Chapter 4
"Mr. Finley, wake up."
It was her voice again, only not so harsh this time. Maybe he'd just been dreaming, recalling a time back in East Berlin where there'd been a similar scenario involving a beautiful woman on the wrong side of the Cold War, only that time, things ended a lot different.
"Charles, please wake up."
"I'm Sam. Sam Axe. Don't you get it? Somebody around here screwed up." He opened his eyes and raised his head to glare at her, his implication clear.
"We know we have the right man." It must have been a new day, because she wore different clothes, a cream colored blouse with dark brown slacks and matching high heeled shoes, and her hair was styled nicely. If not for the situation, he would consider her quite attractive. She perched on the edge of the table again, crossed her arms, and looked down at him. "Where were you on August 25th, 2011?"
"Now, hold on a second. You think you know who I am, but I have no idea who you are. Seems a little unfair, if not rude." He grinned. "I've got an idea. How about I call you...oh..." He was wracking his brains, trying to come up with an actress that she reminded him of, but he couldn't think of a single one.
She interrupted his thoughts abruptly and said, "You're right. My name is Grace Chatham. I'm an agent with the Canadian Security Intelligence Service."
"Ahh, the CSIS. You know, you guys give Canadians a bad name."
She ignored the jab and put on a scowl as she spoke. "Mr. Finley, I will only ask you this again one more time. Where were you on August 25th, 2011?"
"Where do you think I was?" He was stalling for time as he tried to recall what he was doing on that day. Maybe if he answered her questions honestly, she would soon see the futility of it all and give up.
"Answer the question. Where were you on August 25th, 2011? Were you in Vancouver?"
"Vancouver? Not likely. Check my passport and you'll find that out real quick."
"We're working on that. It would go a whole lot easier on you, though, if you just answered the questions." She got closer and looked into his eyes with her deep hazel ones. "I'd hate to have to resort to other measures to get the answers out of you."
"The answers you want, you mean."
"We will get what we need from you. It's just a matter of time."
"Sorry to disappoint you, sister." He met her eyes and told her. "On August 25th, 2011, I was sitting in a hospital room in Miami waiting for my friend Mike to regain consciousness. He'd been shot by another friend."
She smirked and began to slowly pace. "Nice friends you have."
"It wasn't like that. He was trying to save Mike's life, and if he hadn't shot him, Mike would have been killed by someone else."
"I see. And while all this shooting was going on, where were you?" He could tell by the look in her eyes she didn't believe a word of what he was saying.
"I was with another friend of Mike's, watching helplessly as everything happened in front of us." The memory of that incident still brought to mind the frustration and pain of not being able to help.
"So on August 25th, you were in Michael's hospital room watching over him."
"Yes. You can check the hospital records for a Michael McBride." Sam gave her the name of the hospital. He knew he was really taking a risk, but if they wanted to pin something on him and didn't care about anything else, Mike and Fi would be safe. He had to do whatever he could to protect them, and if meant revealing a little information to back up his story and cause them to focus solely on him, he was willing to do it.
"I'll check on this story of yours. But first," she paused, turned away briefly, and returned with a bottle of water. "I thought you might be thirsty."
The last time Sam had anything to drink, it was at Carlito's when he was with those two guys, Fraser and Ray. He looked at the bottle, then up at her. He was dying for that water, but at what cost? She smiled.
"No, I didn't drug it. We want you awake for awhile, so you can help us out. Watch, it's sealed." She snapped the cap, unscrewed it, and came forward, getting down to his level so she could tip the bottle for him to drink.
"It...it would work a lot easier if you'd just undo one of these cuffs." He glanced down at his left wrist and saw the metal rubbed a rough red mark around it. The right one was no better. He must have worked against them in his sleep.
"I can't. Sorry." She smiled again, and if he wasn't mistaken, there was actually a little remorse in the expression. For a country famous for its polite people, their spies were a whole different lot. She let him drain the bottle completely before asking, "Are you hungry?"
"No, I'm fine."
He knew that she knew that he was starving. But if getting a good meal in him helped their cause, he wasn't going for it. Food he could live without for awhile. Water was essential.
