Dead in a Week

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Dead in a Week Page 6

by Andrea Kane


  After two hours of searching…nothing.

  The sand in the hourglass continued to trickle downward. And Lauren Pennington’s time was running out.

  6

  Zermatt Cage

  25 February

  Sunday, 3:15 p.m. local time

  Terri was hunched over her computer in the Cage, concentrating on the wall of video screens facing her and analyzing the stream of NSA data that her back-door access provided. Aidan had long since left for JFK and his quick trip to Munich. That left Terri in workaholic solitude—save for Windsor, her black and tan Cavalier King Charles chilling out in his dog bed nearby. He was one of her four rescues, all of whom had a special place in her heart, and each of whom occasionally accompanied her to work. Dogs were worth opening your heart to. People? No.

  Right now, Terri was relishing what she was doing. She’d donned her other Zermatt hat as the group’s chief revenue officer. Wealthy as he was, Aidan couldn’t fund all their investigations himself. So it was up to her to find other sources of income. And her back door never let her down. She always enjoyed the irony of hackers—in this case the NSA—being hacked by her. Nothing better than being the mouse chasing the cat.

  Tuning her filters to analyze the information stream, she searched for new sources of illegal money that Zermatt could tap into to keep their operations going. She knew what to look for. Patterns in communications that suggested illegal transactions. Drug dealers. Shady businessmen. Equally shady corporations. Corrupt politicians. All of them ripe for the plucking.

  It took a while, but Terri found what she needed. Some slimy businessmen who were dodging US taxes by wiring money to an account in the Cayman Islands. Well, it was time for the SOBs to bid farewell to their ill-gotten gains.

  This was Terri’s favorite part of the process. It allowed her to indulge in her one mundane pleasure: playing Wheel of Fortune. A game she’d taken to a whole new level.

  Smiling, she clicked on a specific icon on her desktop and the Wheel of Fortune game she’d created filled the entire wall of computer screens. She clicked on the spin button and watched as the wheel went round and round, numbers whizzing by amounts ranging from one to five million with everything in between. With Zermatt’s checking account balance on her mind, she was hoping for big money because their Gulfstream G550 had just gone through a major overhaul. Paying those bills had depleted some of their reserves and she was eager to replace them. Even though the plane was obscenely expensive to operate, its ultra-long range allowed Zermatt to reach almost anywhere on the globe without refueling. That tactical advantage had proved invaluable again and again.

  Impatiently, she waited for the wheel to stop spinning and point to the sum of money she was going to help herself to.

  As it came to a stop, slot machine bells began to ring, fireworks flashed across the screen, and Donna Summer’s “She Works Hard for the Money” burst forth. Terri grinned ear to ear. Jackpot. She hadn’t seen five million come up in ages.

  The Gulfstream would get a full tank of aviation fuel and those tax-cheating bastards would get screwed.

  She hacked into the Cayman Islands account, entered five million as the wire amount, and ran it through her normal money laundering protocol: bouncing around the world like a steel ball in a pinball machine through a dozen shell companies all around the world. Moments later, it arrived in Zermatt’s secret bank account. The funds had been cleaned, sterilized, and were now untraceable. The scumbags not only couldn’t report it or recover it, they’d never even know where it was or who took it.

  * * *

  Outside the Cage’s steel door, Abby fidgeted, staring at the intercom button. She knew that Aunt Terri was inside the room and that Windsor was with her. She also knew that Aunt Terri was working, and that Abby was never supposed to interrupt that. But she was so excited about Disneyland and she and Joyce weren’t leaving for the airport until Joyce packed what she called “essentials” into Abby’s suitcase. Her daddy had kissed her good-bye ages ago, and she had to wait to get to the airport to see Emma. So Abby was bursting with energy and she needed someone to share it with.

  Giving in to her impulses, she did what she didn’t do too often— not unless she wanted to get scolded.

  She dragged one of the hall chairs over to the Cage, climbed up onto it, and pressed the intercom button.

