Time Critical

Chapter 1

Dario robotically flipped over another trowel full of dirt into a dustpan. As he stirred the soil with a finger, its damp earthy smell drifted up to him. He inspected it.

Nothing.

Dario dumped the dustpan into a plastic bucket for sieving. Then the young man tensed his arm muscles to gently plunge the trowel’s blade back into the ground.

He did it again and again, always with the same disappointing result: nothing.

He’d been methodically excavating for two days, the bright sun baking his back as he knelt on the ground. He was a patient young man and could tolerate hard labor. After all, he often spent long summer days on his grandfather’s fishing boat hauling in huge nets of cod, wading knee-deep in the flopping mass on the deck, and scooping them into the boat’s refrigerated hold.

The fishy odor saturated his clothing, and his skin and hair. His girlfriend Isabella would tease him about it for days until the strong smell finally faded. It was one of the reasons Dario concluded that a career as a fisherman was not his calling.

So he went to the university, choosing archeology as a major. The fieldwork wasn’t as strenuous as commercial fishing, though it was admittedly far more tedious. The tedium made Dario begin to question if being hunched over a hole in the ground is what he should be doing with the rest of his life.

He thrust the trowel into the soil again, and flipped it over into the dustpan. Nothing. Resigned to the fate of digging a dry hole, the young man looked back at the ground, ready to scoop up more dirt.

Dario instantly froze! He inhaled sharply, his head snapped backward in surprise, and his eyes stared on the ground just inches away. He finally found something!

His field training instantly took over: do not touch it, do not move a muscle. Just observe.

Even though the relic was only partially exposed, he immediately knew that it was exactly what they had hoped to find. If only Salazar Palomo, the Minister of Antiquities, were still here to share in this discovery. The man had left no more than an hour ago, after offering his full support to this project, along with his sincere wishes for a successful dig. Well, Minister Palomo, success has arrived!

A droplet of sweat popped out at Dario’s hairline. His nerve endings felt the continuous movement as it rolled down his forehead and into the narrow space between his dark eyebrows. Even though it tickled his skin, he didn’t swipe it away. Nothing could distract him.

The droplet of salty sweat merged with others, trickled downward, and formed a large drop that clung precariously to the tip of his nose. Gravity pulled on it until finally it fell onto the relic with a soft, barely audible Pat. That single drop revealed the golden color of the coin.

Dario reached to his right, retrieved a camera, snapped pictures, took some measurements, and made entries into a dusty notebook.

Then he carefully wedged a fingernail underneath an edge of the disk, gently applied upward pressure, and watched as it popped free from the hard-packed soil. He tenderly picked it up and swiped away the remaining dirt. A glint of sunlight reflected off the shiny surface, and Dario’s eyes opened wide in amazement. Its shape, its subtle contours and intricate details, its bright golden color.

He had dreamed of making a find like this. Now he had to share it with his colleagues.

Look at this! Dario blurted in his native Spanish. He thrust his arm upward in victory to show everyone.

Like prairie dogs responding to an alarm, heads popped up from their own holes in the ground. A dozen dirt-streaked, sweaty faces looked at him.

Wow! exclaimed Isabella as she stared at the gold coin in his hand. Are there any more?

I think so, Dario said, for an instant looking back to the hole he’d dug. He saw the curved edges of more of them, a stack of at least four, still embedded vertically in the soil.

Professor Herrara stood up from his digging, quickly walked over, and squatted down next to Dario. Nice! he commented. Let me see.

Eagerly, the Professor plucked the coin from the boy’s hand. Even though Herrara had been digging in the dirt for over thirty years, he still felt a thrill with each new discovery. And finding this gold coin so early during their planned two-week excavation felt like a good omen for the success of their field trip, a project that he had pulled together after months of research in libraries across Spain. This could well be the validating moment for all the effort.

"And you got a picture of it in situ before taking it out of the ground?" the Professor asked hopefully.

Yes, Dario replied proudly. I took all the measurements and recorded them in my log book.

Excellent! Herrara said. Well done!

At that moment, a shadow loomed over them. Probably Isabella. Beaming widely, Dario looked up.

In an instant, his smile disappeared. Color drained from his face and his facial muscles sagged. Dario numbly stared over the Professor’s shoulder at something he couldn’t even begin to understand.

