by Josie Brown
Silently, she stares at me.
“It was you who mailed it. Am I right? You sent it from Catalina Island.”
The tick at the corner of her mouth proves it.
“You had no way of knowing that Robert died a couple of years ago. The letter went to his college-age son, Evan.”
“I’m so sorry…for his loss. Jonathan always spoke highly of Robert.” Pain closes her eyes. “My brother’s confession must have been devastating for Evan.”
“It was. It’s why our firm is investigating Jonathan’s death. Mary Ann, did Jonathan ever tell you about his work at BlackTech?”
“In the beginning. But even within the first year, he stopped talking about it. He wasn’t supposed to discuss any government contracts. But I knew he was unhappy about them.”
“We want to bring your brother’s killers to justice. But, first I need to piece together how it started: how he was compromised along with a few others in the class.”
“You mean Jonathan and Tommy weren’t the only ones?”
“No. We’ve discovered a few more. Like Jonathan and Tommy, they were seduced and recruited through Lilith as well. Others were killed.”
She sighs. “Ask away.”
“Considering the anonymity policy, how was it that you and your brother ended up in the astrology class together?” I ask.
“Yeah, it was fortuitous, right?” By her snarl, I can tell her comment isn’t a joke. “Jonathan and I were twins. But because I was born two minutes after midnight, this made me a Cancer.”
“And because you didn’t share a last name, your instructor—Arthur Yates—didn’t realize you were related.”
She nods. “Our parents divorced when we were twelve. I took my stepfather’s last name. Jonathan refused to do so, even when my mother begged him.” She shrugs. “Later, I wished I hadn’t. Our stepdad was a lecher.”
“What was your major?”
“Like Jonathan, I was a Computer Science major.” She shrugs. “Two scholarship kids who held golden tickets to life’s most successful professions—had we not been chosen to intern at Dartmouth Analytica.”
“If Jonathan, Tommy, and you were close before the course, you must have hidden your relationships when you were assigned the class.”
Mary Ann snorts. “Of course we did! If we were to graduate, we had to keep it on the QT! It was our final semester—much too late to get another accredited work project.”
“Anytime during that semester, were you aware of Lilith’s relationship with Jonathan?”
“Not at all! Jonathan kept it a secret, as did Tommy.” She shakes her head angrily. “Ha! If only one had let it slip to the other! Maybe they would have both walked away from her.”
“By happenstance, I discovered Tommy’s involvement through one of the few classmates who didn’t fall under Lilith’s spell. Here’s the thing, Mary Ann: to stop the catastrophe set in motion by Jonathan’s duplicity, I have to track down a few more of your classmates. We don’t have time to lose. Were you able to identify anyone else in the class?”
Mary Ann nods. “Vera Gantry. Aquarius. She was a language major.”
“How did you do this?”
Mary Ann laughs. “Men don’t realize how often we ladies head to a lavatory after class. There were only three women in Astrology: Lilith, Vera, and me. My CS degree had an emphasis on AI. My senior project dealt with robot humanization. Despite the voice masks, after a month in class, I recognized the cadences in the other women’s voices. One day I made it a point to be the first person out the door. Then I waited in the closest lavatory and lingered by the basin. Anyone who came in after me was asked something simple—usually, a direction to another building—so that I could analyze the lilts and pauses in her voice. I struck gold with Vera. Some phrase she used sounded familiar, so I looked the woman in the eye and said, simply, “‘Hello, Aquarius.’”
“How did she respond?”
Mary Ann laughs. “As you can imagine, at first, she was petrified! But I assured her that by breaking the anonymity rule we’d really be helping the instructor with his theorem—if only by disproving it. That’s when I pointed out I’d already done so.”
“So, you told her you were Gemini’s—that is, Jonathan’s twin.”
Mary Ann nods sadly. “I wish I hadn’t.”
“Why do you say that?”
Mary Ann shrugs. “I wouldn’t have been his target.”
