Next Exit, Three Miles

by CW Browning

  “Are you sure you don't want to have some steamed water added?” she asked once again. Alina smiled.

  “No, thank you,” she answered.

  Damon chuckled.

  “That would dilute the caffeine and we can't have that,” he told the girl with a grin and a wink.

  She laughed and turned to get Alina's coffee. A few minutes later she handed her the to-go cup.

  “God bless you,” she said to Alina. “If I drank that, I would be up for days straight.”

  Alina smiled and took her coffee and she and Damon turned to leave the shop.

  “That girl will forever remember you as the woman in yellow, who drinks straight espresso by the gallon,” Damon said as they exited into the sunshine on the sidewalk. “Let's walk.”

  “And she will forever remember you as the guy with the great ass,” Alina retorted, turning right and walking with him toward the main street that was filled with shops and bistros.

  Damon grinned.

  "Will she now?" he demanded.

  Alina nodded.

  "You know darn well she was staring," she answered. "How did you find that place, anyway?"

  "Appalling, isn't it?" Damon asked cheerfully. "I fully expect it to go commercial and find one on every corner soon. Reminds me of a tiny hole in the wall in Amsterdam."

  "I've never been to Amsterdam," Alina said thoughtfully. "Never had occasion to. Is it nice?"

  "It's...interesting," Damon answered. "I can't imagine they would want you there. You would cause too much ruckus. It's turning into a modern day Casablanca. More spooks than tourists."

  Alina nodded complacently. She had never had any illusions about her job.

  "So why the pressing need to meet?" she asked as they emerged onto Main Street and joined the mid-morning throng.

  "I found out something that you might find interesting," Damon answered, sipping his coffee. He grimaced and tossed the full cup into the closest trash can. Alina grinned and handed him hers. He drank some thankfully. "Mmmm....much better."

  "Why did you order that milky nonsense?" Alina demanded.

  Damon grinned.

  "All part of the illusion, m'dear."

  "Hmmpf," was Alina's only response. "I never mess with my coffee. The shoes were bad enough."

  Damon burst out laughing.

  "When I told you to blend in, I really didn't think you would listen so well," he said, taking another look at the trendy skirt. "I didn't know you had legs!"

  "You know exactly what I look like," Alina retorted, hiking her absurdly large bag higher on her shoulder. "What do you think I will find interesting?"

  “Well, I got a call last night from your friend and mine, Harry...in DC.” Damon got back to business and turned his attention from her legs to the pavement in front of them. “Turns out that he is a little concerned about some developments that cropped up over the bridge.”

  “Is he still playing cops and robbers for Homeland Security?” Alina asked, taking her coffee back and drinking.

  “Trying to. Apparently, something happened over at Three Mile Island.”

  “Three Mile Island?” Alina glanced at him, surprised despite herself. “As in...nuclear plant....one reactor shut down since the 70's....mother of all cold war horror stories...that Three Mile Island?”

  “That's the one.” Damon grasped her elbow lightly and turned her down an oak-lined side street. “I think the Church is down here, darling.”

  “I think you're paranoid, dear,” Alina retorted, nevertheless slipping her arm around his waist. “No one is paying an ounce of attention to us,” she hissed.

  “I know,” Damon answered cheerfully. “I just wanted to see what you would do.”

  Alina bit her lip to keep from laughing and pulled away.

  “Will you be serious?!” she demanded.

  Damon laughed down at her, his blue eyes glinting.

  “I'm always serious with you,” he murmured with a wink.

  He turned his attention back to the street and guided her across to a Catholic church. They went inside and moved down the dimly-lit center aisle of the deserted sanctuary. Damon stepped into a pew three-quarters of the way to the front, and Alina briefly genuflected in the aisle before following him. They knelt on the kneeler together.

  “I didn't know you were Catholic,” Damon whispered.

  “There's a lot you don't know,” Alina whispered back. “Now tell me about the Island.”

  “A security guard lost his clearance badge last week,” Damon replied, his head bowed as though in prayer.

  Alina kept her face forward toward the alter, her eyes alert.

  “That doesn't constitute an incident,” Alina answered.

  “No,” Damon agreed. “But the guard is now missing.”

  “Well, hell.”

  Alina bowed her head and glanced at Damon. Brown eyes met blue.

  “Your friend at the Bureau doesn't know it yet, but she's about to get dragged into one big mess,” Damon said.

  Alina shrugged.

  “She's already in it,” she retorted. “Any ideas on the whereabouts of the guard?”

  “Not yet.” Damon lowered his head again and Alina did the same. “The badge was reported missing at night when he came back from a break and it was gone from his desk. He followed security protocol and then left for the night. He didn't show up for his next shift 2 nights later, and he hasn't been seen or heard from since he walked out the gates.”

  “Fabulous.” Alina closed her eyes, her mind working rapidly. “When was his missed shift?”

  “Friday,” Damon answered. “Three days ago. They're looking for him, but they want you to be aware.”