No! he moaned.

Still crouched down beside the boy, Professor Herrara asked, What’s wrong? When the kid didn’t answer, he followed Dario’s gaze, spinning on the balls of his feet to look up.

He immediately stopped when the tip of a gun’s barrel jammed into his left cheek.

Herrara swiveled his eyes sideways to stare at the weapon. He felt his hand begin to shake, and the coin bounced uncontrollably in his palm.

His brain told him to look up. He just needed to make eye contact. Then he could speak to the man calmly, and reason with him.

But no matter how much his brain pleaded with him, Herrara couldn’t move. He couldn’t force his eyes to look beyond the hard metal pressed into his skin.

Give that to me! the gunman said in heavily accented English, ripping the coin from Herrara’s palm.

Finally seeing the weapon, Isabella shrieked in terror. She blindly crab-walked backward, bumping against the other students as they also scrambled for cover. Staring at the gun, she pressed backward even further, clawing into the dirt with her hands and the heels of her shoes, desperately trying to insert herself among the others for safety. But even that wasn’t enough to stop the panic that engulfed her like a tidal wave.

Seeing the terror in her face, Dario hyperventilated, savagely sucking in air through bared teeth. His muscles tightened. He lunged for a shovel, gripped it with both hands, and leaped to his feet.

He snarled viciously and swung the tool over his head in a powerful chopping motion. Just as he brought it down toward the thief’s head, the butt end of a rifle slammed into the side of his skull.

The kid staggered sideways. His entire left side went numb, and his vision blurred. Dario lost his grip on the shovel and crumpled forward to his knees.

Dario! Isabella shrieked, feeling pain deep in her heart, as though she herself had been stabbed. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She extended an arm toward him, as if that might save him.

Dario thought, Is that you, Isabella? He tried to see her, but everything seemed so dim and blurry. Where are you?

As pain engulfed him, the boy teetered on the edge of consciousness. Through eyes that refused to focus, he vaguely saw armed men swarming over his friends, punching, kicking, and shouting.

Then his eyes closed, all went dark, and he flopped face first into the dirt.

Chapter 2

I watched her disappear.

At the time, I didn’t know that. She had simply entered a room down the hallway. But even then, a sense of foreboding had briefly washed over me.

I had quickly dismissed it as ridiculous paranoia and jet lag. Yet a puzzling sense of loss lingered deep inside me.

In hindsight, those feelings should have alerted me. They should have warned me that something bad was about to happen, and that I needed to protect her.

Instead, I simply answered my phone.

Hey, man! Reggie said with his usual enthusiasm.

The reception over the cell phone was remarkably good. From 4000 miles away, his voice was so clear that I’d swear we were in the same room.

Reggie Fullborn, a co-worker, is always jealous of my long-distance business trips. Admittedly, I did visit some nice places. This was no exception. Some even called it a paradise.

Reggie asked, Been to the beach yet?

Not yet, Reggie, I said, still gazing down the hallway. I just landed.

Well, man. I see from the weather report that it’s warm there. You are one lucky dog. Back here, it’s cold. Minus two degrees!

And, I thought, it’s still dark back home. Hearing from Reggie so early in the day was way out of character for the man. While it was mid-morning here, the sun hadn’t even risen in Cincinnati. So why is he already up and calling me?

Yeah, Reggie. Glad I’m not in Ohio.

Hey, man, he continued. You met the new guy yet?

There it was: the real reason for his call. Merrick Throckmorton. Reggie wanted to get the scoop on him so he could gauge how much of a threat the new hire might be to his own survival in the company. No other motivator would get him up so early on a cold winter morning.

No, Reggie, I said, still looking down the hallway. I’ll meet up with Merrick at the hotel.

OK, man. I’ll call you later.

At this point, Reggie typically would advise me on the cuisine that I should sample at my new destination, such as Mexican food in Tucson, or locally smoked fish on the shore of Lake Michigan. Then he’d end the call. Since he didn’t, I sensed he had more to say.

Is there something else, Reggie?

His voice cracked with emotion as he muttered, Yah, man. And even with just those two words, I heard the distress in his voice. Meekly he whispered, Barry just gave me a new assignment. I don’t know what it means.

Our boss, Barry Haliday, often gave Reggie new assignments. I interpreted them as attempts to find a place where the man might surprise us all by thriving. To date, nothing had stuck.

