Shadows of the Past (SEAL Brotherhood: Shadow Team #1)

Chapter Four

T he afternoon was beginning to get breezy, not quite warm enough to feel the stirrings of summer and not cool, especially at night. He walked down by the mall, in the shadow of the Washington Memorial, the monuments feeling sometimes so small compared to what they represented. A nation who lived and died one by one. Some in wars, some by illness or natural causes, and some at the hands of others both here and abroad. The pulse of the country felt weak right now.

Or maybe it was just how Dimitri was feeling, that comfortable lack of control, when all he had to do was execute and hold his emotions at bay. He couldn’t do that right now and probably wouldn’t be able to tomorrow.

He stepped across the lawn, walked the sidewalk along the roadway, and then crossed to the tiny park between two government buildings. Behind them was a neighborhood. It was more a cross-through between two busy streets. The brownstones on the both sides of the street were silent. No children played in the road like he’d see in his old home in San Diego or like what he’d seen when he visited his parents in Florida. No bicycles were left outside, no scooters or pushcarts or soccer balls.

Maybe it was the voices of his forefathers whispering to him today. The breeze talked to him, almost seemed to inhale when he did and blow out the tiny bits of pollen and green shoots discarded from the sycamore, elm, and pine trees everywhere. The voices reminded him to stay calm. To observe. Not let his guard down, learn from his environment, and his favorite, “Embrace The Suck.” It had been a favorite of his BUD/S instructor at Coronado, old Wiley Grant. They called him Wiley Coyote.

And Wiley’s suck was here today too.

He wondered why, if all he’d ever wanted was to belong, when he found the person he wanted to spend his life with that she’d been taken away. And, if Jordan Taliaferro was correct and she was still alive, why she abandoned him.

Was it the wedding she was running from?

Oh, he could handle it. He just didn’t understand why he was dealt such a sharp and painful blow. What had he done to deserve this? Didn’t he try his best to do his job? He thought of all the people he’d saved, the men he’d patched up or talked down from a bullet to the brain, and the marriages he tried to solve along the way. He was batting a good percentage.

And all the while, he wrestled with the same demons he counseled others about. Why would he be left with a loveless life, except for a few dazzling years of pure Enchanted Forest—full of magic and mayhem, where his favorite place was the warm cotton sheets in any nice hotel, or his apartment, or her place? There were wonders there, for sure. Where he could dream about a life never-ending.

And now this.

Noticing the brown and dark blue structures, the dark forest green trim, the red brick walls, painted doors with bronze knockers, and artful mailboxes with eagles or flags or lions encrusted in statuary on the front porch, he shook his head. Some houses had wrought iron fencing with spear-top pointed spindles and small squeaky gates painted black. No white picket fences like New England or San Diego. These were dark, powerful colors. The colors of the powerful, aloof, and well secured. The smell of money was everywhere.

And it felt dangerous. Always did when he walked through these little parks. This one had a few iron benches, sometimes decorated with a plaque to commemorate someone or something. Indeed, the whole neighborhood had bronze markers at the corners of the buildings announcing history was made there. People fucked upstairs, argued, and cooked dinner, but history was still made there years and years ago. The plaques proved it so.

A black and white cat slithered behind bushes, watching him pass with wide green eyes, ready to scamper away. A delivery van dropped off a pizza to an older gentleman standing in the doorway of his living room. Dimitri could hear the TV in the background, and a faint smell of coffee brewed somewhere.

At the end of the short block, cars buzzed by like large bugs. The drivers never looked at the park, the meandering path that bisected it, the benches, or him walking with his hands in his pocket.

Alone.

It still felt dangerous. Maybe it was the anticipation of what he’d be told. No matter what, he wasn’t going to be overjoyed with any of Jordan’s news.

He wondered if she’d told him to get him involved. It would be the type of thing she’d do. Maybe she couldn’t for some reason. Maybe Jordan was the messenger.

That started to make sense.

He rounded the corner back to the sidewalk that bordered the busy road and ran across a sprite dogwalker with three large breeds towing him, making him prance and nearly have to trot.

Dogs on a mission. In a hurry. Like their owners.

Dog walking was a very good way for kids to pay for their college these days, he was told. If you liked dogs. And Dimitri did, except not other people’s dogs. Maybe if he got a dog, life wouldn’t feel so dangerous. But who would take care of the dog when he was away?

Which brought him around to the stark fact that he lived alone, because that’s all he could count on. Adding a dog would complicate things. Better to keep it simple. Lonely, but simple.

Oh, he wished he could feel better with the news she was still alive. Maybe Jordan was going to tell Dimitri she was covered from head to toe in scars or had all the flesh burned from her body and she didn’t want to show him. Or maybe she had an incurable disease. Maybe her beautiful brown hair had all fallen out. Maybe she was in a wheelchair most of the day.

It had to be something. Something important, because he couldn’t believe she just didn’t care. That was a bridge too far. Would she be ashamed of something about her? Surely she would know he would never feel that way. If she was only a torso, no legs or arms, he’d still hold her and tell her he loved her.

That made him chuckle.

You are such an asshole. How dare you think of her like that?

