Rafe and Cecilia arrived back at the hotel late the next morning after silently sneaking out of the historic, controlled area before dawn. Rome was still awake but the police were more concerned with rowdy late night partiers that guarding the Roman Forum. Unable to hail a taxi at that hour, they walked the two kilometers back to the lodging sector, dodging the occasional gang of revelers staggering from the bars. Finally they were able to relax after a tense time in the Foro Romano. Rafe locked the hotel room door, and they climbed into bed to get some rest. Neither one of them had slept much the previous evening, being worried about their assailants finding them and about what was happening to Clare. Sleep came easy for both. However, Rafe woke up several hours later, his dreams having been filled with sacrifices and the face of his daughter. He couldn’t bear to go there. That was not going to happen to Clare. He sat up in bed and glanced nervously out the window into the street. Everything looked normal, though he knew that was not the case. At least there are no people in hooded robes out in the street waiting for me. Cecilia was fast asleep. Let her sleep, he thought. I honestly don’t know what to do, he admitted to himself. I’m at a complete loss and don’t know where to turn. I need to speak to someone I can trust, but who? Rafe pondered who he would call, all the while knowing who that person would be.
Rafe continued to gaze out the window for a long while, his mind spinning. Eventually he closed the curtain, picked up his phone, and dialed a number he knew by heart. The phone rang and a male voice answered. “Yes.”
“It’s me. I need to talk to you.”
“Come to the Rock. I’m staying near the normal place. Meet me there tomorrow at 4 p.m.. Come alone.” The phone went dead. Well that’s done, thought Rafe.
No longer able to sleep, he made some espresso with the coffeemaker in the hotel room and sat down at the table to make plans, opening his laptop. Quickly he confirmed flight reservations to Gibraltar for two and selected a room at a small inn on the side of the mountain he had known for years. He then pulled out a picture of Clare he had in his wallet. His heart melted. He could look at it no more. Rafe sat for several minutes in silence. He then turned on the television, muted the sound, and flipped to the American financial channel, where he normally followed the markets. There was a documentary showing about the European debt crisis and the associated civil unrest. Rafe dropped his coffee cup on the table, spilling the remaining fluid while staring at the television screen. Cecilia briefly awoke but soon rolled over and went back to sleep. The anchorwoman narrating the pretaped documentary was the woman he had seen in the black robe at the altar in the Circus Maximus several hours before.
Rafe’s eyes continued to be locked on the television long after turning it off. His mind was spinning out of control. It was as if he had been thrown into a parallel universe and did not know how to function. The whole world had been turned upside down. What is happening? And why is it happening to me? Rafe continued to sit, thinking about the situation for some time. His anxiety was overwhelming.
Eventually the sun came up, and the light began to peek through the closed shades covering the hotel room windows. Cecilia started stirring in the bed around mid-morning. Rafe had hardly slept at all and he looked like it. He kept the espresso machine humming. "I’ve got to figure out what is going on," he said aloud as the sun was now firmly planted in the overhead sky, signaling the day had begun.
Cecilia finally woke and found Rafe staring out the window. As her eyes adjusted to the conditions in the room, she asked, “What time is it?’
“It’s 10:30 local time. You need to get up and get dressed and get ready to go.”
“Where are we going?” she asked groggily.
“I’ll tell you on the way to the airport. We’re going to see a friend of mine. So get up and let’s get moving.”
“You haven’t slept at all, have you?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because you need to be your best, if not for you, then for Clare.”
“You let me worry about myself, and Clare also for that matter.”
“Suit yourself,” Cecilia responded curtly and made her way to the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged showered and refreshed. Rafe had packed and was still in the clothes he had worn before. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face.
“Let’s go,” he ordered coldly.
Once again Rafe awoke as the small aircraft landed with a thud. He had tried to stay awake and think of Clare, but his body had shut down on the flights from Rome to Madrid and then on to Gibraltar. Cecilia was next to him, reading a book, her hand affectionately on his leg.
I’ve been an asshole, he thought. She’s been good to me and I’ve been treating her like the enemy. He moved his hand on top of hers. She looked up and smiled at him. Eventually the aircraft stopped taxiing and the door to the cabin opened, allowing the passengers to offload via mobile stairs and then walk to the small terminal beyond. She’s connected to everything that’s happening in some way, but I just don’t know how. And, maybe she doesn’t know either. We both have to figure it out.
