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

Chapter Nine

D imitri spent the afternoon looking into ways to travel to Capri. He found more options flying into Naples and then taking the ferry system to the little island off the Amalfi Coast of Italy. He’d never been there, though he’d been many other places in Italy.

Known for its lively nightlife, artist community, and long-standing home to such notorious authors as Oscar Wilde, fleeing the more stayed and puritanical society rules of Europe and the UK. It had hosted kings, queens, starlets, famous scandalous royalty from all over the world, mafia mob bosses, and occasional patriots during WWII being hunted by the Italian government at that time.

But the history of the region went back to Roman times. The first Roman villa was built in AD 54, and ruins of that villa still remained visible to this day.

Jordan had told him Moira’s mother came from Capri, so it made sense they would find safe haven there. And it wasn’t too far from an international airport, that being Naples.

From a logistics standpoint, it was the perfect place to hide out. Anyone arriving on the island, an old volcano crater in the same family as Vesuvius, could be seen for miles and miles afar. The entire population lived in buildings built upon the steep hillside and on top of each other, old villas beneath new ones with stunning verandas overlooking the blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea and the Gulf of Naples, leading to where it connected with the Mediterranean Sea beyond.

It started as one Roman emperor’s private playground, but it soon became the magical land of myth and legend, where secrets were held in the old stone walls, Bougainville vines sometimes holding those walls together, where even pirates roamed during the heyday of the Ottoman Empire.

It survived all the wars of the mainland, mostly because of the steep terrain, making a formal military campaign fruitless. The culture blended so many times as to be a microcosm of history for the past two thousand years. It had everything but a mall, car dealerships, and a soccer team. Terraced, the farmers grew flowers, grapes, olive groves, fresh farm produce, and chickens everywhere. Every square inch was taken up and used for something. And, if not, another chapel dedicated to a variety of martyrs or saints housing a relic, like a dead saint’s finger or femur or perhaps a well-preserved ear under glass.

Fishing and tourism were their trades. Boats would travel from sunrise to three or four in the afternoon, after which, the island was completely isolated and the night creatures came out to party better than any Mardi Gras in New Orleans ever was, without the blaring horns, the parades, or the jazz.

The more he read, the more excited he got.

He’d wait to speak with her before making the reservations. And he was going to use his dad’s phone for everything and then wipe it later.

Now he understood the need for lack of politics in Moira’s world. There were no simple labels to apply to the population, since they organically sprang up from the way the winds blew and who they blew onto the shores of the little conclave.

At ten sharp, he dialed.

Again, he heard the clicking noises, the abrupt partial message in a man’s recorded voice—cut off at the first word. Then he heard Moira herself.

“Hello, my love.”

His ears began to ring. He didn’t care if she was conning him. It made no difference to him. He was her slave in all the important ways, and the rest would soon follow.

“I’ve waited all this time, and now get to speak to you twice in two days. I must be living under a lucky star.”

She giggled. “You do. You are my lucky star, Dimitri. And while I’d love to just talk, I need help, and we haven’t much time.”

“Go ahead. Give me instructions. I’m listening.”

“You’ve surveyed how to get here?”

“Yes, fly into Naples, ferry to Capri.”

“Yes. So you arrange it, and then give me the eta, and I’ll have someone pick you up. Make sure you get on the right ferry. There are several. I have activated messaging. You can text me on the way to let me know when you’ll arrive. I’ll have someone meet you.”

“You won’t meet me?”

“I can’t. I have to stay hidden for now. But I have family. Butterfly will be our safe word. Moth will be our unsafe word. If you hear about the birds, you know I have listeners.”

Smart. She was very smart. She could have been a covert asset. Was she only a journalist? She could have done anything. Or was she thorough because she’d been through so much?

“I’m on it. I’ll go get my things in D.C. first, then come. Maybe day after tomorrow?”

“You’re not in D.C.?”

“No, visiting my folks.”

“You book passage from there, then. You have a passport?”

“At least three, but three are with me.”

He was referring to the fact that, as a Special Agent, he had a diplomatic passport, sort of an international get-out-of-jail card with a gold shield to boot, and a passport from the UK under another name. But she didn’t know about those. He wasn’t going to mention them over the phone either.

“Mysterious. I always knew you were mysterious.” She paused. “I shouldn’t be asking you to do this. It could be dangerous. I’m warning you.”

“Why should that matter?”

“For your own health and safety.”

“Not if I can assist yours. That is my health and safety, Moira. I think you know it always has been that way for me.”

She paused, and then sighed. “Not enough time, my love. I will think on those things while I wait for you here. Be careful. Be very careful. Nothing is as it seems.”

“I’ve got nothing but butterflies in my heart for you.”

“As do I.”

And she hung up. He forgot to ask when he should call back, but perhaps he didn’t need to ask any longer.

He got to work, using the credit card attached to his British Passport and traveling under the name Grayson Newberry. He had a State Department ID that matched, just without the gold badge. The photo he’d had taken right after a short haircut to match the persona. He’d picked it because it sounded like a well-educated and organized man of business who had his life all well worked out and well scripted. He could put on the costume and become someone….

Not so dangerous.

Jordan called an hour later.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. You want to come?”

“Not sure I can. I’d lead them right to you. No, I’m just trying to stay safe. Listen, before we get too far, if something happens, I have an external hard drive in a safe deposit box at City National Bank downtown, and you’d better write this down, Box 244. Under my roommate in college’s name, Brian Forestall. Birthplace: Seattle. If something happens to me, you can get everything there. With your connections, that should be enough to get your exec approval and retrieve it. You only want to give it to someone you trust with your life, understand?”

It was alarming to hear all this from Jordan.

“Are you sure I can’t get you protection? I can do that, you know. If you get to California, I can get you some SEAL protection.”

“Only if I have to. I’m probably being more cautious than I need to be. But things are fungible here, not adding up. Feels like something big is happening on Capitol Hill, and I’ve talked to other reporters who are feeling the same vibe.”

“Well, you make your way to California. If you do that, I can keep you safe. I promise you that, Jordan.”

“So this will be our time, then.”

“If I change my phone, I’ll update you when you call. No texting. It’s too easy to duplicate. Voice is harder.”

“Time’s up. Safe travels. You can give her that information too. Then both of you will have it. Just in case.”

That gave Dimitri the shudders.

He explained to the house that he had to go do something for a couple of days, an emergency for his job, for the government, and would be back over the weekend, although he really didn’t know when he’d return.

He considered not taking his firearms, but he took a chance since he’d regret that decision if he needed them. Besides, he had the badge.

He left early from Tampa and caught a flight to Charleston to catch a direct to Naples. Before boarding the thirteen-hour flight, he took a chance and called her but left a message he hoped she’d get.

He settled into the plush leather seats in Business Class. It cost him more than he’d ever paid for a plane ticket, more than he’d paid for his first car. It was a fourteen-day turnaround, which he hoped would be enough time. He took a whiskey just so he could try to sleep. The seat next to him was thankfully vacant. He stretched out the back to prone position on both seats, and dreamed about pirates, white puffy clouds, walking on the beach, and, of course, butterflies.

Lots of butterflies.