

**Planned Chance**

R.R. Webb

Thank you to all the women in my life, from my wife Kat, to my beautiful daughters Tonya and Cindy, my granddaughters Lilly and Bella, and my dogs Missy and Athena. Least I forget the only male I have in my household, my dog Sam.

**Planned Chance**

R.R. Webb

Copyright 2011 by R.R. Webb

Smashwords Edition

## Part One

Chapter 1

It had been a long and grueling flight for Tom, who despised flying in the first place. What bothered him was the lack of control he would have if something catastrophic were to happen, not an actual fear of heights. Not that he was a control freak, well maybe he was with his own life.

He stepped from the plane and gazed at the dark sky, pausing to breathe deeply, while taking in the hot night air of Paris. The moist air enveloped him, almost as a warm cozy blanket would on a cold winter's night. Walking down the stairs of the airport ladder truck that had already been positioned in place, he found the night innocent and comforting as he embarked on a new journey; one that would take him to the memories and actions of his past and would define his future.

He started the obligatory route through the airport terminal, stopping off to be searched by the customs agents. He always felt like a prisoner with all the invasive prodding and questioning. He was amazed that the people in that line of work showed little personality; not that he could blame them, after all, it was a thankless job. He eventually made his way over to the luggage pickup area of the terminal and retrieved two worn black-leather suitcases that he had owned for many years, and although he did not travel a great deal, when he did, these two articles were his most trusted companions.

Even though it was late at night in Paris, the airport was still bustling with people, mostly tourists who were always easy to spot. He didn't really understand why, in this age of terrorism, that most tourists made it clear that they were visitors from other countries. They might as well have painted a bull's-eye on the front of their shirts. People had come to see the fabled city, and were fascinated by the mystique of France that was portrayed with romanticism in countless movies.

He walked out the automatic doors at the exit of the airport and once again was in the warm air of Paris. He took a moment to enjoy his newfound freedom, before a well-dressed gentleman approached him and politely inquired, "Monsieur, can I get you a taxi?"

"Please," he replied, wanting to impress the local man by answering in what little French he had learned in his life.

He completely forgot the proper response; he thought it best to stick with his trusted grasp of the English language. In an obvious preplanned and daily ritual, the Frenchman raised his left hand and put three fingers up in the air, as if he were signaling to an invisible partner. Immediately; one of the waiting taxis, which was parked on the curb opposite the airport terminal, accelerated quickly towards where Tom and the man were standing, and before he realized it, the door to the taxi was open and now waiting on him. He was never a patient man so he found it refreshing at the speed at which the whole process took place. A well-oiled machine, he thought. Wanting to show his appreciation for the man's promptness, he took his own bags to the rear of the taxi and placed them in the trunk, as opposed to the driver stepping out and securing the luggage.

The taxi was an unusually clean and newer model vehicle, at least compared to the usually damp and smelly ones that propagate America. It was a welcome change to sit on the seats of a taxi, without worrying about staining your clothes. The driver was a middle-aged man, who seemed to be happy with life, evident by his constant smile and free spirit.

"Where to Monsieur?" The driver asked in English.

"The hotel closest to the Eiffel Tower," Tom said, already making up his mind to use English from that point forward. "But take your time I want to enjoy the night lights of this beautiful city."

He peered out the window at the lights, near and far, glistening off every luminous surface in view allowing a glimpse of the romantic magic and mystique of the city. He watched the lights until he drifted away in thought back to the circumstances that had brought him to this moment in his life and before long the glowing and reflecting lights all around him disappeared; he was focused only on his thoughts.
Chapter 2

It all started twenty years earlier when he was a young man proudly serving in the US Army in West Germany; a calling that had been passed down through the generations by the male members in his family. Since he was a little boy, he knew that he was expected to enlist in the armed forces and complete, at least, one tour of duty. He had a proud family, going against family tradition by failing to enlist and serve the nation, would have been an act of treason in his family circle.

He had completed his basic training as a Calvary Scout while stationed in Ft. Knox, Kentucky before being shipped off to Europe as part of a two-year stint with an Infantry unit. At first, he missed his family and did not want to be stationed outside of the United States, but as he spent more time in Europe, he grew to enjoy the different cultures represented in a small geographical space.

He spent most of his working days training for war, in one way or another, but for him most of that training consisted of busy work and seemed to be designed to take up time and not for preparation. He settled into the Army life rather easily, which was not much different from home, due to the order and structure of the military.

The long weeks of training and war games seemed endless, but he still loved what he was doing and it showed. He remembered being surprised when he first entered the military, thinking it would be a twenty-four hour a day job, only to find out that it actually followed similar hours to most of the businesses in the United States. There was a predictable set of hours that he and his buddies worked, other than an occasional charge of quarter duty or late night training. He was still just like any other young army recruit and after another long and dull week of training, he was ready for the weekend.

With the knowledge of their limited time in Europe, the friends made the most of their free time, thus, nearly every weekend they left their military base and headed towards the many sightseeing opportunities all around the southern Bavaria area of Germany. Tom had already visited many once in a lifetime places, like the horrible, Dachau, the Jewish concentration camp that was the gruesome end to many peoples' lives at the hands of Hitler's Secret Police. He especially enjoyed mingling with the people of the continent, like when they took a day trip to an exciting open-air concert in Brugge, Belgium. This weekend was not any different and he and his fellow soldiers, being in the prime of their lives, were already considering their options for the weekend.

It was Friday morning and he, along with three other roommates who shared the large red painted room, the largest room in the barracks, sat around discussing how they wanted to spend their upcoming weekend. He was amused with these sessions, and even though he participated, he knew the outcome would be the same as in any of the other high-level planning sessions.  
"I don't have much money left," John said with a pitiful look on his face.  
"Why don't we all just pool our money together this weekend and head over to Illesheim?" Tom asked, trying to get the group to pitch in and help John.  
He liked John because they got along well together, and he and the army medic liked to participate in much the same type of activities. Besides, he didn't feel up to traveling any great distance.

There wasn't any disagreement.  
"We agree then, we will combine the money in one pot," Tom said.

Except for John, the men split up and hurried off to their separate responsibilities on the base.  
"Thanks," John said patting him on the shoulder.  
"Don't mention it you would do the same for me," he replied.

"I owe you one," John said somewhat embarrassed at the handout.

"You owe me more than one. I won't let you forget."  
He had never been comfortable excepting gratitude, but that did not mean it was not appreciated. The two friends went off to their jobs wondering how many times the plans that the group agreed on, would change.  
The last workday of the week crept by, and not wanting to waste any more time, he and his friends spent little time prepping for the evening. They ran to the front checkpoint and got into one of the taxis that lined the exit of the base. The drivers of the taxis knew that this was the place to make the most money on the weekends, and made it custom to be stationed there on Fridays. He and his friends were in a jovial mood, alive with the excitement of the upcoming nightlife that always appeared after the sun fell.

The small historic town contained very few new buildings or businesses to attract tourists; instead, it relied heavily on tradition and the warm spirits of the townspeople to charm visitors to the area. He really enjoyed this quaint town adjacent to the military base where he and his friends served; it was exactly where he wanted to be at this stage in his life.

The group had already been in one of the local bars, known as Guesthouses, and had already partaken in a few mugs of the rich and potent beer, on their way to achieve the goal of getting plastered. The boisterous friends were congregating just outside the Guesthouse doors deciding which establishment to visit next to retrieve more of the fabled German Beverage. He and his buddies walked across the dimly lit cobble stoned square, the only emitted light coming from two small fixtures hanging on the rooftop corners of the town hall building that was located on the square. Unlike the strobes that adorn American downtowns causing night to turn into day, these gave a sense of mystery to the darkened corners of the square.

The alcohol was taking effect and his friends were having a merry good time making a lot of noise, and generally living up to the stereotype that Americans had overseas. He was never one to be rowdy, so when they drank, he just trailed along with the pack just in case he was called upon to stop his friends from doing something stupid and landing themselves extra duty after the local police escorted them to their commanding officer.

He had stopped paying much attention to the festive gang; instead, he was busy looking at the antique buildings around him, when his attention was turned to a bright yellow phone booth located next to a small German inn on the square.

Inside the booth stood a very beautiful young woman who appeared to be trying to place a call, but was having difficulty. A small light flickered over her head, reflecting its beams off the surrounding glass enclosed compartment. Almost without realizing it, he had wandered away from his friends, and was standing just outside the phone booth. It was as if a giant hand had picked him up and placed him in that spot, although he knew he had walked there.

He stood transfixed at the stunning woman on the other side of the glass, who was continually pressing the numbers on the phone, and pounding the side, in an attempt to operate the instrument. She was becoming agitated with the mechanism and was yelling a few choice words at the machine, and though he could not make out what those words were, he had a good idea what was being said, and he was sure it wasn't anything pleasant. In one motion, the woman turned around to the closed door that separated them, and in complete surprise, she swung open the door and looked directly at him.

"Do you know the country code for Canada, so I can get this damn thing to work?" she asked. Her body language and tone became animated. He wondered if he might want to reexamine if he had picked the wrong time to approach her.

"Do you know the country code for Canada?" she again asked, except with much less abruptness, almost as if she realized the force and tone of her first question.

He was thinking of a way to sound charming in hopes that his voice alone would somehow make her melt and fall into his arms. Unfortunately, for him, she was as impatient of a person as he was, and did not wait for him to come up with a reply. That sure didn't go like it did when I played it out in my mind, he thought.

"Never mind," she said. "I will try again tomorrow I didn't really want to talk tonight anyway."

Still mesmerized by the tall olive skin beauty with tantalizing black hair, he still could not find his voice to speak.

He noticed she had paused turning the corner of her mouth up, probably thinking of a way to communicate with him.

"Hi, I'm Alyse. Do you speak English?" The stunning beauty asked.

It was then, that he realized that she had not heard any words come from his mouth, and probably assumed that he could not even speak her language.

"Hi, I'm Tom," he said, finally able to speak.

"Are you in the German military?" She asked while staring at his obvious military shaved head.

"No, I am an American soldier stationed at the base just outside the city," he replied.

"American, Wow! What a small world, I'm your neighbor from Canada, here on vacation," she said with much excitement.

They found an instant liking to one another, and talked about the irony of running into each other in the small town, all these miles away from home. It left him gratified that their countries of origin gave them something to talk about, which helped break the ice. He liked her, and from what little they had already talked about, he found that the two of them had much in common.

It wasn't long before he said goodbye to his friends and ushered her into the guesthouse that he and his friends visited prior to meeting her. He was content, sitting there transfixed by the mesmerizing woman as the conversation went late into the night. The place had become crowded, and the noise made it difficult to hear at times, but he did not mind; he was so enamored with her. He wondered how he could have such strong feelings for a woman that he had just met; he hoped the feelings were mutual.

She explained that she was on vacation in Europe for two weeks, a vacation given to her by her father, who used to tell her endless stories of his days when he was stationed at the same base as Tom. Apparently, her dad was a Canadian Lieutenant attached to the American military at the installation. She went on to tell him that her mom was of Spanish and French origin, and her father was a Canadian when the two met in Spain during her mother's semester of studying abroad while enrolled at the University of Toronto. He surmised that Alyse had received her naturally tan and clear skin from her mother, along with her exotic looks.

He, in turn, opened up to Alyse and told her of his strict childhood and his family legacy of military service, but left most of the talking to her; she was much more interesting to him. The parallels of their lives seemed to intertwine and they openly talked about deep thoughts and future expectations they had for their lives, as if they had known each other since they were children.

