Savage Recruit (Ryan Savage Thriller Series Book 8), стр. 11
“Have you checked the cellular coverage in that area of the market? Maybe her phone wasn’t getting service in that area.”
“It was getting service. And we have checked the service of other tourists who have the same cellular service and were in that same area yesterday afternoon. There were no issues with that. Whoever took her made sure to dismantle her phone before moving on.”
“What about the market? Has there been a record of kidnappings in that area before?”
“Not for over two years. The market is a very safe area. The last time someone was kidnapped in the area, it was a little girl. She was snatched off the sidewalk, right out of her mother’s arms. A camera at the intersection caught the man, and the girl was recovered safely within the hour. This scenario with Ms. Rose—it is very different. Very unusual.”
“The cruise line was only stopping for the day, right? It wasn’t an overnight stay in Athens?” I asked.
“Correct. It arrived in Athens at just after 0800 yesterday morning.”
As I saw it, there were only two possibilities to explain Kathleen’s disappearance: it was either a random kidnapping, or she had been targeted because of her work with the U.S. government. Kathleen was a pretty lady, and I couldn’t rule out the first. But it didn’t seem likely. She was visiting Athens, one of the safest tourist destinations in the world. She was safer walking around most areas of Athens than Miami. The random kidnapping of a middle-aged woman in the middle of the day in the busiest area of the city just didn’t add up.
On the other hand, someone may have targeted her because of who she was, the director of one of Homeland Security’s component agencies. Kathleen was highly respected within the greater U.S. intelligence community, having previously worked as a CIA officer for over two decades. She was brilliant and easily the most capable person I had ever met. And I wasn’t the only one who thought that. Before she left Langley, there was talk of her being tapped for the position of Deputy Director. Only Kathleen had no interest in the position, and she gave her notice before such talk could advance any further. She wanted to slow down, so she took a position that would still let her make an impact. Over the last four years, our office in Key Largo had put away and taken down countless drug dealers, cartel leaders, money counterfeiters, and terrorists. But most of those were based in Florida or Central or South America, not the Mediterranean. On top of that, Kathleen wasn’t the Director of National Intelligence or the Director of the CIA. Hers wasn’t the familiar face of a former spy who had written a bestselling book about her years working in shadowy corners of the world. She was relatively unknown outside the smallest of circles.
Whatever the reason behind her disappearance, we were over twelve hours into the investigation and still had no leads, suspects, or possible motives. And Diakos was standing beside me with a pleased look on his face, as though a map with a few pins and a busy room full of analysts equated to progress.
Across the room, a young lady leaned out from behind her computer monitor and called to the general. “Pardon me,” he said, and walked off.
I returned my attention to the map. The blue pin was placed just south of Arnaudo Street. Whoever took her would have had a vehicle parked or waiting nearby. A three-story parking garage was directly across the street. I studied the near cross streets: Sofokelous, Athinas, and Filopemenous. The market also sat just below the junction of two highways. Whoever had taken her could have shot uptown and been speeding away from the city on one of its major arteries within minutes.
The general was across the room studying the analyst’s computer screen. He was frowning, a deep furrow set between his brows. Leaving the map, I started over. The screen was pointed away from me, so I couldn’t see what they were looking at. As I approached, the general took notice and mumbled something to the analyst. She clicked her mouse, and I saw the screen change just as I came around.
“Agent Savage, do you have a question?”
“Did you find something?”
The analyst continued staring at her screen as if I wasn’t there. But she was clearly tense.
“I do not think so,” answered the general briskly. “We will look into it and let you know.”
I hadn’t come all the way to Greece just to sit around and watch everyone else do the work. Kathleen was my boss and my friend. If anyone was going to find her, it was going to be me.
“I’d like to see it.” I stared coolly at him, unblinking.
The analyst now had an email in front of her, and she was acting as if she were reading it. General Diakos hesitated, gave me a tight-lipped smile, and then told the analyst to show me. A couple clicks of the mouse brought a video feed onto the screen.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
“Athinas Street,” Diakos said.
The video played. Cars moved by at a steady pace, and pedestrians strolled along a wide sidewalk: a man with his arm around the shoulders of a young lady, a mother pushing a double stroller, an elderly couple holding hands, a lady with brown hair and oversized sunglasses… Kathleen.
She walked with the easy gait of a tourist taking in the sights, stopping to glance into shop windows or to speak with a merchant. She was wearing a pair of white capris and a royal blue blouse. A bright yellow handbag was slung over her right shoulder.
“When was this?”
“Four-oh-two yesterday afternoon,” the analyst said. “The video footage is from the