Savage Recruit (Ryan Savage Thriller Series Book 8) Page 4

  Kathleen had been to Athens numerous times during her CIA days. But in all her visits, she had never made it to the Acropolis, one of the most enduring symbols of Western Civilization. Kathleen’s brief visits to the city had always been business related, often undercover, and a pleasure trip to the hill of the gods had never been in the cards. Even now, a framed picture of the Acropolis hung on the wall of her office back home. Kathleen had always been a lover of the ancient Greeks, their ideas, and their art. Many a weekend evening, while the rest of us were night fishing the Florida backwater or nursing beers at The Reef, Kathleen could be found at home with a glass of wine and, if not reviewing a stack of ongoing case files, most likely reading a Greek or Roman philosopher. She particularly enjoyed Plato’s Socratic dialogues and the stoicism of Marcus Aurelius. She claimed that forcing her mind through exercises in virtue, politics, and concepts of the ideal society made her better at her job, serving to remind her why she did what she did. That she had made a beeline straight to the Acropolis was not surprising in the least.

  Diakos continued. “After leaving the Acropolis, her cell phone’s GPS shows her walking down the hill to the Acropolis Museum. She was there for nearly three hours before”—he placed a finger on the third and final red pin—“taking a taxi to the Agora.” The Agora had been the marketplace and the center of everyday life in ancient Athens. “This blue pin was the last location her cell phone sent a signal. From the Agora, she went to Central Municipal Market, the busiest market in the city. Based on her phone’s GPS, she worked her way through the market for over an hour before her phone stopped issuing a signal, about fifteen meters away from the north entrance. This is her last known location.”

  “What time was that?” I asked.

  “1636. Her cruise was scheduled to leave port at 1800. From this location, it would have taken her no more than thirty minutes to return to the ship.”

  “Any cameras in that area?”

  “None, unfortunately. Not in the immediate area. The nearest one is here, at the corner of Marta and Selucide. That, unfortunately, is fifty meters away from where she went missing.”

  “Have your analysts examined the footage?”

  “Yes. Earlier this morning. I am afraid they did not find anything. There are several closed circuit cameras on the street that belong to shop owners. Since those are privately owned, we are still tracking down the owners who placed them there. It may be that we can get a judge to sign off on our analysts forcing their way into their private servers. But first we are required to try to work with the owners.”

  I had half a mind to call Spam back at the office in Key Largo and give him the location of that entire city block. He could hack every private server on the street and get the data analyzed within a few hours. If any of those cameras had gotten a glimpse of Kathleen, Spam would find it.

  “Have you checked the cellular coverage in that area of the market? Maybe her phone wasn’t getting service in that area.”

  “It was getting service. And we have checked the service of other tourists who have the same cellular service and were in that same area yesterday afternoon. There were no issues with that. Whoever took her made sure to dismantle her phone before moving on.”

  “What about the market? Has there been a record of kidnappings in that area before?”

  “Not for over two years. The market is a very safe area. The last time someone was kidnapped in the area, it was a little girl. She was snatched off the sidewalk, right out of her mother’s arms. A camera at the intersection caught the man, and the girl was recovered safely within the hour. This scenario with Ms. Rose—it is very different. Very unusual.”

  “The cruise line was only stopping for the day, right? It wasn’t an overnight stay in Athens?” I asked.

  “Correct. It arrived in Athens at just after 0800 yesterday morning.”

  As I saw it, there were only two possibilities to explain Kathleen’s disappearance: it was either a random kidnapping, or she had been targeted because of her work with the U.S. government. Kathleen was a pretty lady, and I couldn’t rule out the first. But it didn’t seem likely. She was visiting Athens, one of the safest tourist destinations in the world. She was safer walking around most areas of Athens than Miami. The random kidnapping of a middle-aged woman in the middle of the day in the busiest area of the city just didn’t add up.

  On the other hand, someone may have targeted her because of who she was, the director of one of Homeland Security’s component agencies. Kathleen was highly respected within the greater U.S. intelligence community, having previously worked as a CIA officer for over two decades. She was brilliant and easily the most capable person I had ever met. And I wasn’t the only one who thought that. Before she left Langley, there was talk of her being tapped for the position of Deputy Director. Only Kathleen had no interest in the position, and she gave her notice before such talk could advance any further. She wanted to slow down, so she took a position that would still let her make an impact. Over the last four years, our office in Key Largo had put away and taken down countless drug dealers, cartel leaders, money counterfeiters, and terrorists. But most of those were based in Florida or Central or South America, not the Mediterranean. On top of that, Kathleen wasn’t the Director of National Intelligence or the Director of the CIA. Hers wasn’t the familiar face of a former spy who had written a bestselling book about her years working in shadowy corners of the world. She was relatively unknown outside the smallest of circles.

  Whatever the reason behind her disappearance, we were over twelve hours into the investigation and still had no leads, suspects, or possible motives. And Diakos was standing beside me with a pleased look on his face, as though a map with a few pins and a busy room full of analysts equated to progress.

  Across the room, a young lady leaned out from behind her computer monitor and called to the general. “Pardon me,” he said, and walked off.

