Siberian Treasure

24

Gabe MacNeil was missing.

With a civilian.

Colin reached for a capsule of Prilosec; downed it with four slugs of coffee. Black. And strong enough to remove rust stains.

He had a feeling it wouldn’t help.

For twenty years, he’d walked the straight and narrow. Always following the rules. Always getting expenses approved before utilizing them. Always clearing investigations as needed. Always being completely forthcoming with his team.

Always justifying his work for the Agency.

And the one blasted time he didn’t, this had to happen.

With a civilian!

Bergstrom was going to have to do something. MacNeil’s satellite phone wasn’t working, and he’d heard nothing from him since he’d left Marquette yesterday afternoon.

He’d allowed his past and his personal prejudices to lead him and now he was going to have to face the consequences.

Damn. It had been a simple assignment: bring Victor Alexander to him so that he could find a way to hold him. Simple.

But, like the time he’d decided to install a new light in the dining room, what had seemed an elementary, straight-forward task had turned into an abominable mess.

He’d lied to his officer, withheld information, and misled him. Endangered a civilian. Utilized unauthorized Agency resources during a time when budget cuts required accounting for everything.

All because he saw the opportunity for revenge.

And now he was going to have to pay the piper, and hope it wouldn’t result in the loss of his job. Because if he lost that, he lost everything.

His attention bounced around his office, unsure where to focus. Onto the stack of files that needed to be dealt with.

Onto the laptop screen, which, behind its screen saver, held nearly a hundred emails.

Onto the minutes from, ironically, the budget meeting he’d attended yesterday.

And, finally, irrevocably, onto the old photo of his wife.

He flipped listlessly through a file while his mind worked. How could he get a team up to Northern Michigan to track down Gabe? Would Darrow agree to it?

Why the hell didn’t Gabe call?

He had a sat phone.

But Bergstrom knew that Gabe would have called if he could have.

Which meant that he was in trouble.

That assumption was a light at the end of the tunnel of his own making. Because if Gabe was in trouble, that meant there was trouble to be had. And if there was trouble, it would justify his actions.

Before he could stew on it any longer, his desk phone rang. “Bergstrom here.”

The voice that came through sounded far away and tinny. At first, his heart leapt. Gabe? But no.

“This is Director Colin Bergstrom?” came the precise, clipped voice that Colin recognized as someone who’d learned English as a second or other language. He spoke his first name “Cole-in.”

“Speaking. Who is calling?”

“This is Inspector Hamid al-Jubeir of the GDI in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.” The way this introduction came through, smoothly with only a minor hesitation over the names and titles, told Colin that the words were written in front of the speaker.

“Yes? How may I help you?”

“I am involved in an investigation related to the murder of a wealthy oil producer here in Riyadh. The man who killed him left a calling card with a black drawing on it. A symbol.”

“Yes?”

“Through the Interpol database, I found that you have been investigating such a symbol in relation to some activity in the United States. Yours is the only identifier I could find for this drawing. I hoped you might have some information that could help me.”

“Indeed. Indeed!” Perhaps the sun would shine. “Can you fax me a copy of the symbol? Do you have any other information?”

“The assistant of the man who was killed met the suspected murderer. I have a composite drawing of that man. Would that be of interest to you? And have you anything to share with me?”

“Yes, to both. Perhaps you can email them to me?” At the very least, Colin would run the photo of the murderer through the database in Langley, unless by some odd break of fortune he recognized it as Victor Alexander. Identifying another Skaladeska; indeed, one who was a suspect in murder, would immediately support his questionable investigation. And then he could put more resources to track down Gabe.

Colin gave Hamid his email address, and while the investigator was preparing the attachments, Bergstrom gave him a sketchy outline of who the Skaladeskas were. “At this time, we haven’t any reason to believe they are a danger to anyone; however, with this new development — and if it is indeed a Skaladeska who is suspected in the murder of Israt Medivir,” he had to look at his notes to make sure he had the name right, “it will give support our decision to continue monitoring those people.”

Perhaps, perhaps his personal feelings had not been skewed too far from professional after all.

His instincts had never been wrong yet.