Spies Lie Series Box Set

by D S Kane

  “A friend. We have a study date today at the house.”

  That seemed to satisfy him because he pulled the car from the curb and they were at the compound in minutes.

  As they entered the austere hallway, Charles looked around and shrugged. “Your parents don’t believe in a cluttered life, do they?”

  “False! Their bedroom looks like a garbage dump. They just don’t scatter stuff anywhere else. Lee used to, but Cassie throws out anything he leaves outside their room. He learned pretty fast.”

  She led him up the stairs. Showed him Lee and Cassie’s bedroom. “See?”

  “Wow. I’m impressed. How do they find anything?” He turned around and then picked up something off the floor. “A candy bar wrapper.”

  “Yeah. Lee’s the worst. Most of this stuff is his. Before Cassie got into trouble, their room was way neater.”

  And saying her new mom’s name, Ann found her mind swirling with thoughts of Cassie, memories of how she’d rescued her and given her a wonderful life asking nothing from Ann in return. Suddenly, she was sobbing uncontrollably. “She’s gonna die, I just know it. And there’s nothing, not a thing I can do.”

  Charles sat down and drew her to him. “You don’t know that.” He held her, rocked her back and forth, cradling her head. “You have to hope for the best.”

  She looked up into his eyes and nodded. The tears stopped. “But I don’t know if I can.” She hugged him tighter. “I’ll try, big C.”

  He nodded. “It’s all you can do. And when you feel like this, call me. I’ll be here as fast as I can. Okay?”

  She realized she had friends now. Not just Lee, her make believe father. There were people her own age who would listen to her, share her fears and hopes.

  Ann smiled. She lightly touched her lips to his. “Thanks.” She rose out of his grasp. “Let’s go do the English homework. You promised you’d help.”

  Phillip Watson sat in the lobby of Al Bustan Palace InterContinental, looking at his purchases from the souk. He wore the straw Panama hat he’d bought. He’d bought a few changes of underwear and several inexpensive dress shirts in a shopping bag. The money he’d stolen from a tourist by picking the man’s pocket had bought him all this and more. He patted his jacket pocket, reassured that the stolen passport was there. He’d need to find a cobbler and have his own photo taken and inserted into the passport.

  His smile was interrupted and his head snapped up. Noise from guests entering the hotel snared his attention. He was still nervous about the possibility he was being stalked. He looked toward the entrance, and what he saw made him shudder.

  Watson recognized William Wing, the self-reputed hacker who’d been one of his early investors. Now he remembered Wing was also the man who’d sent him Cassandra Sashakovich. The hacker was at the head of the group that included several huge men and women, walking toward the marble check-in counter. He could tell that they were all part of a group because they all wore the same Hawaiian shirts. Oh shit. In desperation, he pulled the hat down to cover as much of his face as possible, and also reached for the Arabic language newspaper that someone had left on the ottoman in front of him. Watson held the newspaper to cover the front of his face, pretending to read it while he watched from around its edges.

  He focused his attention on Wing, who stood at the reception desk. William said, just loud enough for Watson to hear the words, “Begging your pardon, sir, we’re looking for two business associates who is staying at this hotel. We’re here to meet with Phillip Watson and Henry Guthrie. Could you tell us which room either is in?” Watson flinched at the mention of his name and that of his first alias. His heartbeat accelerated. He felt the lobby becoming smaller and warmer. Perspiration bubbled on his upper lip and dripped into his mouth. He wanted to bolt, but was frozen in his chair. He tried to keep from screaming as the clerk gave Watson’s room number to Wing. He watched as the group headed toward the elevators. As its doors closed, Watson forced himself up from his seat. His legs wobbled as he left the hotel lobby at a trot, carrying the shopping bag. He got into the first taxi in the line at the hotel’s entrance and took it to Seeb.

  At the airport, he bought a ticket on the earliest plane leaving, a flight bound for Paris, France. Watson ran to the gate of the Air France jet and found his seat. He realized he’d never be safe.

