Bad Company

by P A Duncan

  “No, sir. Most of my friends and family know I’m between jobs. They’d ask too many questions about how I got it.”

  The two men rose and shook hands.

  “I’ll pray for your safe trip,” Elijah said. “From now on, all of us here in Patriot City will pray for you every day.”

  “Uh, thanks. Would it be all right if I used a phone one more time before I leave?”

  Elijah’s smile disappeared again. “Whatever,” he said. “I’ll let the motor pool know you’re on your way.

  14

  Lovesick Claptrap

  Please answer, please answer, please answer; come on, Siobhan, answer the phone, Carroll thought. He checked his watch. Mid-afternoon in Boston. Why didn’t she answer?

  After the fifth ring, as his spirits were about to dive, he heard, “Irish Charities.”

  He closed his eyes. Maybe there was something to this praying thing after all. “Hey, Siobhan, it’s Jay. Can you talk?”

  “Jay, I was thinking we were going to keep missing each other. I can talk. Where are you?”

  “Getting ready to go to Arizona for a while. I’m sorry about all the hassle when I was at Mr. Addams’ place.”

  “No problem. Are you done there?”

  “Christ, I’m so done, and you won’t believe this. The bastard rooked me out of what he promised to pay me.”

  “Jesus Wept, how did that happen?”

  He told her a version of the story, the way it should have happened, but he didn’t tell her about getting caught crying by the roadside.

  “What did you do?” she asked. “Call the coppers?”

  “I couldn’t. Turns out the local law is related to the old man. I was worried they’d plant some drugs or something in my car, so I hauled ass. I’ll get him good, though.” The pause was long and utterly silent, not even the sound of her breathing. “Siobhan? Are you there?”

  “What do you mean, get him good?”

  “Easy, babe. I’ll tell everyone on the circuit what a cheat he is. What did you think I was going to do?”

  “There’s enough Irish in you to be hot-headed.”

  “No, I was cool.” He hadn’t been, but that was something he didn’t want her to know either. “When can I see you?”

  “You said you were headed to Arizona.”

  “Don’t come there. I don’t have a place to live. Yet.”

  “Where then?”

  “Next week there’s a good-sized show in Pueblo, Colorado. I’m hoping I can still get a table. Can you make that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  His free hand balled into a fist. “I, uh, I could skip Pueblo and come to Boston.”

  “I won’t have you miss out on some business. I’ll do some research and make a pitch to the boss.”

  “I really n… want to see you. It feels like forever.” He clamped his mouth closed; he didn’t want to beg.

  “I feel the same way,” she replied. “When you’ve got only one true friend, it makes for lonely days.”

  “And nights.” She said nothing to that, and he winced, fearing he’d been forward. “I, uh, I’m borrowing a phone, so let me get to Arizona and get my stock. I’ll call with the date and address. In case.”

  “And I’ll work on the boss. I’d probably have to attend meetings like before.”

  “I’ll be working at the show, so, yeah, that’s cool. Okay, I’ll call soon. ‘Bye.”

  He hung up before she could change her mind.

  Elijah took the phone off speaker. He and Lewis had listened in on Carroll’s conversation. Elijah strode to the window in Lewis’ office.

  “Some men are too focused on their whores,” Lewis said.

  “It’s a fucking weakness,” Elijah muttered. “Lovesick claptrap. Cunts are for breeding. Nothing more.”

  “Be encouraged. Notice she asked where he was, and he deflected the question. He remains our best hope.”

  Elijah turned around. “It must be the woman from Las Vegas.”

  “Likely.”

  “You didn’t share what you learned about her.”

  “No need until now. She is who she said she was. Siobhan Finoulla Dochartaigh, former IRA sniper suspected in the deaths of five Royal Ulster Constables and three protestant politicians in the 1980s.”

  “Former IRA?”

  “Several years ago, she expressed disagreement with a planned series of bombings. A shipment of Semtex entrusted to her safekeeping exploded, killing nine other IRA soldiers. The IRA suspected she destroyed the materiel, so the IRA wouldn’t use it against civilians. The British government offered her amnesty, but she refused. She left Ireland and went on the run. About a year ago, she got into this country, and some well-placed, liberal politicians sympathetic to Irish reunification are hiding her in plain sight with forged INS documents.”

  “Where did you get this information?”

  “From an old acquaintance in British Intelligence.”

  “If the British know this, why not arrest her?”

  “They might prefer knowing where she is and what she’s up to, and there is the protection from those politicians.”

  “I will not let this cunt fuck with our plan.”

  “Is it that he’s interested in her or that he will not share?”

  “Everyone here knows the rules.”

  “I think it is good, ja, he does not live here. Prophet, he is the one. Let him have his cunt. Do not lose your focus over it.”

  “Yes, of course, but what if she makes him lose focus?”

  “You cannot forbid him to see her. That will drive him away.”

  “What if he tells her what we’ve planned?”

  “As he said, he is smarter than that. I believe his concern for her safety is sincere.”

  “What about the place where she works?”

  “A small charity started by some Bostonians of Irish descent. It is appropriately registered with the IRS.”

