Bloodhound
Sitting in the leather bound lounger in her upscale apartment, Serena strummed the fingers of her left hand on the upholstered arm of the seat. She was irritated. Lina’s instruction had been explicit. Use whatever resources necessary to locate and retrieve Tom, but, and here was the source of her irritation, operational status was to remain covert with minimal disclosure of the nature of the asset. Minimal disclosure. That limited her options. Time was another complication. It might be early morning in Sweden, but it was after midnight locally. Under Lina’s restrictive caveat, but armed with practically limitless financial wherewithal, she decided to reach out to her ace in the hole, her highest contact, a very well connected former supreme court justice she clerked for back when she was still in law school. In light of the late hour, she doubted she would get through, but she kept her fingers crossed. The response to her request came almost immediately, a text message from an unknown sender containing a ten digit phone number and a name, Hedy Smith.
Looking at her phone, she frowned. Dialing the number, she put the Samsung to her ear, the phone ringing thrice before going to voice mail.
“Name, number, and birthdate,” instructed a businesslike female voice.
Waiting for the beep, thinking the request odd, Serena nonetheless provided the information and disconnected the call. What now?
A half dozen minutes later her phone rang, the caller ID stating number not in service. Swiping the green arrow, she answered the call. “Hello?”
“Miss Hall, my name is Hedy Smith, you called?” replied a woman’s voice from the other end of the call.
“Yes,” Serena responded, leaning forward on the car’s seat.
“As an attorney, I’m quite certain you are familiar with the nature of privileged conservation. Consider this in the same light, now can you describe the purpose for which you are seeking to employ my services, and please do not feel compelled to sanitize your answer, leave nothing out,” instructed the woman.
“I work for,” started the lawyer, only to be interrupted midsentence.
“Although you work for Lindholm Global, but we both know you more specifically represent Karolina Lindholm and her personal interests, please, in the interest of brevity, get to the point,” Hedy interjected.
“Very well. Thomas Wentworth III, a guest at the Gustafson Institute was abducted from his room in a secure wing by person or persons unknown,” she replied.
“Go on,” prompted the woman.
“Okay,” Serena responded, chuckling. “At the time of young Mr. Wentworth’s disappearance he was, I’m not quite sure how to phrase this, three or so inches tall.”
“Pardon?” Hedy replied, tone quizzical. “Did you say three inches tall?”
“Give or take. He was at the institute to undergo a procedure to reverse the process that rendered him thus,” Serena shared, knowing how utterly incredibly it must sound.
If she was phased, Hedy’s tone did not betray it, “I’ll need a comprehensive list of anyone and everyone possessing knowledge pertaining to his unique condition, the sooner, the better,” she advised.
“After this call, I’ll get you that information,” Serena assured, thinking Janine would probably have the best idea of how many other people at the school might be aware of Tom while Lina and company could account for all others.
“Advise Mrs. Lindholm I will be in attendance at Gustafson around 7 o’clock this evening, local time. Tell them not to touch anything,” she directed.
“As you will,” Serena replied. “Is there anything else?”
“I also want the cell phone numbers of the people he has had contact with, it is crucial,” Hedy requested.
“Okay,” Serena acknowledged.
“I will be in touch,” stated the other woman, disconnecting the call.
The lawyer was not quite sure what to make of the conversation. She had deposed her share of witnesses during the course of her career, but there was nothing in the woman’s tone betraying anything other the need for haste. Who was she?
Rather than being distracted by unanswered questions, she immediately called through to Lina and advised her of Miss Smith involvement and intended arrival time. That done, she set about the task of gathering a list of names. Although it was late, she called Janine’s cell phone, pleased when the girl answered. The girl was an absolute wealth of information, providing not only the list of people at the school Tom had interacted with, but their phone numbers as well. The only two numbers Janine did not have on hand belonged to Miss Harwood and Miss Addison, though she assured Serena she could get the younger teacher’s number from Cassidy.
Compiling the list into a word document format, Serena emailed it to the electronic address Hedy provided.
Unsure whether there were other tasks Hedy might require, Serena left the Surface open and on atop her living room coffee table. It had the potential to be a very long night. Getting up from the couch, she walked to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Tom Wentworth. How could something so small be the author of so much pandemonium? Cocky little thing. Cute, but cocky. It actually might have been fun to teach him some manners using her ass, wipe that knowing little smirk off his smug face.
The coffee was ready. With a ceramic mug of freshly brewed java in her hands, she returned to the living room, dropping back into the couch before checking her computer. There had been no response from Hedy to the earlier email. Setting the mug on a coaster, she also checked her phone for contact. Nothing.
Again, the question that arose in her mind was who was Hedy Smith? Out of curiosity, Serena decided to check the various social media sites, but turned up nothing of value. She was obviously someone with access to some very influential people. Her manner had been firm but polite, confident. She tried to match a face to the voice but it was nothing more than idle fancy. There was nothing to do now but wait.