by L. Todd Wood
Natasha, where are you?
Chapter Twenty
Connor sat at the computer where he logged in anonymously and brought up his confidential email account where Natasha could contact him. The retractable walls to the outside of the internet cafe were open to the ocean as the summer was in full swing; he could feel a warm breeze blowing in, smelling of sea salt. The scent of food cooking from the restaurant next door was salivating. Crowds of beachgoers lined the boardwalk, oblivious to his anxiety over Natasha. He waited for his inbox to load; the computer was frustratingly slow.
He had awoken refreshed after his evening with Reshma and walked from his hotel on the beach to the boardwalk along the Mediterranean, which was lined with shops and cafes. The population here was an interesting mix of peoples, all enjoying the fine, summer day. There was a happiness about this country he couldn’t quite explain, along with a youthful vibe and a sexuality. If the situation was not so dire, he would have been enjoying himself. I’ll have to come back someday when I feel better. The ocean sparkled in the sunlight and reminded Connor to buy some new sunglasses, as he had left his on the airplane. Sunglasses were one thing he could never keep around, so he never spent much money on them.
He finally was able to open his inbox. Nothing. Where is she? How is she? The silence was maddening. Is she gone for good? Did she ever really love me? What is happening? Connor logged out of the connection and left the cafe. He removed his shoes and walked towards the beach. The sun heated the boardwalk, and the wood warmed his feet as he walked down the stairs to the sand. The sand was hotter, too hot, and he jogged to where the waves crashed ashore. Maybe a walk on the beach will do me some good. The fresh, salty air can’t be bad for me.
He had called President Walker late the evening before. Connor was to return to the U.S. the next day. The president’s staff had set up his next treatment at a clinic in New Jersey. Sloan-Kettering had connection facilities throughout the Northeast where patient records were transmitted. Connor really didn’t want to show his face anywhere while on the run; however, he had to get the next two treatments. Then he could at least relax for a while. He also had to get checked for more cancer. In due time, I guess. He tried to put the cancer out of his mind for a while and enjoyed the scenery. I am walking down the shore of the Mediterranean. Screw the cancer. Enjoy yourself for once. You’re alive so act like it! It could be worse.
He walked slowly along the coastline, and the water lapped his toes. Where are you, my love? Why don’t you contact me? Connor walked past a fortress-looking facility that was a recreational area for orthodox Jews. A fence that looked like it belonged around a prison surrounded the play area and swimming pool, as the religious and secular were not supposed to mix. Coils of barbed wire covered the fence top, preventing any passage in or out. Now that is strange, he thought. It’s amazing what lengths humans will go to in order not to understand each other. I guess in this world you just have to take care of your own. Connor kept walking longer than he should as he enjoyed the sunshine.
“No, we don’t know at this point where either of them are,” said the important-looking man in the dark suit as he spoke on his cell phone outside the government building in Washington, D.C. “Yes, yes, I know you really want to find them. We want to find them too and we will.” The man said nothing for thirty seconds as he listened to the Russian voice on the line. The voice became louder and more threatening as the seconds ticked on. “Look, Alexsie, remember who you’re talking to. I’m not one of your underlings you push around in Moscow. I’m an under secretary at DHS. We gave her to you on a silver platter, and you lost her. She was in a goddamn apartment on Park Ave for God’s sake, not some jungle in Honduras. She slipped right through your fingers. You have only yourself to blame. And you agreed to help us for her whereabouts and you haven’t. You haven’t lived up to your side of the bargain. We’ve been watching the news and nothing! Nothing about our little request! Now the situation has totally changed; her boyfriend is causing us trouble. Now we need your help, okay? We need help finding out where the hell he is. Tell your boss that he owes us, and we’ll continue doing our best to find the girl as well. Capiche?”
Natasha stepped out of the upper bedroom of the house, isolated on the hillside. The view from the wooden deck looked out over the valley. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The sugarcane waved in the breeze spreading towards the hills from the coastal region. She could make out animal shapes in the fields as the wind worked its magic. The birds in the trees around her squawked and sang with joy in the sunshine. A gecko silently made his way down the wooden railing heading away from her. She enjoyed the view for a while with not a care in the world.
She was alone here, totally alone. That’s how she wanted it. She had no internet, no phone, no connection of any kind. Natasha would have to travel into the nearby village to connect in any way with society. In this way, she had total security. She was also at peace and felt safe. Although, for extra peace of mind, she had a small arsenal under her bed.
However, the large, vintage house felt empty. I miss you, Connor, she thought. I will contact you soon. I hope you are getting well, my love.
The sultan was angry. “What do you mean you lost him? I want him found! I do not care about the girl, she is of no use to us. It’s him that is causing us trouble. Use the old contact inside Walker’s team if you have to—activate him. We put him there years ago for a reason. Now it is his time to deliver. He’s had his fun in America. Do whatever you have to do. I want Murray found and I want him dealt with. Get creative.” He hung up the phone.
