Baksheesh (Bribes)

by D S Kane

  She fumed with the knowledge that her former employer had used her then-fiancé, now her husband, to locate her. Who was it this time? She’d gone from a simple “burn notice” to a “termination with prejudice.” And that voice in her head was speaking so fast all she could do was react to the gist of its instructions. Get out of town. Contact Dr. Gorman and request research on the tech used. Have Wing and Gorman find the person who’d been bugged. Contact Shimmel. She was in serious need of armed assistance. With every passing moment the list grew longer.

  She walked for several hours toward the city, entering the first clothing store she found. Cassie bought a disguise in pieces, a gray dress four sizes too big, a buxom bra, a large-brimmed ugly hat, and an enormous purse. Then, on to a hardware store for duct tape and heavy-duty scissors. She also purchased some makeup. And, finally, to a Bed Bath and Beyond for two small foam pillows. There was a mall nearby and she entered its restroom. She used the scissors to cut two breasts from the corners of one pillow and duct-taped the sliced ends to the top of the other pillow. Then placed the bra over the foam “breasts.” She used duct tape to adhere the pillow to her abdomen, and put on the dress and the hat. Then made her face up to be much older. It would have to do.

  The woman she saw in the mirror looked like anyone but her. Cassie smiled and pulled the hat further down to cover most of her forehead. Now on to the Amtrak station.

  As she walked, she wondered if, somehow, they’d managed to infect her with the Bug-Lok. Was she being used to track herself? Cassie could think of no way that might have happened.

  She bought a seat on a train to Denver, because although Portland’s airport could take her anywhere, it was the first place her assassins would look. But the train station was near the bus station, and there was a lower probability it was being watched than either train stations or airports. Monitoring every exit point would take a small army.

  She used standard countersurveillance techniques to ensure she wasn’t followed. As the train left the station she felt a cramping pain in her belly and dampness in her crotch. She staggered to the train’s rest room and found spots of blood on her panties. Great. It was possible she was pregnant, at the worst possible time. And unlike Abdul’s child that she’d aborted, she wanted this one. Real bad.

  While in the rest room she she placed an email to Wing in the Swiftshadow website’s drafts folder:

  William—

  I need help, lots and fast. Killers tried to ex me in Portland using a modified sniper rifle. Attached picture for your study. Who’s doing this? Gotta be someone in the agency or somehow working with them. How did they find me? Please research ASAP.

  They may have used Bug-Lok to track me. Someone close to us is probably infected. Use Gorman to find out who and rid them of the nano-killer.

  Let Avram know. Have him send at least a half-dozen, including my five bodyguards. Denver. I’ll send another email when I arrive, day after tomorrow probably about 3PM. Have the mercs there to meet me. Til I hear from you, I’m in disguise and hiding.

  TIA!

  —Cassie

  She hit the Send button, returned to her seat, and took a nap. Thirty minutes later she was roused by the vibration of her cellphone against her hip. She pulled it from its case and viewed the screen:

  Cassie—

  Got your request. Shimmel knows; sent him an IM. 60 mercs coming for you, with your bodyguards. Well-armed, ETA when and where you specified. As for the research project and the intel, it’ll take some time. Expect results before you arrive. Keep in touch. Let me know what else I can help with.

  —Wing

  CHAPTER 19

  February 24, 1:28 p.m.

  Main Street Hotel, Evergreen, Colorado

  Cassie had no intention of going to Denver. Evergreen was a cute, upscale town, partway between Denver and Aspen, and she knew someone there. She thought her trackers might have hacked her cell and expected her in Denver. Instead, she plodded across the street. through the knee-high snow. Once she was safe, she’d place a message into the drafts folder at the Swiftshadow website.

  She walked past skiers and down the Old West-styled streets, admiring art and antiques in the store windows. Not really looking at them, though. Looking for people in the window reflections. So far, she detected no one surveilling her. No individuals and no teams. The ancient hotel had a pay phone in its lobby. Perfect.

  She dialed the number Wing had left her in his message in the Swiftshadow website drafts folder.

  “Jacob Mahee.”

  She used one of her old identities. “Chrissie Card. Adam told me to call you if I ever got to your part of the world.”

