Athens Adventure

A James Everhard Adventure

By Wayne Wallace

 

Chapter 1

             Chief of Detectives Bill Chaple turned off of Interstate 35 onto the frontage road.  The sprawling ranch lay just ahead.  A sign alerted motorists: “Sanger next 2 exits.”  A cloud of gravel dust enveloped Chaple’s unmarked Ford Crown Victoria as he drove down the road to the ranch’s front gate.  At the heavy, ornamental, wrought iron gate, the cigar chomping detective punched the intercom button.  “Who’s there?” a feminine voice asked.  Chaple recognized her voice.  “It’s Bill Chaple, Dona.  Got a few minutes for an old friend?” There was a momentary silence and then the speaker crackled, “Sure Bill, come on up to the studio.”  The gate motor whirred and the large, black gate began to swing open.

Chaple, steered the Ford towards the spacious artist’s studio on the first level of the mansion.

            Dona greeted her old friend as he got out of his police cruiser.  Wiping her hands on her apron, she embraced the gruff detective.  “What are you making darlin’?” Chapel asked, pointing to the terra cotta clay stains on her apron.  “Oh “ just some clay pots to sell to those snooty rich Dallas suburbanites”: she laughed.  “What brings you out here in the wide open spaces Bill?”  Chaple frowned.  It was a rhetorical question.  “He’s not here…” Dona lowered her head and told him.  “I know Dona,” I want to know what happened.” Bill said as they both headed into the studio, out of the blazing, Texas sun.

            Dona started to fix Chaple a drink.  “Just water please.  It’s still morning.” Bill chuckled.  She tossed him a chilled bottle of Perrier.  “Mind if I work while we talk?  It’s therapy.” Dona Hamptonsworth Everhard asked the chief.  “I love to watch you work,” Chaple answered.  Dona sat at her potter’s wheel and slowly began to transform a large lump of reddish clay into a pot.  “I never cease to be amazed by your talent Dona,” Bill told her honestly.  “Oh Poo, Bill.  This is just some stuff to keep my hand in,” the artist replied and then cut the sentence off abruptly.  “While James is in Athens?” Chief Chaple asked.  At the mention of the word, “Athens,” Dona gasped and the clay pot crumpled in her hands.  “Bill, how did you know!?” Dona demanded.  “Shit, the dip stick was on TV!  Was it supposed to be a secret?”  Chaple answered sarcastically around the stub of cigar.  “What’s he doing in Athens Dona?” Bill in turn, demanded.  “Christ, Bill, I’m sworn to secrecy.  I can’t tell you about it!”  “Dona, this is me, remember, James and I have no secrets.  Now tell me.” Chaple demanded again.  Dona looked scared, her lip trembled.  “Dona, trust me.” Bill said sternly.  “They came while we were still on our honeymoon. In New York.  They said they had to talk to him, a matter of national security.” Dona told him tearfully.  “Who, CIA, FBI, Massoud?” Chaple again demanded.    “The guys had FBI credentials.” Dona told him, “They said they needed his help.”  Chaple rolled his eyes, chomped on his cigar and said. “Holy shit, what has Everhard gotten himself into now?”

            Chaple talked to the lovely Mrs. Everhard for another hour.  Getting all the information she could possibly give him.  It seemed that the FBI had come across a supposed terrorist plot by the Taliban to disrupt or destroy the closing ceremonies at the Olympic Games in Athens.  They suspected an Olympic athlete of being involved.  They wanted James to go undercover, mingle with the athletes, find out whom and what and where and merely report to them, no more.  Dona also shared that as part of his undercover activities, he was to be the carefree, sleep around James Everhard, he had always been.  He had assured Dona, that this part would just be an act, and that he would be back to her as soon as he could.  Dona, believed him with all her heart.  Chaple hoped it was true, but haviing known Everhard as long as he had, he had his doubts. The Chief hugged Dona goodbye and thanked her for the information.  He also told her, ”not to worry, Everhard always landed on his feet”.  Later, heading back north on I-35, Chaple picked up his scrambled, secure cell phone and called a friend at FBI Headquarters on his  secure line. 

            Chaple found out through his source that Everhard indeed was undercover.  But the most disturbing fact was that the FBI had been getting regular telephone reports from Everhard at scheduled times, until yesterday.  Everhard had not checked in yesterday at all and not as yet today.  The FBI were worried.  Chaple was worried. He drove to the airport.

