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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
CHAPTER 1\u2014THE PHONE CALL<\/p>\n
Milan, Italy.<\/p>\n
Outside her window, across a kilometer of smog-infested air, a mosque\u2019s call for prayer rings out, a gentle wave that slowly builds to a tidal roar. Beneath the supplications to Allah, Martina can hear the chirrup of a burglar alarm. It is the ring tone of her cellphone. Or her alarm. She cannot remember which. It must be a little before six. If she gets up now, she can make the seven o\u2019clock meeting where they will discuss EU policies on fundamental rights, and someone will inevitably crack a joke about her being too young to retire. She closes her eyes, thinking, ten more minutes. <\/em><\/p>\n
Her cellphone goes off again, throbbing with the urgency of a hungry pup. She yanks it from its charger, and glances at the screen.<\/p>\n
05:33 A.M. No Caller Id.<\/p>\n
\u201cPronto?\u201d her voice comes from the bottom of a deep well.<\/p>\n
There is a swishing, a click, and a jubilant voice comes on. \u201cGood morning auntie!\u201d<\/p>\n
Martina does not have any nieces.<\/p>\n
\u201cMartina?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho is this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s me, Saskia.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUmm\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should see the sky here auntie.\u201d Brisk tone. Germanic accent. \u201cIt never ends. It\u2019s like the lid of the world has been lifted.\u201d<\/p>\n
Martina\u2019s sleep-soaked brain is incapable of responding to that. The name stirs something in her mind though. She has a memory, or something close to it, of someone named Saskia.<\/p>\n
\u201cMartina?\u201d<\/p>\n
She is Dutch, Martina remembers. Saskia Van Ryan. Her father is a Finnish diplomat.<\/p>\n
\u201cAuntie, they are taking me across the Gulf.\u201d<\/p>\n
Martina registers the passive verb, the hint of submission in the girl\u2019s voice, and she remembers the rest. She sits up.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho is\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOn a boat. It\u2019s\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
A hushed whooshing buries her voice. After a few seconds the background chatter pulls into focus. Above the noise of the engine, fleshy, guttural voices holler: Yalla, yalla<\/em>. Arabic or Farsi. Someone is telling Saskia to hurry up.<\/p>\n
\u201cAuntie, are you there?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you get to your embassy? Any\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey are taking me now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Taking. <\/em><\/p>\n
\u201cSaskia, whatever you do\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBy the way I didn\u2019t forget your gift auntie. Happy birthday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCould anyone hear you if you scream?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo auntie, but it\u2019s fine.\u201d Saskia laughs and it is the saddest laugh Martina has ever heard.<\/p>\n
\u201cArabs or Iranians?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSaskia. You need to run. Fight<\/em>. Now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHappy birthday auntie.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cListen to me. You need to make noise. It\u2019s your only chance, and whatever you do, don\u2019t you get on\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
The line goes dead. After a few seconds Martina hangs up and tries the Callback function. Doesn\u2019t work. She scoots over to the edge of the bed and sits there staring out. The air that wafts through the open door prickles her skin. \u00a0She stands, feeling lightheaded. Her breath comes in shallow gulps and her heart hammers in her chest. She waits a few seconds to let the dizziness pass. The ground seems to be shifting as she walks across the room, her body protesting with each move.\u00a0 She hits her toes against the bookcase, and curses. Inside the small bathroom she holds on to the sink, retching. She tries to remember if she had anything to drink last night. If she ate. If she took any pills.<\/p>\n
She remembers that she had cereal. Her last painkiller was two weeks ago. Thirteen days clean. Fourteen, if you count today.<\/p>\n
They are taking me across the Gulf.<\/em><\/p>\n
She shuffles to her closet and draws a different cellphone from her blue blazer. She dials and waits. It rings for a while before someone answers. They don\u2019t speak right away. \u201cPronto?\u201d she says and waits. After a few seconds a gruff male voice resonates against the deep humming, the sound ambience from the mainframes. \u201cIt\u2019s not even six o\u2019clock.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI need a call traced,\u201d she says, using the clipped, swift intonation she uses for official business. \u201cCould\u2019ve been a satellite phone. Frequent interruptions suggest\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need it right now?\u201d The voice drips with sarcasm.<\/p>\n
She remembers the new communication protocols. No IDs. The operator can see that the call is from an agent, but the system does not tell him which one.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is Major Montero,\u201d she says, \u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, major. Sorry\u2014uhm, what was the number?\u201d<\/p>\n
Five minutes later her phone rings.<\/p>\n
\u201cCiao Martina.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCiao Ferry. Tell me you have something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell\u2026as you know each satellite phone operator has specific locations where they place calls onto the PSTN. I was able to pinpoint the point of entry\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGet to the point,\u201d she says, \u201cplease.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhoever called you used Thuraya, a service provider based in the United Arab Emirates. The provider will have the satellite phone identification information, and they can give us the GPS coordinates of the phone at the time of\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe need an international administrative subpoena to get all of that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t have time for that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI could ask my counterpart at the National Electronic Security\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She closes the call, walks to the kitchenette, makes herself an Americana\u2014equal parts espresso and water, sweetener, a touch of cream, warmed up in the microwave for seventy-five seconds\u2014wraps a robe around herself, and walks onto the balcony, skirting around little pellets of pigeon shit. She stands at the edge, looking out. In front of her, grey clouds sit atop of the Alps. Three floors down, the molecular agitation of traffic. She takes deep, measured breaths. Her lungs burn and her breath comes in short bursts. She shivers. It is a cold morning but to feel tremors like this is withdrawal. So is the dizziness and the excessive anger she feels. The guilt<\/em>. She barely knew the girl. Martina has been an agent long enough to know these things happen. Besides, Saskia was no angel.<\/p>\n
Auntie, I didn\u2019t forget your gift.\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n
What gift?<\/p>\n
<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
What if ending\u00a0war\u00a0forever\u00a0required starting the biggest one in history?\u00a0\u2028
\nTHE PASSED PAWN (95,000 words) is a completed novel, a suspense thriller,\u00a0populated with indomitable, off-kilter female characters. Think\u00a0Killing Eve with less love,\u00a0Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy\u00a0with more punching.\u00a0 You can read the first chapter here.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1494,"parent":0,"menu_order":1,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"template-full.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-168","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/168","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=168"}],"version-history":[{"count":71,"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/168\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1491,"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/168\/revisions\/1491"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1494"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alessandrob.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=168"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}