Moving Shadows

By Mark Andrlik

When Calvin "Sid" Sidney finds himself marked for death by the nefarious Triston Foundation, he knows he must act swiftly to save not only his life but also those he holds dear. The key to his survival lies in a secured device containing files that can topple the mighty empire led by the relentless Dr. Georg

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Oct 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798822928763

Mark Andrlik

Mark Andrlik was born and raised in rural Minnesota and brings a unique, grounded perspective to his storytelling. Now residing in Lexington, Kentucky, with his wife, Evette, and their having two grown daughters, he ­finds inspiration in the stories that intersect faith journeys and suspense.

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MOVING SHADOWS

Copyright © 2023 by MARK ANDRLIK

All rights reserved

No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or other–except for brief

quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission of the author.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, specific places, events, and incidents

are products of the author’s imagination; they are fictitious. Any resemblance to

places, events, incidents, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Edition

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-8229-2875-6

eBook ISBN: 979-8-8229-2876-3

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BOOKS BY MARK ANDRLIK:

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

PROLOGUE

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

PART TWO

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

CHAPTER 67

CHAPTER 68

CHAPTER 69

CHAPTER 70

CHAPTER 71

CHAPTER 72

CHAPTER 73

CHAPTER 74

CHAPTER 75

CHAPTER 76

CHAPTER 77

CHAPTER 78

CHAPTER 79

CHAPTER 80

BOOKS BY MARK ANDRLIK:

The Cedarfield Series

Junctures

The Cedarfield Purge

Moving Shadows

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

With gratitude to my wife, Evette, and to (in alphabetical order) John, Kaila, Kamyla and Kip for their input and assistance

Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.

Remind me that my days are numbered—

how fleeting my life is.

You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand.

My entire lifetime is just a moment to you;

at best, each of us is but a breath.

We are merely moving shadows,

and all our busy rushing ends in nothing.

We heap up wealth,

not knowing who will spend it.

And so, Lord, where do I put my hope?

My only hope is in you.

~ Psalm 39:4-7 (NLT)

PROLOGUE

A

charcoal-colored blanket crept over the tops of the low line of warehouses across the boulevard, blotting out the peach and orange hues of the western skies. That, along with oppressive Tennessee late-summer heat and humidity, portended approaching thunderstorms.

Sitting side-by-side on a curbside bench, a young man and woman conversed in low tones, their eyes not upon each other but on the ominous heavenly panorama before them.

I don’t know what to say, Calvin Sid Sidney muttered, his heart sinking. It won’t be as fun anymore.

Elise Johnson reached over and squeezed his forearm. Don’t start that again. Please… just accept it. I’m moving on.

It sounds so permanent when you put it that way.

She placed two fingers under his chin, lifted, and twisted, forcing him to look straight into her eyes. Sid, that’s because it is. For me, our way of life had already become repulsive enough. Now even more so, given your decision.

He struggled to meet her gaze. But we were a great team. Had an exciting ride and made lots of money. Helped some good people along the way. You’re financially set up for a long, long time. I still don’t get why you’re willing to ditch all of that.

Then I’ll pray that the blinders come off your eyes. Mark my words, your decisions and activities will someday catch up to you. You just don’t see it. Not yet —she offered a tight smile— but you will.

Sid shifted away from her touch. Okay, so you’re on a different path. Go, then. Have at it… your quest to discover your purpose in life, as you put it. Your own so-called journey of faith.

That’s what I said, and I mean it. That’s why I’m heading to where I know people that will help me along. She swiveled her head as the Greyhound rounded a corner a block to their left. Looks like my journey is about to begin.

Whatever… He suddenly felt tired, and his voice drifted off. I still think you’re walking away from a huge opportunity.

She let out a long sigh. I understand that you’re excited about your new partner. But like I’ve warned you more times than I can count… something doesn’t feel right about that man or what he’s promised you.

Yeah, yeah, I know… Sid spat out the words. Let me point out once again, you’re judging a man that you’ve never met.

She drew back and looked away. I don’t have to meet him. I know what I sense. And it’s not just me. Let’s face it… multiple watchdog organizations have raised red flags over his methods and operations.

