Claire smiled. “I’ve started over from nothing before. I could care less about the contents of those suitcases, and for the record, I think you’ve done an amazing job with your babysitting assignment. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t continue to trust you with me and my baby’s lives.”
“Good.” Phil casually leaned against the door jam. “We’ll keep our reservations for 10:00 AM. There’s a taxi scheduled to pick us up; however, we’ll leave earlier. There’s a seldom-used private water entrance to the hotel. We’ll be going by motorboat. It’ll be cooler, so you might want…” Phil grabbed Claire’s jacket, the one that had been lying on the chair since Claire’s afternoon outing, and flung it toward her. When he did, something dropped from the pocket.
His casual demeanor evaporated. Putting his finger to his lips, he picked the object up and turned the small device all different directions. Claire watched as his eyes shone and his lips turned upward. With new excitement to his voice, Phil said, “You get some rest. I have a little work to do. This just got easier.”
Claire nodded.
As he started to walk away, Phil added, “Oh, and Claire, no matter what sort of ID someone shows you, please don’t…”
She grinned. “I won’t open the door. I’m going to sleep.”
Phil closed the door to her bedroom. Seconds later, she heard the door to the suite open, close, and lock.
By the time they reached the plane, Claire wasn’t sure where they were, or who they were. The Alexanders were gone—forever. At Phil’s urging, she agreed to keep Harry’s card with a phone number tucked inside her carry-on bag. Phil said it was just in case. Prior to their departure, he examined everything—her purse and clothing—everything, to be sure there were no more tracking devices. The best part of his plan, in Claire’s opinion, was when he found another couple scheduled to leave Venice the same time as their reservations. Ingeniously, Phil planted the tracking device in their luggage. Eventually, the FBI would learn it wasn’t Phil and Claire; in the meantime, his diversion bought them some additional time.
It wasn’t that Claire wasn’t willing to work with the FBI or any other branch of law enforcement to bring Catherine down. It was—well, she was hurt. Yes, it may be petty in the grand scheme of her troubles; nonetheless, she needed time to process the new notion of who Harry was and who he wasn’t.
He was an FBI agent.
He wasn’t her friend, or at least, he wasn’t the friend she thought he was.
The haze of sleep faded slowly as the harshness of Tony’s new reality filled his consciousness. Fighting the need to wake, he heard the sound of another person breathing. Instinctively, he reached for the source. As his hand brushed the rough surface of the cheap sheet covering the twin-sized mattress, he pushed away the disappointment and contemplated the turns in his life. Forcing his eyes to open, he faced the drab, dimly lit interior of the hostel.
The room where he’d slept held ten twin beds—all occupied. As he looked about the room, Tony even noticed that one bed contained two people. Laying his head back on the pillow, he exhaled and questioned this reality. Venice, Italy, had always been the lap of luxury. From the first time he visited with his grandfather, it was a milieu of opulence. Looking up at the cracked plaster and listening to the sounds of multiple sleeping people, Tony knew the customary five-star suites and gourmet meals were nearby; nevertheless, until he reached Geneva and accessed the safety deposit box, they might as well be a million miles away.
Rubbing his face, the softness of his recent beard growth continued to catch him by surprise. It was part of his new persona. The proprietors of the hostel didn’t know him as Anthony Rawlings or even as Anton Rawls. No, the identification he carried, as well as the passport he held, contained a different name.
His departure from the United States had been well-planned, well-executed, and well—sudden. After the FBI agents removed him from his hotel suite, Tony was given two options: be retained on charges stemming from harming Claire Nichols or disappear and allow the FBI to continue an ongoing investigation. The Federal Bureau of Investigation guaranteed the charges would eventually be confirmed, amended, or dropped, though their disclosure was less than full. The fact the FBI offered an out, a plan B, seemed preposterous. Tony knew something wasn’t as it appeared. After all, when it came to deceptive appearances, he was the master.
It was, without a doubt, the card game of Tony’s life. As he listened to the potential choices, he maintained his poker face and kept his cards close to his chest.
