Rendezvous at the Mayflower Hotel: A Cort Sanford Novel

By Chuck Clowdis

Naval Commander Cort Sanford returns to the US after a mission in France that saw his wife, Julie, brutally murdered by a ruthless double agent, a former lover who is on a personal vendetta to settle a grudge. Cort returns home to try to forget the pain he suffers from the loss of his beloved wife and to honor their promise to grieve only briefly and then move on, should one depart life first. But he only finds himself pursued by the ruthless, vindictive, and sadistic Anna Karina Shastapova, a.k.a. Annabelle Lee, who will stop at nothing to have her revenge.

Cort, with friends and associates from the French encounter at the Château de Candé, find themselves in a cat and mouse game with Anna—a game that takes them from Lexington, Virginia, to Charleston, South Carolina, and then to the dramatic events at a rendezvous at the Mayflower Hotel in Washington, DC.

Twists and turns along with many surprises fill this story, with eclectic characters and a stunningly surprising ending, Readers should brace for an interesting, suspense-filled, and timely adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664173422

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COPYRIGHT © 2021 BY Chuck Clowdis.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/05/2021

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Prologue

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

Author’s Notes

Acknowledgments

This is the sequel to my first novel, Rendezvous at Château de Candé. This next work has been long in coming. Rendezvous at the Mayflower Hotel brings back familiar characters from Château de Candé. This sequel also introduces new and eclectic personalities into the fight to keep America safe from foreign agents.

Thank you!

—Charles W. (Chuck) Clowdis Jr.

PROLOGUE

A s Cort exited the Gulfstream and stepped onto the tarmac at Joint Base Andrews, he was relieved to be back on American soil. Strange without Julie, he said quietly to no one in particular

Cort’s thoughts brought back old memories. I’ve returned from battlefields and unofficial war zones all over the world, he murmured, trudging away from the plane. I have always felt fortunate to return alive. And while I always lost colleagues and fellow warriors, this time will never fade from my memories.

Cort fought back the thoughts of the loss of his wife, Julie. He was trying to erase the horrible death of the love of his life, Juliette Montague Sanford.

Anna Karina Shastapova, a.k.a. Annabelle Lee, his former lover and the vowed assassin of all Cort held dear, had shot Julie right before his eyes. Her zeal was to inflict her revenge by killing Julie so cavalierly and to further deepen Cort’s pain by then absconding with her body. Now Cort could never again tell Julie how very much he loved her and that he understood her supposed betrayal. He was also deprived of laying her remains to rest near their last home in North Carolina

Cort and Julie had discussed the dangers of his past and future work prior to the marriage. They both understood the risks of work in clandestine field operations. They accepted the dreaded prospects and planned for how they should handle their lives. Until Anna fired the shots, Cort had always thought that he would be the one killed first. They had pledged to grieve quickly, put the bad deeds away, yet retain the best memories of their time together. Then they would live their lives, while never losing those fond memories. It was what they both wanted, but Cort never knew it would be so painful.

Casey Jones, so vital to this mission, was planning to return to his team’s headquarters in Florida and to their covert government ops, private sector hostage rescue, and other clandestine missions.

Cathy Whiteman would eventually return to her NSA work. She was determined to finish studies for her law degree at Duke. However, the flame that had burned so brightly between Casey and her at Château de Candé had diminished.

CHAPTER 1

U S Navy Commander Cort Sanford and the team returned from France’s Loire Valley to Washington, DC, via Joint Base Andrews. Instead of the NSA’s headquarters at Fort Meade, they were taken to the outside the beltway facilities nearby that also housed one of the offices of the director of the NSA.

The debriefing was not a hurried process. The group were free to unwind freely on the base. Cathy Whiteman and Casey Jones especially had time to continue the budding romance that had begun in France. Cort took the time to work off his frustrations and get back in shape. He knew he had not been running his usual five-plus miles every morning as he had before all hell broke loose when Anna came back into his life and then so vilely killed his wife, Julie, right before his eyes. These thoughts disrupted his routine and his mind. He was not too surprised when he was winded after only two miles, remembering how Julie would test their running stamina. He had always let her win. What was a man to do with the woman he loves, when only casual competition was on the line?

He also recalled with mixed emotions the advice Butch Lowell always gave when they were at the academy: Never date a woman heavier than the weight you can bench-press. Cort missed his old friend every day. Butch had been lost on the mission that also cost him Julie. The support he had given at Château de Candé was invaluable, and Cort realized that, had Butch lived, that support would be invaluable now.

