. .oOo.

Chapter 9

For about ten minutes, the news of the former White House chef was all over the news. In a town like DC, Chef Ben had been somewhat of a celebrity. Everyone knew who he was, had loved his work. The very personable man had seemed to be everywhere, delighting dignitaries, catering to celebrities, being featured in a cookbook. He seemed, to everyone, to have had a fascinating life, rubbing elbows with heads of state as well as the rich and powerful. Then he was gone.

At the time he left the White House, there had been a bit of a buzz in the media. But he had disappeared from the public eye so quickly, no one got the scoop. And without being able to get a sound byte from him, the story petered out. Now he was back in the news, the tragedy of his death was on everyone's mind. That was, until the disappearance of an even larger celebrity hit the airwaves. Then the once admired chef was all but forgotten.

Vasya Kostenka was everyone's favorite wunderkind. They all knew of him, had vied for his attention at all of the functions he'd ever attended. That he was gone, just gone, had the whole town reeling. They were practically in tears over the man they thought they knew.

It was with great interest and a bit of cynicism that he watched the media frenzy over his carefully calculated departure. It almost made Vasya burst out laughing. Not a single person, that had been interviewed by the reporters, even knew him. They had just wanted to be associated with him, with his success. That is how it had always been, how he had set it up to be. Still, it somehow annoyed him that they could all be so phony.

He was glad he was gone. Absently he rubbed his tender fingertips. Leaving just enough of his own blood in the bathroom, Vasya assured that the police would be looking into his case. A bloody hand print was the perfect touch for a bit of the drama that he loved so well. Just a little game he liked to play, a way to say goodbye to the identity that had been his for so long.

He was no longer that person, Vasya had never really existed. Walking down the street, they would not recognize him now. Not even Sarah. For some reason, that thought disturbed him. He was leaving her behind, leaving her in a bad position. If she was smart she would quit her job and walk away from the dangerous world he had introduced her to.

At the moment, no one else knew that she had been his source, that was her only security. He had told her so, but he knew that she would not listen. Greed. Unlike the chef who had had to be threatened with the one thing he valued more than his own life, Sarah had a much simpler motivation. She wanted more out of life and would do anything at all to get it. That is how he found her, and that is what would make her seek out someone else who would buy the intel she was privy to.

How long she would last without him was anyone's guess. The chef had made it a whole year before he had been taken care of. But someone had found him, and disposed of him, as Vasya knew they would. He had seen it happen over and over again. No one liked leaving loose ends. The man should have known that you don't get to just walk away. Ever.

. .oOo.

Aban stood across the street and watched. He knew all about Melissa Davron, it had been his job to know every detail they could about the man they had been working with, and that had included his family. Though it was none of his business, Aban had never liked this woman when she had been married to the chef. And he liked her even less now. It seemed to him that all she had ever done was try to make her husband's life miserable. Aban had seen the texts she had sent to him. Ben Davron had long ago stopped all of that by tossing his phone. And the best thing he could have ever done, in Aban's opinion, was to disappear completely.

All of this Aban had watched with an indignation that he had been raised with, women were not to treat their husbands that way, especially not when they themselves were treated with such respect and love. What kind of person was she anyway. It was something, he constantly reminded himself, that was truly not his concern. But he could not deny that it had bothered him.

For such a long time, he had been monitoring the chef constantly to make sure he was doing what he had been paid to do, that was all that was required of him. In many way, Aban saw Davron as a good man, even if he did not agree with his chosen path of betraying his own country by sharing its secrets. It was not a surprise to Aban that he was actually glad when the chef left, but he knew that he was the only one who felt that way. The leaders were furious and for a year, they'd had Aban and Mahir searching for him.

For his part, Aban was interested to know where he had gone too, but not for the same reasons. Aban did his duty, making it look like he had been doing everything in his power to find him. Deep inside, he knew that the moment he was located, that would be the end to Chef Ben Davron. So his efforts may have been deliberately sloppy and very slow.

Not to mention that the chef had done a very good job of leaving with no trace. It was the truth, and that is what Aban told everyone, he was not going to be an easy man to find. It had taken months for Aban to find the one clue that would ultimately lead to the man who he didn't want to find. And he had effectively kept that hidden for as long as he could.

Mahir had been easily fooled, and since he had frequently been distracted by other assignments, he did not push Aban about it. That worked for awhile, but as Aban knew all along, the leaders were not pleased and they finally did something about it, forcing Aban to give up the information that led them to Davron. Then they had ordered Mahir and Aban to go with the assassination team. Probably an attempt to toughen them up and show them how things were done.

