Sudden Deception (A Jill Oliver Thriller) (18 page)

Jill’s stomach started to ache as she sipped on her third cappuccino. The lobby café was grand, and while she waited for Leila she began to truly notice the splendor of it. Elegant and regal, the gold and burgundy walls set off the parquet-checkered floors. It was dark outside, must have been at least two a.m. by now, and Jill was thankful for the twenty-four-hour lobby café.

There was a light mist on the windows, and combined with the dim streetlights Jill could see a large body of water across the road. She’d had to think twice about where she was, which troubled her. Normally she'd know exactly where she was, and what time it was for that matter. Another Navajo trait. But she was exhausted to the point of weary.

Jill sprang to her feet when she saw her. As Leila approached there seemed to be a hint of despair in her eyes. Jill couldn’t control herself any longer. Seeing Leila, David’s long-time friend and colleague, was just too much. The women, who loved the same man but for different reasons, squeezed each other tightly. Floods of tears spilled down Jill’s cheeks as they hugged. Leila pulled her close, nearly squeezing the breath out of her. After minutes of standing there in a hug, Leila whispered, “It's okay, Jill. Let it out; it’ll all be okay … God doesn’t give us what we can’t handle. Shhhhh, it’s okay.” Leila’s voice hummed.

Jill squeezed back hard and breathed like a child after a long cry, trying to catch her breath as she ended the embrace. They sat down catty-corner at the small table in front of a large glazed window. They had not realized that a German waiter was standing there … shuffling.

“Ma'am, can I get you a café or something? Scones?” he questioned politely. “American coffee?” he offered as he held up the steaming carafe.

Moments later Leila sipped the hot brew, glanced around the room nervously and then back at Jill. Jill took a final sniff and listened to Leila attentively.

“What happened on your trip besides your new 'do?”

Jill shrugged and self-consciously ran her fingers through her spiked hair. Leila’s head tilted quizzically while Jill gave a brief overview.

“Chechen mafia, Jill. Are you kidding me?”

“It’s what Zayed told me; he said they were Chechen.” Jill’s hand slightly trembled.

“Who is this Zayed again?”

“He said he was a friend of David’s; have you ever heard of him?” Jill looked directly into Leila’s dark eyes. Leila blinked down into her steaming cup.

“Jill, has David ever talked to you about his Pulitzer story? He has been working on it for some time now.” Leila returned the direct stare.

“What story? Which one? The one in Doha?”

“Well, sort of.” Leila paused. “Jill, what I am about to tell you … please don’t react until I am finished.” Jill leaned forward, her head starting to spin. Leila continued, “The last time I spoke to David was the day he left to go back to Doha.” Leila paused as Jill’s anxiety rose.

Jill’s stomach began to bubble, remembering the morning David said he was speaking to his editor. “Yeah,” was all she could muster.

“He was telling me that he was getting close to figuring this story out, and how he was going to angle it. It was the last time I spoke to him.” Leila’s face dropped in despair. “Have you ever heard of something called Operation Silhouette?” It was almost as if Leila was studying Jill for the first time, and not the other way around. Leila leaned back and placed the hot mug on the table. Jill followed. Even under stress, Jill was habitual in using sub modalities. This technique was used to build rapport. Mimicking someone’s actions made them feel at ease. But today, Jill didn’t realize she was doing this. Her foot began to tap the leg of the table.

Jill looked at Leila, scanned the files in her brain, and after thirty or so seconds she thought intensely about telling Leila about her viewing. After all, she trusted Leila. Leila shifted uncomfortably in her chair and scanned the café.

Sure enough, they were alone. Comforted by this, she said, “It’s what David believed to be—” Leila lifted her arms and finger quoted David’s words, “‘the story of a lifetime.’ In one of his interviews with a soldier from Iraq, you know the one that was a double agent? Planted. I can’t remember his name; do you remember the one I am talking about?”

“Yeah, I remember the story. Not the name, but the story. What’s this have to do with David missing? What was he working on?” Jill was beginning to feel irritated and she didn’t like that feeling. Not now, not with Leila.

