Went Missing: A William Church Novel

By Joseph W. Michels

Baroness Emily Wood, a distinguished archaeologist, is reported missing during a brief visit to an ancient Greek site on the island of Crete. Discreet inquiries undertaken by the institute that employs her are unsuccessful in determining Dr. Wood’s whereabouts. Fearing she may have been abducted, the institute’s director approaches William Church for assistance.

William Church, a freelance recovery specialist based in San Francisco and London, is commissioned by the institute’s director to travel to Crete in the hopes of locating her. Owing to the fact that Baroness Wood is also a member of the House of Lords, there is concern her mysterious disappearance could cause the British government unwelcome embarrassment. Accordingly, Church is instructed to secure her release by whatever means necessary in the event she has fallen into the hands of criminals.

With the aid of his associate, Ariella Brandt, a former member of an elite Israeli military unit, and that of Aaron, a shadowy Israeli operative, Church traces the path of the missing woman, even as it leads to the politically unstable eastern region of Libya. Despite being confronted by local militias and violent jihadis, Church and his team discover where the baroness is being held, then forcibly rescue her. Racing for the Libyan coast and to the motor yacht waiting to pick them up, Church and his party run a gauntlet of angry armed men intent on stopping them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532061615

Joseph W. Michels

JOSEPH W. MICHELS came to fiction writing after a long career as an archaeologist and cultural anthropologist. KAGNEW STATION: DATELINE 1956 is a sequel to the ALAN HARPER TRILOGY. The author became acquainted with Kagnew Station in 1974 while directing a large archaeological project in the region. The project’s headquarters was two blocks from the entrance to Kagnew Station and the project’s staff made extensive use of the base’s facilities.

Book preview

Chapter One

Ariella’s on her way up, William, said Julia, getting off the phone.

Thanks, Julia, I said loud enough for her to hear from the rear office of the three-office suite I’d upgraded to after returning from San Francisco.

As I waited for Ariella to make it up from the building’s lobby I restlessly paced the office, stopping momentarily to look out the window at the Docklands from my vantage point at the far end of Jubilee Park—a view that I’d come to consider the office’s most salutary feature.

You okay? asked Julia who had glanced through the open door between her office and mine.

Yeah, I’m okay, Julia, I replied, touched by Julia’s concern. Julia was my personal assistant. She was nominally employed by the building’s management as a temp who could be used on an hourly basis by people like me for miscellaneous office tasks. Over the relatively short time I’d been in London I’d grown quite dependent on her—very much as I had on Chelsea in San Francisco, and for the same reason: unflappable competence. Julia was Polish, in her mid-twenties, and absolutely stunning. She’d been in London just a little over a year, but in that short time she’d managed to perfect her English—only one of the several languages she was fully fluent in.

That’s her now, said Julia, rushing to answer the knock on the outer door of the office suite. I left my office and joined Julia, but stood back aways, letting the two women take a few moments to become better acquainted. They had developed something of a relationship through the exchange of email and phone calls, but this had decidedly more import.

Ariella glanced over at me as she chatted with Julia, probably taking the measure of my reaction to her outfit. Unlike the tight jeans and close-fitting leather jacket I was accustomed to seeing her in, she was wearing an elegant, above-the-knee, short-sleeved shift dress in black with matching four-inch heels. Given her tall, 5' 7" height, trim athletic build, and her deep auburn-colored hair—cut stylishly short—she carried the new look with ease and with splendid effect. I gave her a slight nod, acknowledging my wholehearted approval.

Finally, Julia stepped back, letting Ariella approach.

Good morning, William, she said, extending her hand.

We shook hands, It’s good to see you, Ariella, let’s go into my office and catch up.

Unlike my previous office, where I’d avoided any attempt at personalizing the space, this one felt more permanent, inspiring me to get the building’s management to upgrade the furnishings. To begin with, it was bigger—a little over 200 sq. feet—with several large windows. The hardwood floor sported a generously sized oriental carpet, and the contemporary Scandinavian styled wood furnishings now included a sitting area with leather couch, coffee table and two armchairs. As a personal touch, I’d invested in several contemporary paintings, and two of Boris’ smaller scale metal sculptures adorned the credenza.

Let’s sit over here, I said, gesturing for her to take a seat on the couch. I settled into one of the armchairs.