Now I wondered what new advice I’d need to offer to comfort him. It would be so easy to just blow him off. Because most of my brain was still thinking about the time I’d be spending here with her. A whole week.

But in the end, I knew that I’d help him because other than being incompetent in his job, he really was a decent guy. And in the past, we had helped each other, even saved each other. I owed him.

So, Reggie, what’s the new assignment?

He hesitated, then spoke so quietly that I had to press the phone tightly against my ear to hear him.

Barry wants me to shred old documents. Case files, employee records, quality assurance and safety audits, stuff like that. He said it’s important. When I got to work yesterday, there was a huge blue bin full of paper in my office. You know, one of those barrels on wheels.

I pictured it. A container the size of a curb-side garbage can. It would probably hold a few hundred thousand sheets of paper. And even though our office has an industrial shredder that could handle multiple pages at once, including staples, Reggie would be standing in front of it for hours simply feeding in the documents.

He whined, And someone dropped off another one just before I went home.

This was a new one on me. I’d never heard of this kind of assignment. Yet interpreting its meaning seemed simple. Barry hoped to bore Reggie so completely with this trivial repetitive job that he’d voluntarily quit. That was far easier than dealing with the mountain of internal paperwork required to actually fire the man.

Barry probably felt pretty clever, coming up with this plan. I pictured his evil grin, like the Grinch about to steal Christmas.

As I continued looking down the hallway, expecting her to return at any moment, Reggie added weakly, with a pathetic whimper in his voice, I have a bad feeling about this, man.

Have you asked Barry or HR about it?

Reggie blurted, No way, man! That didn’t surprise me. Reggie wasn’t much for confrontation. And the mere thought of meeting with the prim, proper, emotionless robot Noreen Cranston of HR would send anyone into a state of high anxiety, as I knew from personal experience in dealing with the woman. For a high-strung guy like Reggie, who normally pulsated with excess energy like a vibrating tuning fork, I pictured him shaking so violently that his body would disassemble into its individual molecules.

I’m not sure what it means, but…. I hesitated. For a brief moment, I considered going easy on him. But the raw truth was better. So I bluntly said, Reggie, you should have a bad feeling. They’re sending you a message. They hope you’ll quit out of boredom.

Crap! I knew it!

The line went silent for several seconds. I kept my eyes focused on the hallway, actually staring at the door she had gone through.

Reggie?

In a pleading voice that faded away to a whisper, he begged, You have to tell me how to fix this, man.

I wanted to tell him not my problem. It’s hard to feel sorry for a guy who avoided work for years.

Nathan, he said tentatively. Please, man, he begged. What should I do?

The anguish and neediness in his voice moved me. So, in spite of my better judgment, I plunged into solving Reggie’s problem.

Three things, Reggie. First, get your résumé ready. You may need it. Second, if you really want to keep your job….

I do, man!

Then become the best damn paper shredder the world has ever seen. Put everything you have into it.

But it’s so boring, he whined.

Doesn’t matter, I replied firmly. Just do it. Third, work on a case.

But Barry told me to shred paper full time.

Then work overtime on the case.

But I don’t get paid for overtime.

I huffed in annoyance. If you want to keep your job…. I left the thought unfinished, letting him figure it out for himself.

Fine, Reggie conceded, as if it would be the greatest sacrifice he’d ever made. But what case, man?

There’s a file on my desk. I couldn’t get to it before flying out. Read it over, get as much information as you can on the guy and his property. At the thought of how many phone calls my next words would commit me to, I winced before saying, And then call me back.

The line was silent. I sensed him thinking about the amount of effort involved. His allergic reaction to work had kicked in and quickly overwhelmed him.

Reggie? I prompted.

Fine, he conceded. After a few more beats, he added with some enthusiasm, Hey, man. When you go out to dinner tonight, have fish. Word is they make some mean seafood.

I’ll do that, Reggie. I ended the call.

While on the phone, my eyes had never lost sight of the door down the hallway. Now I turned all my attention to this new problem that gnawed at my jet-lagged brain.

Where is she?

Chapter 3

In his native tongue, the skinny man Nafi said into his cell phone, He landed a few minutes ago.