He shouldn’t have come on the mission, but no one could have stopped him, Cort thought.

In the evenings, the team was allowed visitors if they were members of NSA and possessed adequate security clearances. Then they were given access to the high-security quarters where Cort and his companions were housed. Cort noticed that Cathy and Casey seemed to be developing a remarkably close relationship. They dined together and were often seen walking together over the nearly eighty hectares that included not only barracks and office buildings but a wooded area that was ideal for quiet time. Cort could recognize blossoming love when he saw it. After all, he had experienced that feeling at least three times in his life. His nephew Casey had his wholehearted approval, but he also valued Cathy’s thoughts as well.

One morning at breakfast he noticed that Casey arrived first and sat down immediately with his team. Cort was finishing breakfast with the NSA director pro tem, a decent, well-connected career state department staffer with the highest security clearance, John K. Long. Cort liked and respected the man. He hoped he would become permanent director. But you never knew in the politically charged environment of the clandestine agencies.

Cathy entered the dining area and walked directly to Cort. Her eyes were red and filled with tears. I hope you have a few minutes. It’s important.

Sure. Let’s move over to that corner booth for some privacy.

Cathy began sobbing as she explained to Cort that last night she had asked Casey what his plans were for them. Casey had replied that he felt he could never involve a woman he loved in the life he was leading. She had been stunned. He said he loved me, but his work was more important. He said that his fellow soldiers had saved his life, and although he had lost a leg, he still owed them and his country a debt that would take him years to fully repay. I asked if I had any say in this matter, and he just shook his head, got up, and left my room.

Upon hearing Cathy’s all-too-familiar story, he felt at a loss to respond. He knew the tremendous obligation Casey felt toward his fellow warriors and the debt he personally felt he owed his country. Cort also knew how Cathy must feel. But since Casey’s military days were over, serving his country in the role he was playing now was as important to him as his life itself. He probably sincerely wanted to be with Cathy for the rest of his life. He just didn’t want her to suffer if his was a short life.

Cathy looked deep into Cort’s eyes. Will you talk with him? Can you talk any sense into that thick head of his? He’s given enough. Please?

Cort was torn between how much he cared for both these kids. But he knew that trying to change Casey’s mind would be impossible. He was a determined, devoted young man and as stubborn as his aunt Julie could be when she felt she was right. But he also knew he was not good at playing Cupid. Cort pondered for longer than he wished and finally said, Cathy, you know I treasure you both. I’m certain Casey loves you. I see how he looks at you; I’ve known him for a long time, and I have never seen that look before. However, I suspect it’s his love for you that forces him to make this seemingly senseless decision. He wouldn’t want to inflict that pain on someone he loves as much as he loves you. He is taking what is for him the easy way out and thinks he is being fair.

Cathy showed a combination of fear, anger, and a grudging agreement as she asked, Tell me what you would do, Cort. How would you tell Julie you loved her too much to let her into your life, for better or worse, in sickness and in health?

Cort knew his answer would not be what Cathy was hoping to hear. He held her hand and told her he would do the same as Casey. After what seemed like an hour, she smiled just a bit, leaned across the table, and tenderly kissed Cort on the cheek. Men! You damned macho men! God bless you, but why do you have to be so honest? I still love you, Uncle Cort Sanford. See ya around … I hope.

Cort was saddened but knew he would see her again. She would be there when Casey finally came to his senses and knew his duty was fulfilled. At least, he hoped she would.

That afternoon there was a formal, albeit closed, NSA and clandestine services ceremony. Cort, Casey, and his team were awarded the highest civilian honor bestowed by the US clandestine services. Cort felt like Congressman Charlie Wilson, although the efforts in France and Macon County, North Carolina, would never be as striking or as well-known as the Afghan mujahideen victory over the Russians that Wilson had contributed so much to.

Cathy received the highest recognition a member of the NSA could achieve. There weren’t many female field operatives in the NSA. It meant her star would be on a plaque on a wall in this building, never to be seen by anyone outside the clandestine services.

Now we find ourselves in the same conundrum as the Russians did in their foray into Afghanistan and the French at Dien Bien Phu in Vietnam—oh, yeah, we lost those too. Cort’s thoughts wandered even as his citation for valor was presented.

