“Hello, Inspector,” Tommy said in a low, calm voice, speaking in English. “Or is it Assistant Director now? I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Why are you here? What are your doing in my home?”
“I think we are beyond that, you know exactly why I’m here. It’s strange though; after spending the last two weeks learning all about you, I feel like we’re old friends.” Tommy stood. He pointed to Fayed with the pistol held in his black leather glove. “On your knees,” he said.
Fayed impulsively backed away, bringing up his hands. “What is this about? I can pay you; I have a safe. I have plenty of money.”
Tommy tilted his head toward a black bag against the wall. “I’ve already collected your money. Don’t worry—I’m not stealing it. All of your money will be sent back to Syria. A friend will use it to make sure the Badawi Brigade is finished for good.”
“Why are you doing this? You got her back; I helped rescue her.”
Tommy smiled, showing his teeth. “You may beg if you wish. You can pray if you’d like.”
“Please,” Fayed said, his voice croaking. “I am an important man; they’ll come after you.”
“No need to show concern for me, Fayed. Now I must insist—on your knees.”
Fayed’s hands began to shake with the realization that he was dead. He dropped to his knees, still mumbling about being an investigator, about being able to pay for his sins. His hands raised, and on his knees, he clenched his fists in the air, pleading.
“Why did you do it?” Tommy asked.
Fayed looked up and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Tommy rammed the pistol into his face, breaking his teeth. The last thing Ziya Fayed saw was the barrel of Tommy Donovan’s pistol. Two pulls of the trigger sent two rounds bursting from the back of the man’s head, splattering the room behind him.
The body collapsed to the floor. Tommy wiped down the pistol and left it with the corpse, along with a second copy of the dossier he’d sent to O’Connell.
Epilogue
He never pictured himself as an island man. Sure, it was always on his wish list of places to visit, but now he was slowly getting used to the life. The beaches, the slow-moving pace, and the constant attention from the local women helped him make it through his dull existence. A cool breeze blew off the ocean, light clouds drifted on the horizon. Tommy finished the last of his coffee and moved to the Tiki bar, just a short walk from his modest apartment overlooking the emerald beaches of Saint Thomas. He dressed the part now—khaki shorts and a T-shirt, a couple days’ worth of scruff replacing his beard.
Once again, he had managed to hide in plain sight. He wasn’t sure if anyone was looking for him, but why take chances? Tommy had no illusions that the CIA had tabs on where he was. He knew there were people in the State Department who were angry with him and people in France who would have him imprisoned for what he’d done. He also knew that groups far more nefarious in Syria still had a bounty on his head, but those groups didn’t have much resources for outside of the theater. The times of the world were changing, and he was okay with fading away into a happy existence. He slept soundly, no longer bothered by the things he’d done.
After Sarah’s rescue, he made sure she had what she needed to recover, and the Church gave her a choice posting in Rome, in a small village where she would have the peace and tranquility to reflect o
n her life. He knew she would be okay now, and that was all he cared about. Soon after their last visit in Greece, she’d talked to Carol and discovered what he’d done. She knew most of it now, at least enough to know why he had to keep his distance from her and couldn’t hang around more than a day or two at a time. Still, he snuck in a visit to her village several times while lying low in Europe. She never knew he was there, but it helped him sleep knowing she was safe and that the local security met his standards. Of course, it didn’t but he put his faith in her, and trust in Simon who ensured she would be protected.
Colonel O’Connell offered him the finest attorneys, told him he would be vindicated. That he could return to Boston a free man. Tommy looked out at the ocean and smiled at the thought of never having to suffer another Massachusetts winter. There would be no forgetting the things he’d done. He quietly slipped away, using safe houses and old contacts to lock in a new identity. He was happy here, and he’d stay until he decided it was time to move on, or until something made him return.
Ordering a Mojito, she caught his eye, and before she approached him, he already knew he was in trouble. She sat across the bar from him. A white dress clung tightly to her body. She wore a thin jacket that caught the breeze in just the right way. She looked up at him then turned away in a flirtatious manner. Tommy tagged her right off for what she was. Of course, it was possible she was an attorney on vacation, maybe a bridesmaid who wandered off to find some alone time. But this wasn’t a make-believe fantasy, and beautiful women don’t find themselves at lonely bars before noon on the wrong side of the island. That was strike one.
He knew she was somebody’s agent; he just didn’t know whose yet. He toyed with the idea of allowing her to seduce him. See how far she would let him go before doing whatever it was she came here for. He smiled at her and let his eyes survey the road behind her. The lot of the small beach bar was empty, but farther up the road was a black sedan with tinted windows. He frowned. They would be her backup; there would be no seducing today.