Secrets

By OughtaKnowBetter

Crap.

Charlie Grey, sergeant in the United States Army, could think of another few dozen other expletives that would fit the situation—many of which were in different languages—but none of them seemed to have the short and sweet explosion of sound which so perfectly described what he felt at the moment.

It was the pair sitting six rows down, on the other side of the aisle of this little train meandering its way across the Turkish countryside. Sure, looking at fellow passengers occasionally was an expected way to pass the time. Twelve to fourteen hours sitting in one spot made for a hell of a long time to play 'I Spy With My Little Eye'. It was only human nature to size up the rest of the passengers and then pull a hat down over the eyes to try for some sleep. The overhead lights were low; either conserving energy or the electrical wasn't working properly. Charlie hadn't bothered to figure out which was the cause.

No, this pair had aroused his interest from the moment they'd climbed into the rickety car, shoving a pair of suitcases onto the overhead rack and plopping onto an empty two-seater. Not one stitch of clothing looked out of place or screaming for attention. The clothes were dark brown, no identifying marks, no rips or tears—but that alone attracted comment. Everyone else on this misbegotten trip wore loose and baggy outfits selected for maximum comfort and durability, a few in traditional garb and the majority more Westernized, but every other stitch showed signs of wear by Western standards. These were people who wore their clothes over and over until the fabric wore out. Charlie himself had made sure that his own clothing looked similar: a rip here and there, a hole wore through the knee through sheer overuse. Even the black embroidery on the shoulder of his brown vest had faded so that it couldn't be seen in the dim overhead light. A little bleach back in his hotel room had taken care of that detail.

Not this pair. Each one had had better food, better training, and better muscles than the average citizen, and Charlie was willing to bet good Euros that each one carried a weapon in a shoulder holster underneath the nearly new brown coats.

Crap. That meant two reasons to resent the pair. Reason number one: they were watching him, possibly expecting to grab him at some inopportune time. Reason number two: those coats looked warm. The windows of the train kept the worst of the wind away from him and the rest of the passengers, but the train had long ago given up any pretentions of creature comforts. Charlie was cold.

It still could have been innocent. The pair could be after someone else, some other poor slob of an intelligence agent of a foreign government. This train could have been the most efficient means of transportation from Rize to Istanbul, the route following along the Black Sea. They could be minor government officials, traveling from one province to another, enjoying the freedom of allowing someone else to take care of the travel arrangements.

That was what Charlie told himself to believe, until he had had a better chance to observe the pair in return. Grey had done exactly what almost everyone else on this trip had done: had shoved his travel pack into the overhead compartment. Had dropped his backside onto the nearest seat; in Charlie's case, an aisle spot next to a student heading back to school. The kid had a textbook in his hands, written in English, a heavy tome even less comprehensible than usual with chemical equations scattered across the pages. Grey himself spoke four other languages besides English and had a smattering of three others under his belt and still found chemical-ese to be the most difficult to understand. The kid's lips moved as he traced his finger along the words, speeding up more quickly with the chemical symbols. Those symbols were clearly the easiest for the student to comprehend.

The kid's clothing, like the rest, had a few rips in them and the kid nestled himself into his heavy tan sheepskin jacket to keep himself as comfortable as possible while studying. Grey's own hat was almost a mirror image of the kid's, though older-appearing and more worn with additional tears in the fabric; one of the reasons that Grey had chosen this particular seat. A casual fellow passenger might even have taken the pair for brothers, traveling together. Grey had other things in mind: he had made certain that one of those rips in his hat was properly positioned so that when he pulled the cap down over his eyes, ostensibly to snooze away as much of the trip as possible, he could peer through the hole and observe his fellow passengers.

One of the suspect pair had done as expected: he was sleeping, although Charlie had no doubt that the man could spring into action on a moment's notice. The other? That was the one that gave it away. Once satisfied that Grey was 'sleeping' under his hat, the second eyed him curiously. Since Grey knew that his whole appearance had been designed to be unworthy of curiosity, Charlie's own radar was aroused.

Crap. Grey couldn't afford to be taken, not with what he was carrying. A cursory search of his person wouldn't reveal what he was hiding, but anything more than a mild Customs' inspection would cause the U.S. Army to be out one sergeant that Charlie happened to be very fond of. In fact, Charlie had been planning to avoid Customs altogether, just in case he happened to come across some eager young inspector who had decided to prove his own worth by harassing someone with a fake Spanish passport.

Grey stifled the sigh of frustration. This was turning this mission into something that should have been mildly tension-producing along with a healthy dose of sun-bathing on the beaches of the Riviera into something that had a very strong possibility of heading straight down the crapper.