  There was no sound from inside, but there never was. Her daddy said the room kept all sounds in and let no sounds out. It sounded like a boring room to her, but she guessed that all work was probably boring. Except art. She loved painting pictures. And since that was homework, it counted as work. She counted it as fun.

  A minute later, Aunt Terri’s voice sounded through the intercom. “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Aunt Terri. Can Windsor come out to play?”

  There was a long pause. “I thought you and Joyce had left,” Aunt Terri finally said in that serious voice of hers. But Abby wasn’t fooled. She’d heard Aunt Terri talking to her dogs before, and her voice sounded soft and sweet.

  “We’re leaving pretty soon. But I wanted to show Windsor my Minnie Mouse ears. Just for a minute. Please?”

  She heard the lock turn and eagerly jumped off the chair.

  An instant later, the door to the room swung open. Terri stepped out, calling to Windsor to follow her.

  He shot out like a bullet, running straight for Abby. She giggled and plopped down on the floor, hugging him as he licked her face.

  “I’m taking medicine so I can’t give my germs to Windsor,” Abby assured Terri. “I’m not”—she wrinkled her nose, searching for the word and brightening as she found it—“c’ntagious anymore. And my throat doesn’t even hurt.”

  Terri folded her arms across her chest. “Strep throat isn’t transferable from humans to dogs. And your antibiotic is keeping your bacterial infection under control. So I’m not particularly concerned about Windsor.”

  Abby had understood only half of what Aunt Terri had just said. Aunt Terri was really smart and always used big words.

  “Okay.” She settled for that, pulling out her Minnie Mouse ears and waving them at Windsor. “Look, Windsor! Mouse ears! I’m going to Disneyland!”

  The little dog was beside himself by this time, bouncing around and trying to snatch the ears with his teeth.

  Abby held them out of reach. “You can’t have these, ’cause Daddy gave them to me. But I promise to get you your own when I’m at Disneyland. I’ll get Mickey ears since you’re a boy.”

  Terri sighed. “Now Windsor is overstimulated. I’ll have to take him out to urinate before I can get back to work.”

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Terri.” Abby scrambled to her feet and hugged her. Aunt Terri was way tall, so all she could reach were her knees, but she gave those a huge squeeze. “You can walk Windsor. Joyce and I will be gone when you get back. Then you can work.” Abby tipped back her head and gave Aunt Terri a hopeful look. “And you won’t tell Daddy that I bothered you, right? Because I’m sick and it wouldn’t be fair to punish me. Right, Aunt Terri?”

  Terri hesitated, then gave Abby’s shoulder an awkward pat. “All right. I won’t say anything. You enjoy your vacation.”

  “Thanks!” Abby was all smiles. “Bye, Aunt Terri. Bye, Windsor.” She raced off to get her suitcase.

  Terri shook her head, her brows drawn in puzzlement. She didn’t understand children. They were little people and should have all the negative characteristics thereof, but they acted more like puppies. It was an inexplicable combination. And she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

  On that thought, she got Windsor’s leash and snapped it on, closing the Cage’s door behind her as she left.

  Munich Airport

  26 February

  Monday, 7:25 a.m. local time

  The plane was slowly descending as the tops of the airport terminals came into view.

  Aidan glanced at his watch. Only twenty-five minutes late. Not bad for an international flight. Of course, now came cus
toms, which was a royal pain in the ass. All he wanted to do was to quickly anchor the investigation at this end so he could fly back and manage things at the US end—close to the client and close to Abby.

  Marc watched his brother thoughtfully. He’d learned more about Aidan’s other life in the past day than he’d been privy to since the formation of Zermatt five years ago. In fact, he hadn’t even known the group’s name—only that it existed and that Aidan was at the helm. Having been filled in on the big picture—and sworn to secrecy—he was impressed but not surprised. Aidan was a natural leader, a skilled and brilliant man, and a fighter for the greater good. Marc got it. He also got that bringing him in, including him in his inner circle, was a huge step for Aidan—one he could have made sooner but had chosen not to.