“Well, this person told David about this Operation Silhouette. At first David thought he was delusional, you know, post-traumatic stress disorder or something like that.” Jill nodded understanding. “Then he started to ask his sources, good sources. One of the sources, a mercenary I think, told David that there was a group working together. The kind of group you don’t hear about in the media getting along in the Middle East. Jewish Israelis, Saudi Muslims, American Christians, and the Chechens.”

“Chechens?” Jill echoed, stunned. “As in the Chechen Mafia?” Jill thought about the Star of David and what Karine had said about absolute rule under one god.

“I don’t know, Jill, but after your experience I would hazard a guess, yes. Last time I talked to David he didn’t know much more than this. It was why he went to Doha, to figure it all out.”

She leaned back uncomfortably. They sat in silence and sipped. Both women looked out the rain-soaked window. Jill was embarrassed with her first thought. Why did Leila know more about David’s assignment than she did? The question rolled around, touching her with envy.

“Let’s be frank, Leila. Confidentially, okay?” Jill looked directly into Leila’s eyes for confirmation, but even with the unshakable stare back from Leila, she couldn’t help but feel a bit paranoid.

“Of course! Always,” Leila responded.

“You remember I told you about my Navajo visions?

“Yeah.”

“Well, there is something I have not told you about. I am sworn under oath not to. I've never even told David about this.”

Leila’s eyes lit as she listened intently.

“But I know because of your background that you will understand this. Leila, I was a remote viewer for the FBI,” Jill confessed.

“Remote viewer?” Leila’s dark eyes slowly scanned her brain for comprehension.

“You know, like the psychic department of the FBI, and it’s public knowledge now that it exists. I was part of a remote viewing team. We used our psychic ability as a tool to solve cases.”

Leila intently watched Jill reach into her carry-on bag and retrieve two notebooks and the pouch.

“That’s David’s notebook, isn’t it? That’s the one you found in Afghanistan?” Jill didn’t have to say anything, she didn't need to.

Jill placed David’s notebook on the table in front of Leila and flipped the worn cover open. “See this writing, Leila? It’s not mine.” Leila stared at the page with the picture of Jill on it and said nothing. “He left this note on purpose. Somehow he wanted me to know he is in Hamburg.” Leila listened intently as Jill told her the story of their trip to Hamburg just after they married.

“How would he know you would get this?”

Jill shrugged. “Don't know, maybe it's not even for me? Maybe I am just on some god damn goose chase. But I don't think so. I told you about Petrovich right. Turns out the GSG are working on a case that involves him. I think this is why David is in Hamburg.”

Leila didn't ask what the case was, she knew Jill wasn't able to tell her about it. Jill reached for the leather pouch. “I gave an oath not to use my remote viewing tools, but I had no choice.” Jill didn’t want to mention that the main reason she hadn’t viewed was because of McGregor. Confessing this would be too demeaning. Leila’s eyes followed along as Jill opened the pouch and scattered the clay numbers. Leila said nothing as her sights stalled on Jill’s hands with a look of curiosity.

Jill opened her own notebook and placed it on the clay numbers. Leila snatched the notebook when Jill turned the page to the scribble of the Star of David and gasped.

“Where did you get this symbol from?” Leila showed Jill the drawing.

Jill was bewildered. “I drew it. This is what I drew when I was remote viewing.”

Leila’s jaw slowly dropped, her eyes bulged a little. She looked at Jill squarely. “On the call that morning when David left he asked me … he asked me if I knew anything about a group that uses the Star of David as their symbol. I didn’t.” Leila reached into her top breast pocket and pulled out a photo and laid it on top of Jill’s notebook. “But I do now.” Staring bright recognition back at them both was a photo of the Star of David. It was a picture of an old wooden carving. Jill grabbed the photo and jumped up from her chair.

“Where did you get this, Leila? What is this a picture of?” Adrenaline dripped into Jill’s veins.

