Satellite. – First two chapters – Cat Connor

 

 

Don’t say Special Agent.

Don’t say Supervising Special Agent.

I took a breath and hit the button the intercom that sat on my desk. A faint buzz followed. A few seconds later, my office door swung open and my father ushered a harried looking gentleman in.

Dad smiled quickly at me then closed the door.

I stood, extended my hand to the man, and said, “I’m Ellie Conway, You must be Mr. Henley.”

He nodded and shook my hand. “Robert Henley.”

I motioned to the chair in front of my desk. We both sat.

“How can I help?”

Robert Henley peered at me from under a thick black mono-brow (that begged for a waxing). After a few seconds, he dragged a photograph from the breast pocket of his dark blue suit. He pushed the photograph across the desk to me. I could already see it was a child.

I took it.

Face to photograph with a pretty, open-faced child sporting blonde braids. I felt the pull of cold dread.

Bingo, we have a winner.

His voice cracked then broke. “My daughter Giselle.”

“She’s beautiful”

I held the picture out to him but he signaled for me to keep it.

“She’s missing. I want to hire you to find her.”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Four months.”

Damn, either that means a badly handled investigation or she disappeared without a trace. I didn’t really believe the later was possible. We live in an age where almost everyone has a camera, streets have traffic cams and surveillance cameras, and almost every store has a camera. Big brother is here.

“Who is handling the case?”

He fidgeted with his watch before answering.

“Local police. They think she ran away.” He became agitated. “I don’t feel they’re looking.”

“Missing children are reported to the FBI by police and sometimes parents. Do you know who at the FBI is involved?”

He shook his head.

It didn’t matter, I could find out.

The child’s pale blue eyes stared at me and I guessed her age to be eleven.

“How old is she?”

“Twelve.”

Close.

“Why do police consider her a runaway?”

“Is that important?”

“Yes. I want to determine the direction of the enquiry and looking for a runaway is different than looking for an abducted child.”

I pulled several forms from my desk and handed them to him with a pen. It took a lot of will power to stop myself slipping the child’s picture into my drawer so I couldn’t see her any more. Her blue eyes looked at me imploringly. Already I felt guilt.

He looked at me over the first form.

“Giselle and her best friend had a pact. If they weren’t allowed to go to the spring dance then they were going to runway.” He sighed. “Neither of the girls was allowed to go. The night of the dance, we took them to the movies. Giselle went to the bathroom about an hour into the movie and never returned.”

“We?”

“My wife and I.”

“Fill the forms out, give as much information as you can.”

He nodded.

“Take your time, you can use my office. I’ll be in reception making a few calls.”

“Does that mean you’ll help us?”

“Yes, it does.”

I stood and left the room.

Dad handed me a coffee as soon as I stepped through the door. I pulled my office door shut behind me.

“I’ll be in the other office.”

“Kid?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll see if he wants refreshments.”

“Thanks Dad.”

I took my coffee into the spare office and perched on the edge of the desk. My first call was to the FBI. I could’ve used my access and looked the file up myself but I wanted to talk to the agent handling it in person. I punched the number in, then waited and punched in an extension, then waited and punched in another extension.

The phone rang several times before someone answered.

“This is Ellie Conway, can you tell me who has the Giselle Henley case?”

I heard key’s tapping before a voice politely said, “That would be SSA Munroe.”

“Could you put me through please?”

“Yes certainly SSA Conway.”

The cold dread came back. She knew who I was. Who I used to be.

“It’s just Ellie now ma’am.”

“Old habits,” she replied without flinching. “Putting you through ma’am.”

I waited as another phone rang. Eventually Monroe answered.

“Doug, its Ellie Conway. Can we get together to discuss a case?”

“Sure. Which case in particular?”

“Giselle Henley.”

“You got her parents asking for help?”

“I do.”

“I sent them over.”

And yet Robert Henley didn’t know who the agent was at the FBI?

“When?”

“This morning. What’s up?”

“Probably nothing. Mr. Henley didn’t know who at the Bureau was looking after the case, is all.”

“He has my card Ellie, he’s called me every day for four months. Every day at nine am.”

“Okay. Guess he forgot?”

“Guess so,” Doug rumbled, his voice sounded like a train homing in on a station. “I’ll meet you at Starbucks on M, in forty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You going to tell him we’ve spoken?”

