Lone Wolf

by David Archer

  Noah looked at Decker. “What do you make of it?”

  Decker frowned. “That accent is definitely Deep South USA, but I don't think it's real. It sounded just a bit too forced, to me.”

  Noah nodded. “I agree. Some of the drawl was held out just a little too long, the way an actor might do it to make sure people caught it. If you listen to the sibilants, the breathy consonants like s, z, j and the ch sound, they're very clearly pronounced. Southerners don't do that. The only place you're going to find carefully pronounced sibilants like that is New England.”

  Decker looked at him, and his eyebrows rose. “Good point, I missed that. So we're probably looking for someone from the Northeast, then.”

  Neil was tapping on his keyboard. “I'm running a snippet through the NSA's voice print database, now. If this guy is really a player on the international scene, they're likely to have him in their files, somewhere.”

  Decker nodded. “If that doesn't turn anything up, try the FBI database. Ours is pretty good, too.”

  “That's where I'll go next, if I need to, and after that I'll hit the Russian database. They've been doing that sort of voice print recognition longer than anybody, and they use it almost exclusively for their intelligence people.”

  “Okay,” Noah said, “what about the guy in the background? Definitely sounded British to me.”

  Decker was nodding again. “I agree, no doubt about it. And the background noises, if those weren't jet engines, I don't know what they were. I'd lay good odds that our girl was on one of the planes that we could hear taking off.”

  “Maybe,” Noah said, “or maybe that's just what somebody wanted us to think. It seems a little convenient that we got good background noise and an identifiable British accent. Those lead us to the conclusion that the call came from the airport, which causes us to suspect that Selah was taken out of the country by air. What if this is nothing but a smokescreen?”

  Decker shrugged. “That's certainly possible,” he said. “It does seem a little easy, these clues. Let's face it, the caller would have known he was being recorded. Why wouldn't he have gone into someplace quiet, why risk somebody overhearing him?”

  “Because he's just plain cocky?” Neil asked. “I got a hit on the voice print. According to the NSA database, there is a 99.8 percent certainty that the caller is Jeremy Pendergrast. He’s originally from the Hamptons, son of a wealthy family who developed a bad streak during his college years. He worked briefly for the CIA in Italy, compiling information from Middle Eastern news sources, then apparently just decided to go out on his own. He's been linked to a number of abductions and extortions, but there's never been enough evidence to take any action against him.” He clicked the link on his monitor and scanned the page that appeared. “Seems the NSA keeps a close watch on this boy, monitoring all of his movements. Want to guess where he was the day Selah disappeared?”

  “Right here in Nouakchott?” Noah asked.

  “Ding, ding, ding,” Neil said. “We have a winner! He flew in two days before that and stayed in this very hotel, then flew out two hours after that call was made. He is, or was a half hour ago, in his apartment in London, where he lives alone. Look at the screen, that's a photo of him.” The image on the screen showed a stocky man with sandy hair and brown eyes.

  Noah and Decker looked at the photo, then at one another. “Sounds like he must be our man,” Decker said. “Still seems way too easy, though.”

  Noah nodded. “Yeah, we're being led on a wild goose chase. The trouble is, we can't afford not to chase the goose. Whether he's a decoy or not, this Pendergrast is somehow involved in all this, and I plan to find out how.” He took a phone out of his pocket and dialed a number, and waited for it to connect. Almost a minute later, he got an answer.

  “This is Allison,” his boss said as she answered.

  “It's Camelot,” Noah said. “We have a lead, and need to go to London.”

  “Hang on a moment,” Allison said, and the line went silent as she placed him on hold. Noah waited for about three minutes, listening to Neil tapping on his keyboard and cursing under his breath, but he didn't want to ask questions while he was still on the phone.

  “Okay, I'm back,” Allison said. “I'm sending a charter jet after you, but it won't get there until almost nine o'clock tonight, your time. I would suggest you get as much rest as you can, after the flight you just had.”

  “That's what we'll do. Have we got a team in London at the moment? I'd like to keep tabs on someone until we get there.”