"Fine. I'll make sure you get another bottle of water. First I want to check your story. If it's legitimate, then you get the water. If not, we're back to the beginning of our little chat."
Sam was alone again, and he wondered at the extent of the failure in Canadian intelligence in this situation. Agent Chatham needed to work on her investigative skills a little more, because holding Americans unjustly would cost them dearly if they made a regular practice of it.
Charles Finley was going to be a tough guy. Agent Chatham had been warned when she accepted this assignment that he could be difficult. Interrogation was, unfortunately, not her strong suit. Investigating was, but on this case she was working with intel from other agents, so she had to trust that what she'd been given was true. Her supervisor suggested she take this challenge to upgrade her skills, said it would be a virtual slam dunk if she did it right. But Chuck Finley wasn't going to make it easy.
"Agent Chatham, how did it go?"
"He's not giving up anything. He still insists that he's this Sam Axe character." She reported to Director Julliard, her supervisor. He was in Ottawa at the moment, purposely keeping his distance to give her the freedom to do her job. "He gave me some story about where he was on August 25th, but I don't buy it." She related what Finley gave her.
"I want our Chicago people to look into this."
"Why? It's just a fabrication."
"Perhaps. But if it's true about the events in Miami on that day, then we need to figure out how Finley knew about it. He may be even more clever than we thought, completely taking on the identity of another man."
"Unless the man we're holding really isn't Finley."
"No, our intel was solid. This is the guy." Julliard let out a breath. "I thought he would be easier than this. We've had people watching him for the past couple of months in Miami, once we determined that he'd gone there. Unfortunately, he wasn't acting like a man whose kidnapping and extortion plot just failed."
"Who would suspect a man who was acting like any other beach bum?" Agent Chatham had read the file on Finley's activities in Florida. Most of the time, if he wasn't at a bar, he was fishing or hanging out at the beach trying to pick up women. It was an almost too perfect strategy. Act like a tourist and blend in. But there were other questionable activities that alerted their agents, signs that he was planning something, investigating all his options before executing a new plan. Put together, none of it made sense.
"I have some more information on Finley, his whereabouts and activities in British Columbia before the kidnapping. I've e-mailed the file to you, encrypted."
"Thank you, Sir. I'll see if any of this jogs his memory."
"Good luck, Grace."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Call me if you need anything else."
After hanging up with the director, she checked her e-mail, opened the file, and printed out all the information. It was a timeline of Finley's actions before the kidnapping, with a gap during the act itself, and resumed when he left for Florida. Large chunks were missing, but she had enough to try to get the rest. Maybe she could offer him a deal if he cooperated. After all, the kidnapping was aborted after only a day, and the Prime Minister's daughter was left in a safe place, the authorities alerted, and she had been well taken care of during her captivity. That would go well in his favor.
Other than getting him to admit to the kidnapping and attempting to wring ten million dollars out of the Prime Minister, her other concern was finding out what he'd been doing since then. The intelligence from their Florida operatives gave glimpses of his movements around town interviewing people, visiting the CIA offices, and taking trips out of the city to scout locations. It was all quite intriguing and worrisome at the same time. Perhaps Finley wasn't acting alone, and someone in the CIA was helping him.
They'd hoped that Constable Fraser and Detective Kowalski's search of his apartment would give up the key to the whole thing, but they were still left with nothing new. She picked up the file folders containing information that Kowalski found in Finley's apartment. It was a dossier and other information on a man named Anson. She read it, and it gave her the creeps. Not many people's files did that to her, but this one did. If Finley had ties to Anson, he could be extremely dangerous. It's imperative that we find out the truth before Finley and Anson do something more sinister than kidnap a politiican's daughter.
Grace sighed and rubbed her forehead. She was getting a headache thinking of all the possibilities. After grabbing some aspirin and washing them down, she went back to the room to conduct another round of interrogation.
She found Finley leaning forward slightly in his chair, eyes closed, his lips barely moving. "Are you a praying man, Mr. Finley?"
"Huh?" He looked up at her, surprised, yet with a look that asked why she took so long.
"I asked if you were praying." She crossed her arms.
"No, just keeping track of time."
