The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) (10 page)

20.

I rushed out
of his house and got into my car. Gudrun wasn’t picking up her phone. I left her a voicemail and called her again.

"Mike, what do you want," she answered in her usual not very polite way. "I saw your call but was just getting into my car and couldn't pick up."

"Have you started the engine yet?" I yelled.

"Yeah, I’m just pulling out of the driveway," she said.

"Don't stop, don't go over any ramps, go to the nearest shopping mall and drive round there in circles," I told her.

"Are you fucking mad? What are you talking about?" she shouted back in her usual graceful way.

"Listen to me," I said calmly. "There's a bomb in your car."

"What, are you crazy, you planted a bomb in my car?"

"Don't be stupid, it wasn't me. It's a guy I'm chasing."

There was a silence on the other end of the line.

"You fucking bastard, what kind of mess did you get me into?" she said.

"It's not my fault, we're dealing with a dangerous criminal."

"It's your fucking fault, whose fault would it be?" she cried.

"Hold your tongue and listen. You're gonna be all right. Just find a shopping center or any other parking area and drive in circles. I suspect the explosive will be activated when you stop or go over a big bump, or a ramp or something, but there usually aren’t any in parking lots."

"I'll kill you with my own hands when it's over."

"Thanks, that's your gratitude? I'll drop the call now and call you from another phone with instructions."

I called Dermot Clenaghan from Research & Execution.

"Dermot, I have a situation."

"What's the problem?" he asked.

"Morgenthal planted a bomb in Gudrun's car, she's my ex-wife. She’s driving slowly to find a parking lot and then to drive round it in circles. I need your bomb squad to wait for her at the parking lot. I'll call you when I know where."

"Shit, that's bad. No problem Mike, I'll organize the guys and will be waiting for your call."

"Thanks Dermot."

"You have to get this motherfucker soon," he said, repeating how mad he was about this guy.

"I will," I dropped the call and dialed Martin Keenan's number. I briefly described the situation to him.

"Martin, call Gudrun and conference me in. Track her location and send the info to Dermot. Conference Dermot in."

After a minute we were all on the line.

"Dermot, are you there? Can you arrange for the nearest police car to escort Gudrun? You have her GPS coordinates from her cell phone."

Half a minute passed.

"Done, Gudrun, a police car will be with you in 3 minutes," Dermot confirmed.

"Gudrun, we'll get you to the nearest car park," I said and continued: "Martin, what’s the nearest secluded car park?"

"Let's have her drive to Philadelphia Philly’s stadium on Pattison Avenue. It's just two miles from where she is now, it's large, and sure to be empty now," Martin suggested.

"Gudrun, have you got that, you should drive to Philly Stadium," I repeated what Martin said.

"Got that," she responded in a shaky voice. She probably realized the gravity of the situation. "Where the fuck is it?"

"We'll give you instructions how to get there until the cops catch up with you. Then they'll lead you there."

"Thanks," she said meekly. But then added in a barely audible voice: “I’ll kill this fucking bastard.” I think she wasn’t walking about Morgenthal.

Dermot took over to guide her through the streets.

"I see the cops now," Gudrun reported.

"Good, follow them," I said.

A few minutes later they entered the Stadium parking lot. The bomb squad were in place. The plan was to replace her with a specially-built machine so that any possible pressure sensors in the seat weren’t activated, and then to detonate the explosive.

Two bomb technicians' cars were driving alongside Gudrun's car. They opened her car's front doors and gave her instructions. They had inserted a slightly curved plate under her bottom. She probably didn't like it. They fastened it and attached some weights to it. The car was moving all the time. Fortunately the parking lot was large and empty. One of the cops propped the accelerator pedal down with an elongated device. They lifted her out of the car and put in some more equipment that looked like legs and attached them to the pedals. The whole device was radio controlled and would allow them to stop the car when all involved were at a safe distance.

The bomb disposal guys took Gudrun away from the parking lot and steered the car into the center of the car park. They had a camera and were streaming the footage to Dermot, who relayed it to Martin, who sent it live to my phone. The car was approaching the center of the parking lot and the radio operator started slowing it down until it stopped.

We waited a few seconds.

Nothing.

We waited some more.

Nothing.

I heard Gudrun on the phone: "Mike, you bastard! I'm going to cut your dick off! I was scared to death and it was just a hoax. I don't want you talking to me again!" Her rant went on.

I was puzzled myself.

"I don't understand. Was this guy Loki just playing me?" I thought to myself.

I didn't have to wait long before I heard a massive explosion on my cellphone and saw a wall of flames on the screen.

It wasn't a hoax after all.

