Of Patriots and Tyrants

by Alex Ander

  … … … … …

  Dahlia got in on the driver’s side, slammed the door and faced Hardy in the other front seat. “Anything yet?”

  Strumming his fingers on the door trim, he shook his head. “Nice work in there. I think that last part got his attention.”

  She shifted in the seat and pulled her jacket out from under her butt. “Let’s hope so. What’s happening, Cherry?”

  Charity was in D.C., monitoring the house. The rest of the team communicated with her via earpieces. “I have the best software our nation can buy waiting to intercept any calls made from the structure. If DeLucci contacts anyone, I’ll know about it. Hang tight, guys.”

  Leaning right, Dahlia peered into the rearview mirror and glimpsed the man sitting behind her. “So what’s your story, Pence?”

  The man faced forward. “Excuse me?”

  “How’d you go from drill sergeant to freelancing for the CIA?”

  He gazed out his window for nearly a minute, his mind playing images of a young boy and a woman; one was dead, and the other he had not seen in years. “Crap happens, I guess…” he washed a hand down his face and let out a quick breath, “and one day you find yourself in a place you never thought you’d be.”

  “I got something.” Charity’s fingers tapping keys sounded through their communication devices. “I’m bringing up audio…” more typing, “as we speak.”

  Everyone heard dialing before a stoic voice. “What is it?”

  DeLucci: “The FBI was at my house. They know about the island. They—”

  Voice: “Not over the phone.” Silence ensued. “Don’t panic. Tell them nothing. Just go about your routine. Everything will be fine. I promise.”

  DeLucci sighed. “I understand.”

  Voice: “What little the FBI has, none of it traces back to you, Johnny. You’re safe if you keep your mouth shut.”

  Charity cut in after ten seconds of stillness. “That’s it. The line went dead.”

  Hardy sat up straight. “Were you able to trace the call?”

  “This isn’t a novel or the movies where you have to keep the caller on the phone for five or ten minutes to get a lock. In the real world—”

  Hardy rolled his head. “Yes or no, Cherry…all I need is a yes or a no.”

  “Of course I got it. The call went through several servers, but ended up terminating in Switzerland. Give me some time, and I’ll have a more specific location for you.”

  “When you have it, let Jameson know, so he can get a plane and equipment ready for us.”

  “Will do.”

  After a glance around the vehicle’s interior, Hardy put a shoulder to his door. “Let’s go serve a warrant on Mr. DeLucci.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 25: You Have No Idea

  February 17th; 8:32 p.m.

  Werdenberg (Constituency in the canton of St. Gallen), Switzerland

  45 miles southeast of Zurich

  “These are my private quarters.” Isaac Wells escorted his female guest to the center of a spacious room. He motioned. “The kitchen is beyond those double doors.” He extended an open hand in the opposite direction. “The hallway past the archway leads to my bedchamber and the bathroom facilities.” He removed his suit coat from her shoulders and draped the garment over a chair on his way to a wooden rack filled with wine bottles.

  “Thank you for your jacket.” She rubbed the backs of her bare arms. “I forgot how cold the nights get here.”

  His back to her, he smiled. “My pleasure. Please make yourself comfortable.” He selected a bottle and two long-stemmed glasses.

  Wearing spike-heeled sandals and a matching burgundy, long and flowing dress, her blonde hair tied loosely at the back of her head, the woman looked in all directions. “I still can’t believe you own this place.” She faced him and accepted a wine glass. “You must be some kind of billionaire or something.”

  Wells smiled and chuckled. “I don’t own the castle.” He admired the accommodations. “But I do make sizable donations to the entity that does…” he paused, “in exchange for certain privileges when I’m in town.” He raised his glass. “To a lovely evening with an even lovelier woman.”

  She put a hand to her chest, glanced away and came back to him.

  “And to our shared passion for history.” The two clinked glasses and sipped the beverage. Wells regarded the woman, who returned a likeminded gaze. He stepped closer and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

  She turned her head and pressed a cheek against his hand.