Rafe looked around the airfield as they walked to the seemingly provincial, one-story facility. The Rock of Gibraltar loomed behind them to the south. It was massive formation rising from the flat terrain around it, reaching upwards and outwards like the chin of an outlandish, masculine cartoon character. Rafe could smell the sea.
Located at the bottom of the Iberian Peninsula and guarding the entrance to the Mediterranean, Gibraltar was ceded from the Spanish to the English in the 1713 Treaty of Utrecht and had been a thorn in Spanish/English relations ever since. Twice the population of Gibraltar had voted to refuse to be brought under Spanish control. Once an important base for the Royal Navy, now the Rock mainly subsisted off tourism and financial services. Even the Romans and Carthaginians had settled Gibraltar thousands of years ago. Rafe had seen it all before, for Rafe had been to Gibraltar several times, to meet Neal.
Neal was an agent with MI6. He had recruited Rafe years ago and continued to be his handler. Rafe was a natural target, as he was a famous author. Powerful people loved famous authors. They would invite them to their parties and other social functions in order to make themselves look important and connected. Rich and powerful people always loved the arts. In addition to being famous, Rafe was an attractive man, so doors opened for him, they always had. I just made the wrong decisions with those opportunities, he would often think. Just picked the wrong women, that’s why I’m alone.
Rafe was also second-generation Ukrainian-American. His parents had immigrated to the U.S. during the Cold War. He spoke fluent Ukrainian and Russian. So when the Orange Revolution broke out in Ukraine after the fall of the Soviet Union, Rafe was a natural figure for MI6 to use to gain information about who to trust in the opposition movement. Rafe had made frequent trips to Eastern Europe during that time, wining and dining with Ukrainian centers of influence. His relationship with Neal was a good one; they had looked after each other’s safety and interests. They trusted one another. There was, however, a distance between them, a professional distance. They would never be great friends.
Rafe and Cecilia made their way through immigration at the small terminal, collected their bags, and walked out into the warm night air. The smell of the ocean was never far away. A taxi stand was in front of the airport exit, but the line was nonexistent. They were able to hail a cab right away.
“Take me to the Oglethorpe,” Rafe barked to the driver.
“You haven’t even told me what we are doing here,” Cecilia said as they drove upwards into the densely populated but small city at the base of the Rock.
“And I’m not going to yet,” he replied. He said nothing else until they reached the hotel.
The drive to the hotel took about twenty minutes. Initially the road leading up into the crowded district was wide and accommodated several lanes of traffic. As they neared the top of the inhabited area, the road became thinner, and at some points the taxi had to pull over to let another car pass from the opposite direction. Eventually, they pulled into a small turnoff and parking area in front of the ground-floor check-in area of a large hotel that sprawled upwards on the mountain. Cecilia looked upwards and marveled at the mountain buttressing the hotel against the sea. A bellman took their bags and Rafe checked in to the room.
“Let’s have a drink in the bar before we do anything,” Rafe suggested. They negotiated the winding steps upwards from the front desk of the hotel and soon were in an expansive lounge area overlooking the Atlantic Ocean arrayed in front of them. The entire western wall of the hotel bar area was glass, and the room was decorated with historical artifacts of Gibraltar nautical history. The other side of the Rock, on the eastern opening to the Mediterranean, simply ended at the sea and was not populated.
“Nice view!” remarked Cecilia. “So what are we doing here?”
“I have to meet a friend. You’re going to stay here in the bar until I get back.” Rafe was not worried about being polite at this point. His daughter was all that mattered.
“So I get to stay here and drink? What if some handsome guy comes along?"
“You may indulge yourself if you like. I won’t be long. An hour or so," he said uncaringly. Cecilia looked hut but Rafe really didn't notice. He glanced at his watch; it wasn’t time yet, so he ordered another round. An hour later, Rafe left the bar, leaving Cecilia wondering and waiting for his return.
Rafe meandered slowly down the small streets, being careful not to get run over by the advancing traffic. Occasionally, he would dart into a side alley and emerge a block or two down the road. It was his way of making sure he wasn’t being followed. It was not as if he had received any training from MI6. He just did as he was told. He wasn’t in a hurry. Soon he neared his destination.
