The Geneva Strategy

  “Then who else has access to you? USAMRIID, right?”

  “Yes, but they have no way of tracking a phone and I never informed them of the prepaid.” And they have no idea I’m running this mission, he thought.

  “What about the woman that brought this car. You know her?”

  “I don’t.”

  “So there’s one unknown link. She knows that you have Taylor, but possibly not your phone number, so it’s not a complete hit. Any others?”

  Her line of questioning was efficient and designed to get at the core of the matter. The logical way she took apart the facts was impressive and went a long way toward explaining why she had risen as high as she had in her field. Smith shifted in his seat, because his next statement might blow her logical and unemotional approach out of the water.

  “I hate to say this, but that would be you.”

  To Smith’s surprise she didn’t seem offended. He watched her ponder his statement.

  “That’s absolutely correct. While I can assure you that I haven’t told anyone of your phone number, because I don’t know it and have no way of obtaining it, right now you can’t verify my statement. But like the woman, I know you have Taylor. Okay, using me as the starting point spreads the circle wider. Where have our lives intersected?”

  “USAMRIID and your client Canelo. But we’ve already dismissed USAMRIID as an option, so that leaves Canelo.”

  “Who’s currently sitting in the brig and that puts him at a very low probability.”

  Smith thought some more about the people he had met through Arden. “There was the head of Bancor that you introduced me to at the reception.”

  “Darkanin, yes, that’s right. I really dislike him. But even if I didn’t we have to put him on the list as an unknown. Just like the woman who brought the car.”

  Smith nodded. “And he met Taylor in my company, so he’s aware that she’s with me.”

  “Which elevates him on the list.”

  “Which makes him equal to the woman. Your bias is showing,” Smith said.

  Arden grimaced. “I can’t help it. I’ll try to be more neutral.”

  Smith watched the road fly by while he thought about the threatening call. A sign came into view.

  “Take that exit. It says there’s a rest stop and gas station. Maybe we can pick up a new phone.”

  Arden took the ramp and pulled into a large complex that boasted a coffee shop, McDonald’s, clothing shop, and small packaged food area. Next to the complex was a chain hotel popular in the United States. While most of the stores were closed, the coffee and packaged food shops were not.

  “We should stock up. There’s no telling when we’ll be able to eat.”

  “And I have bits of blood all over me. I’m going to hit the restroom and wash up.”

  Arden got out of the car and when she came around to walk next to Smith he noticed that she was barefoot.

  “You didn’t take back your shoes,” he said to her.

  She looked down. “I walked all the way from the embassy to the car and then after the shooting it didn’t seem right to take them off her feet. Almost like stealing from the fallen. I hope they don’t kick me out of the building.”

  Smith held the door for her and checked the area as they entered. Although it was just edging toward ten o’clock, the complex only had a few scattered patrons and a CCTV camera at the end of the hall. Arden headed to the restroom and Smith scanned the area and then stood near the door to watch the parking lot. None of the arriving cars seemed out of place. He counted four more cameras mounted on light poles scattered throughout the lot. Arden returned to his side.

  “See anything strange?”

  “No. But I still would like to keep moving.”

  They headed toward the packaged goods store where a lone employee had his back to them while he wiped down a rear counter. The pastry items in the glass display cabinet had already been removed and placed on several baking trays; half were wrapped in cling wrap. By the time the clerk noticed them both he and Arden were flush with the counter. From that angle the clerk couldn’t see Arden’s feet.

  “Are you open?” Arden asked.

  The clerk nodded. “We close in ten minutes. I’ve covered up the trays, but if you want something from them just let me know and I’ll get it for you. Our coffee is still up and running.”

  Arden kept close to the counter while she pointed at several items on the remaining free trays. True to his word, the clerk nodded and grabbed several items. Arden finished by ordering two large cups of coffee.

  “Add two extra shots of espresso, please,” she asked the clerk.

  While Arden stocked up, Smith did a quick reconnaissance of the remaining stores. To his dismay, none of the open places carried prepaid phones.

  “No phones,” he told Arden when he returned to her side and stepped up to pay for her items. “Without one I can’t access my contacts to find a place to sleep for the night.” He saw Arden glance at the hotel through the pane glass window with a look of longing.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Beyond tired. Even though it’s not that late I feel as though I’ve been run through a wringer.”

  “It’s the adrenaline. While it’s ricocheting around in your system you can go forever. It’s a deep, dark tumble once it’s gone.”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “Consider me tumbling. Hopefully this will help. And if you care to hear my opinion, I think we should keep pressing through to stay ahead of whoever is after us. If we slow we just give them time to regroup.”

  “Normally I would agree, but rest is going to be difficult to come by and if we have any safe places to crash now we need to take advantage of them. Once we become seriously sleep-deprived we’ll start to make mistakes that we can’t afford.” He grabbed the paper bag with their food items and waved her toward the car.

  When he was settled into the passenger seat he opened his own cup of coffee and sipped it while he weighed their options. Arden took the ramp to the highway and soon they merged into the lanes and kept to a steady pace. Smith had an almost overwhelming desire to reassemble his phone to see if the caller had tried again, but he restrained himself. Instead he watched the traffic behind them and analyzed the cars, looking for any suspicious patterns.

