Most of my work is done overseas, but a call two months ago brought me back to the States. I had to travel by boat because chartering a private plane raises suspicions, and I always stay under the radar. In my line of work I have to be discreet; otherwise I’m not very good at my job.
Bronson Dian is a German baron who sells the materials used in making space satellites. He’s also tied to the Russian mob, which is how I came to meet him. Fifteen years ago Bronson’s young daughter was kidnapped from her bed in the middle of the night and was never seen or heard from again. She was presumed dead because anyone taking her would have used her as leverage for a ransom.
Bronson and his wife Freida reached out to some of my contacts as a last resort to find her. They still believe she was alive, even when everyone told them she was most likely dead. Otherwise they would have had evidence in the last fifteen years proving she was somewhere in the world.
After years of working as a freelance gun for hire, I’ve developed a reputation as someone who takes on odd jobs if they interest me. Normally I would have turned this down, but when my contact at the Bratva told me the story, I couldn’t help my own curiosity.
The Dians were almost royalty in Germany, and as far as the media was concerned they could do no wrong. I knew Bronson’s ties went deep with the work he did, which was why he was able to ask for this last-ditch help. I met with them at a hotel in Prague, and they told me the story. I promised nothing when I left that night, but the story wouldn’t leave my mind.
After a few days of brooding, I agreed to take on the case, but also told them to prepare for the worst. They told me they would pay when their daughter was delivered, and I agreed. When I told them that they wouldn’t hear from me again for months, they didn’t seem surprised. I knew the research would take focus, and having to report to them regularly would slow me down. When I left I didn’t have high expectations, but soon after I got a hit.
My time in the States gave me the info I needed to track down a family in Canada. I would have to cross the border and take a train, but it was doable. Tomas and Helen Adair have an estate in Northern Toronto that borders Lake Simcoe. That’s how I’m planning to get on the property.
The train journey isn’t long, but I force myself to sleep. After years of working when I didn’t know where I’d find my next bed, I learned how to take advantage of the time when I had it.
Hours later, I’ve got my bag strapped across my chest, and I’m boarding a boat. I paid a local enough cash to borrow it for a few hours and keep him quiet while I do what I need to. It’s nearly silent as I take it across the edge of the lake and to the estate in the distance.
I don’t have a picture of the young woman I’m after, only one of her as a child. It was taken the day before she disappeared, but seeing her mother and father should give me a good indication if it’s her or not.
The Adairs have ties to Germany, and the father Tomas used to go by the name Ansel when they lived there. They left right around the time of the disappearance but were never questioned or looked at as suspects. There’s a lot more dirt I found when uncovering the connection, but that’s not what I was hired for. I’m here to collect the girl and take her back home, nothing more.
It’s sunny on the lake, and most people don’t expect a hit to happen in broad daylight. Which is why it’s the best time to do it. I’ve also been keeping tabs on the Adairs, and Tomas is out of town until tonight. It’s the best time, and it’s why I’m traveling today instead of the day before.
The longer I’m here, the more likely people will either recognize me, or I’ll draw suspicion. I don’t exactly blend in at six-eight and three hundred and fifty pounds. The orphanage gave me the name Dutch because when I was born I was the biggest baby in all of the Netherlands.
In the distance I can see the back of the estate and house with their gardens surrounding it. They have a boathouse that’s open, so I turn off the motor and take out the paddle. As quietly as I can, I paddle the small craft into the boathouse and tie it off. I check the other boat nearby and see the keys are in it. Good.