by D S Kane
She vowed to move somewhere safe, somewhere death would come only come from old age.
She wondered if there was any such place for them.
Her jaw clenched tight. She’d find a safe place if one existed.
* * *
Cassie sat in the master bedroom, her face a blank. She remembered the funeral, the sound of her mother’s coffin scraping the ground as it lowered. But she could no longer cry. Days had passed without her noticing.
She didn’t remember the flight home, Lee’s careful attention, Ann’s visits. She hadn’t moved all morning. Gizmo sat vigil on her lap, not purring and not asleep. Occasionally, the cat would rise on its haunches and push its face into hers, using it to pet her. When that happened, her hand moved as if it had a will of its own, and touched the side of the cat’s face. In her mind she heard an old blues tune playing, asking her a question she wished now she had the answer to: “Won’t someone tell me, what is the soul of a man?”
She hadn’t left the house since their return. How could a wedding be so painful? At first, she’d cried so often she sometimes missed meals. Ann tried comforting her but it did no good. Lee spent hours on end holding her while she cried. All she could think of was that to know her was to be marked for death. No one was safe if they spent time with her. Days passed into weeks.
One day she woke with the idea that if there was any way to stop her bad luck, it was up to her. She had to do something. But what? She almost had the answer, but it seemed just beyond her grasp.
She got out of bed just after sunrise, walked down the stairs, and surprised Ann and Lee as she entered the kitchen. She hadn’t bathed in days and her hair was spiked and greasy, flowing in several different directions. They stared back at her in surprise.
Gizmo trailed in her wake, jumping onto the counter and scanning back and forth at each of them. Cassie’s eyes were dry. “Yeah. It’s me. Surprise.” She tottered to the edge of a chair and sat. She tried to smile but it didn’t work.
“So glad you’re talking again, Mom.” Ann smiled.
“Welcome back, honey.” Lee touched her shoulder as if she was fragile.
“Actually, I’m not really back. I’ve had days to think about this.” She stared at each in turn. “We are family now in every way. And I was right when I told you that no one is safe around me.”
Lee started to protest, his head shaking and his hand rising to punctuate his thought. Cassie interrupted. “So I’m leaving. I’m gonna find a safe place for us to live. I’ll be back when I have a short list of places. Somewhere it’s unlikely we’ll ever be found.”
Lee shook his head. “Sweetie, we’re well protected right here. All the mercs. And the bodyguards.”
Ann’s face fell. “Move? What about all my friends at school?”
Cassie remained resolute. “We’ll make do wherever we go. And, Lee, you might be wrong. All that saved us and our entire families from being wiped at the wedding was a Mossad kidon squad. Fifteen experts from Tel Aviv. No, if we can be found, we aren’t safe. The mercs will be drawn out on assignments. It would take many more than five bodyguards to take out a large team of subcontractors trying to kill us. Remember Maui? There were over three thousand amateurs and professional killers.” She shook her head. “No. We need someplace far away, somewhere we can hide in plain sight, where no one will bother to look for us.”
Ann frowned in a sulk. She could see that Lee was also shocked at her statements. She nodded. “I’ll be gone for about six weeks. When I return, we’ll silently disappear and visit the top two or three places I’ve found so you both can choose where we’ll relocate to.”
With that, she walked back upstairs to the master bedroom.
She closed the door and packed a small go bag. She considered taking a bodyguard but was disturbed by the thought of having another man with her instead of Lee. And of course, she was sure he couldn’t defend her. No, she’d travel alone.
She planned on living out of her bag, visiting cities and “interviewing” them. She wondered which one would provide her with all the features she sought: easy, swift access and exit in case she and her family had to bolt, a quality school system for Ann, a decent level of culture nearby so they wouldn’t be bored to tears. Her comparison-shopping categories were indeed more detailed, but just looking at the conceptual canvas, the number of places was limited.
