CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Nate
I’d just stepped out of the shower and was drying myself when I heard a male voice calling "Room service!
" through the concierge tablet intercom. It was followed by a sharp rapping on the hotel suite door. I pulled on a pair of sweat pants, and with the towel gathered around my neck, I strode through the lounge to the entrance hall. After checking the tablet screen and seeing a waiter in the hotel’s uniform outside with the trolley laden with cloche covered plates, I opened the door, then pivoted and walked away towards the bedroom to finish getting dressed.
"Can you set the dinner up in the dining room please," I called absently as I heard the clink and clatter of the trolley rolling into the suite and the door closing. I towel dried my hair and checked my charging phone on the nightstand; it was now at just ten percent, damn it!
A US Embassy driver had dropped us back at our hotel less than an hour ago.
The stony silence between Jack and me in the car was partly my fault.
I owed Jack an apology for running out on him this morning, but, honestly I didn’t know what to say.
We’d shared a really intense experience, the kidnapping, and then the euphoria of escaping together.
I’d bailed, leaving Jack to wake up alone and clueless as to why I’d gone to the authorities without him. It was selfish, and thoughtless.
On returning to the suite we’d stood in silence as an FBI team carried out a bug and camera sweep of the penthouse.
They found nothing, which was a little comforting.
But Jack hadn’t uttered a word, and his eyes didn’t linger, but flitted away each time they met mine.
I was surprised by how much it hurt. An FBI agent was to remain stationed outside the suite door at all times, and if I left the suite, it would be by arrangement with Special Agent Porter and an agent would accompany me.
If Jack left he was to be shadowed by an MI6 agent.
Instead of talking with me; Jack immediately changed into his new workout gear and accompanied by a woman from MI6 he’d gone down to the hotel gym.
I suppose couldn't blame him for needing space.
He was an active man and seemed to have gone a little stir-crazy after questioning by a British agent named Alexander Deveraux, and so I guessed he was desperate to get some exercise.
After hours in the interview room my priorities were to feel clean, have dinner, and then contact my agent to reassure her of my safety.
I hoped that Jack and I could have a peaceful evening and maybe find our way back to each other.
My first objective now met, I felt a little closer to my old self, but my phone was slow to recharge, so calls would wait.
Before letting me leave the US consulate, Special Agent Porter returned my phone and passport. She then offered an update on what her team discovered about the incident I’d reported.
“In highly volatile situations like this we work with our European partners. Based on the information you, and Jack Boyd supplied, and the toxicology report, a team headed by the German equivalent of the FBI, the BKA, located the ship hotel in a dry dock at Grey Pike Marina. They discovered two Chinese nationals, one with a head injury, and another asleep, apparently trapped in his sleeping bag.” A wry smirk escaped Special Agent Porter’s stern mask.
“Under interrogation the uninjured man revealed they were with the 14k gang. He said that the Chinese government is looking for a stolen item, offering a cash reward to any Chinese national who gave information on a man named Curtis Hale. But another party, an American he knew only as Xander, met with his gang master and revealed that you are Hale’s son.
He and his cohort were ordered to track you as soon as you arrived in Berlin. ” Special Agent Porter continued,
“We’re dealing with a third party with seemingly endless resources.
I asked you earlier if there was anything else you wanted to tell me,” the agent said.
We’d eyed one another before she stated, “Look, Mr. Linden, we know about the Téng hú chips!” I’d gulped, wondering if I’d been lured into a false sense of security.
Would Special Agent Porter arrest me now?
“From the evidence we’ve gathered—your interview, Jack Boyd’s interview, and the security camera footage from hotel CCTV systems, we’ve assembled what we believe is an accurate picture.
Tell me if I’ve got this wrong. Someone stole an in-development chip technology from the Chinese, got it as far as Berlin, and tried to use you to smuggle it out of Europe.
At least two other parties want to get their hands on it. ”
“As far as I understand, that’s correct.”
“Were you part of a plot against the Chinese Government, Mr. Linden?”