I get that, he huffed. But that’s all speculation, not even legitimate news in my opinion. Rather, fodder for highly-paid commentators. Besides, you know that I never trust anyone totally. I can take care of myself. I’ve been forced to, ever since I left home.

Maybe so, but I’m warning you to watch your step, think about our talks. It’s not too late. You still stand perfectly positioned for a healthy reset… if you so choose.

Thanks, but no thanks. I’m happy where I’m at.

With the chugging of its diesel engine and hissing of air brakes, the bus pulled to a stop in an angled bay in front of them. Its engine still running, the bus’s front door glided open to admit its lone new passenger.

All my best, my friend. She stood, leaned down, and wrapped her arms around him. Remember my one request: don’t ever let him know that I exist.

I won’t. I promise. He half-heartedly returned the hug.

Thank you. She straightened up, placing her hands on his shoulders. I’ll always be here for you. You know how to reach me.

Thanks… I think. Awkwardly, Sid stood and watched as she boarded the bus without looking back.

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

T

he steel edge beneath his shirt—jammed between his spine and the concrete block wall—pinched his skin. Before him, unfriendly faces pressed in, inches from his own. Weathered, leathery faces testifying to hard lives and labor under harsh outdoor conditions. Warm breaths assailed him, odors of perspiration and cigarette smoke mixed with the cloud of dust and grass clippings rising and blowing along the expanse of what appeared to be some kind of warehouse.

Off behind the pair and to the right, a small army of young men—wielding lawnmowers, weed-eaters, chainsaws, and machetes—fanned out from the open double doors from which they had burst en masse only seconds earlier. They began clearing grasses, shrubs, and saplings along the perimeter of the structure.

Sid struggled to get a grip on his sudden change of fortune. What were these guys doing here? The place seemed deserted a minute ago.

Worst of all, some twenty yards off to the left, the man he was to have apprehended sped away, his silver Lexus spinning gravel as it rounded the corner of the building, his escape all but guaranteed.

Sid cussed under his breath. This should have been an easy job, with a naive, easy mark. A minute ago he had Jarrod Kastle in the palm of his hand, helpless and docile—that is, until Kastle had dropped that cryptic comment:

Your problem, Sid, is that you’re deceived. You believe that Dr. Stanhope is in charge. I, on the other hand, happen to know better.

Right after that everything exploded. Doors flew open, and the laborers and their two supervisors burst onto the scene, effectively killing his mission.

George would be angry. That spelled trouble.

Beads of sweat dribbled down Sid’s temples. From the hot summer temperatures or from a sudden and uncharacteristic sensation of alarm? This couldn’t be happening. He was, after all, Calvin Sidney. Con artist, spy, magician, and impersonator extraordinaire. Intelligent, versatile, and creative in his methods, with a record he was proud of. He had never before failed George.

But Kastle was gone, out of play. Acknowledging this disastrous twist of circumstances was painful and frustrating. But… such a challenge also brought opportunity for the exercise of creativity. Buoyed by this notion, Sid forced himself to look his captors in the eye, calmly, evenly, while his calculating mind revved into high gear. They were a bit older than the rest of the men; held authority. But, regardless of what power they might have, they could not be permitted to think they held the high ground in this confrontation.

The man on the left, short and stocky with meaty arms and hands, lit a cigarette and jerked a thumb toward where the Lexus had been. You were pushing that guy pretty hard. And he yelled something about a kidnapping. And a gun. You packing?

No point in lying; each of the men cornering him would outweigh him by fifty or sixty pounds. And they both looked tough, accustomed to hard work as well as an occasional brawl. They could easily manhandle him individually and would find his gun whether he admitted to it or not.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Sid planted his feet and folded his arms defiantly. For self-protection and to take care of some personal business I had with that man. Not a kidnapping.

The man’s face darkened. You can call it ‘personal business’ if you want to. Sure didn’t look that way to me. And you’re on private property. What was going on here?

I don’t owe you guys an explanation. It’s complicated. And… A growl edged into Sid’s voice; he would not show any fear. It doesn’t involve you.