  I returned my attention to the map. The blue pin was placed just south of Arnaudo Street. Whoever took her would have had a vehicle parked or waiting nearby. A three-story parking garage was directly across the street. I studied the near cross streets: Sofokelous, Athinas, and Filopemenous. The market also sat just below the junction of two highways. Whoever had taken her could have shot uptown and been speeding away from the city on one of its major arteries within minutes.

  The general was across the room studying the analyst’s computer screen. He was frowning, a deep furrow set between his brows. Leaving the map, I started over. The screen was pointed away from me, so I couldn’t see what they were looking at. As I approached, the general took notice and mumbled something to the analyst. She clicked her mouse, and I saw the screen change just as I came around.

  “Agent Savage, do you have a question?”

  “Did you find something?”

  The analyst continued staring at her screen as if I wasn’t there. But she was clearly tense.

  “I do not think so,” answered the general briskly. “We will look into it and let you know.”

  I hadn’t come all the way to Greece just to sit around and watch everyone else do the work. Kathleen was my boss and my friend. If anyone was going to find her, it was going to be me.

  “I’d like to see it.” I stared coolly at him, unblinking.

  The analyst now had an email in front of her, and she was acting as if she were reading it. General Diakos hesitated, gave me a tight-lipped smile, and then told the analyst to show me. A couple clicks of the mouse brought a video feed onto the screen.

  “What am I looking at?” I asked.

  “Athinas Street,” Diakos said.

  The video played. Cars moved by at a steady pace, and pedestrians strolled along a wide sidewalk: a man with his arm around the shoulders of a young lady, a mother pushing a double stroller, an elderly couple holding hands, a lady with brown hair and oversized sunglasses… Kathleen.

  She walked with the easy gait of a tourist taking in the sights, stopping to glance i
nto shop windows or to speak with a merchant. She was wearing a pair of white capris and a royal blue blouse. A bright yellow handbag was slung over her right shoulder.

  “When was this?”

  “Four-oh-two yesterday afternoon,” the analyst said. “The video footage is from the outside of a local shoemaker’s shop.”

  That was thirty minutes before her cell phone’s location dropped off. “You didn’t think I needed to see this?” I said to Diakos.

  He presented his politician's smile again. “We wanted to analyze it first. I know you are close to Ms. Rose. I did not want to put information before you that we had not first run past our team.”

  “General, I thought this would have gone without saying, but I need to know exactly what you know. Do you have anything else like this?”

  “Of course not, Agent Savage. This is the first video footage we have of her near the market.”

  “Have you sent anyone to the market yet to talk with the merchants?”

  “I have an investigator scheduled to go there in the following hour. The market has just opened.”

  That wasn’t soon enough. “General, can you get me access to my own vehicle?”

  He hesitated again. “I am sure that I can arrange that. If you are going to the market, I would like for one of my investigators to accompany you.”

  “No. Thank you. I’ll go by myself.”

  “Agent Savage, I assure you that we are treating this case with the utmost gravity. The United States is one of Greece’s most valuable and important allies. We will find Ms. Rose. I can promise you that. And so, it would be most helpful if one of my investigators—”

  “I’ll go by myself, General. I just need the vehicle.”

  He gave a quick sigh and smiled curtly again. “Of course. Follow me. Lieutenant Ambrosia can provide you with one of our administrative vehicles.”

  Chapter Three

  Ambrosia secured a Toyota Venza and brought it around from the motor pool at the back of the building. The compact SUV was sleek and had enough room to accommodate my long frame. I exited the base and followed the directions on my phone. My mind was running through the timeline of Kathleen’s disappearance when Brad called.

  “Are you there yet?” he asked.

  “Landed about an hour ago. They’ve set up an investigative unit at a local military base. I just debriefed with the general in charge and am heading over to Kathleen’s last known location.”

  “Have they made any progress?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Brad cursed. “I couldn’t sleep at all last night,” he said. “Pisses me off that they wouldn't let me come with you.”

  Last night, after ordering me to the nearest airstrip, Jonathan Watts had called Brad and seconded him to the Homeland office in Miami. With Kathleen gone, Watts needed him to oversee a development in a case that had been tracking the movements of a known terrorist based out of Jamaica.

  “She had better be okay, Ryan. If someone does anything to hurt her, if they even so much as touch her, I’m going to…” He let the threat trail off.

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  He sighed. “Kathleen is kinda hot. But she’s scrappy too. Are they thinking some pervs snatched her up?”

  “It’s doubtful. She went missing at a busy market. Like you said, she’s scrappy. She’s had enough hand-to-hand combat training throughout her career to give Chuck Norris a run for his money.”

  “So someone jammed a pistol into her ribs and told her to start walking?”

  “It adds up. It would have to be someone with enough magnitude to make her realize that screaming out or fighting back wouldn’t be the wisest of moves.”

  “What would a professional want with her?” Brad asked.

  “That’s the question of the hour.”

  “You know, you don’t get to kidnap a high-ranking member of a U.S. federal agency without the shadow of the American eagle swooping over you and its talons reaching for your hide.”