“You—a target? To Jonathan?”
“No. Scorpio.” Mary Ann’s lips curl into a smirk. “A couple of our classmates were from other schools. He was one of them. I learned this later—when he approached me a few hours after class one day.” She closes her eyes, as if watching the incident play out in her mind’s eye. “He claimed to go to UCLA. He flirted. I was flattered. One thing led to another…” Opening her eyes, she shrugs. “I was young and dumb. He was handsome and horny. The rest, as they say, was inevitable.”
“What do you mean?”
“The sex was good. No—to be honest, it was great. And besides, he mixed a mean martini.” Her sky-blue eyes cloud over. “I became his booty call. You know, when no one else is around. The one who’s always available. And then, one night, I was too available.”
“In what way?”
“He invited me to a party at a friend’s house. I felt honored. I thought my dream had come true and that he was finally taking the relationship seriously. But I misinterpreted his intentions.” As Mary Ann bows her head, her bangs skirt her eyes. When she can speak again, her voice comes out in a whisper: “He wanted to share me with his asshole friends.”
My heart sinks in my chest.
“I didn’t even want to drink that night. When I refused, he offered me a soda. The drug must have been in there because I didn’t remember a thing.”
“A roofie?”
Mary Ann nods. “When I woke up, I was in my dorm room. Sore all over. Bloodied…” She shrugs. “I stayed in bed for two days. When I finally got up to go to class, I avoided him. But the following Saturday he was waiting for me outside my apartment. He said he had to talk to me. He sounded contrite. I agreed I’d meet him after my library shift, but I insisted that we do so at a public place. He suggested that we meet at a coffee shop within walking distance. Once we were there, he wasted no time in calling me a whore—in shaming me—for, as he put it, ‘getting out of control.’ He told me that the amount of grain alcohol I drank was embarrassing. And that the way I came on to his so-called ‘friends’ embarrassed him. Him! Can you imagine! Then he showed me pictures.” She shudders at the thought. “Me with…with men I’d never met before! Me, doing…things!…Horrible things!”
As she sobs, I lay my hand on her shoulder.
She sighs, but she doesn’t push me away. “He then pulled out an envelope. There were pictures inside of…all of it. He said he’d done me a favor buying the photos and the negatives, which he claimed he destroyed. He handed me the photos.” Mary Ann rolls her eyes. “Can you believe I actually thanked him?”
“You weren’t thinking.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t. Otherwise, I would have known he never loved me.” The tears clinging to her lower lashes finally fall and roll down her face. “But hey, it was a different time. We didn’t talk about those kinds of things back then.”
“Who is Scorpio?” I ask.
“Other than the biggest mistake of my life?” Her laugh is filled with cruel memories. “Nope, sorry! If I tell you, I’ll be the next victim on his list—and so will you.”
To encourage her to speak, I’m just about to tell Mary Ann that Lilith is no longer a problem when she adds, “You know, Tommy and Vera were an item even before the class.”
“I take it his disappearance frightened her too.”
“She had an additional reason to be scared. Scorpio made a move on her too.” Mary Ann shudders at the memory. “When I heard about it, I told her my own sad tale. I don’t think she ever told Tommy. He would have killed Scorpio!
” She pauses to consider that. “Maybe it would have been for the best. Instead, all of us—Jonathan, Tommy, Vera, and I—allowed Scorpio and Lilith to ruin us.”
“Where is Vera now?”
“She teaches languages at USC. Russian.”
A chill runs through my veins.
As casually as I can, I ask, “Do you have a picture of Vera?”
She nods. “Follow me.”
We walk into one of the bungalow’s bedrooms. It’s set up as an office. Mary Ann points to a billboard—really, a collage of photos. One picture, tucked far into the upper right-hand corner, shows two women—girls really: in bikinis lying on the beach.
Beside the photo is another more recent one. It was taken recently because it is Vera as she looked when I saw her with Jack.
