Chapter 2 – The Call
Pierre Moreau glided across the spacious sun-lit office, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. He brushed at the stain on his tailor-made jacket and slid into the comfortable leather chair facing the enormous wooden desk. He watched as Nancy nervously placed the coffee jug on the tray and waited until she left.
"What news?" asked Ambrose Atlas as he leaned across the desk and poured himself a cup of coffee, a rather fine Kopi Luwak. Moreau tried to hide his distaste for his colleague's extravagant beverage that claimed to be the world's most expensive coffee. Although Pierre considered himself something of a connoisseur when it came to gastronomic delights, he put his foot down at coffee produced from beans that had passed through the digestive tract of an Asian Civet cat no matter how well they had been washed. He waved his hand silently refusing to partake of the beverage and brushed again at the stain where Nancy had bumped into him earlier. It was a good job that Ambrose didn't know she had spilt some. He would probably have taken it out of her pay.
"Good news and not so good news," he intoned with the barest hint of an accent. "The shipment is being intercepted and re-routed and will be here on schedule. Customs will find nothing and spend several weeks doing it." Atlas nodded. "The weak link in the chain has been taken care of. However, our little boy wonder is still missing." The rattle of the cup against the saucer as Atlas replaced it on the polished wooden desk was the only sign that he gave of his annoyance.
"I thought that Amir said he would take care of that at their alternative rendezvous?"
Pierre nodded. "It seems that they anticipated that and took measures to avoid Amir and his men. They got away but not by helicopter which Amir disabled."
Atlas allowed himself to relax a little. "Then they are still in the area?"
Pierre made an irritated little gesture with his hand. "Yes, yes ... and Amir assures me that the problem will be taken care of within the next twenty-four hours and that our boy will be recovered and his so-called rescuers … will be eliminated," he finished ominously.
Atlas allowed himself a smile and reached for the elegant silver coffee jug. He poured himself another cup. "Excellent. Be so good as to keep me informed of the situation but tell me Pierre, what of this fourth man?"
Moreau laced his fingers together, a slight frown crossing his handsome saturnine features. "A veritable enigma, my friend. We still have not been able to identify him. Our source at the Pentagon assures me that only a three man Special Ops team were sent in, highly-trained, efficient, lethal. They are used to working as a team. As far as they are concerned there is no fourth man."
Ambrose Atlas stirred his coffee absent-mindedly. "An enigma indeed. And you are sure he is not a local recruit, someone they brought in after they landed to help reconnoitre the area?"
"Absolutely. According to Amir he is a westerner. No local in the area would dare help them. Amir is quite sure of that. He rules that area with an iron fist."
Ambrose smiled widely and lifted his cup to his lips. "That he does and I'm sure he'll have this matter cleared up in no time." He savoured a sip of coffee before adding. "But do ask him to find out the identity of this man before they … eliminate … him. I am most … curious as to his involvement." Ambrose continued to sip at the dark liquid as Moreau left without another word. Yes you could never plan for the rogue element, just merely handle it when it turned up and Ambrose trusted that Amir would handle this one.
"CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"
The power boat skimmed through the water, it's pilot handling the controls with the ease of a man born on the sea. He glanced at the radar image on the control panel in front of him to confirm his heading. A dark shape loomed several hundred yards ahead of him. He could see the running lights but not the name of the ship but he knew it was the right one. The boat tossed and bounced as it encountered the waves created by the wake of the ship but the pilot didn't flinch and merely swung his boat round to match the speed of the larger ship. He was still on a intercept course. He smiled a small lopsided smile that looked more like a grimace. Ever since being slashed with a knife inhis teens, the scar had caused the skin on the left side of his face to tighten and he was never able to form a true smile. But he smiled now as the small light flashed again. Three times. They were waiting for him. He pulled the boat closer and closer. The powerboat, though large for it's size, was dwarfed by the huge container ship. As he drew alongside he could see it's name printed on it's rusting hull. The Bella Rosa. This was it.
"CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"
The gentle strains of a jazz quartet floated in through the open window as Stella Bonasera threw herself down on her couch and made a grab for the TV remote. She zapped through a few channels before settling on a fashion show. She smiled as she recognized the New York Convention Centre with its futuristic steel and glass construction standing by the Hudson river. Her stomach fluttered a little. She still missed her old home despite now feeling quite settled in her new one. It had been an exhausting few weeks and the lilting, accented tones of some Italian designer commenting his latest collection was all she felt she could cope with. They still had four outstanding cases with a ton of evidence to process. The next quarterly budget meeting was looming on the horizon and she had five staff out with a case of food-poisoning. She made a mental note to find out the name of the restaurant they had been celebrating in and get it shut down. She was reaching for her glass of wine just as her phone started ringing. "No no no!" She groaned and flicked off the sound on the TV.
Stella peered at the caller ID but was surprised to see it was an unidentified number. "Hello?" The line crackled but there was no answer from the other end. She was about to hang up when it crackled again and she caught the sound of her name. "Hello? Who is this?"
"Stella?" The voice sounded like it was coming from Mars but it was still distinctly his.
"Mac?"
"Stella. Listen I don't have much time. I need you … to do something … for me ..." His voice was distorted and there was a lot of interference. The line crackled again and she could hear people shouting urgently in the background.
"Mac, are you all right? Where are you?"
"Stella. Listen. There's a shipment …" A loud bang interrupted his flow and she heard him swear. "...coming in to New Orleans. C ... T ... C … you have to intercept … " Mac's words were lost in a blast of static before the line went silent.
"Mac? … Mac!" For a moment Stella thought the line had been cut but then his voice came again but louder this time.
"Try to hold them off. Give me another thirty seconds ... Stella you must stop them. CTC transport – the Bella Rosa … " The background noise resolved itself and Stella could clearly hear shots being fired.
"Mac where are you? What's happening?"
"Jesus!" A loud explosion caused Stella to jump. "I've got to go. The Bella Rosa … stop them Stella!" The line went dead and Stella was left staring at the phone. What the hell was going on? She hit the speed dial on the phone and skimmed through the list to Mac's number. It went straight to voice-mail. She hesitated for a second then grabbed the TV remote and flicked to a major news channel. She scanned the headlines that scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Nothing. No mention of New York, just another political scandal, another financial crisis in the banking world, civil war in some far flung part of the world, a report on the future withdrawal of troops from Afghanistan. She wasn't quite sure what she expected to see. She thought for a moment and then scrolled through the contacts on her phone again. She stood up and walked to the window looking out at the street below where she spied young couples walking hand in hand, a group of young people out about the town, an older couple heading to the jazz club opposite,and Elijah still sitting outside the bodega with his cap in his hand. Nothing out of the ordinary. For some reason she felt annoyed as though something should look different.
There was a loud click in her ear as her call was answered. "Lindsay? I'm fine. You?" she began as she tried to wrap her head around what had just happened. It seemed so surreal that she was beginning to wonder whether it wasn't just a figment of her over-tired imagination. "Lindsay, this may sound a little strange but do you happen to know where Mac is right now?" As she listened to her friend she felt a chill spread down her spine. "Lindsay, I think he may be in trouble. He just called me … I don't know … we only spoke for a matter of seconds … but it sounded like he was calling from a war-zone."