She looked at her watch and grimaced, "I hate to end this, but I must get back to the inn, got a big day of sightseeing tomorrow."

With mixed emotions, they exited the door and stepped on the cobblestone square; he really wanted to ask her out the next night.

"I'm not working tomorrow either, how about lunch?" He asked with urgency, "Same time same place."

"It's a date," she said touching his hand, but failing to give him the kiss for which he had longed.

He walked across the suddenly vacant square feeling happy to have connected with someone all these miles from home, and lost in the bliss, did not even notice the two men in a van parked near the inn watching Alyse's every move. Just as he was about to round the corner and exit the square, he heard a commotion from the direction that he had just come; it sounded like someone in need of help.

Turning, he saw two men confronting Alyse in front of the inn where she was staying. She and one of the men were in a heated conversation, but he could not be sure if she was in distress, or if she knew these men, and was upset with something they may have done. She did not say that she was on vacation alone, maybe these people came with her, he thought, as a hint of urgency started to creep up within him.

He started to run towards her, when the small white van that he had not noticed earlier, accelerated in the direction of Alyse. Two younger men, dressed in business attire, exited the vehicle and pulled her into the van; their movements appeared rehearsed

The men returned to the front seat of the vehicle and sped off into the night before he could reach the inn. He stood frozen with disbelief and upset with himself that he was unable to get to her. It had become so quiet, he was sure he was the only witness to the kidnapping, and outside of him, he doubted that anyone would even know that she had been taken.

Quickly overcoming the shock, his wits returned, and he knew he had to get help fast. He ran inside the inn and awoke and old man with gray hair snoozing behind the inn's check-in counter.

"Call the Police, someone has been kidnapped," he barked.

"Vas," the man said questionably in German.

Tom was dismayed. Great, the only German that I have met since I been in this country that doesn't speak English.

"Polezei," he shouted, picking up the phone as the man nodded his head in understanding.

Within minutes, two squad cars in a less than urgent manner for his liking arrived at the entrance to the inn. Not waiting for the officers to make their way to him, he ran to their location, only to have a hand held out by the officer. He knew that he must have entered that invisible space that cops did not like anyone to enter when they were in uniform, so he backed away slowly.

The officer started to speak in German, but the sight of Tom was all that the officer needed to realize he was not German, "Awe, American," the officer said while shaking his head like Tom were an unwelcome visitor to his city.

He wondered if the man wanted to piss on the side of the building to mark his territory while he was at it.

"Two men just kidnapped a woman that I was with." He said getting back to the point at hand, "We had just said goodbye at the guesthouse across the square and she is staying here at the inn." He went on to give detail to the officers the description of the van and Alyse, and any other information he could think that happened during his short time with her.

"Are you going to put out an all points bulletin, set up roadblocks, or something?" He was disgusted at how little importance they were giving to this case.

The officers were complete morons, he thought as they started asking him the same questions repeatedly. He wasn't sure if they were giving him a hard time because he was an American, or if they were just inept.

"Perhaps these were her friends, and how do you say it, "a college prank," was all that you witnessed tonight." One officer said as if he had solved the whole incident.

"Or she doesn't want you to know where she's staying, and this was her way of letting you down easy, we all know how easy you Americans get your feelings hurt." The officer added his idiocy.

It was clear that the police did not believe anything that he was telling them, so they were just going through the motions of taking a report.

"Listen, her name is Alyse, she's five-six or five-seven, she's a beautiful girl with dark hair and olive skin in her early twenties, and could not weigh more than one-hundred ten pounds. He stood there shocked and confused as to why it was taking so long to get any positive action to happen from these two men, when he noticed the younger of the two officers go to his squad car, and using his car radio, broadcast Alyse and the van's description to other units that were on duty.

"Hell, it's about time," he exclaimed, not even trying to hide his disgust.

He now could breathe again, and the adrenaline dump within his body caused him to stumble backwards and lean against the wall of the inn.

"Sir have you been drinking?" The police officer asked.

"No!" "I mean yes, but I'm not making a story up just so you guys have to get off your lazy asses and do something," he knew that was a mistake even before he finished the sentence. He rubbed his hand over the spot where one of the cops walloped him with a nightstick, and was feeling lucky that they did not also take him to jail. He looked around at all the people that had gathered to watch the excitement, and as if he were a leper, they kept their distance, not daring to take their eyes off him. Knowing that there was nothing more that could be done, he decided it would be best to head back to his base.

Endless thoughts were racing through his head when he lay down on his bunk, which he had finally made it back to just before sunrise. Most thoughts were on Alyse, God he hoped that she was not being hurt, but he still kept thinking of all the cruel things that the two men might be doing to her; soon he fell asleep hoping to wake up from the nightmare. He finished his entire assigned tour of duty in the military at the German installation, routinely going through the motions of his daily tasks, all the while, checking with the police to see if any news or leads had been found of Alyse, but to no avail.

He had hoped that someone somewhere would encounter her, so that there was a report of her existence, but that was not to be. Most confusing, was the lack of anyone filing a missing person report in Germany or Canada that matched Alyse's name or description. He could not understand why Alyse's father did not file a report of her disappearance, so he had thought of finding her dad in Canada himself; however, since he failed to ask Alyse's her last name, there was little he could accomplish.

He spent much less time with his friends after the kidnapping; instead, he spent the majority of his time searching for Alyse in the surrounding towns. When he ran out of places to search, he spent time in the town square where she had been kidnapped, not that he expected the captors to bring her back to the inn, but being in the square somehow made him feel closer to her.

He would never forget Alyse, and the special night that he found his soul mate, even if it were only for a night.
Chapter 3

He settled in Virginia after his tour of duty in the military was complete, finishing his college degree in criminal justice at the nearby university, and after several low paying dead end jobs, he went to work for the FBI. It was not long before he made a name for himself in the agency, with his never-ending energy and passion; they really liked his willingness to work on any case assigned.

Others often asked him where the source of the passion he had for the agency came from, but he would just tell them that he didn't know. He knew, however, that his passion was not for the FBI, but rather his passion was to stop the bad guys of the world, in hopes to make up for that night in Germany, years before, when he found himself impotent to help Alyse

He had a very small circle of friends and often found it difficult to have the trust it takes to maintain close relationships. The one man that he found it easy to put trust in was Frank, who he had met in his earliest days with the agency. He was the kind of guy that would not lie to you, even if it meant sparing your feelings; a quality that Tom liked most about him. Like Tom, Frank was also in his twenties and seemed to be handsome enough to attract the women, at least judging by the number of women that his friend dated.

He and Frank first met during a raid of a doctor's house, who had been operating a very lucrative prescription pill mill out of a legitimate family practice. During the raid on the house, one of the doc's henchmen opened fire on the agents, striking Frank in the abdomen before being killed by Tom.

After his friend recovered from his wounds, he became like an appreciative twin brother and the two men became friends and partners. Every time one of the men switched from one area of the agency to another, the other was sure to follow, that much you could count on. Everything the two participated in professionally turned into a contest of who could catch the greatest number of bad guys, or who could bring in the largest stash of drugs, he being the winner nine times out of ten.

It was not long before he was promoted to the rank of Sergeant and placed in charge of several high profile investigations. Two years after the promotion, he received the granddaddy of all assignments when he was placed as agent in charge of a task force overseeing an ongoing investigation into a rapid increase in terrorist activity. The people at the top were getting nervous.

There had not been this amount of communication taking place amongst known terrorist cells since the terrorist attacks of the previous year in the United States and Canada. The death and destruction from those two attacks were the worst that either country had ever experienced. The task force did not have much information to go on, other than the intercepted communications of the terrorists, and an understanding that there could be someone inside the American or Canadian governments committing treason, in an attempt to help the terrorists. It was also understood that everyone, regardless of rank or position in the government, was a suspect and were not immune to suspicion or investigation.

This gave the task force wide scope of authority and little resistance from those at any position; something he found refreshing. Everyone within the agency felt as if the task force was investigating them, causing the members of the team to become pariahs to the rest of the agents. This highly secret, no holds barred approach made his elite task force a close one, often spending time together on and off duty.

The task force, which consisted of six men and two women, were staking out an old abandoned warehouse in a low-rent industrial park on the south side of the city. There was word on the street that people in business suits frequented the drug infested and pimp laden hangout on a regular basis.

He worked hard to have a good relationship with the people living in the downtrodden parts of the city, so it was not out of the ordinary for him to receive regular information from sources. He needed only pass these sources some money for alcohol or drugs, when he received useful information, and they would remain loyal. It sometimes made him feel guilty and responsible for giving them money that he knew would be used to buy the very items that the addicts needed the least.

Tom, Michelle, and Frank were parked outside an abandoned building in a listening van; an old telephone company van that had been refurbished to look like the local telephone company on the outside, but on the inside was well equipped with the latest technologies involved in covert operations. The three agents stealthily occupied the rear of the van that was completely closed in, so that, anyone walking by on the outside would not have a clue to the real purpose of the vehicle. The rest of his team divided themselves amongst the corners of the building out of eyesight of the van, dressed in the attire of the homeless people so that they would be anonymous and blend in with the rest of the occupants. This placement gave the team a complete visible perimeter of the entire building, and would assure that anyone going in or out of the building would be noticed by, at least, one member of the team.  
"Everyone in position," he transmitted the question on his walkie-talkie until each member of his team replied with an affirmative response. He stretched back in his chair and so began hours of complete boredom with the lack of any type of activity pertinent to the investigation occurring outside the van. Just like every other surveillance operation in the past, small talk began amongst the three people in the van and invariably the conversation turned to the usual subject of his love life. He was unable to maintain a meaningful relationship.

"So are you still with the blonde?" Frank asked with his eyes raised. "After all it's been about two weeks."

"Two weeks! That has to be some kind of record," Michelle jokingly added.

"No we broke it off." He replied. "I just wasn't home enough, and she was tired of spending so much time alone and without companionship. Our relationship was made up of brief moments of physical intensity, but she wanted more from a relationship than just sex."

"That's why I tell my girls right from the beginning that's all they should expect out of me," Frank said with pride.

"How appealing, no wonder you have to go to a bar and get the girl drunk to go home with you," Michelle smirked.

"Don't be jealous baby, maybe a guy will actually want to go home with you someday," Frank said with amusement.

"Kiss my ass," Michelle said pointing to her rear.

"Anytime," Frank said blowing Michelle a kiss.

Tom suddenly became alert when he saw one of his confidential informants passing by on the sidewalk just in front of the van. He needed to talk to the man and he was confident that he could accomplish the task without blowing the teams cover. He worked his way back up to the front of the van and called the older black man, who was scruffy and dirty from lack of a bath in who knows how long, over to the front window of the van.. The homeless man was not concerned with his appearance or cleanliness, his only concern was from where his next drink would come. Tom knew that Sam's appearance and alcoholism hid a very perceptive and intelligent man.

"What's the word Sam?" he asked.

"No word just minding my business and overhearing two white folk talking earlier on the second floor of this here building," the worn man informed him.

"The same guys that you told me about yesterday?" he asked referring to the secret meeting he and the old man had at a rundown baseball field, just a couple blocks away.

"You won't be seeing them there no more though." Sam replied. "On account I overhears one man tell the other man that they can't be meeting here no more because the place is being watched."

