“Yeah,” I replied. “I know. Just don’t want the bullets to fly if it can be avoided.”
“Agreed,” Mel said. “But you said it yourself. This guy Don is a powerhouse, bad news by all accounts. You could use the extra gun, and you know it. Hell, it’s not like I’m going to walk in and shoot him in the face. Although I’d like to.”
“Thanks, Mel,” I replied, feeling moved by his offer. “But I can handle him myself. What I really need, though, is to find him first.”
“Okay,” Mel said, settling back and having a sip of beer despite himself. “Okay. So, where do we begin? You guessing he’s making good on his promise? Heading back to his beloved homeland, kid in tow?
“Yeah,” I replied, nodding slowly. “I reckon.”
“And he has the kind of money which guarantees he won’t be flying coach,” Mel said, not asking a question but rather pointing out a fact.
“He has the kind of money, Mel,” I replied, “which guarantees he won’t be flying commercial.”
“Shit,” he replied. “So what then? Private jet?”
I nodded.
“His, or a rental?”
I was pretty sure the arrogant bastard would have mentioned it to Shelly if he could access one, I couldn’t just assume as much. Such an assumption could end this investigation before it even began.
“I don’t know for sure,” I replied. “He never mentioned one. Let’s plan for the worst.”
“Just like the good old days, huh Tom?”
“Yeah.”
“His family probably does own a plane,” Mel mused. “I mean, the kind of money you’re talking about, Tom, they probably own a fleet of the things.”
“Yeah, but how long would it take one to get here?” I asked.
“Unless he called ahead,” Mel replied. “Or they have one here already, you know, just in case.”
“Shit, yeah.”
“Okay, Tom,” Mel said, putting down his beer and looking me in the eye in a way which said he felt ready to go. Locked and loaded. “This is the plan. You hang tight. Give me a few hours, I’ll find out if there’re any planes in his family name. I’ll also check the flight schedules of every private plane heading to Lebanon and finish off with a passenger manifest of every commercial airline heading there too. In the hopes he’s dumb enough to try.”
I nodded, “Thanks Mel. One little problem though.”
“What?”
“How do we know he’s going home?”
Mel shook his head, “We don’t, Tom. But it’s all we have to go on, and you know it. Just checking this out will strain my resources severely.”
I nodded. We could not know for sure if any of the points we were covering would pan out. We didn’t dare even think he’d be traveling under an assumed name. Not on a commercial airline. But a private plane? Mel was right. We needed to take the information available to us and do our best.
“Okay,” I said, pushing my glass to one side. “We have a plan of action, then.”
“Indeed we do.”
I got up, throwing some cash down on the table, “I’d better get back, let Shelley know we have a plan. Calm her down. Drinks are on me.”
“Thanks,” Mel laughed. “But you do realize I can afford to buy the pub?”
“Dick.”
“Call you as soon as the Intel starts coming in. In the meantime, I’m guessing you’ve got some packing to do?”
“Pretty much ready to go,” I replied. “Just got to pack the hardware.”
Mel shook his head, “Too much of a headache. You’d rather not arrive at a Lebanese airport carrying enough weaponry for a small army, Tom.”
“Yeah, so plan B, I guess.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “I’ll hook you up when you get there. Don’t sweat the small stuff, right?”
“Thanks, Mel.”
Mel downed the last of his beer, “No problem. Now, let me get to work.”
I nodded, “Yes, boss.”
He smiled, and I made my way out into the storm.
CHAPTER FIVE
We sat in silence, sitting in my living room and sipping tea. We both sat on the same couch, looking out at the weather, watching the storm move from bad to worse, as if reflecting our own worst fears. Both of us in our own worlds, no doubt thinking of the same thing: our little girl, far away, afraid and wondering when mummy would come.
So we sat in silence, waiting for the call that would set everything in motion. When I’d arrived back from the pub meeting just after eleven thirty, I’d made it immediately clear to Shelley we couldn’t be sure Mel would find out anything, and we shouldn’t get our hopes up too high. I didn’t want to have to say that, but I wasn’t sure I could bear the look of utter disappointment on her face if Mel came back with nothing.
Not today.
Eventually she looked at me and said, in a small and terrifyingly hopeless sounding voice, “Do you think your friend will come up with anything? I mean… Do you really think we have a chance?”
“It’s best not to guess, Shel,” I replied, adopting an even, calm tone.
“But believe me, if anyone can get the Intel we need, it’s Mel. And there’s always a chance. Keep thinking: There’s always a chance.”
She nodded and seemed to perk up a bit. Maybe she felt better for real, and maybe she forced it. I couldn’t be sure, but either way, it made me happy.
“When you find him, Tom…” She hesitated then, appearing to be searching for the right words, the right way to say something. “When you find Don…”
“When I find him?” I said, trying to make light of her hesitation, trying to pretend I didn’t notice her hesitation. Keeping her cool. “Nice turn of phrase, Shel. I’m beginning to think you’re getting a little optimistic on me here.”
I tried a tentative smile.