  Silence at the other end of the line. Time passed and Cassie started to panic. Then he spoke. “Oh, yes, I remember now. You’re—”

  “Yes, I am. How do we connect?”

  “I’ll meet you at the donut shop near the hotel. Be sure to buy a French cruller then go upstairs. Don’t bother with their coffee. It’s truly awful. Put the cruller on a napkin at your table. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Some fellas will be with me. They arrived about two hours ago.”

  The line went dead. She took a deep breath and walked outside. Two doors away she found the shop. She waited upstairs. Jacob was right about the coffee. She took the cruller from its bag and dropped it on to the napkin, then placed her hand in the bag, holding the .22-caliber Beretta with a shell chambered and the safety off.

  Soon she heard footsteps on the wooden staircase and moved behind the window frame. Below her, the street was empty. At worst, she could dive out through it and pray she survived. But Cassie was an atheist.

  Three of them, thirty-something and casually dressed. Locals? They took the table between her and the staircase. Rats! She sat back down, her index finger fondling the Beretta’s trigger.

  Flannel-shirt laughed at something Hunting-jacket said. Beard-and-jeans stared at Cassie, then took a piece of paper from his pocket and looked briefly at her. He nodded to Flannel-shirt.

  Cassie looked at her wristwatch. Help should arrive in under two minutes.

  Beard-and-jeans said, “Sashakovish, right? You’re a tough woman to find.”

  “Who are you guys?” She tightened her grip on the gun.

  Hunting-jacket rose from their table and extended his hand. “Went to high school with Adam. Jacob sent us. Two of your guys are watching the front entrance and two more in the back. They sent us up to bring you down.”

  Cassie wasn’t ready to trust them. “The coffee here is excellent.”

  “Oh, sorry. Jacob told us to tell you not to bother with the coffee.”

  Her grip relaxed. “Let’s go, then.”

  Two went down the stairs in front of her and one behind. She pointed the bag containing the gun she held at Flannel-shirt as she descended. Behind her, Hunting-jacket pulled her hand, swept it behind her, and relieved her of the weapon. “Keep walking and stay silent.” She felt the blade of his knife penetrate the back of her hoodie and scrape into her back. It made a cut deep enough so she could feel her blood seep down her back. She grimaced. “Where are you taking me?”

  Hunting-jacket sliced deeper into her back. “To see your friend’s dad.” He giggled. Then he let go of her arm, now without its weapon.

  They forced her into the shotgun seat of a black Chevy Suburban. Two of them sat behind her and one drove. She scanned the interior of the SUV. Government issue. Federal agents. Shit!

  She wanted to put it all together. “Were you the guys who try to kill me in Portland?”

  Flannel-shirt punched her hard in the side of her head. “Shut up now or you’ll die right here.”

  She wondered how to get out of this. But no plan emerged as they drove up the winding hill from town.

  The two-room cabin sat on a hill above Evergreen. Built of stone walls, it had a wood-shake roof. It must have been over a hundred years old. They pushed her through the door. She saw the photos of Adam and his father, both carrying fishing gear, anot
her one of them holding shotguns. She had no idea her super-geek techno-weenie friend had a macho side.

  Hunting-jacket pushed her into the bedroom. They forced her into a wooden chair next to Jacob Mahee, bound her hands behind her, bound her feet, and gagged her, just as they’d done to Jacob. He looked at her, his eyes sorrowful. She guessed he knew they’d both die tonight.

  Hunting-jacket sat on the bed, fondling her Beretta. The other two men closed the bedroom door and she heard one of them talking.

  “Yes, sir, we’ve got her. She’s bound and gagged. Nope, she isn’t going anywhere. What do you want us to do with her?” There was a pause. “Can do. Yes, there are lots living in the wilderness nearby. They’d feast on the bodies.” Another pause. “Yes, sir. I’ll call when it’s over, using Encryption-Lok again.”

  Seconds later the same voice, Flannel-shirt, said, “We’ll do it after dark. Until then we can have a little fun.” He opened the door and walked back into the bedroom. Then he took a cellphone from his pocket and grinned as he pointed it at her. “I’ll take movies.”

  He asked his partners, “Who wants the first shot at her?”

  CHAPTER 20

  February 21, 10:46 a.m.