Leila stood, towering over Jill. “Sit, Jill; let’s sit and try to figure this out.” Leila nudged Jill into her seat with her hand on her shoulder. She leaned into Jill. “In the past week I have been working on trying to find out what David’s story is about, from what I know. The Star of David,” Leila glanced around the room slightly nervous and resumed, “it's used in many fashions, cults, religions—it is even on the Israeli flag. But then when I was in Brussels I was led by an informant to an old church. Down the stairs in a separate room was this star. It was carved into the floor.”

Jill recalled her viewing, but she wasn’t ready to share it yet. Then she remembered her conversation with Karine. “Freemasons?”

“That was my initial thought, but after interviewing one of them from a lodge there, on the sly of course, I changed my mind.” Leila smirked. It was Leila’s gift, her beauty, that managed to get her where she needed to go in life. Jill was comforted that she was using this gift to help find David. “After looking at this picture, he said that it was not a symbol they used. He warned me, Jill.” Leila’s eyes narrowed. “See how the wood carving is beveled? Three points of the star lay on top of the other three points. The man told me that this hexagram is carved in a fashion worshiped by evildoers.”

“Evildoers—what are we, George Bush or something?” Jill sniped. Leila leaned back and Jill mimicked the gesture. They looked at the photo next to the star drawing and sat in silence. Jill’s brow furrowed as cloudy thoughts swirled above their heads.

“What the hell was David working on, Leila? What the hell?”

“Let’s write down some facts; let’s put this on paper. It’s easier that way.” Leila lifted Jill’s notebook and clicked on a pen. Abruptly she stopped. “What is this?” she asked, looking at a page full of scribbles.

“It’s my vision notes. Since David disappeared I have been having visions. Like dreams. This page—” Leila perched up to see where Jill was pointing to, “is my decipher notes. Sometimes they are hard to figure out, I still haven’t figured out this one actually. Anyway wh—”

The screech of Leila’s chair startled Jill.

“What?”

Leila’s eyes bugged out. “Jill, why do you have the word ‘family’ circled?” She pushed the book to within four inches of Jill’s face.

Pushing the book back, Jill said heavily. “I think my visions have something to do with my family.”

Leila was about to continue but stopped when she saw a man in a suit approach the table. “Ladies, pardon my intrusion.” He bowed slightly. “I noticed on our system that you had signed for these coffees.” Jill and Leila looked over at the man and wondered why he was bothering them. “Miss Oliver?” he queried, looking from Jill to Leila and back.

Jill looked up at the young man’s striking blue eyes. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I have an urgent message.” The gloved man nodded and handed Jill an envelope. “Pardon my intrusion.” With a click of his heels, he swiftly turned and walked away.

“Anything interesting?” Leila said watching curiously. Jill opened the small ivory envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Stan Brown’s name popped off the page and Jill’s posture sharpened. Along with his name was a phone number and the time the call came in—eighteen minutes ago.

Leila stared at the note in near disbelief. She hesitated and then confidently said, “Jill, did you know David’s father has an office in Brussels?”

“Wha…” Jill muttered, trying to connect the dots.

“I went to see him, Jill, the day before yesterday.”

“How did you know he was there?”

“I called his skank sister.” Leila shot a look towards Jill. “Yeah, they don’t like black people either. Pfft, but she gave me his number; I think she was high on something.”

“So she’s out of the loony bin again.” Jill meowed mockingly.

“It’s what led me to Brussels; well, that and a call back from one of my sources.”

“What did Stan say?

“Not much, hadn’t heard from David, blah blah. He's still a mean bastard of a man.” She meowed back, laughing.

“Did you tell him I was in Hamburg?”

“No, I ah, didn’t know you were here when I saw him.”

“I left him a message on his mobile earlier today,” Jill continued. “He’s probably just returning my call. Not sure what the urgency is all about, especially since you just saw him. Maybe he’s heard from David?” Jill began to fumble through her pack for her mobile then stopped before she pressed send. Intuition tapped her again, and she said, “I think I will call him from the hotel phone. You can never be too careful with mobiles.”

