Chapter 11

“Come on, Peter, I have to go. It’s our anniversary and I can’t be late.” Conrad paced in front of the company President’s desk. He and Peter were battle buddies overseas, but lately their relationship had taken on a certain tenseness.

“She can wait. This is business, Rad. I never thought you’d bail on me.” He looked up from the legal documents he’d been reviewing. The papers that would separate Conrad and his best friend. “I’ll have to have Legal go over this stuff. I have questions…” Peter let the statement trail off.

“It’s cut and dried, Peter. I want out. I’ll finish the Iron Shield project, then I need to take some me time. Us time. Andrea is slipping away, Peter. I can feel it more and more.” Conrad wiped a hand across his clean, shaven face in frustration. “I love her more than…” He was at a loss for words as his heart twisted.

“More than me, buddy?” Peter brought both hands to his heart. “You’re killing me, Rad.”

Conrad knew it was meant to be a joke, but there was just a little too much reality in Peter’s tone. “I can’t let her just drift away. I love her. I need her. Let’s face it, Peter. After we complete Iron Shield and close the contract, you’ll be sitting pretty. The company will be set, and you’ll be very wealthy. You won’t need me around.”

“That’s not the point, Conrad.” Peter shoved the papers across his desk in disgust. “We signed up together. We fought together. Almost died together.” He gestured at the empty file folder. “We made the dream and lived it. Together. Everything we worked for is right here.” His fist slammed the folder on his desk. “And you want to dump it? Dump me?”

Conrad looked at his lifelong friend. The tortured look was more than he could handle. “Peter, it’s not like that, man. Andrea’s my wife.”

“And I’m your best friend. Or I used to be.” He gathered up the papers, stuffed them in the file folder and headed for the door. “I’ll drop this off at Legal. Go celebrate with the little lady.”

“Peter, don’t be like that. You and I have been buds for—” Conrad’s voice fell on absent ears.

Peter was gone.

“Shit!” Conrad checked his watch: 5:40 p.m.

He was going to be late.

Not a great start to a romantic anniversary celebration.

“Mr. McIntyre? Sir, you asked me to remind you to get flowers on the way home.” Rita, his executive assistant poked her head inside the door.

“Damn, now I’m going to really be late.” Conrad checked his watch again. When he looked up, Rita stood full on in the doorway, a beautiful bouquet of pink lilies and white roses in her hands.

“Maybe not, sir.” She passed him the boxed and wrapped bouquet, along with a pink envelope. “I took the liberty, sir.”

“What would I do without you, Rita!” Conrad grabbed Rita’s offering, bussed her cheek, and ran for the garage and his car. He would be late, but not by much. He just barely heard her retort before the elevator doors closed behind him.

“Be late, of course, sir.” The doors closed on Rita’s calm smile. As he rode the elevator to the garage, he thanked his lucky stars, or whatever it was that brought Rita into his life and company. She was the gatekeeper of the castle for Conrad, and took her job seriously. More than that, she took him and all of his complexities seriously. Unlike her cohort next door.

Conrad had never warmed to Rose, Mr. Newcastle’s administrative assistant. She was a piece of work. That woman was trouble in a rolling chair. Rose Cohen had only been with GST for about a year, and already she was ordering people around like she sat in Pete’s chair, not outside his office.

I-77 was packed, bumper to bumper. Conrad swore and punched the button on his GPS to select an alternate route.

“Recalculating. Take ramp right then turn left.” The map switched views showing a winding route through the coastal area. The off-ramp was still two miles away.

“No good.” He smacked the wheel and picked up his cell phone. He hit the icon for voice commands. “Call Andrea.”

The phone automatically dialed Andrea’s cell phone. After six rings, he heard her voice.

“Andrea, honey, I’m sorry…”

“You have reached the person to whom you dialed. Leave me a message and I might return your call.” The giggle at the end definitely belonged to his wife.

“Honey, I’m stuck in traffic, but I am on my way home. It’s six-o-five. Should be there in about fifteen. I’ve got a big surprise just for you, babe. Love you.” Conrad hit the end button. “Shit! Big surprise? Right Conrad.”

