CHAPTER THIRTY
Jack
Okay, I'll admit it; I was feeling stupid and a little sorry for myself. I’d brought Nate to Berlin for our first real date…
and it turned out to be at a spy club. In my defence, I had no idea covert clubs like that even existed, but thinking about it now, yeah, SODA was a little strange.
I’d been so horny and focused on feeling Nate grind against me that I put the disquiet to the back of my mind.
I’d also failed to consider the danger of socializing in a city where we were far from anonymous, what with our giant bloomin’ faces on advertising billboards and buses.
I would, of course, take responsibility for my thoughtless actions, but Nate bore some responsibility for our breakdown in communication too!
I was pissed that Nate left me this morning, skulking off as if I was irrelevant.
We were supposed to be getting to know one another intimately; yet, it had felt like Nate was pushing me away. Why are relationships so complicated?
On the journey from the US Consulate to the hotel I nearly got frostbite from how thoroughly Nate froze me out.
An argument in front of the embassy driver was a no-no.
But miscommunication and tense silences frustrated the hell out of me.
My parents argued with silence—existing in the same home, moving around one another like ghosts and not saying a word about whatever made them fall out.
Arguments could go on for weeks with them only communicating with each other through my sister and me.
It was a horrible environment to grow up in, and I didn’t want to repeat their toxic patterns.
I was sure in my gut that Nate wasn’t telling me the truth about what was happening here, not only with the stupid chips, but between us.
And so, to cope, I’d returned to my factory settings…
I’d run away...as far as the hotel gym, anyway!
“I’ll take it from here, thanks for accompanying me,” I said to Agent Mackey as the elevator door opened for the penthouse floor.
“Me and Agent Deveraux are just one floor down, Room 646. Call if you need anything,” the Northern Irish agent stated.
I nodded and stepped out of the elevator.
The doors closed and the elevator it began its journey down.
A glance to my left reminded me we had a new neighbour.
A bodyguard was standing sentry outside the door for the Superior penthouse suite and I wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.
It was as if someone had installed a statue during our time at the US Embassy.
I waved and said “Hello neighbour,” but he never responded.
I had no idea about the identity of the person he was guarding, and even though I already had enough to deal with, I was curious as to who our neighbour was.
Striding along the corridor toward the Royal suite, I saw the FBI man seated outside scrolling on his phone.
“Hey, Agent Lopez! Any news? Did you find out who moved in next door?” I asked conspiratorially.
The agent stood up, “Good evening Mr. Boyd. The bodyguard’s name is Ricardo. He’s eh…not so friendly, told me to go away…so I guess his employer likes their privacy. Oh, and your dinner arrived five minutes ago, smelled divine.”
I didn’t recall ordering dinner, so Nate must have ordered for me. “When does your replacement come?”
“We’ll change over every four hours. Agent Morgan will be here in a couple of hours, sir. Can’t wait, I’m famished,” he grumbled.
I used my keycard to open the penthouse door.
I was planning to grovel for Nate’s forgiveness, and then I’d use my charms and sensual wiles to get him back where he was meant to be, beneath me, or straddling me, either would do!
I was about to call out to let him know I was back when I heard voices.
I paused, closing the door as quietly as I could, and then I waited in the short hallway to listen.
I knew one of the voices was Nate’s. He sounded emotional, overwrought.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do, dad.
I’ve been put in harm’s way twice —Paris and now here in Berlin.
I can’t deal with this!” As soon as I heard the pain in Nate’s voice my own petty resentments melted away.
Something about the tone hit me like a needle in my heart.
I sucked in a breath; and my instinctive reflex was to rush in, just like when I’d seen the attacker gunning for Nate on the red carpet in Paris.
But this time I’d remove Nate from whoever had made him so unhappy.
Fuck! I’d tried to shut down my deepening feelings for Nate, but it I was powerless against the pull he had over me.
I’d never felt this way before, never wanted to stand up, put myself in danger for anyone, except Nate.
The other voice was unfamiliar. The speaker was an older man, American, and for a split second I wondered if one of the men who’d abducted us had somehow gotten access to the suite. But how could that be with an FBI grunt on sentry duty?
“You’re the only one left I can trust, Newt,” the man Nate called Dad had pleaded. Wait a minute, he called him dad?
“God damn it!” Nate cried out in frustration. “You’re right about one thing; you did me a solid by playing dead. I wouldn’t have an acting career if we were on the run. But you made your choices without us, and you have to live with the consequences, just like we had to!” Nate replied.
“Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me? You lost one person; I got tangled up in something beyond my control and lost everyone I’ve ever known.” The angst in the man’s voice made my heart squeeze with sympathy.
“I can’t deal with this…leave…I want you to leave,” Nate said with mournful finality.
Shocked, the puzzle pieces fell into place and I understood what was going on—that Nate’s father was alive, and he was mixed up in something that resulted in him needing to play dead. And now, he was involved in the reason the knifeman attacked in Paris and we were abducted here in Berlin.
I stepped out of the hallway and strode calmly toward Nate. “He asked you to leave,” I said. The shock on Nate’s face told me he hadn’t heard the door open or close.