  “And you're going to make sure, if the body surfaces, that Stephanie is brought in,” Alina stated rather than asked.

  “Of course.” Damon chuckled. “She is one unhappy camper with me sticking my nose in, but I won't take it personally.”

  “Don't.” Alina smiled slightly. “She has no idea who you are. If she knew you were with me, she would love you.”

  “Well, don't be too modest now.”

  Damon crossed himself awkwardly and sat back on the pew. He felt, rather than heard, Alina chuckle. She remained kneeling for a moment, and Damon afforded himself of the unabashed pleasure of viewing her from the back. He always said that she had a fine body and he was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to become re-acquainted with it now from his vantage point. After a moment, Alina crossed herself and joined him on the pew. They sat for a few moments in silence.

  “I am not getting involved in a possible incident on the Island,” she finally said. “I'm only taking care of my agenda, not theirs. Homeland Security is not, and never was, our job.”

  “I told them you would say that,” Damon replied.

  They fell silent again, Alina brooding and Damon patiently waiting. He knew Viper well. He knew that she wouldn't sit by and allow a possible terrorist attack occur on US soil if she had the ability to prevent it.

  “I was enjoying my sabbatical,” Alina finally muttered, her tone coming as close to a whine as Damon had ever heard from her. “I hadn't necessarily retired, but the effect was the same.”

  “People like us never retire,” Damon answered. “You know that.”

  They fell silent again. Alina knew he was right. They had been trained to become assassins. They worked on the “right side” of the law and in conjunction with the United States government. They were sanctioned at the highest level. But they were trained to kill for a living. This was not something that allowed for a career change. She had always known that. Even if and when they retired, killers were still killers. Contracts were still made. Consulting was still done. The game was never really over. Not until your own time came.

  “Tell me something.” Alina looked over at him. “Did you volunteer for this? Or did I just luck out that it was you?”

  Damon grinned. Blue eyes met brown again.

  “Both,” he said with a chuckle
. “No one else could have handled you.”

  “Oh, so that's what you think you're doing.” Alina stood and picked up her purse, turning to move out of the pew. Damon laughed and stood up.

  “I have my aspirations in life,” he retorted, following her.

  Alina made a sound that sounded very suspiciously like a snort and began walking back up the aisle toward the door.

  “Well, given the developments, I guess I'm stuck with you,” she said as they reached the heavy wooden doors to the sanctuary. “But you might as well know, I am not thrilled with the situation. As much as I love you, I have never cared to be manipulated. You might want to pass that message on.”

  Damon reached around her and pushed open one of the heavy doors, holding it open for her to pass out before him.

  “Trust me,” he said. “I already warned them.” They stepped back outside into the warm spring sunlight. “But I'm a little hurt to actually hear you say it,” he added.

  Alina looked up at him.

  “It's nothing personal,” she told him. “Think of yourself as Jafar's parrot. You're essentially harmless, but trouble is usually right behind you.”

  Damon stared at her, torn between shock and laughter.

  “I don't know which bothers me more,” he told her. “You saying I'm harmless or the fact that you watch Disney movies!”

  Alina's lips curved into a slow grin.

  “I told you, there are a lot of things about me that you don't know,” she answered.

  She turned and started to head back to the main road and Damon followed.

  “Apparently,” he murmured, his eyes falling once again to her legs.

  Chapter Four

  Alina sat behind the wheel of her black SUV and surveyed the scene before her from behind her sunglasses. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was starting to cast shadows on the wide Susquehanna river. She had passed the bridge to the island about a mile back. Now she was parked on the bank of the river, staring straight ahead at the four reactor towers on Three Mile Island. Two were eerily dark, a testament to the reactor incident that had occurred over thirty years ago, resulting in the reactor being removed. The other two, however, were still in full use, with fluffy white smoke rising from the funnels.

  Alina picked up her military binoculars from the seat beside her and surveyed the island, taking note of the security details and the fencing alignment. She studied the roads in and out, the buildings, and the parking lots. After about half an hour of studying the island, she set down the binoculars and picked up her iPad. A few swipes of her finger and she had pulled up all the local newspaper articles in the past two months. She was in the middle of scanning them when her phone chirped.

  “Yes?” Alina said shortly as she picked it up.

  “Whoa, cranky!” Angela's voice exclaimed. “Am I interrupting?”

  “And if you are?” Alina asked, swiping to another page.

  “Too bad,” was the cheerful response. “Dinner? I had steak in mind. I know a fabulous steakhouse in Voorhees. Best steak in South Jersey.”

  Alina paused in her reading. Angela knew how to get her attention.

  “It will have to be later,” Alina said, glancing at the display on her dashboard. “I'm about two hours away.”

  “Well, hurry up,” Angela retorted. “I'm hungry. I'll call and see if I can drag Steph away from work long enough to eat.”

  Angela hung up without waiting for an answer and Alina set the phone down slowly. She looked out the window again, gazing once more at the infamous island before her.