The sultan tried to calm himself and gazed at a painting on the wall of his office. It was a painting of Jerusalem. The scene pictured the European knights storming the city and massacring the entire Muslim population, women and children alike. The streets had run with blood to the ankles. He kept it there to remind him of his task, the task given to him by God.
The believers were put to the sword. They shall have their revenge. Their souls will guide my hands. The caliphate will be restored.
Connor walked into the cancer center in Basking Ridge, NJ with trepidation. Sloan-Kettering had satellites around the tri-state area where medical professionals could access records of patients, and this is where Walker had set up his next to last treatment. I’m definitely not going to enjoy this, he thought to himself. The sights and smells hit him smack in the face, only bringing back apprehension and dread. I really hate this! At least I can put this behind me soon.
He knew the drill and had brought a Kindle to keep his mind off the process. A good book always helped clear his mind. Once he was prepared, the nurse unwrapped the needle to put the catheter in his body. They first would try in the base of his hand; if this was unsuccessful, then it would go into his elbow. The first time, it had been shocking to see the IV device put in his arm. Soon, the poisons would be coursing through his body. The red tint of one of the chemicals always freaked him out; the color somehow really bothered him. He closed his eyes as the chemicals began to flow.
After several hours, his treatment was done. He stood up, wasted. He couldn’t feel his toes. Connor tenderly walked out of the hospital and got into the waiting vehicle President Walker’s staff had arranged. He lay his head on the headrest behind him and shut his eyes. Here comes the world of hurt.
The car took him to a rented apartment in a nearby complex. They had chosen this treatment location because it was out of the city and hopefully away from the prying eyes of whomever was looking for him. There was a visiting nurse in the apartment waiting for Connor when he arrived. Connor struggled to make it from the car to the doorway of the apartment. The nurse helped him inside and to the bathroom. At this point, Connor didn’t care who was following him, as he felt like he was going to die anyway. He emptied his guts until there was nothing left to empty, and then some. The nurse took care of him for the next week until he had passed the worst part of the treatment recovery. He remembered very little of the whole episode.
The man from the Department of Homeland Security walked into the cancer ward at Sloan-Kettering in New York City and asked for the head nurse. When she arrived, he flashed his DHS badge and demanded access to patient records. He seemed arrogant and used to getting his way. The nurse didn’t have the courage to ask for a warrant and relented. Connor’s records were located within a few minutes. The nurse pulled them up and then relinquished the terminal to the agent. It didn’t take the man long to find out Connor had recently been treated at a satellite connection facility in New Jersey. There was even an address of the apartment where he was recovering.
“I want to know right away if there is any new information on this patient,” the agent told the nurse. “Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, I think we do,” she responded.
The special agent picked up his phone and relayed the information to his superiors per his instructions.
Chapter Twenty-One
Connor sat at the table overlooking Central Park in a cafe near the Plaza Hotel in New York City. He had only been gone a few days, but it felt strange being back in Gotham. Everything had changed. The city felt harsh again without his girl by his side. He had actually forgotten what a brutal place the city could be. The hot, summer air combined with the exhaust fumes and dust coated everyone with a layer of soot that only an evening shower would erase. I wish I was waking up in my bed in New Mexico without a care in the world.
He had come to New York to meet again with President Walker’s chief of staff. Connor didn’t relish getting back on the plane and heading to Michigan, so he suggested they meet here, taking the train up from where he was being treated in New Jersey. Eric Barnard politely agreed to travel to see him. Connor had spent time with the man while on the island, and they got along well.
The fifth chemo treatment had been completed a couple weeks before—it was horrible. He wrenched for days and then felt like he would never recover. The nurse was helpful, but she could not replace Natasha. He was feeling a little better now, but it took longer and longer for his body to rebound after the injections. The first treatment killed ninety percent of the cancer, and the next treatment ninety percent of what was left, and so on and so on. But it was taking its toll on his body and his psyche. One to go. You’re almost done. He tried to put the remaining treatment out of his mind and focus on the task at hand as he scanned the crowd for the man he was supposed to meet.
Connor looked around at the people in a hurry with their own lives. They rushed by on the sidewalk to God knows where. That was what New York did to you—it made you hurry. Hurry to eat, work, catch the subway, hail a taxi, get out of the rain, it was never ending. He watched the joggers starting their run through Central Park during the middle of the day. They would have to be back at work after showering in the local health club. It was a chore to stay in shape in the city. When he found himself yelling at the waitress for not jumping when he motioned to her, he knew it was time to get back to the solitude. Soon I hope. He visualized the view of the distant mesas in his mind. How I miss Santa Fe.
He was also waiting for the call from the doctor. The PET scan had been completed earlier in the day at the clinic in New Jersey before he took the train to Grand Central. Connor was anxious for the results. I guess they only call immediately with bad news. He checked his cell phone again. The battery was charged and there were no recent calls. Come on, let’s get it over with.
Relax!