Did you think I would never come? asked Ariella, somewhat mischievously.

I wasn’t sure, Ariella, but in hopes you would I leased a suite that provides you with your own office.

So, it seems I’m destined to become part of Church Recoveries, Ltd. she said with a smile.

I’m game to give it a try…are you? I asked evenly, not sure whether she was being facetious or not.

Ariella didn’t answer right away. She let her eyes scan the room then returned her gaze to where I was sitting, What about us? she asked quietly.

I hesitated for a moment, then said, What I can tell you, Ariella…let’s see how things develop. Right now we’re talking about a working relationship, and I’m still waiting for your answer.

Ariella hesitated—then eventually gave me a smile and a nod.

Good to know! I said. Now, down to business, what’s your current status, and how might that impact your ability to help with the kind of work I do?

Anticipating I’d end up working with you, William, I made a brief trip back to Israel to speak with IDF Intelligence and also the Mossad. As a reserve officer in an elite IDF Intelligence unit I couldn’t be authorized to operate officially in any civilian-based investigatory operation so I put in for a transfer to Mossad. That transfer was approved, and with my new status I’m permitted to undertake covert operations, such as the one we did in Lebanon this past spring. The only proviso is that I prepare an after-action report for Mossad, highlighting anything of intelligence value uncovered during the operation.

That may be problematic, Ariella, many of our clients expect full confidentiality.

My handler at Mossad anticipated that, replied Ariella, and suggested I omit any reference to the client unless it is the client, himself, that arouses suspicion. Knowing that you’ve a reputation for working on recovery operations that generally gain at least tacit approval from relevant governmental agencies, should they become known, my handler didn’t think such a dilemma would arise very often.

I nodded, seeing the merit in her handler’s suggestion, but then thought about my most recent operation in the Middle East where it was a Middle Eastern government that had retained me…one whose identity I was not to know. I brought this up and asked Ariella how she would have handled it in her report to Mossad, for clearly, knowing of the vulnerability of that country to the depredations of powerful militant factions was of high intelligence value.

Ariella thought about it for a moment, then said, Let’s face it, William, once we knew the probable location of the plundered ancient Assyrian cemetery we knew the likely identity of the country involved despite the strenuous efforts made to conceal it by the middleman you dealt with. In my hypothetical report to Mossad I would have legitimately included our speculation regarding the source of the illicit gold jewelry, together with our reconstruction of the probable routes by which the items could possibly have been smuggled out. So, even without me including our best guess as to the probable identity of the country involved, Israel’s Mossad, using the same facts, would no doubt easily ferret out the likely identity of the Middle Eastern country even without me having to disclose it.

Okay, I see what you’re saying, I replied, and it’s true, there’s every reason to believe Mossad would be able to reconstruct the identity of a client from the facts of the case if it wished. So, I guess what you’ll need to do is argue in your report that, in your judgement, there is no need for Mossad to attempt to discover the identity of our client.

"Except in cases where it is necessary…like in the Assyrian Gold operation, countered Ariella with a knowing smile. Just then, Julia came in carrying a tray with cups of coffee and a plate of fresh almond croissants. Sorry it’s taken so long, but I wanted to bring you both something from the patisserie next door…hope the coffee is still hot," said Julia as she put the tray down on the coffee table.

It’s perfect, Julia, I said after reaching for a cup then taking a sip.

I’ll stick around, Ariella, and show you your office, and what we’ve got in the way of office equipment and supplies, once you and William have finished up…that okay?

I’d like that, Julia…thanks, replied Ariella.

Julia nodded, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

For some minutes, Ariella and I devoted ourselves to the refreshments Julia had brought in. Then, after we’d each consumed the major part of a croissant, and had sipped most of our coffee, we started in again.

So, you carry an Israeli passport…does it confer upon you any diplomatic status? I asked.

No, William, it doesn’t, but I do carry an official Mossad identity card which entitles me to embassy assistance should I need it; it also grants me professional colleague status among agents of any friendly country’s intelligence community.

That should come in handy, I said.

And like you with the FBI, Ariella continued, my Mossad affiliation has meant that I’ve been granted Interpol and MI5 endorsements which allow for my carry and use of a personal firearm.