“Yeah maybe,” she replied, giving me a small smile of her own which can’t have been easy for her given the situation. “But whatever happens…”
“Yeah?” I asked gently.
“Just…” she shook her head as if she couldn’t believe the words coming out her mouth. As if this were all some kind of mad joke played on her by a crazy God. “Just don’t do anything… dangerous.”
“I won’t let Rachel get hurt, Shel.” I said softly. “There simply isn’t a way in the world I would let anything happen to her. Not a chance.”
“I understand,” she replied, shaking her head slowly, as if I wasn’t getting her point. “I was talking about you.”
I didn’t know my enemy, I realized, which represented the cold truth. Sure, I knew him as Shelley’s husband, a Lebanese asshole called Don who possessed insane amounts of money. Or rather, I corrected myself, his family did. But beyond that? I made it my first priority when Mel got back to me to do a bit of background research on the guy and his family.
Find out what destiny had lined up for me.
A clear understanding of my enemy would allow me to formulate an effective plan which would hopefully give me some chance of success.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, sliding across the couch and taking her hand, not mentioning my new insights or the steps I would take. “We all will.”
Everyone, I thought, except Don. The bastard would pay the price for his misdemeanors, and I represented the blunt instrument of reckoning, the man for the job, regardless of his power and influence and damn money. No two ways about it.
The call came through maybe a half hour later. Shelley was asleep on my bed, no doubt due to nervous exhaustion. I pulled the device out of my pocket and flipped it open.
“Yeah?”
“Tom, it’s me,” Mel replied from the other end. “Sorry about the wait but I got back to you as soon as I could.”
“No stress, Mel,” I replied. “I appreciate what you’re doing for us.”
“I’m thinking you will not be so appreciative after I tell you what I managed to find for you, man,” he replied.
My heart skipped a beat, and my mind went
into overdrive. Something must have happened to Rachel far away from home while with a man she trusted. Or a plane crash, en route to her new home. Everybody dead. ‘Don’t worry, they didn’t suffer…’
Dear God no. Please, no.
I tried to compose myself. This shit wasn’t supposed to get to me, a SEAL.
“A private jet left for Lebanon in the early hours of the morning,” Mel replied. “I have confirmed Intel. Don Abaid and Rachel. I’m sorry man.”
I almost cried with relief, not having realized just how deeply terrified I’d been until this moment.
I breathed a sigh, “Thanks Mel. There’s something else.”
“Yeah,” he replied, a grin in his voice I swear I could hear. “Everything you wanted to know about Don Abaid is being emailed to you as we speak.”
“You’re a legend in your own time.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
CHAPTER SIX
The rain lashed the window, making the parking lot and the edge of the park around the corner hazy and distorted. The man in the grey suit stood there, looking out at the day, thinking how much he loved this weather. You have people who loved the sunshine, who couldn’t live without it. He found those types of people usually to be a stupid, short-sighted bunch of idiots, enjoying only the now and never looking to or planning for the future. Indeed, they probably couldn’t even see past their own noses.
Prone to introversion, as a winter type, he deemed himself far superior to the summer types simply by virtue of that one single fact. Introversion bred thought, a high degree of self-awareness, mental prowess when the odds seemed to be stacked against him. Introversion accomplished things, got the ball rolling. Kept the ball rolling. The weather almost seemed to mirror his thoughts as it forced people into their homes or places of work in a very physical way.
He nodded to himself. Yes, much could be said for the weather. And the weather had a lot to say about oneself. He liked the idea very much and made a mental note to put it in his journal for future perusal.
His personal assistant arrived late again, some excuse about her kid being sick. Like he cared about the health and wellbeing of some snot-nosed little brat. But she worked hard, acted professionally and discreetly, and knew her job very well. In fact, she often helped him with the vast amounts of paperwork which made up his life in this place and that alone made the occasional late arrival or sick day worth it.
Not too often, of course, but so far so good.
So she’d been late, only arriving a few minutes ago, and in the meantime he’d been left to sort through all the red tape a government bureaucracy could throw at you.
The man in the grey suit took a seat in his leather chair, glancing over the files on his desk. He felt complete disinterest. He was neat by nature, impeccable in fact. This pile of documents stacked neatly on his desk were all case files awaiting his attention. And he’d made very little progress with most of them, thanks to his own projects. It would take him some time to sort through this lot, get what he needed to complete the job.
People always envisaged the Company, the CIA, as this impenetrable clandestine agency, inscrutable. And to a degree it held true. But if the man in grey had anything to say about it, and he did, it was this: the movies told the wrong story. For every secret agent out there in the field there were about fifty plebs working a desk job at Langley. They never showed those guys in the movies. Oh no. And yet the guys at the desk kept the place running. Without the man in the grey suit and his colleagues, the place would surely fall to pieces and the field agent out there in Mother Russia, sipping on a martini, would find himself all alone, with no way home.
He shook his head. The damn movies. They never got anything right.
Ah well.