  Cupping her face, he beheld her beauty for a lingering moment. His eyes going back and forth from curly lashes to pursed lips, he slipped his hand behind her neck and dipped his head.

  She tipped her head backward, her lips parting. When he was an inch away, she shot a nervous glance toward the door, put a hand to his chest and looked down. “Is it really necessary for,” she cocked her head toward the door, “them to be here?”

  Wells glimpsed the two burly men standing on either side of the door, hands clasped in front of their bodies. “There here to protect me. It’s their job.”

  The woman fiddled with the man’s tie. “Are you afraid of me,” the tips of her fingers slipped inside his pants, “and what I’m going to do to you?”

  Instant warmth rushed throughout his body. His heart raced, and he half grinned. “Should I be?”

  Her fingertips went deeper. She brought her mouth closer to his, and slowly nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  Wells inhaled. Her warm breath had a hint of the expensive wine. “I’ll dismiss them.” He took a step away, but she yanked on his belt, until their private parts met.

  “Make sure you let them know,” she tugged on the belt, “things may get a little rough in here.”

  A wry grin spread over his face.

  “I wouldn’t want them barging in and ruining,” she paused, “your moment.”

  Beaming, Wells raised a hand, and his voice. “Leave us.”

  The two human monoliths glanced at each other before one replied, “Sir?”

  “And lock the door on your way out.”

  “Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to take orders.” Wells slid his hands over her shoulders and admired her ample cleavage. “Besides, there’s nowhere for her to hide a weapon. I’m in good hands tonight.”

  The men remained motionless.

  Wells whirled around. “Get out and lock the door.” After they had gone, he faced his soon-to-be lover, who took his hand and led him to the bedchamber.

  Once the couple was standing at the foot of the bed, Wells put his hands on her upper arms again. “You said something about things getting rough?”

  “I did.”

  “I find it difficult to believe a goddess like you capable of such things.”

  The woman squinted, lowered her head and glared at him. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Her hands flew outward, breaking his hold, before coming back and whacking his ears.

  Wells staggered backward, holding the sides of his head. His ears rang and his head felt like it was going to explode. He opened his mouth, but could not make a sound.

  The woman lifted her dress and kicked Wells in the stomach. The man doubled over. She grabbed his shirt, put a sandal on each of his thighs and jerked her body backward, flipping him forward, onto the bed.

  A second later, she was straddling his midsection and delivering blows to his head. When he opened his mouth, she punched him in the gut, shutting off his capacity to call for help. She ripped off his tie, rolled him over and bound his hands behind his back. Pulling a cover off a pillow, she rammed the material into his mouth before tying his feet with his belt.

  Jumping off the bed, she dashed out of the room, her fingers fishing around between her breasts. A moment later, Dahlia returned to the bedroom, straightening her dress, while inserting a communication device into her ear. “I
’m in. The target is subdued—over.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 26: Fox

  12 hours earlier…

  February 17th; 8:30 a.m.

  Sarganserland (Constituency in the canton of St. Gallen), Switzerland

  Gruebenhaus Restaurant

  After a one-hour interrogation of DeLucci proved fruitless, Hardy, Cruz, Dahlia and Pence took off in a Gulfstream V from Patrick Air Force Base. Eight hours later, at four in the morning (Zurich time), they touched down at Zurich Airport. Once their gear was transferred to an SUV, the foursome headed for Gruebenhaus. Working her digital magic, Charity had determined DeLucci’s call had ended somewhere in the restaurant.

  Hardy opened the glass door. “How’s your German in case no one in here speaks English?” Following Cruz through the doorway, he nearly bowled her over when she came to an abrupt stop.