He, Frank and Michelle looked at each other with anger and puzzlement, the joking that they had been engaged in earlier was over.

"Who all knows about the stakeout?" he asked.

"Just the director and assistant director of the agency," Michelle answered.

"No one is to hear about this." "No one, I mean no one, knows our plans from now on," he ordered, knowing that he could trust Frank and Michelle with his own life.

"They had someone else with them this time boss," Sam added hoping to gain favor with him.

"Oh yeah, what did he look like?" he asked.

"He didn't look like nothing on account that he was a she." Sam added with a gleam in his tired old eyes. "And believes you me she was a site for these old eyes with her dark hair and olive skin; Just about got something in me to take notice, and that ain't worked in years."

He did not say a thing, and turned and stared off into oblivion remembering his beautiful Alyse from several years ago in Germany.

"Well guys." He said coming back to reality, Wrap it up, and call it a night."

After transmitting to the rest of the team to end the operation and head home, he paid Sam his customary twenty dollars and thanked him for his help. He was starting to leave when Sam tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Oh boss I almost forgot, I caught the name of the woman that was with the two men; sounded like Alice or Lisa something like that."

Tom, with an expression of complete surprise on his face, turned and looked at Sam, but he had already hurried off to spend his newly earned money on a pint of the cheapest liquor he could find.

He was not a wealthy man, but he did like to live in upscale apartments, and his present abode fit him well. It was new, clean, and offered many amenities, none of which he valued more than the privacy it offered. Privacy was what he was looking for that evening as he entered his front door and turned on the lights of his clean and orderly apartment. Everything was in its proper place and it was easy to see why he was teased about having O.C.D. It was not overly neat and clean to where it was uncomfortable, nor was he afraid that a guest might mess up something. The quietness of the house made it feel even lonelier than usual, he thought, as he poured himself a glass of wine and eased back in his brown recliner that sat in the living room. He sat listening to the relaxing and soothing ambience music as he stared at a large black television screen, amused at how much he paid for the set, as well as, how much he continued to pay for cable even though he never turned the damn thing on.

He was deep in thought trying to figure out who was the member of the agency that was playing both sides. Most of his conscience thought processes were fixed on one thing, after all, what were the coincidences that a woman matching Alyse's description and name would cross his path again. It was not long before all of his mental and physical energies were used up by the events of the day, and he fell asleep in his chair.

He dreamt vividly that night, and as usual, the dreams centered on Alyse. He had held her, and made love to her countless times in his dreams and tonight was no exception; he dreamt of their two bodies merging into one complete person. Something he felt lacking since their separation. He was in a full dream now, and suddenly, Alyse was lying beneath him. She arched her back as she was on the verge of release.

"Tom," she said.

"Yes baby," he answered.

"Tom wake up," she pleaded.

"I am awake," he replied, just as he realized he was no longer dreaming, but rather he was in that fuzzy world that exists between sleep and being fully awake.

He was fully awake when he looked over in the dark corner of his living room and noticed a figure that he could not quite focus in on; he knew someone was standing there. He reached for his gun tucked away in his holster that he had taken off earlier, but the gun was no longer in its sheath.

"Looking for this?" the figure asked as a hand emerged from the shadow with his gun dangling around one of the obviously feminine fingers.

"What do you want?" he asked the unknown woman.

"I need you Tom." The voice said. "I need you to rescue me."

When she finished her sentence, he knew he had heard that lovely voice before, and when she came out of the shadows, he collapsed back into his chair.

"I knew it was you," he said excitedly.

"I guess I have some explaining to do?" she said as a question.

She walked over and sat next to him, placing her shaking hand on top of his, which he had rested on the arm of the chair. He could almost feel the heartbeat in her body, and felt the warmth that only she could give him.

"Not a day has gone by without me thinking of you, not a day." He said with lots of emotion that had been hidden inside him. "Not a day has gone by that I haven't beaten myself up for not saving you that night in Germany."

"I'm sorry." She said squeezing her hand tighter against his. "I would have come to you before now if I could have."

He wanted to be angry with her and wanted to question her reasoning for being in the abandoned building earlier in the day, but his feelings for her outweighed his need for answers. They sat quietly next to each other for sometime as the closeness of their bodies carried out a silent conversation with one another. It was almost as if his heart was functioning fully for the first time in years, he could feel the blood actually making its way through the chambers of his heart.

When she felt comfortable enough, she began telling of the awful events that took place in Germany years before. She told of how she was not mistreated by her captors after they took her to a secluded house somewhere near Ansbach, Germany. "I thought I was being kidnapped for ransom money, kind of like in the movies, but that ended one night when my father single-handedly raided the house and proceeded to kill all three of my captors."

She told of how lonely she was, and went on to explain her father relinquishing his long-held secret of what he really did for a living. He told her of his recruitment as a spy for Canada when he was a young man, and even though he did not want to be a spy at that time, he relinquished because he had few prospects at the time. Tom could see that she was reluctant to give much more information, so he raised his hand to the side of her face and lightly brushed a strand of her hair away.

"I've had a mark put on me Tom, they want me dead," she said getting straight to the point.

"Wait a minute, who wants you dead, and why?" he asked.

"I'd rather not go into that right know." She said as her head dropped down not looking him in the eyes anymore. "There are some things you are better off not knowing."

"Better off not knowing, bullshit!" He shouted loudly. "I've been there before, for years, I did not know if you were alive or dead. I asked myself every night did you suffer, or I asked myself what those guys put you through, so don't tell me I'm better off not knowing."

Her head lifted back up and she looked directly in his eyes, he could see the moisture beginning to fill the corners of her beautiful emerald green eyes. She had the ability to melt his heart and make him willing to do whatever she asked. She explained that she worked for the same Canadian Intelligence Agency as her father, and her latest assignment was to infiltrate one of the largest terror cells originating out of the Middle East. She described the group as a non-ideological group that did not care about countries, just as long as they were paid large sums of money for their services. "Which country came out on top was of no concern to this group. I had reached their inner circle, but that's when I learned about your surveillance of the building."   
"See I was to have you killed last night," her voice cracking as she realized the thought of killing him.

She explained that the terrorists had been warned of the stakeout that was planned by the FBI, so three of them met at the warehouse earlier in the day to finalize their plan to kill the agents during the stakeout. She told of how the terrorist group's assassins were in the process of placing a bomb under the stakeout van that he and the other agents were in during the operation.

"When I learned that you were in the van, I could not go through with it." She said closing her eyes. "I told the other members of the group that their leader had canceled the operation, thereby blowing my cover. When they found out that the leader never gave such an order, my death warrant was signed."

She also knew that blowing her cover probably meant serious repercussions she would have to face from the Canadian government, if they even admitted that she existed at all. A look of loneliness permeated her body and it was apparent that she had been worn down.

"I can't wrap my mind around this right now Alyse." He said. "Let's just get some sleep and try to figure out this mess in the morning."

She walked slowly towards him, laid a very warm hand over his heart, and whispered, "Thank You," in his ear.

He took in the moment, hardly believing that after all this time; he was being touched by the woman he loved. All the questions and doubts about her disappeared.

"You take my bed, I'll sleep on the couch," he said as he motioned her towards the bedroom before settling down on the couch, watching her angelic walk as she left the room. He spent a few minutes recounting all the information that she gave him, until he came to a point that he could not think anymore and his exhaustion led way to sleep.
Chapter 4

He could feel the warm morning rays of sun bath his face as they vibrantly shined through the bay window, located next to the recliner that he had fallen asleep in the night before. Still a little groggy, he glanced in the direction of the kitchen after hearing noise coming from that area. She had already awakened and was in the kitchen squeezing some fresh juice from the oranges that he had picked up at a roadside stand on the way home the previous evening.

She looked as if she had spent hours making herself up to look elegant, but he could tell that it was her natural way of looking. She wore one of his old shirts, which made her even more attractive, if that was even possible. The white cotton t-shirt that he long ago had stopped wearing was just short enough for him to get a teasingly erotic look at the pink lace panties that she wore. She noticed his glimpse and his uncomfortable movements, "I found one of your shirts, hope you don't mind."

He was sure that she knew just how sexy and desirable she really was as she walked over to where he was sitting and handed him a glass of the orange juice that she had just prepared. He raised his glass to his lips pouring the sweet nectar down his throat as his body started to hydrate itself after sleep. He had just finished the liquid when she sat down next to him, so close that her shoulders touched his, causing a sensation race through his body.

"What do we do now?" once again placing her hand on his leg.

He was still not sure if he trusted her after hearing she was an agent who was prepared to let the terrorists kill US government agents, at least, until she noticed him. Did that mean that she would have gone through with the plan to kill the agents if he had not been there.

"You stay here I'm going to the office and make some inquiries," he said knowing that he needed more information for the doubts that he had about her. He needed to know if she was telling him the truth.

He went about getting ready for work, spending little time talking, and keenly aware that she would not leave his side. She was obviously scared.

It was a beautiful sunny morning with the wind slightly blowing as he drove his reliable sports car that he had for years, towards the downtown area of the city that housed the agency. He was stopped even before he could enter the office building by a short and stubby man with the charisma of a block of wood. Sal was a reporter for a rag of a newspaper originating out of nation's capital, and the lack of any evidence did not get in the way for him to have a story printed.

The man had misquoted him so many times about past cases, that any professional courtesy that they may have once had was long gone. If he were here, it meant that someone must have given him a tiny morsel of information regarding one of the cases that he was working on, and the man was here to build a story around the probable misinformation. He put his head down and tried to sneak past the man without being noticed, and with his size, it would not be an easy task.  
"Tom, there you are." Just the sound of the man's voice made him cringe.

Shit! He was spotted.  
The man wasted no time, and waddled over towards him, stopping well inside his personal space, "I just need a few minutes of your time."  
The man's breath hung in the air, causing Tom's eyes to begin to fill with water, as if he had just cut up a fresh onion. Did this man even own a toothbrush?  
"I just don't have the time right now," he said, all his evasive moves had failed. "What crap have you sniffed out now?"

"Word on the street says that your team had a bust go bad last night," the man said acting as if he were uncovering the Watergate scandal.

"Once again you have got your facts wrong, something I am sure is unimportant to you or the editors of that sorry excuse of a newspaper that you work for," he said without hiding his feelings for the reporting that the man delivered. If Sal only knew, just how close he was to what really happened.  
The man became angry at the accusations, "I'll have you know that we have more subscribers than most of the newspapers in print."  
"Yeah, and look how many people watch fake news shows on television, that still doesn't make what they say legit," he was getting on the reporter's nerves.

"Think what you will, I have never lied in any story that I have written," the man said, suddenly becoming defensive.

"No, but you certainly have stretched the truth haven't you?" Tom was done with this conversation.  
Sal followed suit and turned to walk away, "You will need me someday Tom, and when that day comes, you had better pray that I give you the time of day."

Man that was easy, I thought he would put up more of a fight. Tom did not speak to anyone else on the way up to his office, and was not friendly like he usually was when he arrived at work in the morning; instead, he walked into his typical institutional type government office and immediately started researching Alyse's story.

It was not a comfortable office, but it did have four walls and a door, which gave him much more privacy than his fellow agents who occupied cubicles. He pecked away at the keyboard, furiously visiting government database after government database in hopes to find some evidence to back up Alyse's claims.

He had been on the computer for so long that he did not know which hurt more, his eyes from the glare of the machine, or his butt from sitting so long in the chair. The phone rang, somewhat startling him, he was hesitant to answer the phone.