  Marc was better aware of the reasons for that than his brother was. Although they were both deeply private people, Aidan had always been an island—until Abby. Since he’d become a father, there’d been a slow metamorphosis in which emotional ties and personal sharing had become part of who the impenetrable Aidan Devereaux was. In letting down his walls a bit, Aidan was now able to turn to someone he trusted—rather than just a skilled but strictly professional colleague—for help.

  It was all good.

  “So we’re going directly to meet Philip at his hotel,” Aidan said. “We’ll be holding a videoconference with Terri and Simone from there, after which you can check into your hotel room, shower and change, and hit the ground running with Philip. I’ll be heading back to the airport, with a stop at Hofbräuhaus to do some of my own reconnaissance. I’ll check out the place inside and then do a line-of-sight check outside, acting as a second pair of eyes to Philip. I want a plan in place before I board that plane. I’ll contact you before my flight to California takes off.”

  Marc rolled his eyes. “You gave me that entire speech three times since takeoff. You’re getting senile, Leatherneck. I guess that’s to be expected, given your advanced age.”

  Aidan arched a brow. “I’ve only got three years on you, Frogman. And I’ve got a kid to keep me young. So don’t get cocky.”

  The good-natured Navy SEAL vs. Marine banter had been part of the brothers’ lives since their respective military careers had begun.

  “Besides the fact that he’s one of your key guys and former MI6, what do I need to know about Philip?” Marc asked, his years at the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit compelling him to get as complete a picture of Philip as possible. He’d ask questions about Terri later. But Philip was first up.

  “Before he was MI6, he was SAS,” Aidan replied, referring to the Special Air Service, one of the British Army’s Special Forces units. “He worked primarily in covert recon and hostage rescue.”

  “Impressive. What about personally? What’s he like?”

  Aidan considered the question, looking somewhat amused. “He’s not what you’re expecting.”

  “I’m not expecting James Bond, if that’s what you mean. That’s why I’m asking you.”

  “Fair enough. Philip is like two sides of a coin. When he’s entrenched in a Zermatt mission, he’s singularly focused. He works round-the-clock, is razor sharp, and won’t rest until we’ve brought things to a successful resolution. We call him the bloodhound—nothing and no one exists that he can’t hunt down. When there’s no mission to focus on, he’s settled comfortably into his new life as a dedicated retiree who loves life, wealthy, willing women, and more than a little fine wine and single malt whisky.”

  “A kept man—nice.” A corner of Marc’s mouth lifted. “He sounds like a fascinating guy.”

  “He thinks so.” Despite Aidan’s sarcasm, deep respect laced his tone. Philip’s personal life was immaterial. His commitment and skill when it came to Zermatt were all that mattered.

  Marc didn’t ask any more questions—not then. The plane was about to land. And he was about to get his personal initiation into Zermatt’s way of doing things.

  San Mateo, California

  25 February

  Sunday, 10:45 p.m. local time

  The man left his California ranch-style home as he always did—through the side door—and walked up the brick driveway toward the mailbox. As per usual, his suburban neighborhood was all tucked in for the night, with just a few lights from bedroom windows filtering into the darkened street. He wasn’t worried about detection. Anyone seeing him would assume he was making his routine mail check. Given his line of work, late-night business dinners were the rule rather than the exception, and arriving home at this hour was standard operating procedure. None of his neighbors would bat an eye if they happened to spot him.

  Reaching his destination, he pulled open the mailbox door, reaching inside to find the small box he’d been told to expect. He then retraced his steps, going in through the side door and locking it before heading out to the garage.

  He hit the remote control on the garage door and lit a cigarette while it slid open. After climbing in the car, he turned the ignition and backed out, shutting the door behind him.

  He drove to his customary spot—the diner that was a mile and a half away. He left his car only long enough to go around back and throw his old burner phone into the dumpster. He hesitated as he reached his car door and thought about grabbing a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. He’d wolfed down a sandwich three hours ago, but a shot of sugar and caffeine would be great about now. Nope. No time.