Maybe it was some of his anger coming back. Did he wish her ill for making him suffer so much? No, there had to be a reason she chose not to give him a chance, a reason he was not to be privy to the truth of her life. Had to be a good reason.

That was the only thing he knew for sure.

At last he circled back to his apartment entrance. He used his keycard after checking up and down the street. They’d had a rash of teenage thieves stealing keys from unprepared residents or, even worse, running inside and wreaking havoc in the gym, the hallways, or bathrooms, just making a mess and looking for things to take or people to rob. For the thrill of it.

No one was there. Once again, he reminded himself, he was all alone. The sounds of the city were all around him, but he was all alone.

The keycard gave him entry. The desk was unmanned this afternoon, as sometimes happened when the guard was doing rounds. Checking doors, the laundry, the gym, and the meeting rooms, checking the mini theater on the second floor where a group of residents rehearsed plays and sometimes performed for the house.

Most days, Dimitri could walk all the way to the elevator then down the hall to his front door and wouldn’t see a soul. Occasionally, he’d hear music, which was the only way he knew anything about any of his neighbors. Like his next-door neighbor who enjoyed jazz or another who liked concert hall performances. The rest of them lived behind light brown mahogany doors embedded with a peephole in the middle, apartment number on the left.

The keycard opened his door. It was cooler than he’d expected. His sliding glass door to the patio was open.

He hadn’t left it that way.

He quietly shed his shoes, reached behind for his Sig, unholstered it, and aimed it at the open doorway, sweeping right and left to check for any activity down the hall to his bedroom. Nothing moved. He stepped to the balcony, separating the sheer curtains with his right hand, still clutching the weapon in his left.

The balcony was empty.

He leaned around the corner of the balcony off his bedroom, and that door appeared closed. He turned to the left and leaned slightly until he could see his neighbor’s balcony and found a chair very close to the railing. A lightweight wooden chair. Not the type of chair to be on an outdoor place prone to high winds. Probably came from the kitchen, and someone made a mistake by leaving it there.

Or they wanted him to know they were there, since they also left the window open. Why would someone who chanced climbing over the railing be so stupid to leave a chair and open window behind?

They wouldn’t.

So they were not professionals.

Or they were, and wanted him to know this.

Or he almost caught them? Could that be?

He closed the sliding glass door behind him, being careful to bring all the billowy curtains with him. Tiptoeing quietly, he headed to his bedroom. The laundry was on the right, empty except for the stacking washer-dryer, folding counter, and sink. Two of his shirts were hanging in the pulldown rack over that sink, just as he’d left them this morning.

Back to the hallway, his Sig still out, he heard a noise. And then another. Sounded like someone brushing past him, like there was a ghost in the place, sliding to get by.

When he looked at his king-sized bed, he found the culprits.

Three pigeons sat together, not making a sound until he entered the room. They stood and began to make little cooing noises, small talk amongst themselves only they could understand. Confirming he was there, in case the other two didn’t realize it.

One by one, they hopped off the bed and walked in a single file line right past him, eyeing him carefully and then speeding up their gait. They rounded the corner to the living room. And he’d closed the door they expected to fly out of.

He quickly checked his bathroom and closet and then holstered his gun.

“All right. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your afternoon delight, fellas. Here I come,” he said as he walked slowly past the birds so he wouldn’t have to pick up a room full of feathers if he scared them.

He slid open the door, pulling the drapes aside.

One by one, they approached the balcony, and one by one, they hopped up on the solid half wall that bordered the tiny space. They flew off in unison to another balcony.

So that was the answer to one of his questions. Whomever left the window open had been there much earlier, giving them enough time to discover the open window and enter, settling down on the softest part of his apartment.

His gun safe was untouched. Nothing was left anywhere. Nothing appeared to have been removed, but the desk drawers had been opened and papers rifled. His dresser had also been rummaged through, clothes strewn around. Why would they want something in his underwear drawer? What was the message here, he wondered. Why would someone risk their life to come inside his place, his inner sanctum, other than to mess with his head? He didn’t even know of anyone who had the agility to do this sort of thing without proper rigging. And that would cause too much attention.

He called down to the guard below, who answered on the first ring.

“Someone’s been in my room and left my sliding glass window open. Can I have information on who, other than myself, opened my door or the door next to me?”

“You know I can’t do that, but I can check the log for your door.”

“Please. I’m waiting.”

“I have to give it a minute for the software to click up. Just a moment.”

Dimitri heard the keyboard tapping.

“Here it is, yes, there was a passkey used. Hmmm. A maintenance passkey. About nine o’clock this morning. Were you home at the time?”

“You can see from the record I left early.”

“Yes, I see that. It was about twenty minutes later.”

“And when did they leave?”

“Looks like after about a minute, maybe ninety seconds. Not very long. Is anything missing?”

“Not that I can tell. So who is this maintenance worker?”

“They have their own set of master passkeys. For emergencies. They are all alike so they can use any of them when they need to. Not specifically assigned. They should be, though. But we don’t do that.”

“Where are these stored?” he asked.

“Downstairs. I think Wendell is there now. You want me to call him?”