She gave him a look of disbelief as she glanced at him sideways. Grace stepped to the area of the floor that was noticeably worn compared to the other linoleum tiles. It was the place of control, where interrogators browbeat their subjects into submission.
"Do you know why we're holding you, Charles?"
"Maybe if I were Charles I'd know, but I'm not, so no, I have no freakin' clue."
"Oooo, there's no need to get hostile." She set Finley's file on the table, placed another water bottle where he could see it, and walked around him. She touched his shoulder with her hand, a gentle caress, but he shrugged it off. "You know I really liked you when we met. You're charming, funny, and intelligent. I could see that right off the bat." She leaned over his right shoulder and spoke softly. "I could also see that you're a passionate man, Chuck, and that you have a kind heart deep down. I suspect maybe that's why you stopped the kidnapping..."
"The only kidnapping I'm seeing is what's going on here. I'm an American citizen, lady, and you're holding me against my will! Unless you've got a warrant for my arrest or something, and I have no idea why you would, you should really just let me go now." He turned his head so his face was only inches from hers. "It'll go a lot easier on you. End this now before it becomes an international incident." His eyes showed his earnestness as he said, "And don't think I won't make it one."
"Chuck," Grace patted his shoulder and walked back to the table. "Maybe you can help fill in a few blanks for me, and things will go a lot smoother for you." She tapped the full water bottle on the table surface.
"I've already told you, I'm not Chuck Finley!" It was difficult to make any sound bounce off the walls in that small room, but he managed to do it.
"Fine. Tell me who you really are." She leaned against the table, stretched out her legs, and played with the water bottle, twisting the top just far enough to make the seal crack, then tightening it.
"My name is Sam Axe. I was born in San Diego, California, June 22, 1958. My dad was stationed there at the time. I won't bore you with my childhood, let's just say it wasn't great, just my mom and me most of the time. We moved a lot. In high school I played varsity football, got a scholarship to Annapolis. Graduated, joined the Navy as an officer, made it to Commander before being discharged." The memory of how that happened shadowed his face, and she didn't miss it.
She cocked her head. "Why were you discharged?"
"I'd rather not talk about it. It's not important anyway. After they discharged me, they gave me a ticket to Miami and I've been there ever since. Hooked up with an old friend, and I help him out on cases."
Her eyebrows rose. "Cases? What kind of cases?"
"Can't talk about it. Client confidentiality, you know?"
Grace smiled slightly. "What about your time in the Navy? Can you talk about that?"
"Not really. I was a SEAL, so a lot of what I did is still classified. But I will tell you I've been held as a prisoner of war, and they interrogated me a lot harder than you, lady. If you'd like, you could ask those guys how well I did." He sneered as he leaned forward. "Oh wait, you can't do that, because they're all dead."
She laughed, tilting her head back, and then looked at him as she sobered. "Is that a threat, Chuck?"
"Take it as you will."
She ignored the challenge in his eyes. "So this is your story."
"Yes. You wanted the truth, and that's what I've given you. Look, if you Canadians have computers, five minutes, I guarantee, just five minutes of research and you'll find out that I'm who I say I am."
Dark Suit Guy came into the room, softly cleared his throat, and said, "Agent Chatham, you have a phone call."
"I'll be back." She set the bottle down on the table hard enough to make the contents slosh up into the neck.
Sam smirked. "I can hardly wait." When she left, he stared at the bottle, his body aching with the desire to get to it.
"Ray, I'm sorry."
"Why are you apologizing? It wasn't your fault my Florida vacation was anything but. It's the Dragon Lady's fault, and the CSIS, and that Finley guy. If he hadn't been so easy to pick up, we could have gone out to dinner, the nightclubs, had a great old time until he finally appeared. But no, he had to act just like a normal guy and get himself picked up like a rookie."
"Oh dear." Fraser's eyes widened as he froze in place on the sidewalk.
Ray stopped and turned. "Fraser, what is it?"
"Remember when we searched Finley's apartment, and I said that he didn't look like a man who could do what he was accused of doing?"
"Yeah, so?"
"What if this man is not Charles Finley? He would have had no clue that he was being tailed, and so would have made it easy to catch!"
