Toxic Blonde

by David Stever

  “More of a private consortium with a goal of providing energy to the world. The project will be all yours. My task is to put you in the room with the CEO, then you never see me again. Can I tell them you agree to meet?”

  “Where is the job located?”

  “Southwest US. Includes a house and a car. You’ll need to supply proof of the technology and that you can deliver.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Figure it out. You have twenty-four hours.”

  She sat for a minute staring at me, trance-like. I kept reminding myself that the first one to talk loses. Finally, she stood and pulled her purse on her shoulder. “Try the baklava.” She went out through the front.

  “You get all that?” I said.

  My cell phone buzzed with a text: “Yes.” Quade had a microphone/transmitter sewn into the lapel of my suit jacket. He was in a car two blocks from the restaurant and had agents stationed on the side streets.

  I bought an order of baklava on my way out.

  31

  A DO NOT DISTURB sign hung on the door handle of Room 528 of the downtown Hilton. I knocked twice and Eric opened, and judging from the amount of fast-food trash, pizza boxes, and soda cans, he had made himself right at home.

  He transformed one of the beds into a command center. He sat against the backboard and on his left was his laptop, situated on a makeshift computer table he fashioned from two folded blankets. To his right was a room service tray, balanced on two pillows, with the TV remote, his phone, and a notepad. On the nightstand was an ice bucket, a glass, and four cans of Mountain Dew.

  “Really suffering here, huh?”

  “PI Dude, you need to stretch this gig out as far as you can.”

  “They do have housekeeping.”

  “Mamacita Ortiz told me to not let anyone in.”

  The door opened and Quade and Ortiz came in with coffees and a sack of breakfast sandwiches.

  “Johnny, stellar work today. I think she’s curious if nothing else,” said Quade. “She took off the red tie as she walked out of the restaurant.”

  “Signal?”

  “Definitely. From there she went to BST.”

  “Any sign of her flunkies in the area?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t have people around. What’s your gut say?”

  I pulled a chair over to the bed and sat. “If your theory is true, and she is FSB, and is intrigued that my deal is legit, she’ll contact me to set the meeting. Can’t imagine her not wanting a run at one of the bigger players. She holds the cards with Bellamy, but the chance to take the technology to a company with unlimited funds—a more valuable target—might be hard to resist. However, if she sees through me and smells a rat, she tells her handlers and they turn me inside out.”

  Eric chomped through his egg and cheese sandwich like a chainsaw going through a pine. “What’s FSB?”

  “Russian CIA. Used to be the KGB.”

  “If she actually works for them, I think she’ll spook and run,” Eric said. “Take all the top-secret plans with her.”

  “Why?”

  “Too much drama, dude. She’s got to be thinking something is whacked. You, Arthur, shows up just when the divorce shit happens? I mean, your cover—your legend—is solid, but she’s sweating. Might not show it, but dude, c’mon.” He pointed to my sandwich. “You gonna eat that?” I handed it to him. “What’s the ultimate goal, anyhow?”

  Quade paced around in a three-foot square. “For her to come to the meeting with a flash drive containing details of their solar energy program, then I nail her on stealing government property and possible espionage charges. Plenty for me to make a case. At the least, she’s sent back to Moscow.”

  “Eric’s got a point. I wouldn’t do it if I was her.” We all turned to Ortiz. This was the first time she offered an opinion since we met. “Even if she is embedded like you think, my money says she’ll want proof. She’s not taking the risk of divulging the technology without Johnny—Arthur—dropping his pants first. Proof of funds. I know I would. Eric’s right—they could pull her and she’s on the next plane to sunny Moscow with the goods.”

  Nobody said anything. Quade opened a sandwich and finished it in two bites, but the last thing I wanted to do was eat. The pit of my stomach told me Ortiz was correct. Keira was not stupid and maybe this entire plan was half-cooked. Mike’s concerns banged away in my head. Are you crazy…you are going to work for them? Mary Ann hired me to prove the affair, not to jump into international espionage, although, I had to admit, playing secret agent was a gas.

