Chapter 4
Chris and Trish Morgan had been married for nine years, after dating for eighteen months. They were college sweethearts, and while both had had other relationships, they knew that their pairing was meant to be.
Trish was impulsive, which paired with Chris' over prudence, made them both meet in the middle. She was cheerful, funny, always with a quip, and fairly kindhearted. She did have some traits some would call bossy, and Chris noted that she could push buttons on occasion, particularly with him, until he eventually lost his temper and explained the facts of life to her, in his own fashion. When he did, she became unexpectedly accommodating, never holding it against him when he felt it necessary to bring down the wrath of the Annoyed Husband on her. When it did happen, which wasn't often, her response was always measured, sublimated, and contrite. But, she did have a calculating side, - Chris saw it more than once, though never turned towards him. She could measure up people, see what they wanted and then use that information to get what she wanted. He watched her use that skill from getting them a table at a hard-to-get-into restaurant, to manipulating her boss to send them on an all-expenses paid trip to New York, looking to recruit new reporters.
To all intents and purposes, their marriage was a good one, both feeling fulfilled by it. They had many friends, although none that close. They had a life that was intertwined, but also with separate parts, so both could breath and be individuals rather than just always joined at the hip, as all good relationships need.
They were married in Vermont, and settled in San Antonio. Chris had joined the military straight from college, a decision that Trish had supported while Trish had taken a job as an intern at a local newspaper, slowly rising up the ranks till she was the PA and second in command of the main editor himself. She had shown herself resourceful and a good communicator, something the editor needed since he was quite gruff and abrupt and not a social man, preferring to spend time working from home with his invalid husband.
Chris had risen through the ranks, and ended up a Captain, his quick intelligence being noted and capitalized on. While he went into the intelligence groups, as per orders, his wife was led to believe that he was a logistics whizz kid. She was told he was on secondment as a troubleshooting logistics manager, which explained his somewhat erratic postings. One month he'd be 100% at home, reporting only casually to the base, and other times he'd be gone for a few weeks at a time.
In actual fact, Chris was part of a loose coalition of intelligence officers / trouble shooters that the Military kept on staff. They were trained in all aspects of the secret life, and sent into troublesome situations, usually to get a source out, or fix up a situation gone bad. They did develop intelligence for themselves, but were used more for trouble shooting existing situations than for creating new ones.
Chris had traveled and performed missions extensively, - Singapore, Vienna, Afghanistan, Hong Kong, The Congo, Egypt, the list went on.
The last mission he undertook, that of validating a new source in the Pakistan Military, and then building a supply chain for getting intel out of the country, and money in, plus building an escape route for the man's family, in case things went sideways, had taken longer than expected. Chris had been out of the US for three months, when he arrived home, to an empty house.
When Chris was away, his communication with home was sporadic at best, but he did his best. Trish was normally fine with it, and managed to pack a lot of meaning into the times when they did get to talk. And his welcome home was always spectacular.
This time, she'd been reticent, often avoiding chances to talk longer, and sometimes just not answering her phone at all. Chris had some concerns about that, but was also distracted by the mission. When he was away from home, Chris was effectively single, in that he didn't wear his wedding ring and flirted, as a single guy would. He didn't not, however, end up going back to where he was billeted with any of the women he flirted with. Almost, but never. It was all a calculated projection, - Chris was in the field and observed on occasion by enemy combatants, whether overtly or clandestine. He wanted no hint of a home life for anyone to get hold of, no threats to Trish back at home. So his communication was sporadic, and he did his best to not dwell on Trish and what she was doing, since it was too much of a distraction. He had a job to do, and he had to have his focus on what he was doing. Besides, he trusted Trish. And she trusted him. It was the basis for their relationship.
Which was why, when he finally made it home, he was both surprised and extremely pissed off to find her not waiting for him. He'd called ahead, left messages on her cell, and she wasn't there, waiting at home, as she had been every other time he'd returned home, usually with a bottle of something bubbly chilling, a steak on the grill, wearing a cheerful smile, high heels and not much else.
This time he returned to an empty apartment. Dark and gloomy, and from the layer of dust on everything, unoccupied for some while.
He immediately called her cell, not getting a response. He then tried the Find Me function of the new iPhone she had, and didn't get a response from that, either, meaning her phone had to be either turned off, or the feature deactivated.
There was no note. Most of her clothes were gone, as were a couple of her favorite handbags. Most of the cosmetics where still there, some obvious favorites left. The perfume he'd bought her for their last anniversary was still there, the one she professed to loving more than anything.
Chris immediately called his superior at the base; it looked very like he'd been compromised, and his wife abducted. The MPs descended on his apartment, and they took it apart, dusted and looked into everything, banishing him to a base apartment while their investigated.
At the end of a week, they were barely any wiser. She'd taken some couple of thousand in cash from their accounts three weeks before Chris had arrived home, but everything else was untouched, as was their joint account since that last transaction. No credit cards had been used, and her balances on those were zero anyway. Her passport was gone, but there was no evidence of it being used; she was more than likely still in the country then. But there the trail ran cold.
The MPs and Chris canvassed the neighbors and as many joint friends as they both had, and everything came up the same. Over the last month, before she'd vanished, Trish had slowly but surely faded away from everyone, begging out of friend events.
The MPs had connected with the local police, and they were just starting their own investigation, when Chris got a cryptic email, ostensibly from Trish. It simply said, "I'm sorry I had to leave. Something had come up that I just couldn't turn down. I've made sure there is space for you with me on this adventure, so please, come find me at the following address, the next night, and we can talk it out and embark on the next stage of our marriage. I'm not lost, and you don't have to be, either."
There was an address and a time, and Chris immediately called his C.O., and forwarded the email. After a brief discussion, it was agreed that Chris would go to this meeting, but he'd be shadowed by a complement of MPs, all stationed locally, and ready to go instantly if need be.
He'd gone to the meeting, a recorder in his pocket and a small radio wired into his jacket, broadcasting constantly.
The address he'd arrived at turned out to be a large mansion like building, on the outskirts of Austin, Texas. It was hidden from the road, down a long windy approach road, and set in some lovely, well-manicured grounds.
In the parking lot were several high-end cars, and there was the general hubbub of an exclusive club atmosphere. He'd noticed several cameras the moment he entered the premises, where he was met by two uniformed 'stewards'. Chris practiced eye took in the security apparatus in the house, way above what any club would really need. He noticed the built-in metal detector and body scanner, cunningly disguised in the entrance, as he passed through it.
After waiting with the stewards, who appeared to be packing something under their well-tailored jackets, - a large man, over six feet and four inches, if Chris was any judge, - built like a super hero, and also clad in a dinner jacket, came out to welcome him.