He did have a big surprise, but his message sounded so lame, even to him. He eyed the flowers. The envelope lay in the sun on the seat. Sitting behind a large delivery truck going absolutely nowhere, he opened it. Rita had picked out a beautiful and heart-warming card with a sweet message. Very romantic. Very not him, but Andrea would love it.

He grabbed a pen and signed it, love always, your Soldier.

Now that was him!

Opposite the signature, he drew a box and wrote inside the lines: Good for one Best New Photojournalist of the Year award. Or forever, whichever comes first. Then he drew three xs and three ohs and one smiley face with a tongue hanging out. That was definitely him!

The traffic crawled and by quarter to seven, he was pulling into the garage, ready to meet his wife on their fifth anniversary. Immediately, he noticed her car was not in the garage.

Had she gotten his message and left in anger?

Run out to get something at the last minute?

He took the flowers and card into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator door, the place they always left notes for each other.

Nothing.

Touching the familiar icon on his phone, he said, “Call Andrea.”

The phone dialed his wife’s number. It went directly to voice mail and he heard her giggle again. “Andrea, I’m home. Where are you, hon?” He hit the end button.

Where was she?

Why didn’t she call him or leave a note?

“Andrea?” He yelled through the house.

No response.

He checked the back yard.

Nothing.

Across the fence he saw the neighbor lady. “Mrs. Chambers, have you seen my wife today?”

Cathy Chambers and her husband lived next door. The lady of the house spent most of her time in the chaise lounge next to the pool, tanning herself and smoking cigarettes. At forty-six, she looked like a mummy.

“I saw her leave this morning, Mr. McIntyre, when I was getting Donald out the door to work. I don’t think I’ve seen her car all day.” She waved a glowing cigarette at him.

“Thanks, Mrs. Chambers.” Conrad waved as he headed back inside.

“Is anything wrong…?” Conrad ignored the question.

He dialed Andrea’s number again. “Andrea, call me.” And hung up.

This was not funny.

Obviously, the maid had been in. The dishes were done. The bed was made. Clean towels hung from the bars in the bathroom.

Nothing was amiss.

Except his wife.

After a quick search of the house, Conrad returned to the kitchen. He unpacked the flower arrangement, added water and placed the vase on the dining room table with the card.

Pouring himself a drink, he wandered into the living room and flopped onto the couch.

Everything was in its place. The mantel was dust-free. The fireplace had been set…

That’s when he noticed it.

A single piece of paper lay in the middle of the coffee table. On it was a message written in large letters with some kind of ink marker. He reached to pick it up, but something told him to wait.

He twisted around to read the script and his heart skipped a beat. Several beats.

We have your wife. Wait for our call.

So now he knew! Andrea was gone. Someone had taken her.

Someone had his wife!

He ran for his study and computer. He’d installed a tracking device in her handbag, when he and Peter began the Iron Shield project two years before. In fact, he’d installed one in every handbag she owned. They’d had a small fire in their garage and Conrad couldn’t find Andrea. She wasn’t answering her cell phone and he panicked. After that, Conrad insured he could always find her if he needed to. His fear of losing her was a breathing, hunting animal that lived just outside his realm of sanity. Now it stalked him as prey and the only thing he could rely on was a tiny electronic device and a special frequency dedicated to her safety. Conrad punched the button on his computer and banged his fist as the system began to load. It was not a slow computer, in fact, it was about as high tech as a computer could be. But it wasn’t fast enough for Conrad, when Andrea was missing.

The screen came up and Conrad touched the track pad loading the app that would fine Andrea and her handbag. The planet appeared on his screen and began to spin, narrowing down the search area, and finally zooming in on one point with a bright yellow arrow indicating the position of the tracking device. Indicating the position of Andrea, he hoped.

There it was, downtown South Padre Island. The bag was at Andrea’s gym.

Conrad race to the Stang, hit the garage door opener and almost backed out before the door was completely up. He spun the Mustang in their driveway and laid on the gas. All of those evasive driving classes he taken as a special operations soldier had to be good for something.