“Nope, I wanna find out why he’s twisting the truth, right off the bat.”

“Clue me in over coffee.”

I hung up.

This was the sort of case we’d hoped I’d be getting. Word had gone out through the Bureau to refer missing kids to me. I saw the memo before Director O’Connell sent it.

Doug had provided my first referral. Interesting that Henley called him every day and yet didn’t know who the agent involved was. Fascinating. I just bet there was some weird assed back-story ready to leap out and grab me by the throat.

That’s where I found my hand, at my throat, my index finger tracing a line that was almost faded. Someone else had me by the throat once.

Dad appeared in the doorway.

“I think your client is done.”

“Good,” I replied and handed my empty cup to him. “I’ll be going out in a few minutes. Have a meeting.”

“About this?”

“Yep.”

“FBI?”

“Yep.”

“Are you really retired?”

What a question! I crossed my fingers behind my back and plastered a tired look on my face.

“Yes, Dad. I’m a civilian. Ellie Conway Private Investigator, remember?”

“I do, but do you?”

I smiled. “I have contacts, I’m going to use them when I need too.”

He smiled. His weather worn face creased into deep crevices around his eyes as the smile extended.

 

Chapter two.

 

And so it began,

I met Doug at Starbucks and found he’d already ordered my legendary brew, a quad espresso and a mochachino. My coffee habits preceded me.

“Thanks,” I said and slide into the booth.

“You’re welcome.”

Doug handed a manila folder to me.

“I’ve copied the entire file for you.”

“Cheers for that.”

“Did you find out why Mr. Henley was confused about knowing who I was?”

“Nope. When I left him he was adamant he had no idea who was handling the case.”

“Poor memory, Alzheimers?”

I smiled. “When was last contact?”

“This morning.”

I chuckled maybe it was Alzheimers. “I’ve never met anyone as forgettable as you.”

“If you had you would’ve forgotten.”

I settled back and enjoyed my coffee while Doug talked me through the investigation.

I didn’t see how anyone could forget Doug. Not only did he sound like a freight train he was built like one.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“You worked the Hawk case, yeah?”

I nodded.

“How’d he blow the back of that kids head out?”

“Semtex, he’d filled a hair tie decoration with Semtex and added a small detonator – the decoration was metal. It was enough to blow a hole in the base of her head.”

“Nasty.”

“Uh huh, why the question?”

“We got one of those musical cards arrive at the office, addressed to you.”

“And?”

He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and handed it to me.

“The address caused suspicion. Know anyone in Eastern Europe who’d be sending you a card at this time of year?”

I looked at the writing on the envelope. “I guess the return address is fake?”

“Yes.”

“And no, I don’t know anyone in Eastern Europe who’d send me a card.”

“That’s what Caine said. He called that Russian you worked with.”

Misha.

“He got one too, only someone in his office opened the card… they now have a gapping hole where his assistance desk used to be.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Semtex. Possibly some of the stolen Semtex from France, they’re still testing it.”

I’d heard about that, everyone who had anything to do with security knew about the sixty-one pounds of  missing Semtex and the missing detonators, presumed stolen from a depot in Lyon, France in July 2008. Semtex, the terrorist explosive of choice, no smell, hard to detect, lethal, and super easy to use. Just ask the survivors of Pan Am flight 103, back in 1988.

“Anyone got any ideas as to why Misha and I were targeted?” A cold sick feeling crawled around my stomach looking for a corner to hide in.

“Ya think Hawk could be back?”

I willed myself not to smile. It took some willing as the image of Hawks last moments filled my head. There was an unmistakable sense of relief as he became nothing more than mist.

I shook my head. “No, Hawk isn’t back.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

I had a feeling convincing the FBI that Hawk wasn’t back might prove a problem. I came up with a possible solution.

“I’ll give Caine a call and get together with him to go over the possibilities.”

“They’ve reopened the file.”

“Director O’Connell know?” I wasn’t sure how nonchalant I sounded.

“I wouldn’t think so.”

Someone else to call. Apart from me, she was the only other person from our agency present at the Pentagon that day to witness the NAVATAC information put to good use. (Navy Anti terrorism Analysis Center or Navy Anti terrorist Alert Center)