Aquarius—Vera Gantry—is the woman Jack killed.
How can that be? Lilith was Taurus…
Unless Jack killed the wrong woman.
“Have you heard from her lately?” My voice is shaking. I pray Mary Ann doesn’t hear that quiver.
She shakes her head. “No, but she has a habit of going dark. I guess she’s like me: always looking over her shoulder.” Mary Ann shrugs. “You know, Vera took in Tommy after his accident. Otherwise, he’d have been homeless. The medical bills alone wiped him out! The last time I was at her place, she mentioned she was holding onto some of the remnants of his old life: his school books, notebooks, his old computer—just in case, by some miracle, his brain fog cleared. It was wishful thinking on her part. We both knew it,” she grimaced. “I’ll give you her telephone number and her address.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.” I don’t want to be the one to break the bad news to Mary Ann.
Not yet, anyway.
She writes it down and hands it to me. “Donna, will you let me know how everything turns out?”
I stop myself from replying, You’ll know one way or another.
Instead, I merely say, “Of course.”
Vera’s apartment, in Culver City, is a half hour north.
I can’t altogether avoid the surveillance cameras surrounding her apartment complex, but I can park far enough away and enter through an alley to avoid being seen breaking and entering through her back door.
From her desk calendar, I see her next classes were to commence again on Monday. When the body is finally called in, the coroner will rule it a heart attack.
Jack killed her on Thursday—three days ago. Plenty of time for the stench of decay to set in. I do my best not to gag as I open closets and drawers, looking for anything with Tommy’s name or initials on it. Finally, tucked on the highest shelf of a linen closet, I find a canvas bag containing an ancient laptop computer. It also holds some lined notebooks. The initials T.A. are marked on the bottom right-hand corner of each one.
I take Vera’s computer too.
I go out the way I came in. If I’m lucky, the only thing I’ll leave behind is the prayer I say over her corpse.
Jack is in his favorite spot: the hammock in our backyard.
I once asked him what he thinks about as he lays there. His answer: “Absolutely nothing.”
I envy him. We all need a haven from the world now and then. Swaying gently between two shady oaks is as good a place as any.
“How was Manhattan Beach?” he asks as I fall in beside him.
“Enlightening.”
And then I proceed to tell him the good news first:
That Cancer confirmed she sent Jonathan’s thumb drive to Evan.
That she revealed another Russian asset in the class: Scorpio.
I save the worst for last: that Jack killed an innocent woman.
Hearing this, he sits straight up in the hammock. “But…she was already verified as a foreign agent!”
“By POTUS,” I confirm. “But did he tell you how he came across that intel?”
Jack’s head shakes from his anger and confusion. “He claimed it was a valid source.”
“But he wanted you to keep it from Branham.”
Jack nods. The way he frowns, I know that, like me, he questioned Edmonton’s motive at the time. Still, he did as our Commander in Chief requested.
“He allowed me to clear it with Ryan,” Jack points out. “We should call him now.”
He rolls out of the hammock. As I follow behind him, I notice his head is bowed, but his strides are deliberate.
He thinks he was played for a fool.
I hope he’s wrong—for Edmonton’s sake.
16
Void of Course
[Donna’s horoscope today]
* * *
A “void of course” takes place when the Moon rules your planet. Warning: This is never a good time to begin a new project! Instead, use this period to review, reconsider, and reorganize.
Introspection usually means looking inward for answers. What others tell you may be contrived to lead you down a rocky path with twists and turns that can lead to a fatal misstep.
Despite the complications laid at your pedicured toes, you can, and will, agilely step over them without twisting your pretty little ankle—if you heed the advice coming from your head as opposed to your heart.
“Not good.” Ryan’s reaction to Jack’s bad news is understated, to say the least.
“I’ve got to report this to POTUS,” Jack insists.
“Agreed,” Ryan says. “Perhaps you should do it from here, officially.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Jack replies.