“No, I think I’ll go visit him.”

“Better not go alone. You know we’ve had some break-ins lately. We’re supposed to accompany anyone who goes to maintenance. The building management got a complaint the residents were harassing the maintenance workers, so we changed the policy. Hard to find good people.”

“Suit yourself. So it’s down on the gym level?”

“Turn right instead of left, and you’ll be there. I’ll meet you there.”

Dimitri took one last search, double-checked the locked windows, and then carefully closed his door, making it to the elevator and pushing the button to the basement floor.

He walked to the glass door with the maintenance hours posted. The door was locked, and all the lights inside were off. That wasn’t normal.

The guard came up behind him. “I thought I saw Wendell earlier this morning. He was taking out the garbage. But I don’t know—”

He used his passkey to open the door.

Behind a stack of boxes, Wendell’s body lay. No blood, but he wasn’t moving, and he didn’t appear to be breathing, either. Dimitri checked for a pulse and found one.

“He’s alive. Better call an ambulance, and get them to send someone else over. Inform the manager.”

“Yessir. I’ll be right back. You don’t leave, and don’t let anyone else come in here, okay?”

“No worries.”

Dimitri noticed a storage closet was ajar. Several sets of keys were hanging on lanyards, along with other utility keys, a few flashlights, and two sets of high-intensity lamps. The key to the closet was still stuck in the keyhole.

He went back to Wendell, who had begun to stir. He held his head, feeling for a wound or bump, and found one. A bulge on the left side, behind his temple, was bruising up. It had barely broken the skin and appeared to be more from a fall than a blunt object.

“You okay, Wendell?” he asked.

“Oh man, I’m going to be sick. Oh jeez, help me up—” Wendell said as he tried to scramble to his feet, but then he bent over and retched.

“Here, just sit down. Keep your head down. You have some water here?”

Wendell sat hard and pointed to a small refrigerator in the corner. Dimitri grabbed a bottle and handed it to the man.

“So what happened?”

“Someone came at me from behind. Put a rag in my face, and I went out like a light. Had a gasoline-type smell to it.”

“Ether. You had a nice dose. You’ve been asleep for about four hours. That sound about right?”

“God if I know. Why would someone do something like that?”

“To get the passkeys to the units. Someone was in my place this morning. You have anyone looking to get access today?”

Wendell shook his head.

Dimitri heard the sound of a siren coming from the outside.

“The paramedics are here. You see this person?”

“No. Smelled like cigars, though.”

“As opposed to cigarettes?”

“That’s right. There’s a difference, you know.”

Dimitri didn’t argue. “A tall person?”

“I’d say yes, I think so. Strong. Strong arm that came across my face. I felt a knee in the small of my back, directing my fall. Nothing I could do. My legs just gave way, and I saw black spots and then nothing. Oh man, I got a headache,” he said as he felt the side of his head and his fingers came back with a trace of blood.

Dimitri nodded when he saw it. “I think from the fall. You don’t remember getting hit, right?”

“Right.”

Behind him, two paramedics arrived, followed by a Rescue Commander. The paramedics got to work on Wendell, while the commander asked questions.

“You found him on the floor, Mr. Bingham says.”

“That’s right. He was out cold. Sounds like someone gave him some ether.”

“He told you that?”

“He did.”

“Did you see the person?” the commander asked Wendell.

“No. Came at me from behind. I think it was a man, though. A strong man.”

After a brief discussion, Dimitri was released. Several residents from the gym were milling about the hall, curious. He pushed between them and headed to his apartment.

Dangerous. He’d been thinking all afternoon that things were dangerous. More dangerous than they appeared to be on the outside.

Who was this person, and why did they want him? What did they want?

He removed his slacks and his jacket and hung them up. He threw his shirt into the laundry bin by the washer, adding his underwear, and stepped into the shower.

The shower was what sold him on the place. Made him pay the extra three hundred dollars for it, in fact. A good shower was essential. Good for his overall health. It could wash away everything.

He slipped on a pair of red, white, and blue pajama bottoms, a patriotic line of kewpie dolls adorning the fabric everywhere—riding horses, holding flags, doing calisthenics, and marching with rifles. It was a strange pattern, but he’d laughed when he saw them on sale at Walmart and had to buy three sets.

He took a long drink of water. He was missing something. What was it?

Then he remembered the two notes he brought home. Checking his inside pocket of his jacket he brought them out. Someone had attached his name typed out on a file labeler to both cards.

He hesitated before he opened the first one, using a letter opener. He didn’t have gloves, so tried to touch the envelope as little as possible. Using the edge of his sheet, he pulled out a card. It was a beautiful picture of an old building, like some of the apartments he’d seen in Genoa. Or it could have been in France somewhere. Even Prague. Ornate statues, and it was dripping with them, covered the building fa?ade.

He opened the card.

“Help Jordan find me. Need your help. Urgent.”

It was unsigned, but it was her handwriting. He scrambled to open the other card, another picture of an architectural background.

“Help me, Dimitri. I have nowhere else to turn.”

Beneath it was a phone number. It was Moira’s.