"Gudrun, are you okay?" I asked.

There was a period of silence.

She said in a trembling voice: "I'm fine."

"I'll drop by to see you’re all right," I offered.

There was more silence.

It seemed like she gathered herself before exploding:

"Don't you ever dare to come near me! It was all your fault!"

This was the kind of gratitude that I usually got for saving somebody's life. You try to be a hero, but end up being a nuisance. Where the fuck was the justice in this world?

I called Martin. "Call Dermot from Research & Execution and get him to arrange 24-hour a day protection for Gudrun. I know she won't like it, but this is not a picnic anymore."

"Sure, no problem."

"And ask Norman to shadow her until I catch Morgenthal." I finished the call.

Norman Ryan was one of our top guys. He was with the Marine Corps, but got bored. I suspect the most disappointing thing was not that it was so boring, but that the pay wasn't great. I enlisted him to my business and he was much happier, at least financially. I’m not sure if emotionally, as this was hard to fathom. His face rarely displayed any emotion. He wasn't the prettiest on my team, and Zara fondly called him Denis, by which she meant another branch of humans, Denisovans, who, as she said, lived at the same time as the Neanderthals. She’d read it and had seen the pictures recently in the National Geographic. Anyway, although I haven't seen any pictures, I'm sure the Denisovans couldn't have been more handsome than the Neanderthals. This nickname was meant by Zara to be a sophisticated allusion to Norman's ugliness. In fact, Igor Ivanov, the boss of the Russian mob, seems quite pleasing to the eye compared to Norman. Even though Ivanov he was a typical Neanderthal to my mind. The key difference between the two was that Ivanov looked Neanderthal stupid, but was smart. Whereas Norman Ryan looked really Neanderthal ugly, but was clever, none the less. Regardless of the nickname and derisive comments, Zara liked Norman. I wouldn't be surprised if there was some sexual activity going on between them. I’d heard rumors from a reliable source, i.e. from Maya. But gentlemen don't comment on that. Beyond what was already in the public domain.

Anyway, he was very useful for our operations, so I didn't dwell on his appearance too much. I hated putting people into boxes, but sometimes you can't help it. If the job required seducing a beauty, he would not be the right guy. If it required killing or intimidating someone, he would be perfect.

When Norman was on the job, Gudrun would be safe until I caught Morgenthal.

21.

My phone rang
. It was my daughter, Sophia, who happened to be Gudrun's daughter too. It wasn't that much of a coincidence considering Gudrun was my ex. Sophia was still a link between me and Gudrun. We occasionally had to tolerate each other in the presence of our daughter, whether we liked it or not.

"Hi sweetie," I answered.

"Hi Dad."

"Glad you're calling," we don't talk too often, busy schedule, no time.

"I’d be glad if you called me more often," she said with reproach.

I really tried to be an exemplary father, but considering my work commitments it wasn’t always possible. But I tried to see her every month, which in practice was probably more like every two months. I loved Sophia dearly and would certainly reconnect with her in the future. Perhaps it was about time to retire and reconnect with the family, i.e. Sophia? I wasn’t keen on reconnecting with Gudrun.

"Sophia, I know I haven't been the best father so far. But don't judge me too harshly. You are my child and I love you above all else. I'm doing my best, you know that. I promise to do even better," I meant it.

"You mean in the future?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yes, in the future."

"The foreseeable future?"

"I hope so."

"I hope so too."

I didn’t say anything for a while. Sophia didn’t either.

"So, how are things going?" I tried to change the subject.

"Okay," she said. I heard an audible contraindication in the tone of her voice.

"Sophie. Is there something you’re not telling me?" I asked.

"No, not really."

"Not really? Tell me what it is?" I demanded.

“All is fine, dad. Don’t worry.”

“I do worry. Sophia, tell me what’s going on, please.”

She was a typical teenager. I had to extract information from her bit by bit.

"I don't feel I fit in at my school."

Sophia was nearly 16 and was in a private high school in Philadelphia. I paid for the tuition. Well, technically, I gave the money to Gudrun and she paid it. In fact, I gave her the money, she would pay with my credit card, and then she would demand I paid that too. Needless to say, she would spend the money I gave her for tuition in the first place. Clever girl. And I’m sure she was telling everybody that I was miserly and she had to pay for our daughter's education. I knew about some of the things she was spreading about me, as Dermot had told me about the rumors. I asked him to do me a favor and do some surveillance on Gudrun after our divorce to find out how she was doing and make sure she stayed out of trouble. Dermot told me I should talk to her if I cared about my reputation. I tried, but she was even more furious when she had found out I’d hired investigators to follow her. She was beyond any hope of fixing. So I just assumed a relaxed attitude. Besides, I didn’t really have that many friends, so my reputation wasn’t on top of my list. As far as my work was concerned, my reputation was impeccable, and Gudrun had no link to that world whatsoever, so she wasn’t a threat to my professional reputation.