  “If you’re sure you want to stop and sleep, I have someone that might help,” Arden said.

  Smith stopped watching the traffic to look at her. “I’m sure. Tell me.”

  “It’s a client. And if we do this you’ll have to be very careful with what you say.”

  “That sounds ominous. Why?”

  “He’s an anarchist. Well, that’s what he likes to call himself, but basically he’s an environmentalist and animal rights activist. He’s been arrested more times than I can count, and his most recent brush with the law was at sea when he tried to harpoon the sailors on a Japanese whale fishing boat.”

  Despite their current dire circumstances, Smith found himself smiling.

  “He wanted to give them a little taste of their own medicine? What happened?”

  “He missed, luckily for him. And for the sailors in question, of course. The Japanese had him arrested and I flew in and arranged his release.”

  “How did you manage that? Sounds like he was guilty as hell.”

  “Oh, he was, but I was able to prove that the trawler had killed more than its allowed quota and the Japanese quietly dropped the charges and threw him out of the country on his ear. He’s on probation and right now lives in a cottage overlooking the ocean about fifty miles from the Channel Tunnel, where he’s plotting his next adventure at sea, I’m sure.”

  “Will he take us in?”

  “Me? Absolutely. You? Only if you don’t breathe a word about your role in the military.”

  “Another one who hates the industrial governmental complex?” Smith asked.

  Arden glanced at him and nodded. “He makes me look like an amateur.”

  Smith rubbed
his eyes. “This is going to be fun.”

  “If it’s sleep you want…”

  Smith put up a hand. “I want to sleep, but not with the enemy, if you know what I mean. But still, let’s go on. We can always reverse direction if necessary.”

  Smith returned to watching the road behind them and brooding about the phone call.

  41

  After half an hour, Arden exited the highway and proceeded on a small roadway that wound through a wooded area. She switched on the high beams to navigate. The trees loomed around them and normally the scene would have been tranquil, but when they were alone on the road and in the dark the shadowed trunks appeared ominous. After another ten minutes of driving through the woods, Arden pulled onto a small, dirt road. Half a mile down the car’s headlights illuminated a red “No Trespassing” sign hammered onto a trunk. Arden drove past it without slowing. Finally she turned onto a slender, pothole-filled dirt drive and stopped some distance away from a small cottage with a pointed roof painted white. A man, about thirty-five years old, stood in front of the house holding a shotgun.

  “A nice warm welcome,” Smith said.

  “I told you, he’s a bit jumpy. Remember, no military or CIA references. And hide the gun.”

  “He gets a gun and I don’t?”

  Arden shot him a quelling glance. Smith toasted her with his coffee cup and shoved her gun into his waistband. He swung open the door, got out, and waited for her to come around to the front of the car. She stopped next to Smith, but still about forty feet from the man and his gun.

  “Hey, Winter, don’t shoot. It’s your attorney,” Arden called to the man.

  “Winter? Really?” Smith said to Arden under his breath. He took a sip of his coffee.

  “Shh,” Arden said. “And did you have to bring the coffee?”

  “Yes. It’s a prop. No one assumes that a guy holding a cup of coffee is going to kill them. It makes me look less threatening.”

  “It makes you look like you don’t care.”

  “I care very deeply about not getting shot.”

  “Who’s that with you?” Winter called back to them.

  “A friend. I was hoping you could let us in. I’m in a bit of trouble and need your help.”

  Arden walked forward and Smith kept pace with her, still holding his coffee cup. When only ten feet separated them, Arden stopped. Winter stood about five-ten, with a rangy body and an earnest look. His hair was cut short and a small, silver peace sign earring hung from his left ear.

  “What’s your name?” Winter asked Smith.

  “Jon Smith.”

  Winter snorted. “Sure it is.”

  Smith started to respond, but Arden nudged him with her elbow. Smith took another sip of coffee instead.

  Winter turned his attention to Arden, taking in her bare feet and elegant dress.

  “You look like Cinderella after she ran away from the ball.”

  Arden smiled. “That’s actually pretty close to the truth.”

  Winter stepped to the side. “This I gotta hear. Come in.”

  The cottage’s interior was homey and far more inviting than Smith would have expected, given their initial cold meeting. A main room flowed into a small galley kitchen. A sofa, hooked rug, rocking chair, and cocktail table, the last two with elegant curves and made from gleaming wood, flanked a fireplace where a fire crackled. The lights were low and Smith was surprised to see a kerosene lantern on a wooden kitchen table in the attached dining area.

  “Can I make you some tea?” Winter said.

  Arden nodded. “I’d love that.”

  Smith just held up his cup and shook his head. After Winter finished making the tea he sat down with them.

  “So what the hell happened?”

  “I went to the Saudi embassy party,” Arden said.

  Winter gave a low whistle. “You were there? It’s all over the news.”

  “I was. And I ran out. Without my shoes, as you can see.”

  Winter flicked a glance at Smith. “You were there as well?”

  Smith nodded. “I was.”

  “So what do you need?”