Rafe arrived in an expansive square nestled against the mountain rising above it. The area was ringed with shops and cafes and filled with the local populace. It seemed like there was some local fair or similar event of some kind taking place in the area. Rafe mingled among the throng of people, pretended to be interested in the festivities, and eventually drifted to the far edge of the square and selected an outdoor seat in the approaching shadows at an Italian cafe hidden in the corner. He sat down and waited. Rafe heard mostly British accents; however, not a proper London English. There was a Mediterranean flare to the way the people talked. It seemed to be a rather unique way of speaking. The patrons of the shops were oblivious to Rafe.
Fifteen minutes later, Neal arrived. “Good to see you, Rafe. You look good. Much better than the last time I saw you.” Neal was dressed like a collegiate professor, corduroy sport coat and all. He even had the elbow patches. He was in his late forties, had graying long hair, and stylish glasses. Neal was of average height and in good shape physically.
“Why thank you, boss, you look good yourself, like a true campus radical. So what swashbuckling case are you working on now? Or is it just some boring environmental terrorist or something like that?”
“You always were the cynical one,” responded Neal. “As a matter of fact, I'm saving the world, but you wouldn’t know anything about that. You're hanging out in Venice and traveling all over Europe with a strikingly beautiful, young woman. Yes, yes, don’t look so surprised. We do keep tabs on our people you know.”
“I’m impressed. Do you know anything about what I'm up to? What's going on?”
“I can’t say that I do, Rafe. Obviously that is why you wanted to meet. And as it usually happens that I am the one who wants to meet and not you, I surmise there is something wrong and it’s important. So why don’t you properly get me up to speed?”
Rafe laid out all that had transpired over the last few days since he had met Cecilia and seen the image under the water in Venice. Neal listened intently, occasionally asking questions and taking a few notes. “What’s the girl's full name?” he asked. Rafe told him and Neal pulled out his phone. Seconds later he began speaking. He gave Cecilia’s name and description over the phone and asked for a quick report on her background and activities. Neal also asked for information on Fernando. He hung up and then turned to Rafe.
“So you meet her for a few days of great sex and invite her into your life? Seems a little quick, don’t you think?” asked Neal.
“Yes, you could say that. I’ve thought about that myself, but she has been helping me figure out what's going on. I really didn’t have any other leads at the time. But yes, things have been quite coincidental. Frankly I don’t give a fuck if I can find out more about Clare. I really don’t have any other leads besides her.”
“We will of course do what we can to help, Rafe. I’ll see what I can find out from the Yanks, but it seems like this is taking place in our sandbox. I will say this, you need to be very careful, no matter how beautiful she is.”
“Yeah, I figured that one out on my own. I do appreciate your help however. What do you suggest I do?”
“Stay put here for a day or so. Let me find out some information on these people and on the woman in New York. It’s all quite shocking. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, okay? So stay put for a few days?”
“Okay thanks.” Rafe got up to leave.
“And one more thing, my friend,” added Neal. “You are definitely being led to the slaughter here. We just have to figure out why and by whom.”
“Find my daughter,” said Rafe. "I’ll sacrifice myself for her. That’s all I care about.”
The walk back to the hotel was uneventful.
Rafe found Cecilia sitting alone at a table overlooking the ocean. She had moved across the bar and was gazing out at the white caps cresting the waves. She looked ravishing in her tight fitting sundress. Rafe had almost forgotten how gorgeous she was.
“Ah, back from your secret mission?” she asked as he walked up to the table. “Still not going to tell me?”
“Sorry, no I’m not going to tell you. Maybe someday but not now. I hope you weren’t too lonely while I was gone?”
“No, I’m fine. I did kind of miss you however. Even though we’ve only known each other for a few days.” She smiled seductively.
“Growing attached to me already, huh?” Rafe responded. “Usually it takes a girl a few weeks before she can’t live without me,” he said sarcastically. He was growing more and more depressed over Clare’s disappearance and not knowing where to turn for information. He signaled for the waitress to bring him a drink.
Cecilia reached out and held Rafe’s hand. “Look, Rafe. We’re going to find her, okay?" She then reached over to her purse and pulled out a brochure. She handed it to him. “Look what I’ve found on my table while you were gone. Someone placed it there when I went to the bathroom for a couple minutes. Obviously they wanted us to see this. Seems like there is an ancient Mythraim from the Roman days here in Gibraltar.”