Does that mean…

Yes…in fact I’ve got my Jericho 941F 9mm semi-automatic with me now…in there, she said, pointing to the black leather clutch-style purse resting on the coffee table.

But I take it you don’t have authorization to transport your Tavor-2 assault rifle, I said, half in jest.

No, said Ariella wistfully, but under certain circumstances—still to be worked out—I might be able to check one out from an embassy or consulate armory. That’s where mine is currently—at the embassy’s armory in Berlin.

I nodded, impressed with the steps she’d taken to prepare herself for teaming up with me. I leaned back in my chair and studied her—a woman in her early thirties, with expressive dark brown eyes, who I knew possessed lethal skills, a quick mind, and a disarming femininity. Having grown up in Israel, she could assume the body language of a Middle Easterner and had the languages to go with it—Hebrew and Arabic. And with her decidedly German Jewish ancestry she could effortlessly pass for a western European…and make it stick, given her fluency in German and English.

I stood up, Okay, Ariella, you’re in…but before I turn you over to Julia brief me on what, if anything, you’ve done to find a place to live.

Currently, I’m staying in a hotel near Cabot Square…it’s a bit pricey but thoroughly comfortable…Julia booked it for me.

I nodded approval, then said, We’ve got an appointment with a possible client scheduled for three o’clock this afternoon. I know you’ve probably got things to do but I’d like it if you could make the meeting.

What’s it about? asked Ariella.

It’s a missing person case, as best I can figure…hopefully, we’ll know more after the meeting.

Ariella nodded, then also stood up. She extended her hand, Thanks, William.

We’ll make a good team, Ariella, I said, shaking her hand.

Chapter Two

I was late getting back to the office. I’d gone into west London for lunch and to view a special exhibit at one of the larger auction galleries, thinking I might discover a painting by a 19th Century German Jewish artist that I might wish to bid on as a decorative addition to Ariella’s sparsely furnished office. Julia had already returned and was transferring some office supplies to Ariella’s new office.

Have you heard from Ariella? I asked.

Yes, Julia replied, she texted me not too long ago saying that after a quick change of clothing she’d be back.

I nodded, "So how soon before our prospective client arrives?

Julia looked at her watch, Any time now, I guess.

Just then, Ariella showed up, wearing her signature tight jeans along with a light-weight, waist-length black leather jacket. Under the jacket, it seemed, was some sort of a white cotton top. And instead of four-inch heels she wore a pair of simple black flats.

Am I late? she asked.

No, but our guest is expected any time now, I replied. why don’t we wait in my office.

Ariella took her seat on the couch and I returned to the armchair I’d sat in during our morning conversation. While you were out running errands I spent a bit over an hour at an art auction house in west London looking at paintings. I was hoping to find something that would look nice in your new office.

And were you successful? asked Ariella.

I think so, I replied. There was a lovely oil painting by Max Liebermann—a study of vacationers on the beach at Scheveningen on the North Sea—that caught my eye.

Are you planning to bid on it?

I shrugged, I’m told it didn’t sell the last time it was put up for auction, so I’m hoping maybe I can get it for a reasonable price.

Well, if you ask my opinion I think my coming to Church Recoveries, Ltd. has simply given you a reason to unlock all that art history knowledge you gained getting your graduate degree, said Ariella with mock skepticism, but, whatever the motive, it’s a very sweet gesture, William.

Just then, Julia opened the door to my office and said, Your three o’clock appointment is here, Mr. Church.

A man in his early sixties was ushered in by Julia. Soberly dressed in a dark gray suit, he carried a briefcase which he handed to Julia as he approached, I’m Everett White, Mr. Church, he said as we shook hands.

And this is my colleague, Ms. Ariella Brandt, I said, turning to Ariella.

How do you do, Ms. Brandt, said White as he shook her hand.

How may we help you, Mr. White, I asked as I gestured for him to take a seat in the other armchair.

One of our most distinguished scholars has apparently disappeared while on a short visit to Crete, and I’ve been informed you’re the person to go to for assistance in circumstances of that sort.

I shrugged, Yes, it can be…I’ve had some experience dealing with such matters, but my services tend to be more expensive than the average private investigator. Generally, I’m approached only when the circumstances warrant special measures or involve conflicting jurisdictions where one suspects getting an effective police response might be somewhat problematic.

