by Roger Weston
Then he got into some new material. “Meg, you must become someone that you never imagined you could become. You must finish the job I started. Think of it as the most challenging acting role you’ll ever play. Get into character. Being an assassin is not like anyone thinks. Few in my profession have lasted as long as I have. I will walk you through it. You are now a hunted animal—and your pursuers are the best hunters in the world.”
Meg heard banging from the closet again. Her chest shook from her pounding heart. She tried to focus on Eric’s words.
“Trust nobody except Lomax and Tom Sikes. I outlasted my peers because of my old friend Tom Sikes. He researched potential employers and got the information that I needed about them. They have ways of hiding their identity, but Tom is a skilled man hunter. He can usually find anyone in any place. When he got me the information I needed on who my potential employers were, I had the leverage I needed to be successful in my profession. If they planned on killing me to hide their dirty work, I made sure that they were aware that I had arranged for three different sources to leak incriminating information about them. It was a simple way to keep them accountable. Unfortunately, my last employer was particularly well concealed and Tom wasn’t able to dig up dirt on them in time, and I decided to go ahead without my back-up plan in place. If you are watching this, you know it ended badly.
“I hope by now Sikes has something. Once you get leverage, blackmail them. You must get the dirt on them and use it, or you will be hunted until they kill you.
“Go into the safe and open the top two drawers on the right. Grab the red files and the DVD’s. Watch the DVD’s. They are important for your survival. Then, get the large black keys on the key hook in the garage and go to the locked closet on the second floor. There you will find more tools that you will need to survive. Take everything that you can. You will need it.
“Meg, I believe you can do this. You are strong. I will guide you. My only hope is that you’ll forgive me for the deception and for putting you in this situation. I’m sorry, Meg. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
Meg brought her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth in the recliner, her whole body shaking violently. The keys were in Neil’s pocket.
CHAPTER 18
Standing in the safe, Meg transferred the red files to boxes. She made seven trips to the car. When she was done she came back for one more look around and saw the empty key hook at the top of the stairs where the black set had been an hour before.
She wanted to run and hide. Forget about the tools she needed to survive. Forget it. She turned to leave the home. Then she heard Eric’s voice in her head. You will need them.
She ran to the key hook and grabbed all the remaining keys. With hands shaking, she went to the closet where Neil was still struggling. She tried every key until one opened the door. Neil stared at her with wild eyes. He was still handcuffed to the clothes rack. She walked up to him reached in his pocket and grabbed the large key ring. Seeing anger in his eyes, she dragged the keys up his leg as she pulled the ring out. Neil winced in pain. Meg ran out of the closet and closed the door once more.
Taking a deep breath, she went to the next room and used the large keys to open the huge door identical to the one she locked Neil in. What she saw inside the closet confirmed what she already knew. Her husband was a bad man. Inside was a gun and weapon collection that looked like the arsenal of a small army. There were more guns than she had ever seen and various other items that she couldn’t identify but was sure were lethal.
She grabbed everything she could. She made several trips to the car, and when she was finally done, she got in it, ready to go find Tom Sikes and put an end to the mad world she found herself in. She closed the car door and started the engine. Putting the car in reverse, she looked back over her shoulder to back out, but the garage door was down. When she twisted back around, she saw Neil staring at her through the driver’s door window.
She screamed.
“You thought it would be easy, didn’t you? I told you, you aren’t capable of doing this kind of thing, Meg.”
Meg reached for her gun, but Neil slammed his fist into the window. Glass shattered onto her lap as his hand grabbed her throat squeezing it viciously, cutting off her ability to breath.
“Okay, Meg. Time to get real.”
