Chapter 26: Zurich

I have no idea how long I sat on the sofa holding my head in my hands as I reviewed all that had happened.

I had killed a man.

Granted, he was holding a knife to a young girl’s throat at the time, but still, I kept running the scene through my mind, looking for alternative ways I could have dealt with the situation. But every one of them seemed to end up with the knife wielding kidnapper dying.

Finally, I became aware of Isabella standing behind me.

“Come with me,” Isabella said softly as she led me down the steps to the cockpit. Then instead of leading me into the salon, she led me down the sugar scoop to the pier. At the end of the pier was a taxi.

“Where we going?” I asked.

“Mother has invited you for breakfast,” she replied.

“But I didn’t get to say goodbye,” I whined.

“Did you really want to?” she snapped back. “Besides, you’ll see your family in a few days.”

Once the door was shut on the private jet, Isabella offered me a bottled water as we buckled ourselves in. The jets’ engines prevented any conversation during take-off, so I quietly sipped on my water. To show you how depressed I was, I didn’t even question Isabella about where she was taking me.

“Alex, we’re getting ready to land,” Isabella said as she softly kissed my ear.

“That tickled,” I muttered. “Go back to sleep. It’s too early.”

Somehow, Isabella got me sitting up with a mug of coffee in my hand. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you go change and get out of those rumpled clothes.”

I looked up at Isabella and she looked as fresh as a daisy. Did I detect damp hair?

Slowly, I made my way to the rear of the plane. When I did, the answer became obvious. The rear of the plane was a small bedroom complete with en suite bath, and a shower. Rushing now to beat the clock, I jumped in the shower to rinse off and put on the clothes that Isabella had laid out.

As I returned to my seat, I glanced out the window and the sight of the snow covered alps took my breath away. This was going to be interesting.

“What did you put in my water?” I finally asked her.

She just smiled.

After a quick trip through customs, we were met at the airport by a chauffeured limousine. I wasn’t sure of the model, but it looked old ... and very expensive. The ride wasn’t that long but I got a crick in my neck as I kept twisting around to see all the sights.

Zurich was absolutely beautiful!

When we got to downtown Zurich, we turned south, along the east side of Lake Zurich for about five or six kilometers before turning into a beautifully manicured drive to what I could only describe as a cross between a massive French villa and a hunting lodge from the Canadian northwest. I knew that the lake had to be close behind the house.

“It’s actually a compound with the main house, a guest house, four cottages and eight or ten out-buildings. I thought my father’s estate in Spain was large, but when I came here the first time, my sisters and I actually got lost,” she said.

“It’s beautiful,” I gushed.

“Well, c’mon. Larry will get the bags,” she said. When I saw Larry, I knew he would have no trouble with our bags. Heck, he wouldn’t have any trouble bringing in the limousine if need be.

Isabella led the way as we followed a somewhat long and winding path through an immense atrium and finally out onto a terraced patio with some portable heaters scattered around against the early morning chill. There, Cynthiana was having her morning cup of tea as she looked out across the lake. She bade us to sit and then the staff began bringing out our breakfast as we chatted about harmless things.

After they had cleared the dishes away, Cynthiana turned to me and said, “Alex, tell me exactly what happened in Dominica yesterday. Start from where you ran from the bridge.”

“I felt bad that I had hurt the mercenary, even though he tried to kill us. And when he told me of his daughter being held hostage, I wanted to go there and save her. But Mom and Reggie and the other adults kept telling me that it was too dangerous. Did that make me mad? A little. What I was feeling was more like anguish or hopelessness. I knew I had the power to save this child if I could just get there. But they didn’t really believe in my power. Not even Roland and Carina,” I said sadly.

“Then what happened?” she gently prodded.

“I’m not really sure. It was almost like I wished myself there. One minute I was standing on the aft deck anguishing over a young girl being raped and killed, the next moment, I’m standing in front of a warehouse behind the hospital in Dominica,” I said.

“And then...?” she asked softly.

“A man came outside to smoke and I sorta zapped him with my mind. Then I went in the warehouse and made my way to the back without seeing anyone. So I busted open this door and two guys began shooting at me, so I zapped them too. Then this thin guy with tattoos all over his body came dragging Gabby out while holding a wicked looking knife to her throat. He started talking in this French/Creole language, so I zapped him too. But I did it a little harder. When I checked, he was dead.”

“How awful for you. Go on,” she said.

“I walked Gabby down to the other end of the hospital complex, to the Emergency Room, and asked them to call Admiral Bouchard to come get us.”

“Thank you, Alex. I know that was difficult. We’ll talk more about it later. Just rest and have another cup of coffee while I get Isabella’s report.”

Then turning to Isabella, she just nodded.

“The girl’s name is Gabriela Ramirez, age 15, born in Roseau, Dominica to Pedro and Inez Ramirez. Inez left or ran away with Gabriela twelve years ago, but records show she made more than a dozen trips back to Roseau during that time. Inez subsequently contracted pancreatic cancer and passed away last year. US Immigrations simply packed up the fourteen-year-old and shipped her back to papa,” Isabella reported.