That had angered Aban more than anything ever had. Once he had believed that there were things, peaceful but effective things, that could bring change in a world filled with evil and hate. He thought that the resistance he had joined was the way to do it. He had believed them as they had preached their lofty goals and ambitions. Aban had hoped he could be part of the change.

But at the beginning, they had never talked about killing to achieve their ends. When it was obvious that their methods had changed, it was too late for Aban to get out. His fate was sealed. By that point, he knew that they killed people who tried to leave.

So, if he would probably die anyway, it had become Aban's objective to bring down the whole organization. They had lied to him, lied to everyone about their intentions. They did not care about peace, it seemed that power was all that mattered to them. Power gained over others by any and every means possible. How could he, in good conscience allow them to continue?

The plan he had made had been simple enough. Aban made copies of everything he had, everything he did, saving it on the portable zip drive that he had kept hidden. While he let them believe that he was a low level technician like Mahir, in actuality, he was quite skilled. Manipulating the files, before he handed them over, never caught anyone's attention.

Soon after they had arrived in the US, Aban had started making weekly visits to the local public library. Mahir went with him, keeping busy by sending out the bits of propaganda that he was given, he was more than happy to do so. It was during these visits that Aban did his own research. Creating secure connections and getting past firewalls was never a problem, and he was able to dig into files about the people he needed to stop.

He was often amazed what the few tricks he had learned here and there could do to get him into the files that he needed. Over time, Aban was carefully, slowly, compiling the data that he felt would be needed to track down as many dangerous people as he could, starting with his own leaders and branching out to all the names that he had heard mentioned in conversations over the years, names that he was not necessarily supposed to have heard.

The only thing that he had not been sure of was the timing. How long could he wait to find someone that he trusted to give the information to. That was the problem he had been trying to work out when they had been dragged to Arizona. It was the last place on earth that he thought he could find his answer.

Aban was still having a hard time dealing with the events of the past week. As much as he tried not to let them, the details of that terrible day continually played out in his mind.. When they had shown up at his cabin, the chef had known that he was going to die, Aban had seen it in his eyes.

When Aban realized what they had come to do, he started to scream at Mahir, at the men with them, the assassins. The attack had started by then, and in the most terrible event of his life, he had even shielded the chef with his own body, in an attempt to stop what was happening. All it got him was a tirade of angry words and a beating of his own.

Battered and in pain, both Aban and the chef had crumpled down to the floor. In the mayhem, Davron had grabbed him before being dragged out of his house. "Find Manoso," he had said softly. In desperation he whispered into Aban's ear. "Tell him what you know."

If he was surprised that the chef seemed to be trusting him, he did not show it. The last words that Aban heard him say made his heart ache. Making eye contact right before he was knocked unconscious, Ben Davron pleaded with Aban.

"Tell him I'm sorry."

Turning his back on Melissa Davron, in more ways than one, Aban had left. Though he had felt the need to see it for himself, he had seen enough. The next thing that he did would most likely destroy her artificial world. Aban shrugged. Once again, he thought, that was not his concern.

. .oOo.

Earlier that morning

"Transport planes will be here in twenty," Kinkaid said to the room, as the men were packing up their equipment. Silent nods acknowledged the information. The general looked around at the determined, yet fatigued faces. Now he nodded to himself. They weren't going to like it, but he was going to call a mandatory four hours or so of sleep for them, just as soon as they got back to the Operations building.

He had already told Ranger as much. Had seen the reluctance, and the acceptance in his eyes as he realized that it was necessary. Kinkaid understood, this was a tough group of men, the best he had ever worked with. They would feel the pressure to keep working, to find the people who had done this to their friend. And he knew that they would not want to stop before they did. They would also see the wisdom of getting that rest, so that they could come back to it with fresh eyes.

Gielen had helped to make the sleeping arrangements for all of them. He hadn't promised five star accommodations, but he did say that he had just the place that offered all of the requirements that they would need. It would not be more than an hour or so before they could all bunk down and get some sleep.

Satisfied that he had everything under control, Kinkaid moved over to talk to Wallace as they waited for the planes to arrive. They were only a few minutes out, he was informed by the ranger, who was tracking the planes on his surprisingly sophisticated equipment. Kinkaid could see how it was that no movements in this part of the park could be missed by Wallace, and he was impressed.

Ranger couldn't stop the thoughts racing around inside of his head. It took all of his concentration as he packed his stuff into a sturdy black canvas bag. He yanked at the zipper to close it, and pushed it away from him. His movements threatened to betray him, his lack of control almost starting to show.