Meg slammed her foot hard against the accelerator. The car lunged backwards, smashing through the garage door while Neil clung to Meg’s throat and the car door. Even the garage door was not enough to scrape him off. She continued backing through the gate with her foot holding down the pedal. Neil almost lost his grip as the wrought-iron gate crumpled under the force of the car. As Meg swung out onto the street, Neil let go of Meg’s throat and grabbed at her hair, but missed. His weight shifted, and for a moment, Meg thought he’d been thrown off. But his arm was still hooked over the door. He screamed from the pain of his feet dragging on the blacktop. He lunged his arm and head back in the window and grabbed the back of the driver’s seat for a better grip. Meg rammed the gear shift into drive and floored the gas pedal.
The car sped down
Lake Washington Blvd. with Neil clinging to the door. Meg saw his eyes go to the steering wheel as he loosened his grip on the seat. She knew he was going to wreck the car. “Neil, you don’t know me well at all.” In the opposite lane, another vehicle approached. Meg spun the wheel just enough to scrape the other car. Neil disappeared between the two vehicles, and in the last second before she took the corner, she saw him in the rear view mirror rolling on the pavement.
CHAPTER 19
Marcel sat in his car, parked at the Seattle Center in the shade of the Space Needle. He finished his cup of chili and got out his Smith & Wesson Model 15. He oiled the weapon and began to polish it with a rag. The S & W Model 15 snub was a highly-sought after weapon. Not only was it exceptionally accurate, it had high-visibility sights that allowed excellent high-speed target acquisition. It was a finely-machined, high-precision tool with exceptional balance. Somehow the Model 15, which was now out of production, reminded Marcel of the old man at the coal mine in West Virginia. The old man had always taken pride in his tools. He knew everything about his tools and always treated them with respect. He once grabbed Marcel by the arm and rebuked him for throwing a shovel. “Treat your tools with respect or get out.”
Now Marcel appreciated a different kind of tool, the kind of tool that took 125-grain +P JHP ammo, the kind of tool that kept him alive, not the kind that led to his black doom.
Marcel ran his cloth over the weapon and admired how the finish took on a new shine. When his secure cell phone rang, he put the gun down on the seat and covered it with his cloth.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Kurt.” Kurt was a Harding Corp. contractor, who was planted with the local authorities to serve as Marcel’s liaison.
“What’s up?” Marcel said.
“Neil’s in the morgue.”
“Say again.”
“Evidently, he was hanging out of a car that was going sixty down Lake Washington Blvd. Legs were dragging, and the car sideswiped another car in the oncoming lane. Neil was crushed and run over.”
“He was hanging out of a car? Who was driving?”
“The only witness was driving the vehicle that got sideswiped. He said a female with reddish-brown hair and a crazy look in her eyes was behind the wheel.”
Marcel was silent for a moment. “Meg.”
“Who else could it be?”
“Were they able to I.D. the corpse?”
“No, Neil was professional to the end. Wallet had a dead-end license. Between his plastic surgery and dental work, they’ve got no chance. They’ll put his sketch on the nightly news, but nobody will know who he is. The Seattle Police have already linked him to Meg Coles, but that’s all they know.”
“What are they saying about her?”
“A fugitive. A killer. Wanted by the F.B.I.”
“Hang around the station and monitor wh
at kind of leads are coming in. If they get a hit, we want to get to her first. What was she driving?”
“Silver economy. That’s the best they could do. The witness was too traumatized by seeing Neil dragged across the asphalt to be of any help. He’s a mess.”
Marcel rolled down his window. “Flag her passport, and get assets to the airport, train, and bus stations. We’ll be waiting for her.”
CHAPTER 20
Seattle, 4:14 p.m.
Wearing a raven wig, Meg parked her car behind a cheap motel in the south part of Seattle, an area known for even more crime than the rest of Seattle. The hotel was a brown two-story, rectangular building with bars on the first floor windows. A sign out front said, Rainer Valley Motel. Cable TV. Vacancy. There were only two cars in the parking lot. She walked hesitantly into the front office. A big man in thick glasses was watching a game show on a portable television behind the desk. He was staring at the small television with wide eyes.
“I’d like a room,” Meg said, looking down at the floor.