  Sure enough, just as he settled himself in the driver’s seat, his package began to ring. He tore it open and removed the new burner phone.

  He listened carefully to the instructions provided in perfect English.

  7

  Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten Kempinski Munich

  26 February

  Monday, 9:05 a.m. local time

  Marc gave a dry chuckle as he and Aidan walked down the elegant hallway and approached Philip’s deluxe hotel room. “A five-star hotel,” he commented, stating the obvious. “Nice. Your guy has good taste.”

  Aidan grimaced as he checked his iPhone—for the third time—to read Philip’s text so he could ensure they had the right room. “I told you. Philip is a connoisseur of fine… everything.”

  With that, he walked up to the door and knocked. “It’s me,” he said just audibly enough for the occupant inside the room to hear.

  A muffled burst of activity and a “hang on” was his response.

  “Great,” Aidan muttered under his breath.

  Two minutes later, the door opened partway and Marc had to bite back a smile as he realized the reason behind Aidan’s comment. The tall man leaning against the doorjamb—who actually did look like a fiftyish version of James Bond with his chiseled features, penetrating dark eyes, and hard-muscled body—was wearing nothing but a bath towel that was knotted loosely around his waist. His dark hair had droplets of water clinging to it, and rather than apologetic, he looked distinctly annoyed.

  “You’re early,” he said, his clipped English accent definitely Bond-like.

  “Ten minutes,” Aidan replied. “Customs was efficient and traffic was light. We can talk while you get dressed. Unless you have company?”

  Aidan’s words were more a statement than a question.

  Sure enough, the door opened wider and an attractive woman, clearly just dressed, slithered out the door, head lowered. With a muffled “bye” to Philip, she hurried down the hall and disappeared.

  Philip glanced briefly after her, his expression saying that he could have made good use of those ten minutes. Then, with a shrug, he swung open the door and gestured for Aidan and Marc to come in.

  “Next time hang a sock on your door,” Aidan advised, tossing down his coat.

  “Very amusing.” Philip’s gaze shifted to Marc. “Definitely Aidan’s brother. I see the resemblance.” He extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Marc.”

  “Likewise.” Marc met Philip’s handshake. “Sorry we interrupted.”

  “I stand corrected,” Philip replied. “You have better manners than
Aidan.”

  “That’s because this is Marc’s first exposure—if you’ll excuse the pun—to your private life,” Aidan retorted. “Give him time.”

  “He won’t be seeing my private life. He’ll be seeing me do my job.” Philip’s entire demeanor had changed. Gone was the lighthearted banter. Abruptly, he was all MI6, a total professional, bath towel or not.

  “I never assumed otherwise.” Aidan was surveying the room. Philip had brought their special rig that allowed them to assemble six iPad Pros into a frame that formed a large video screen. The three of them would sit in front of this while Terri took them through the debriefing.

  “Bring us up to speed from your end while I set this up and you throw on some clothes,” Aidan said to Philip. “Then we’ll connect up with the rest of the team.”

  Philip pulled out a sweater and slacks, dressing rapidly as he spoke. “You know as much as I do,” he said. “I’ve got nothing solid. From my interviews with the waitstaff at Hofbräuhaus, Lauren arrived alone and enjoyed a beer and a pretzel. Some guy chatted her up at the table. They left separately, but he followed quickly after her. She paid in cash. Her credit card hasn’t been used since her disappearance. Terri had me digitally surveil the surrounding area outside the restaurant. Last I spoke to her, she was still doing analysis.”

  Aidan nodded as he completed his task. “We’ll see what she’s come up with at this videoconference.”

  As Marc and Philip pulled up chairs and settled themselves in them, Aidan whipped out his own iPad Pro, positioned it on the desk, and fired it up. With a few clicks of the mouse, he opened a Facetime-like app that Terri had written. The big difference was that this was fully encrypted so that prying eyes and ears were locked out.

 

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