She’d made a list months ago when it first occurred to her neither she, nor Lee and Ann, would ever be truly safe. The long list of choices included San Antonio and Austin in Texas; Savannah, Georgia; Charleston, South Carolina; Charlotte and Raleigh in North Carolina; West Palm Beach in Florida; Boston, Massachusetts; Providence, Rhode Island; Maui, and Waikoloa Village on the Big Island, in Hawaii; and Monterey, Big Sur, and Devil’s Slide in California. Outside the United States she listed Hong Kong, Tokyo, Bali, Macao, Singapore, Rio de Janeiro, and Paris.
After thinking for some time, Cassie had decided that living outside the United States was, by itself, enough to beg for trouble. Just the language barrier would mark them, so she eliminated those locations.
Within the United States, Boston was now a bad choice since she’d been responsible for so much destruction there, and her daughter had been the subject of an inquest over the killing of Louis Stepponi. She still had bad memories of Maui, where she was trapped and hunted. No, that one had to go. And, firsthand experience had shown her that access to and exit from all of Hawaii was similarly limited.
That left eleven locations on her short list: Portland, Oregon, San Antonio, Austin, Savannah, Charleston, Charlotte, Raleigh, West Palm Beach, Monterey, Big Sur, and Devil’s Slide. Ten places to travel to. At three days each, it could take her as long as six weeks, including travel time.
Closest were the Carolinas. Cassie planned to head there first. She finished packing her go bag in under an hour.
For this trip her identity documents included a driver’s license that showed her as Mildred Glover, an accountant for a chain of auto-repair shops in Arizona. She packed seven other complete sets of docs just in case.
She dressed as one of the house cleaning crew, came down the stairs and found both of them waiting.
Ann faced her. “Mom, I understand. Go with God.”
Cassie’s mouth fell open. When had Ann become religious?
Lee hugged her. “Call us when you can. I have a GNU Radio and I’ll have it on me except when I’m asleep or in the shower.” He grinned. “I love you, Cass.”
They kissed once and she walked out the door, traveling everywhere but home.
CHAPTER 18
February 20, 11:16 a.m.
Agency headquarters,
K Street, Washington, DC
Bob Gault sat behind the desk in his new office, stretching his legs so his feet were comfortably perched atop. He admired the view of the Potomac, distant but still visible. An office! And a view. And a new title. Management. He tried to smile but it didn’t work, turning into a scowl instead. Only took him twenty years. He should be ecstatic.
If only he’d been promoted three months ago, all this might excite him. But not now. He sighed. Enjoy these few days. Soon, outta here.
He heard the knock at his door. “Come.”
Mark McDougal’s plastic smile pushed through the doorway. “Congrats, Bob. And long overdue.”
Gault remembered all he’d done over the years to try and gain a promotion when McDougal was his boss. And the man never did what he’d promised. It wasn’t until he completed a black operation for Greenfield that he was offered promotion. McDougal never helped. And now here he was. Overdue? He wanted to strangle the man. That was overdue.
Bob decided to have a little fun. He motioned for his former boss to enter. “Close the door and have a seat.” He pursed his lips as McDougal sank into the real leather of the guest chair. “Listen, Mark, I don’t intend to stay with the agency for very long. Just until my change of title and grade take effect. To boost my retirement pay. After that happens
, I’m taking early retirement.”
McDougal scratched his balding head. “Why? What set you off?”
“My taste for this work has soured. It used to be about protecting the interests and safety of our country. But your boss—our boss, now—intends to have not just Sashakovich executed, but also former director Ainsley and their teenage daughter. He wants to execute an innocent, one who’s only sixteen years old. No can do.”
McDougal’s jaw dropped. “How do you know this?”
Gault tried hard not to smile. Through stiff lips he said, “I did some work reporting directly to Greenfield, just before my promotion. He told me not to keep you in the loop.”
McDougal’s brows furrowed. “He went around me? Do you know why?”
Now he could hurt his former boss. He looked directly into McDougal’s eyes. “I think it’s because of your relationship to Sashakovich. He wasn’t sure how far she’d turned you.”
McDougal’s brows rose and his face reddened. “Shit. I hate her. I’d feel blessed if I could watch her die. Might be worth my execution for treason. And Ainsley too. But a sixteen-year-old girl? Never!”
