20

Jack

 

 

Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil

 

 

Jack had made his way to the Friendship Bridge, watching the dark waters churn along the shore line. His phone buzzed. He moved to a private place to talk, as he pulled his cell from his pants’ pocket. He glanced at the readout. Lynx.

“Hey there. I’m late getting this intel to you, I was on the interrogation team to chat with Pavle. We didn’t get anywhere. He just stared at us for a few hours. But I wanted to let you know what’s new here. First off, our systems haven’t found any intel on Jones. When I get the green-light from you, I’ll take this to Iniquus command, and we can expand the search to all databanks.”

“Hold off for now,” Jack replied.

“We picked up the SAT phone from Suz’s pack.”

Jack raised a victory fist. “Is it still pinging her location?”

“Negative. We had a trail crossing over the Friendship Bridge between Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil and Ciudad del Este, Paraguay.”

“Copy that.”

“The trail travels 3 km north of Hernandaria on the Supercarretera to Saltos del Guairá. From there it went to a place called Refugio Tatí Yupí. I did some research on it. It’s another tourist spot.”

“And you lost her there?”

“The phone. I lost track of the phone. Remember we don’t know if she is attached to the phone.”

“Our Israeli friends had eyes on when she entered the Tatí Yupí gate.”

“They didn’t follow her in?”

“Entrance requires paper work and IDs. They had someone waiting outside the only exit until the refuge closed for the day that was an hour ago. She didn’t come back out.” Jack’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck. “I hate to ask you. I really hate to ask this.” Jack had trouble forming his mouth into his next words. “Are you picking up anything psychically? Is she. . . is she alive?”

“Jack, I know you’re freaking out. I know that her not exiting those gates seems like a really bad thing, but there are other options besides her being hurt – or worse.”

“Options like what?”

“Okay, you said she has a reservation for tonight at the hostel. This refuge is on the dam. They have buses that go up to the dam for tours. The Brazilian tourist department has buses that are up there too. It could very well be that she took the tour of the dam to see the night lights and planned to go back over to Brazil via the dam.”

“She had her zombie bag.”

“She had to have had it or we wouldn’t have picked up the SAT phone. It could be that she left her gear back at the hostel, and she’s carrying the bag with her journal, or art supplies, or to carry the souvenirs she wants to bring back. Another scenario is that she’s staying at the dorm there at the refuge. Or camping. Both are possibilities there.”

“Now you’re reaching.”

“I just want you to remember, conjecture isn’t fact. Okay?”

Jack sat on a rock wishing for an ice pack to cool his bulbous knee. He reached for the water bottle in his day pack, tipped back two more pain meds and didn’t reply.

“Okay, well the good news is we located her even if briefly. The bad news is that it’s going to be next to impossible to pick up on anything if she’s still in the refuge.”

“Because?”

“The forests there have trees that exceed a hundred feet in height. It has canopy cover and only small walking trails, over a very limited section, that allow the tourists to hike beside the waterfalls. Off trail, you’re looking at almost six thousand acres of protected lands. So a little bigger than Connecticut.”

“Government protection?”

“Apparently.”

“So not private ownership.”

“No. It’s the government – and I don’t have to tell you that the graft system is a way of life down there.”

“Any luck finding your bread crumbs with the boys?” Jack asked?

“Nada.”

“My contacts said they saw two young American boys being walked across the bridge.”

“Why walked?”

“It seems the guards are only stopping cars here. You can walk, bike, motorcycle. . . so if they wanted to get the boys across without official knowledge it couldn’t be in a vehicle.”

“Did your contacts take photos?”

“Too dark, they said. Before you ask anything else that’s all they had. It was just interesting timing, the boys on the bridge.” Jack took in a deep breath. “What’s going on in the states with the political landscape? You have any interface with St. Clair?”

“He’s got a Secret Service detail that’s on him like flies on the proverbial honey. He refuses to recuse himself from his chairmanship. Certain people are antsy about it. They think that the boys’ disappearance might have something to do with grandpa’s job title. There’s talk that this might be a tiger kidnapping scenario where the boys’ safe return is promised after the successful completion of X, Y, and Z. Finley and the FBI and Black and the CIA are holding that information very tightly to their chests. They aren’t showing their cards to anyone.”

“Because?”

“They don’t want to start a precedent in this country to allow our politicians to be manipulated in such a way. It would be impossible to secure every lawmakers’ family members. But a few people are making waves, wondering if the kids’ disappearance might have a direct effect on how St. Clair’s votes are being influenced. Right now the official line is that there are conspiracy theorists everywhere.”

“In this case they’d be right. Did Hound News bring it up?”

“No they’re still going on about how everyone would be safe and sound if the body guard had had his gun on him and not in the glove compartment. Of course, everyone’s skipping over the fact that he was shot in the back. They found the guy’s car burned out in New Jersey. Guess what was in the glove compartment?”

“His gun. So the big story hasn’t hit the airwaves yet?”

“No, but our computers are tasked with pinpointing it if it does. The Secret Service is stepping out of their normal role and ‘protecting’ St. Clair but not saying why. I believe the president wants to know who is contacting the senator. Now here’s something interesting I’ve seen on some of the security tapes Finley’s brought in. St. Clair is shadowed all the time by his right-hand aid. Thursday that aid changed.”

“Who is it now?”

“No. You misunderstand me. I mean he changed. This guys is suddenly looking like a shock victim. Like someone who is caught in an alleyway with gang bullets flying, and he doesn’t know where to run. He’s functioning on high octane anxiety. I pointed it out to Finley for a follow up and guess what’s missing from his house?”

“From the aid’s house? I can’t imagine.”

“His wife. She hasn’t shown up to work and the aid, Gunther is his name, called to make an excuse for her. Family emergency. We have nothing in the way of concrete information.”

“But the FBI is looking into it?”

“They are.”

“And you have a theory?”

“It would be an interesting play. We know that indeed it was a tiger kidnapping ploy. With the school bombing fail, too many eyes were on the St. Clair, they couldn’t reach him to communicate. So what if they just layered on another tiger kidnapping? They pick up the aid’s wife. The wife ostensibly goes somewhere to help some family member while in reality the bad guy makes the aid into a go between informing St. Clair how to act to keep the boys safe.”

“Seems like a simple solution to their problem.”

“Simple is often the best solution. I need you to be checking in regularly. Are you settling in for the night?”

“Right now, I’m headed over to see a bud of mine. He’s ex-SRR, British special forces, runs a cover for freelancers coming through. He’ll be able to get some hardware for me. Hopefully he can put me up while I’m down here. I don’t want curious eyes on me especially if I’m keeping odd hours or coming in not looking like someone who belongs in polite company.”

“Copy that. How’s the knee?”

“We’re not going to talk about that.”

“Okay. I had a knowing. Should we talk about that instead?”

Jack stared over the choppy waters and drew in a breath. “More jumping?”

“Looks like you cleared that hurdle. This time I got a rhyme I can’t remember hearing before. I had to look it up.”

“Shoot.”

“The rhyme goes: Jacky, come and give me thy fiddle, If ever thou mean to thrive. Nay, I’ll not give my fiddle to any man alive.”

“And what part did you hear?”

“That last bit ‘I’ll not give my fiddle to any man alive.’”

“Damned straight. Not gonna happen.”