Excerpt from “” by Jesse Jacobson
Still in a state of half-sleep, Trevor reached over to touch Honor. He woke completely when he discovered she was not in bed. He glanced at the alarm clock: 8:41 a.m. Her doctor’s appointment was at 8:00 a.m. he remembered. He smiled thinking of her and rolled over trying to fall asleep again, but couldn’t.
He hopped out of bed, slipping on his boxers. He strolled into the kitchen looking for coffee.
He found what appeared to be a coffee maker. It was called a Keurig and it made only one cup of coffee at a time. Beside the Keurig he saw little pods of Starbucks coffee. He thumbed through them, scratching his head as he read the choices.
There was the Breakfast Blend, Café Verona, Pike Place Roast, Veranda Blend, Sumatra, Vanilla, Caramel, Cinnamon Dolce and several others. I just want a cup of plain black coffee, he thought, shaking his head. How the hell is anyone supposed to choose?
Seattle. What a city.
He selected Pike Place Roast and after some effort, managed to get the machine going. He remembered that Honor said the Seattle Times newspaper was delivered to her front door every morning. He walked to the door and opened it. The Times was on the floor right by the door, but he also saw a small cardboard box, labeled, “For SEAL Saunders.”
He instantly sensed horrifying news. He felt the blood rushing from his head, making him a little dizzy. His heart began to race. He picked up the box and rushed back inside.
He opened the box and pulled out a cellular phone and charger. Also in the box was a single folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it.
His heart began to race even faster when he read the first line:
We have your woman, it read.
Trevor felt bile coming up from his stomach into his mouth. He fought it back. He thought he was going to be sick. He read the rest of the note:
Do not contact the authorities. This is imperative. We will know if you call the police, the FBI, the CIA, Homeland Security or any other law enforcement agency. We have eyes everywhere. You are being monitored. Any attempt to bring in any branch of law enforcement will result in your woman’s instant death. You will bring Chris Carpenter to us at a place and time we will choose. Keep the cell phone charged and on at all times. We will contact you soon with further instructions. Any deviation from our instructions and your woman’s head will be sent to you in a box.
Trevor dialed Honor’s phone – it rang in the bedroom. She had left her phone at home.
Trevor then called down to Roger, the doorman, at Honor’s apartment building. She was going to her psychologist’s appointment, Roger said, like she did every Monday. No, Roger added, he had not seen a delivery person this morning coming into the building with a small package. Roger wanted to know if everything was alright. Trevor assured him it was.
Roger verified that he had called an Uber for Honor earlier. Yes, he recognized the driver. He’d seen him many times. His name was Adam. He had Adam’s number. He gave it to Trevor.
He then called her doctor’s office. Dr. Haflin, he remembered. No, the receptionist said, Honor had not made it to her appointment. It was most unusual, she told him. Honor never missed a Monday morning session. No, they didn’t have a camera system in their parking lot. They asked, was everything all right? Yes, Trevor said, he was sure it was. He would have her call to reschedule her appointment, he promised.
He next called Adam, the Uber driver. Yes, Adam had picked Honor up and driven her to the doctor’s office. He’d dropped her off in front of the office building just like usual. No, he hadn’t seen anything unusual. He had not stayed around to see Honor actually enter the building, but then again, he never did.
Trevor quickly formed a theory. Honor had a regular doctor’s appointment she went to every single Monday. Anyone tracking her would know where she would be at that time. Honor was seen getting in an Uber and the driver verified he had dropped her off, so she had to have been taken in the parking lot of the doctor’s office. Her doctor practiced in the suburbs, where few cameras were located. It would be easy for a van to standby, waiting. When Honor exited the Uber, the van would pull up, a couple of bad guys would hop out, slip a bag over her head and off they would go.
He was now faced with a moment of truth. He could ignore the instructions on the note and call the authorities, or he could try to get help and handle this on his own. He paused, thinking it through. It was Orfali and the Syrian government, he thought. It had to be. There was no other explanation.
Ahmet Orfali was the head of security for the government funded Syrian Space Agency and the architect of the first kidnapping attempt. He used his half-brother, Adnan Alfassi, to spear-head the operation. It resulted in the deaths of Alfassi and nine other men.
Orfali was connected to ISIS. We have eyes everywhere, the note read. He had little doubt that was true. He had been part of extensive briefings that the CIA had been experiencing a communication breach. Certain ISIS cells had discovered a way to detect mobilization efforts of the CIA and FBI.
If Trevor called the authorities, Orfali would know about it and make good on his threat. After all, Trevor and Wolf had killed his half-brother and nine of his men, thwarting his plan and humiliating him in the process. This was more than business. It was personal.
Instead of making a call, he broke his own phone in two. If the Syrian government was financing this operation, they had the resources to hack and clone his phone. He tossed on jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers and jogged a block away to Denny’s Restaurant. He took the note with him.
He made up a story about his car breaking down and his cell phone battery being dead. The manager allowed him to use an office phone. He called Wolf, who answered on the second ring.
“They took her,” Trevor said. “They took Honor.”