Gault arched the fingers of both hands together. “Then I guess there’s hope for your soul, McDougal.”
McDougal shrugged. “Dunno. Well, maybe. I’ve got to think about this.” He left his seat and exited Gault’s office.
And Bob knew his former boss well enough to be certain what McDougal would do with this new knowledge.
* * *
Cassie walked off the ramp into Portland Airport and sniffed the air. She felt relief being off the stuffy aircraft after so many hours. Her ears popped and she flinched. She sniffed again. Crab bisque, coming from the hallway to her left. She turned and walked closer, starved. As she strolled the airport looking for where the aroma originated, she passed store windows. She watched the reflections of people to see if she’d seen any of them before. No one. Through the front window she could see sushi cutters practicing their culinary arts. Her mouth watered and she forgot about the soup. Her watch showed 11:48 a.m. Lunch. She wandered in, finding a seat in front of one of the cutters. “What’s the special?”
The cutter continued slicing, not looking up. “Oregon Roll, also Rainbow, Spicy Tuna. Poki very good today. All come with miso.”
She scanned the menu. “Okay. Poki for sure. And I’ve never had an Oregon Roll. Surprise me.”
He did. The taste was magnificently fragrant and savory, the fish fresh, and the flavors mixed expertly. She finished her order and sipped the miso as dessert.
* * *
His name, Simon Pascal, was an anagram for his real name, but no one knew that. And, no one knew his real name. Nearly six-foot-two and almost three hundred pounds, he moved like a wall. When he first appeared at The Swiftshadow Group’s office on K Street, he claimed he was a chef—and didn’t the mercenaries deserve the best cooking possible to reward them for the risk of their lives?
Shimmel read his employment application and found his mind swirling with mixed opinions and attitudes. It was an impressive background. He’d decided to meet the man.
He led the man to the conference room and found that Pascal barely fit through the door. He couldn’t fit into the chairs. Shimmel decided to remain standing to make the man feel more comfortable.
Pascal smiled. “General, you need not be concerned about my feelings. I am here for service, not the feeling of good, as you say.”
Shimmel paced the conference room. “Yes, yes. Do you know what we do?”
The huge man’s eyebrows rose. “I cook. You eat. Nothing could be simpler.”
“And you have other skills, of course.” Avram already knew about the man’s past from Lester Dushov.”
“Then you know about my other skills?” His smile turned into a frown.
“Yah. Dushov told me you were quite talented. Undetectable poisons. He trained you and you surpassed him. Is that true?”
“Oui. It ees my hobby, so to say.” The man looked as if he feared Shimmel, who was large, but nowhere near his own size.
“You’re hired,” Avram said softly.
* * *
Cassie took the TriMet MAX Light Rail into the center of Portland, Oregon, and, on the spur of the moment, decided to get off at the Convention Center stop. There was a Red Lion motel. Perfect. She booked a room and left her go bag. Cassie knew this city was the home of the minor league baseball team, the Sea Dogs, and they were truly awful. She walked inside the stadium and decided Lee would enjoy the team despite their poor chances of a winning record.
She rose the next morning and visited the huge Powells bookstore system, three blocks by two, building after building. Cassie bought a thriller by Barry Eisler, Graveyard of Memories. She rarely read paper books, preferring ebooks she could read from her cellphone. She looked around and noted several titles she could buy on the Internet as ebooks.
Then she headed back to Fourth Avenue, to Chinatown. At Lum Yuen, she had a Hong Kong-style dim sum lunch, including har gow (steamed shrimp dumpling), char siu bao (steamed pork bun), a deep-fried crispy lobster ball, lo mai gai (sticky rice in lotus leaf), and for dessert, lo bak go (fried turnip cake). It left her belly full and gave her a new appreciation of the city. She thought, this will work for Ann and me.
