“Don’t you worry, baby doll, we have nowhere to go but up now.” Holding Daisy, Ginger Mae slept all the way to Peter’s house, where she woke to a tap on the window. They looked up to see Peter’s welcoming grin, his generous arms wide open. For now, they were safe.
*
His own snoring woke him. He lay on the floor not wanting to move, trying to remember why he wasn’t in bed. His mouth tasted like dry dog shit. Realizing his nose lay buried in his armpit, he gagged on the foul odor. He desperately needed some water. His throat was dry but his head hurt too much to move. Where was Ginger Mae?
“Ginger Mae, git me some water, right now!” Remembering he had got drunk because she hadn’t come home after dinner last night, he struggled weakly to his feet. That bitch. Partying it up with the enemy. He hadn’t liked the idea of her going over there to begin with. He didn’t even actually know where she was. Good thing too, or he would have gone over there and yanked her out by her hair. He imagined the gay blade’s hands on his Ginger Mae and he saw red.
“Ginger Mae!” Where was that bitch? He leaned over the faucet, letting the water run into his mouth. Swallowing, he looked at his watch. It was almost noon. Wow. He had been out for a long time. No wonder his neck hurt like a damn. He better go lie down. Why didn’t that bitch wake me up when she got home?
Passing Daisy’s room, he saw the door was open. He stumbled in, his bleary eyes trying to focus. Her room looked different, kinda empty. What was up with that? Stumbling to his own bedroom, he slammed the door against the wall, the doorknob punching a hole in the sheetrock. Whoops. He tried to focus on the bed, his eyes bloodshot and useless. “Ginger Mae,” he shouted, making his head pound. Wincing, he toned it down. Trying again, he collapsed on the bed, his hands searching for her.
“Come on, babe, wake the fuck up and take care of me.” It occurred to him that she might be playing with him. She was probably mad at him for falling asleep in the kitchen. When she came home, she was probably looking forward to some good bangin’ after hanging out with the fag lawyer. Feeling around the bed, it finally sunk in that she wasn’t there. Groaning, he rolled over and held his head, thinking that all he needed was a good fuck to clear his head. Tugging at his pants seemed to take forever. He pulled off his three-day-old underwear, slinging the foul garment across the room, wondering why he had to take care of himself when he was supporting a hot juicy blonde who seemed to increasingly avoid having sex with him. The selfish bitch.
How would she like it if I climbed into bed with tight, young Daisy? Yeah, he had seen her watching him in the morning when he took a quick naked run to the kitchen for his morning Budweiser. She probably wants me, just like Kelly did when she was that age. They all want it, the sluts. I’ve left her alone so far out of respect for my love for Ginger Mae, but what the heck—I’m mad at her anyway. Would serve her right. He could handle them both no problem. Mumbling to himself, he drooled on the comforter and fell back to sleep.
Chapter 6
Lita had come to New York City at the request of her superior at the CIA. It was a treat to get away from Sarasota where she had to be constantly on guard. Today she sported a trim linen pantsuit and low heels. Her riotous curls were tamed and pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Her exotic face was devoid of all makeup, save a touch of coral lip balm. Her beauty didn’t need enhancement, but her role as Nasir’s mistress demanded it.
She watched the city bustle with commuters, all leading busy lives, hurrying home to their loved ones. With a pang, she realized she envied them. A highly charged and committed agent since college, she’d had her share of suitors over the years but found she was already married to her country. After seven years of playing such an isolating role in the sunshine state, she was surprised to see herself resetting her priorities. Now in her mid-thirties, her biological clock had started to tick loud enough to be heard over the clink of cocktail glasses and seductive bedroom music.
As much as she felt excited to be in New York, she wondered why she received the call in to headquarters. Something must be up, although she had no idea what it could be. Things were moving as planned on her end. She was in the process of packing her house and relocating to Washington D.C., and Omar had convinced her (as if she would refuse) to take a swank job in Washington to be close to him. Clearly, his triumph in the election would be inevitable. He had hinted to her that his plans included her coming out of the shadows and taking a more visible role in his life. The thought of what that meant long-term made her sick. She doubted how much longer she could conceal her contempt.