The FBI made it perfectly clear: he was going to be protected from the undisclosed threat. How he chose to accept that protection was up to him: incarceration or temporary vanishment. Although the agents offered a minimum security prison with many liberties, incarceration didn’t sound appealing, even if it was, as they said, for his own good.
Tony chose option number two.
Of course, Anthony Rawlings wouldn’t take their offer at face value. Being the true businessman, Tony negotiated the terms of his disappearance. During those negotiations, he failed to mention the hundreds of millions of dollars he had socked away in Swiss bank accounts. The FBI made demands: all contact with anyone from his past was forbidden. No one could know about his current situation, with the exception of Brent, since the bureau had a gag order signed by him. Tony agreed to the loss of contact and offered anonymity; in return, he was free to travel. Tony told them it was his opportunity to see the world without the responsibilities of his empire—a rather transparent lie—if he had time to work on it, Tony knew he could’ve come up with something better. Not buying their story about Claire leaving on her own, he needed the ability to search.
Agreeing to his proposal, the FBI provided Tony with a new identity. With that, they even provided limited funds, including credit cards; however, they too had stipulations for their negotiations. They wanted to be able to reach Tony at all times. When he countered their demand, they remained adamant, determined that they needed a way to contact him in the event of new information regarding Claire. It was clearly an attempt at manipulation. Move—countermove.
Honestly, in Tony’s opinion, the FBI had been less than forthcoming. Why would he all of a sudden believe that they needed to contact him to reveal deep secrets? There was no reason to believe that the distance between he and them would suddenly make them forthcoming. On the other hand, Tony couldn’t take the chance of missing information if they were willing to share.
After their negotiations, the agents gave Tony his new identity and a cell phone. The final words from Agent Jackson still infiltrated Tony’s consciousness from time to time, Mr. Rawlings, this phone must be with you at all times. You’re not to re-enter the United States or contact anyone. If you fail in these directives, option two is gone, and you are suddenly a fugitive on the run from the federal government. Be confident—we will find you.
Tony stood straighter. Although his mind was dominated by thoughts and concerns about Claire, the agent’s words registered. He considered retorting: perhaps like you’ve been able to find my ex-wife? In a brief moment of decorum, he chose to remain silent. Maintaining his look of indifference, he replied, “I find this extremely unusual. All this deception and secrecy over a possible charge of domestic violence.”
“Oh, Mr. Rawlings, we both know it’s more than that, and when the evidence presents itself, I know of more than one agent who’s looking forward to contacting you, via your phone.”
Tony tried to make sense of the agent’s innuendos; his mind swirled with possibilities. While he debated his response, Agent Jackson added, “Rest assured, when it comes to our own we never forget, and we never stop. No case is ever too old or trail too cold.”
“Agent Jackson, I seriously have no idea what you’re trying to say.”
“Of course not, Mr. Rawlings. That seems to be a recurring theme with you. Perhaps, while abroad, you should look into treatment for your memory issues.”
Tony’s jaw clenched. Fighting with th
e man who was presenting him with temporary freedom would be counterproductive; nevertheless, the displeasure rang clear in his voice. “I don’t have memory issues, Agent. I’m sure we’ll be talking again.”
“Yes, I’m sure we will—soon.”
Tony knew that his current paradigm was his own doing. He could’ve taken the bureau’s credit cards and identity and maintained a better standard of living than he was currently enduring, but he wasn’t willing to play by their rules. He had his own rules.
Before Tony left the clandestine meeting with Agent Jackson, he made one request. Tony asked that Brent not be informed of this new reality. It was one of the few unselfish moves Tony had ever made for Brent. It was strange how, when faced with the possibility of never seeing him again, Tony finally saw the friend Brent had been. This nondisclosure was a gift. If things turned out badly, and if undisclosed truths became evident, then Tony didn’t want Brent suffering the consequences. Agent Jackson promised to continue the ruse.