  “That was poetic,” I said. “Did you come up with that on your own?”

  “I skimmed it from a Vin Diesel movie I saw last week. How capable is this general leading the search?”

  “I’m sure he’s very capable. But I don’t trust him.”

  “Why not?”

  “I get the sense that he’s more concerned with using this scenario for his career advancement.”

  “How so?”

  I told Brad about the little maneuver Diakos pulled back at the office, his attempt at keeping the video footage from me. “He’s going to use this to his advantage if he can. He’ll make sure it’s his office and his people who find her. Then he’ll get the recognition and accolades from both the leadership of his own country and from the international community as well. He’ll be a shoo-in for whatever he sets his sights on next. He’s a politician in military dress.”

  “Makes sense. Bastard.”

  “And I’m not going to sit around while the trail gets colder just so he can play his little political parlor tricks. He can do that on his own time.”

  “I don’t know why people in power can’t ever see past their own noses,” Brad quipped. “It’s like all they can think about is the next rung up the political ladder. There are exceptions, like Kathleen and Watts, but people like them are few and far between. If they could all give half a damn about all the good they could affect in the world, we’d all be a lot better off.”

  “How is Zoe doing?” I asked.

  “Dude, not well. Charlotte told her to stay home from school today. Last I heard, she was planning on hanging out around The Reef. Charlotte had a meeting at MacDill she couldn’t get out of, and Zoe didn’t want to be alone. I think Amy was going to take her fishing.” Brad went quiet for a moment. “Ryan. You find her. You do whatever you have to do. Just find her.”

  “I will.” My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I absolutely will.”

  The outskirts of north Athens came into view ten minutes later. I exited the highway, drove through a slow crawl of traffic on Sofokleous Street, and held my breath as motorcyclists freely rode the center line, squeezing between stalled rows of cars as pedestrians saturated the streets from all directions. It was a far cry from the ordered chaos of most American cities, where anti-jaywalking laws were often enforced and pedestrians waited for the crossing light to turn before venturing through a busy intersection.

  The market appeared up ahead amid a block of low-rise buildings. The city prevented any building in the downtown area from being higher than twelve stories so as not to block a view of the Parthenon. Even so, most buildings reached no higher than seven or eight stories. In every direction, a mountain formed the distant backdrop: Mount Egaleo to the west, Mount Parnes to the north, Mount Pentelikon to the northeast, and Mount Hymettus to the east.

  I took the downward ramp into the underground parking garage, found an open space two levels down, and parked the SUV at the end of a row before taking the stairs back into the sunlight. I waited at the curb for five minutes before finding a gap in traffic worth braving. A taxi honked at me as I reached the other side, nearly clipping my heel. Ignoring it, I headed down a bricked sidewalk that bordered the south side of the market where a series of large panel windows allowed passersby a glimpse inside shops selling wicker baskets, hand-woven blankets, and original paintings of local landscapes.

  I continued on, mentally contrasting what I had seen on the analyst’s video footage against the shops and structures on this end of the block. When I reached a window displaying local pottery, I stopped. This was the window Kathleen had looked through before she continued down the street and turned into the market. Across the street, a camera was mounted above a large wooden sign advertising a shoemaker's shop.

  It was a strange sensation, standing in the exact spot where Kathleen had been yesterday afternoon. Had someone been watching her all that time? Did they follow her all the way from the port into downtown? Or had she caught their eye for the first time h
ere at the market?

  Either way, Brad wasn’t wrong. You don’t snatch up an American off a foreign street, especially the head of a federal agency, without serious consequences. Whoever had done this was going to pay in spades. I would make sure of that.

  The door to the pottery shop swung open, and an older man with a grizzly gray beard stepped into the doorway. “You like what you see? We can make a deal. Which one do you like?”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m not buying.”

  His smile faltered. He nodded politely and went back inside. I started toward the main entrance and skirted around a man playing a violin for tips before stepping under one of three arched marble entrances. The market’s main artery was spacious, allowing shoppers to pass through without having to brush shoulders or push against the flow of consumers moving the opposite direction. Above, a high domed roof was supported by iron colonnades that stood beside the painted brick walls of the building's structure.

  The market was sectioned based on the type of goods being sold. Refrigerated glass cases displayed fresh, wild-caught seafood—fish, eel, white shrimp, parrotfish, and rainbow wrasse. Tables were laden with fresh cuts of pork, beef, and lamb. Skinned goats and whole legs of lamb hung from wooden rods trestled above the displays.

  Farther on, tables were piled high with colorful spreads of fruit, greens, and vegetables; barrels and boxes filled with beans, rice, and grains; and bowls filled with ground spices and seasonings. There was nothing you couldn’t buy to make an easy dinner or a culinary masterpiece.

  I turned down a narrow aisle, duplicating the route Kathleen had taken. The displays of food gave way to shelves and stalls exhibiting household items and collectibles: baskets, rugs, ironworks, wood carvings, and handmade clocks. There were paperweight carvings of the Parthenon, paintings of the Athenian skyline, and porcelain busts of the ancient philosophers.