Off the Grid (A Gerrit O'Rourke Novel) (11 page)

Gerrit thought back to earlier, after their passion subsided. Marilynn casually tried to elicit information about where he went in England and why he was leaving again. He chalked it up to her insatiable curiosity. Kane had ordered a lid on all this information, so Gerrit revealed nothing to Marilynn. This seemed to irritate her.

As Gerrit opened the door all the way, Marilynn jerked her head up and seemed to stiffen. “I’ve got to go. I’ll…I’ll call you from the office.”

“Who was that?” Gerrit walked toward her.

“Hey, I’m sorry I woke you. Got this call and heard it vibrate. Thought I could return it in here without disturbing you.”

He waited for further clarification.

“Just work.” She dropped the phone on the counter, crossing her arms. “We have a surveillance going on in another case, and the guys were just checking in.”

Gerrit watched her face, trying to figure out why she was lying.

She walked past him into the bedroom and began gathering her clothes. “I need to get back to the office. Need to return this call on a more secure line.” She disappeared into the bathroom. “Be out in a jiffy. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

He waited until he heard the shower turn on and then reached for her phone. Flicking on the menu, he thumbed to the last call received, hit the Select button, and a menu emerged. The words
Private Caller
flashed on the readout. He tapped to the last incoming call and saw the number of the caller Marilynn spoke to. He glanced at the number, recognizing the numerals immediately.

Richard Kane.

Why was Kane calling her in the middle of the night—here?

Footsteps sounded across the bedroom. Marilynn appeared at the doorway, toweling herself off. “I forget my…”—she glanced at what he was holding—”my phone.”

He held it up. “Just getting it for you. Saw it here on the counter.”

The darkness prevented him from seeing her expression, but her voice seemed tight. “Just drop it in my purse. I’m almost ready.”

He complied, turning on a table lamp near the couch. Her purse had been left on the floor. He stooped down and slipped the phone inside. A few minutes later she emerged, fully clothed. He handed her the purse. “The cell’s inside. Wouldn’t want you to miss any more calls.”

Her eyes, questioning, shifted from the purse to his face. She brushed his cheek with her lips. “Call me later. Maybe we can do dinner?”

He nodded, watching her leave. He heard her car start up, tires slipping on gravel. Quietness settled around him.

He slipped on some jeans and a T-shirt before walking to the glass door. He slid it open and stepped out onto a small porch that sat only inches above the lake. He looked over the water toward downtown Seattle. Cold night air made him shiver. He watched as the running lights from a small craft cut through the night, the city’s silhouette beyond.

The dark water below him ebbed and flowed as small waves slightly raised and lowered the houseboat. Water carried a certain amount of force, of power, that moved like an unseen hand beneath him. Like his life, this current pushed and pulled without permission. Life seemed to forge ahead, inextricably dragging him along in its wake.

A warning blast from a horn carried across the water, bringing him back to the present. This feeling of emptiness—starting when his CO broke the news about his folks years ago—hounded him whether he was awake or asleep. There would be no peace until he learned what happened. Until then, he would just exist, even in moments when he and Marilynn lay on the bed in a passionate embrace. That phone call she fielded reminded him once again about how much his world had changed.

And who he could trust.

Vienna, Austria

T
he trip to meet Kane and the reason for using an alias still nagged at him. Clearly, Kane or Senator Summers didn’t want Gerrit’s earlier travel to the United Kingdom to be flagged for some reason. Why?

Passport in hand, Gerrit approached the front counter of the Radisson Blu Palais Hotel. At least he was traveling under his right name on this trip. No hocus-pocus.

“Dr. O’Rourke.” A young woman extended her hand as he approached the counter, her heavy Germanic accent seemed to add more allure to this historic site. “May I assist in your check-in? I am working with Dr. Clarke to make sure his entourage is taken care of.”

“
Vielen Dank
,
Fräulein
…?”

“Helene.” She bobbed her head self-consciously. “
Sie sind herzlich eingeladen
. You are welcome, sir.”

Gerrit finished checking in as Helene stood by. When he was through, he turned to her. “I understand this hotel was originally built as two palaces in 1872.”

Helene nodded. “Yes, sir. And I am pleased to point out that we are overlooking Vienna’s famous Stadtpark. You will be able to see a number of monuments here, including one devoted to Johann Strauss.” She pointed proudly.

As Gerrit started to reach for his luggage, Helene shook her head. “I will have someone take your bags up. Dr. Clarke is waiting in the Palaise Café.” She gestured in the direction he ought to go.

He slipped money to the bellhop already grabbing his belongings. Waiting until Helene and the man walked away, Gerrit found his way to the café.

Henry Clarke waved from across the dining area as Gerrit entered. “Ah, Dr. O’Rourke. Good to see you’ve arrived safely. Mr. Lawton’s associates have been keeping me company.” Clarke motioned with his chin toward two men seated a couple tables away, a pink linen-covered table pulled out to allow both men to sit with their backs to the far wall. Teacups in hand, they looked like two NFL football players attending a women’s tea party. “I feel well protected, now that you’re here,” Clarke said, each word liberally doused with sarcasm.

Gerrit nodded to the two men. They eyed him without returning the greeting.

“The chap on the right is heading up our party here. I will introduce you after our tea.”

A waiter set a cup and saucer in front of Gerrit. Clarke leaned closer. “I hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and ordered for you.”