  “We have graduates from here who live in South Boston. They could pay her a visit.”

  “Elijah, you are making too much of this. Some men, it helps their focus to have a woman. Right now, it is not much of a relationship, but we must watch its progress. She is a woman. At some point she will insist upon being the only thing in his life. Should Carroll agree to that, an anonymous tip to the INS, and she is deported. We can use that to our advantage.”

  Elijah’s scowl softened into a smile. “Ah, I see. That would harden his hatred of the government more. You are always steps ahead of me, Father.”

  “So, no more on his piece of ass.”

  “Yes, Father. The Army buddies he mentioned to me. Parker and Duval?”

  “Yes.”

  Elijah’s face screwed up as if he’d smelled something foul. “At least Duval put his seed in a white woman.”

  “Parker’s wife is a means to an end, as are the mud children she produced.”

  Elijah grinned and said, “I can’t describe the rush when I smothered that little mongrel. He was so trusting. Came right into my arms. His struggles were…” His eyes glazed, Elijah’s voice trailed off.

  “I told you it would be so, ja? I remember the first Jew imp I killed. It is such a feeling of power, knowing you are ending a future. Remember, though, what is important. That minor act of yours started Carroll’s spiral into depression, which ultimately led him to us.”

  “I still have my doubts about Parker, but he came through in finding Carroll.”

  “I first noticed Parker and his brother during the farm foreclosure crisis in the eighties. I brought Gerald into my fold then. The older brother is too, how do you say it? Egotistical. Gerald knows how to take orders. I’m the one who selected his wife for him.”

  “She has been a good cover for his trips. I am surprised the rag heads are interested.”

  “Using domestic organizations makes it appear as if they have nothing to do with it. They are good consultants, and there are many things we agree with.”

  “Yes. We
both hate Jews and want women in their place.”

  “Indeed,” Lewis said, with a sigh. “Now, we proceed with working John Carroll for the good of the white race, ja?”

  “You heard what he said.”

  “Yes, but he is beholden to us. He will come around. I will contact Parker to see if he had a problem with the schwartzen in the Army. If so, we will use that to our advantage.”

  “He said the anti-government aspect is enough.”

  “We must have within our reach many tools.”

  Mount Vernon, Virginia

  Alexei leaned back in his chair, flexing his fingers. “Good try at keeping him on the line.”

  “Anything?” Mai asked.

  “He called from somewhere near the Mississippi River. If the number hadn’t been blocked… So, Pueblo.”

  “Yes. Time for another contact.”

  “Absolutely, but I’d like to watch this meet from a distance.”

  “Why?”

  “To get better insight.”

  “Or to chaperone?”

  “That I reserve for my granddaughter. I should think you stopped needing chaperones a long time ago.”

  Mai smiled at him. “When I was Natalia’s age, I’d already figured out multiple ways to ditch them.”

  “Let’s not share that bit of knowledge, shall we?”

  “I’ll be a proper grand-mummy. Now, if you were a twenty-five-year-old man who hadn’t seen me in a couple of months, what would you do?”

  “Simple. Jump your bones on sight and talk later. Much later.”

  Mai smiled but shook her head. She swiveled her chair to study her cork board of photos. “Why is he investing his energy in a long-distance, telephone relationship with me? Why isn’t he trolling for gun show groupies?”

  “Maybe he does and keeps that from you.”

  “Could he be a virgin?”

  “After having been in the Army?” Alexei asked. “Not likely. He’s a middle child, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The middle child suffers a lack of attention and so clings to whomever gives him some. That’s you.”

  She shrugged, eyes still focused on the cork board. “This has nagged at me. A great many people in this country don’t like what happened at Killeen, ourselves among them.” She pointed at a picture of Carroll taken at Killeen. “Did that marginalize him? Or was there something else before that to push him toward the fringe?”

  “Usually it’s ignorance, but we know that’s not the case with him.” Alexei gave it some thought. “Perhaps being passed over for a promotion he thought was due him.”

  “Or the special forces wash-out.”

  “In America, there is a big emphasis on not failing rather than learning from failure,” Alexei said. “Special forces are the elite of the elite. The loss of that could have seemed like a betrayal to him. Perhaps he displaced the blame. I didn’t fail. The government failed me.”

  She pondered his words and shrugged. “It could be that simple, or it could be PTSD.”

  “Even simpler. The meth he had. Drug-fueled paranoia. These are some things you can flesh out at the next meet.”

  Mai rose and paced the office, Alexei following her with his eyes. She stopped by his desk. “I keep thinking I’ve focused on Carroll without much cause. While I spend all this time getting into his head, someone else may be closer to taking revenge for Killeen.”

  “Always a possibility in our work—the one who gets past our radar. From a psycho-criminal perspective, all the factors are in his favor. Our profilers agree, and Analysis hasn’t turned up any other likely candidate or potential plot.”

  “There was some chatter last week one of our listening posts in the Middle East picked up.”

  “The ‘kicking the great Satan in the nuts’ transcript?”

  Mai nodded.

  “They do that about every other week. You know that. What’s with the doubts?”

  She paced again. “The mission seems, I don’t know, stalled. Shouldn’t we know by now if there is a plot and if he’s part of it?”