  The elegance of the Gruebenhaus slapped them in the face. A long and wide-open space was filled with round tables and high-back chairs; lion heads on the walnut armrests. Wine-colored cloths covered the tables, which were decked out in silverware, fluted goblets and porcelain plates. Fireplaces were centered on three of the four red brick walls. Three enormous chandeliers were evenly spaced down the center of the room.

  Making her way to the bar, Cruz snaked between the tables, swiping her fingers over the linen. Silk. “Don’t worry. English is the fastest growing second language in Switzerland. Someone will be able to communicate with us.”

  Staff shuffled about the classy diner, cleaning and prepping for the day. A pencil tucked behind one ear, a dark-haired man wearing a black shirt under a white apron stood behind the bar, reading and flipping pages of a ledger. He grabbed the pencil and scribbled on a page before licking a finger and turning to the next sheet. He glanced up and greeted the arrivals with a toothy smile and a nod. “Guten Morgen. Kann ich Dir helfen? — Good morning. Can I help you?”

  Hardy smiled back. “Do you speak English?”

  “Of course. How may I help you?”

  Hardy stood next to his teammate and extended a hand. “I’m Shepherd.” He used his call sign for an alias. “This,” he motioned, “is Fox.”

  “Paul,” said the man, clasping hands with Hardy.

  Hardy noticed Cruz give him a look before she quickly recovered and physically greeted the employee. “We’re looking,” he said, placing a photo on the bar, “for a man, who was in here yesterday. We were supposed to meet him, but our travel plans got messed up. His name is—”

  “Mr. Wells,” said the man, taking the picture. “Yes, he came in for dinner.” Paul pointed. “He sat at his usual table by the fireplace and ordered his usual meal…porterhouse steak—medium rare—boiled potatoes and steamed broccoli. Nice fellow. He tips very well too.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Hardy retrieved the snapshot. “Any idea on how we can reach him? As I said, we had a business meeting, but somehow we lost his number.”

  Paul smiled. “So you must be in the relic business.”

  Hardy frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were selling Mr. Wells some old relics from the Middle Ages. He buys all sorts of unique and interesting pieces from that period. He’s really into that kind of stuff.”

  Hardy nodded. “Uh, yes…we are…but we don’t call it the relic business.”

  “Please forgive me. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  “No, no,” Hardy waved a hand, “that’s all right. We understand.”

  “Do you know,” Cruz interjected, “where Mr. Wells is staying, while he’s in town? We’d really like to meet up with him and apologize for the delay.”

  After placing the ledger on the bar and sticking the pencil behind his ear, Paul crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his pursed lips with a forefinger. “You know…he never mentioned anything last night.” He wagged his finger at Cruz before opening another book and thumbing several pages. He thumped the paper. “Mr. Wells has a six-thirty reservation for tonight.”

  Hardy and Cruz exchanged glances.

  “He usually,” Paul continued, “comes in straight from the slopes.”

  Hardy nodded. “Yeah, I hear the skiing on…” his brain worked overtime, trying to recall a resort in Switzerland, “O…b,” Oberholz, “Oberholz is fantastic.”

  “It is, but that’s not where Mr. Wells goes.”

  “Oh? Does he have an inside scoop,” Hardy swung a finger back and forth between him and Cruz, “that we don’t have?”

  Paul smiled. “I’m not sure about that. All I know is he prefers to ski Flumserberg.”

  “Well,” Hardy held out his hands, shoulders up to his neck, “the skiing’s always great there.”

  “If you come back tonight, you’ll be able to have your business meeting. I won’t be working, but you can ask any of the staff. They all know Mr. Wells.”

  “Thank you, Paul.” Cruz shook the man’s hand. “You’ve been a big help.”

  Hardy mimicked her gesture. “Yes, thank you. We’ll be back at six.”

  Paul smiled and nodded his head. “Auf Wiedersehen.”

  Hardy led Cruz away from the bar. “Well, we might not know where Isaac is, but we know where he’s going to be.”

  “We’ve got less than ten hours to come up with a plan to watch him and snatch him.”

