Chapter 8: 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 the 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 expensive. The ride wasn’t that long but I got a crick in my neck as I kept twisting 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 miles 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 through an immense atrium and 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, 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.