He considered his options, wishing that he had a few more. One: stay on the train until it crossed the Bosporus and arrived on the western side of Istanbul, hoping that the pair had been assigned to merely monitor his movements until he left the country. It wasn't an unreasonable supposition. He was in a place where simply being a foreigner made him noteworthy. Grey's cover story was one that any European businessman such as 'Carlos DiGriz' would be reasonably expected to carry out. DiGriz, an upwardly mobile mid-level manager with Strasser Investments, someone with more aspirations than money, was returning from interviewing several promising young enterprises in the Rize area with an eye toward funding some of them for international expansion. DiGriz's travel itinerary included a brief layover in Istanbul with an already booked and paid for flight to headquarters in Geneva, then back home to Madrid. If pushed, Charlie was perfectly ready to enhance his story with a few details including some hookers in the better whorehouses of Rize, tales that he could 'plead' with the authorities not to share with his nonexistent 'wife'.

On the other hand, he couldn't afford to be wrong about this; not with what he was carrying. Sergeant Charles Grey had in his possession a small digital memory card containing information that would create something of a stir if it should be released into the hands of the United Nations. It would create even more of a stir if leaked into the world media, and Grey wasn't about to make the decision himself to say whether that would be a good or a bad thing. That was his superiors' headache.

His other option was to get off of this train and make his way to Istanbul by other means. Not the most secure way to travel, he reflected. Not all parts of the countryside were safe, and getting off the train before he was supposed to would be a blatant signal to Mutt and Jeff in the other seats that Carlos DiGriz was exactly what they feared him to be: an agent of a foreign power. One move toward repossessing his travel pack before the end of the train ride and the pair would be shoving guns into his spine.

Okay, not an option. Charlie decided to see just how alert Mutt and Jeff were, and just how interested they were in his movements. He pushed his hat back up onto his scalp where it belonged and rose to his feet.

Yup, there they were. Mutt nudged Jeff in the ribs. Jeff came awake with a grunt, his eyes automatically seeking out Grey's position before carefully settling down into a posture of disinterest. Both tried to look as though they weren't scrutinizing every step Grey took.

Bully for them. This was just the 'feeling out' time. Charlie ambled toward the back of the car, taking his place in line for a chance to use the facilities before returning to his seat next to the student. The kid, in the past three hours, had coursed through all of six pages before falling asleep himself. Charlie's short trip woke the student up, and he dove back into his chemistry. Charlie himself pulled his cap back over his eyes and settled in to peer at his opposite numbers through the rip in the hat.

He had four hours to figure out how to dump them without getting caught.

"Just the three of you?" The boat owner's voice reflected his doubt.

Robert Browning, vice president of RC Communications, Inc.—or so his business card and passport said—grinned. "What's the matter?" he asked good-naturedly. "Our money isn't good enough for you?"

"Of course, of course!" the boat owner hustled to say, visions of thousands of Euros fluttering away with a disgruntled Canadian going to the boat owner's competitor. "It's just, I mean, perhaps a few more crew members…"

"Three will be plenty," Mr. Bradford assured him. "We have sailed before."

The boat owner, one Stavros Krakitopolitis by name, aimed for a smile that both acknowledged Bradford's words and sought to put them into perspective for the three Canadians who were clearly very new to this part of the world. "I can see that you are experienced sailors," he lied, eyes bright. "But you are on holiday, no? Perhaps someone to serve in the galley, prepare meals fit for persons such as yourself? I have many acquaintances who would be happy to provision my Athena with fine wine and cheese, the finest to be had in Alexandropoulis…" He trailed off again, hoping that these foreigners would take the hint and hire some crew that he could trust to bring his yacht back in reasonable condition.

It wasn't just the sailing that Krakitopolitis was concerned over, but the piracy that was all but rampant in this part of the Aegean Sea. Stay close to the Greek coastline, and all would be well but travel further out to sea and it would be well within the boundaries of imagination for another boat to come alongside and demand the contents of the larders. RC Communications, Inc. would be fortunate to end up merely paying a king's ransom for its three executives to be returned in a still breathing condition. Krakitopolitis himself would be out one somewhat aged yet still expensive yacht that he would find difficult to replace. Would these fools have anything more deadly than a fish hook to protect themselves? The one who called himself Bradford was an impressive specimen, and Krakitopolitis had no doubt that the man could play by the Marquis of Queensbury rules but that would do him little good for pirates who would shoot first and decide later if they wanted their questions answered.