I want to see your gun. Hand it over. The man to the right stuck out his hand. This man, taller and leaner, towered over him.

Nothin’ doin’. I have good reason to carry. Reason which doesn’t involve you or any of your men.

Give it to me, or I’ll help myself. His fingers locked onto Sid’s right arm in a vice grip.

As pain shot up his arm, he reached around with his left hand, lifted the gun from his belt by his fingertips, and gently placed it into the man’s outstretched hand.

Hmm… a Colt. Nice piece. Then the admiring smile faded. I’ve lived in Cedarfield my whole life, and I’ve never laid eyes on you. You’re not from around here, are you?

Nope. I came in from out of town to apprehend that fugitive. And I am authorized to do so. I have credentials.

The shorter man poked him in the chest. So you say. But you don’t belong here. Packing this.

Sid’s mind whirled. This tack wasn’t getting him anywhere with these guys. They needed to feel empowered. Maybe a contrite approach…

You’re right. You have no reason to believe me. You don’t know me. But you also don’t know the guy that just drove off, whom you’ve presumed to be the victim, the good guy. That’s why I’m kindly asking you not to get involved. I was supposed to apprehend that man. Now, he’s gotten away. Please don’t make a bad situation worse for me.

Neither man spoke. Had he finally convinced them of his truthfulness in the matter? They exchanged a glance and the shorter man shrugged. Probably not used to this kind of situation, trying to decide what to do next.

As Sid sized up the two men, their shifting gazes and other micro-expressions of uncertainty, a thought occurred to him. Neither of them had made any move or mention of enlisting the help of anyone else, such as their own supervisor or someone else in authority. Maybe they weren’t entirely law-abiding themselves. A possibility that he could exploit.

Listen, guys. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. So, if it would make you feel better, I am willing to let you call in either your boss or the police. We’ll let them sort things out.

Again, no response other than a tic on the shorter man’s face. Finally, he spoke.

I’ve got a better idea. He held out one hand and rubbed a thumb back and forth along his fingers. None of those men—he poked his other thumb over his shoulder— have any clue about what’s going on here. This is our secret. You offer us a little favor, we might just let you walk out of here, no questions asked.

 That would work. Sid had stowed his wallet, his cash, and other valuables in his car earlier, but still kept a supply of currency on hand. He reached into a front pocket. Sure. No one else has to know anything. That will save us from having to call in the authorities or talking to your boss.

He extracted a wad of cash and unfolded it. Pulled both front pockets inside out to show they were empty except for his car keys. There’s about two-hundred dollars here. This is all I’ve got. You let me walk out of here in peace, and then forget that any of this ever happened. You’ll never see me again. I promise.

Their stern expressions softened, and the taller man spoke. Okay, buddy, we can work with that. First… He turned the gun over and released the ammunition clip. It fell into his hand and he stuffed it into his pocket. Then he pointed it at the ground and pulled the trigger to be certain that the chamber was empty before handing it back. There. Just in case you get a notion to shoot one of us on your way out.

You have no reason to worry about that. I’m a man of honor, and a deal’s a deal. He handed them the cash and stuck out his right hand. First one man and then the other reluctantly shook to seal the deal.

The tall man pointed toward the far end of the building where Sid’s rented sedan sat, barely visible among a stand of trees and shrubs. That your ride over there?

Yup, that’s mine. And remember…not a word of this to anyone.

You got it. Now get lost! Before the boss happens to come out here.

Sid stuck the Colt into his belt and trotted away along the building, squinting through clouds of dust and weaving in and out among the various laborers. Humiliation and frustration gave way to deep concern as he put distance between himself and the scene of his disrupted mission.

George did not tolerate failure. That had been made abundantly clear from the start, years earlier. Now, Sid well understood that if he could not rectify this situation, there would be consequences.

Maybe he should have listened to his friend Elise those many years ago.

CHAPTER 2

H

ow could the whole trajectory of my life have been derailed in less than one minute?

Sid kicked repeatedly at the rotting stump until it disintegrated. This never should have happened. It wasn’t supposed to happen. He was better than that, and had the record to prove it. Why else would George Stanhope grant him so much leeway?

