Katzer pointed to the man's abdomen. "Is that a gunshot wound?"
"The medical examiner said it appeared to be by the nature of the wound, but he indicated the bullet must have been traveling at a relatively slow speed when it hit him. Perhaps a long distance shot." The officer handed Katzer the file. "Is there anything else you can see from a mortician's point of view?"
"Too long in the ice to detect bruising or lacerations, however, it looks like his clavicle fractured when he fell." Katzer rifled through the police file until he found what he was looking for. The police officer took good notes but didn't seem to follow up on any leads. Or, at least what Katzer viewed as leads, anyway. "I guess this was a wasted trip. My mother will go to her grave still wondering what happened to her American soldier."
Katzer closed the file and handed it back to Zeilnhofer.
"Will you be leaving now?" Zeilnhofer asked.
"Not immediately, no. I have relatives in nearby villages that I haven't seen in many years. I planned on paying them a visit." Katzer reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a business card. "If you discover this man's identity, I would appreciate a call or an email. Regardless of whether it is Adams or not, I'd like to be able to put my mother's mind to rest."
The police officer took the card. "Enjoy the rest of your stay, Mr. Katzer."
"Thank you. I will." Katzer turned and walked out of the morgue. Not only did he have what he wanted but he'd confirmed the man's identity as well. The body on the slab in the morgue was indeed that of Major Don Adams. The watch and the knife were good evidence…but the gunshot wound in the abdomen cinched it. Now, time to return to the United States and track down the person listed in the police file as the one who reported finding the body.
Ashley Regan of Charleston, South Carolina.
11
M aldive Islands
Indian Ocean
T he 21-meter luxury yacht —a two-masted schooner—sliced quietly through the water toward the resort's pier, still an easy kilometer away. The long pier was lined with tiki lanterns pointing toward the shoreline. From this distance, Jake thought, it looked like the schooner was lining up with a runway.
Whether he was fishing in a mountain stream or sitting on the deck of a boat, Jake loved the water and its calming appeal. He looked at Kyli, with her hair tucked behind her ears in an attempt to keep it out of her face as the warm ocean air washed across them, and smiled. The light from the full moon played across her face. Even in the moonlight, her eyes seemed to sparkle.
It felt like it was so long ago, but it had only been eighteen months since his life had changed so drastically. His psyche seemed tranquil now compared to the tumultuous feeling of the old days—before Wiley. Back then he thought he had it all with Beth, his then fiancée, and felt he could never live without her.
And then he had to.
Life was better now. His self-confidence rose to a higher level than ever before. He had perfected his tradecraft skills. His keen insight was sharpened and enhanced. He had become an effective emissary doing the bidding of Elmore Wiley and the Greenbrier Fellowship, a worldwide organization made up of some of the most influential persons the world had to offer. A group who met once a year at the Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia to discuss the world's greatest threats. Although never in an official capacity, the Fellowship made recommendations on how to deal with those threats. Recommendations that typically sent Wiley's emissaries into action.
That was where Jake came in.
He wasn't chosen by accident, he knew that now, he was chosen because of his innate ability to assess, analyze, and act quickly to resolve issues on a real-time basis. And as Wiley had repeated to him on numerous occasions, "meet the objective, the how doesn't matter." That maxim didn't mean to proceed with reckless abandon either, as all objectives, he learned, included discretion
"The medical examiner said it appeared to be by the nature of the wound, but he indicated the bullet must have been traveling at a relatively slow speed when it hit him. Perhaps a long distance shot." The officer handed Katzer the file. "Is there anything else you can see from a mortician's point of view?"
"Too long in the ice to detect bruising or lacerations, however, it looks like his clavicle fractured when he fell." Katzer rifled through the police file until he found what he was looking for. The police officer took good notes but didn't seem to follow up on any leads. Or, at least what Katzer viewed as leads, anyway. "I guess this was a wasted trip. My mother will go to her grave still wondering what happened to her American soldier."
Katzer closed the file and handed it back to Zeilnhofer.
"Will you be leaving now?" Zeilnhofer asked.
"Not immediately, no. I have relatives in nearby villages that I haven't seen in many years. I planned on paying them a visit." Katzer reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a business card. "If you discover this man's identity, I would appreciate a call or an email. Regardless of whether it is Adams or not, I'd like to be able to put my mother's mind to rest."
The police officer took the card. "Enjoy the rest of your stay, Mr. Katzer."
"Thank you. I will." Katzer turned and walked out of the morgue. Not only did he have what he wanted but he'd confirmed the man's identity as well. The body on the slab in the morgue was indeed that of Major Don Adams. The watch and the knife were good evidence…but the gunshot wound in the abdomen cinched it. Now, time to return to the United States and track down the person listed in the police file as the one who reported finding the body.
Ashley Regan of Charleston, South Carolina.
11
M aldive Islands
Indian Ocean
T he 21-meter luxury yacht —a two-masted schooner—sliced quietly through the water toward the resort's pier, still an easy kilometer away. The long pier was lined with tiki lanterns pointing toward the shoreline. From this distance, Jake thought, it looked like the schooner was lining up with a runway.
Whether he was fishing in a mountain stream or sitting on the deck of a boat, Jake loved the water and its calming appeal. He looked at Kyli, with her hair tucked behind her ears in an attempt to keep it out of her face as the warm ocean air washed across them, and smiled. The light from the full moon played across her face. Even in the moonlight, her eyes seemed to sparkle.
It felt like it was so long ago, but it had only been eighteen months since his life had changed so drastically. His psyche seemed tranquil now compared to the tumultuous feeling of the old days—before Wiley. Back then he thought he had it all with Beth, his then fiancée, and felt he could never live without her.
And then he had to.
Life was better now. His self-confidence rose to a higher level than ever before. He had perfected his tradecraft skills. His keen insight was sharpened and enhanced. He had become an effective emissary doing the bidding of Elmore Wiley and the Greenbrier Fellowship, a worldwide organization made up of some of the most influential persons the world had to offer. A group who met once a year at the Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia to discuss the world's greatest threats. Although never in an official capacity, the Fellowship made recommendations on how to deal with those threats. Recommendations that typically sent Wiley's emissaries into action.
That was where Jake came in.
He wasn't chosen by accident, he knew that now, he was chosen because of his innate ability to assess, analyze, and act quickly to resolve issues on a real-time basis. And as Wiley had repeated to him on numerous occasions, "meet the objective, the how doesn't matter." That maxim didn't mean to proceed with reckless abandon either, as all objectives, he learned, included discretion
Similar Books