“Just a second,” the man said in an irritated voice.
Meg heard the game show host say, “Who wants to be a millionaire?” As the commercial break began, the man turned to Meg. “Yes?” he said.
Without looking up, Meg lay a hundred dollars on the counter. “I need a room for the night.”
“Okay,” the man said, standing up and snatching the bill with thick fingers. “I’ll need to run your credit card, too.”
“My husband took it,” Meg said. She laid another hundred dollar bill on the counter. “This is for you if we can just skip the paperwork. I can’t go home because of what he did. I just need a place to stay the night.” Remembering Eric as he died outside their home, Meg fought against real tears. She pulled a tissue from a flimsy dispenser on the counter. She dried her eyes.
“What did the jerk do?” the man said.
Meg looked away and shook her head as if talking about it was too much. Maybe it was too much. Using emotional memory to recreate authentic emotion was just as effective in real life as it was in the theatre. How many times had she quoted Shakespeare’s line “All the world’s a stage” to her students?
Yes, think about the theatre. Don’t get caught up in emotion or you’ll make a mistake. Don’t let him get a good look at you.
Meg reached into her purse and her hand came out with two more hundred dollar bills, which she handed over, keeping her eyes on the floor. “I need two rooms with a connecting door, and I’ll be staying one night. Keep the change.”
“Alright, but I wouldn’t recommend walking around this area at night. You look like too nice of a lady for this part of town.”
“Thanks, at least I know my husband won’t think of looking for me here.”
The commercial ended on the T.V. and the game show resumed.
The man smiled slightly and handed Meg two sets of keys. “If you want to stay another night, I clock in at eleven tomorrow. Talk to me. Not the night manager.”
Meg entered the hotel room, which had well-worn and scuffed furniture.
She pulled back the comforter and noticed stray hairs clinging to the sheets. In the bathroom, dried water marks from the last guest splattered the mirror. Obviously the guest had shaved, and the maid had failed to wash the sink because shaving stubble stuck to the finish. At the window, Meg pulled back the curtain and looked across the now empty parking lot.
She went out to her car and got the box. Back in the room, she pulled her wig off and ran her fingers through her hair as she looked in the vanity mirror. At least for a little while she could be Meg. Meg Coles, loving wife of Eric, drama professor extraordinaire, whose greatest thrill in life was directing plays and basking in the adoration thrown her way at cast parties. After sitting for a few minutes contemplating what she must do, she opened the box and took out the bundles of cash and the fake identification papers. She rummaged to the bottom of the box until she felt what she was looking for. She pulled out the lock pick kit … and a handgun.
She laid the loaded weapon on the bed and stared at it. Could she really do this?
Placing the ratty, scuffed-up chair by the connecting door, she read the directions in the lock-pick set. It took her less than fifteen minutes to pick the lock, but that was too slow. She practiced for an hour until she had whittled her time down to two minutes. Back at the vanity mirror, she slipped on a black wig.
On the way to a second-hand store, Meg heard her name on the car radio. A killer, a fugitive, on the loose in Seattle. She heard the words desperate and dangerous. Entering the store, she veered to the left and kept her eyes on the bookshelves, not the cashier. Wandering around, she noticed all the employees and customers, without appearing to do so. She kept her face turned away from the others. After she found a line of Styrofoam heads with wigs on them, she walked around and found a pair of sunglasses, which she put on. She continued wearing the sunglasses as if they were hers.
She drifted back to where she’d seen the wigs. The cashier was occupied with another customer. Nobody else was around at the moment. She stuffed a couple of the wigs into her purse. Then she pulled out her wallet and made a show of checking for cash. She flipped through the wad of hundred dollar bills, but frowned as if she couldn’t afford a purchase. She walked out of the store with the sunglasses on. She said thank you to the cashier on the way out with her eyes trained on the floor.
As she was crossing the parking lot, she heard footsteps behind her.