"This is Director Barnes, what is the update on our case?" A voice came from the other end of the line. He did not have to be told who was on the line, for he knew it was the obnoxious man that they all called boss. The short and rotund man had zero people or leadership skills, but like most people appointed into government positions, he knew someone important, and favors have to be repaid. He was hesitant to give the director much information about the case and certainly was not going to tell him about Alyse, He did not trust the asshole, after all, he was one of the few people that knew of the teams plans and authorized nearly every move they made. He did not rule him out as being the mole.

"There is nothing new to report sir, our surveillance operation that we had planned yesterday turned out to be a dead end," he lied.

The director went on to reiterate just how important the operation had become to national security and that he had handpicked this team and did not want to be let down. He knew that the director cared little about his team of agents; the only thing of concern to the director was to remain politically valuable to the administration.

After gladly hanging up the phone with the narcissistic man, he pulled out his personal cell phone and dialed a number that he often called when he encountered a dead end during one of his operations.

"Where," was the only word uttered from the stern voice on the phone.

"Same time same place, let's say thirty minutes," Tom said quickly ending the call and hurrying out of the office back to his car. He drove several blocks away from the agency and entered the student hangout area of the city; it was always easy to tell you had arrived by the smell of the coffee aromas permeating the air. He pulled up in front of a quaint coffee shop and made his way to the back of the establishment. The coffee shop's aroma was just as pleasing to him as the smells on the outside of the shop, breathing in deeply as he leaned all the way back in his chair sipping a cup of straight black coffee. No vanilla latte mocha for him, he thought. The shop was very peaceful and quiet, with few patrons at this time of day, and they were more interested in what was illuminated on their computer screens, rather than what was going on around them.

Just as he was about to take another drink of the warm liquid, an older gentleman with a matter of fact type personality, dressed in a dark gray suit slowly made his way over to Tom, all the while checking every corner of the coffee shop as if someone was going to jump out and attack him. The man sat opposite Tom and looked directly in his eyes without saying a word. He knew that he always had to start a conversation with the odd man, and this time would be no different.

"I need some answers," Tom said.

"Why does that concern me?" The man replied.

"You and I have a common enemy," Tom said, well aware that this man held the secrets of many leaders around the world. A young woman approached the table and it was apparent she was a college student working a job to make ends meet while she attended classes. The man rudely motioned the waitress away as she approached to take their order, he did not operate with any sort of tact. The woman left knowing that it was not a good time to bother them, rolling her eyes as she moved on.

"Like I said, how does the woman you have hidden away up in your apartment concern me?" The man asked wittingly.

He could only be amused that the man would already know about Alyse. It may have been a little unnerving but this man's breath of knowledge was precisely why he came to see him. Of course, he knew about the woman in his apartment, you could bet your life that if the rest of the world didn't know something, this man did.

It was almost as if the man had every persons home and business phones tapped and recorded

"I'm not going to insult your intelligence and act as if you don't know the questions that I have about the woman in my apartment, or the organization that she says she is affiliated to," Tom said.

"You mean you want to know if she actually is a double agent or a treacherous bitch," the man said with a certain amount of superiority.

"That about sums it up," he replied looking intently at every subtle move the man would make.

"She is telling you the truth; on the other hand, she did not tell you everything. What she did not tell you about are things that you do not need to know," the man said without waiting for a reply.

The man rose from the table that he and Tom were sharing, as if he had already taken enough of a chance by being in a public place.

"What does that mean?" he asked as the man began to walk away.

"Just remember Tom, things aren't always as they seem," the man replied walking out the front door of the coffee shop.

He sat finishing his coffee and wondering if he had more questions now then he had before talking with his contact. Well, I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get there, he thought as he finished his cup of coffee.

He was just glad Alyse appeared to be telling him the truth. He decided he needed to return to his office before any suspicions would arise as to where he may have been going in such a hurry when he left to meet his informant. It was not that he was supervised, but for safety purposes, his superiors would have expected him to take back up during any investigation or questioning.

He was pulling out of the parking space directly in front of the coffee shop when a single gunshot pierced the windshield of his car striking his headrest, If he had not been plugging in his dyeing cell phone, his brains would have been splattered all over his car. He jumped from the car and tried to focus in on someone that might appear to be holding a gun or try to focus on any movement that might give away his would be killer's position. The mass of people that suddenly populated the downtown area made it almost impossible; college classes had obviously let out.

He had almost given up when he finally noticed the elusive movements of a man with a rifle entering a tall building on the east side of the street. Becoming angry that someone had just tried to take his life, he gave chase to the anonymous man in hopes of finding out who wanted him dead. If there was one thing he could do well, it was his ability to run fast, a craft that he learned as a competitor on his college track team.

He entered the modern office building at blazing speed, catching a glimpse of the man entering one of the building's elevators. Knowing that he could not reach the elevator in time to catch the doors from closing, he took an immediate turn to the left to enter the stairwell of the building. He had noticed the stairwell signage the moment he entered the building, a habit that he always carried out when he entered a public place. Experience told him that the typical, "bad guy," would take to the roof if cornered in a building.

Without hesitation, he made easy work of the four levels of stairs and approached a door that hid a small stairwell not used by the public; there was little doubt that this was the roof access. At the top of the stairwell, he swung open the rusted metal door that led directly to the roof, which was swinging back and forth making squeaking sounds because of badly needed oil to its hinges. He knew he was hot on the trail of his would-be assassin, who had already exited onto the roof.

He paused just inside the doorway and quickly peeked around the corner just enough to eye the shooter at the edge of the roof. The roof was barren, except for the air conditioning units and mechanical fixtures that you would normally see on most any building. This openness gave the shooter no place to hide, or take cover. He drew his service weapon and leapt out onto the roof.

"Freeze FBI," he shouted as he leveled his weapon dead center on the man's chest. The man turned slowly and raised his weapon to his own head; the sweat dripping off the man's face as he contemplated the finality of what he was about to do to himself.

"Don't do it man, whatever it is that you've gotten into, it's not worth your life," he pleaded nearly begging the man not to kill himself.

"I have no choice," the man said as he pulled the trigger of the gun and the bullet dutifully exited the smoking barrel and tore into the side of the man's head, instantly silencing him. He stood silent realizing that he had stumbled onto something much bigger than even he could imagine.

A very tired Tom walked into his apartment and he could smell the savory aroma that permeated the air. He rounded the corner into his dining room, instinctively following the scent to a fully cooked candlelight dinner that was waiting for him, compliments of Alyse.

"We weren't able to have dinner in Germany, so I thought we should finish it now," she softly said.

They both sat down to the prepared dinner, talking little about the present circumstances, and instead, enjoying being around each other. After dinner, he was enjoying the warm water flowing over his body soothing the aching muscles from his foot chase earlier in the day.

He was surprised to feel a hand slide around his stomach, slightly caressing his skin. He opened his eyes to a naked Alyse, God she was beautiful, he could no longer hold back as their lips met in a passionate kiss. The two caressed each other endlessly, tantalizing every nerve, which collectively heightened with anticipation. He picked her up and held her in his arms, softly gripping her body as he took her into his dimly lit bedroom. He laid her on her back and delicately moved on top of her, gripping her hands with his. He stared into her deeply passionate eyes as he entered her in rhythm until they both collapsed in ecstasy; it was almost as the years apart culminated in this very moment.

They held each other tight before falling fast asleep in each other's arms, completely at ease. He awoke the next morning placing his hand to where she had fallen asleep, only to feel the cold crisp sheets, so he arose and scouted the apartment for her. He noticed a note propped up against a wine bottle left out on the kitchen counter; just like that, she was gone again.

A dejected Tom barely made it into the office when an excited Michelle ran up to him, almost out of breath:

"Did you hear, we got them," Michelle said excitedly as she explained that all members of the terrorist group had been killed in a fiery crash that morning after a routine traffic stop turned into a high-speed chase

"Everyone!" he asked, feeling his heart miss a beat.

"Yes," Michelle said smiling.

"Including the female?" He asked before thinking.

"Yes," Michelle repeated.

He had to sit down after losing all the feeling in his body. He was falling in love with her and could not bear the thought that he had lost her again. He barely had the energy to answer the ringing phone that sat on his desk and was surprised to hear the man that he had met in the coffee shop the previous day on the other end of the line; this was the first time that he had contacted Tom.

"Remember Tom, things aren't always as they seem," and the phone went dead.

Perplexed by the call, Tom could only hold one thought in his mind; Alyse was dead, or was she?
Chapter 5

"Monsieur we have arrived," the taxi driver exclaimed, jolting Tom who had been in deep thought, back to the present day Paris. If Alyse was alive, she was here. He walked through the revolving doors of the hotel and walked slowly past the table holding numerous brochures that advertised various attractions that visitors could enjoy while staying in Paris.

The hotel was slightly upscale, but did not have the uppity atmosphere that you often find in expensive establishments. It was the kind of place that offered room service and took your bags up to your room, but if you wanted a massage or an alcoholic drink, you would have to leave the hotel. When he arrived at his room, a bellman was already waiting for him with his luggage a tow.

"Good evening sir," the man spoke in English. The front desk must have told him I was English, he thought, but then again, it was obvious.

"Good evening," he replied as he entered the large room.

After he delivered the customary tip to the man, he stood for a minute in the middle of the hotel room mulling over whether he wanted to unpack his clothes, or wait and see if what he had come here to accomplish turned out.

He sat at the desk in his hotel room going over all the intelligence information that he had gathered during his search for her; information that led him to believe that Alyse, if alive, had made it to Paris. He also knew that if Alyse was making it this difficult to find her, then someone wanted her dead. He felt his heartbeat quicken at the thought that Alyse may be in Paris, alive and well. The only question was where.

He walked out of his hotel the next morning to a gorgeous day in Paris with its picture perfect scenery on display for all to enjoy. He was fascinated with the carefree and happy people that populated the city. They say this is the country of love, he thought, hoping to be added to the list of those fortunate souls that had connected in this legendary place.

He was startled by a vagrant, with a rag and spray bottle, pleading with the taxi driver to let him wash the windows of the taxi for a nominal fee. This view of the downtrodden was about the only thing that he had noticed so far that Paris had in common with the states. The taxi driver mouthed something in French to the still begging man before the traffic cleared enough to let him escape and avoid continuing his rant. Tom didn't mind the delay, and used this time to clear his head, which had been deep in thought about his plans to make this trip a successful one

"Business or pleasure?" The taxi driver asked trying to evoke a response from the silent Tom.  
"Both," he replied without further words letting the man know he was not interested in idle chatter.

It was not long before he reached his destination, and even though he did not think of himself as a tourist this time around, he still was ending up at the most iconic place in the country. Later that day, he arrived at the Eiffel Tower wearing a blue baseball cap, just like the one he had been instructed to wear by the man who agreed to meet with him at the monument.

This man, who he met through the back channels of espionage was said to have particular knowledge of the events that encompassed both their lives. The man was a shadowy type figure that left him feeling uneasy whenever they had spoken on the phone.

He felt under his left arm to assure himself that he hadn't forgotten his security blanket that consisted of his forty-five caliber handgun. He trusted very few people and he was well aware of just how fast he could find himself in a life or death struggle. He had very little Intel on the man he was meeting with today, after all, information on people in this type of business, doesn't come easy. He had no choice but trust the man, at least a little, for he had exhausted all other leads.