Lita stopped on the sidewalk, pulling her coat closer as the late spring winds whipped through the tunnels created by the monolithic office buildings standing like proud stoic soldiers over the hard electric grittiness of her surroundings. Pushing on, she took a turn off the main thoroughfare, her destination a tiny storefront Asian market with trays of tempting colorful citrus and greens that blocked the sidewalk.
Habit forced her to glance around behind her, noting a mother dragging two children with schoolbooks, their laughing faces full of the promise a new day brings. Across the street an older man, dressed poorly for the blustery weather, chased a hat down the street, meeting her eyes briefly as he scooped it up and turned back, a camera in hand. Delivery men in double-parked vans carried goods into other storefronts while garbage cans were noisily placed at the curb for pick up. Distracted by her curious summons, she decided she went unnoticed.
Ducking into the grocery, she made her way through the cramped rows of food stuffs, the cool smells of sharp freshness a contrast to the vague rotting smell on the street. She stepped through a small plastic doorway where she found young Asian men cleaning produce for the front of the store. They nodded, unsmiling, and continued their work. She found a wide passageway off a storeroom in the very back of the store which led to a metal door, no doorknob in evidence. An electronic key lock stood guard on the wall. Taking out her passkey she swiped it, hearing the door pop open. As she passed through, she waved up at the sophisticated surveillance system, the door automatically locking behind her.
*
Two hours later, she sat in the conference room of her supervisor’s offices, surrounded by eight other men and women from her original team. They had known one another for over a decade. All were trusted and committed agents, willing to sacrifice their lives to preserve the quickly eroding freedoms of the beloved country they hardly recognized anymore.
Looking around the table, Lita observed the shock on their faces as they learned they were all being reassigned, including Lita. Reassignment folders passed around the table, but there was nothing for Lita. Her heart hammering, she wondered what had happened. It was unlikely the agents would be told anything, explanations from their superiors were never obligatory. They would just have to follow the story in the news media like the rest of the country. Eventually bits and pieces of the truth would trickle down through the ranks, just as in any other company. But why no assignment for her? Her fellow agents prepared to leave.
A few were making plans to meet at a local hangout across town. Lita was asked to join them. Nodding her head, she caught the eye of her supervisor, receiving a subtle nod, permission to stay behind. Explaining she would catch up at the bar and grill, she said goodbye to her team and returned to her seat at the table.
“Okay, let’s hear it.” Lita’s supervisor, William Martin, was a blandly handsome man who had done his training with her after graduating from a mid-western university known for its football successes. One of the good ole boys, he rose quickly, easily promoted from within the ranks, leaving Lita his subordinate. The fact that they once shared a short affair during their training had luckily escaped the eyes of all at the company.
Coming over to sit next to her at the table, he placed his hands atop hers.
“I know this has been hard on you, Lita. I should think you would be happy it’s over.”
“What do you mean over, William, he’s still out there, and he�
��ll still win the election. That means the Salafis have won.” Her tone turned to bitterness; confusion and hostility turning her face ugly. Unexpectedly, she burst into tears. She wiped her nose, humiliated by her show of emotion, abjectly unprofessional. “I’m so sorry, William, it’s just that I feel like the last decade of my life has been flushed down the toilet.”
William rose, pulling Lita to her feet. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. They stood holding each other until Lita calmed down. Releasing her, he stepped back.
“Don’t you know by now that I’ll look after you? I know you, of all people, are entitled to an explanation. I don’t have much that will make you feel good though. We’ve failed to get any direct evidence on Omar or his mosque. We know from the Net and informants that they’re definitely planning something. We believe it will involve a bomb of a catastrophic nature. We don’t know when or where. We’ve heard from our team in China that they’re paranoid about becoming a target now they’re the world’s leading economy. But you know all of that. Two things have happened since we last talked. China seems to be under the impression that it’s the U.S. who’s conspiring to destroy their economy, in retaliation for bringing the West to its knees.”