"I think you're nuts. I think you needed that vacation more than me!"
"I spoke with Agent Chatham this morning, and she told me that he's been claiming to be someone named Sam Axe. The identification he was carrying backs up his claims. However, they don't believe him." Fraser turned one hundred eighty degrees and started walking again, and Ray lengthened his stride to keep up.
"Where are we going?"
"Back to the station. I want to find out all I can on Mr. Axe."
They returned to the precinct and Fraser parked himself in front of Francesca's computer. The civilian aide had taken the day off to go shopping. If she knew Fraser was touching her keyboard, no doubt she would have fainted and then vowed never to clean it again. Ray went to his desk to catch up on paperwork and messages. After tossing most of them aside, he grabbed a cup of coffee and approached Fraser. "So what did you come up with?"
"I found a wealth of information on Commander Samuel Axe. I was able to access the records of the Florida DMV. His first Florida drivers license was issued in 2005 after his discharge from the Navy, and since then he's resided in Miami. Thanks to Leftenant Welsh, I was able to view Department of Defense records, at least those that weren't classified. Here is the man's military file." Fraser showed Ray the document on the screen.
Ray studied the serious expression on the man in the photograph accompanying the record. In his mind's eye, Ray aged him a little and gave him a more relaxed look. "That's the guy, Fraser. Wow, he had a long stint with the SEALs. Think we've got enough proof to give the CSIS?"
"I'm still waiting for the print analysis from what I lifted off the photo album, but with the information I've collected, I'd say it's very likely that they have the wrong man."
Ray fanned the printouts that the Mountie gave him. "Fraser, how'd you manage all this in two hours?"
"Fast fingers." Fraser stood, grabbed his coat and hat, and said, "Let's go grab some lunch and we'll discuss this. I want to be sure that I'm right before we go to the CSIS."
"Fine. Once you get those prints, we can work this out. You know they're holding an American citizen, not to mention a military veteran, illegally."
"I know, Ray. That's one of the reasons I looked into this. I don't like to see an innocent man falsely accused, and I don't like seeing my countrymen mistreating a citizen, whether from Canada or another country."
"Mistreating? Fraser, what are these people going to do with him?" He stopped in front of a diner near the station.
"It was a figure of speech, Ray." Fraser held the door open for Ray and a couple who followed him in. They sat in a booth, and Fraser and Ray took the only other unoccupied booth behind them.
"I can't believe they didn't find this stuff out before they...we...grabbed this guy!" Ray ran a hand over his face. "Fraser, if this is all just some big mistake, I helped kidnap my own countryman!"
Michael picked up the menu, but the moment he heard the man behind him speak, he glanced at Fiona. By the look on her face, he knew that she heard him as well. He placed the menu back into the rack, got up, and gestured with his head for Fiona to follow him. They stood before the guy in the Mountie suit and the man who spoke.
He kept his voice low as he leaned over and got into the blonde guy's face. "Did I just hear you say you kidnapped someone?"
The guy who looked like an older version of James Dean met Michael's stare. The truth was in his ice blue eyes, even as he lied. "Nah, you must have been hearing things."
For the second time in as many days, Michael whipped out his CIA badge. He straightened, and with a hard grin he spoke, only louder. "Let's try this again. You said you kidnapped someone." The man shifted, and something silver glinted on a shoulder holster. It was a badge. "You realize that's a Federal offense, and woah, look at that, Fi. He's a cop!"
They were starting to attract attention, something none of these men wanted. Ray rasped. "It's not like what it sounds like."
"Great, so why don't you explain," Michael replied as he sat on the bench seat next to him and threw his arm up over the back. Fiona took the seat next to the Mountie as she gave him a long hard look.
"Who are you?"
"Michael Westen and my wife, Fiona." Fiona nodded at them.
"Constable Benton Fraser, and my partner, Det. Ray Kowalski, Chicago PD." Michael and Fiona gave him strange looks. "I came to Chicago on the trail of my..."
Ray interrupted him abruptly. "Never mind, long story. What do you want?"
Michael replied. "We're here in Chicago on the trail of our friend Sam Axe's kidnappers. You know anything about this?"