It was time to find out what Stan wanted.

“Nice digs,” Leila said as she plopped down onto the bed. She watched Jill pick up the desk phone and dial.

“Stan Brown,” a raspy smoker’s voice answered.

“Hi, Stan. It’s Jill.” She hesitated with a tinge of guilt.

“What is going on with David?” A warning tweaked her brain when he asked her, in a tone too matter-of-fact, “I have not heard anything, have you?”

“I got your message; it said it was urgent.”

“I was surprised to see that you were in Hamburg. What a coincidence, Jill. I am in Hamburg too. We need to meet; I need to speak to you. My driver is close to your hotel. I will ask him to come there and pick you up.”

Before she could respond, the phone line went dead.

“There are no such thing as coincidences,” she said to Leila.

“Do you think the word ‘family’ that you circled meant David’s family and not yours?” Leila asked. “After all, taking away any coincidence, Jill, you are in Hamburg and so is David’s father.”

Soon after, Jill was waiting in the gold-flushed lobby, its blinding gaudiness outlined in thin strips of bold purple. She plunked down onto a firm, square sofa. David would be livid if he knew she had met with his father without him. But she had no choice.

To distract herself, she walked over to the lobby door, nodding at the porter as he opened it. Perhaps just sitting on a bench outside in the crisp night air would alleviate this helplessness that made her feel as if she wanted to sleep forever. The rain had stopped for some time now; the only evidence left was the lingering smell of it.

Hamburg at night was bewitching. Two young men dressed in designer suits strode together down the damp sidewalk hedged with blossoming white lilies. The shorter of the two was moving his hands about like a girl, excited about some new gossip.

The fresh sweet smell of the lilies floated past her nose, and with it floated her consciousness. Leila had offered to wait in her room, and Jill found herself in the tunnels of her mind, the hum of the chants taunting her. She stared blankly into the air, her brain filling with the faces of people she knew—familiar people - hovering before her and then gliding away. The sand painting, she reminded herself. Her trained mind only interrupted when she heard herself talking. “Family,” she softly uttered.

Jill had to focus. What did her viewing about the Star of David have to do with that photo Leila took? Jill was good at viewing, but she needed to understand its context, and now with Leila’s photo, the men in the viewing seemed eerily relevant to figuring out where David was. Leila had always had a nose for a story and she best captured these stories through the camera lens. David spoke of her often and joked about some of the different scenarios Leila would often find herself in. Like the time she was standing in front of rebels on the Ivory Coast, face to face with the leader, a cold-blooded killer. She was not allowed to film him, but what did Leila do? In her wisdom, or as Jill would call it, stupidity, she flicked the camera on and held it down, dangling in her hand. She got the footage all right, and if the rebel had known, his machete would have beheaded her on the spot.

She would talk to Leila more about her viewing when she returned from meeting Stan. She would tell her what she knew. She had to trust someone.

A black Audi limo crawled up the short, busy driveway in front of the hotel and the back window, squeaking slowly, rolled down. A pudgy face stuck out.

“Hello, Jill,” Stan rasped. He opened the door and stepped out closer to her. His blue suit tightened when he leaned forward to give her a shallow hug as he nudged her into the backseat of the car. She began to ask him why he was in Hamburg. Jill noted his agitated finger tapping his knee as she quizzed him.

“I have some business here and I wanted to make sure it was done correctly,” he coughed.

“Your oil business? What type of oil business are you in exactly again?”

“Oh, Jill,” his voice said with a hint of a growl. “My business is much too boring to talk about. Boardroom meetings, contract negotiations, things of that nature. Let’s discuss what I know you’re truly interested in. I am planning to leave Hamburg tomorrow night and wanted to see you before I left. I guess you are working on a case of some sort. Are you helping to find David? Do you think David is in Hamburg? Why would he be in Hamburg, Jill?”

