Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

This book is dedicated to you, my own Major Key. I fell in love with you the moment you taught me how to “write a battle”.

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Massive Attack

Dana Arama

Copyright © 2020 Massive Attack

All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.

Translation from the Hebrew by Karen Akad

Editor: ELi Raphael

Contact: danaaramaauthor@gmail.com

Content

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Laura Ashton

Murat Lenika

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Laura Ashton

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Murat Lenika

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Murat Lenika

Laura Ashton

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Murat Lenika

Laura Ashton

Murat Lenika

Laura Ashton

Murat Lenika

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Guy Niava

Guy Niava

Guy Niava

Laura Ashton

Acknowledgments

Part ONE

“To be part of a family is to be part of a wonderful thing. It means that you will love and be loved for the rest of your life.”

Laura Ashton,

April 2015

“I asked when you last saw her.” I repeated the question and stared at the shrivelled up girl in front of me. Thus far, she’d refused to cooperate, but I’d left her with no choice. When I pulled out my official, formidable badge engraved with the unmistakable portrait of a bald eagle and the initials of a security organization she had never heard of, she realized it was official business.

I hadn’t wanted to go there. After all, this was a private investigation. Personal. If someone had bothered to check, I would likely lose my job and with it the ability to exercise any authority in my investigation. I undertook the risk with great care, and it was worth it because the clue that brought me here indicated that the girl had vital information.

“I don’t know when she disappeared,” answered the mousy looking girl. There was something malicious in the way she pursed her lips. Behind her was a desk, and on it was my sister’s laptop and a picture in a metal frame. The photo had been taken during my sister’s modeling years, when she was at the peak of her glamor. The juxtaposition of my sister’s beauty against the plain, bespectacled girl in front of me was startling. I wondered if her lack of cooperation stemmed from jealousy. I ignored my thoughts because, in spite of the hint of malice, she was the only person who could help me. I had entered her world without permission. I needed her. It was a desperate step for me, but I had no choice. She was the last living person who’d had contact with my sister.

“I want you to have no doubt,” I said, in a tone that I had adopted over the years which wavered between a subtle threat and a lifeline. “Your cooperation could merit a medal or an arrest. In the case of the latter, you can wave goodbye to all your future plans.”

She sat uncomfortably on the chair opposite me, clearly finding it hard to look me straight in the eye. Her evident panic prompted her to supply me with the answers I sought.

“I really don’t know when she disappeared,” she repeated, more softly this time.

“Okay, so she’s your roommate, but you don’t know when she disappeared.” I reflected on her words for a moment, but then insisted, “Did you notice when her behavior started to change?”

“That was hard to miss. It got really bad after she met that strange foreign exchange student.”

A twinge of sorrow almost made me retort that she was wrong, and that the deterioration started a whole lot earlier, but instead I continued. “What do you remember about the foreign exchange student?”

“That she was very popular. Not that Gail was less popular, but this foreign girl was in a league of her own. I think she was British with some sort of aristocratic title.”

“Okay, that’s good. This is very good information. It will help me in the tracking process,” I said encouragingly, motioning for her to carry on.

“I remember that after they met and started hanging out together, Gail stopped coming to classes. She would party the whole night. She would wake me up at three, four o’ clock in the morning, usually drunk…” She glanced at me apprehensively, then continued, “Maybe she was on drugs… and then she just stopped waking up in the morning.”

It was painful to hear. For a moment, I was seventeen again, receiving a concerned email from her teacher reprimanding me for not watching out for my sister, telling me that she was once again cutting classes. I now knew that, aside from cutting classes, she had also skipped her finals. In the end, she cut off contact and then disappeared.

Oh! Gail, why? Why drugs? My heart cringed, but I showed no sign of distress as I asked, “The British student, what’s her name?”

“Elisabeth something. Gail called her Lizzie.”

“Her surname? Try to remember.” And I added politely, “Please.” I was happy with this new information. I now saw how this case might fit in with my day job as a liaison officer. If I could look for my sister officially I could utilize all the sources of information I had at my disposal, along with the full force of the agency’s intelligence, and then I could stop fumbling around in the dark.

“I can’t remember her surname. Sorry.” For a moment her eyes lit up and she added, “They spoke about a friend who had arrived from England and who works in a casino. I don’t know if that helps.”

“Do you remember his name? Or where the casino is?”

“Some strange name. Not American. I am really sorry, but I’m bad with names.”

I believed her. Her body language told me that this wasn’t a trait she was proud of, but had accepted. “Do