  “Maria, you think she’ll bail out?” Quade asked.

  “Gets too hot, sure,” she said. “She screwed up with the affair. The rezidentura can’t be pleased at the moment.”

  “If they know.”

  “They know. Bellamy is about to announce groundbreaking advancements in this space energy technology, whatever it is, and Moscow has an asset in place right at the top? They are dancing on the tables,” Ortiz said. “Until she literally screws herself into the divorce drama. Then Ainsley disappears? They either pull her out or kill her before we even get a chance.”

  “They won’t kill her. They’ll want the technology. I say they’ll leave her,” Quade said.

  Agent Maria Ortiz shrugged and sipped her coffee. “No way.”

  “Anything on the name Nadia?” I asked.

  “Our time at the Starry Night paid off. Missing piece of the puzzle.” Ortiz took a sheet of paper from an attaché case. “Nadia Ivanovich was an aeronautical engineering student at Moscow Aviation Institute three years before she was spotted in New York, working for Orlov. She completed her degree then disappeared. No records of her in Russia or anywhere in Europe. She first came on our radar when a British asset in Moscow observed her having dinner with a ranking FSB officer. The assumption was she was recruited by FSB, goes through her basic training, gets fluent in English, appears three years later as Keira Kaine at Fordham, and then hones her tradecraft with Orlov.”

  “After New York, goes to California and works her way into Bellamy,” Quade adds.

  “Damn, real life spy. Thought that was just in movies,” Eric said.

  “Nope. Real, dude, and if the heat is turned up like it is now, I think they pull her.” Ortiz threw her sandwich wrapper at him. “Real as it gets.”

  I looked at Quade. “If she calls and wants to meet, who is she meeting with?”

  “My ASAC. He’ll pose as the company recruiter.”

  “Dude, I gotta learn these acronyms.” Eric’s fingers flew over his keyboard. “Assistant Special Agent in Charge?”

  “Yep, our boss. And Delarosa,” Quade said. “I’ll drop by your place later. I think we apply some pressure to Bellamy, make him squirm. Put some doubt in his mind. But I want to talk it through, work up an angle.”

  “I’ll be there. I do have a bar to run.”

  “Oh, bad news, Eric. The boss pulled the plug on the hotel. Out of funds for this operation. Need to find someplace else for you.”

  “What? Mamacita, say it’s not true.”

  “Sorry dude. We’ll figure something,” Ortiz said.

  “I’m devastated.” He flopped back on the bed. “What about my protection?”

  “That won’t change.”

  “You can set up shop at my condo. Okay with you guys?” I asked.

  Quade nodded. “Sure. Maria will check on you, and hopefully we will wrap this up in a day or two.”

  Ortiz packed up her attaché. “Or we can put you up at the Starry Night.”

  Eric threw the wrapper back at her. “Funny, Mama, funny.”

  32

  We reconvened back at McNally’s, and Mike, in a blatant moment of weakness and patriotism, had prepared a lunch of sandwiches and salads for the team and laid it out on a table in the back of the bar.

  “My contribution to protecting the secrets of the nation,” he said.

  “Much appreciated,” Agent Ortiz replied, as she helped
herself to the spread.

  Quade, Ortiz, Mike, and I stood around with plates of food and draft beers and discussed sports, politics, and life in the FBI. Too much small talk for my taste. Katie and Eric came in and made short work of launching into the grub. He was one of those scrawny guys who could eat forever and never gain a pound.

  “All set up?” I asked.

  “The kitchen table is his new command center and I figured he’ll take the sofa. Did Mike make all this?” Katie nodded to the food. “Is he okay?”

  “His contribution to the cause.”

  “We should check his temperature.”

  I clicked my beer mug on hers. “GPS?”

  “Still working, both cars at Bellamy. The white van is at the Starry Night. The potato salad is delicious.” She helped herself to another scoop. “What’s next?”

  “Wait for Keira to contact me.”

  Eric held up his empty mug. “Another?”

  “I need you with a clear head. You are on duty, twenty-four hours a day.”