He could feel his muscles tense up every time someone got close to where he had stationed himself on the observation deck, a ritual that went on for over two hours, before he realized that his contact was not going to show; he had been stood-up. Tom, who was frustrated and angry, decided to walk back to his hotel room instead of taking a taxi, in part to clear his head and contemplate his next move in this never ending chess game.

The care free Parisians helped calm his mood as he walked the city streets, past the numerous street vendors and artists performing their craft. He partook in the festive atmosphere, until he felt someone watching him; he continued on, but thought that going to his hotel room probably would not be a wise idea. He could not see who was watching, but he felt them.

He would have to lose them.

He turned down a lonely alleyway that stood between a restaurant and a bar in his attempt to lose his follower. Maybe paranoia is getting the best of me, he thought, when he realized not a soul had entered the alleyway behind him. Just to be on the safe side, he made a few more evasive turns, while making his way through the busy streets and sidewalks, before he was convinced that there wasn't anyone following him, at least not anymore.

By the time he made it back to the moderately priced hotel where he was staying, his energy faded and he had grown tired from the day's events. Not feeling like talking with anyone, he started to head straight to the elevator to go up to his room.

"Monsieur, you have a message," the desk clerk exclaimed, while waving a slip of paper in his hand, which was clearly the message in question.

He walked over to the desk where the young bellman was stationed, and retrieved the folded piece of paper.

"How did this message come in," he asked.

"A young boy delivered it, Monsieur." The man answered. "But he has long departed."

He tipped the man for the information that he had been given, albeit very little information. He put the message in his pocket, and hurriedly proceeded to his room, feeling a hint of excitement about what the note may contain. Unable to wait any longer, he pulled the note from its resting place as soon as he closed the door to his room. Delicately unfolding the small note that he had been given, he quickly read the single sentence that had been written:

"I had to check you out to see if you were trying to set me up."

Tom, for all his anger that he had for being stood-up earlier at the Eiffel Tower, understood why the man would be cautious. I would have done the same thing, he thought to himself as he ripped the paper into pieces and flushed them down the toilet.

The escalating talk of murder, intrigue, and secret meetings made him feel as if he were becoming a character in a mystery novel, a role he was not particularly fond of playing. He opened the door to the brown mini-refrigerator in the corner of the room, and was about to sample one of the alcoholic beverages that the hotel staff had stocked, when he heard the rustling of paper. He turned in the direction that the sound was coming from, and noticed a piece of paper sliding under his room's door.

Tom, not knowing whether the person delivering the paper was friend or foe, grabbed his gun and silently eased up to the door, quickly snatching the heavy door open and bursting out into the hallway. To his dismay, whoever had placed the note had already disappeared out of sight.

Disappointed, he grabbed the note in the doorway and closed the door behind him, sat down on the edge of the bed, and opening the covertly delivered message. It was yet another one-line note that simply read, "Same time, same place, now!"

He took a deep breath into his lungs, taking in all of the aromas of Paris as he walked out of his hotel. He was not sure what to expect when he arrived at the meeting location with his source that had re-contacted him, but one lesson that he had learned the hard way, in his line of work, was to expect the worst. It did not take long for him to get a taxi, it is amazing what holding American dollars up in the air will do for you, he thought as he stepped to the curb, watching the race that had already begun by the taxi drivers to see who could get to him first.

The race was a short one for the drivers, and he entered the taxi of the winner, instructing the driver to head to the Eiffel Tower. The taxi was an equally clean taxi as the one he rode in earlier in the day, which seemed to be the norm in France. He welcomed the security that the small passenger compartment of the taxi afforded him, for he knew he had reached a very dangerous point in his search for Alyse; they had unwittingly stumbled onto something bigger than either one of them, a secret for which the people were willing to kill.

He stepped from the taxi at the base of the tower onto a wet sidewalk that appeared freshly washed, causing it to glisten off the lights of the tower. The mammoth landmark's size made him feel small and insignificant, and he was awed and mesmerized by its glowing beauty against the jet-black night sky.

Here it goes, he thought to himself as he placed his foot on the first metal step and started to make his way up toward the top of the tower. It was taking some time for him to make his way up the many steps of the tower, when he realized that it was not a smart idea to walk straight up the stairs like everyone else would, so he began to look around for an alternative route. After thinking for a moment, he remembered noticing a separate stairway located just a couple flights below his location. It was closed off by a large iron gate; obviously to keep all members of the general public out, some sort of maintenance stairway.

He made his way back down to the closed off stairway and made quick work of picking the lock on the gate, a task that had been easy to him for some time. He opened the gate slowly because of the squeaking it was making from lack of oil on the hinges. Ironic, he thought, a maintenance stairway lacking in proper maintenance. He made sure to shut the heavy gate back behind him, if anyone were following him, they would not be any the wiser that he had taken the route. He had to take extra care and time on each step as he approached the observation deck, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The observation deck's visibility improved with each step, and as he took the last flight of stairs, he was able to scan the deck. To his surprise, the only person standing on the observation deck was a man in his forties dressed in a white shirt and jeans. More importantly for Tom, he wore a blue hat, the article the informant said he would be wearing for identification. He did not immediately approach the man, and took his time to observe him for any clue to his character or reason for meeting with him. The man, who did not fit the stereotype of the typical spy, stood silent at the railing of the deck and appeared to be in deep thought as he stared into the night.

"Hello Tom," the man said without even turning around. You could hear in his voice that he felt superior that he had the ability to know what was going on around him without actually seeing with his eyes. He was uncomfortable from the moment he stepped onto the deck, and felt like a sitting duck on the almost completely open platform; he just wanted to get the information that the man possessed and leave.

"Let's get this over with," he said in a matter of fact voice, hoping the man would think that this covert style operation was an everyday occurrence for him.

He recounted, to the man, the surveillance operation that his task force had been performing in New York, an operation dealing with the group of terrorists and their possible planning of future attacks against the United States. He also recounted the first time he and Alyse had met, ending with her abduction in Germany. He explained that she appeared to be part of the group of terrorists that he and his team had been investigating, but explained that she turned out to have infiltrated the group to get close to their leader.

"We caught them." Tom said. "She was said to have died in a car chase with police."

"If you think the people you were investigating were already caught or killed, why are you still investigating the matter?" The man asked.

He was sure that the man knew the answer to his own question but he played along anyway.

"We only caught the foot soldiers, not their leader." He explained. "And I don't believe Alyse was the woman killed in the car chase." Once again, he could feel himself get excited at the thought of Alyse being alive. The man looked at him intently, for what to him, seemed forever.

"Let me start by warning you to drop this inquiry and go back to the states," the man pleaded. He knew the man did not think for an instant that he would ever quit his search after coming this far.

"You know I can't," Tom replied

The man nodded and immediately began to tell him that he was correct in his thought that the leader of the terrorist cell escaped.

"He was not caught because he never existed," the man surprisingly said. Tom puzzled at the statement and shifted his head to the right much like a puppy does when a high-pitched sound is made.

"This thing that you have stumbled upon goes all the way to the top of two countries," the man exerted, going on to explain that the President of the United States and Prime Minister of Canada had formed a commission on terrorism, shortly after the two leaders met at a North American summit.

"I know the Joint Commission on Terrorism," he said.

"What you don't know, is the committee's real reason for being formed. They were not there to prevent future attacks by analyzing data and intercepting...," the man's voice was halted by a gunshot that rang out, piercing the silence of the night. Tom immediately could tell that the shot came from his rear, and instinctively dropped to the cold steel floor of the observation deck, rolling towards a metal box that gave him some cover and removed his body from the line of fire.

The large metal box that he hid behind provided an almost impenetrable cover, and seemed to hold some type of machinery used in the facility. He noticed that his informant lay motionless to his right, with a hole in the middle of his forehead.

"Why couldn't you just stay out of it Tom?" The shooters voice asked.

He instantly recognized the voice as his best friend and most trusted member of his team at the FBI. He could not help the feelings of intense anger and disgust swell up inside of him.

"You son of a bitch, I trusted you with my life." Tom's disgust for Frank was clear. "What did they have to pay you to turn on your country?"

"Spare me the righteous condemnation, when are you going to learn that everyone in this world is out for themselves; there's no such thing as dying for honor or ideology anymore." "So, yes it took cash; a whole lot of cash, and while you're lying in a grave, I will be lying on a secluded beach with no worries, other than what my next drink will be."

Tom lifted his head slightly above the metal box, which caused Frank to release a barrage of bullets in his direction. Seeing an opportunity to escape after Frank's weapon misfired, Tom jumped from his safety spot toward his former friend, striking him in the chest with extreme force, causing him to fall backwards. Unable to control the momentum from the strike, Frank hit the railing of the observation deck, and fell over the ledge. Tom raced over to the railing to see Frank holding on to the top railing of the deck with both hands, but before he could grab him and pull him to safety, his friend lost his grip on the railing. Frank looked him in the eyes, with horror, while falling off the side of the tower to the concrete below, killing him instantly.

He glanced down at the man lying on the sidewalk below with sadness, but knowing he did not have time to collect his emotions; he ran down the stairs and disappeared from the edges of the tower grounds running into the night.
Chapter 6

He was out of breath and physically and emotionally drained as he ran down the darkest side streets of Paris that he could find. He was becoming paranoid, evident by his jumpiness each time a sound broke the silence of the night, it's not paranoia if someone is out to get you, he thought to himself.

He did not feel comfortable enough to slow his pace to a brisk stride until he was several blocks away from the Eiffel Tower. The night had become muggy and the heavy air was making it even more difficult to perform any type of physical exertion. Before he knew it, he had entered a side of Paris that tourists would never see in a travel brochure.

There were far more of the real Parisians here, people who had escaped into the life of the seedy district with its scruffy bars and prostitute lined streets. The government was not concerned with these trash-laden streets, and unlike the ones near the tower, these had never seen a street sweeper or any maintenance since they were constructed. He did not care about his surroundings, only that they offered a sense of anonymity so that he could blend in.

Almost without thinking, he turned down a side street where the rusted street lamps had stopped working long before he ever walked the pavement. The only establishment doing business back here would have to be a strip club, he joked to himself as he paid the cover charge to the large, bald man. The man's bulging biceps, that he was sure to show off by wearing the tightest shirt ever made, gave anyone that entered the club warning that it would be best not to create problems.

The dive smelled of stale bear and body funk, but by the look of the men, and a couple of women, they could have been standing in the city's sewer system and would have cared less. The stripper performing on stage was an attractive woman wearing a fire engine red g-string; her large breasts were exposed as she bent over so that her backside was facing the customers, leaving little to the imagination. By the looks of the two men at one table who were stroking themselves, imagination did not matter. One man at another table was climaxing on the floor, and with a wince, Tom realized the origin of one of the foul smells in the dive.

"How bout a drink handsome?" A surprising lovely red haired beauty said as she approached him.

She was, without a doubt, a paid worker to get men to buy overpriced drinks. She was shorter than Alyse, and lacked that innocent personality so unique to his lost love; maybe the fact that she wore little more than the stripper performing on stage played part in her persona. She sat on an old and dirty fabric covered bar stool; He stood beside her, leaning over the severely worn bar.

"Give the lady what she wants, and I'll have a beer," he interjected.

The middle-aged bartender, without even asking his newly acquired company what she wanted, poured her top shelf liquor, leaving the bottle next to her. He, on the other hand, was given the stalest beer he thought he had ever drunk.