With his newly issued government identity, Tony made it to the airport with a ticket in hand. After passing security, he slipped from the terminal, and with a newly purchased phone, he contacted the only man Tony knew, without a doubt, would respond. He didn’t consider it breaking the FBI’s rules. Tony considered it playing by his own rules—the way he’d always lived his life.
Tony’s requests to Eric were simple: money from the safe, not enough to raise suspicion, the key to the safety deposit box, and his alternative identifications. In case Eric was being tracked, Tony told him to also use alternative identification. As Tony predicted, Eric didn’t question Tony’s directives or motives. He never had.
Tony did keep the FBI-issued phone, for a little while. After purchasing an international disposable phone, with the government given credit card, he texted the new number to the only contact listed within the FBI phone. Tony knew too well that phones could be tracked, and he was pretty confident the phone he’d been given was a constant beep on someone’s radar. Leaving the phone in a bathroom in New York State, that beep would now remain stagnant. As Eric drove him across the U.S. border into Canada, Tony received a text:
“WE’LL ASSUME THIS IS OUR NEW CONTACT NUMBER?”
Tony grinned. They’d given him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’d replied with a statement of noncompliance. Their cooperation within his parameters wasn’t a win, but it was something. Right now, Tony would take that. With a grin, he replied:
“YES” and hit SEND
The cover story: the small plane’s emergency landing in the mountains, was completely fabricated by the authorities. Tony didn’t even know he’d supposedly chartered a plane, or that it landed unexpectedly until he heard the news. The length the FBI was willing to go for this case proved to him that it was something much bigger than it appeared. Like an iceberg, Tony believed he’d only been allowed to see a small portion. As far as he was concerned, that was fine. They’d created a cover story, which allowed him to do the one thing he wanted to do. He was now free to assess the table, determine the odds, and decide for himself what cards he should play. He was free to search for Claire.
Flying from Montreal to Brink, Slovenia, Tony then took buses and trains in an indirect route toward Geneva. Before he could start his full-out search for his ex-wife, Tony needed money. The days ran together as they were filled with cheap transportation and accommodations. Every nonstrategic thought was dominated by Claire and their child. During the course of his exodus, Tony concluded her disappearance was somehow related to the gifts and letters they’d received on the estate. Although the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, Tony found it interesting that the mailings stopped after her disappearance. Tony hoped and prayed that if Claire were truly running of her own free will, that she was ahead of—not with—the asshole who’d sent the threatening packages and tried to run her and Clay off the road. As his thoughts ran together, Tony also worried about her finances. He didn’t want Claire and his child living in conditions like he was enduring. Hundreds of times a day, he’d question why. Did she plan to leave and if she did, why would she do so without money? As much as he wanted her safe, Tony couldn’t wrap his mind around her being alive and talking to the FBI. None of it made sense.
As he planned his return to financial freedom, Tony felt a trace of guilt. It was true, he’d always been the one to move and invest the money, but truthfully, half of it belonged to Catherine. Tony knew Nathaniel entrusted him to take care of her. Taking this money without disclosure seemed wrong; nevertheless, he reminded himself, half did belong to him. Catherine was safe in Iowa, sleeping in his house with access to more of his money. Honestly, the feeling of guilt didn’t last long.
His indirect trail to Geneva was planned and plotted. He had enough cash to lay low and watch things unfold. He wasn’t using the federal credit card; it was too obviously a means to track him. Tony was listening to his instincts. They’d served him well in the past. Throughout his life, he’d accomplished many goals. Those goals took time and patience, and without exception, they were all done his way. His extremely high rate of success was proof of his own abilities. Tony didn’t see a reason to change his strategy. Despite the FBI’s directives, this endeavor would be on his terms, and his terms alone.
The financial institution in Geneva was his ace-in-the-hole, one of the cards he didn’t reveal. With his current plan, the institution wouldn’t be reached for at least another week. He’d love to move faster; however, perseverance was essential to his plan. His profile was low; he maintained anonymity, even if it was with his own false identity and not the one provided for him. He was also doing what he said—traveling. After his financial reserves were accessed, he’d continue to travel; however, at that time, his goal would be to find Claire. The money would make all of it more tolerable.