"Sam Axe?" Fraser asked, his eyes widening as he glanced at Michael and Fiona.
"Yes, this is him." Fiona pulled out a small folio, and inside were photographs. She flipped through to one of Sam and showed it to Fraser.
He recognized it. A larger version was in the photo album that he turned over to the CSIS after dusting it for prints. "That's our man. Ray."
Fiona held up the photograph so he could see it, and Ray muttered a curse under his breath as he pressed his face into one hand.
Michael stared at the Mountie intently. "Where is he?"
"He's at the Canadian Security Intelligence Service offices on LaSalle," Fraser answered. "Ray and I were about to discuss this situation, and as soon as we hear back on some more information, we were planning on going there to set the record straight."
"What are you waiting for?" Michael asked, leaning forward.
"Print matchup," Ray answered, just as his phone rang. "Hang on a second. Kowalski." He listened for quite awhile. "Okay, thanks a lot, Lieutenant...yes, this is, Sir. Thanks."
"Ray, what did Leftenant Welsh have to say?"
"Those prints you lifted off that photo album got a match. Your pals at the CSIS have the wrong guy! He really is Sam Axe." Ray shook his head. "We better get over there fast. Welsh says the State Department got wind of this and they're not happy. They've called the Canadian Consulate and the CSIS, and there are probably a few people who are getting chewed out right about now."
"Looks like lunch will have to wait," Fiona said as she stood. "Gentlemen?"
As they left the diner, Ray added. "Apparently, the CIA," he glanced at Michael, "has a better intelligence gathering team than the CSIS. They vouched for your guy, and they've been able to track the real Chuck Finley down to Miami. So he's still there while we've been screwin' around up here."
"Great. So where's the CSIS office again?" Michael led them to the rental car and unlocked it. "Get in, you're showing us."
Fraser and Ray got into the back seat and gave him directions. Michael found a parking space directly in front of the building, which would be good if the extraction took more effort than necessary and they needed a quick getaway.
"Michael, maybe I should stay here. Keep the car warm." Fiona smiled.
He smiled back, loving how she read his mind. "Okay, Fi." He gave her the keys.
"Good luck, boys!" She got into the driver's seat and started the engine.
The lack of sustenance was taking its toll. Sam leaned forward in the chair, his stomach cramping from the lack of food, and again, water. That bottle still sat on the table, mocking him with its presence. He would have tried to move his chair over to it, but it was bolted to the floor. Even if he could get to the table, then what? His hands weren't free. He wouldn't be able to open the bottle.
Agent Chatham must not have liked the information he gave her, because she should have been back by now. Maybe, once she learned who he really was, she found someone who was far more interested in him than the Canadian government. They were probably waiting to turn him over to the interested party. Was it Anson? It wouldn't surprise him that if he had something good on him, Anson would try to discredit Sam or get him out of the way for awhile. Like he did with Fiona.
He heard the door lock click, and Agent Chatham walked into the room. It closed behind her, and she let out a long slow breath before sitting on the edge of the table. "I checked into your story. And I had some other information pass my desk just a little while ago."
"So?"
"You're not the Chuck Finley we've been looking for."
"Congratulations, you finally figured it out!"
Her jaw tightened. She approached him slowly, pulling a key out of her pocket. As she unlocked the cuffs, her words came out stiffly. "Mr. Axe...on behalf of myself, the CSIS, and the Canadian government, I...apologize...for the misunderstanding."
Sam chuckled mirthlessly and met her eyes. She wasn't used to saying sorry, and it only made his exoneration much sweeter. "Misunderstanding? Agent Chatham, this never would have happened if you'd done your homework before going after me! My friends and I can do a better job of gathering intel before we try to bag someone. Jeez!"
She blinked. "We dropped the ball. I'm sorry."
"You bet you did, Agent." Sam rubbed his newly freed wrists and stood up too fast, but he held his ground because he was too angry to pass out now. "Maybe you need to go back to the Cracker Jack boxes and see if you can find a new super secret agent decoder ring."
She looked down at his things that she held in her hands. "I suppose I, and my agency, deserve that."
