“What? Are you going nuts?” Martha’s expression was puzzled.
He kissed her lips. “Sure. We can do it. It’s summer. No school.”
“You expect us to be packed and ready to go now?” Concern colored her voice.
“The flights are booked and hotel all handled. We just need to be at the airport by three pm. If we pack now, we should be able to make it with no problem.”
“What’s going on, Roy?” Her eyes grew wide.
“Nothing bad. I don’t want to lose the money we’ve already forked out. The tickets are non-refundable.”
Martha was a practical woman. He knew that argument would win her agreement. “Fine.”
“We need to hurry.”
Roy could clearly see that Martha was not happy with the abruptness of his announcement, nor with his flimsy excuses to take off at a moment’s notice, but, as usual, she caved to his request. Within record time, the family was packed and headed to the airport for a very long vacation.
*****
Clearing security had been a breeze: not a lot of luggage to inspect, only a few electronics and cameras. Yet Roy’s eyes were riveted on the security personnel, covertly watching them, looking for signs they were on to him. His stomach had cramped when it was his turn to remove his shoes and walk through the metal detector, but they had all been cleared for boarding and directed to their gate.
Waiting for their turn to board, Roy drummed his fingers on the hand rest and looked at the crystal face of the watch wrapped around his wrist. Since the attendant had stepped behind the counter to handle passengers’ last-minute seat adjustments, Roy had kept his eyes trained on her every move, expectant of the boarding call.
His heart revved when the attendant finally moved to the gate and picked up the PA microphone. “Let’s go. Get your things—they are about to call our flight.” Martha scrambled to grab their carry-on bags and herded the boys in front of them toward the boarding lane.
The procession to the seats was painfully slow. Standing behind Martha, his eyes kept darting to the corridor, almost expecting to see sirens, police rushing the gate. His stomach cramped again and he bumped into Martha, making her almost stumble over the twins. She turned around to look at him, a deep frown marring her face.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and continued their slow progression to the attendant who checked their boarding passes and directed them toward the ramp.
Once boarded, Roy sat on one side of the aisle with his eldest son and Martha on the other with the twins. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his sweat-drenched shirt stuck to his back and beads trailing from his brow. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and gulped in small draughts of air to ease his anxiety.
“Come on, come on. Finish boarding already.” He could tell Martha was worried about his behavior from the looks she kept casting his way. Unable to give her the reassurances she needed, he stared straight ahead. When one attendant picked up the phone and another locked down the door, Roy almost wept with joy. He fell back against his seat and offered Martha a smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. If you haven’t already done so, please stow your carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin. Please take your seat and fasten your seat belt. And also make sure your seat back and folding trays are in their full upright position.”
With each word the attendant spoke, his smile grew wider and he reached across the aisle to take Martha’s hand in his. She glanced into his eyes. “Are you going to tell me what this is all really about? I have never seen such a frantic look on your face before.”
A twinge pinched at his heart that yet again he was lying to her. It seemed the lies had gotten easier over the years. “There is nothing wrong. I’m just looking forward to spending sunsets on the beach with you and was worried we wouldn’t make the flight. Everything is going to be okay.”
“At this time, we request that all mobile phones, pagers, radios, and remote controlled toys be turned off for the full duration of the flight—”
When his wife turned her attention to the twins and helped them turn off their portable games, Roy breathed another sigh of relief. Each announcement, one step closer to take off. His entire body sagged and almost melted into his seat as the plane began to pull away from the gate.
As the safety instructions rolled on the television monitors, Roy racked his brain for anything that would help mask what he had done. Without the payoff from Mikhailov, his options were almost slim to none. The best he could hope for was to hide in Cuba until a solution presented itself. His biggest worry was how to break the news to Martha that they could not return to their home.
His son gripped his hand as the engines revved and the plane prepared for liftoff. Roy lowered his head and, in a low voice, consoled him. “It will be great. Like an amusement ride.” His head snapped up when the engines wound down and the captain’s voice came over the speaker.