  Jacob Mahee’s cabin, Evergreen, Colorado

  Beard-and-jeans rubbed her cheek with the barrel of her gun. “So sorry, sweetie. If you haven’t guessed yet, you’re gonna die tonight. Better begin making your peace with God.” He pushed the barrel of the gun through the opening in her blouse and pulled hard to the side, ripping off the buttons and pulling it open. He pulled off the pillows taped to her torso. “Hey, guys, she doesn’t wear a bra.” He frowned. “No wonder, her titties are tiny!”

  “I like ’em small,” said Hunting-jacket.

  Flannel-shirt reached inside her shirt and pinched one of her nipples. “They’re smaller than my ten-year-old son’s. Lemme have first go.” He tried to rip the shirt off her, but the fabric wouldn’t give. He reached behind him and pulled out a knife. Cassie’s eyes went wide, remembering Riyadh and the assassin’s instructions to torture her before executing her. But she’d survived that. This time, though, things didn’t look so good.

  * * *

  On the way home, McDougal dialed her number. “Cassandra? This is your former boss.” The call went to voicemail with no response. “Damn!” He guessed she’d seen his phone number on the phone’s screen and chosen not to answer. He thought she didn’t want to talk with him and wanted to let him know it. He pulled off the highway and exited to a city street, where he stopped the car curbside.

  He opened the door and stood outside the vehicle. Took his cellphone and redialed her number. No answer, but he was sure she knew it was him. He waited for voicemail and spoke:

  “I just met with Bob Gault. You may remember he was one of our analysts when you were here. He told me the former President is now out trying to execute not just you and Ainsley, but also your daughter. And Greenfield told me that he’s placed a Bug-Lok inside Gault, but Bob doesn’t know. So don’t do something stupid like calling him to confirm. Hope you find this intel useful.” He used his cellphone to send her the same message as an email, copying Shimmel, Wing, Mahee, and Ainsley.

  * * *

  As the sun began to set, Avram Shimmel and a team of Swiftshadow mercs arrived in Evergreen. They’d pieced together Cassie’s location from backtracing her cell. Shimmel was the first to see McDougal’s email. He called Ainsley’s cell. “Did you check your email recently?”

  “Nope. Been busy. What’s up?”

  He nodded, although he knew Ainsley couldn’t see it. “We need to do a friend a favor. You know who Bob Gault is?”

  “Sure. We worked together at the agency for over four years. But we weren’t in the same chain of command. Why?”

  Shimmel grimaced. “Mr. Gault has been helpful to your Cassandra. Because of his help, he is now in danger and doesn’t know it. We must save him. Remember Bug-Lok?”

  “Shit, yeah. Is Dr. Gorman at Swiftshadow’s offices today?”

  Shimmel guessed what Ainsley wanted. “Yah.” He fleshed out an instant plan in his head. “Disguise yourself. Wait for Mr. Gault to leave the agency’s building. Say nothing, but hand him a note on paper, instructing him to remain silent and telling him he must follow you. You can figure out exactly how to word it. Take him to Gorman. But tell him nothing until Gorman has removed and neutralized the Bug-Lok.”

  “Will do. On my way now. Anything else?”

  “Ya, ya. Tell him McDougal saved his life. And he shouldn’t ever go back to the agency if he wants to live. Obviously, he knows something he shouldn’t. Shimmel out.”

  * * *

  From one block away, Avram could see the black Chevy Suburban. Shimmel knew he’d arrived too late. He turned to the squad of mercs. “LeFleur, get the fly and equip it with sleeping gas.”

  Major Jacques LeFleur handed him the tiny flying bug. Created by the DARPA, the Defense Department’s advanced research agency, the unit looked just like a real fly, but it was equipped with special features: receiver-transmitter, video cam, microphone, and a tiny space that could be fitted with an accessory. This space could accommodate a small explosive charge fitted as either a flash-bang or shrapnel needles, or a pocket of concentrated gas along with an explosive dispersing charge. When rigged with gas, it came with options for sleeping gas, cyanide, or ricin. Today it was configured with sleeping gas to put up to ten people to sleep in seven seconds in a room under two thousand cubic feet.