“The deceased was an American named Carlos Jones and he was a small time operator, mostly drugs, prostitution, and black market medical supplies that he was stealing from the hospital. Late last week, the day after several US Navy ships ran aground on the west coast of Dominica, Carlos was contacted by unknowns and offered a large sum of US Dollars to kill an Americano teenager.

“Evidently, he’s the one that came up with the idea of sacrificing some men to lure Alex to him. He recruited Pedro and his trawler and gave them some new Russian weapons and detailed instructions on how to organize a raid on a private yacht in the harbor at Martinique. We think we know where he got the weapons and the help planning the ambush, but we’re still tracking down all the loose ends. As for kidnapping the girl, he apparently added that on his own. At the last moment, Carlos acted like he was kidnapping Pedro’s daughter and holding her hostage against Pedro completing his mission.

“If Pedro succeeded in killing Alex, so much the better. If he failed, Carlos would be waiting. Carlos suspected that Alex would eventually show up, but didn’t expect him so soon. We found detailed notes of the whole plan to kill Alex, in his room. He never harmed the girl and seemed to have no plans to.”

“So ... it WAS a trap! And Alex walked right into it,” Cynthiana mused.

I will admit that my head was spinning and my emotions were borderline out-of-control upon hearing Isabella’s report. But that’s still no excuse for what I did. I jumped up and ran down the stone path to the lake.

There, I ran out the short pier and jumped into the water, sinking quickly to the bottom. It was only about ten feet deep. But man, was it cold!

“Oh, shit! He’s doing it again!” cried Isabella. “Well, I’m not going in after him!”

I had just wanted to get away. To find a quiet place to think. But unlike the Caribbean, this water was COLD!

I soon began to shiver and then my teeth started to chatter so hard, water began leaking into my mouth. So with a shove of my feet against the rocky bottom I broke the surface and headed for the swim ladder attached to the short pier. Then slowly, I made my way, shivering against the cold, back to the patio.

Cynthiana could barely keep the smile from her face as she called for someone to lead me inside. A young lady I didn’t know, led me to a changing room next to an indoor pool and told me to strip, which I did without complaint. As she handed me a big fluffy towel, she perused my body up and down one time and said, “Follow me.”

She led me around the edge of the pool to a small room with a wooden door. Opening the door, she waved me in and reached inside and adjusted a knob on the wall. Then she left. Within minutes, the wood-lined room became very warm and a mist of fog soon developed. Soon I was dripping with sweat as the steam enveloped me. Finally, I deemed my body warm enough and stepped back out onto the pool deck. There was the young lady who had escorted me, a sly grin on her face.

She was sitting at one of the poolside tables in a sleek, red, one piece swimsuit, cut low enough to tease, but not to advertise, and a pair of designer cutoff shorts. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her eyes shone with mirth as her tiny tongue slipped out and glided over her lips while she continued to study me. Her long, bare legs were stretched out in front of her, casually, and she had a pair of stylish sandals on her dainty feet.

“Thanks!” I said. “That was ... er, interesting.”

“It’s a Scandinavian Steam room. Much better for you than a sauna. Here, drink this,” she said, handing me a large bottled water. The label said it was flavored with berries.

“Thanks,” I said again. “I’m Alex,”

“I know who you are, Señor Masters from Georgia in the USA. My name is Sofía Catalina Lucía Martina de la Vega, from Villanova de Meiä, Spain,” she said.

“Well, Señorita de la Vega, from Villanova de Meiä, I guess that makes twice that you’ve saved my life this morning. How can I ever repay you?”

“I’m sure something will COME to mind shortly,” she purred. “But now, I must return you to your hostess and my sister. Come.”

“But my clothes?” I said as I gripped the towel tighter around my waist.

“By now, they are in the laundry, Señor. I’m sure my sister will find you something else to wear,” she laughed. “Or maybe not...”

“Which name should I call you?” I asked as we made our way through the vast labyrinth of hallways.

“Sofía, will do for now,” she said with a glint in her eye.

I was soon standing in Cynthiana’s lavish office with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on Lake Zurich. It was ornate in light wood panels and rich leather furniture scattered about. Cynthiana was seated behind a smallish desk, sorting through some papers in a file, while Isabella sat in one of the leather chairs near the end of her desk drinking from a bottle of flavored water.

“Thank you, Sofía,” she said. “Would you like to stay and hear what we have in store for your new friend?”

“Oui, M’dame,” she replied as she sat on the arm of her sister’s chair. When they were together, you could see the resemblance. Hair color, body shape, and even their smiles. But there were plenty of differences too. Their breasts appeared to be similar in size, but where Isabella had tiny nipples that became as big as a pea when excited, I could tell with just a glance at her swimsuit that Sofía’s were much larger.

“Alex, I brought you here so abruptly because I needed to see what kind of shape you were in,” she paused as she looked me up and down, “psychologically, I mean. Taking a life, even one as convoluted and warped as Mr. Jones’, can have an unsettling effect on some people. While I trust my son’s evaluation of you, I’d still like you to talk with a friend of mine. Will you do that?”

“Of course,” I replied. “I really appreciate all you have done for me.”