“As far as I can tell, the only common denominator in both kidnapping attempts in Charlotte and in the Philippines, seems to be you, Miss March,” said Donaldson.
“I have to agree,” added O’Reilly.
“But they also may be looking for something that she had or was working on,” added Fahimah. “The books you bid on, what were they about?” asked Fahimah, while she typed away on her laptop.
Jen cleared her throat. “They were from an estate sale and once belonged to a Mister Charles Reid. He was a former British subject who was a member of the Board of Inquiry into the loss of the British Airship, the Goliath. The ship was lost on June 10, 1931, somewhere over Mauritania, West Africa.”
Ortiz’s phone rang. Standing, he walked out into the hall to take his call.
“These books, were they valuable?” asked Donaldson, looking through his notes.
“No, I don’t believe so,” answered Jen.
“This keeps getting worse by the hour,” said Ortiz as he re-entered the room and took his seat. “That was the Charlotte chief of police on the line. He said that the man Mitchell knocked out at the crash site has been found dead in his hospital room. His throat had been slit from ear to ear, and those books you were just talking about have disappeared right out of the police evidence locker.”
“Good lord,” exclaimed Jen at the news.
“For the right price, Miss March, you can get anything, and I do mean anything done. Even in a police station,” said Ortiz regretfully, shaking his head.
“It would appear that we are dealing with someone with very deep pockets,” said Mitchell.
Donaldson looked over at O’Reilly. “Sir, those books may be more valuable to someone than Miss March believes.”
“General, I think I may have found something that may be useful,” added Fahimah without looking up from her computer. “I believe I have found a living relative of Charles Reid, a Mister Francis Reid.”
“Where does he live?” asked Mitchell, his tired eyes suddenly coming to life.
“Alaska. Palmer, Alaska to be exact, it is just north of Anchorage. He is a retired schoolteacher. He wrote a small book on the Goliath’s disappearance a number of years ago and if the web is to be believed, he is considered an expert on the subject. I think I can get my hands on his book electronically,” said Fahimah.
“Great, email it to me when you can,” said Mitchell. “Have you ever heard of this man before?” he asked Jen.
“I read his book a few years ago. It’s more of a family history than a definitive work on the loss of the Goliath, but he may have additional information on the disappearance that he’s just never found the time to publish,” said Jen.
“Palmer, Alaska. I’ve never been in that neck of the woods before,” Mitchell said, his mind switching into overdrive. “But I bet I could be up there in a matter of hours.”
O’Reilly looked over at Mitchell. “What are you thinking, Ryan?”
“I want to meet this man. I would like to know all I can about the Goliath. It may help me understand what is so important about it and perhaps shed some light on why some people seem hell-bent on getting their hands on Jen.”
“Ryan, don’t forget this has become a police matter, not a company one,” said O’Reilly, gauging Mitchell.
“Sir, I got it one hundred percent. I agree. It is a police matter in Charlotte, North Carolina, not Alaska, and you know that I would never do anything to jeopardize or tarnish the good name of the company, but I need to find out what’s going on. Jen’s in real danger, and I want to find out why. You’ve put me on leave for a month, so technically this wouldn’t be on the company’s time. All I would need is access to the staff should I have a question or two that needs answering,” said Mitchell.
O’Reilly smiled and shook his head at Mitchell. He knew the man would go even if he told him not to. He could see the concern in Mitchell’s eyes for Jennifer March. “All right then, Ryan. Since you are officially on leave, you can do as you wish, but let me pay for the flights,” he said, as he handed Mitchell a gold-colored company credit card. “But at the first sign of trouble up there, you hand the problem over to the local police and get your ass back here pronto.”
Mitchell thanked O’Reilly and happily took the credit card.
“Now that that’s settled, I can have you flown back to your mother later today,” said O’Reilly to Jen.
“Sorry sir, but it’s my neck on the line here, and I also want to know why this is happening,” said Jen firmly. “If you and the police think that they may try for my mother, to get to me, I’m not just going to sit back and wait for it to happen. I’m well and truly pissed now and want to help. No offense to Ryan, but he knows almost nothing about the Goliath, whereas I’ve spent years studying the airship. He doesn’t realize it, but I am more valuable to him then he knows right now.”
Mitchell was about to open his mouth when Jen raised her hand, cutting him off.
“I’m coming and that’s all there is to it, mister,” said Jen, leaving no doubt in her voice.
O’Reilly smiled. “Well, I’ll get Tammy to book the flights and arrange for a rental at the other end. Consider this an early Christmas present.”
Sitting back in his seat, Mitchell shook his head at Jen, who smiled back at him. He only hoped that their trip could shed some light on the growing puzzle. Before it was over, they would face an even greater and more dangerous mystery.
11
A bitterly cold wind whipped across the open helipad, buffeting the gold-painted helicopter as it maneuvered to land. The helicopter, a Eurocopter Dauphin, seemed to hover for only the briefest of times above the heaving deck. The pilot’s eyes were fixed on a man in a yellow survival suit standing on the pad with bright orange paddles in his hands, indicating the pitch of the ship. Judging that the time was right, the pilot brought the copter down as if he were landing on a pillow instead of the deck of a vessel rolling around in rough seas.
Seeing the rotor blades slowing, another sailor dressed in a survival suit darted forward, opened the passenger-side door, and helped Alexandra Romanov from the helicopter. No sooner had they cleared the rotors than the pilot revved up the craft’s powerful engines. Gracefully the helicopter rose from the deck and then headed back out of the storm and towards the safety of the mainland.
Wearing a dark-blue outfit with matching down-filled parka and rain pants, Alexandra was dressed for the downpour soaking the deck of the ship. She followed her guide along the cluttered deck of the oil exploration ship, the Romanov Star. The spray caused by the cold slate-gray waves breaking against the sides of the vessel felt like a thousand needles poking into any exposed skin. This, combined with the rocking motion of the ship, made movement for those unaccustomed to rough seas extremely treacherous. Alexandra found herself having to grab hold of anything she could to prevent herself from being tossed around like a rag doll on the slippery deck as she fought her way towards the ship’s bridge.
The Romanov Star was one of three ultra-modern exploration vessels owned by the Romanov business empire. It had a unique design with a twin hull, better known as a SWATH (Small Waterplane-Area Twin Hull). To most people, it looked like a super-sized high-tech catamaran, but the ship was designed to have its floats below the surface, thereby giving it greater stability on rough seas. That notion was lost on Alexandra, as she swore that she still felt every wave in her stomach as they struck the ship.