“Of course I wasn’t! I’m an actor, I don’t know why I’ve been involved in this.” I’d exclaimed in outrage. Special Agent Porter put her hand up to silence me.
“I didn’t think so. Even though we’re unsure of all the players on the board, this situation opens up the possibility of another accusation of technology theft by the US. Like it or not, hostile forces have you and your partner in their cross-hairs, Mr. Linden.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“The US can’t officially admit to knowledge of the chips, so their existence remains need to know.”
I was about to complain when Special Agent Porter spoke on. “You certainly appear to be a trouble magnet, Mr. Linden. The fact that you and Mr. Boyd are high value targets for abduction and you’ve already been attacked once in Paris, by a Chinese national is significant.”
I hadn’t thought the Paris attack was connected, but maybe she was right.
“It’s in the best interest of the US government to ensure your safety, and get you and your partner out of Berlin as soon as possible without any further issues.
And so, we’re mounting a multi-agency surveillance taskforce around your movie première. ”
“Thank you.” This news pacified me a little.
“We’re letting you and Mr. Boyd go, but for your safety, you need to remain at the hotel. My team will liaise with Maritime Studios and your talent agent.” I nodded; relieved that Jack and I now had protection.
“And Mr. Linden,” Special Agent Porter added sternly, “Those Chinese chips are to remain in the safe in your hotel suite! As far as all agencies are concerned, they do not exist.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied flatly.
“Good. At last we’re on the same page! The BKA, FBI, and MI6 are staking out the hotel for your protection. I’ll be in touch,” she said finally, and then sauntered out of the interview room, leaving the door open.
That parting comment wasn’t ominous at all!
In the circumstances, these three agencies were extending a lot of manpower for a couple of actors readying for a movie première.
Across the square at the events centre there was a security tech conference in full swing.
I’d say the square and the hotel was crawling with spooks, and shady characters looking for and offering under the table surveillance-tech.
We’d seen some of it in use, like the men who made themselves invisible to the hotel security cameras.
In my gut I felt it; something wasn’t right about all of this.
****
"Newt! Come in here, and sit down. We need to talk.
" A man said in a deep, serious tone. On hearing the male voice shivers ran down my spine and I was dragged back to the here and now—to the hotel suite. I pivoted and stalked into the lounge. The man who’d called me in here was the room service waiter.
He was in his late fifties, handsome in a chiselled, weathered kind of way.
His hair was combed back; dyed black I supposed, and…
I knew those ice chip eyes…so much like my own.
He stood by the wet bar, having poured himself a Scotch and tossed it back as if he was the guest.
I was paralyzed for a moment as the uniformed man turned to face me and stepped closer.
"D…d…dad?" My god! It was true.
"Those movie posters don’t do you justice. You've grown into such a handsome devil. If I'm honest...a lot like your grandfather," he grinned, his eyes shining with affection and…pride.
I was tongue-tied for a long moment and then rage bubbled up and burst out.
"IF YOU'RE HONEST? WHAT THE HELL?" I roared, incredulous. My reaction wiped the smile from his face. My brain had already been through the spin cycle today, but now my thoughts were offline and I was waiting for a reboot. My father was alive, and so the abductors had told me the truth, and they were after him. And as I glared in disbelief, I didn’t know whether to hug Curtis Hale or punch him. How old was he now? 57, 58?
For twelve years I’d grieved for my pops, for twelve fucking years I’d believed his body was incinerated in an explosion at an oil refinery. Seeing him alive caved me in and I grabbed the back of the couch for support and gasped for air.
"I know, I know, this is a shock. Look, sit down and take a breath son. Do you want a drink, there’s a generous selection," Curtis said matter-of-factly, gesturing toward the wet bar.
"Don't tell me what to do," I snarled. “You lost that right when you…what? Faked your death?”
He sighed with exasperation and ran a hand through his hair. “Let me explain—“
"Where have you been for twelve god-damn years? Do you have any idea what losing you did to mom? She's never dated...did you know that? You were it for her and then you were...you were just...gone. How could you...how fucking dare you?" I raged gesticulating like an angry Italian.