The disposition of the Krugerrands, spoils of this little war, had received the blessing of Johnny Long. Of the nearly $45 million they claimed, Cort was given a little less than $5 million—and of course, there were no taxes. The larger shares went to the families who had lost husbands and fathers in the mission. Cathy deferred her share; she would inherit millions from her maternal grandmother, as well as a great fortune from her father. Casey’s team received a nice share for their retirement funding and for updating of their gear.

With their gold in their duffel bags, the team converged on the Andrews tarmac for an emotional adieu. Cort noted with mixed emotion that Cathy and Casey simply nodded at each other without smiling from across the tarmac and boarded their separate government jets. Each had plans—just not with each other, it appeared.

But it was Cort who would have the most difficulty moving on to the next segments of his life.

Cort needed to find some type of closure; He needed to go back to the ranch despite no longer owning the property, just to see that the nukes in the mine shaft had been removed safely. He knew he shouldn’t stay long. The memories of Julie there were too overwhelming, the pain too much.

He also knew he would eventually return to Château de Candé to try to determine what happened during those last moments prior to and after Julie’s death. Too many things just didn’t add up. How did Anna escape? And why did she take Julie’s body?

But first Cort needed a long drive. He watched the departures of the government aircraft taking Casey and his team to their home base and Cathy back to North Carolina. She would begin her last semester of classes at Duke Law School in a few days. And Cort knew she would finish in record time with the highest grades in her class.

So Cort took a cab to the nearest Saab dealership and selected a new red turbo convertible with tan leather interior and top. He paid cash, to the dismay of the salesperson, a nice blonde who wore a very alluring perfume.

He drove to a more private location and then stashed his trusty Browning Hi-Power, silenced SIG Sauer, and a couple of Glocks into hidden but easily accessible places in his new automobile. His long gun and other pistols had been shipped to the gun shop in Franklin, North Carolina. They would be waiting on his return, all cleaned and ready for whatever happened next. And something always happened next … usually requiring firepower.

The Saab salesperson’s scent probably made Cort haggle less over the price. His love of fine-smelling women was something his wife Julie told him never to lose. But it was still a good deal since the dealer’s other brand was Volvo, whose fate was only slightly better resolved than Saab’s. Selling anything was better than not.

Cort was fearless when buying this Saab, despite knowing that the future of Saab Motor Corporation’s ownership was in limbo; he had owned Saabs since the late 1960s when his first new car was a two-cycle engine powered Saab two-door sedan; it was a brutal turkey turd tan exterior. His grandfather had raised turkeys, hence the nickname.

A living memory was that most girls hated the car, but the head cheerleader learned to enjoy drive-in movies and trips to the beach in it. Cort recalled she was a good sport, a gymnast too. Smelled like lilacs, as he still recalled … lilacs and gym socks.

He wondered if the old car was still out there still chugging. The engine was not too powerful, but the amusing gyrations of the motor in the engine compartment were just too cool. Damn, that two-cycle engine smell still lingered. He wondered why he had ever let it go—or sold or traded any of them. Ah, the stupidity of youth! But back then, and often since, no one these days could afford to maintain a stable of cars.

So Cort headed south on I-95. He decided to drive until he felt too tired and unsafe to deal with his fellow highwaymen on this busy interstate. He decided to divert over to I-81 to allow for a stop in Lexington, Virginia. This little town was home to Virginia Military Institute or VMI and Washington and Lee University, where Cort had lectured in their law school on prosecuting and defending terrorists.

Confederate General Stonewall Jackson’s home, General Robert E. Lee’s grave, and the General George C. Marshall Foundation, as well as a neat business district, pretty much made up the little town. There were several wineries close by. Cort had learned that there were indeed a few excellent Virginia wines. He planned to try them.

All this history and great institutions of higher learning made for a day, or two or three, trying to relax and get his mind straight before heading to western North Carolina for the first stop in beginning some sort of closure to yet another segment of his life.

VMI’s parade ground, surrounded by imposing structures where General Stonewall Jackson had taught before the War of Northern Aggression, made for peaceful, relaxing time simply watching cadets drill and parade march. Cort’s decades-old membership in the Sons of Confederate Veterans would be a nice reference. Also, the cadence of the marches and drills was soothing and brought back memories of his days at Annapolis.