  “A safe place to sleep for the night. I presume that the police, Europol, and every other law enforcement group is attempting to locate and interrogate the guests. I’m afraid to use my phone or credit cards to book a room for fear that they’ll locate us.”

  “So why don’t you want to be questioned?”

  Arden sighed. “My relationship with the Saudis is less than friendly. I want to have an attorney by my side before they try to hang anything on me.”

  Winter’s suspicious manner eased a bit as he seemed to accept this explanation.

  “You use a credit card and they will track you. But going off the grid ain’t easy, I can tell you.”

  “Are you?” Smith said.

  Winter nodded. “As much as anyone can be. You can’t tell from the front of the cottage, but I have a solar panel system out back that provides a limited amount of electricity for the house. I try to use the kerosene lanterns as often as possible to conserve it. There’s also a propane tank. I’ve managed to have the land records sealed and I pay my taxes through a nominee.”

  Smith was intrigued. “How did you get the records sealed?”

  Winter smiled. “I have a hacker friend who flagged the file. But if you truly want to remain off the grid you have to live in a way most people can’t. No phones, no utilities through any services, no credit cards, grocery cards, or even online shopping. No Internet at all if you can help it. Sometimes you can’t, and then I’m careful to go to public cafés or areas where I can use free Wi-Fi. Once there I purchase items using bitcoins in a swap system and with yet another pseudonym.”

  “What about the cameras?”

  Winter walked over to the front door and reached down into a basket next to it. He lifted out a helmet.

  “When I’m outdoors I ride a motorcycle and keep the helmet on at all times. When I’m not on the bike I wear glasses and a hat, and I wrap a scarf around my face in the cold months.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work,” Arden said.

  “Worth it, though. I can’t imagine how people walk through the world so unaware.”

  “Perhaps they have nothing to hide,” Smith said.

  Winter raised an eyebrow. “I presume that’s not you or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “You presume right,” Smith said.

  “We need to get across to Calais. Is using the Channel Tunnel out?” Arden asked.

  “Absolutely. Even if you bought your ticket with cash the cameras are everywhere.” His face took on a slightly sly look. “I have a way to get you over there, but it will cost you a donation to the cause.”

  “How?”

  “Remember the Arctic Waters?”

  “Your ship? Sure.”

  “Well, it’s docked not far from here. I would be willing to use it to get you across the channel.”

  “You can sail it solo?”

  Winter laughed. “No. It requires a crew, but we’ve smuggled people in and out of England using the boat without anyone being the wiser.”

  Arden looked at Smith. “You didn’t hear that.”

  Smith shrugged. “Sorry? I was distracted and didn’t hear what was said.”

  “Exactly,” Arden said. “Can we stay the night here? Leave in the morning?”

  “You can stay, but we should leave before dawn. It’s best to get away from the shoreline before the sun comes up.”

  “Then let’s crash.”

  “There are only two bedrooms, and the one down here is mine, so you both will have to share the attic room,” Winter said.

  “An attic room sounds perfect. I’m so exhausted that I’ll be asleep in minutes,” Arden said.

  “And how about I lend you some clothes? That dress isn’t going to be warm enough once we’re at sea,” Winter said. “I have some left here from the transient guests that should fit you.”

  Winter led them up a
set of wooden stairs to an attic room that stretched the length of the cottage. The ceilings slanted on either side, but at the far end was a bench built into a window alcove. Pillows filled the area, and a teetering stack of books and a reading lamp made it clear that it was a favorite nook for someone. Bunk beds lined the room, leaving a small aisle between them. An armoire sat against one wall and next to it was a small occasional table with a lamp that Winter switched on.

  “No kerosene up here. You’re too close to the roof. The reading lamp takes the smallest amount of energy, but don’t worry too much. With our string of sunny days the panels have stored a lot of electricity.” He looked at Arden. “Come on downstairs with me and I’ll give you towels and clothes.”

  Smith followed them down to the main floor. Arden announced that she was taking a shower and disappeared into the cottage’s one bathroom. Winter settled into a chair near the kitchen table and Smith sat down opposite. The table and chair were also in a flowing and stunning design that was at odds with the small cottage.

  “This furniture is beautiful,” Smith said.

  Winter’s face flushed a bit. “Thank you. I made it.”

  “You’re very talented.”

  Winter shrugged, but Smith could tell he was flattered.

  “Would you like me to lend you some clothes as well? You’re a bit taller than I am, but I might have something you can wear,” Winter said.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I won’t be here long enough for it to matter.”

  Winter gave him a considering look. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I won’t be going with you and Arden to Calais. I’m going to strike out on my own. It’s safer for her if we do it this way.”

  Winter raised an eyebrow. “Does she know this?”

  Smith shook his head. “And I really wish you wouldn’t tell her until after she’s slept.”

  Winter took a sip of his tea. “Why don’t you tell her yourself?”

  “She’s been seen with me at key points this evening. If you don’t make it across, the authorities will focus on her, not you. The less she knows the better.”

  “Will she be angry that you left her? Are you lovers?”

  Smith thought about how to answer that question. He never discussed his personal affairs with strangers.