White nodded, I believe this case qualifies on both counts, Mr. Church, but I’ll go into that a bit later. Right now, I’d like to satisfy myself regarding something I’ve heard about you, he added, giving me an appraising look, I’m told you have a background in archaeology…is that right, Mr. Church?

That’s correct, Mr. White, I replied. I have a Master’s degree in archaeology and art history, and spent over two years as an FBI Special Agent working the art theft detail…is that somehow relevant in this case?

It is…or at least I believe it might be, Mr. Church. You see, the person who has gone missing is Dr. Emily Wood, a professor of ancient Greek archaeology. She is affiliated with the Bathurst Institute of Archaeology located in southeast England. I serve as Director of the Institute, and it is in that capacity that I have come seeking assistance.

I see…perhaps, Mr. White, it would be best if you share with us the circumstances that have provoked your concerns, I said, encouragingly.

Yes, of course. Well, to begin with, Dr. Wood flew to Crete five days ago…that was Sunday, September 15th. She was anxious to visit the ancient Greek site of Aptera, thirteen kilometers southeast of Chania—western Crete’s largest city. This past summer’s excavations at the site had exposed the remains of settlement dating to the 7th Century BC, a period of considerable interest to Dr. Wood. Although the excavation season had come to an end, Dr. Wood was hoping to examine the newly uncovered settlement ruins, and had been told that would be possible—that the guard on duty at the site would allow her entry.

It was a report we received yesterday that caused us to be concerned. Dr. Wood had taken lodging at a small hotel in Chania’s old town. She had stayed there on previous visits so the proprietress knew her, and knew of her affiliation with the Bathurst Institute. So when Dr. Wood failed to return to her room by late afternoon on Tuesday, after having set off for Aptera early that morning, she thought it peculiar, but not necessarily alarming. It was only after she checked on Dr. Wood early the following morning—Wednesday—and could see that she hadn’t returned—even late the previous night—and had in fact left behind what appeared to be all her toiletries, clothing and personal items, that the hotel’s proprietress called the Institute to inform us.

We asked her to send someone to the site, hoping the guard there would know of Dr. Wood’s whereabouts. We received another call from the hotel about midday Wednesday, after the proprietress had heard back from the guard. Apparently Dr. Wood left the site at about noon on Tuesday and had not returned…either that day or the next. This was unsettling news since Dr. Wood had only planned to spend three days at the site of Aptera before returning home; by all counts, she managed to spend only a day and a half at the site before disappearing.

Speaking as a woman, Mr. White, interjected Ariella, I can well imagine that Dr. Wood carried a day-bag with her at all times—something more than a purse but less than a piece of carry-on luggage. I suspect that amongst the items most women carry in their purse, Dr. Wood’s day-bag would have contained items of clothing, some toiletries, a sketch pad, and whatever portable devices she might have needed to measure and record features of interest to her that she assumed she might encounter among the newly exposed archaeological remains at the site.

You’re suggesting that she might have gone to some other part of the island in order to visit some other sites? asked Mr. White.

That is certainly a possibility, said Ariella. However, the fact she’s been absent for several days without notifying the hotel in Chania, or her colleagues back at the Bathurst Institute—knowing her absence would be a cause for some concern—lessens the likelihood that a short overnight excursion on her part can explain the circumstances you’ve described.

Have you contacted the British consulate in Crete? I asked.

White hesitated before answering, At some point, perhaps, I’ll have to pursue that option, Mr. Church, but in the meantime I’m hoping a resolution of this mystery and the discovery of Dr. Wood’s whereabouts can be accomplished discreetly.

Is there a particular reason for that? I asked.

The reason, Mr. Church, goes back to why a client might wish to seek your services in the first place, replied White. First, let me explain…Dr. Wood is not simply a professor of archaeology; she is also Lady Wood, having been created a life peer with the title Baroness due to her distinguished career. Furthermore, Lady Wood sits in the House of Lords.

So, you see, added White, there is every reason to avoid undue publicity, both from the standpoint of not wishing to cause the government political embarrassment, but also to lessen the danger that were she to have fallen into the hands of criminals they would be apprised of her true value as an object for ransom.

Ah, that puts the matter in a whole different light, Mr. White, I said.

Can you tell us a bit more about Dr. Wood—the person? asked Ariella.

White thought for a moment, then said, "Well, she’s a woman in