His eyes panned his surroundings. The sun had set; in minutes would come the welcomed darkness. Thankfully, another day had passed without anyone bothering him. But he had to get moving soon.

His ad hoc place of shelter, the white sedan now stowed behind a dilapidated barn and out of sight of the road, had served its purpose well so far. But whoever owned the land occupied by the abandoned farmstead could decide to pay a visit at any time. Or, what he guessed to be local teens might return for another pot-smoking, beer-drinking gathering, away from the prying eyes of the community. An array of empty cans and bottles, discarded joint stubs, and the trampled grass behind the barn testified of such activity in the recent past.

From this post, stumbled upon by a stroke of good fortune after his flight from the city a few days earlier, he had watched from relative safety as skies blackened and a tornado funnel skittered across the landscape from the southwest, directly toward the west-central Minnesota rural community. Minutes after that his phone’s connectivity settings indicated that local cell service had gone out.

At least that breakdown in communication offered a temporary reprieve from any unwanted phone contact, a chance to consider his situation and plot his next steps. He would have to do so soon; George would be awaiting an update. The last thing he wanted was to have to deliver a report of a failed mission. It would be his first.

He returned to the car, climbed into the back seat, and grabbed a jar of peanut butter, a box of crackers, and a can of soda from a grocery bag. A meal that had constituted his supper far too many times during his childhood.

Stretching his legs out along the seat, he munched on his food and reviewed the events of the past several days. Under George’s orders he had flown from Washington, DC, to Minneapolis, Minnesota. There he rented a car and drove to Cedarfield, charged to locate, apprehend, and return a fellow Triston operative that had unexpectedly gone missing while on assignment.

But, so far, he had failed. His chances of locating Kastle again were slim.

Consequences for such failure could be severe. One of George’s other colleagues, known to Sid only as Mr. Smith, had died years earlier in a fiery automobile accident after being exposed in one of Triston’s subversive missions, thereafter subpoenaed to testify. Then Contessa, a prominent DC lobbyist and one of George’s friends, had publicly refused to support a particular Triston initiative. Two months later her body was discovered in her Silver Spring townhome, the death ruled as suicide.

Would the vindictive Triston CEO treat him any differently? Would his years of faithful service and exemplary performance in his roles earn him the man’s mercy?

One thing he did know. Triston’s Expulsion initiative in Cedarfield, Minnesota, had been years in the planning, critically important to George, the fruit of his abhorrence for organized religion, the faith community, and its leaders in general—but also for reasons he hadn’t shared. A personal vendetta, Sid suspected.

George had invested millions of Triston Foundation’s dollars into that effort which remained jeopardized. With Kastle out of play, George’s personal security would be put at risk—with blame now falling squarely upon Sid’s shoulders.

So… who was left to trust?

Nathan. Yes, his old buddy had always been in his corner. Savvy and tough, and could be counted on to help out should the need arise.

Elise. The friend and former con artist with whom he had worked before he had signed on with George. She had been a trusted associate but had years earlier taken a different path in life and was now married. There was no way he would involve her in this current predicament.

Skye. His long-time close friend and fellow Triston associate currently lived and worked in Cedarfield and had been one of his inside colleagues in this recent initiative. Yes, he did trust Skye and could count on her for help. They hadn’t spoken since days before the storm, but, ever faithful, she would call as soon as cell service was restored.

With that sense of hope, he put away his leftover food items, took off his shoes, and curled up along the seat. A few hours of sleep, if he could get it, would help clear his mind.

The next afternoon his phone chirped, signaling that cell service had been restored. He checked for any missed messages. Four voicemails from George. Still no word from Skye, a concern. He couldn’t put it off any longer; he had to call George, attempt to stall the man long enough to formulate a course of action.

He punched in the private number. George’s answering bark offered no greeting or pleasantries. Was I right? Have you gotten your hands on Kastle?