Within minutes he was screeching in front of the gymnasium. He slammed the car up onto the curb, parking halfway in the street and halfway on the sidewalk. Jumping out, he didn’t even bother to lock the classic car’s doors. Nothing in his life was more important than Andrea. Conrad crashed through the double glass doors, following the little blip on his cell phone screen. Once the program had locked on the location of Andrea’s handbag, he’d transferred the location automatically to his phone.

Vaulting the front counter, much to the surprise of the clerk, he tore off down the hall following the blip. As he neared the women’s locker room, the frequency of blips increased and so did the noise behind him. Obviously, the clerk had alerted the security guards. The gym catered to some very wealthy health nuts and prided themselves on the security and privacy of their clients.

“Sir, stop!” Some nebulous guard shouted. “Stop now!”

Conrad slammed through the locker room door amid shrieks and half-clad women running for cover. He followed the signal right up to a locker and froze. Andrea’s bright green lock lay immobile against the handle. The sensor screamed and so did some of the female patrons. He dialed the combination with expertise. He’d set it to her birthday, the day they bought the garish lock.

As the locker door popped open, he heard the obvious sound of a round being chambered. “Freeze, mister. This thing is loaded, and I know how to use it. Get down on the floor.” The portly guard pointed his nine-millimeter Glock at Conrad’s head.

In a split second the guard was on the floor, and Conrad held the man’s gun. “Don’t be stupid. I just need to find my wife. This is her purse. Where is she?” He waved the gun at the full locker then at the guard. “I need an answer, buddy.”

“Then, perhaps I can be of assistance, Mr. McIntyre.” The club’s manager sauntered into the locker room, ignoring more shrieking women. His workout attire matched perfectly, tailored to fit a muscular body, and he wore the latest Nike Lebron X shoes.

“Where’s my wife? This is her stuff.” The club manager reached into the locker only to be restrained by an iron grip. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Mr. McIntyre, I assure you, if these are your wife’s belongings, she is in the club somewhere. But not in this locker room at the moment. This is the women’s locker room, and men are not allowed in here. For obvious reasons.” He motioned for the guard to get up and leave. “Please give Officer Wilson his gun back, and leave this room at once.”

“Not until I know what happened to Andrea.” Conrad took a step back and raised the gun.

“Then come with me and we will check the login at the front desk. And do not aim that gun at me, or you will be searching for your wife inside of a cell at the Corpus Christi jail.” The manager was losing his temper.

Conrad slammed the locker door with the nose of the gun and replaced the lock. “No one touches this locker. It may have evidence.” He handed the gun back to the guard who had heaved himself off the floor.

“Out, McIntyre. Now.” He led the way with a purposeful stride. “My utmost apologies, ladies. Please forgive the intrusion and feel free to register your complaints at the desk on your way out. I am sure we can provide some compensation for your distress.” His parting feminine wave left distaste in Conrad’s mouth.

“Where are we going?” Conrad refrained from calling the man fairy.

“The front desk. You know as well as I do, that every client logs in and logs out with their club card. We can check the record and see when your wife arrived and if she has left. Then, sir, we will discuss how you will make this club whole again.” The obvious hint at a monetary settlement was not lost on Conrad.

“First we find my wife.”

“Of course, Mr. McIntyre.”

Two police officers in crisp tan uniforms stood at the front desk eyeing the manager and the guard as they escorted Conrad to the front of the club.

“William, could you please pull up Mrs. McIntyre’s club record for her distraught husband. He seems to think she has gone missing.” The manager slid his hand across William’s back as he sauntered on by.

William smiled at the touch. “Of course, sir. Mr. McIntyre, come around this way.” He opened the counter and ushered Conrad behind the desk to see the computer screen. “She checked in at six twenty-two and checked out at…” William looked up. “She has not checked out yet, sir.” He pointed to the screen. “She is still here, according to our records.”

“William, please have Mrs. McIntyre paged.” The club manager moved to stand next to the police officers. “If she is here, she will hear the page. It even sounds in the spa areas.”