 

Chapter 2

             James Everhard groggily shook his head and tried to clear his vision.  As he began to come around, he realized that he was in some sort of concrete room. His wrists and ankles were chained to steel loops in the wall. The chains were secured by an ancient looking pad lock.  His shoulders and legs ached terribly.  He wondered how long he had been unconscious?  He fought to clear his head.  What was the last thing he remembered?  He had taken Erika, the Swedish swimmer, up to his hotel room.  The FBI operative with whom he had been working had put him on to her as a suspect in a plot to disrupt the closing ceremonies at the Olympic Games.  It was all coming back to him now.

            He had approached Erika at a pub, frequented by most of the athletes.  He bought her a drink, they discussed swimming, politics, their similar likes in music, cuisine and finally sex.  After a few drinks, Erika became very loose and told Everhard that she had always wanted to sleep with a handsome American, but had never had her wish fulfilled.  She began to giggle and run her fingers through his thick black, wavy hair.  Everhard took this opportunity to slip a tiny blue pill into her drink.  It dissolved almost instantaneously, and moments later, Erika gulped downed the drink.  Everhard watched carefully as her eyes began to glaze over and her lips quivered slightly.  Everhard grabbed her around the waist and hustled her out to a waiting taxi and then to his hotel room.  He laid her on the bed and immediately began to interrogate the semi-conscious blonde.

            Forty minutes later, Everhard had what he needed.  Erika had been recruited by a radical Islamic terrorist group, through her lover, Rasheed Mohammad, an Arab national living in Sweden.  She had smuggled several pounds of plastic explosives into Greece with her in her swimming gear. She had been amazed at how much the security officials had trusted the athletes. Her gym bag was never searched. The explosives were now in the hands of her Terrorist contact, a man known to her only as “Ali”. 

            Everhard took the secure cellular phone from his pocket and punched in his contact number.  As the number began to ring, a wicked looking dart struck Everhard in the neck.  Everhard crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

            He had pieced it all back together.  But just where the hell was he now? His captive area had solid concrete floors and ceiling.  A stream of murky looking water flowed through the middle of the floor.  The air smelled dank and humid and the room was dimly lit.   He was able to stand.  His legs were cramped and sore and he felt like a bee had stung him on the neck.  He walked forward as far as his chains would allow and realized that he appeared to be imprisoned in an enormous storm sewer.  Far ahead, he could see light streaming in through manhole covers, spaced a block or so apart.  Then he turned to see a large, turban wearing man approach, seemingly out of nowhere.  The large Arab struck Everhad on the side of the head with a large cresent wrench.  Stars blazes in Everhard’s brain, pain shot through him, and then blackness.  Everhard crumpled to the hard concrete floor.

 

Chapter 3

             Chief of Detectives Bill Chaple headed out of the security headquarters of the Olympic Games in Athens, with just one thing on his mind, find Erika Andersen, Swedish swimmer.  The woman who was last seen with his old friend, James Everhard.   Her room at the Olympic Village was empty.  Her event had already been completed and she had received her silver medal; had she returned to Sweden?  Not according to the Airlines.  He had a tip that she was often seen at an Athens tavern called “The Isle of Lesbos”, he was headed there now.  He wondered what type of place it was.  It sounded like a gay bar! 

            Moments later, the gruff detective entered the dimly lit cabaret.  Olympic coverage was on the TV and the patrons were watching a beach volleyball game and drinking shots of Uzo, a potent Greek liqueur. Sitting alone, at the end of the bar, he saw Erika Andersen.  He had been shown her ID photo at security headquarters.  Chaple approached the striking blonde and said, “Good afternoon Miss Andersen.  I am a huge fan of yours, may I buy you a drink?”  The blonde was more than a little drunk from the shots of Uzo she had been throwing down.  She smiled at the gruff looking American and said, “Sure!”  Chaple signaled the barkeep and guided Miss Andersen to an isolated booth in the corner of the tavern.  The bartender brought two shot glasses of the potent Greek Uzo and Chaple gave him a U.S. twenty dollar bill and told him to keep the change.  The bartender smiled broadly, nodded, and then left them alone.