Gerrit thanked the waiter, taking a sip out of courtesy. He hated the taste, like weak coffee squeezed through a filter a dozen times before getting to his cup. Dishwater had more kick. He tried not to wince.

Clarke sipped his tea. The scientist carefully set down his cup before speaking. “Dr. O’Rourke, may I speak bluntly since we are finally alone?”

“Certainly, Doctor.”

“Let’s drop all this doctor stuff, shall we? You’ve been out of the business so long I hesitate using your title. From what I gather, you’ve been off gallivanting with bobbies since your parents died. Have you used
any
of your academic training since that time?”

“That is none of your concern…
Henry
.”

The scientist’s jaw tightened. “While you remain in my service, O’Rourke, you’re just a glorified errand boy. My own private muscle, if you will. Don’t embarrass me in front of my colleagues.”

“Don’t worry, Henry. I’m sure you can manage
that
all on your own.” He instantly regretted his retort to Clarke. Focus on the primary mission, even if it meant putting up with this guy’s ego. “Look, neither of us asked for me to be here. My government—and apparently yours—believe there’s some risk to you. I intend to work with your folks,” he nodded to the two agents across the room, “to make sure you return home safely. We can part ways at that time. Until then, let’s try to work together. And I will try not to…embarrass you while I’m here. Fair enough?”

Clarke stared back sullenly. “Just stay out of my way.”

Gerrit lowered his eyes to make it appear he relented. The man’s belligerent attitude seemed out of place, unlike their meeting in Harrogate. Maybe Kane and George Lawton sitting in the same room forced Clarke to mask his true feelings back there. Not anymore.

Clarke leaned back for a moment, letting his breath out slowly. “I have—we have—certain pressures on the CESG right now, and maybe—”

“Forget it. Let’s just get you home safely, shall we?”

Looking resigned, Clarke nodded.

One of the two NFL guys sauntered up, the man Clarke singled out as heading up security. “Everything okay, Dr. Clarke?” The man kept his eyes focused on Gerrit as he spoke.

“Just fine, James. Have you met Dr. O’Rourke? As you know, he’s joining our entourage for a few days. Doctor, this is James Stafford.”

The man’s grip tried to crush Gerrit’s hand. “We need to talk, Dr. O’Rourke. Make sure our efforts are adequately coordinated.”

Gerrit gingerly extracted his hand. “Anytime you’re ready.”

“Meet you upstairs when Dr. Clarke is finished here?” James provided a room number. “In about twenty minutes?” The man turned and rejoined his partner without waiting for Gerrit’s reply.

Flexing his hand, trying to get feeling back, Gerrit watched Stafford whisper to his partner across the room. Between Clarke and Stafford, Gerrit felt about as welcome as a vegetarian at a barbeque rib cook-off. If he didn’t watch himself, they just might throw him on their grill and roast him alive.

35,000 Feet above the Atlantic Ocean

T
urbulence jostled Richard Kane as he reached for the phone. All the money he spent on this jet—with all its luxury and comfort—could not buy him a smooth flight. The Global 8000 business jet dipped suddenly as if a giant hand let go and allowed the aircraft to free fall. A few moments later, the pilot raised the nose, slowly regaining altitude.

Cradling the receiver in one hand, Kane dialed a memorized number and let it ring. A sultry woman’s voice came on the line. “Richard, I’d know your tone anywhere.”

Kane breathed heavily, remembering his time with her only a few months ago when he was recruiting. The only language she spoke was the dollar bill—or euro. She was worth every cent.

“Collette, my dear. How’s Vienna?”

“Very productive. And on your end?”

Kane dispensed with the niceties. “Time’s short, Collette. I have to know whether Gerrit will be a team player. Everything is set to be launched in just a few weeks. Maybe sooner. I need him on board when we launch—or terminated if he chooses to walk away. Understand?”

“I understand, Richard.”

“Good. Gerrit just reached the hotel. He’s in play. Are your people ready?”

“We will be when I hang up.
Au revoir
, Richard.”

Kane killed the connection.

Gerrit reached James Stafford’s room, trying to knock twice in quick succession. Stafford yanked the door open before Gerrit could strike a second time.

“Grab a chair.” James quickly closed the door behind Gerrit.

The room was sparse, compared to Clarke’s, but even so it gleamed with elegance. After Gerrit sat down, James dragged a chair across the room and turned it around so he could straddle it. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, as you Yanks are apt to say. We don’t need an American telling us how to protect Clarke. So…why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here.”

“Hang it, man. I know when George Lawton is behind something; it’s never what it seems. I don’t want to get shot—or fail in my duties to protect Clarke—because you and your CIA spooks are up to no-good, keeping us in the dark. Tell me what you’re up to or I’ll bounce you off this detail.”

“I thought the British were more tactful. And what makes you think I work for the CIA?”

Stafford glared at him without answering.

“By the way, don’t you work for Lawton?”

“I work for a lot of people,” he said, ignoring any further reference to the CIA, as if it was already understood.

“What did Lawton tell you?” Gerrit knew he was buying time. He tried to figure how to handle this without making another enemy. Clarke was enough to deal with right now.

“Never mind about him. I want to hear it from you.”

“Just stay focused on Clarke and you’ll be in the clear. That’s all I can tell you.”

Stafford shoved himself off the chair. “I knew it. Lawton’s got his hands into something else and using this as cover.”