Sam snatched the items from her as he replied. "Yes, you do." He quickly stuffed his belongings into his pockets and put his watch on his wrist.
"I'll be right back." She looked up at him with a plea in her eyes. "Please, don't try to leave."
He watched her go. The door closed and latched. "Well, duh, the door locks." He yelled at no one. "How am I gonna go anywhere?" Sam swept up the water bottle, twisted the cap open with all his strength, and downed it before anyone could return and take it away.
When the door clicked again, Sam was trying to call out with his phone, but a cell signal wouldn't permeate the walls. He looked up, not expecting Michael to come walking into the room. "Mikey, I was just trying to call you. I didn't think anyone was ever gonna find me!"
He studied his friend. The skin beneath his eyes bore dark circles, and his scruff looked wilder than usual. "You look like hell, Sam, but they didn't beat you up. What'd they do?"
"Drugged me, put me on a plane to Chicago, locked me up in this room for who knows how long without food and water." He paused and squinted at him. "Did you break in?"
"No, they let me in. There was a 'miscommunication' in the CSIS, and they're releasing you."
"They're a bunch of morons, Mike. They thought I was Chuck Finley. A real Chuck Finley. They didn't even bother to do any homework first to find out I wasn't who they thought I was, and..."
"We know, Sam. We'll talk about this later. Right now, I want to get you out of here before Fi gets impatient and comes up shooting."
Agent Chatham appeared in the open door, and Sam glared at her. "Next time, why don't you do some research first, Chatham?"
She smiled, although there was no joy in it. "We won't make the same mistake twice, Mr. Axe."
"Well, I guess you're not totally hopeless then."
"I said we were sorry. I don't know what else we can do."
"Let me go." Sam said. "And just be glad I don't sue your government for ineptitude."
"Fine, get out of here, now. I don't ever want to see either of you again." Agent Chatham stepped aside and let them walk out the door.
They could feel her eyes on them as they moved down the hall. When they arrived in the lobby, two men stood out from the crowd by the elevators.
"You guys," Sam said, pent up emotion tempting him to punch their lights out, but he restrained himself. Michael's hand on his arm didn't hurt either. "Are you part of this agency?"
"No, Mr. Axe," Fraser answered. "My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers, and for reasons that aren't worth exploring at this juncture, I remained here as a liaison..."
"Fraser, don't bore the guy. He doesn't care!"
"Well, that explains why you look like Dudley Do Right." Sam glanced up and down at the man dressed in red serge and the traditional riding pants and laced up boots. He held his Mountie hat under his arm. Sam turned his attention to the other man he'd known as Ray. "What about you?"
"Detective Ray Kowalski, Chicago PD. I got roped into this, assisting the Canadian government to find Charles Finley." He looked intently at Sam and said, "I'm sorry. I should have gotten a better idea on what they had before they sent us down to Miami."
Sam nodded. The adrenaline from his anger was starting to wear off, and fatigue was setting in. He turned his attention to Michael. "You know, Mike, if there is a Charles Finley spy running around Miami, we should try to locate him."
"He's not a spy. He's wanted by the Canadian government, though." Ray said. "They said he kidnapped the Prime Minister's daughter."
"Yeah, I know." He glanced over his shoulder at Chatham. "They tried pinning that on me."
"One thing they did get right is that the real Charles Finley is in Miami, and according to our country's intelligence, he's still there." Michael glanced at Sam, then turned his attention to Ray and Fraser. "Perhaps we should find someplace where we can discuss this, and when we get back to Miami, my team and I will look into it."
Sam let out a sigh and turned his attention to Agent Chatham. She looked ready to kick them out by the seat of their pants. "As much as I hate to say it, Mikey, I think we better include the CSIS. That way everybody's on the same page and we don't have any more mixups."
"Good idea, Sam." He addressed the woman who stood near the front desk, arms crossed defensively, no doubt still stinging from the errors of her agency. "Agent Chatham? Would you care to join us for an intelligence sharing session?"
She thought about it for a moment before answering. "Yes, I would."
"Great. Let's go." Michael ordered her.
"Where's a decent place to eat around here," Sam asked and added. "Hey, anybody got an extra jacket? It was freezing out there the last time I checked!"