Jill stared at Stan and wondered why he was asking all these questions. It was difficult trusting a man who shared little to nothing of her husband. David didn’t look like Stan and Jill had a hard time seeing any resemblance as father and son. David had a full thick head of hair and it would be highly unlikely that he would ever go bald like Stan was. “Ah, I don’t know. I think he is working on some sort of story and I am truly worried about what it is?” Jill thought of telling him more, then remembered the schematic, article and David’s notebook. She blurted, “I heard you got a new contract in Afghanistan. Have you been there?”

“It’s business, Jill. Let’s discuss how we can find David.”

“We?”

“I’d just made some calls to some informative people to see if they could find out any information on David’s whereabouts when I got your message. So far nothing, but I’ll let you know when I hear back from them. Why do you think David is in Hamburg Jill?”

“I'm not sure,” Jill was dumbfounded and sat quietly trying to decide if she should ask him about Kushka, about Petrovich. She wanted to see his reaction. She wanted to see his eyes, the blinks. But it was too soon, Jill needed more information. They sat in silence as the driver sped along the straight canals.

Stan seemed to be uncomfortable with the silence. “Well, if David didn't lead you to Hamburg, what did Jill?”

“I ah, it's work related. Where are we going?” Jill snapped, feeling slightly uneasy. He turned towards her like a lazy bulldog.

“You know, Jill, sometimes David can be impulsive and when he gets that way he makes stupid decisions.” Jill thought she saw a slight sneer. “Has he left anything for you? Any word or documents of any kind?”

“What are you talking about, Stan? What documents? And are you saying David is stupid? You think because he is working on a story undercover that it's impulsive?” Jill’s anger roiled.

“You don’t have to raise your voice, Jill,” Stan said snidely.

“Pull the hell over,” she yelled to the driver. She didn’t have time for this bullshit right now.

“It’s a long walk, Jill. We’ll take you back to the hotel.”

“Pull over now,” Jill yelled louder. “I knew this was a bad idea, Stan.” The car jerked to a stop barely long enough for Jill to jump out of the backseat and slam the door shut.

“Shit!” She landed in a pothole and looked back at the car. She thought she could see Stan smirking as he drove away.

She stood silent as a mist of rain threatened to open its floodgates. It would figure! It was pissing alright, but no way could she bear another second with Stan. She should have trusted her instincts. She should have trusted David. What the hell documents was he talking about? Asshole. She began to shiver but couldn’t determine if it was from anger or from the cold. She needed to get her bearings.

Only dark brick surrounded her. She could hear the trickle of water coming down the drainpipes from the ever-increasing rain shower. She stood in a long dark back alley. To her left, darkness. To the right about 50 meters at the end were the streetlights of the sleeping city. The alley loomed like a black tunnel; no moonlight penetrated the narrow walkway.

A few minutes passed and Jill’s heart rate began to slow. Carefully, with only the lights from the apartment buildings above her guiding her way, she crept along close to the side of the alley. Her soggy boots sloshed when she walked into the open street.

There were scarcely any cars on the road, but she could swear that last one on the left side of the next intersection was Stan’s Audi. Is he following me? There was little movement on the streets, and no noise except a small ummp-pah-pahing pub across the road. Her pace hastened as she dodged past a parked car on the narrow street and into the pub.

Inside the diminutive pub was a man playing an accordion. The smell of smoke and beer hit her as if an invisible wall blocked the door. She entered anyways.

“Phone,” Jill asked the bartender. His handlebar mustache was so long and twisted, you could hang keys on each side of it. He pointed to the back of the pub. Jill rushed her way to the back past the men who stared into their beer glasses, unmindful of what her night had brought her. There between two bathrooms the pay phone hung, covered in grunge. She lifted the receiver then stopped. Who was she going to call? She had no numbers and she had no Euros on her.

She walked back past the remainder of drunks in the late-night pub to the bartender, and gave the man a look. She imagined she must have looked like a beggar - wet, her spiky hair laid flat on her head.

“Please, sir. I need you to call the Fairmont Hotel for me. Please.”