Lita opened her mouth to hotly object, but William cut her off.
“I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense, clearly both countries benefit from a cordial relationship. We’ve come to believe they’re being fed false intelligence by the Salafis through indirect believable sources. The small plot we stumbled on over a decade ago is suddenly taking on more ominous considerations, if you’re not too timid to connect the dots. Our current cowardly administration is running scared. They know they’re going to lose the election. The senior administration staff is scrambling for comfortable exits. It’s time to start covering all those expensive Socialist New World asses.
“That brings me to the second thing, which is why our mission has been scrubbed. They don’t want any evidence of this investigation to fall into the hands of the new cabinet members in Omar’s administration. The shredding is occurring as I speak. The last thing the current administration needs is a global scandal to put the damper on the new careers of the administration hacks, and the President, of course. There is no telling how seriously it would impact the fees he’ll receive for global speaking engagements. And how will his sycophants be able to sell access to the White House if they’re blamed for trying to use the CIA to bring the new president down, spying on him for over a decade? The liberal press would run with that story for years.”
“We can’t let them get away with this,” Lita cried passionately. William shook his head, the born survivor of several administrations.
“Save your energy and your emotions, Lita. It’s done. The only thing I can offer you is your new assignment. You’re ordered to report to this office within one month. That should give you enough time to put this behind you.”
Handing her a file card, he continued, “You are to have your possessions shipped to your new address in Norwalk, Connecticut. I think you’ll be pleased.” William finally smiled. “It’s a lovely town that has successfully protected its residents from the onslaught of the tenement invasion which has destroyed so many of our cities. Much like Sarasota was able to do.
“You’ll report to me. I’m putting you in charge of a team that will be tasked with coordinating data from our overseas operatives with data collected here at home. You, and only you, will be quietly looking for more evidence to support what we now suspect will involve China, or any other group for that matter, with the Salafis. No one on your team is to know who your target is. Best of all, your private life will be your own from now on.”
Lita sat stunned, her conflicted emotions preventing rational thought. She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. At the moment all she could focus on was ‘your private life will be your own from now on’. No more of Omar’s sexual brutality. No more hiding who she really was. She could have actual friends, maybe a boyfriend.
“Did I not mention this was a promotion?”
Finally, William’s words put a wry smile on her face. “Expense account?”
“Yes.”
“Budget for my new office, with a window, of course?”
“Yes.”
“My own secretary . . . that I don’t have to share?”
William smiled. “Yes.”
“Personal driver?”
“Emphatically, no.” They laughed together, knowing the system was not perfect but they had to do their best anyway. She would be okay.
Thanking William, she promised to stay in touch. She knew she would make a philosophical adjustment and accept what had happened. Now she was just anxious to get to the restaurant to meet the rest of the team for a little R & R.
Chapter 7
Omar tossed his briefcase on the black and maroon spread on his bed. Slipping off his Italian loafers, he opened his closet door, looking for the clothes that would be just right to complete the disguise he would be forced to wear to the mosque this evening. He resented the call ordering him back to Sarasota. His frantic schedule allowed little room for deviations. He flew all over the U.S. for rallies and fundraisers and this would set his schedule back unnecessarily. His team freaked out, screaming bloody murder because of the cancelations he had forced them to make.
It was inexcusable for the imams to do this to him at this late date. They were too close to screw up now. The polls loved him and his numbers were still rising. Even faster since the elusive Mrs. Jane Nasir had mysteriously died. Patting himself metaphorically on the shoulder, he chuckled at what a genius call he had made. His good mood died as he pondered the reasons he could have been called back to the mosque. None of them qualified as urgent enough to warrant this kind of action.