  As one of the mercs used a joystick to maneuver the fly down the cabin’s chimney, Shimmel wondered if her captors could kill Sashakovich in the time they’d have before tumbling to the cabin’s floor. He shook his head. Of course they could.

  * * *

  When Flannel-shirt took a step toward Cassie, brandishing his hunting knife, she cringed and closed her eyes. But he didn’t use the knife to slice into her. Instead, he cut the plastic cuffs binding her legs. Flannel-shirt’s face was so close she could smell his rancid breath. He and Hunting-jacket dragged the chair to Jacob Mahee’s bed and tugged her squirming body onto it, slamming her into place, Flannel-shirt’s fist connected hard with her jaw. Her world went black.

  Her world spun as dreams of death consumed her. She woke with her hands and legs bound spread-eagled to the bed, her stomach doing spins of its own. The duct-tape over her mouth had trapped her vomit but she swallowed it without breathing it into her lungs. Throwing up into a gag was a horrible way to suffocate to death. They stood around her bound, naked body, two waiting their turn while Flannel-shirt dropped his trousers and underpants. His penis was huge, uglier than his face. Uncircumcised. She thought, he’s way too big; he’ll rip me to pieces.

  She squirmed while they all chuckled. Then, she remembered: she was pregnant. When he lowered his body onto hers, she screamed but the gag muffled the sound. She closed her eyes, unwilling to witness herself being raped repeatedly before her slaughter.

  * * *

  The fly’s “feet” used micro-adhesive, allowing it to attach to a wall or ceiling. The merc had flown it to the middle of the bedroom’s ceiling in wide-angle mode. Shimmel watched them spread-eagle her naked body, and bind her limbs to the corner bed posts. Her eyes blinked open as the one wearing a flannel shirt unbuckled his pants to reveal himself. He climbed onto her, saying, “We’ll be the last sex you ever have, sweetie. Better enjoy it.”

  Shimmel watched her squirm and could bear it no more. “Gas. Now!” Twenty yards away he heard the shallow popping sound. He yelled, “Go, go, go” and his merc team broke through the only door into the building. They streamed in, and he began counting the seconds as he ran behind them. One, two, three, and he heard the characteristic pop of Cassie’s silenced .22-caliber Beretta. Two more shots, then silence.

  * * *

  When Bob Gault exited the agency’s building onto K Street, he saw a tall, willowy woman approach him. He froze. A stranger. Was his cover blown? What should he do? He turned back towa
rd the office and caught his own fear reflected on the revolving door’s spinning glass. The woman’s hand tapped his shoulder and placed a sheet of paper in front of his eyes.

  The printed message stated: “Follow me. Urgent agency business. DO NOT SPEAK!”

  Was this some kind of trick? He opened his mouth to speak but the woman’s hand reached out and touched his lips. She shook her head, indicating he should remain silent. But—it wasn’t a woman’s hand. Calluses and too much hair. He faced the person. His eyes bulged. It was Lee Ainsley, wearing a disguise.

  Another note: “Your life is in imminent danger. Come now or die.”

  Gault shrugged, remembering how he’d saved the man’s life a few months ago. He put the pieces of the puzzle together and nodded. He followed his former agency colleague to an agency black Ford Escape Hybrid. A man he’d never seen before sat behind the wheel. Ainsley pointed to the back seat and got in alongside him. As Lee closed the door and the vehicle sped away, Bob said, “Okay, now—”

  But Ainsley shook his head and placed a finger over Gault’s mouth.

  They drove on for less than five minutes. When the car stopped, the driver, a tall, muscular man in his mid-forties, opened the door in the garage of an office building. He led Lee and Bob to the elevator at a trot. Once within, Lee placed a heavy shopping bag over Bob’s head and said, “Shush.” Bob could feel the inside of the shopping bag. Lead foil.

  Gault decided to play along. If his suspicions proved true, his life was truly in danger, and, in this line of work, you never knew what to expect. When the elevator stopped rising and its doors opened, he heard typical office noise. A hand guided him down a warren of twisting aisles and finally into a room. When he heard the door close, Lee pulled the bag off.

  Bob examined his surroundings. He stood within a tiny surgery operatory, and its walls were coated with lead foil. There was another man with them, wearing a surgical mask, scrubs, and latex gloves. Lee asked, “You understand now?”