  Shit. How’d they track him? Wing! The Asian was a hacker. The little bastard was tracking by hacking. His eyes went wide. He pulled the smartphone from his pocket and disconnected its battery. He’d need prepaid cell phones, and he wouldn’t be able to use computers until he learned how to disguise his location.

  As the jet took off, he was still steaming with anger at his mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  November 1, 2:13 a.m.

  Wailea Spa and Hotel, Maui, Hawaii

  Bob Gault wiped perspiration off his forehead. The once perfect hotel in front of him lay in tatters, like a battle scene from Gaza, Beirut, or Baghdad. He walked through the deserted rubble of the lobby. Above him he could hear the explosions. Plaster dust fell from the ceiling. He sat on the edge of a once-classic piece of sculpture anointing the lobby and propped his feet on the ruined head of a marble statue of an obese naked woman. Removing his cell phone from the pocket of his old Hawaiian shirt, he dialed his boss’s boss.

  “Sir, it’s Gault. I have status for you.”

  Greenfield smothered a cough into the receiver. Gault heard the man dismissing the people from his office. “Okay, Bob, we’re clear now. Is she dead yet?”

  “I don’t know, since they’re still fighting. But that might just be her mercenaries, if they survived and she hasn’t. Hard to tell.”

  “Keep monitoring the situation. I assume that when they finish her off, all the hitters will leave after fighting over who owns her severed head.”

  Gault imagined that the hitters would fight over her head until only one remained alive. He sighed. This wasn’t why he joined the agency. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  “Yes. What’s Ainsley’s status?”

  “I last reviewed his Bug-Lok transcript as my flight landed in Maui. No change. GPS says he’s still where he always is. And, nothing interesting on his transcripts.”

  “Good, Bob. Listen, there’s a new wrinkle on the Ainsley-Sashakovich thing. I want you to assemble a surveillance team. Follow their daughter, Ann Silbee Sashakovich.”

  He frowned. “She’s not involved in any of this, sir. Why follow her?”

  “Follow orders. If Sashakovich dies and we find it necessary to terminate Ainsley, the daughter will have to go, too. No telling what they told her. But we’re not doing that right now. So just assemble the team and report back on her travels. You are on board, aren’t you?”

  Gault’s mouth worked but no sound left his lips. He couldn’t imagine executing a fifteen-year-old.

  “Bob?”

  He gripped the cell phone so hard his fingers turned white. “Uh, yes, sir. I understand.” But, he didn’t understand.

  Greenfield terminated the call, but all Bob could do was stand there, cooking in the tropical heat while ten floors above him, people were trying to murder one of his former peers.

  There but for the grace of God went he. Suddenly, something deep within him snapped, and he walked back to the parking lot to get to his car. He drove back to his hotel, the InterContinental, just down the road.

  He had work to do. Something new burned deep inside him. It was as if his very soul was at stake.

  There was a lull in the fighting. Cassie fell asleep while daylight streamed bright through cracks and bullet holes in the closed window shades. Her two remaining bodyguards took turns on watch. She was startled awake by her cell phone vibrating against her shirt pocket. “Sashakovich,” she answered, still drowsy.

  “Is this Cassandra Sashakovich?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “This is April May O’Toole. I’m an investigative reporter, working from northern California. Is this Ms. S
ashakovich?”

  Cassie frowned. What’s this all about? “Yes I’m Sashakovich. What do you want?”

  “I’d like to interview you for a piece I’m writing on the President’s trial for treason.”

  Cassie’s jaw dropped. “Trial? Has a trial started?”

  “No, but it’s the big story in Washington right now. And rumors I’ve heard say it all started with you. So—”

  Shocked, Cassie started to terminate the call, but then an idea occurred to her. “I’ll cooperate. But we’re under attack here. You may have heard. Have you?”

  “Yes. It’s posted on a news site.”

  Cassie nodded, thinking how to leverage her danger. “I may have to terminate our conversation if the shooting starts again.” And then, conveniently, the shooting began right on time for the interview. The cracks of gunshots were louder than Cassie’s voice.