“This is the Captain speaking. We’re experiencing mechanical difficulties, and as a precaution will be returning to the gate. We apologize for this delay and appreciate your patience. Our number one goal is your safety. Thank you.”
Roy’s hands grew clammy and his breath burst in and out of him in shallow puffs. His mouth grew parched and he licked his lips several times. As the plane made the slow, agonizing turn back to the terminal, dizziness hit him and his vision grew dark. He could hear Martha’s voice calling him. He lifted a hand and waved her off, hoping she would leave him alone. His mind raced and his gut clenched.
As the plane powered down, the attendant’s voice boomed over the speaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats. We will depart as soon as the ground crew has checked the plane. ATC has given us an estimated delay of twenty minutes. Until then, sit tight and we’ll keep you advised of any changes.”
Roy observed one of the attendants cross the aisle to the door and, moments later, bright daylight broke into the cabin. His eyebrows creased in a deep frown and his eyes locked on the attendant area. His heart dropped when two men in dark suits boarded the plane and walked down the narrow aisle, checking seat numbers. As they neared the row his family was sitting in, the man in the lead snared and held his gaze, passing him and stopping immediately behind his seat. The second man halted his progress at the row in front of him. “Mr. Roy Denner?”
Numbness consumed him, his ears rang, and he could feel every single set of eyes now trained on him like laser beams burning his skin. “Yes.”
“You need to come with us, sir,” the man who had been in the lead advised him in a low controlled voice. He didn’t need any words to understand why they were there for him.
“Roy? Roy! What’s happening?” Martha’s panicked shrill echoed in the cabin.
Roy shot an apologetic look at his wife as he stood. “It will be okay, Martha,” he murmured. His shoulders slumped and he stared at his feet as he shuffled down the aisle, escorted by the two men. I can fix this. I just need more time. An overwhelming sense of loss hit him and it became impossible to steady the erratic beat of his pulse. Who was he kidding? It would never be okay again.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Cloak and Dagger
CASSANDRA’S SOFT VOICE PENETRATED TREVOR’S thoughts. “We should be landing shortly. Do you want to stay for a few days instead of heading back to Dublin this afternoon?”
“No, a ghrá. I want to get back home.”
“Okay. But if you change your mind later, we can stay.” Love and understanding filled her eyes. She must have caught the nuances in his tone indicating his “I want” was clearly “I need.”
Ireland was home to both of them, like an old comfortable recliner that lulled you into a relaxing sleep the moment you sat on it. Although Cassandra had become his safety blanket, his home away from home, he couldn’t wait to get into his own bed where his feet didn’t hang off the end, take a nice long shower without someone waiting outside, and us
e his own computer without restrictions. Two weeks with no internet access had almost been the death of him. Just the thought of it still had the power to give him a case of withdrawal jitters.
A lot had happened in the seventy-two hours since Trevor had been reunited with Cassandra. Nelson had arranged Dmitriy and Tatiana’s extraction from Russia, and Trevor had contacted Stephan who, in turn, was to meet them at the airport in Dublin that same morning. Trevor and Cassandra had offered Dmitriy a position with Bauer Enterprises, which he had enthusiastically accepted. His skill set would be a huge asset to their budding business.
Mark Devlin had received the email containing enough documentation to take action against Roy Denner, MDS’s CFO. The loss the company had incurred from his theft and from the delay in the final development of the program was in the millions.
Boris had accomplished his mission’s objective, providing his superiors with the necessary evidence to keep Mikhailov and Zarev behind bars for a long time. Twenty-four hours later, a massive sting operation had been executed to perfection under the cover of the dark in the early hours of the morning. News coverage had been nonstop ever since, the event touted as the biggest mafia-related mass arrest in Russian history.