He laid out his clothes carefully, hoping he could squeeze in the time to look in on his daughter. She would hear that he was home eventually. He didn’t want her hurt by his inattention. Pressing a bell, he ordered a cup of tea to be delivered to his daughter’s room for him to enjoy as he surprised her with his visit.
Making his way to his daughter’s bedroom, his other cellphone rang; a throwaway that he changed every week. Only one person knew this number. Glancing at the cell, he recognized his contact’s number. After a brief conversation, he hung up. The meeting was not for two weeks. Two goddamn weeks. Sounding evasive, his contact reported something serious was up. Omar was ordered to do nothing until contacted. Nothing? His contact expressly ordered him to stay in Sarasota. Omar objected to the chaos it would cause his campaign. His staff would flip out, the press would go nuts. “Unavoidable” was the response.
Omar racked his memory, looking for something that the imams may have objected to. He dismissed the thought, knowing his performance to have been flawless.
Finding some unexpected available time on his hands, he smiled. He knew one person who would be overjoyed to see him. Dialing Lita’s cell, he heard her pick up.
“Darling, how would you like to have dinner tonight in your favorite restaurant and a night of lovemaking that will last until the sun comes up?”
“Omar, I thought you were in Texas. Don’t you have a fundraiser tonight?” Lita sounded a little stressed, delight absent from her voice.
“What’s wrong, darling? You don’t sound like yourself.” Omar’s short temper was well known and this was the last thing he expected from his mistress. Potential wife, he corrected himself, although he had yet to set that plan in motion.
“I’m sorry, Omar, I’m just tired from all the packing I’ve been doing the last few weeks.” Mollified, Omar thought she sounded much better.
“Well, perhaps we should stay in. You can cook for me instead.”
“No, no, I would love to go out. It would be a lovely break. Besides, the house is a mess. I’ve packed so much I don’t think you’ll be comfortable anymore. And the bedroom is the worst.”
“Okay, my love. You win. I want you to pack a bag for at lea
st a week, maybe more. I’ll get us a suite at the Ritz Carlton. We’ll have plenty of privacy and be quite comfortable.”
There was a pause and Omar could almost hear her thinking on the other end. What is there to think about? he wondered impatiently. This was not like Lita at all.
“Darling, I hate to take you away from the campaign at such an important juncture. This is a critical time. Why would you want to risk anything now? You’re so close.” She sounded breathless.
“Darling, are you alone? Did I call at the wrong time?” His voice cut like a steel knife.
“My love, you know I exist only for you. I’m only thinking of your welfare. I’m honored by your call. I’ll pack a bag immediately.” Hanging up satisfied, Omar felt a thrill as he thought of the intense sex he would enjoy for the next few days. Lita was an unquenchable lover. He laughed confidently to himself. He would do his utmost to ensure she was satisfied, as always.
With a smile on his face, he proceeded to his daughter’s bedroom. He wondered if he could arrange a few fundraisers at the Ritz, something exclusive, while he waited for the imams to meet with him, something big to pull his butt out of the fire.
Picking up his business cell, he instructed Andrew to contact his campaign manager with the change of plans. He also instructed him to make reservations for the Ritz Carlton, under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. “Please mention they will be checking in through the private entrance,” he added.
Concluding the call, he knocked at his daughter’s door, hearing laughter. The door opened and the apple of her daddy’s eye appeared, throwing herself into her father’s arms, erasing all of his nagging anxiety.
Chapter 8
Scotty rose bright and early today—the big day. His excitement percolated contagiously as the posse sensed something good afoot. Their eager faces shined with false expectation of being included. Noticing that Echo was nowhere in the room, Scotty peered out the window, frowning at the sky: overcast and threatening rain. Having neglected to check the forecast, he sorted through his gadgets until he located one which would give him the weather report. Intermittent showers. Well, that wouldn’t stop him.
Alien Species Intervention Page 42