“Okay, bud, slow down,” Wolf replied. “Who took her?”
He read the note to Wolf.
“It has to be Ahmet Orfali,” Trevor said.
“That was my thought,” Wolf said. “Have you called the CIA?”
“I have not,” Trevor said. “And I won’t. They said they’d be watching me. They will not hesitate to kill her if the CIA becomes involved.”
“Damn!” Wolf said. “You’re right. If the Syrian government is involved, this is well funded and they will know if the CIA or FBI get involved. Listen. I can get furlough. I’m in San Diego. It’s a quick flight to Seattle. I can be there in eight hours or less. Caroline will want to come.”
“You know, if revenge really is the motive, it’s likely they know I would call you,” Trevor said. “Killing both of us is probably part of their overall plan.”
“I considered that, already,” Wolf said.
“Maybe you should leave Caroline home?” Trevor added.
“No,” Wolf insisted. “She will want to come for one thing. If she stayed home, she’d be a sitting target without me. I can’t risk that. I want her with me. And we can use her help.”
“I knew I could count on both of you,” Trevor said.
“I know more guys would want to come but everyone else is deployed,” Wolf said.
“I know,” he said. “I thought of that. I can’t think of anyone I can ask who is not on active duty.”
“On my way,” Wolf said. “In the meantime, you go buy some burner phones and go see Chris Carpenter. The note is not specific about the time they would call. We have no idea if they have or will contact him directly.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Trevor admitted.
“You need to get to him now, let him know what’s going on, and convince him that calling the CIA is a bad thing. I agree with you. I think the Syrian Government is financing this operation, which means they will be well funded, well organized, well trained, and well weaponized. They will not make the same mistakes as last time. For Ahmet Orfali it’s probably more personal than it is professional. He’ll kill Honor in a second if he suspects the CIA is involved. You and I are going to have to handle this covertly.”
“Roger that,” Trevor said. “Get here when you can. I’ll get the burner phones and call you with the number. Let me know when your flight arrives.”
“On my way,” came the reply.
Trevor thanked the restaurant manager and bolted out the front door. He raced to his truck and headed to the nearest electronics store. He purchased three burner phones and headed to the offices of Blue Horizons, a Seattle-based technology company dedicated to developing commercial space flight. Honor's father, Chris Carpenter, was the engineer who had developed the proprietary fuel system that placed the United States light years ahead of the rest of the world in deep space flight. Blue Horizon's fuel technology allowed spacecraft the ability to achieve orbit and burn fuel up to ten times more efficiently than conventional rocket propellant. The potential for future use in interplanetary flights was limitless.
He called the offices and reached Mr. Carpenter before he arrived. He met Honor's father in the enormous high-tech lobby. Trevor went through everything that happened and showed him the note. The man was understandably terrified but knew that his future son-in-law was a decorated Navy SEAL. He also knew, that without Trevor Saunders, his daughter would have undoubtedly have been killed two years earlier and he would have been in the hands of the Syrian Government.
At first, Carpenter wanted to bring in the CIA against Trevor's wishes, but eventually understood the risks and agreed to wait until they were contacted to make a decision. Trevor and Wolf were Navy SEALS. They specialized in clandestine operations. They did this for a living. He trusted them.
"I'll go back in and wait for your call," Carpenter said. "In the meantime, I'll let my team know that I had a family emergency and will need some time off."
“Will they suspect anything?” Trevor asked.
“No, it will be fine.”
He handed Honor's father one of the three burner phones he had purchased, "If the Syrian Government is truly financing this activity, we have no idea how far their reach extends. Tell no one, and I mean no one, about this, no matter how much you trust them. Only call me using this phone. I've programmed my new burner phone number into this one. Keep the phone with you and I will call you as soon as I know something. Turn your own phone off and remove the battery."
Carpenter looked to the floor, "You have to save her," he said. "She's my only daughter. We've been through so much together. I can't lose her now. I'll do anything, even if it means going with them."
"We won't let that happen, Mr. Carpenter," Trevor said. "I love your daughter with all my heart. I will do whatever it takes to bring her home safely. I swear to you I will do so."
"I know you will," he said.
"Help is on the way, too," Trevor said.
"Wolf?" he replied.
Trevor nodded. Carpenter knew that Wolf had been instrumental in saving Honor from the kidnappers two years earlier. He liked Wolf nearly as much as Trevor and trusted him as much.
Carpenter managed a small smile. When he smiled, Trevor thought the expression reminded him of someone. He studied the man’s face for a moment, thinking back. Then, it hit him.
"Mr. Carpenter, how tall are you?"
"About 5-foot-8," he replied.
"And about how much do you weigh?"
"Maybe 165, why?"
Trevor didn't answer right away. He looked Chris Carpenter up and down. “Hold still,” he said, snapping a picture of Mr. Carpenter with the camera on his burner phone. “I have an idea. I have to go, now. I'll stay in touch. Please keep it together. Your daughter's life depends on it."
"You call me when you know anything."
"I will."
--end excerpt--