With Agent Jackson’s words replaying in his mind, Tony vowed that after he had his money and located his family, he’d learn more about Agent Jackson’s innuendos. What did the FBI know or think they knew? What was meant by ‘one of our own?’ Though he was a master at multitasking, his current situation required his full attention. Tony pushed the agent’s words away. He had more pressing matters consuming his thoughts.
Chapter Ten
Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.
—Albert Einstein
Meredith’s Journal:
June 24, 2016
Finally! It’s been almost two weeks since Claire collapsed in the cafeteria. Since I don’t have clearance to go anywhere except the cafeteria and kitchen, I haven’t been able to learn anything about her progress. That was until today; it was after the lunch, before dinner that a few patients and visitors were sitting in the dining room, talking when I noticed Claire and Emily enter the dining room. They were traveling that same path from the outside toward the residential wing.
I only glanced momentarily; Emily was scanning the room with her eagle eyes! Damn, that woman is suspicious of her own shadow! I turned away just as she looked in my direction. Good thing! If she’d recognized me, then it would have made the last three weeks a complete waste of time.
It was after I turned away that I received my first tidbit of information. At the time, I was delivering coffee to Ms. Juewelz and her visitor who’d left the room for a few minutes. Ms. Juewelz has been at Everwood on and off for years. I’m not sure of her exact diagnosis, but if gossiping were a possibility, I’d put my money on that! Even in my short time getting to know some of the residents, I’ve realized that Ms. Juewelz seems to have her finger on the pulse of Everwood.
“Can I get you any cream or sweetener?” Meredith asked, as she placed the ceramic mugs on the table.
Ms. Juewelz spoke, her voice barely a whisper, “You’re smart to turn away from that woman. She’d probably have you fired if she thought you were looking at them.” At first, Meredith wasn’t registering Ms. Juewelz’ words; it wasn’t uncommon for some of the resid
ents to speak about something completely off base from what was said to them.
Keeping her eyes diverted, Meredith watched Emily lead Claire hurriedly along the edge of the dining room. Neither woman seemed to be talking. She tried to read Claire’s expression; however, all she noticed were Claire’s eyes remaining downcast, avoiding everything as she walked with her arm linked in the crook of her sister’s elbow. Refocusing on Ms. Juewelz, Meredith asked, “Why, who is she?”
“She was the wife of that rich guy. But no one can say his name. That woman with her is her sister. She’s super protective, but it’s a pain in the ass! I mean, everyone here deserves confidentiality, but that woman has that poor lady so isolated she’ll never see the outside again.”
It was then Ms. Juewelz’ guest returned to the table. “Aunt Juewelz, you aren’t talk’n about people you’re not supposed to, are you?”
Looking her niece straight in the eye, Ms. Juewelz replied, “Who me? Can’t believe a word I say. I’m crazy, you know!”
Her niece reached over and covered Ms. Juewelz’ hand with hers. Looking straight into her eyes, she said, “I think you’re the sanest person I know, Aunt Juewelz.”
Ms. Juewelz laughed. “Honey, you need to meet more people!”
Meredith walked away, contemplating Ms. Juewelz’ information. Her words broke Meredith’s heart and hardened her resolve at the same time. One way or the other, Meredith was going to get herself to Claire!
July 7, 2016
I can’t believe how tired I am at the end of my days at Everwood. It isn’t mentally tiring; it’s physically draining. I’ve never cleaned so many tables or picked up so many dishes in my life, but I think it’s about to pay off! After almost a month, I believe that I’ll finally be allowed to deliver meals to patients’ rooms. Tomorrow, I have a meeting with Ms. Bali, my supervisor. She said we need to discuss the “parameters of increasing my job duties.” I have to give the whole facility credit; they don’t allow just anyone to interact with the patients. Considering the amount of money these people spend for their treatment, I guess it’s a good thing Everwood makes sure that everyone’s following their rules. I’d write more, but honestly, I’m exhausted. I’ll write more tomorrow.
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