  “How close are your enemies?”

  “They’re right here, and they have been for over a week. Hundreds right on this floor, some as close as fifty feet, and none more than two hundred feet away. Possibly a thousand more in the hotel lobby and many more on the grounds surrounding the hotel. So far we’ve been able to defend ourselves, but several of my team have been hurt by these contract killers. Seems that the police can’t or won’t try to stop them.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Dunno. Maybe because there are less police on this island than killers. But possibly because the island is controlled by the Yakuza. Certainly not a good advertisement for security at the hotels here.”

  “And, why are so many people trying to kill you?”

  Her mind worked at light speed, and she knew this was a double-edged sword. If she spoke truthfully, she’d attract more hitters, and even more people betting on her death. A bullet whizzed by her head and made a loud “thunk” in the wall. “Shit, that one was too close,” she said, wondering if the interviewer would bleep out her vulgar word. “All I can say is, I came here for a vacation, and what’s happening to me isn’t in any of the hotel’s brochures. I thought that Hawaii was supposed to be a relaxing place. Well, this isn’t soothing. It’s a very bad way to spend the few remaining days of my young life.”

  “I’d like some background on you. How old are you, Ms. Sashakovich?”

  “I’ll turn twenty-nine in another four months, but only if I can live that long. The visit to Hawaii was to be an early birthday vacation.”

  “Oh.” There was a long silence from O’Toole, but once again she heard the woman’s typing. Cassie figured she was pondering how to regain control over the conversation. “I did some investigative work on the President. It seems you had something to do with the charges of treason now pending against him. Can you to tell me what you know about the President and what he did to trigger the investigation?”

  Cassie thought about what she might garner from this conversation. “What can you offer me for helping you out?”

  “Well, I could write your story. I mean, it could make front-page news.”

  Cassie’s voice rose in alarm. “I don’t think that’d help. It might cause things here to get even worse. But maybe you’ll think of something else.” At least O’Toole offered a quid pro quo.

  “So, what did the President do to merit a treason trial?”

  Cassie frowned. “I’ve been out of Washington for over three weeks. I don’t even know what’s currently happening. So, be more specific.”

  “I feel sure there’s a more interesting story underneath the man’s treason, if that’s even true. Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all?”

  A loud explosion blew out another chunk of the rapidly disappearing doorway. Cassie waited for her hearing to normalize. “Listen, I have to defend myself and this conversation is taking me away from that. Tell you what; I’ll call you if I manage to live long enough to get off this island. When I’m safe. Gotta go now. You can ask your questions if I survive this.”

  Cassie waited while the reporter paused. “Well, Ms. Sashakovich, I wish you and your team luck. And I hope that the police can find a way to help you out of this.”

  Cassie terminated the call. She braved a glance out the suite’s broken picture window and could see a television truck parked outside in the parking lot. Finally, news media was becoming aware of this! It was getting too surreal for even her. If I’m murdered, will my death be televised? Will they televise my beheading? Woman murdered at luxury hotel, headshot at eleven.

  As the days passed, the attacks became the only constant in her life. She watched her mercs get wounded, one by one, but so far none had died. Most of the wounds were superficial, straight-throughs or grazes. They’d been lucky. Now, it was ten days. Their food was down to scraps and they were low on ammunition. Three of the mercenaries had recovered weapons from the zombie patriots and were using an array of rifles and handguns. The remainder of her mercs were only firing when they had a kill-shot. since Shimmel’s call telling her that he was on his way. She wondered, will we get lucky and actually live through this?

  And she heard nothing on the news from the only television in the two suites that still hadn’t been crippled by bullets. They were on their own until Avram returned.

  There was no way for her to change what might happen to her and the people devoted to her survival while they waited. She thought about April May O’Toole and how the reporter could be manipulated to do something helpful for Cassie and her mercs. Nothing came to her. She was exhausted and her thought process compromised.

  Over dinner Lee whispered to Ann, “I heard from Shimmel. Tonight’s the night. They’re gonna try to evac Cassie to a sub.”