  “We don't have a team there, but we do have an asset. Who do you want her to watch? I'll put her on it right away.”

  “The guy's name is Jeremy Pendergrast,” Noah said, “and the address is...” Noah picked up a pencil that was lying on the nightstand beside his bed and threw it at Neil.

  “Ow! I'm getting it, I'm getting it—okay, it's Number Fifteen Aberdare Gardens, Apartment 7B.”

  “Number Fifteen Aberdare Gardens, Apartment 7B. Apparently the NSA is keeping an eye on him, too, but I'd be more comfortable if I had one of our own watching him.”

  “I'll get her on it. It's almost noon in London, and you won't get there until nearly three AM. I'll have a car waiting for you with a driver, and reservations in your name in the Cavendish Hotel. Good work, Camelot, and good luck.”

  The phone went dead, and Noah shoved it back into his pocket. “We get to rest up for a while, but we're flying out of here at nine o'clock tonight. Neil, go tell Moose and Sarah. I don't think any of us got any sleep on the plane coming here, and we're all worn out. Let's meet downstairs in the hotel restaurant for dinner at seven, and that should leave us plenty of time to get to the airport after we eat.”

  Neil nodded, picked up his computer and walked out of the room. Decker stayed behind for a moment, and once the door had closed he looked up at Noah.

  “You really think this is a wild goose chase?”

  “I think there's a good chance of it,” Noah said. “I still feel like this was a little too easy, so I can't help but wonder if Mister Pendergrast wasn't hired just to be a decoy.”

  Decker shrugged. “Neil says the NSA believes he's done this sort of thing before. Maybe he just got sloppy, this time.”

  “People like him get sloppy only when it's to their advantage. I need to know what he knows, no matter how little it is.”

  “True, and at least it's something to start with. I'll let you get some rest, while I go do the same.” He got up and walked out the door without another word.

  Noah began stripping immediately, and headed for the shower. He stayed there for nearly 20 minutes, just letting the seemingly endless hot water run over him. When he felt that it was actually raising his body temperature slightly, he turned the temperature down and let it cool him, then got out and toweled off. He walked naked out of the bathroom, and wasn't surprised to find Sarah already in his bed, sound asleep. He slid under the covers as quietly as he could, and rolled onto his side. A moment later, he felt her spoon herself against him, and then he relaxed and let himself drift off.

  FOUR

  Moose, Neil and Decker were already seated in the restaurant when Noah and Sarah arrived, both of them freshly showered. Neil stifled a grin, but wiggled his eyebrows at Sarah, who flipped him the bird.

  “Don't start with me, Neil,” she said, picking up a menu. “Anybody got any clue what's edible here?”

  “They got a rotisserie chicken with vegetables, that's what I'm going for,” Moose said. He leaned over and pointed at a line on her menu. “It's this one, Yassa poulet. Hopefully, they can't do any harm to chicken.”

  “I'm with you,” she said. “Chicken for me. Oh, look, they got Coke!”

  “We've all decided on the chicken,” Decker said, grinning at Noah. “Are you gonna be the odd man out?”

  “Not me, chicken sounds great.” He looked around. “Do we have a waitress?”

  “Waiter,” Neil said. “Apparently, women don't work in restaurants here
. All I've seen are men.”

  “Okay, then where's the waiter?” Noah asked. Almost as if his question had signaled it, a waiter appeared and approached the table. The orders were taken, and they were surprised at how quickly the food arrived.

  “Talk about fast food,” Neil said. “They must have a lot of this cooking back there. And did any of you know we were each getting a whole chicken? I figured it would be, you know, shredded or something.”

  “You're complaining?” Sarah asked. “You forget, Neil, I've seen how you eat.”

  “Complaining? I'm not complaining. But if any of you can't finish your chicken, just let me know. And I don't know what these vegetables are, but they're delicious.”

  They ate casually, without rushing, and were finished well before eight o'clock. They each went to their rooms to get their bags, and met again in the lobby a few moments later. Two taxis took them to the airport, and they entered the private flight area to find a man standing there holding a sign that read “Alexander Colson.”