These three seemed determined to hire only the boat and no crew. Krakitopolitis plastered yet another smile onto his face, realizing that no amount of hints or outright demands would change the minds of these foolish Westerners, and added a hefty deposit onto the lease against the loss of his yacht. Argue too much, and the trio would seek to fill their sailing needs elsewhere. The season had been lean, and Stavros's wife was complaining.

The third, a man with short hair that translated as red in a certain light, brightened. "If you've got some good places for provisions, I'm all ears," he told Krakitopolitis. Was that a hint of an Irish brogue? Krakitopolitis couldn't be certain; his English simply wasn't good enough to distinguish among the various accents and he hadn't seen the third man's passport for additional hints. Nor did it matter; Krakitopolitis had heard that the Irish immigrated around the world almost as much as the Turks. In addition, Krakitopolitis had never heard of RC Communications, Inc. For all he knew the firm could be and most likely was an international one, utilizing people from all over the globe.

Again, it didn't matter. The deal was done, and the money was already transferred into Krakitopolitis's proverbial pocket. "Good fishing," he told the three. "I will see you back here in two weeks."

By now Grey had established the fact that he had a weak bladder. Three trips down the aisle in as many hours, the last at approximately two in the morning. Grey appreciated having an aisle seat; he would have disturbed the student next to him if needed, but he didn't really want to have to interrupt the kid's slumber.

Not once had he reached for his travel pack, the only luggage he'd brought with him. Traveling light was how everyone did it these days; a change of underwear and a toothbrush, maybe an extra shirt for meetings. An actual suitcase meant tracking down lost luggage and a backpack meant rapid transit through an airport. It fit Charlie's cover persona as a businessman looking for investment opportunities on the cheap.

His pair of 'minders' were still watching him. Charlie could see their eyes stray in his direction over and over through the peep hole in his cap. He stifled a smirk; they were getting as little sleep as he was. Every time Charlie stood up for another trip down the aisle, one would wake up the other, just in case. Charlie could see the annoyance growing on both of them. They'd expected to share the watch and catch some z's during the train ride, and Charlie had ruined that little joy. He could easily imagine the terse discussions between the pair: Is he really a spy, Dmitri? That's what they say, Alexi. Me, I'm not so sure. Wake me only if he takes down his pack. So Charlie made a point of taking down his travel pack and shifting some of the goods around inside, just to further muddy the waters, feeling the annoyance seep over into outright displeasure from the two.

Charlie let his gaze shift over to the window beyond his fellow seat mate. It was dark out, with only half of a moon to light the landscape. They'd traveled a bit inland, not so close to the Black Sea shoreline, in order to take a more direct route toward the bridge across the Bosporus. Trees dotted the area in thick groves with only the occasional field of growing things to hold his interest. How close to Istanbul were they? Charlie couldn't tell. Another five hours at least on the train ride, but that would be deceiving as to distance. The train would slow as the villages grew closer together, and a constant rate of speed had never been a high priority for the engineer. The signs outside also made little difference. Grey knew his knowledge of geography was better than ninety percent of Americans but he defied anyone not from this area to keep track of the little villages that they had passed.

He sighed. He'd be sorry to leave his travel pack behind. He'd picked up a little hand-crafted pin for Hector to give to Annie, something from the bazaar in Rize. The acquisition had fit his cover persona, and he was sure that between them both he and Hector could hide the thing long enough to get it past the noses of their superiors who'd rip them a new one if they found out about it. Bringing home souvenirs was a good way to blow a cover back home, but Annie knew the score. She'd keep their secret safe, and enjoy the laugh.

Ah, well; that laugh would be left behind along with the travel pack. Under the circumstances, Charlie would have to be satisfied with not leaving his corpse behind.

He stood up once more, this time timing it so that there were a good half dozen patrons waiting not so patiently for a chance at the facilities. He could feel the eyes of 'Alexi' follow him down the aisle, and this time 'Alexi' hadn't bothered to wake 'Dmitri'.

Charlie shifted his features into a downward frown, just to be certain that he hadn't indulged himself in a satisfied smile. He hunched his coat over his shoulders, swaying in time with the motion of the train, waiting his turn at the facilities. He turned sideways along the aisle, allowing a previous bathroom patron to edge past him, and took advantage of his position to eye his opposite numbers.

Success. The pair were facing the other way, one asleep and the other pretending to be. Charlie carefully stared out the window as 'Alexi' surreptitiously pulled out the same mirror he pulled out the last three times Charlie had developed a 'weak bladder'. Even in the meager light of the train it flashed briefly, enough so that Charlie knew that he was being watched. Not a problem; in fact, Charlie was counting on it.