"You don't feel you fit in there, what do you mean?" I still didn't understand.

"Yeah, I don't like the people, the atmosphere, you know. A lot of the pupils at the school don't like me either. And we don't get any support from the school staff when we need it."

"Are you trying to say you’re being bullied?" I was shocked.

"No, it's just they aren’t nice to me."

"Sophia, I know what that means, I've been to high school myself." She knew that was a long time ago at Cambridge in the UK, but she didn’t know it wasn't really that bad. "You're being bullied, aren’t you? Tell me it’s not true? Or rather, tell me the truth. I'll help you get through it."

She hesitated. I suppose I wouldn't be the first port of call in case of that kind of trouble.

"Tell me, it's better to deal with it right here, right now, and nip it in the bud," I encouraged her. "I may be able to help."

I repeated the request a few more times. It was very hard to deal with a teenager.

"Daddy, you may be right, it might be better to tell the truth now. I can give you a chance, but I'm really not sure how you could help." She still wasn't fully convinced.

"Try me," I said.

After a longer pause.

"I’m having a very tough time there. It's horrible. I can't stand it anymore," she started sobbing.

I wasn't sure what to say to be honest. I had to make life and death decisions in a split second in my professional life, but this seemed to be bigger than any of those. Not knowing what to say I just tried to calm her down.

"Don't worry darling, I'll sort it out, I'll talk to the principal," I said.

"No, don't do that! How will I look, like a pussy? I don't want you to talk to him," Sophia protested.

"Sweetie, it's the only way. I don't want it to sound like a lecture, but adults do it that way. They resolve conflict by talking. I’m going to talk to the principal."

"That won't help, I know it won't," she said.

I could still hear her crying on the line, but I could also feel her last words were more of a question with a tiny ray of hope, rather than a statement.

"I can be very persuasive. My stint at the CIA had honed my people skills beyond recognition. And I interview people a lot these days." I failed to provide any details, as my interviews are rarely pleasant for the interviewees, or healthy for them for that matter.

"I don't care, do what you want. I just don't want any trouble at school." She seemed to be cheering up a little, although I could have been wrong.

"You can't get into worse trouble that you're in now," I argued.

"It can always get worse, believe me."

"Leave it with me," I promised to fix it and asked: "What's his name, by the way? I mean the principal."

"Gerald van Klompf."

"I'll talk to him."

"Thanks dad."

"By the way, can you remind me of the name of the school?"

"Dad, are you joking? You don't remember the name of my school?" Sophia was shocked. I wasn't.

"It slipped my mind."

"Dad, I'm really disappointed. It's St. Eusebia Girls’ School."

"Thanks, I'll get it sorted."

"Thank you daddy."

"No problem, by the way, there was an incident with your mother. A bomb exploded in her car."

"Oh my God, is she dead?" she cried, shocked.

"No, everything’s fine, she wasn't in the car when it exploded. The bomb squad managed to get her out in time."

"You scared me to death. I nearly died of a heart attack," she complained. "Never do that again!"

"Sorry sweetheart, I started at the wrong part of the story."

"What happened?"

"I'm chasing a criminal. He's clever, but unstable. It seems he knows the government and I are after him and that’s making him nervous. He’s taking it very personally now and that's why he planted a bomb in your mother’s car, to get at me," I explained.

"Will he try it again? Is mom safe?" Sophia asked anxiously.

"He might, but I have my guys looking after her, she’s safe now."

"Thanks Dad."

"I'll ask my government contacts to keep an eye on you too, can you live with that for a while?" I asked my daughter.

"For how long?" she asked.

"I don't know, a few weeks max."

"Am I really at risk too?"

"I don't know, this guy is unpredictable, I'd really rather you were covered."

"Okay."

"I'll call my guys then."

After a moment of silence.

"So how's mom, should I call her?" Sophia asked.

"Yeah, you'd better call her, she's a little shaky right now. A word from you might sooth her. Besides, she thinks it's my fault. To some extent it is. But she wasn't very grateful for having organized the rescue operation."

"You know her."

"I know, that's one of the reasons we're no longer together. She was never grateful."

"You could give her a chance some day?"

"Doubt it, we're too old for that now."

"I'll call her anyway."

"Please do, it'll do her good. And I'll take care of Mr. Van Klompf. Leave it with me," I said and hung up.