  Noah stepped up to him. “I'm Colson,” he said.

  The man was wearing what looked like a pilot's uniform, and he broke into a smile. “Good on yer, mate,” he said, in an obviously Australian accent. “We're all set to fly, soon's we get you all on board!”

  “Then just lead the way,” Noah said. The man tossed his cardboard sign into the nearest trashcan as he led them through the building and out onto the tarmac. A Gulfstream IV sat awaiting them, and they all climbed aboard while another man took their bags and stowed them in the luggage compartment.

  The airplane had only a dozen seats, each of which was as big as a comfortable easy chair and reclined so that the passengers could lie back and go to sleep. Everyone settled in as the pilot closed the doors, and then they heard the engines start up. The plane turned around and began to taxi toward the runway, and only a few moments later, they were in the air and on the way to England.

  The flight was easy, the seats comfortable. Decker and Neil actually took naps, but Moose, Sarah and Noah were wide awake. Sarah's seat faced backward, just in front of Noah's, while Moose was in the seat across the aisle. It made it easy for the three of them to talk.

  “So, is there any particular plan when we get to England?” Moose asked.

  “I'll have to improvise a bit, but the basic plan is simple. We're going to grab Mister Pendergrast and shake him the way a dog would shake a snake, until he tells us everything he possibly can. If he makes me happy, he might even live through it.” Noah winked at Moose. “No promises on that score, though.”

  “Grab him?” Sarah asked. “And where are we supposed to take him once we do?”

  Noah shrugged. “Anywhere out in the country, I guess. Someplace nobody will pay attention when he screams.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Think there's any chance the girl is actually in London, somewhere?”

  “I don't know, but I do have my doubts. Decker agrees with me, this is going too easy. I feel like we were supposed to find Pendergrast, like we're being set up, somehow. I want all of you on your toes, watching everything you possibly can. Something about this just doesn't feel real.”

  “It's like blind man's bluff,” Moose said. “We're feeling around in the darkness for the players, but one of them is making noises to attract our attention.”

  Noah nodded. “Yes, that's what I'm trying to say. It's like Pendergrast is the sacrificial pawn in a chess game, stuck out there in front where he's bound to be captured, but clearing the way for the Rook or Bishop or Queen to do something more serious. The question is, who are the other players?”

  “Bad thing about a pawn is that he's usually nothing but a foot soldier, somebody who doesn't know any answers. That way, he can't give away the plan when he's captured. If this guy doesn't know who's behind it, then this could be a wasted trip.”

  “I don't think so,” Noah said. “There's a reason why that pawn was advanced, and whoever he was fronting for will be watching him. We've got to snatch him, and I'm going to try to get any information out of him that I can, but the real reason for the snatch is to make whoever is behind him start to worry and come looking for him.”

  Sarah moaned. “That could take days.”

  Noah looked at her. “You got something better to be doing?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “This is my very first trip to London, you know. I could go shopping.”

  “Oh, don't worry,” Noah said. “You'll be going shopping, first thing tomorrow. We need a van; a regular car isn't going to work for this one. And while you're doing that, the rest of us are going shopping for a place in the country.”

  Sarah, her eyebrows low and menacing, stared at him for several seconds. “Any chance it will have a pool?”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “I'm thinking more of a secluded, out-of-the-way, hard-to-find place with no neighbors for miles and miles. I doubt those come with swimming pools and tennis courts.”

  “No,” Moose said. “But something tells me it might come with cows or sheep. Better watch where you step.”

  “You guys figure that out,” Sarah said. “Something tells me I'm not going to get a lot of sleep in the next few days, so I'm going to go ahead and sleep while I can.” She reached down beside her seat and picked up a blanket, then reclined the seat and pulled the cover up over herself. “Good night,” she said. “Wake me up when we get there.”

  Moose and Noah decided to follow her example, and soon all five of them were sleeping peacefully, despite the snoring that was coming from Neil and Decker.