  “Damn, dude.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Katie asked. “Then what?”

  “What we were hired to do. Produce evidence of the affair. Which is my objective for tonight.”

  “I’m going.”

  “No, I’m asking Mike. I want you and Eric to stay on GPS watch. Keep in contact with me. Our usual.”

  “Boring, Johnny. I’ll bring the laptops, like we did before.” She leaned in close to me and whispered. “Don’t leave me alone with him. He’s weird.”

  “Eccentric. You can handle him.” I handed her some money. “Nothing up there to eat. Lock the boy wonder into the condo and go buy some groceries.”

  She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Eric. Now I’m the housekeeper, too.”

  “I’m not done with my lunch.”

  “Bring it with you.”

  Quade and Ortiz were in my booth with the case file open on the table. I sat beside Ortiz. She was not unattractive, more cute than pretty. She never wore makeup and I suspected she was one of those girls who was athletic in school, a high achiever, impressive grades, but her muscular frame masked any sex appeal and that made me wonder whether she hit from the other side of the plate. She could probably drink like one of the boys, too. Either way, her intuitiveness as an agent impressed me, and I would put her on my team any day.

  “Unless she contacts me, we’re finished,” I said. “I did my civic duty. I’m going out tonight to keep an eye on Bellamy. I would love to catch him and our Russian spy together so I can finish my work and get Mrs. Bellamy back home.”

  Quade nodded. “Fair enough. Any chance you could do us one more favor? Do some recon around her townhouse?”

  “The FBI run out of agents? Thought you had a man on the house?”

  “We did, but had to send a team to New York because of that last terrorist scare. Only Marie and I on this case and we can’t risk it.”

  “Jesus, Quade. Yeah, sure, Mike and I will check it out.”

  “Cameras and type of alarm system, if possible. I’m dying to get a look inside the place.”

  “We’ll give it a shot.”

  “Appreciate it. If she calls, we move forward?”

  “Make sure you send me time and place now so I don’t stutter when I have her on the phone. I’ll take her to the water’s edge; from there, it’s all you.”

  “Understood. Thank you. I’ll call with a location shortly.”

  They packed up and went out through the back.

  ***

  Mike rustled up some clothes we used for undercover work we did as detectives and he now wore an old cap and jacket from Charter Cable TV. The jacket had “Bill” embroidered on it. We parked two blocks from Keira’s townhouse and he hoofed it to her place, clipboard in hand, first stopping at the neighbors to add credibility to the ruse.

  Mike had his Bluetooth in his ear and kept the call open for me to listen. An older, white man opened the door at the townhome next to Keira, and Mike only got as far as, “Hello, sir, my name is Bill from Charter Cable…” when the man slammed the door shut.

  “Missed your calling,” I said.

  “Good thing I didn’t do this for a living. Would have locked me up for assault ten times over.” He lumbered along the sidewalk to Keira’s, checking his clipboard, selling it as best he could. “Camera above the garage door. Now going up the front steps…camera above the door.” He knocked. “Draperies are all pulled shut on the windows, can’t see anything.” He waited a minute then knocked again. No response. “I’m going around back.”

  An alley ran from the street to the rear of the townhomes, and Keira's home was in the center of the block.

  “I am now in the alley. Each house has a deck. She has nothing outside, though. No outdoor furniture, nothing. From the back, you would think her place was vacant. The gate is open…I’m now up the steps to the deck….sliding glass doors…alarm unit confirmed, but a whole lot of nothing, partner.”

  “Okay, come on back.”

  “Roger that. On my way. I need a drink.”

  “I’m buying.”

  “Hey, wait,” Mike said. “One thing. I’m in the alley again and her townhouse is the only one with a satellite dish on the roof.”

  “So, she hates cable.”

  “Yeah, but the wires from the dish go into the roof. Don’t they usually come down the side of the building then into the house?”

  “Got me. Her direct line to Moscow.”

  “Interesting she’s the only one. Makes me think the dish is not for TV.”