The line popped and crackled with interference. While the reception was not good, it was better than it had been yesterday. From their early scouting trips, Samir knew that the remoteness of this place would interfere with communication. That shouldn’t have been a problem, because they had planned to go completely off the grid. And they had already done that for over a week.

But now their plans had begun to unravel. So here they were, desperately needing to communicate by cell phone.

Samir probed accusingly, You were not at the airport to see him land?

Nafi was jolted backward in his seat by Samir’s words. How did the man know? Was he psychic?

Concerned that he might anger the big man, Nafi replied anxiously, his voice quavering as droplets of nervous sweat popped from his forehead. Traffic was slow. An accident on the highway.

So, you are still not at the airport? he demanded.

Hesitantly he replied, No, Samir.

The big man was not pleased with this news. While no one could be faulted for delays because of traffic, it still annoyed him. Nafi should have left earlier, anticipating a problem. Besides, blaming the little man might ease the tension Samir felt.

But it would not improve the situation. Time was critical. Precious hours were slipping away. Since much work still lay ahead for all of them, he felt that even minutes would disrupt their planning to the point that they would not be able to finish on schedule. Unacceptable.

Samir did not create this ridiculous schedule. Someone else did. From start to finish, their timeline was impossibly short: less than two weeks.

Yet Samir was entrusted to carry out the plan to the letter. There were so many pieces that had to fall into place, with a time limit now just a few days away. Impossible.

But in spite of his concerns, he did not reveal them to anyone, or truly admit them even to himself. Samir’s hard face, clenched fists, and hulking frame exuded only undiluted menace, impatience, and, at the same time, supreme confidence.

His booming voice put additional emphasis on his words. Over the phone, its low thunderous tones made even the most self-assured individuals quiver in fear. In person, the effect was far worse.

Nafi would never admit it to anyone, but in his first meeting with the big Arabian man, he had wet himself. Samir was that scary. Nafi actually peed in his trousers, the warm liquid streaming down the inner side of his thigh, along his calf, and into a shoe. He hid it from the big man by pressing his legs together.

So Nafi quickly learned the importance of obeying Samir’s orders. Obey without question to avoid facing the wrath of the big man. It was the only choice. Anything else would make suicide seem like a pleasant experience.

Samir knew the effect he had on people. It was intentional. It was his strategy for getting uncompromising obedience. One might criticize his approach to leadership, but Samir did not care. It had worked for him in the past, so it would continue to be his way.

Nafi now sat quietly, still pressing the cell phone to his ear as he maneuvered through traffic in the airport parking lot. He did not prompt Samir to say anything. That is because his lie to the big man might be discovered. The truth is there had not been an accident on the highway. Nafi had simply been late, because he had stopped to visit a friend. Not for long, but it made him late. His fault. Inexcusable.

Samir finally said, You know what to do. Do not waste any more time.

Yes, Samir.

Chapter 4

There really was no reason to be concerned. I watched her walk from this spot directly to the room down the hall. I saw her go through the door, so it wasn’t a matter of her getting lost.

Maybe once she got inside, there had been a waiting line. It happens. I checked the time on my cell phone. She’d already been gone fifteen minutes. That seemed an unusually long time for a trip to the bathroom.

I checked my cell phone for messages. Nothing from her. Of course, there were several from my boss, Barry Haliday. Work, more work, and yet more work. Push, demand, threaten. Whatever it took to get more out of his people to help him rise higher in the company. Work seemed to be his only agenda in life.

I checked the time again. Approaching twenty minutes. How much longer was she going to take?

Not that we had a schedule to keep, although I did need to meet this new guy Merrick Throckmorton at the hotel and attend the conference. Well, both would just have to wait.

Then a thought occurred to me. Maybe she was hiding from me, playing a game of hide and seek. She had a playful side to her. Yup, it had to be that simple.

But I couldn’t play the game. My eyes strayed to the mound of luggage that kept me anchored to this spot. Her large black roller bag probably contained over fifty pounds of stuff. It had to exceed the weight limit.

The mound also contained her small carry-on black roller bag and a black backpack. On top of the backpack sat a wide-brimmed hat: black, of course, to coordinate with the rest. She’d need that to ward off the sun, which blasted through the windows into the airport’s cavernous terminal building.