Yes, he was tired, and yes, he wanted to find Chef's killers. But that was not what was on his mind right now. Stepping away from the rest of the guys, Ranger found a quiet spot at the side of Wallace's house. Leaning against the wall, he pulled his phone out, and quickly punched out a message. Hesitating only a moment, he hit the send button and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

Within moments, the message had been delivered, and Ranger was climbing into one of the small planes. His thoughts never left Stephanie. Even if she got his message, he knew that he was going to be out of range for a while, and he would not see her response. This bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

She had become such an essential part of his life, his world, and he hated knowing that he had not told her so. Things needed to change. It was time. Now that he had set this in motion, there was no turning back. Not that he wanted to.

Fortunately, it was too noisy inside of these transport planes, and Ranger didn't have to try to talk to any one. Instead he closed his eyes and pictured Stephanie in his mind. Hoping that she would have seen his message by now, knowing that she probably hadn't.

He imagined that secret smile of hers when she read it. The sparkle in her gorgeous blue eyes. Maybe she would even be a bit breathless as she anticipated the moment when he would be back, he knew he had a hard time breathing just thinking of taking her in his arms again.

Almost exactly an hour later, in an old bunk house that had been hastily, but adequately, outfitted for them, Ranger was asleep. Dreams, if they came to him, would be centered around the only woman that had ever touched his heart.

Stephanie.

She was the last thought in his head as he drifted into the much needed slumber.

. .oOo.

It was not as hard to find the man, Manoso, as Aban had feared. Turning again to the internet, his search immediately brought up several results for the name. All he had to do was narrow it down. With what he knew about Davron, it was easy to make a few certain deductions.

An article, from a few years back, in the Times of Trenton, popped up in his search. It named the new owner of a security business as one Carlos Manoso. "A decorated member of the armed forces," it had said, among other things. This was enough to direct his search to this man.

Aban could not find much personal information, so he concentrated on the business that had been mentioned in the article. RangeMan Inc. It led him to Trenton, New Jersey, just a short distance from where he had been living for the past few years. Though he would have gone anywhere he needed to, to find this man, Aban felt it a good omen, and it was a nice convenience, to see that he was so close.

He pulled up to the curb outside of the red brick building and smiled to himself. The chef, he knew, had been a Ranger. This was the confirmation that he had, indeed, found the right man. As eager as Aban had thought he was, to finally pass on all the information that he had been gathering for these past years, he suddenly found himself torn. He hesitated before opening the car door to get out and walk up to the entrance.

No matter his convictions, he felt like he was about to become a betrayer. His cause, his country, they had meant so much to him. By handing over this information, Aban knew that he would no longer belong to either. By necessity, he would never be able to go home again. If he was not considered a terrorist by the United States, he would most certainly be thought of as a traitor to his own people.

Walking into that building would end the life that Aban had known. He no longer had a future, not one that he could see. He only hoped that this friend of Davron's would understand what he was trying to do. This was the hardest thing he would ever have to do. Even leaving his home, years ago, had not felt like this. With his hand on the door handle, Aban took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He was ready, it was time.

A split second later, as the door slowly opened, Aban caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He slammed the door shut and started to crawl across the seat, trying to escape out of the other side of the car. Shots range out. Loud, sharp sounds as bullets impacted with metal and glass.

They had found him. Aban knew that they would, eventually. Mahir had been willing to walk away and leave him behind, but Aban was sure that he would not be so lucky with the rest of the organization. His only wish was that they had taken a bit longer to come for him. Somehow he had known that the end of the chef, would also mean the end to himself.

His life was over. Regrets lined themselves up in his mind. Then suddenly, Aban felt himself being lifted, carried. A large man in black had his arms around him, shielding him with his own large body. Nothing had prepared Aban for that. His mind nearly went blank as he was rushed inside of the building.

More gunshots were fired, and Aban was once again amazed as he realized that the shots were being returned. A quick glimpse around him revealed that more of these men, dressed in black, were defending themselves, protecting him. His breath caught in his throat. If he were a man who cried, tears would be in his eyes.

"We have been expecting you," a voice behind him said. As Aban was placed upright on the floor of the elevator, he turned to face yet another huge mountain of a man dressed head to toe in black clothing. At the same time that he was checking him out for possible injuries, the man extended his hand. "Welcome Aban," he said. "I'm Cal."

He waited a moment to see the recognition come into his eyes, then he nodded. A relief he had not expected flooded over him and Aban felt himself staring at the large man. This man had to be the person that Aban had spoken to when he had called earlier.

In their brief conversation, they had agreed that though Manoso was not here at the time, Aban coming here would be the best course of action. Actually Aban had only reluctantly complied with the request, his first instinct had been to meet somewhere neutral so that he could turn over the zip drive and then try to disappear.

Now he was glad that he had listened to this man. As crazy as it seemed, with all of the havoc erupting all around him, Aban felt safe here. A feeling that he had not experienced for years now, and it melted into his bones, warming the cold that had settled there.

. .oOo.