"What brings you here of all the places in the world?" The red hair woman asked.

"I just happen to be in the neighborhood," he said after noticing some blood spatter on his hand, which he quickly rubbed out before anyone noticed.

"Sure," she said, knowing he was not being forthcoming.

"Honestly, I need a place to lay low for a while," he said half asking if she knew of a place by the tone in his voice.

"Without hesitating she said, "One hundred Euro and you can crash on my couch tonight, I sure could use the money."

He hesitated a moment mulling over the offer before telling her to inform her boss that she was going to make some money tonight, knowing that the club would get a percentage of what she made.

He and the woman walked out of the back of the bar into a private parking lot as he waited for the woman to head to her car, "Where's your car?" He asked.

"What car?" The woman asked as she opened the back gate of the lot and started walking up the sidewalk. "I only live three blocks away."

He nodded and followed the woman to a rundown apartment building and entered what looked like an old freight elevator. The woman pushed the fourth floor button, and just that fast, he was standing in a hallway that was adorned with a worn green carpet, at least he thought the carpet was green, but there was so much staining that he could not be sure. The woman walked up to the apartment marked, 402, which was written in pen on the dirty white colored door. Expecting the worst when the woman opened the door, he was pleasantly surprised to smell the aroma of vanilla and spice permeating the small studio apartment.

"By the way my name is Lisa." The woman said laying down her purse on a wooden end table next to the light green couch that appeared not much different in color from the hallway carpet. "Make yourself comfortable."

"What would you like to drink?" The woman said as she opened her older model refrigerator.

"I have beer and water, your choice," she said

"Beer is fine," he said, sitting upon the couch, not sure what this woman was expecting from him.

He was still waiting for her to bring the beer, when he instinctively grabbed the gun that he had tucked in his waistband when he noticed the door of the apartment opening.

"Don't worry it is just Beth, my roommate," Lisa said, while putting her hand on top of the gun that he had pulled.

"You are edgy," she said as she handed him the beer.

You would be too if you had the night that I had, he thought to himself as he tucked his weapon back to its original position.

He wondered how she could have a roommate, being that this was a studio apartment. That question was quickly answered when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two women lip locked in a passionate embrace.

"What's wrong honey?" Lisa asked when she saw him staring in her direction, "I only sell drinks not my body. I don't screw for money, besides you don't have the right parts for me."

He was relieved because he did not want anything physical to happen that night; he just wanted a quiet place to rest and collect his thoughts while figuring out a plan for the next day.

He let out a big yawn and stretch as he awoke the next morning, refreshed from his much-needed recharge after all the adrenaline was sucked out of his body by the events of the previous day. The apartment was very quiet and peaceful, and he chuckled at the thought of Lisa and her roommate spooning underneath the brown blanket that lay over them on the bed just near the couch.

The studio apartment was so small that he was surprised that the two women did not wake him during the night. After lying quietly for a little while, he went about his morning ritual of using the bathroom, so his bladder could relax from being stretched to its limit. The toilet was located right next to the only other room in the whole apartment, if you could call it that, it was more like a closet.

He could not find an extra toothbrush, so he just took a bead of toothpaste from the tube that was lying on the worn porcelain sink. After he rinsed his mouth out, he stood staring at himself in the mirror above the sink; he had no idea what to do now. Should he leave or wake Lisa up and thank her before leaving, or should he just quietly exist until the women got up from their sleep. He thought about it for a minute and decided that he would have to wake her up. He made his way to the side of the bed closest to the sink, put his hand on the lump under the covers, and shook it.

"Lisa, Lisa," he whispered without a response.

"Lisa I've got to go, wake up." He again requested, but louder.

He was about to shake the lump again when he noticed red splatter on the only part of the pillow that was not under the covers. He felt the blood drain from his body. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what he thought he might discover, and quickly jerked the blanket off the bed.

He knew he was set up the minute he saw the blood soaked bodies under the cover; both appeared to have had their throats cut as they slept. It was a gruesome sight of blood and flesh all mixed up in a disgusting biological mess. He instantly felt sick knowing that these two women would probably be alive if he would not have approached Lisa and requested her help.

He would have to come to grips with this some other time, he would have to get out of the apartment and get out quickly.

He exited the front door of the apartment and made his way to the stairwell, just as the French police were making their way up the stairwell with weapons drawn. He immediately turned and ran down the dirty hallway entering the roof access stairwell, directly opposite the rushing police officers. Thank God, she lived on the top floor, he thought, as he made his way to the roof.

"Déjà vu, I certainly have been here before," realizing it did not turn out so well the last time he was on a roof.

He was winging his escape since he was unsure on what to do, but he had nothing to lose. These were professionals trying to kill him, so he was sure that they had planted plenty of evidence to prove his guilt; the French police would not be lenient. He ran out onto the roof of the apartments and quickly saw that his avenues of escape were limited to the roof of an adjacent building, but it had a two level drop over an eight-foot divide.

Without thinking, he went to the corner of the roof that gave him the most distance away from the divide and planted the soles of his shoes against the roof's edge for support. With one last deep breath, he exploded towards the edge of the roof, and with all his ability, leapt over the gap overlooking the alleyway. He easily cleared the span with a picture perfect landing on the opposite building, and proud of his accomplishment, he did not notice the two French police officers who were waiting for him as he landed.

He felt the cold steel of the interrogation room table under his hands in the mostly empty room, except for the two-way mirror at the end of the room, from where he was surely being watched. He was in a tough spot and he knew it, there was no way he was going anywhere, and the authorities certainly were not going to let him leave just because he said he was innocent. He was sure the police had collected the proverbial mountain of evidence by now. A detective in dress pants, white shirt, and tie entered the room.

"My American friend," the interrogator said as he sat across from him.

"Did you run out of women to murder in your own country?" He asked sarcastically lighting up a cigarette and offering one to him.

"No thank you." He said. "Didn't you hear those things will kill you?"

"Better I do it myself, than to have someone like you come along and put a bullet in my head," the interrogator retorted.

"I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I told you I was innocent," he said knowing that he couldn't tell the cop that he was an FBI agent, if he did he was sure it would only be a matter of time before whoever was trying to kill him would be his cellmate.

"You can't kill two French intelligence agents and just expect to walk out of here," the man said with a look of disgust.

"Intelligence agents," he came back with astonishment and felt the perceived noose tightening around his neck; he was screwed. The American government certainly would not be helping him, and the French law enforcement agencies would not go very far in keeping him alive after killing two of their own.

"It's a pretty damn curious coincidence I would say, first we have an American fall, or was pushed, from the Eiffel Tower last night, and today we have another American kill two women just two blocks away from the same location.

The man leaned over towards him and thrust his fist hard against the metal table, "Is there something that you wish to tell me?"

It was obvious that the man knew the two incidents were related, but Tom wasn't about to give the inspector any more information, after all, he already had two murder charges against him and didn't want a third. Ironically, Frank's death was the one that he did have something to do with; self-defense would matter little to the inspector.

"I am fed up with you Americans coming over to my country, thinking you can do whatever you want without repercussions," the man raised his voice and threw his chair against the wall in an attempt to intimidate him.

"Take this asshole American back to his new roommates," he commanded the guard that had entered the room after the inspector made a motion through the two-way mirror.

He said nothing more and within moments was escorted to a jail cell which was already occupied by two rather large and scruffy men who were sitting on the lone bench in the cell, while a third man was sitting on the steel toilet, it was exposed and gave little privacy to the user. He hung his head low; sizing up the situation, and thought it best to keep himself well away from the others.

He jumped every time he heard a jail guard approach down the corridor, for he did not know who was trying to kill him, or when they would come for him. The last guard to walk the hall stopped in front of the cell and looked directly at him, "You have a call, get your ass up here."

He could not think of who would be calling him while he was in a rundown jail cell in the middle of Paris, they must have contacts within the police department. He was led out of the cell and into a small room with four telephones on the wall, so close together that no privacy could be expected. The guard standing over by the far wall motioned him towards the phone's receiver lying on top of the phone.

"Hello," he said not sure what to expect to come from the other end.

A slow soft voice came from the other end of the phone, "Tom keep yourself alive. I will see you soon."

He was in a world of racing thoughts when he was taken back to his jail cell, because he knew exactly who it was that had spoken on the other end of the line, and he had been looking for her for quite some time.

He noticed a new prisoner after he was returned to the damp and pungent jail cell. The man was clean-shaven and well kept, probably around his age; he was not scruffy like the other men in the cell. He noticed that the man was going out of his way to avoid eye contact with him, something that worried him and caused him a feeling of uneasiness. The jail guard, in an uncaring and rough manner, unhooked the cold steel handcuffs that he had to wear during any movement to and from his cell, and shoved him back into confinement.

Once the heavy door of the cell, which consisted of heavy-duty bars with little space in between each rung, slammed shut and the guard was out of sight, the well-kept man started edging his way towards him. The man was mistaken if he thought that the small movements went unnoticed. Just as he was preparing to defend himself and fight for his life, the approaching man stopped just shy of his position.

"Look in your right pocket," the man said in a very low voice.

He knew his jeans had already been searched thoroughly, and were completely emptied by guards during his booking in procedure when he had first arrived at the police station. He had nothing to lose, so he gave the man the benefit of the doubt, besides it didn't seem wise to question him at this point. He placed his hand in his pocket and slowly made his way down to the very bottom, and to his amazement, his hand hit an object. It felt round and flat, and while blocking the view of the other occupants of the cell, he glanced at what he had retrieved from his pocket, which was now firmly in his hand. It was a silver colored device and no bigger than the size and width of a dime. His experience in covert operations let him instantly recognize it as a transmitter.

"Don't become separated from that," the man quietly said as he slowly returned to his original position in the cell.

He knew he was taking a chance by holding on to the transmitter because it could be a double-edged sword. If he kept the transmitter, it would provide his location to for possible rescue or it could be a set-up and lead the killers to him. He also knew he had little choice and decided to play out the scenario to the end, so he placed the device back into its hiding place at the bottom of his pocket.

He cleared his mind, which had been going over the possibilities of escape, and turned and placed his back against the hard block wall of the jail cell trying to get some kind of rest. Unknowingly, he nodded off late in the evening giving way to his body's demand for sleep, and was only awakened when he felt the bare hands of one of his fellow prisoners wrapped around his neck.

Tom, taking just a second to catch his wits after the surprise awakening, grabbed the man by the testicles and pulled straight down causing the man to immediately release his hold that he had around his neck, and instead clutched his balls in an instinctive reaction to pain. Tom followed with a maneuver that he had been taught in the first days of his law enforcement career, he grabbed the man by the left arm and pivoted his body, while simultaneously grabbing the man's head with both of his hands and slamming it against the block wall of the cell several times until the man was rendered unconscious.

His cellmates did not move, they just watched.

It was an easy explanation to give the jail guards, who had come running to the cell at the sound of the commotion, explaining to them that the man had passed out for some unknown reason and struck his head against the wall. The guards were weary of the explanation of the disturbance, but lacked the enthusiasm to investigate the matter any further; instead, they loaded the man on a backboard and carried him off.

After the disturbance, the cell became quiet and he was undisturbed after the other men in the cell witnessed that he could take care of himself.

