Chapter 1

“Well, I just got into town about an hour ago.

Took a look around, see which way the wind blow

with a little girl in a Hollywood bungalow.

Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light?

Or just another lost angel, city at night.”

-The Doors, “L.A. Woman”

One of the mercenaries kicked the young man again to make certain he wasn’t getting back up. Another placed a bag on the screaming woman’s head as his associates tossed her bound body into the back of their Humvee. Men in two other vehicles searched around the crash site, looking for anything or anyone else of value to collect. The local authorities would be there soon, and they wanted to be gone long before then.

Another of the mercs picked up the woman’s purse and climbed into the back of the Humvee with her. As the other men were making ready to leave the area as well, he opened the purse and dumped out its contents for inspection as he’d done many times before.

He’d found what he’d come to expect: Money, papers, a phone, some other items. He peeled off a few bills from the roll for himself, enough to insure an extra cut but not so much that the others would accuse him of skimming, and tossed the phone away, knowing it might have a tracker. The credit cards would be worthless by the time he got somewhere they could be used, but the cosmetics could be exchanged with some of the local prostitutes. Medications were also a potential source of revenue, but the woman had none.

An envelope fell out. What made this different from the passport and other papers the woman’s purse held was the hundred-Euro note secured to it with a pair of crossed rubber bands. He picked it up and flipped it over, revealing a second bill secured to the back. It felt like there were more inside the envelope with the letter. He removed the rubber bands and pocketed the money before opening the wax-sealed letter.

Inside was a piece of expensive stationary folded twice. Each fold was wrapped in another hundred-Euro note, forcing anyone who wanted the money inside to open and read the letter. The letter was the same message written in four languages. English was the one he recognized, so he read that part.

*To whomever has opened this envelope,

I have more than paid for you to take the time to read this letter. If you know who the woman that carried it is, then you know who I am, and you are aware that this message is to be taken seriously and that I am capable of doing all that it promises.

This envelope is being carried by a woman whose identity may be verified if she is without other documents by an emerald signet ring on her right hand, or a small tattoo on the back of her left shoulder of the family crest pictured at the top of this stationary. If you have found her injured or aided her escape from others, call the number at the bottom of this letter from any phone in the world and think upon your heart’s desire, and I will make it yours.

If you have taken her against her will, you have already noticed that she has fallen unconscious and will not answer your questions. She is under my spell and only I can awaken her. (Again, if you know who I am, you understand the truth of that statement.) However, you are still in control of the situation and still have all of the bargaining power. Call the number at the bottom of this letter from any phone in the world to give your demands or instructions.

If this woman is returned alive and unharmed (And for those who need clarification, that includes “unraped” as well.), your demands can be met. If she comes to any harm whatsoever, you will earn my wrath and will find nowhere to run from me.

For your own sake and all that you hold dear, make the smart decision.

With all sincerity,

Contessa Helena de San Finzione*

He debated telling his employer about the letter, then stuffed it into his pocket. He certainly had a lot to think about now.

The maid ran through the castle, frantically searching for La Contessa. She found her in the library, staring at a chessboard and seated opposite a bald Russian man. The Russian moved his bishop, took her pawn, and declared check.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione looked at the board, then looked up and smiled at him before asking a question in Russian. “Do you read Confucius, Mr. Kasparov?” The grandmaster shook his head no. “I do. I love his style: Simple, logical, things we all SHOULD be thinking about all the time, but life then intrudes. One of my favorite passages applies here.” She looked at her king, staring down the barrel of his bishop. “Great Man may be deceived, but he is never...” She castled her king. “cornered.”

The maid stood between two bookshelves a distance away and cleared her throat. Helena heard her and turned around. “Just a moment, Tovarich,” Helena said to him before approaching the maid.

“Jeanne,” Helen said when she was close enough to speak in a low tone, switching from Russian to French without missing a beat. “Do you know who that is at the table? Even for me, arranging a private game with Kasperov is a challenge.”

“Oui, Contessa,” the maid replied. “It is that urgent. Something has happened with Lady Maria’s helicopter.”

Helen mentally switched gears. “Garry, “she called to the man waiting at the chessboard. “Don’t leave town, we’re not finished.” She walked out the door and the maid followed.

“Is she ok?”

“They do not know. They say that warlords have shot it down and her phone tracker has been found at the crash site but she has not.”

“Where is my jet,” Helena asked the girl.

“You sent it to Africa with her and Monsieur Stavro, Contessa.”

“Right. Wake my pilot and tell him to have the helicopter ready in 20 minutes, then call the airport. Find a trans-continental flight that hasn’t boarded yet and tell them they’ve been commandeered by the government. Tell the pilots to chart a new course for the People’s Democratic Republic of Uongo.”

Jeanne made the needed calls as they walked, arriving at the Study. Helena went to her desk and opened the safe next to it. She pulled a black Prada Arcade bag from the safe and inspected the contents: Her diplomatic credentials, 25,000 Euros in various bills, a few platinum and black credit cards, a small, black leather pouch, and a Ruger LC9 with an extra clip were inside. Helena turned to Jeanne.

“I’ll need clothes for the jungle.” Helena recalled that Jeanne had only been with her for two months and told her “Closet 4, second rack. Two outfits.”

Once the maid was out of the room, Helena steadied herself against the desk. “You’ve got 30 seconds,” she told the tears forming in her eyes, and sat down and allowed herself 30 seconds of crying at a picture of Maria on her desk before wiping the tears away, blowing her nose, and sticking the picture next to it into her bag. She picked up her phone and told Siri “Army,” as she heard the helicopter on the roof powering up. The call connected on the first ring.