As he drove, Cort’s thoughts turned to memories. He asked himself where all the years had gone. He never thought of himself as aging, but now his shaving mirror reminded him every day that he too was not immortal. He’d really always thought he would just explode around age fifty or be killed in some covert action in some godforsaken country, blown into small pieces or shot and buried in an unmarked grave. But the only blood-relatives he had now were a few cousins, only two of whom would even talk to him. So today my death would be mourned by only a very few close friends. Maybe ….

Cort knew in his inner, unspoken fears that he was truly unlucky in affairs of the heart. And his luck had brought the betrayal of one and deaths of the other two true loves in his life. Anna Karina Shastapova was involved in the worst of the deaths; she was simply and purely evil. But he had fallen for her as the first and deepest dedicated love he had yet experienced. He trusted her with his life, and she had betrayed him and revealed him to be only a pawn in her treacherous espionage web.

Love can make a smart man stupid; a wise man seems foolish enough to ignore signs that would be evident in a platonic, supposedly professional working relationship. It was a mistake he should not have made, yet the heart overrides both heads at times. And this had been one of those times in his life and career when he heard only his heart and his smaller head.

As a result, he found himself sold to the Iranians; yet he had found Rudi, the Kuwaiti princess he had been able to love only for too short a time. Or was it out of gratitude for her rescuing him from what would have been a terrible certain death?

Then Cort had underestimated the depth of Anna Karina’s thirst for revenge. Cort’s hatred of her for all her betrayals was a poison for which he needed the antidote. To think her hatred for him would extend to taking the life of his wife Julie—the worst loss imaginable—and then attempting to discredit his loyalty to the United States and leave him alone and penniless. She succeeded only in the most terrible part of her plot.

But now, moving on was a daunting challenge that would be the most testing ever of his ability to turn abject, soul-wrenching sadness into the wonderful memories of all the good times. Julie deserved better than death at the hands of his supposedly scorned former lover. She certainly deserved to have her remains handled as she and Cort had planned and for him to be allowed to mourn her passing in the way a grieving spouse should. Anna had prolonged her revenge until disappearing from Château de Candé with Julie’s body. She was still out there, probably unsatisfied at the failure of other parts of her nearly perfect plan. But she had succeeded in killing Cort’s heart when she shot his Julie.

Cort knew that he would encounter Anna again. She was relentless in seeking her idea of revenge, so he was assured she would torment him until he killed her himself.

She was also most likely supported monetarily by the Russians, and even perhaps the Iranians, Turks, or Syrians. Now she was the pawn of some of the most ideological and hate-filled regimes in the world. She surely did not need their money, but she did need the clandestine intelligence networks and other resources she could access only through those regimes where human life was cheap and expendable.

The drive was lulling him into more thoughts about his quest to put closure on past pains. It was going to be difficult, but he was committed to trying. He thought he would be up to facing Anna when she surfaced again. Right now he had to get his focus back, stop the bad dreams, try to put his guilt away in a special depository, and then decide what path he needed to follow for the remaining half of his life. Yeah, right, like I really have half a life left! But from now on, every day will be cherished, and every morning I will thank God for the opportunity to spend another day on this earth. That was what Julie would want.

But now he wanted to enjoy Lexington, Virginia, and let the ambiance override his strong desire to disappear into a large bottle of Old Bushmills. Or maybe Johnnie Walker Black would have to suffice. Either way, it was time to enjoy this great little town before facing North Carolina’s memories.

Suddenly the sign indicated Lexington—Next Exit. Cort took the exit and saw things had not changed much since his last visit. He knew right where to go. He drove under the portico, found the front desk, and checked into the best king room you have, please. Driving while trying to clear one’s mind sure does make the miles fly by, he mused as he moved into his second-floor room-with-a view.

After sleeping through the night, with no horrific dreams to interrupt, Cort awakened ready to face the day, if not the rest of his life’s days just yet.

As he drove away, he looked back at the inn. It was built connecting to the Col Alto plantation manor house. The house was built in 1827 and was a neat place to spend part of his downtime. Lowering the top on the Saab, he headed to the Washington and Lee University campus to revisit the law school and marvel at the serious, dedicated students and their concentration. He could only hope that they would be entering the safer world they deserved after graduation.

I’m not at all certain I would like to be back in college again, Cort mused aloud as he looked at the fresh faces hurrying to class. "All those backpacks probably contain designer laptops with more computing power than the first IBM I tried to understand back at Annapolis. Now it takes constant training and effort to keep me connected to email. Computers, like soldiering,