He was roughly pulled out of his jail cell the next morning and placed in a transport van that appeared to be parked in the basement of the police station. The guards, taking no chance of his escape, shackled Tom at the waist with a solid metal linked chain, and handcuffed him behind the back, before placing him on a bench located at the back of the prisoner transport.

It was not long before the vehicle made its way through the busy streets; at least that is what it felt like to him from of all the sounds of people and cars that he heard. The design of the rear compartment of the transport did not give an outlet that let him view even the sunlight of the outside world, so he relied on sound.

About thirty minutes into the journey, the noises that he had heard coming from people and cars on the outside became almost nonexistent, and it was clear that they were on the outskirts of the city, probably on the way to one of the notorious prisons of the country, after all, what better place to house such an infamous prisoner. Tom rubbed his hand over the pocket of his jeans, almost like rubbing a good luck charm, hoping if it were good guys tracking him that they had something special planned. He sure needed it right now.

He felt two loud thuds jolt the side of the vehicle, and for the first time since the beginning of his journey, he saw sunlight filter through, only to be blackened out again by the smoke that filled the air. He saw figures moving around the compartment, but they had become hazy as the gas introduced into the vehicle took effect on the occupants, and he was no exception.
Chapter 7

He was getting real tired of waking up in strange places, but that is exactly what was happening again, he was groggily becoming aware of his surroundings. How the hell did I end up on a train, he thought to himself as he heard the steel wheels of the train rolling on the tracks, speeding to an unknown destination. It looked as if he were located in a regular passenger cabin, typical of most European trains, much like the one he had taken many times as a soldier stationed in Germany. Even though there was room for at least four others in the compartment he had the room completely to himself, which he was sure was by design and not just happenstance.

He watched outside the train compartment's window at the blue sky, which was populated with very few clouds. Day slowly faded into night, and the clouds in the sky were replaced by the occasional lights from one of many small towns that they raced by without stopping.

Just over two hours later, the train finally slowed at a gradual pace until they were stopped at a station. Now what am I supposed to do? He said to himself as he decided whether to depart the train or continue; did he even have a ticket if the porter came by and checked on him?

Before he could make a decision on his own, he heard the ringing of a telephone coming from the room, but scouring the walls saw no telephone. He followed the ringing to a sack of clean clothes located in a storage compartment above his head, and as he rifled through the clothes, he found a cell phone. What are the odds that someone left these items here from a previous train ride, he thought, because he knew just how good porters cleared the train compartments of forgotten items after each trip. He picked up the cell phone and placed the phone to his ear without speaking, "Put the clean clothes on, you'll notice they are your size. Get off the train, and keep the cell phone on you," then the line went dead.

The sign on the wall of the train station read, Verde, and he knew Spain well enough to know that they had gone south into Spain. It was not a city station where there are crowds of people, but rather a small town one with an old one-room building that looked as if it had been there for a hundred years. The Spaniards were actually Spanish in these small towns and not tourists that dominating the larger cities, if anybody stood out here it would be him.

"A driver will pick you up in a few minutes; go with him, and after he drops you off, watch the driver leave. When you are alone, cross the street without going to the overlook, and stand behind the abandoned fruit stand," the feminine voice ordered from the cell phone that he had answered. This situation was out of his control, so he did as he was told in hopes that whoever was leading his every move knew the way to safety. Safety, he thought, that certainly had become a subjective word in the past few days.

He stayed out of sight, and only had to wait twenty minutes before a young dark haired man drove up in a black Mercedes announcing that he had received a call to pick up someone at this location and deliver them to an address. He jumped into the rear of the car instead of the front so that he could keep an eye on the driver; his trust level for anyone has dissipated long ago. No words were spoken between them, and when he was dropped off at a beach access point about twelve miles from the train station, the driver drove off into the night without asking for a fare.

It was as if someone were watching him, because he immediately received a call, ordering him to take the beach access stairs and make his way down to the shoreline of the beach. He, completely dependent on the directions given by his rescuer, turned and started down the steps heading towards the sound of the waves hitting the shoreline of the white sand beach.

It was very dark, but he was mesmerized by the moonlight glistening off the water; he felt akin to the water since his mom and dad took him to a Florida beach when he was a toddler. He stopped at the edge of the beach and took a deep breath into his lungs; he had always loved how the fresh air of the ocean seemed to cleanse a person. He was in tune with the ocean.

Tom, feeling the moment, took off his shoes and waded just enough into the water to feel the cool water caress his feet and sooth in between his fiery toes. He stood there basking in the glow of the ocean and fully relaxing for the first time in days, releasing the worries that plagued his soul.

He tilted his head back and looked straight up at the stars that were very bright because of the lack of city lights. He rolled his head to the side and was about to roll it in the other direction, when he noticed a figure standing on the shoreline maybe two-hundred feet from where he was standing. Leaving his shoes, he starting walking in the direction of the figure, and as he did, the person slowly became more visible and more in focus. The person was female, because it was hard to miss the beautiful curves that she possessed, and as he continued, he saw the woman's hair blowing in the wind drummed up by the wind off the ocean as it broke the shoreline.

Yes, it was Alyse!

Without turning towards him, she said in a beautifully soft voice that only she could, "Hello my love."

She turned towards him with her emerald eyes looking into his, as if to find some indication they he was still in love with her. I will love you until the end of time, was all he could think, almost as if the two were communicating by thought.

He could not hold back his emotions that he had hidden away in the deepest part of his being. He ran to her as the force of the contact collapsed their bodies to the sand, they were united in a loving embrace, with waves coming up between their two bodies; now united as one.

He felt the heaving of her breast against his chest as his mouth found hers, passionately kissing her endlessly. God, he could not get enough of her, he could not get close enough to her, even though their flesh touched.

"I'm sorry I got you into all this, "she said with an apology that let him know that she would rather die than to see anything happen to him. He lay back on the sand while she laid her head on his chest, the two were enjoying each other's warmth and love as the moon glistened over their bodies like a spotlight.

"Are you going to tell me what's been happening with you since we first met in Germany? He asked. "I think I deserve that, I certainly can't get in any deeper than I already am."

She rubbed her fingers on his bare chest still straddling part of his body, "This is not the place, but I promise to tell you, you deserve no less."

She raised herself off Tom, and as she walked away, she put her hand out to him, "Come with me."

They were walking hand in hand, as she led him just a few hundred feet further down the beach and up to a house that could only be described as a French Riviera style mansion. The Spanish stucco structure more resembled a castle than a home. It was well lit and landscaped with a large waterfall containing a giant dolphin at its center, which was shooting water out of its mouth before returning it back to the pool. She did not take him into the house; instead, led him to the palm tree lined pool located outside the home.

It was an incredible pool, which was lit by underwater blue lights, and had the feel of a tropical oasis. She gave him a bottle of wine to open from the outside bar as she retrieved two glasses from their resting place. After he poured the drinks, she led him over to two lounge chairs that sat facing the ocean. He did not mind being led around by her, she could lead him into hell and back, and he would follow, if she hadn't already.

Every movement of her lips mesmerized him as she began to recite to him all the events that had led her up to this point. One by one, she recalled each of the incidents and began to make him understand what they were facing, as well as the scope of this intrigue. He felt like he was reliving the moments that she was reciting, just as if he had been there witnessing them with her at the actual moment they occurred; his mind was transported to the past seeing the events through her eyes and with her perspective.

"That night we first met at the phone booth in Germany was the last moment of innocence I've had since the beginning of this nightmare," she said, looking like she had lost something that she would never again be able to find.

Alyse explained that she was held captive at a secluded farmhouse some distance from his military base, after she was kidnapped and pulled inside the van in Germany. She went on to explain that her captors informed her that they were not interested in ransom money, but rather, they had taken her to lure her father to them. They did not explain why they wanted him, but they knew that he would not let his little girl suffer at the hands of crazed ideological maniacs. Her captors did not try to hide the fact that both of them would die, and actually looked excited at the thought of killing them. They often chided her for being nosy and overhearing a private conversation between her father and one of his associates at the family home in Canada just a few months before the events occurred in Germany.

She explained that she never gave a second thought to what she overheard during the conversation that day in Canada," I had no idea that anything I heard was out of the ordinary, and could not understand why they were acting as if I was responsible for being in the predicament," she exclaimed.

"Tom do you believe that our government's actions and decisions are made primarily on what's best for their citizens?" asked Alyse

"I do," he said puzzled.

"They don't, she said, they make decisions based on what's best for themselves as the leaders of the government." She said with disdain. "I can assure you they will do anything to achieve their objectives, because what I heard that night was the making of a secret alliance between the American and Canadian governments." "What kind of alliance?" he asked in anticipation of learning more about the alliance.

Alyse went on to describe that what she had mistakenly overheard was the planning of two terrorist attacks in America and Canada by the two governments. Although, at the time she had thought that her father and the other man were just discussing scenarios of what the terrorists may have been planning for future attacks against the two countries.

"Our two governments created, planned, and executed the attacks in Chicago and in Toronto. She said looking at him. "That's right; our government slaughtered thousands of their own citizens."

He did not know how to process the information that he had just heard and sat fidgeting nervously with his hands.

"Why?" he said with a tone of silence in his voice.

"That was the one question that I thought I would never get a chance to have answered before I was killed by my captors." She said, "Then my father showed up and saved me. He single handedly killed my captors."

Alyse realized her dad must have played a role in the government's cover-up of the attacks, and was torn with emotion. She had tears in her eyes when she told of how he was found dead in his own bed with no apparent cause of death, two weeks after rescuing her from her captors.

"I forced him to tell me the day before his death why our governments would do such a horrific thing." She said while looking at the dark sky. "My dad said that both countries' leaders came to the psychotic conclusion that their citizens needed a common enemy."

"The Phantom Terrorist," he said, starting to wrap his minds around the events of the past couple of days.

She went on to tell of a top-secret research study that was commissioned by an internal agency of the American government. The study combined historical data, along with poll numbers that proved leaders could get more of their political agendas accomplished. It also proved that the citizenry would come together, and back their leaders during times of outside attacks.

"The president's poll numbers have never been better, and Congress will not vote down any legislation he asks for," she said.

"Mission accomplished." He exclaimed, "That's if you don't mind killing your own people."

"Do you see why our countries can't afford us to be alive?" She said reaching out and gently holding his hand. "If this got out, the repercussions would shake our governments to their core."

He could not help the sick feeling in his stomach, as he thought of the innocent people who lost their lives just so two men could have good poll numbers and get their agendas through Congress. His mind went into overdrive trying to come up with a plan in which they could remain alive; she pulled up close to him and placed her head on his lap, quickly falling asleep. He stared down at her while stroking her hair; he would protect her somehow, someway.

When he awoke, he walked into the house to see boiling water in a teakettle that was steaming on the stove, while Alyse was positioning tea bags in the two large cups that were sitting on the marble counter.

"I think I figured out a way for us to have a chance of survival." She said. "I have a friend who is a reporter for the Middle East Times; I called him this morning and told him the whole story."

"How did he react?" Tom asked.

"He said he was going to get a statement from the terrorists who had claimed responsibility for the attacks and put their comments, along with our story, into an article and have it published in the paper within the next two days," she responded.

He stood speechless; it seemed that she was rescuing him once again. They forgot about the whole ordeal, and sat talking and sipping their tea, without mentioning their present circumstances; it was good to forget for a while. For the next couple of days she checked the online publication of the newspaper on her laptop, but there was never a story written from her friend. She thought that he might be having difficulty arranging a meeting with the terrorists. On the third day, she was reading that day's edition of the newspaper, when she let out a muffled scream.

