Path to Convergence
Copyright© 2025 by Vonalt
Chapter 2: Disappearance
It had been only a few months since I walked away. Both the police and intelligence agencies had given up on finding me. Stories about my disappearance circulated widely across major news outlets and TV programs. The networks made a big deal of it, calling me a “war hero” lost under mysterious circumstances. Karen was interviewed repeatedly, always giving the same tearful responses.
Did I believe a word Karen said on TV? Not for a second. I knew exactly what had happened in that living room—and how I’d reacted. The rage, the betrayal, the raw, burning fury—I hadn’t felt anything that intense since Ginny B. nearly destroyed the one person I loved most back then: Karen.
I had walked away. And now? I felt foolish and ashamed. Back then, the rage and anger I’d felt had scared me more than anything. I never thought I was capable of that kind of fury. But the chaos I left in my wake—piled on top of all that anger—made me realize just how reckless and dangerous I’d been.
Though her interviews looked sincere the few times I caught them on satellite, I couldn’t bring myself to believe a word. All I saw were the same scenes replaying behind her—like a green screen looping the moments from that living room.
She’d stare straight into the camera, calmly repeating the same answers to the same questions, insisting she didn’t know if I was still alive. She dropped hints about my past—covert operations, both here and abroad—kept tightly under wraps. Now, she suggested, maybe my history had finally caught up with me. Maybe someone had come to settle a score.
And then, right on cue, she’d cry—the same tears, the same act—just like every other interview. Predictable. Practiced. Almost rehearsed, at least in my admittedly biased opinion.
The networks also spoke with my coworkers at Mercer & Associates, and their reactions were mixed. Those who’d worked closest with me believed I was still alive—though none could understand why I’d chosen to disappear. Whatever the reason, most agreed it was to protect someone—probably my wife and kids.
The newer hires? They had no opinion. They didn’t know me—I was already gone by the time they joined Mercer & Associates.
Eventually, the news tracked down Lawrence. He said he never doubted I was still out there. Whatever the reason, he was certain I’d vanished to protect my family.
He went on about how the Feds had hunted for me and my family for weeks, how I’d led them on a wild chase across the country. Lawrence said I was a master of the obvious, with the coolest, most logical mind he’d ever known. He believed that, when the time was right, I’d step out of hiding and explain everything.
Like every news story, public interest in my disappearance faded—eventually buried deep in the back pages. I became yesterday’s news.
Alongside my new Middle Eastern clients, I reconnected with old contacts who had respected my skills and trusted my discretion from the start. While others shed tears over my supposed demise—or speculated about my whereabouts—I slipped into anonymity, where no one cared who I was or where I came from.
A fake passport concealed my identity. To support myself, I took on contract intelligence work for nations friendly to the U.S.—though not always official allies. The oil-rich countries in the region became some of my best clients. Once they realized who I was—and saw the quality of my work—they kept coming back, more than willing to pay my premium fees.
None of them cared about my personal life. All that mattered was the analysis—intel on their enemies, military strengths and weaknesses, and likely strategies. Sometimes, even rival nations came calling, each seeking insight on the other. I gave them what they paid for, then gladly wired the payment to my account in the Caymans.
Some of my best clients were South Korea, Japan, India, Pakistan, and several nations across Southeast Asia. But I had one hard line I never crossed—I refused to provide intel on the United States or its allies. I wasn’t a traitor.
The countries I was most often asked to analyze were North Korea, China, Russia, several Balkan states, Iran, Iraq, Turkey, Sudan, and Somalia. These were the hot zones—places where tensions never eased and intel was always in demand. To stay sharp, I kept an extensive physical library, backed by digital scans of everything I collected. Every detail mattered. Every pattern told a story.
My strongest allies during my disappearance were the Israelis. The moment I resurfaced in the Middle East, they knew exactly who I was—recognized my style of intel work without hesitation. Why they never reported me to the U.S., I can only guess ... and every guess points to a truth I might be better off not knowing.
More than once, they came to me for insight on sensitive situations. In return, they gave me access to a quiet rural retreat—somewhere I could disappear and recharge. Over time, I forged solid friendships with a few of their intelligence officers. They even offered to train me in their martial arts system, though I never saw it as an “art.” To me, it was street fighting—brutal, fast, and effective. And that’s exactly what it was: unarmed combat built for one purpose—those moments when pulling a weapon wasn’t an option.
My best clients, by far, were the oil-rich nations of the Middle East—Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Kuwait, and the UAE. Their internal intelligence networks were weak, so they relied heavily on outside analysts like me, as well as intel from the U.S. and oil-dependent countries across Western Europe.
In exchange for occasional intelligence briefings, these nations granted favored-nation status to their partners. That put the U.S. and its Western European allies at the front of the line for oil allocation and pricing.
You’d think their main concerns would be Iraq and Iran, given the history—but they weren’t. Their real focus was Russia and China, and it would remain that way for years. Both were rising rapidly as global economic powers, and everyone knew it.
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