  Hardy wrinkled his forehead. Watch him and snatch him? “I don’t think that’s the correct name for—”

  “Whatever it’s called,” she waved an arm, “you know what I mean.” She shot him a look. “Speaking of names…Fox?”

  He met her gaze.

  “I’m Shepherd. This is Fox.” She waited a beat. “All we needed was a hen house and some chickens and we’d be our own bedtime story.”

  A Hardy chuckle built into hearty laughter. “That reminds me. We need to come up with a call sign for you.”

  “One thing’s for sure.” She shook her head. “You won’t be in charge of that.” She shot out a puff of air. “Fox.”

  Hardy pushed on the door, holding it open for Cruz. “How about Foxy?” When she squinted at him, he grinned and doubled down. “Foxy Mama?” A playful punch to his stomach made him snigger. “Okay, we’ll put a pin in it for now.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 27: Perts

  9:46 a.m.

  “I’m putting you on speaker, Cherry.” Sitting behind the wheel of the SUV, Hardy put his mobile phone on the console and stared through the windshield at the Gruebenhaus. “Go ahead.”

  From the Operations Room, Charity: “Just to be on the safe side, I ran checks of all the hotels in Zurich again and came up with nothing. No Isaac Wells—or variations of his name—registered anywhere. Then I did what you suggested and cross-referenced all the data we have on him with anything related to medieval times—exhibits, shows, museums, castle tours, everything.”

  Hardy nodded. The conversation with the restaurant staff member about Wells buying relics from the Middle Ages made him recall the room he and Cruz had stayed in on the island, specifically, the pictures of the castles on the walls. The expensive knight’s armor in Wells’ office was the tipping point, and he had Charity include medieval elements to the search parameters. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing.”

  Hardy rolled his eyes at Cruz in the passenger seat before glancing out his window. “So why are we having this conversation?”

  “Because my search turned up something interesting.”

  Sitting behind Cruz, Dahlia leaned forward and poked her head between the front seats.

  “There’s an old castle from the 1500’s—Baumhauer Castle—a couple miles from your location. Fun fact…back at the start of the seventeenth century, Count Von Baumhauer was—”

  “I’m sure,” Hardy eyed his mobile, “this would be fascinating stuff, Cherry. And any other time I’d be as excited as you are, but we’re in the middle of an op. Come on, girl, f
ocus. I just need the perts.”

  Dahlia cocked her head. Cruz frowned at him. Silence consumed the vehicle’s interior.

  Hardy spied his girlfriend before noticing Dahlia. “What?”

  Charity: “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what perts are.”

  Hardy went back and forth from Cruz to Dahlia. “Perts…it’s short for pertinent details. You know, like ‘deets’ means details.” He twisted in the seat to see Pence. “Isn’t that a term?”

  His hands on his thighs, Pence lifted fingers and turned away. “Don’t look at me, man. I’ve never heard that before.”

  Hardy faced forward. “I’m sure that’s correct. If people understand what deets is, then…”

  “Okay, Hardy?” said Charity.

  “…it makes sense that—”

  “Hardy, I need you to focus. I’m sure your explanation would be fascinating, but we’re on an op, and I have important intel for you. Stay with me, boy.”

  Leaning away from the phone, eyebrows arched, Hardy glimpsed Cruz and Dahlia. The one turned away, hand to her mouth, while the other leaned back in her seat, chuckling. He looked at the cell. “Very nice, Cherry. Very nice. I owe you one for that.”

  “No, the look on your face that I’m imagining right now is payment enough. Anyway, Baumhauer Castle…I got a hit on it against the bank account we used in the wire transfer during the auction.”

  Cruz tilted her head sideways, eyebrows scrunched. “I don’t understand. Someone at this Baumhauer Castle got our money?”

  “No. The same account that received the transfer was also used to make substantial contributions to a foundation that oversees the operation of Baumhauer Castle.”

  Dahlia: “Define substantial.”