He glanced again at his desk, noted once again the stack of documents which required his attention. He could not avoid the unpleasant task. He’d already been around for hours, and he’d made little headway.
He sighed.
He didn’t have time for this bullshit. Far greater things were in the works, and his boss called him away from those things to log a case file.
This wouldn’t do at all!
On the plus side, he used the power of Company resources to identify the SEAL. An old flame of Shelley’s apparently. Well, no surprises there. Hell, he figured it out for himself.
All the dope he could need on the SEAL existed on his computer screen. Good. Very good. However, he could only leave at clock-out time.
Big problem.
Well, there were ways around this kind of situation.
He picked up his personal cell phone, leaving the company’s one lying on his desk. The Company kept tabs on their employees.
Fact.
And the job he needed done inhabited an off-the-books space. Most definitely off-the-books.
He put through a call and a gruff voice answered. “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?”
“I’d like a bit of lunch, call it a brunch,” the man in the grey suit replied to his team member, disliking the fact he had to give out information. He adopted a friendly tone as if talking to an old friend.
“Of course, sir.”
“I’m at work,” the man in the grey suit said through clenched teeth. “Don’t call me that, you bloody idiot.”
“Sorry, s…”
He nodded to himself. “Good man, good man. Can you make it around noon, let’s say at the usual spot?”
“Yes,” came the reply. “Yes. Absolutely. Shall I bring coffee? Something to eat, perhaps?”
“Sure, sounds good,” he replied amiably. “See you then.”
“Yeah, see you th-” He hung up the phone and gazed at the storm brewing outside his window, watching the water lashing at the glass as if trying desperately to get in.
Then he sighed again and called his personal assistant in.
“Yes, sir?” she asked, coming into the office.
She was a pretty young thing. Perky in all the right places, slim in all the others. The man in the grey suit admired her briefly before getting to the point.
“I need you to find the case our mutual boss wants,” he said, and gestured at his desk, somewhere in this mess. “I’m assuming he named the file when he asked you for it?”
“Yes sir, I know the one he asked for.” His assistant replied. “I’ll get right on it.”
“Good,” he said. “I need to take a break. Blood sugar.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Thanks,” he said, gathering his coat up and putting it on. He headed for the door, stopped, and turned around. “Oh yeah, one other thing.”
“Yes, sir?” she asked, already seated at the other side of the desk, beginning to comb through the documentation with efficient speed.
“Clean this place up or I’ll kick your ass to the curb.”
Despite the discomfort of the wooden bench, he experienced a strange kind of peacefulness at the park. The awning overhead kept out the rain which washed across the pond in front of him, making the water jump and skitter like it was alive. A ridiculous place for a meeting, but with the case file the boss demanded, the man in the grey suit didn’t have the kind of time he would have liked to conduct this discussion. He needed fifteen minutes on the outside and be as far from the Company’s surveillance as possible while still being able to rush back if he got a call from the office.
So the park around the corner from the building had to suffice.
Many times he would meet with his subordinates to discuss sensitive information. Information the Company daren’t discover.
But never in such inclement weather. This was a first.
A minute later his team member arrived, carrying a cup of takeout coffee in each hand, and a box of pastries tucked under his arm.
“Good morning, sir.”
“The case I’m working on, the one which required the electronic surveillance of the Abaid residence…”
“Yes sir,” came the reply. “I supervised t
he team which installed the devices. Is there a malfunction? Does something need-”
“I talk, you listen,” he snapped. “We don’t have time for friendly banter, got me?”
“Yes sir,” came back the response a micro second later.
“I need you to put visual and audio surveillance on this address,” he continued, handing the man a business card with the information scrawled on the back. “Just you in a car. No hardware other than a directional microphone and your own eyeballs. Got it?”
The man took the proffered card and nodded, tucking it into an inner pocket to protect it from the rain. He picked up his coffee, took a sip.
The man in the grey suit stared at him incredulously. “What are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully under control.
“Sir?” the man asked, looking at him in equal parts uncertainty and terror.
“Did I just give you an assignment?” his voice still calm.
A nice even tone, but with murder lying just beneath the surface.
“Yes, sir.” The idiot saw the light. The man in the grey suit could only keep his anger in check for so long, and the guy knew it all too well.
“Yes sir, I’m on it at once.”
He got up and left without a word.
The man in the grey suit smiled and took a sip of his coffee.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’m coming with you, Tom” Shelley said, the determined set of her jaw daring me to argue the point.
I argued the point, “Sorry, Shel, but there’s just no way I can allow it. You have no covert or combat experience and-”
“To HELL with your combat experience bullshit! I’m coming with you!” I swear I could feel the heat coming off her, like she had fire in her veins instead of blood.
This was going to take some doing. And fighting wouldn’t help things at all. No, I needed to tackle this very calmly.
So I took a breath, forcing myself to relax, “Shel, it’s not a good idea. Think about Rachel-”
Her knuckles turned white. Her hands became two tight balls of fury.
“Fuck you, Tom,” she shot back. “I am thinking of Rachel. Who do you think you are?”
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