She walked faster, but the footsteps sped up too. A strong male voice behind her said, “Excuse me.”
Meg felt a hand tap her shoulder. She put her hand on her stomach as she turned around. A lean-faced young man in jeans and a button down shirt stood in front of her.
“Yes.” Meg’s mind raced. Should she run? She looked the man over to see if he could catch her. He looked lean and healthy. He would.
The young man held out his hand with a hundred dollar bill in it. “You dropped this in the store.”
“Oh.” Meg sighed with relief. “Thank you so much. That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s alright. I’m glad to help,” He looked at her carefully. “You look familiar.”
“That’s an old line,” Meg said. My God, he recognizes me from the news!
He scratched his head. “No, I’m serious. I really have seen you somewhere. Recently, too.”
“People tell me that all the time,” Meg said. “Thanks again for my money. Bye-bye.” She walked across the lot and crossed the street. She jogged half a block to her car. The tires screeched as she whipped into traffic.
That was close. Too close.
Back at the motel, she pulled the dusty curtains shut and slept as long as she could. When she woke, she peeked out the window at the darkness. She removed the driver’s license from her purse. She looked at the photograph attached to her new identification and got out her make-up kit. Using the vanity mirror, she applied make-up that darkened her complexion. She put trashy dark eye liner under her eyes just as she’d done in the dress rehearsal when Eric had taken the photo.
To evade, keep changing your appearance, Eric had said. Keep moving. Don’t establish any predictable patterns.
She looked in the mirror and frowned. Her appearance was significantly altered, and she would pass for the character in the photo. Meg Coles no longer existed. She walked out of the motel and into the unknown.
CHAPTER 21
2:03 a.m.
Meg drifted a mile down a back street away from the Rainer Valley motel. The loose asphalt on the shoulder of the road crunched under the treads of her tennis shoes. She had Eric’s gun tucked under her belt and beneath her untucked shirt. She passed a lot of businesses, low-rent apartments, and neglected houses, her eyes scanning everywhere.
She came to the main street. Old buildings with decrepit signs emerged from the dim and gloomy light. Faded overhangs cast dark shadows over recessed doorways. Sirens howled in the distance.
A dented Plymouth rolled past, and the driver stared at her. She walked a little faster. There were a lot of sketchy characters in the world, but none were as dangerous as the assassins who were hunting her like big game. When more cars passed, she looked away to hide her face. How could this madness be possible?
Eric…Never could she have imagined he would lead her to where she was now. Alone and a fugitive. How could it have happened?
Up ahead, she saw four young men standing around a poorly-lit corner—at two in the morning. Not a good sign.
She turned down a back-alley. The shadows attracted her, comforted her.
Once out of the line of sight of the boys, she ran.
Two blocks away, Meg slowed down behind some run-down depression-era houses. She looked around. Lights were off. Windows closed.
“Hello.”
Meg stiffened and turned to face the voice like a sow grizzly protecting her young. She saw a man leaning against his garage, smoking.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m just jogging,” Meg said. “Walking to catch my breath.”
In the dim moonlight, Meg could see the puzzled expression on his face as he stared at her. “You lost?” he said.
“I’m fine.” Meg continued walking. “Better pick up the pace.” She broke into a brisk jog.
She ran several blocks before she slowed down again behind an old garage. Alongside the garage, she saw a beat-up Oldsmobile. Meg took off her backpack and pulled out a screwdriver.
Using a pen light, Meg removed the license plates from the Oldsmobile and put them in her pack. A dog began barking in a nearby house. Meg moved on.
A few blocks later, she spotted a late model car in a dark alley. She approached the car and got out the lock-pick set along with the miniature tool kit. She held the little flashlight in her teeth and worked the lock-pick tools. She had no luck, so she got out a slim Jim. She’d once locked her keys in her car and called campus security to help her. She’d seen how they worked the slim Jim to get her door open. She now imitated what she’d seen them do.