Having this much luggage was out of character for her. But she had planned many activities for us: swimming, snorkeling, shopping, dining, hiking, visiting museums, and walking the winding streets of the old city to view the Spanish Colonial architecture. I guess she packed for everything.

Next to her pile was my luggage: a small blue canvas bag and a brown wide-brimmed safari hat. Probably not nearly enough stuff for a week out of the country, especially considering my bag also contained a suit for the meetings. But even this island must have laundry service and clothing stores.

I scanned a complete circle around me. She certainly found a good hiding place. I couldn’t find her. But soon enough she would appear and say BOO! So I dutifully stood over our luggage.

I hadn’t heard from her in months. Then, just days before my flight, she called. On the Internet, she’d seen me listed as a speaker at an insurance conference in Spain. She wanted to join me. Without hesitation, I leapt at the chance to be with her. At the same time, though, I warned her about the risks, because of her past. She cast them off. Since I desperately wanted to see her, that was that, and here we were.

I slowly paced, a few steps back and forth, waiting for the surprise BOO!

To my right was a family of four, Americans like me. They desperately searched their luggage.

Where are the tickets and passports? the woman screeched in panic, while furiously digging inside her purse and carry-on bag.

I don’t know! the man blurted frantically as he dug into his pockets and computer bag. I thought you had them!

Well, I don’t! she spat back at him. Kids! she commanded. Do you know where they are?

The two youngsters, playing electronic games on their hand-held devices, ignored her. And I tuned all of them out.

To my left, a thin dark-skinned man held a cell phone with one hand and spoke in a language I didn’t understand, which is true for every language except English. His other hand alternately ran nervously through his thick black hair or swung in wild animated gestures. Worry lines creased his face, and he paced hurriedly in a tight circle clockwise. Then he abruptly stopped, spun on the ball of a foot, and paced counter-clockwise. Apparently he wasn’t having a good day either.

Neither was I. Now she’d been gone thirty minutes. Pulling out my cell, I punched in her number. Her phone rang. I could hear it through my device.

And I could hear it coming from the black backpack in the pile of luggage. Probing inside, I found her phone in a small zippered compartment in front.

A silent alarm went off in my head. I sat down on a bench behind me, inverted her backpack, and loudly spilled the contents, shaking the bag to empty it completely, while ignoring the stares of those around me. I found basic toiletries, a sweater, a magazine, an electronic tablet, her wallet, binoculars, a camera, and a bundle of cash bound with an elastic band. Concerned that thieves might see it, I quickly stuffed the cash deep into a pocket.

But I didn’t find her return ticket to the US or her passport. So wherever she was, at least she did have some ID, even though I knew it was fake. With that, as a last resort, she could go to someone for help.

Yet that was risky. Re-exposing the fake ID might reveal a flaw. Maybe something seemingly insignificant, like a simple typo. That could spell doom for her.

So it was time for me to move. I had to end this game of hide and seek by finding her.

Chapter 5

I dragged our entire mound of luggage down the hall, stationed myself outside the bathroom door, and waited. She still didn’t come out of the room. Others came and went, but not her.

I watched the flow of people in the corridor, hoping to find an ally, someone who might be able to help. It had to be the right person.

My phone rang again: Reggie. While not in the mood to talk to him, I answered anyway, because he’s now working on my insurance fraud investigation case. So it’s my responsibility to make sure he does it right.

Did you find the case file?

Yeah, man. The one about a house on Grand Lake St. Marys?

That’s the one.

I read it, man. A tree fell on the guy’s cottage in a wind storm. From the pictures he sent, it looks like a total loss.

Yeah, Reggie. It’s kinda messed up. But I was actually thinking about buying it from him and fixing it up.

What? he gasped. You can’t be serious! The place is a wreck! The line went silent for a moment. Oh, I get it. Ha, ha. Good one, man. You had me goin’ there for a second.

Glad you liked that.

Reggie’s voice took on a sympathetic tone. Since the cottage is a total loss, we should pay him.

Not so fast, Reggie, I warned, while continuing to look for an ally in all the faces that streamed past in the corridor. You need to go up there and investigate.

Why?

I huffed. Look at the pictures, Reggie. The paint looks like it’s peeling. Half the shutters are gone.

The wind coulda done that, man, he offered defensively.

Maybe the shutters, but not the paint. And there’s a small tree growing up through the porch. Do you see that?