He moved forward in line, another passenger heeding the call of Nature to queue up behind him. Not yet; it was an older woman, small and squat and nearly invisible in black cotton cloth swathing her entire body. Charlie politely indicated for her to precede him. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, never mind that the rest of the people in line were boors.

The next passenger to arrive for the rest room was more of what Charlie had in mind: a large man with an equally large coat kept on in order to ward off the oncoming winter. The man easily dwarfed Charlie's own stature. Charlie waited another few moments to be certain that 'Alexi' couldn't see him beyond the large man and that the counter-spy hadn't panicked. Charlie wouldn't put it past 'Alexi' to decide that he had his own 'weak bladder' in order to keep his eyes on the prize.

Not this time. A second large man joined the queue, and the group shuffled forward as another passenger reached the finish line.

Time to go. Charlie swiveled his head around, surveying the territory and giving off signals that said 'gonna find one that's less crowded'. He slipped past the rest of the line and headed for the juncture between train cars, easing himself into the night, standing on the meager platform between the two cars.

The cold hit him like a shock wave, and he hastened to close the door behind him. No use in advertising to Mutt and Jeff that Elvis had left the building. A blast of cold air would surely reach the pair and wake them up. Charlie quickly buttoned up his own jacket, knowing that his fingers would soon be too cold to welcome that activity.

How fast was the train traveling? Charlie estimated some fifty kms per hour, about forty miles per. Just a little fast for his taste—no, wait. Good Fortune was headed his way in the form of a gentle curve in the train tracks. The train slowed in order to stay on the rails.

Charlie jumped. He aimed for the brush which would cushion his fall, rolling into it shoulder first, tumbling over and over to slow his speed. Once there, hidden in the bushes, he came to a complete halt, unmoving. There was no way to tell how long it would be before Mutt and Jeff discovered his absence but if it was sooner rather than later he didn't want them rushing to the outside platform to see a whole bunch of shaking bushes as one 'Carlos DiGriz' escaped from their supervision.

It was only when the train was a distant memory that Grey allowed himself to unroll from the dark ball that he'd ended up in. Now he could afford to grin. Listening to the sounds of the night around him told Grey that he was quite alone—which was fine with Charlie.

"Nice boat," Mack Gerhardt commented once they were out of earshot from the dock. "You picked a good one, Jonas."

"All Bob's idea." Blane gave credit where credit was due. "He spotted it. He did the deal."

"He get us a good price?"

"Damn good price, considering this rowboat has a fair to middling chance of going home as a cartload of splinters."

"Not on my watch," Mack grunted. "Swimming with sharks is not my thing. You remember that, Jonas."

"Will do, Mack." Jonas hefted a crate, muscles bunching, and dropped it where it needed to go onto the main deck of the Athena. "You got enough supplies to last for a while."

"I took Bob fishing once," Mack grinned. "Trust me on this, Jonas: we're gonna need all of these supplies. He's still a growing boy."

"I heard that!" floated up from below decks. "Just for that, Mack, you can clean all the fish I catch."

"And that's supposed to be a threat?" Mack waggled his head ruefully. "I expect to lounge on deck, baking in the sun, while you're on K.P. duty, boy." He surveyed the coastline. The docks were rapidly receding into the distance, almost indistinguishable from the buildings beyond. The tall Greek skyscrapers of Alexandropoulis, while not in the same class as New York or London, still gave off their own sort of grandeur, graceful smoke plumes rising into the air against wispy white clouds. His mood changed: back to business. "How long before we hear from Hector?"

Jonas glanced at his watch, a large and ornate gold piece that shone from his wrist; just what the successful CEO of 'RC Communications' might wear. "We'll give him a call once we're another two hours out." He too scanned the horizon, looking for other ships. There were three sails within eyeshot, taking advantage of the gentle breezes to carry tourists and local fishermen out further into the Aegean. Crystal blue water lapped at the sides of the yacht, the motor down below a quiet hum to power them to where they needed to be.

Jonas lifted out a wheel of cheese, purchased by Mack at the local market, handing it off to Brown to be placed in the fridge below. A couple loaves of crusty bread followed, along with a jar of olives.

Then he lifted out of the crate what he was looking for: distance glances. Binoculars with an attitude, that could see clearly for more than a mile until the sight dropped off over the horizon. Under that lay the communications gear. Jonas took more care with that; it would need to be powered from the yacht's engines, and taking time to repair anything damaged in transit was time that Jonas wouldn't have for relaxation.

It wasn't often that Alpha Squad got a mission in a place as beautiful as this, and Jonas Blane intended to take whatever enjoyment he could.