Chapter Eleven
Copenhagen, Denmark
The rain beat steadily against the window as Anastasia Metry stared down into the gray inner courtyard.
This was supposed to be a good week, she thought.
She should have been celebrating. Her office had just wrapped up a huge project in Germany and she was the department lead, which meant her inbox was flooded with congratulatory emails and letters of praise from her superiors.
For the past three years she had been gainfully employed at the European Environment Agency based out of Copenhagen, her dream job.
After attending Cairo University and earning her geology degree, Anastasia pursued her graduate studies in geology with a focus on hydrology at the American University of Beirut, and had never looked back.
She worked a few years for a German construction company doing mostly soil samples, charting water tables, and ensuring that construction runoff wasn’t polluting local waterways.
Her big break came when the firm landed a contract for coastal reinforcement in Denmark.
Recent flooding had caused the government to seek out a company that could reinforce the existing structures, and she was the lead hydrologist for the firm.
Her assessments led to the successful implementation of the project, and her name caught the eye of the European Environment Agency, or the EEA.
While the government job with the EEA paid slightly less than the private German company had, the level of work was much more interesting.
She relocated to Copenhagen and within two years was made a project lead.
Now her work took her all over Europe advising and assisting on hydrological issues and construction templates without the need to attach herself to one project to see it through to completion.
She loved the freedom and the travel, and she truly enjoyed the work.
Her mother had been a geologist as well.
Though she died before Anastasia went to college, she had been her daughter’s inspiration.
It was why Anastasia worked so hard, to try to make her mother proud.
Her father too, who worked in environmental science in Bahrain for the United Nations.
If her mother was the inspiration, her father was the means.
He’d worked tirelessly to afford to send her to the best universities, all the while living like a miser to pay the ludicrous tuition rates.
Wanting to contribute however she could, Anastasia had paid for her living arrangements by working odd jobs.
She found employment as a waitress throughout college but found it difficult to make ends meet, even when splitting the rent with a few other girls.
One of her fellow students had suggested she enter a beauty pageant that was offering cash for the first-place prize.
Seeing nothing to lose, she’d entered and, to her surprise, won, and was able to afford her rent for several months.
She stopped waiting tables and entered a few pageants a year to earn money, spending the remainder of her time focused on her studies.
Anastasia was objectively pretty, as was her mother. Her dark Arab features stood out in certain Northern European circles, and she found that her voluminous black hair, tan skin, deep-brown eyes, and curvaceous figure led many men to find her attractive.
“Quitting time,” a voice said from behind her. She barely turned to look over her shoulder at her coworker Bjorn. “Are you coming out for a drink?”
Anastasia sighed. This was the downside of being an attractive, exotic female in Northern Europe.
There was an endless supply of attention from the opposite sex.
She hadn’t minded it at first, but over the years it had grown tiresome.
She was focused solely on her work and not looking for a serious relationship.
Still, Bjorn was a nice man and had never been pushy, even though his interest was obvious.
“No, thank you, Bjorn. I have some emails I want to answer.” She could feel his disappointment, but he didn’t push it.
“Okay, then,” he replied cheerfully. “Have a nice evening.” He departed the office, leaving Anastasia alone again with her thoughts.
Her father was not only the reason she had made it as far as she had in life by providing her opportunities he’d never had, but he was the reason she was so concerned this evening.
They usually talked a few times a week, but she hadn’t heard from him in several days.
When she tried to call him, he didn’t answer.
His office phone just rang, and his cell phone went straight to voicemail.
She prayed that nothing bad had happened to him.
While he was in relatively good health, her father was advancing in age and she couldn’t ignore the possibility that he could have fallen down a flight of stairs or been hit by a car crossing the street.
The thought made Anastasia sick to her stomach.
She hated that he lived in Bahrain alone and had asked him to move to Denmark, but he had declined.
Instead, they visited each other several times a year, but his work was his passion and he would not leave it.
She tried calling both numbers again, figuring that he could still be at work.
Again, there was no answer on either line.
She pulled up her email and looked back through it.
Her father had sent her a message several days ago of a detailed hydrological remote sensing report of the Arabian Desert and asked her to take a look at it.
Nothing else, no hints or clues as to his whereabouts.
She knew he planned to undertake an expedition to chart underground streams, but he wouldn’t have left to do so without telling her. Would he?
She minimized her email and pulled up an internet browser. Typing in the office for the United Nations Environment Programme in Bahrain, she located several other office numbers. She dialed the first and waited as it rang several times before being answered.
“U.N. Environment Programme, Middle East office, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the phone.
“Hello,” Anastasia said. “My name is Anastasia Metry, and I’m trying to reach my father, Youssef Metry. He is a program manager in your office.”
“I see,” the woman said. “Please hold for one moment.” Anastasia waited several minutes, a mixture of hope and dread building in her. It seemed to be taking an awfully long time to transfer a call. Finally, the phone line returned to life and the voice of a man who was clearly not her father spoke.
“Ms. Metry, my name is Pierre Dufort. You are the daughter of Youssef?” the man asked with a French accent.
“That’s right,” she said. “May I please speak to my father?”
“I’m sorry to say, but your father has not reported to work for several days. I was hoping, perhaps, you might know his whereabouts?”
“No,” Anastasia’s voice cracked, and she felt a wave of anxiety wash over her. She held her hand to her mouth. “Are you saying my father is missing?”
“I am afraid so, madame.”
“Have you called the police?” she asked impatiently.
“This morning.” There was a pause. “I am so sorry, madame. If you leave your number, I promise I will call you the moment we have more information.”
“Thank you.” Anastasia left her number and hung up.
She took several minutes to compose herself.
She was smart and resourceful, and already her mind was turning over possibilities.
She needed to figure out what she was going to do.
She couldn’t just sit here while her father was missing.
He was the most important person in the world to her.
It took almost no time for her to make up her mind.
Her office’s project had just ended, and she wouldn’t be missed for a while.
She needed to find her father. Returning to her computer, Anastasia opened a new internet tab, navigated to the Emirates airline website, and bought herself a plane ticket to Bahrain leaving that evening.