"What's wrong?" Tom said rushing into the room, expecting to find someone harming her; instead, she sat frozen to the computer screen. He noticed the cursor from the computer's mouse stationed over an article on the screen that reported that a Times reporter was killed while probing an unknown story.

"I'm so sorry," he said placing his hand on her shoulder. How many more have to die? He thought angrily

"We have to get out of here," he said knowing that they would be sitting ducks if they stayed at the house. He turned and walked back towards the bedroom to get their things together, never seeing the gun that pounded the side of his head. He felt intense pain and suddenly everything went black.
Chapter 8

Tom, awakening from his sleep, and still in a groggy state, could hear the unmistakable sounds of water lapping the side of a boat. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he could feel his hands secured behind his back, so tight that they were causing severe pain to his wrists. He could also feel that his legs were just as tightly bound, and surmised that it was probably the same thick rope used to tie his hands. A piece of duct tape over his mouth finished his captor's handy work, thereby making him completely silent and immobile.

The pain coming from his head overshadowed the pain from his binds. Tom, with effort, glanced to his right side, finding Alyse sitting against the front of the boat, and bound in the same way that he was. She appeared alert and aware, looking at him with no apparent expression, although it was hard to surmise because the tape covering her mouth was doubled, covering the bottom portion of her face. He thought, almost whimsically, that she must have put up a fight making their captors a little edgy.

It appeared to be a small and sporty vessel, not overly expensive, but more typical of a boat used for family vacations. The boat was clean except for a few drops of blood that he knew had come from the injury that he sustained earlier. Two middle eastern men sat in the swivel chairs at the front of the boat, the one at the steering wheel had just brought the boat to a full stop; and the other, the obvious follower in this crude command structure, swiveled his seat towards Alyse and then to him.

He recognized one of the men as a notorious terrorist that many countries had fallen victim to in one of the many attacks that he had perpetrated.

You have to be kidding me, he thought, now we have the terrorists after us also.

The man mouthed something in a different language to the other man, I wish I had taken those FBI quick language classes; he shifted his weight in hopes of alleviating some of the pain coming from his wrist and hand area. Glancing at Alyse, he noticed her completely still as if she were studying the situation and every move the two men made. He wondered if she knew what the men were talking about; Of course, she did.

The leader of the two turned towards them and he could see the man was probably in his forties, with a slightly graying beard. The man appeared professional and did not match the image of someone carrying out this sort of act.

"You two have made this very difficult for my bosses," the man said in near perfect English.

Perfect, a multilingual killer, I bet that looks good on the resume, still at this moment finding comedy in his own mind.

"And you." He said shaking his head from side to side and looking directly at her, "Aren't you just a regular superhero, coming to the aid of your boyfriend. " I do have to thank you for contacting your reporter friend; after a little torture, he was able to give us your whereabouts before meeting an untimely end."

Tom could hear Alyse mumbling underneath the tape that covered her mouth, and he could see hatred fill the eyes of her innocent face. This silent outburst just made the man laugh at her; He could feel the anger rising inside, but there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

"Well since you are about to die, I guess I'll answer the obvious question that you must be asking yourself." The man said. "Why would the very people that are being misaligned by your two western governments and accused of acts of terrorism that they had no part in, want you silenced?" The man knew he held all the cards and a tone of arrogant superiority laced every word that came from his mouth, he was enjoying this.

"My people need someone to hate just as much as your people, and with your two countries, and their unlimited resources killing our people, that hatred was already present. We lacked one thing; however, see it is necessary from time to time for my government to show success against the west, and the terrorist acts that your corrupt leaders perpetrated against their own people gave our leaders that much needed success. This, as you know, caused great rejoicing in our countries." He was trying to justify the manipulation of his own people.

"We could never have carried out the level of attacks that took place, so we just sat back and took the credit for them. As you say in your country, a win-win situation," he said starting to rise out of his seat. The man spoke just five more words, "Now it's time to die."

Tom watched as the two men lifted a small tarp that was covering two cement blocks, each grabbing one and carrying them over to he and Alyse. He feverishly started wiggling around trying to free himself, knowing there was little he could do to free himself; he would have to resign himself to the fact that he was going to be drowned alive. This thought, as horrible as it was, paled in comparison to the thought of his love attached to a cement block at the bottom of the ocean. He had let her down again. The two men hurriedly attached the blocks to the ropes that already bound them, tying them meticulously with several knots. After completing the task, both men stood over them like an executioner about to carry out the grim task.

Simultaneously, they hit the water and even though it was the least of their problems, the only thing that came across his mind was just how cold the water was. He was in arms reach of Alyse, but because of his binds, he could not hold her to comfort her in their last moments of life. He heard two more splashes, which he recognized as the concrete blocks being thrown in the water by their killers. He instantly felt a jerk on his feet, followed by a rapid acceleration in his descent into the depths of the ocean.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grab his arm and spin him around, and before he knew it, the pain from his wrists was gone and his hands were free. Looking down he saw the top of Alyse's head who was fumbling with the rope that held the cement block. He noticed the binds and block that had secured her hands and feet, had been cut off, and were undoubtedly racing to the bottom of the ocean floor. Just like that, the decent stopped and he felt her lifting him back towards the surface of the ocean. Maybe the man on the boat was right, maybe she was some kind of super agent. She motioned for him to swim sideways, already knowing they had to get far enough away from the boat, so that when they surfaced they would be lost in the vast darkness of the noisy ocean.

He felt the growing pain in his lungs as he became desperate for air. The two figures broke the surface of the ocean quietly, and causing more noise than they would have liked to, gasped for air. As the air reentered their lungs and the pain diminished, he could see the lights of the boat becoming faint, the distance between them and there would be killers lengthened. They were alive.

"Out of the pot and into the frying pan," he said remembering something that his dad used to say to him when he was a little boy.

He wanted to ask her how she managed to get free, but there were more pressing matters on his mind, like trying to get back to land before drowning or being eaten by sharks. They must have treaded water for over an hour without saying a word to each other, when he heard the roar of a boat engine coming from behind him.

"They're coming back for us," he said, grabbing Alyse and starting to dip under the water in a feeble attempt to hide.

"No they're not, that's our ride sweetie," she smiled at him with reassurance.

"What, how?" he said almost getting used to being shocked by the woman.

A young Spanish man pulled a small boat up beside them; an even smaller boat than they had just been on, "Want a lift?" he said jokingly.

With the man's help, they pulled themselves into the boat, and sat at the back of the boat wrapped in each other's arms, happy to be alive.

She felt Tom's gaze upon her, "You want to know how I got free?" Without waiting for a reply, she held up the back of her dark wet hair, shimmering in the moonlight, and he could see that underneath the long hair that flowed down her sleek back, was a hairpin that seemed to be there for no reason. She removed the pin and with one twist on the end of the pin, she pulled a hidden knife out of its hiding place, "They made two mistakes, not tying me tight like you, and they didn't take my locket."

She lifted the gold locket off her chest and opened it, instead of a picture of a loved one inside, was a button. She pressed the button, and within a few seconds, a beeping noise could be heard coming from the waist of the Spaniard who had picked them up. The man pulled up his shirt and retrieved a beeping device from his belt, turning and smiling at her before continuing to guide the boat back towards land.

"Jose is the son of an old friend of my father's; he is the one person that can be trusted. His father owed his life to my father, and in this area, that makes our two families forever bound," she said squeezing him tight while laying her head on his shoulder.

He felt her warmth next to his cold body, and he never felt more in love and alive in his life. He was truly content as he felt the mist of the ocean spray against his face as the boat sped off into the dark night.
Chapter 9

They tiny boat didn't come ashore at the place he expected; he had expected to return to her home to get some of her belongings that she may need before the two of them made their escape. He could see that they had landed on a small island with lush vegetation and steep hills. The island had a resemblance of a forgotten island, one that if someone were to become shipwrecked on, they would never be found.

He stepped onto the sandy shore, never letting go of her hand as she led him up a trail that led to the top of a steep cliff overlooking the ocean. As they walked, she began telling him that fewer than three dozen people, who enjoyed their anonymity, and had little to do with the outside world, inhabited the island. The true "island time," he thought.

"This was my father's secret retreat where he often brought me when things in his life were getting hectic. Before he died, he said that if I ever needed a place to hide out from the world, I should make my way here." She said brushing a strand of her silky hair that had blown in her face. "He had become like family to these people, and in turn, I have too."

The path divided into three trails at the top of the steep hill, and without thinking, she continued on the straight path, she had obviously walked this path many times before. The path, which had been covered by a canopy of trees and vegetation, gave way to a clearing which gave him the ability to see a quaint little wooden house that was on stilts about three feet off the thick green grass covered earth, completely enveloped by lush green forest.

It was well maintained as evidenced by the manicured lawn and freshly trimmed bushes that adorned the property. More importantly to him, however, was the fact that the house was well hidden making it only visible from the air, and then only barely. Still spooked from the latest attempt on their lives, they did not immediately approach the house, but instead, walked the perimeter of the property, looking into the home through the windows to provide assurance that they were alone.

After a few minutes, the two became satisfied that the house still held its secret hiding place from the rest of the world, and she led him up the wooden steps of the home that connected to a wraparound porch. It was a yesteryear type feeling that came over him when he saw two, somewhat weathered, rocking chairs standing guard from their elevated position on the deck. Not stopping, she opened the front door, which was not locked, and walked into the living room of the house. Once inside he observed a tidy and sparsely filled home full of vibrant colors. There were not any ostentatious items within the home, and there were not any signs of the new technologies that had overcome most of the world, just a basic little home.

Alyse, as if on a mission, opened the door to a closet as she walked down the hallway located just off the living room. Turning, she handed him the fluffy white towel that she had retrieved from the top shelf of the tiny storage space, while grabbing a towel for herself. She pulled him by the hand towards another location in the house; he following her like a puppy as he was led into the Spanish style bathroom.

"Lets get a bath, we need to get our body temperatures warm again," she said after she turned the silver knobs of the shower. She placed her hand under the running water flowing from the nozzle until she selected the temperature that satisfied her.

She did not say a word as she seductively undressed and stood posed in front of him, revealing her beauty once again. He started fumbling with the suddenly small buttons of his collared shirt, and could not help being embarrassed at his nervousness around a naked woman at this stage in his life.

"Let me help you," she said unbuttoning his shirt slowly, purposely gliding her hands over his bare chest. Alyse, after completely disrobing him, pulled him into the shower and for the first time since he was a child, someone other than himself bathed him, an act that he felt pleasing. He followed her lead, taking the coral looking sponge that she had used on him, and slowly washed her from the tips of subtle breasts to her innermost folds that were hidden away from the rest of the world.

"Enough foreplay," she said, as she turned and gave herself to him. The steam from the hot running water filled the air as they both climaxed in unison. Tom whispering, "I love you," in her ear, as their bodies convulsed in ecstasy.

Later that night they sat on the porch of the house, listening to the vibrant sounds of the nightlife scurrying around in the surrounding forest. Neither said a word as they held hands, slowly rocking and hypnotically staring off into the woods, almost as if looking for something.

"They will eventually come for us Tom," she said squeezing his hand tightly.

He nodded in agreement.

Yes, they would come; of that, he was sure.

What will the future hold for Tom and Alyse?

Look for Part Two of Planned Chance. Coming Soon.