Kinda.

Kinda? It blocks the door. I think this place has been neglected for years. The guy is probably just taking advantage of the storm to collect some insurance money.

But….

Sooo, I interrupted, you have to go inspect it in person.

But it’s a two-hour drive, he whined. And it’s snowing. The roads are gonna be slippery.

Yup, I said, offering nothing else. I knew that the lake sat over a hundred miles north of Cincinnati. The lake was built, by hand, in the early 1800s as a feeder reservoir for the Miami-Erie Canal, which ran between Toledo and Cincinnati. The lake’s twenty-foot high earthen dam extended for miles, holding back over 13,000 acres of water. For many years, it was the world’s largest man-made reservoir. Now it’s a recreational lake.

But I’ll be gone all day, Reggie complained.

When I didn’t say anything, he finally broke the silence by whining, If I’m gone all day on this case, how will I get all my shredding done?

As I continued to scan the flow of people, I offered the obvious answer. You’ll shred tonight.

Aw, man! I was gonna watch the game. You know, break out the chips and salsa, order some pizza, and….

Reggie! Focus! You asked for my help. If you want to keep your job, just do it. Call me when you get to the cottage.

In a barely audible voice, he cursed something that I didn’t catch.

Reggie?

OK, man. It’s freezing out there, but I’m on my way.

After ending the call, I sighed heavily, fearing that Reggie might not be salvageable.

But I had finally found someone who might prove to be an ally: a young woman who appeared to be American.

I guessed her age at twenty-five. Simply put, she was gorgeous. High cheek bones, square jaw, smooth firm unblemished skin, a shallow cleft in her chin, and deep dimples punctuating her cheeks. Yes, gorgeous.

She was medium height, with sunglasses perched in her light-colored hair. She wore sandals, jean shorts, and a loose white halter-top blouse that barely contained its contents.

Yet the feature that really drew me to her was the aura of casual honesty that surrounded her. Her bright eyes and subtle smile, as though she was the most content person on the planet. She looked like someone I could trust with even the most intimate secret.

Strolling energetically in my direction, she briefly flashed a smile of bright white teeth.

Excuse me, I said, taking a step toward her. My friend went in there nearly an hour ago. I’m concerned. Maybe you can look for her?

The woman stopped, took a step backward, and looked up at me suspiciously through squinted eyes. After a few moments of sizing me up and down, she asked, How do I know you’re not just stalking her?

My initial reaction was to defend myself. But I figured that toning it down might get better results. Maybe this is all a ruse, and I’m actually stalking you.

She laughed lightly. Good one. She peered at me closely for a few more beats, then asked, Is she really a friend?

Yes, really, I said.

She looked me up and down, scoping out my six-foot-two frame and trim figure, and probing into my eyes. Apparently satisfied, she said, Sure. What’s her name?

Julia. That was the name on her ID. Whoever made the document did a superb job, based on the facts that she left the US with it and got through immigration control here, both without a hitch. Just tell her Nathan is worried about her.

I showed her a three-inch by five-inch picture that I’d bought from a photographer. He’d snapped our picture after we’d come through security. She didn’t like the exposure, but I insisted on buying the souvenir. Now that five-Euro investment seemed well worth it.

The woman focused on the photo. Very pretty, she commented. I’ll look inside. No problem.

Thanks.

She smiled coyly, ducked inside, and held the door slightly ajar. Through the gap I heard her call, Julia? Is there a Julia in here?

The words echoed hollowly off the tile-lined walls. The echoes mirrored the hollow feeling inside me. While asking this young woman to help me was definitely the right move, I already knew what she’d find. Nothing. It felt more like simply checking the box on a list of possibilities of what happened to her.

She called out, Nathan is waiting outside for you.

No one responded. She closed the door and went deeper inside. That muted her voice as she continued to call, Julia? Is there a Julia in here? The words sounded more distant, fainter, and emptier.

A minute later, the woman emerged. Sorry. No Julia. I checked all the stalls. She’s not here.

I felt acid begin to chew at my stomach. This wasn’t a game of hide and seek. It was something else, and it could only be something bad. I knew for a fact that she went into this restroom. I watched her go through the door. Now she was….where?

I should have done this long ago. What was I thinking?

Then a wave of guilt overwhelmed