“Ah, Jack, there you are! Meet Curtis Hale, my father. He’s alive!
It’s a fucking miracle!” he said throwing his hands up theatrically.
Nate’s tone was unusually sarcastic but I could see the pain in his eyes.
This wasn’t the Nate Linden I knew. It was clear to me that he was devastated by this revelation, it was another body blow onto bruises that had not yet healed, and he didn’t know how to process it.
Observing these men standing side by side, it was obvious they were related.
They had the same ice chip eyes, same handsome face, although Hale wore a short-cropped silver beard.
I knew what Nate needed. I walked up to him and opened my arms. He fell against me and buried his face in my sweaty t-shirt.
I held him for a long moment as his father looked on.
“Nate…babe…sorry, do you want me to give you two some private time together?” Nate’s head lifted, “NO!” the men said in unison. I had no right to judge, but how could Nate’s father have faked his death and destroyed his family like this? Family is everything!
I addressed Curtis Hale, “I’m taking a wild guess that you’re the reason we were drugged and interrogated by criminals and then spent hours with the FBI and MI6!
We’ve done more than enough talking today.
Nate asked you to leave. Looks like we’re about to have dinner,” I said, realizing then that Hale was dressed like a room service waiter.
That must have been how he accessed our room.
“I need help, Jack. I’ve…got nowhere else to go,” Hale admitted sounding vulnerable, agonized, and older than his appearance.
The Royal suite had extra bedrooms, two for guests, and one at the end of the hall for a staff member.
We had no use for them, and I supposed it wouldn’t hurt if we let Nate’s father lay low here for a night.
I eased Nate into our bedroom for a private chat.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
“I, eh, don’t know. My head’s a mess.”
I cupped his face, and in a calm, measured tone, said, “What do you want to do? I could call Agent Lopez in from the hall to apprehend him…job done?”
“No…no—” Nate paused for a moment, “Would you be against him staying in a spare room?” He’d had the same idea as me!
“Um…do you think there’s a possibility he’ll smother us in our sleep?” I said with a grin.
Nate gave me an unimpressed glare. “He’s my dad, not a serial killer. I’m angry as all hell…but I can’t turn him away…he doesn’t look well.”
“I get it…so…if we let your dad stay,” I paused for a beat, “Let’s get this settled…
a shag is definitely off the agenda, yeah!
There’s no way we’re dicking down with your old pops down the hall!
” Nate’s response was a strange, almost hysterical little laugh.
I didn’t know why he was laughing; maybe my British sense of humour had finally broken him.
There was a sound, a weight falling. I shared a querulous look with Nate before we both rushed to the lounge to see Nate’s father on the floor, blood seeping through the shirt and uniform waistcoat vest. We both dropped to our knees.
“What the hell? Dad, what happened?”
“Chinese agent found me early this morning; brush past, he shanked me. Thu..think he inserted a tracker.”
“And you came here? What the fuck?” I gasped.
“You gotta get it out of me, Nate. Get it out, destroy it.” Then Curtis Hale passed out.
I pulled up his shirt to see a large square bandage that had once been white.
I looked up and met Nate’s bloodless gaze.
I eased the bandage off to see a half inch incision near the man’s left hip surrounded by purple bruising.
It looked like some kind of circular tool had been used to stab into the flesh…
it was weeping blood and looked infected.
“Should we call for a doctor?” I asked.
“No, no I can do this,” Nate insisted, pulling himself together. “Dad taught me how to gut fish when I was a kid, getting a tracker out will be easy. I’ll, um, get a knife and a teaspoon from the room service trolley,” he said determinedly.
“Nate, hang on a sec,” I said reaching out and gripping his wrist. “Think about it. He’s going to need an intravenous drip and antibiotics for that infection. No matter what your dad’s done he’ll be safer if he’s in protective custody with proper medical care.”
“You overheard what he said?” Nate asked.
“Yeah, some of it?”
“He’s a CIA asset. His handler betrayed him—wanted to pass the chips on to Oliver Roux.”
I gasped in horror. I wasn’t stupid; I watched the news and knew all about Oliver Roux.
The recent Netflix documentary about him was chilling viewing.
The man was a megalomaniac, the flesh and blood caricature of a super-villain.
He owned weapons manufacturing companies, a mobile satellite launch pad, and had billions of dollars in US government contracts.
“My dad’s been betrayed by everyone he trusted. The US government sees him as an enemy of the state…they don’t give a shit if he lives or dies, all they want are the goddamn chips,” Nate revealed gravely.
“What about the British? What if I can get him political asylum? I bet your dad has a lot of information he could share.”
“I don’t know…I don’t know what to do!”
“Let me call Agent Deveraux. He’s on our side and I trust him,” I suggested. It was a long shot, but I did believe that Agent D was one of the good guys.
Nate slumped onto his backside and ran his hands through shower damp hair. “What the fuck am I thinking? I can’t operate on my dad on the floor of a fucking hotel room! He needs proper medical care, and we gotta get him out of Berlin.”
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