            When they were completely alone, Chaple told her roughly, “Just one question lady, Where is Everhard?”  The blonde swimmer cursed him in Swedish and said, “Screw you!  I never heard of him.”  Like a flash, Chaple pulled out a switch blade knife, flipped it open and held the razor sharp blade against her jugular vein.  “Perhaps I should restate the question.  Tell me where Everhard is bitch, or I’ll slit your fricking throat.” He drew the blade very lightly and slowly across her neck for emphasis.  A small trickle of blood ran down her ivory colored neck.  “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.  He’s in a storm drain that runs under the track and field events arena”.  “Is he alive?” Chaple asked as he pressed the blade a little harder against her throat.  “Yes, at least he was an hour ago.” The Swedish athlete answered trembling.  “Cummon’,” Chaple growled, “Take me there.”  He hustled the blonde Swedish girl out of the bar and into his waiting sedan. 

 

Chapter 4

             Everhard shook himself awake for what seemed the tenth time today.  Now his head ached and his right eye seemed swollen shut from the blow the big “Raghead” had delivered with a wrench.  Everhard vowed that that would not happen again.  Cautiously, he looked around.  Twenty yards away, he saw three men, one of which was the big, turban wearing, bastard who had clobbered him with the wrench.  They were attaching wiring to some sort of device. 

            Quietly, Everhard got to his feet and pressed his body against the concrete wall, out of sight of the three men.  He heard one of the men speak excitedly in Arabic.  He heard the hurried, approaching foot steps of one man.  Everhard made himself ready.  As the tall Arab with the turban rounded the corner, Everhard swung the huge, ancient lock that held his chains together in a large arc, ending precisely at the tip of the Arab’s nose.  There was a loud bone splintering noise and a scream as the Arab’s shattered nasal bones were driven into his brain.  The big Arab’s lifeless body fell to the floor.  Everhard grabbed the Arab’s Uzi that had clattered to the floor. He pulled back the bolt and leveled the automatic weapon, expecting the other two men to come running at him.  But there was only silence.

            Everhard peeked around the corner and saw that the other two Arabs had crouched behind a large aluminum box.  As Everhard went the extent of his chain’s range, around the corner, the other two Arabs opened fire with their automatic weapons.  Everhard jumped back, barely being missed by two dozen, whining, ricocheting bullets.   “Infidel,” one of the Arabs yelled at him.  “In a matter of minutes we will all be dead.  The difference is; you will be burning in hell, but we will be in paradise, in the service of virgins”.  Everhard had to make a move, but what could he do?  He was chained to the wall and pinned down.   Then, another voice echoed through the storm sewer. “Well, I wouldn’t want to delay that little trip for you assholes.  Enjoy!”  An enormous blast erupted from behind the Arabs. Then another blast that reverberated against the concrete walls.. Then there was just silence.  The air was thick with gunpowder and cordite.  Everhard again peeked around the corner.  This time he saw none other than Chief of Detectives Bill Chaple, poking at the lifeless bodies of the two Arabs with the smoking barrel of his 12 gauge Mossburg shotgun.  The two FBI agents Bill had brought with him immediately went to work on the aluminum box. ”Bill. What the hell are you doing here in Athens?”  Everhard shouted.  The detective chuckled, “Why, just saving your worthless ass one more fricking time.”

The cigar chomping detective walked around the corner and looked at Everhard.  “You look like shit Everhard!” he exclaimed.  ”I’ve had a hard day Bill,” James replied.  Chaple smashed the rusted iron lock with the butt of his old Mossburg, freeing his old friend. “Let’s see if we’ve saved Greece or if we’re going to be reduced to atoms,” Chaple quipped.  They approached the FBI bomb specialists who were just finishing up their work.  “Twenty megaton Russian thermo nuclear device,” one of the agents told them, “Would have leveled the old city, and killed hundreds of thousands of people.  But it’s secure now.  The plastic explosives we found and made safe on the way in were just a diversion. Armed to go off moments before the big one. They were designed to panic people.  But this mother was the real deal!”  Good work gentlemen!”

            Above them, the closing ceremonies of the Olympic Games in Athens were taking place.  Thousand of cheering people celebrating the successful and safe completion of yet another Olympic Games.  If they had only known how close they had come to total annihilation. .

            The next day, Everhard and Chaple were headed back to the states on a Boeing 727.  Curled up in the roomy, first class leather seats, Chaple snored around his unlit cigar butt.  Everhard thought about his new bride and their new honeymoon home. These thoughts accompanied him into a deep restful sleep..

 

…..END

 

Epilogue:  The near disaster at Athens was never made public.  Even though there were those unscrupulous politicians who wanted to lay claim to the daring mission in this, an election year, wiser men and women decided to not let the world know just how close terrorists had come to completing their diabolical plan…