  “Duly noted. Don’t push your luck. C’mon back and let’s see if we can catch our cheating husband in the act.”

  “Food first.”

  “Roger that.”

  We both ate greasy bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and drank draft beers at Joey Mac’s, a small corner bar in my old Italian neighborhood owned by an ex-cop, Joe Maccarone. We spent many a day and night in there, even had barstools with our names painted on them. The gregarious Joey had just sat down with us to relive our glory days, when my cell phone chirped.

  A text from Eric: “Bellamy on the move.”

  “Hate to break up the party, but duty calls. Mike, our man is rolling. Joey, we need to do this later.” I pulled some bills from my pocket.

  Joey held up his hand. “On the house, boys. Be safe out there.”

  33

  The GPS coordinates placed Bellamy’s car at an Econo Lodge in Waterside, a bedroom community ten miles south of Port City, where the harbor opens to the beaches.

  “Eyeball his car?” Eric asked, from his new command center in my condo.

  I had him on speaker on my cell. Mike was driving his Jeep Wrangler and we were tucked in the back row of the parking lot facing the motel. “Yep. He went into a room on the second floor. Where is she?” I had the camera in my lap. Two or three decent shots of them together fulfills my end of the deal and we put this case to bed. The Keira business is for the feds, anyhow.

  “Estimating five miles from you.”

  “Keep us posted.”

  “Partner, I need to learn all this GPS stuff. I’m way behind the times,” Mike said. “I could never understand this technology if I was out on my own.”

  “Easy. Do what I do. Ask Katie, or Eric. I should figure a way to hang on to him. His skills are off the charts.”

  “I heard that,” came over my phone’s speaker. “Glad you realized how much you need me, PI Dude. Put me on the payroll—you know you want to.”

  I shook my head while Mike laughed. “Does my phone have a mute button?”

  “I’m not telling you now, just as your true feelings are coming out,” Eric jabbed. “I told you before I can help you. I am feeling the love, dude. You, me, and dollface will make an awesome team.”

  “Katie might object to being called dollface,” I said.

  “She is a dollface. Besides, she’ll love it. Women love compliments. I’m diggin’ your place here, too. I got the tunes c
ranked. Thelonious Monk—righteous, man. Hey, this Woodford Reserve whiskey—looks expensive.”

  “Oh, God,” Mike groaned. “Here we go.”

  “Bourbon, Eric, top shelf bourbon. Put it back and stay out of my liquor cabinet. You’re on the job. I need you sharp, not in a drunken haze.”

  “Chill man. Not my juice anyhow. More of a tequila man. Me and Jose Cuervo are besties.”

  “You’ll grow out of that phase.”

  “Tequila is for girls. We gotta toughen you up,” Mike said, shouting toward the phone. “Teach you to drink like a real man.”

  “Big Mike, that’s harsh. Hey, I’m starving. No food in this crib. I plowed through a box of crackers and your peanut butter. The only thing you got left is microwave popcorn, which I am about to demolish.”

  “Katie should have been there by now. Call her.”

  “Copy that. Yo, dude, your girl is close.”

  “How far?”

  “One mile.”

  “Ending the call. Text me when she is here. Call Katie. Find out where she is.” I picked up the camera and focused on Bellamy’s room.

  “He’s entertaining if nothing else.” Mike slid his extra-large body lower in the seat and pulled a cap over his red hair.

  We lowered the windows in the Jeep and went silent. A minute passed. A text from Eric blinked on my phone: “Close.”

  The Mercedes parked on the opposite side of the lot from Bellamy’s Range Rover. “See that?” Mike said. “Can’t get her car and his in the same picture. She’s not stupid.” She got out and I followed her through the telephoto lens. She climbed to the second floor and tapped on the door with a car key.

  “C’mon, Bellamy, open the door and keep it open. I need the two of you in the shot,” I said, with an unrealistic optimism.

  “The only way to do this is to put a camera in the room,” Mike said. “This will be impossible.”

  He was right. The door cracked opened just enough for her slim body to slide through. I set the camera on the seat. “Shit.”