The disruption to their operations had left both mafia organizations headless and without direction. Once Trevor and Cassandra had received the green light from Boris, they had jumped on the earliest flight out of St. Petersburg.
Landing in Prague mid-morning, they swiftly made their way through airport security. Traveling light, with only their backpacks containing laptops and a change of clothing, they exited the airport and caught a taxi to downtown Prague.
The day was bright and warm, the summer sky blue and clear, a perfect day for sightseeing and enjoying popular tourist spots. Trevor watched the scenery as the cabbie maneuvered his way from the airport to their destination, the Grand Hotel Europa, where Mucha waited for them.
Cassandra cast a sideways glance at Trevor and could see tense lines around the grim set of his mouth. His stiff posture indicated his shoulder still bothered him. The good news was that, according to the medic Nathan had unexpectedly sent to the safe house, Trevor’s wound was healing nicely and he had received a clean bill of health. She shook her head. With his Irish luck, he’ll have a prettier scar than mine.
A thick silence filled the cab. The quiet rub of his thumb along the back of her hand was a sure indication that something else troubled him. Deep in her gut, she could tell he expected the meeting to end in another wild goose chase.
She truly hoped this time they would find a solid lead, not just another crumb. Sometimes it felt as if they had become Hansel and Gretel searching for the breadcrumbs that would lead them out of the forest and to Trevor’s parents.
Anxious to have the meeting over and done with, she squeezed Trevor’s hand to let him know she was there for him and left him to his musings. Her heart ached for him. It had to be harder to lose a loved one as an adult when the memories were clearer and stayed with you longer.
Arriving at Wenceslas Square, which was actually a very long avenue with a wonderfully designed garden in the center and traffic lanes running on both sides, the cabbie merged into the flow of traffic. “If you look out your window, you will see the National Museum,” the cabbie commented as he maneuvered through the roundabout and headed south. After a few more minutes, he stopped in front of an amazingly bright yellow building and turned to look back at them. “Welcome to the Grand Hotel Europa.”
A gem of the Art Nouveau architecture in Prague with its beautiful decorative frontage full of intricate details and sculptures, the hotel was a feast for the eyes.
Cassandra’s eyes twinkled with marvel. “It’s beautiful. I could spend hours standing right here admiring the artwork alone.”
Trevor paid the cabbie and, slinging his backpack over his good shoulder, turned to face it with her. “It is nice.” He lifted Cassandra’s wrist and glanced at her watch. “But we don’t have time. Come. We can’t be late.”
Tugging her wrist, he led the way to the entrance and, with a deep calming breath, held the door for her. The interior of the historic hotel was like a time warp to the elegant Edwardian era, with all the architectural fittings and furniture similar to how they would have appeared back in the early 1900s. The pleasant surprise on Cassandra’s face as she looked around the elegant lobby gave him a hint that she felt the same way.
“Wow….” she whispered as the made their way to the dining room where Mucha should be waiting for them.
The dining room, with its strikingly elegant dark wood paneling and high ceilings, only had a few empty tables. An eclectic mix of languages flowed from the groups of tourists having breakfast before embarking on their exploration of Prague.
Antonín Mucha, described by Devlin as a tall, dark-haired man wearing glasses, was easy to spot. He sat alone, at a corner table by the window. A laptop messenger-style bag sat on the floor at his feet as he read the local newspaper. Trevor veered in his direction.
As they approached the table, Mucha’s eyes met Trevor’s. “Am I that obvious?”
“No. We’re that good.” A small smile curved the corner of Trevor’s mouth. “Besides, Devlin gave us your description.”
Mucha appeared to relax and, folding and setting his newspaper aside, he nodded to the chairs, indicating they should sit. Once settled and after the waiter left with their drink orders, Mucha cut to the chase.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a letter-sized manila envelope, laying it on the table in front of Trevor. “Devlin sent this with his regards.”
Trevor took the envelope in his hand, weighing it. Noticing the light volume, he frowned and shot Mucha a questioning look.