She decided to visit the Japanese Garden. She took the TriMet to Washington Park, marveling at how green the city was. There she boarded the Number 63 bus and sat watching the park and the homes and open spaces fly by for twenty minutes. The bus shifted uphill, switched back downhill along curves, and slowed to a stop. As she exited across from tennis courts, she walked past the rose garden on one side of the road. It would be a hike up the huge hill to the Japanese gate at its entrance. She paid her entrance fee there. “Any tea service here?”
The park ranger shook his head. “No, ma’am, just the gardens. But they’re beautiful.”
She walked into a maze of green, with waterfalls whispering in the background. So far, Portland had exceeded the other cities she’d visited.
She headed to the Strolling Pond, full of koi fish. She sat briefly at a bench in awe of the Moon Bridge.
Something caught her attention: two men watching her. But when she turned her head in their direction, they moved on. The voice in her head screamed danger, but she ignored it. No one had followed her in any of her previous city visits, and she felt safe in the hypnotic quiet of this place. She rose and walked on until she reached the Sand Garden. The raked sand enhanced her sense of inner peace.
She walked to the 100-tatami pavilion and its rice-straw mats, and found a stellar view of the city center, downhill, a few miles away. Cassie moved to the other side of the building to get a better view of the pattern of sand around the larger “island” rocks. A puff of sand rose from the ground in a whish next to her, and she whipped herself around, calculating the projectile’s trajectory back to its origin. She saw the two men. One was busily concealing a walking stick, but the end of the stick emitted a tiny trace of smoke. Cordite! She aimed her cell’s camera and snapped a picture of the men while the one with the cane-shaped gun reloaded. She turned, sprinting over the cliff side, and rolled partway down the steep hillside.
She crossed the road at the bottom of the hill and ran into the woods on the other side. Just in case their riflescope was thermal, she pulled her hooded sweatshirt up over her face and buried herself in leaves. Cassie waited. Two hours passed and the gray light of day began to fall into fog-set. She wondered, safe yet? Cassie waited another hour.
Only Lee knew her itinerary. But he would never… they had just married. She’d argued with him about his reluctance to resign from the agency, but he loved her.
Suddenly it made sense. Someone else at the agency. Greenfield and McDougal or one of their operatives had been backtracing her cellphone. Oh, shit! She pulled the cell from her pocket and was about to remove its battery when she thought of another possibility. She’d been studying the agency’s new technologies. They�
�d been researching how to place a nearly undetectable microscopic fiber into a human. Something that would remain in a person’s body for over a month while white blood cells slowly consumed it. Something called “Bug-Lok.” She guessed that someone she knew had become a trial subject.
She dialed Lee on her cellphone. “It’s Cassie. Two men have just tried killing me with a custom sniper rifle. Looks like they found me, either through my cellphone or through someone who was induced to swallow a Bug-Lok.”
“What? Cassie, no one knows where you are. I haven’t spoken to anyone about our plans. I haven’t—”
“Yeah, yeah. But I think they somehow bugged someone you spoke with. If I’m correct, whoever it is, they’re carrying around a nano-device, complete with a mike and a GPS somewhere inside their body.”
“Uh, actually, I meant to tell you. Dr. Gorman found that evil thing Greenfield must have dropped into my drink when he offered me that promotion. The good doctor removed it surgically. It was lodged at the base of my neck in my spinal cord. So, not me. That was months ago. Someone else, maybe. And, by the way, that little package is outfitted with enough poison to kill a three-hundred-pound human in less than a minute. You know that it has two-way communication? It can be detonated remotely using a wireless receiver. Damn thing is less than one-one-hundredth of an inch in size. Made for the agency by the Mossad’s Ness Ziona connection.”
She thought. “Okay. Then who? And how could they have known my itinerary? Sheesh,” she said, using the term he always emitted when frustrated. “I guess it’ll remain a mystery for now. But someone knows where I’m going and I’ll have to figure out who if I’m gonna be safe. So they’re making their move on us now. We’ll have to get you and Ann out of Dodge. My guess is that you’re still on their hit list. Maybe Ann, too. I’ll send you an email via the website with instructions. That is, if I live. Cassie out.”