“So, we’re back to square one with Lilith,” I mutter.
“Seems that way,” Ryan admits. “Donna, what can you tell me about your stop in Manhattan Beach?”
“Cancer—that is, Mary Ann Harrison—revealed that Scorpio may also be a Russian operative.”
“Does she know his real identity?”
“She did, but she refused to tell me. She feels he’s just as dangerous as Lilith.” Who is now back in play, damn it. “And whereas Tommy can’t seem to recall the exact code change he made to Jonathan’s original software, he remembered it had to do with a GPS coordinate.”
“Well, that’s a shame.” Ryan’s irritation deepens his voice to a growl.
“There is one mitigating circumstance, sir. Mary Ann mentioned that Vera Gantry and Tommy were lovers before taking the class. Vera had also been approached by Scorpio, but unlike Mary Ann, she turned down his advances. She never told Tommy about it because she didn’t want to upset him. Vera must have forgiven him for his affair with Lilith because after his suicide attempt, like Mary Ann, she allowed him to stay with her periodically. She even stored some of his things from before his suicide attempt. I retrieved them today—his computer and some notebooks.”
“That was probably him banging on her door that night when she asked me to leave through the back door.” From Jack’s tone, I can tell that this realization saddens him.
“Have Jack bring the items in with him. We’ll have the rest of the team look through it.”
“If they need my help—”
“Thanks for the offer, but you’ll be busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Emma found Arthur Yates,” Ryan explains.
“The astrology instructor-slash-Russian-handler?”
“One and the same.”
“Where will I find him?”
“The Loma Linda Comfort Care facility in Santa Monica.”
“A nursing home?” Jack is just as surprised as me. “Why didn’t the Russians bring him home?”
“Good question,” Ryan responds. “I suppose it’s a combination of factors. Apparently, he had a stroke in the 1990s. At the time the Soviet Union was crumbling. The KGB had its hands full at home as well as abroad. Many Russian assets had already defected, and Russian citizens were leaving the country in droves. According to Arthur’s health files, he never really recovered. In the decades since, he slipped into dementia. Maybe they felt it wasn’t worth the risk.”
“But you think he’s worth a vis
it?” I ask.
“At this point, every lead is crucial.” Ryan sighs. “Craigs, you’ve got your marching orders.”
After we hang up, Jack takes my hand. “I’m sorry you had to go back to Vera’s place.”
At all costs, our role as assassins means to do the job and get out with little if any notice. Still, I know Jack well enough to imagine he’s wracked with guilt about Vera. Otherwise, I would not now say, “You know, Jack, we could break protocol.”
“You mean call it into Emergency Services?” He thinks about that for a moment. “You’re right. It’s the very least we can do. First, I’ll ask Arnie to scrub the apartment complex’s surveillance of us—but yes, her loved ones need to know.”
That would include Mary Ann.
What a shame. First, Jonathan, now Vera.
I’ll break the news to her myself: Vera was found dead of a heart attack.
“You’re here for Mr. Yates?” Jennifer Crenshaw, the director of Loma Linda Comfort Care, gazes at me from above her glasses.
“You seem surprised.” I keep a benign smile on my lips.
“Only because…well, he rarely has visitors. In fact, I’ve been here nine years, and I only remember one…maybe two.”
I shift the dozen roses I’ve bought along with a copy of a spy novel—Red Sparrow by Jason Matthews— to shake her hand. When the book drops anyway, she leans down with a grunt to retrieve it for me.
“Thank you!” I exclaim as she hands it back. “Uncle Arthur loves spy novels. I don’t read them myself, but the clerk at the bookstore said this was a good one. I just hope he hasn’t read it yet.”
Mrs. Crenshaw shakes her head sadly. “I’m sure he hasn’t, dear. You see, Mr. Yates’ dementia is quite advanced.”
“I figured as much. Still,” I let a few tears flow. “They say I sound and look like my mother. I thought that seeing me might spark something in him.”