Connor finished his cup of green tea and left the cafe. Tea was really the only vice he had these days. It’s supposed to be good for me as well. He walked leisurely down the sidewalk since he was early to meet Walker’s contact. He heard a siren one city block back begin to wail. The emergency vehicle approached
Damn that’s loud.
Brakes screeched and car doors opened behind him. “Put your hands on your head and get on your knees!” screamed a very authoritative, male voice.
He turned and looked behind him. There were six cops pointing insanely menacing weapons at him. The van behind him had NYPD Radiation Detection painted nonchalantly on the side of the vehicle. The cops were wearing funny suits. They looked like alien janitors.
He did as he was told. They knocked him to the ground and cuffed him.
“Look in my wallet, my back pocket,” Connor said.
President Walker’s chief of staff, Eric Barnard, watched the whole scene unfold as he approached the Plaza Hotel from the east, mixing between the taxis and the horse-drawn carriages hawking rides through Central Park as he walked. As Connor was pushed into the police vehicle, he darted into the trees on the outskirts of the park, took out his phone, and called the former president. “Murray’s been arrested. Yes, I’ll find out why and by whom. It all happened very suddenly. I’ve got to do a little digging, call some friends. Yes, sir, I’ll be in touch.”
Eric hung up the phone with the former president and dialed another number; a man answered. “Bill, it’s Eric. I need a favor.”
“Yes, go ahead, what is it this time?” Eric and Bill Simpson had been friends for years since attending Harvard together and kept in close contact, helping each other climb the ladder from time to time. Lately, Eric had been more on the receiving end. Bill was a senior official in DHS.
“Yes, I know I owe you a few but listen. There have been two individuals arrested in the New York area. I’m not sure by whom. I need to know why and where they are being held.” He gave him the names.
“I’ll call you back in five,” said Bill. Eric hung up the phone.
Eric’s phone rang ten minutes later as he sat on a bench in Central Park. He answered as he watched the children run through the grass around him, their mothers chatting away with each other in a clump of strollers near the ice cream stand nearby.
“Yes?”
“It’s Bill. Both of them were taken in by DHS. It seems an undersecretary by the name of Skinner authorized the arrests. They are being held at a holding facility in NYC. It seems Murray was picked up due to a radiation alert. He’s telling his guards that he has an isotope inside him from a cancer scan he had this morning, a PET scan I think it’s called. Anyway, that’s all I can tell you. There’s pretty high security on this one. You owe me big time. Next time, I’ll call you.” Bill hung up sharply.
Eric dialed President Walker and relayed the information.
President Walker looked out over the Straits of Mackinac as the sun set again on the horizon, bedazzling the island with a sparkling display of red and orange flames dancing on the water. The lights on the Mackinac Bridge came on and illuminated the narrow body of water that connected Lake Huron and Lake Michigan. How he loved it here. He remembered burying a little chest with childhood treasures near a large oak tree not far from the cottage as a child. Vague memories of the contents—comic books, pinecones, and painted rocks—floated through his mind. I wonder if it’s still there? I wish I was a child again, with not a care in the world, he thought. But that’s not the case now, is it?
Connor was in trouble, that he knew. I fear there are some bad winds blowing our way. It’s not just Connor who’s got me worried. It’s our country. The government has been compromised, corruption is spreading. I need to talk to the president. I’m supposed to stay out of things but I can’t. The Mossad tells me this sultan has someone on the inside. Someone in our government. Yes, it’s time I talked to the president. I am no longer in charge, but I have a duty to relay what I know. He needs to hear this. President Walker called for his staff to make the connection.
The crew had been drilling the oil well for several weeks and was a fixture in the grassy plain off the South Atlantic Ocean in Brazil. The Paraiba Valley sat between Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro along the Paraiba do Sul River, which flowed down to Rio. The area in question was a non-populated zone to the north of the river, in between the cities, a no man’s land.
The well was drilled quickly and with much expense; although, the crew was not trying to reach the shale oil depth.
They were only looking for the aquifer, so the well was fairly shallow. In fact, the operation had not even received permits for the construction of the well, so no one knew they were there. They were out of sight of any local population, and the project was to be completed very quickly by design to avoid detection.
To the north, towards Rio, other crews were in operation as well. Multiple wells were being drilled by well-known oil corporations, Brazilian and foreign. Brazil’s known reserves of natural gas had just been officially doubled due to fracking technology. Shale hydrocarbon reserves were being discovered all over the world; however, none were as big as the United States’ deposits. These energy companies were after the fresh discoveries in Brazil in a big way. Fracking was fairly new to the country, and the permit process somewhat haphazard, as the government was new to the procedures. The environmental movement in Brazil was also active in attempting to slow the development of these natural resources.
The lone crew drilling the shallow well worked fast; they did not have to insert the concrete and steel barriers normally used. Once they had reached the aquifer, several tanker trucks nearby drove up to the wellhead and connected to a pipe leading from the wellbore. Immediately the fluid began pumping from the trucks directly into the local water supply.