  “This isn’t a James Bond movie where it all gets discovered and handled in two hours. Things like this take time. And patience. Granted, what we have right now is still speculation. All we can hope for is if Carroll is a dead end, the FBI has done its job and is spying on other, promising leads.”

  She stopped pacing again and once more stood by his chair. “Oh, ye of misplaced faith. I assume you’ll do your own cover and hide it from me as usual.”

  “I will. You can tell me later if you spotted me.”

  “I never spot you unless you want me to.”

  He took her hand and tugged her down onto his lap. “Age and experience count for something, and it’ll make for a stimulating fantasy, don’t you think?”

  “You do realize we turn almost every conversation into sex?”

  15

  Facades and Disguises

  Pueblo, Colorado

  The Great Western Gun Show in the Pueblo Convention Center wasn’t like other gun shows Mai had attended. She found herself among middle-class, upwardly mobile families. The gun was part of the west’s folklore, but these people seemed less nutty than Mai had encountered before. Gone were the neo-Nazi vendors, anti-government bumper stickers, and targets with the First Lady’s face on them.

  Alexei had arrived several days before, so there’d be no chance they’d be seen together. Mai looked around for him in the cavernous convention center. She still marveled how well he could blend in, no small task given he was six-two and had a distinctive hairstyle. When he’d needed to, he’d dyed his hair black or brown, used latex and dental putty to alter his facial structure, and worn colored contact lenses. With a reincarnation of Lon Chaney, Sr., as a partner, she’d had rare success spotting him. Today was no different.

  As closing time neared, Mai stopped by a gun dealer’s table and spotted a neat, little Beretta .32 caliber. An easily concealable second gun, she thought. She couldn’t buy it as Siobhan Dochartaigh. Steal it, yes. Buy it under the table, yes. Legally, no. Too bad. With the show discount, it was a bargain. Since a call to The Directorate’s armorer would have one delivered anywhere she was, she passed it up and headed for John Carroll’s booth.

  He had several people around his booth looking over his surplus military supplies, though not his books and pamphlets. Mai hung back to observe him in his well-pressed BDU pants and shiny combat boots, long-sleeved black shirt tucked neatly into his trousers. Though he’d likely stood there talked for hours, he looked crisp, fresh; no five o’clock shadow.

  He interacted well with this average, normal crowd, smiling, laughing, making silly faces at the kids and getting them to giggle. His hands were red, as if chapped; a knuckle or two had a healing scrape. The hard work in Arkansas, but where had he been after that? Somewhere that had fed him well; he’d filled out a bit.

  Carroll checked his watch and glanced around. Mai brought Siobhan Dochartaigh to bear when he made eye contact with her. His eyes brightened, but he remained in conversation with a couple about a first aid kit he had for sale. Mai waited until that transaction was complete before she walked up to the table. A disembodied voice announced the show would close in ten minutes.

  Carroll came from behind his table to greet her, his eyes sweeping from head to toe and back.

  “Siobhan,” he murmured, his hand coming to rest on her arm above the elbow. “It’s so amazing to see you. You look good. I mean, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. And you?”

  “Keeping busy. Not much sleep. When did you get in?”

  “This morning. I met with a civic group, gave them the talk, and got a generous check.”

  “Maybe you could give that talk at my table tomorrow and get me some customers.”

  “Business is bad?”

  “Not bad, but not great either. I can’t compete with the quality or the quantity of stock here. I can compete on pricing, but by the time people get to the cheap seat
s here…” He shrugged and smiled at her. “How about we get some dinner?”

  “Sure. Is there anything I can help with closing up?”

  “Nope. I’ll throw a tarp over the table like before. They got good security here. There’s, uh, a good Tex-Mex place nearby.”

  “That’s fine. Where are you staying?”

  “I’ve been driving out to the reservoir and putting my sleeping bag out by the water. Peaceful.” He unfolded the tarp and began to cover his table. “Uh, where are you staying?”

  “Days Inn, Holiday Inn. They all sort of run together in my head.”

  “I get that. I’ve been on the road so much I almost have to look at a phonebook to remember where I am.” He looked her over again. “You look really great. I said that already, didn’t I?”

  “Well, now, a woman can never hear it too much. You look as if that job in Arkansas took a lot out of you.”

  “Yeah, that was rough. I’ll tell you about it at dinner. Ready?”

  “Lead on.”

  For the job interview, Alexei had pushed any hint of Russian from his accent. He could do it if he concentrated. Besides, he’d spoken only English longer than he’d spoken only Russian. The convention center’s security contractor was happy to have someone of his experience—retired Army per his cover identity—to fill in for their on-site supervisor. Such an untimely illness.

  Most minimum-wage workers could be bribed with ease. Once assured of no illegality and that he wouldn’t lose his job, the supervisor had agreed to have food poisoning for a few days. The HR manager subsequently pronounced Alexei a godsend, given the extensive though fictional resume. Calls to the listed references would back his story, namely he was making a move to California’s warmer weather and where private security services were in a boom. In the interview he made a casual allusion to an ill wife and that he needed a quick paycheck to finish the trip.