“Mrs. McIntyre, please come to the front desk. Mrs. Andrea McIntyre, you are needed at the front desk.” True to his word, the page could be heard down the hallway and even in the front lobby. The manager smiled solicitously at Conrad.

Conrad crossed his arms on his chest and waited. Five minutes passed. It was the longest five minutes of his life. “She should be here by now.” Conrad moved toward the hallway.

One of the officers stepped forward to block his way. “Patience. Give her time. She may be in the shower, or getting one of those wrap things. My wife gets ’em. Then she smells like rotten fish for a week.” The officer chuckled at his own joke.

Another five minutes passed before the manager moved. “William, would you go check the spa areas. Ask Marie to search the women’s locker room and sauna.” He took the microphone. “Mrs. McIntyre, please see the manager at the front desk.” The page echoed down the hallway.

When William returned with no news, and Andrea did not show up at the front desk, Conrad had had enough. “Look, you little ferret, my wife is not here. Her belongings are in her locker. And she is not in this club. We have established that. Her car is parked outside. Where—”

“Hold on there, son. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding. Have you and the little lady had a squabble recently?”

Conrad ignored the officer. “Look—” He peered at the manager’s nametag. “—Pierre? Look, Pierre, you must have security footage. I want to see it. Now.” He moved toward the manager.

Pierre stepped behind the two officers. “That will not be possible. This club is known for its valued privacy. Our clientele—”

Conrad reached between the two officers and grabbed Pierre by his expensive and matching athletic outfit. “Look, the only clientele I care about is my wife. She checked in here, and never checked out. What does that tell you, Pierre, huh?”

“Now just hold on a second.” The larger of the two officers grabbed Conrad, intent on separating him from the manager. “How do you feel about an assault charge, mister?”

Conrad’s cell phone rang.

“Shit.” He let go of Pierre and stepped back. “I’m listening” Conrad held the phone to his ear.

A metallic voice responded. “We have what you want. You have what we want.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” Conrad turned his back on the officers and the club manager.

“The backdoor to Iron Shield.”

Conrad froze. “There isn’t one.”

Iron Shield was ultra-top secret. No one, outside a handful of Pentagon pukes, knew GST was working on the high-tech missile guidance program. Only essential staff at GST knew about the project. In fact, Conrad could count on one hand, the people involved in the evolutionary process of developing the program.

“Then make one. You have twenty-four hours. Tell no one, or she dies.” The line went dead.

His cell phone screen showed unknown caller. “Shit!” Conrad turned around to face four inquisitive faces. “That was my wife. She’s at home.” He tried to look sheepish. “She forgot her stuff.” He shrugged and tried to play the dumb, overly possessive husband. “I’m really sorry. Would you mind getting her things for me?”

Both officers shook their heads and snickered. “Man, you and the little lady better have a talk. Get some things straight. Before you end up in real trouble.”

“William, please have Marie retrieve Mrs. McIntyre’s things from the locker.” He handed Conrad a sticky note and pen. “If you would, Mr. McIntyre.”

Conrad scribbled the combination on the little square of pink paper. “Sure. Look, Pierre, I’m real sorry, it’s just that I worry about her. Ya know.”

“No, I do not know. And I do not want to know. But there will not be a repeat of this behavior in the future. This you know, correct?” Pierre handed the combination to William who scuttled off to find Marie.

“Understood.” Conrad turned to the officers. “Ah, thanks guys.”

Neither officer responded. They simply stood there waiting for Conrad to leave.

In no time at all, William returned with Andrea’s things in a white plastic garbage bag, tied with a red piece of ribbon. William placed the bag on the front counter and stepped back a couple paces.

Conrad grabbed the bag, saluted the two police officers, and exited through the glass doors. As soon as he hit the sidewalk, he ran for his car. He had no idea what was going on, or where Andrea was, but he was about to find out.

Throwing the bag into the back seat, Conrad revved the motor, pulled onto the street and took off.

He needed to think.

He needed to plan.

He needed his wife.