“It’s not much. Just a few sheets of paper I found tucked among my notes when I moved a little while ago,” he explained as Trevor ran a finger under the seal, opened it, and pulled the sheets out.
His father’s familiar scrawl covered the pages. Trevor swallowed hard. His father’s handwriting was so similar to his own chicken-scratch. On closer inspection, it appeared to be some kind of shorthand, but nothing Trevor had ever seen or remembered his father using before. He passed the pages to Cassandra and watched the frown furrow her brow. “Is this all?”
“What you have is all I found,” Mucha responded.
Trevor glanced at the sheets Cassandra returned to him. “How did you come in contact with Brennan?” His matter-of-fact tone disguised the anguish churning in his heart.
“Mr. Brennan was working on a breakthrough algorithm. He contacted me because he was curious about my research on voice recognition.”
Trevor’s curiosity piqued immediately. “What algorithm?”
“He didn’t share any details, only that he was on the verge of a revolutionary breakthrough. The couple of times we met we mostly discussed my own work. He was excited; I could tell the wheels were turning in his head. The questions he asked me led me to believe that he was working on a classified project.”
Trevor’s frown deepened as he listened to Mucha. Cassandra reached under the table and took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. “What do you mean by classified?”
“I can’t explain. All I can tell you is that, shortly after our conversation, he disappeared. It was all over the news. Since that day, all I can think about has been the conversation and his mention of the algorithm.” Mucha shook his head and looked down at his tightly clasped hands on the table. “I’m sorry there isn’t more. Until recently, I had no idea I had them or that they could be important. It was just by chance I discovered them while unpacking my office and recognized his handwriting.”
Trevor shook his head. “Why did you sell them to Devlin?”
Mucha frowned. “Devlin hired me some six months ago. My resume outlined my experience and the many people I’d worked with. I listed Mr. Brennan as one of them. In a casual conversation after my interview, I mentioned how I had come across some of Mr. Brennan’s not
es mixed with mine. I don’t recall him being very interested in that information at the time.”
He paused; a thoughtful expression crossed his face before he continued. “A few months ago, he called me and asked me if I had disposed of the notes. When I told him I still had them, he sounded excited. Said he was interested in the sheets. I thought he was just curious to see them, so I sent them to him, thinking he would return them to me once he was done. A week later, a check arrived in the post. It was unexpected. He told me to consider it a bonus. I wasn’t sure what to do, but didn’t want to rock the boat with my new boss so I let it drop.”
Trevor slumped back in his chair, questions careened in his mind as he tried to get his head around what to do next. Will this quest ever end?
Mucha slipped his bag over his shoulder and stood. “I am sorry I couldn’t have been of more assistance. Mr. Brennan was a brilliant man. I enjoyed working with him and had been looking forward to more discussions with him regarding his algorithm.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra saw Trevor’s frown deepen and could tell by his pained expression that he, himself, wished the same—more time with his dad.
Pulling a card from his pocket, Mucha extended it to Cassandra. “My contact information, in case you have more questions.” He returned his gaze to Trevor. “You look a lot like him, you know?” Trevor’s eyes snapped to Mucha’s. “I don’t know how I can help, but please contact me if you think of anything.”
Once Mucha disappeared from sight, Cassandra turned back to Trevor and watched quietly as he stuffed the sheets back into the envelope, his disappointment almost palpable.
Cassandra captured his hand and squeezed it. “Trevor, talk to me. What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing… Fuck! Everything,” he huffed out a sigh. “What the hell was he into? Why would he never mention this algorithm? Why the cloak and dagger? He never filled Stephan in on it either.”
“Maybe it wasn’t his decision to make. Maybe he thought he had more time. Whatever the reason, we’ll figure it out.” She cupped his neck and rubbed her thumb along his jaw, the prickling of his unshaven skin rough against hers. “As you always say, no stone left unturned, right?”
To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) Page 48