Sid focused his attention upward, to where a few puffy, white clouds hung in deep blue skies; a far cry from the storm that was no doubt brewing over Alexandria, Virginia. Taking a breath, he forced out his rehearsed excuse. No. I’ve been stuck here for the past four days with no sign of the guy. Now I’m stranded until they get this storm damage cleaned up. Nothing’s moving around here.

Are you telling me the truth? Suspicion laced that voice. Sid could almost see the man’s narrowed eyes.

I know better than to lie to you. Sid’s words flowed easily, the fruit of years of practicing deception. Still, he winced at having voiced the blatant lie to this man.

Well, then, keep looking. Don’t stop until either you find him or I tell you you can stop looking. That clear?

Clear. But I’m still not convinced he’s here.

Sid felt his insides tighten, realizing that he was placing himself on dangerous ground. He knew better than lie to George Stanhope, a master of discernment—whose hackles were already raised.

Well, he’s missing, George continued. And it looks like he’s gone rogue on us. That’s just great news. Here I am, watching national news coverage of tornado damage and wondering what we’re going to do. If there was ever any time that I needed to rein him in, that time is right now.

Sid attempted a compassionate tone. Maybe he’s hurt. Maybe something’s happened where he can’t call you.

No, it’s not that. If he is in Cedarfield—and I believe he is—I’ve learned from the news that there were no human casualties. Obviously, communication has been restored, or you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’m sure the guy could find a way to contact me if he wanted to. Nope. There’s something else going on. I should have known better than to give him so much autonomy and authority so soon.

George hung up without further comment. The silence was deafening. Sid pocketed his phone with a shaking hand. The lies had slid out naturally, but as he considered his situation cold fingers gripped his insides. He had not only failed, but had attempted to deceive a man that had an uncanny ability to sense when people were lying to him. Who considered such deception a serious form of betrayal.

Could that amount to a death sentence?

The long afternoon wore on with no word from Skye. With each passing minute, his concern for his friend grew. Why hadn’t she called? Unusual for her.

As darkness fell, he finally relaxed enough that he felt able to eat. He walked over to his car and fished a grocery bag out of the trunk, assembling what would constitute tonight’s supper: canned tuna, two slices of bread, several fast-food restaurant condiment packets, and a soda.

After eating he lay back, eyes closed, his mind racing. He wouldn’t give up. He would take another stab at finding Kastle. That was his only option if he hoped to protect himself, avoid unthinkable consequences.

Where to begin? Returning to Cedarfield was out of the question as he had been spotted and identified. By now, Kastle could have gone to the local authorities, maybe to the FBI to report the attempted abduction. If he had left town and gone on to some other place, such as the Twin Cities, his trail would be nearly impossible to follow.

One thing was certain: he would have to move soon. Sid could not afford to spend any more time hiding out in a deserted farmstead on the outskirts of the very community in which he had just failed at attempting a criminal act.

CHAPTER 3

G

eorge Stanhope—clad in the customary T-shirt, athletic shorts, and running shoes he wore when working from home—drained the last drops of brandy, regarded the empty glass through vacant eyes. That’s the curse of this business. You study and learn people’s needs and vulnerabilities, and you meet those needs. You train, guide, and reward. Sometimes you threaten. Assess loyalty. In the end, they still have free will and make their own decisions. Then we’re left with damage control—which in this case amounts to elimination.

He let the glass slide out of his fingers into the grass beside his lounge chair.

Felix Menchen, his own drink in one hand, shifted in his chair and took a long draw from a cigarette in the other. Sid won’t be a problem. I’ll take care of him for you.

George offered a curt nod. Against his better judgment, he would give Felix a second chance, knowing that his long-time associate was seeking redemption. I hope you do. I haven’t forgotten a time when you decided that your way of doing things was better than my instructions. We both know how that played out.

I’m back on my game. Felix ground out his cigarette and took another sip. I will deliver this time.

"You stick to the script this time. I’m offering you mercy. Rare for me, I might add. Only because for as long as Triston has existed, you’ve proved your loyalty and have abilities that I can use—as long as you do exactly what I tell you. Comprende?"

Felix lit another cigarette. "Yeah, message received. But you’re talking capture, followed by elimination, for one of your long-time associates. Why the