Curtis pinched the bridge of his nose, "Nate, please, I can explain—"
"Go to hell!" I knew I sounded like a petulant teen, but I couldn’t get my head around this bombshell revelation. “How the fuck did you even find me?”
“Oh, that was easy. I hacked your Rolex,” Curtis said delightedly, “I’ve been tracking your movements remotely for years using the watch, your phone, and the CCTV network.”
How was this possible? I turned and glared at the nightstand where my traitorous prized timepiece lay. Curtis pulled my attention back to him, stating,
”I’ve had to…pivot…learned a lot of new skills over the years.
And by the way, that running app on your smart watch, Sprava, delete it!
It’s a beacon to the whole goddamn world.
It’s the quickest hack I’ve ever done. As long as you have the app on a device, I can find you anywhere in the world… and if I can—”
Emotional turmoil aside, my dad was still the Brainiac I’d wanted to emulate. “So, you’ve been stalking me?” I said dryly, trying to sound unimpressed, when in reality, I was impressed, and a little unnerved because now I understood how the paparazzi always seemed to find me!
“Well, yeah, you could say I’ve been stalking you, or you could say I’ve been looking out for you, protecting you from afar. You’re my only boy, Nate, I’ve looked out for you since the day you were born, and I’ll never stop.”
The sentiment made a brick in my protective wall crumble. “If you’re so good at this, how come I got abducted?”
“Yeaaah,” Curtis worried a hand over his mouth. “Sorry ‘bout that. I had a plan to get that Swedish guy to play the middle man, pass the chips to you safely. You weren’t supposed to discover what you had until you were out of the country. But things don’t always work out the way I hope.”
I looked at my father while my thoughts spun. What was I supposed to do now? “There’s an FBI agent outside the door, and three agencies are watching the hotel. It’s been great to catch up, but you need to leave!” I stated without emotion.
"Please, Newt, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have somewhere else to go—" Curtis pleaded.
"That sounds like a you problem, Dad!” I snapped back.
“You’re in trouble and now you decide that it’s okay to turn my life upside down?
You were dead. You missed…my life…my wedding.
” Anger thrummed through me as I paced. “But I guess you're back in time for my divorce," I snarked. I heard how hysterical I sounded, but I couldn’t stop the tirade.
"And Beth! Do you know what you did to Beth? Your little girl was anorexic throughout her teens…it nearly killed her…according to her doctor; the death of her father was a pivotal factor. But she fought through it…she’s about to have your third grandchild."
Curtis flinched as if I’d slapped him and turned from me. He cupped his face in his hands and a pang of guilt hit me in the heart. That was a cruel thing to say. "I'm too old for this bullshit!” he murmured before dropping his hands and turning back to pin me with eyes so much like my own.
“Do you think I wanted to get you mixed up in this? I’ve defied a direct order from the CIA. I burned my mission. I’m an enemy of the state with a ten-million-dollar bounty on my head. My safe house was compromised this morning and I'm out of options."
I glared at the man I’d hero worshipped, the man who’d taught me so much about life.
He’d just delivered another cruel lesson.
Be careful who you trust. My father was a different person, a stranger, and this man was a danger magnet.
He was here, in my god damn hotel suite, the suite I shared with Jack.
I was totally conflicted, twisted up inside.
Jack wasn’t talking to me. Would Jack punish me like Erik did?
Would a displeased Jack behave in the same way—avoid me for the evening or was he coming back to the suite soon?
I’d vowed to myself that I wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of my marriage and I wouldn’t put Jack in any more danger.
"You need to leave," I declared coldly.
Curtis held his hands up, his ice blue eyes pleading, “Nate! You’ve gotta listen to me…you’re not safe.”
“Really? Tell me something I don’t know. You put me in danger!” I said pointing an accusing finger at him.
“Yes, yes, I did, so let me explain what’s going on, you need to understand…please, we don’t have much time.”
I’d been seeking answers from Special Agent Porter and knew, as a civilian, she wasn’t going to give me any, but my father would. I threw my hands up in defeat, strode to the couch, and slumped down.
“You’ve got five minutes,” I said resignedly.
****