  Her jaw had dropped. “Lee, won’t this be even more dangerous than her staying in the hotel? Won’t they be able to kill her and the mercenaries as soon as they leave the room?”

  Lee’d dropped his gaze to his dinner plate. “Yes. But she won’t last much longer in the hotel. They have to try.”

  Ann left her dinner on its plate and trudged up the stairs to her room. At first she cried, worried she’d never see her new mom again. She wanted to tell Cassie she loved her. But being alone while this happened, it was intolerable. She needed her friends. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and made four calls in succession.

  She waited for an hour until she heard the doorbell ring. Lee called up the stairs. “Ann, you have some visitors. Four, to be exact.”

  “Send them up. And thanks, Lee.”

  Ann, Charles, and her friends from algebra class sat on the carpet in her bedroom. Ann looked into every face. “I need your help. I feel desperate. Is there anything I can do to help my mom? Sitting here while she fights for her life. It makes me angry and sad at the same time.”

  Susan stared back. “Pray for her.”

  Anne heard no other alternatives. Without conviction, she nodded her head. “Okay. Maybe it’ll work.” But she looked from one head to the next, unsure how to do this.

  Susan folded her hands together. “Just try to talk to God. He’ll listen.”

  Their eyes were closed, their hands clasped together. Ann barely whispered. “Almighty, if you do indeed exist, please save my mom.”

  In unison, they whispered, “Amen.”

  Susan reached Ann’s other hand and grasped it. “Keep on praying. Even if it doesn’t work, it’ll make you feel good.”

  Mary sighed. “Didn’t help my mom. But our family priest told me sometimes it does if your faith is strong enough.”

  Julie smiled at Ann. “It might work. Maybe this time it will.”

  Ann had no idea if it would work. Or what might work better. But this was the only thing anyone had offered as a way she could help Cassie. And that was her objective.

  The sun set red on a gray pillow of clouds in Lahaina, the perfect model of a tourist town. Five men wearing Hawaiian shirts made their way toward shore, paddling a rubber raft. Now about a hundred yards off the shore, they used binoculars to scan the marina. One pointed to an en
ormous yacht, large enough to hold over one hundred passengers. They paddled fast, heading toward it.

  When they reached the yacht, the one closest to it threw a heavy-duty rope around its stainless steel docking cleat on the port side and then all five silently boarded. Dinner in Lahaina had drawn its occupants to the shoreside restaurants. They disabled the only guard, rendering him unconscious before he could react to the men behind him.

  One of them placed his body onto the raft they’d used and pushed him in the general direction of shore.

  In minutes, the yacht’s new crew had the yacht’s anchor up and the engine running. One of them, their leader, dialed a number on the GNU Radio phone. “We’ve got the prize, sir, and we’re headed out. Heavy-duty engine. We can do at least fifteen knots. We’ll meet up with you in Wailea in under an hour.” He listened for the reply and then terminated the connection.

  William Wing drew his cell phone from his pants pocket. He called Cassie.

  “Cassie? It’s Wing. I have bad news and good news. Which—”

  “Not funny, William. Just tell me everything.”

  Wing gulped. He thought, here goes everything. He took a deep breath to calm and center himself. “Watson has once again evaded us. The room contained his suitcase, with a few pieces of clothing, some of it Middle Eastern. We waited in the lobby for him. I don’t know how, but I’m pretty sure he must have spotted us as we entered the lobby and just flew away. That’s the bad news. The good news is that while we were on our way here, he received and made several phone calls on his smartphone. He received one from a guy named Omasu Maru. When you first called with news of the attack, I did some research for Avram Shimmel and it turns out that Maru is the head of the Japanese Building Society’s Tokyo branch. It’s also called the Yakuza. I’m still researching details of the call. But I discovered, when breaking into GrayNet.com, the identifiers used in the telecommunications from Maru to Watson are similar to the identifiers from the party that placed the original bet on your death. So I ran a scan on both Maru and Houmaz and guess what? There are several calls made by each of them to the other.”