  A building storm in their path caused the pilot to have to detour, so the plane didn't land until almost four AM. The five of them stepped onto the tarmac and were met by an elderly gentleman with a limousine.

  “You'd be Mister Colson, then,” the old fellow said with a smile. “Rum Charlie they call me, and I'm here to take you to your hotel.”

  “Rum Charlie?” Sarah asked, muttering.

  The old fellow laughed, and winked at her. “Rum Charlie, right, Miss, but not because o' me drinking. I ain't touched a drop of liquor in more than forty years. Back in the tail end of the big war, though, when I was but a lad of ten or eleven, I had me a deal with a rum bottler to let me carry a half-dozen bottles out to where all the soldiers were at and sell them every night. My old dad was gone off to fight on the mainland, you see, and was up to me to help mum all I could. The soldiers liked me, and would give me big tips, so that we got through the war all right. The name, though, it just stuck with me, and I reckoned there's no sense to get fretted about it now, oy?”

  The old man kept up his running monologue, talking about anything he could think of as he drove them into the city. The Cavendish Hotel was in St. James, Central London, near Piccadilly Circus, so it wasn't a terribly long drive. Each of them contributed a word or two now and then, just to let Rum Charlie know they were listening, but they all felt a sense of relief when they finally got out of the car.

  Rum Charlie opened the trunk and let them all get their luggage, then bid them farewell and drove off into the night. Noah led the way inside the hotel.

  The desk clerk, despite the early hour of the morning, looked up at him with a smile. “A good morning to you, sir, and welcome to the Cavendish Hotel. Would you have a reservation?”

  Noah smiled. “Yes, indeed,” he said. “The name is Alexander Colson, and there should be five rooms reserved.”

  The clerk entered the name into a computer, and smiled back. “Yes, sir, five rooms on the twelfth floor. I also have a message waiting for you.” He passed over a card for Noah to sign, then handed him an envelope and the keys for all five rooms.

  Noah waited until he had gotten away from the desk to open the envelope, then read the message inside.

  Mister Colson,

  As requested, I have been watching the real estate listing you inquired about, and have not observed any activity at this point. As it is getting rather late, I shall be back on this proj
ect in the morning. Feel free to call me eight-ish or thereabouts, and I will happily give you an update.

  I am at your service,

  Catherine Potts

  A telephone number was written under her name. Noah refolded the note and stuck it into his pocket. Key cards were passed around, they all rode up together on the elevator, and then each of them disappeared into a room.

  They were to meet for breakfast in the hotel's dining room at eight AM, so Noah set an alarm on his phone for seven. Plenty of time to shower, shave, etc., and still make it down to join the others on schedule. He got into bed and was back to sleep only seconds later.

  Noah's alarm went off right on time, but he was already up and in the shower by the time it did. He canceled it once he got out, then got dressed for the day. The weather report predicted sunshine and fair skies, so he opted for casual slacks and a polo shirt. He was in the dining room by twenty to eight, surprised to find Sarah and Neil waiting for him.

  “I have had all the sleep that I can stand,” Neil said, “at least for the next few days. Give me something to do, boss, keep me busy, please?”

  “No problem,” Noah said. “Get on Craigslist or whatever they use here and find me an extremely secluded place in the country within, oh, say eighty kilometers of London. Something off the beaten path and with no neighbors, something we can get without having to sign a long lease.”

  Neil rolled his eyes. “That'll take me ten minutes,” he said. “Got any other suggestions?”

  A waitress interrupted, and Noah ordered coffee and a muffin before turning back to Neil. “How much can you find out about the area around Pendergrast's apartment building? I'd like to have some idea of the layout of his apartment, the design of the building, traffic in the area...Can you give me that kind of stuff?”

  Neil squinted for a moment. “I can probably get blueprints of the building,” he said. “As long as he hasn't changed any of the physical design of his apartment, that should give you what you want internally. As far as traffic goes, I can look for traffic cameras in the area and scan news reports. Someone is always complaining about traffic everywhere, so there's bound to be some general information.”