  What was she doing? Alina tapped her finger on the side of her iPad. Her objective was to track down Johann Topamari and eliminate him, using all means possible. Nowhere in that objective had she made allowances for old friendships and steak dinners. The initial dinner? Well, that was necessary. She had to re-connect with Stephanie and get inside her investigation. That had a purpose. But this? Dinner with Angela had no purpose. Alina frowned. She had known coming back to Jersey was going to be complicated.

  Viper stared unseeingly at the dead reactor in the distance. She had arrived in Jersey and everything had gone according to her plan, right up until Damon had shown up. Then everything had gone askew somehow. Now, she had the added pressure of having to accomplish her objective before some kind of attack on US soil took place. She knew Hawk was there to ensure that the public had no idea anything had occurred, but she knew him well enough to know that containment was not his specialty. He was a hunter. They both were. He was up to something, and she wouldn't know what it was until he was ready to tell her. Hunters didn't give themselves away.

  The problem was that she liked Damon. She always had. They had clicked immediately in training camp, and in the years since when they crossed paths, they had deepened that bond. They became as close to friends as people in their job could be. Now, they were working together. And Alina had never worked with anyone. Not since training camp.

  A deep sigh escaped her. She had also, somehow, become part of a circle of friends again. Friends that she had walked away from ten years ago. She had changed so much since she last saw them that Alina never dreamed they would be able to pick up their friendships right where they left off. Yet, somehow, that was exactly what was happening. How was this possible? Alina had been all over the world and seen things that she never wanted to see again. She was a completely different person now. She had made a notorious name for herself internationally and she had enemies around the world. Viper was not the sad little girl she had been ten years ago.

  God help her, Alina suspected this whole situation was going to get even more complicated before it was over.

  “Dinner?” Stephanie repeated vaguely, sitting back in her chair. John glanced up from his desk, his ears perking up. “Where?”

  “That steakhouse I've been trying to get you to try,” Angela answered. “I just spoke to Alina. She is two hours away, so you have plenty of time to finish whatever it is you're working on and get there.”

  “So what time are we thinking?” Stephanie looked at her watch and then back at the computer screen before her.

  “About seven,” Angela said. “I'll call you at six to remind you.”

  She hung up and Stephanie looked at her phone, setting it down with a huff.

  “I didn't say I would go,” she muttered, doing a neck roll.

  “Where are we going to dinner?” John asked, sitting back in his chair and stretching.

  Stephanie glanced over.

  “I guess I am going to a steakhouse,” she answered. “At least, if I can make any headway on this report.”

  “I love steak!” John said.

  “You're not invited,” Stephanie said without ceremony. “Where are you on Body Number 2?”

  “Martin Sladecki.” John pulled a legal pad out from underneath a pile of bank statements. “Age 57, owned a franchise of convenience stores named “Quick Stops” and worked out of Trenton. He has a sister who lives in Palmyra. It's a fair bet that's where he was headed when he met with his accident.” John got up from his chair and walked over with his notepad and his smartphone. “Sisters name is Nancy. She's divorced with two kids.”

  Stephanie sat back in her chair as John perched on the edge of her desk.

  “Do we know his connection with Angelo yet?” she asked.

  John switched to his smartphone. He swiped the screen and hit a few buttons on the touchscreen before holding the phone out to Stephanie. She found herself staring at a picture of both Angelo and Martin.

  “That's a picture of a picture in Angelo's house,” John told her. “Both of the deceased and their respective wives. Looks like it was taken down the shore.”

  “Do we know which one?” Stephanie asked.

  John laughed and took the phone back.

  “I may be good, but I'm not that good,” he retorted. “The Atlantic looks the same from all the shore points. However, Matt, down in the lab, thinks he can at least pin-point when the picture was t
aken. He has the original.”

  “Well, regardless, all this proves is that they were friends,” Steph muttered. “Anything else on Martin's businesses?”

  “Yep.” John picked up the notepad again. “All seven locations have been featured in investigations at one time or another for ties to the good, old-fashioned, Jersey mob. There was never enough evidence for charges, but on more than one occasion he was questioned in relation to money-laundering activities which, of course, you knew already. I am still waiting on all the reports from archives, but it looks like this has been ongoing since the early nineties. Each time we questioned him, he had a $500 an hour lawyer on speed-dial.”

  “That's expensive legal counsel for someone who drove a four-year old Cadillac,” Stephanie commented.

  John nodded.

  “Someone was paying the bills,” he agreed. “General opinion was that it was Frankie Solitto, head of the Jersey Family. Of course, there is no confirmation of that.”

  “I've never known street gossip to be wrong.” Stephanie picked up her pen and started twirling it absently. “So, we have a money-launderer for the Solitto family vacationing with a known arms dealer on the Jersey shore. Does Angelo have any ties to the Solitto family?”

  “The opposite,” John answered. “Frankie Solitto draws a very firm line between doing business with his Family and any other businessmen. It just isn't done. If you work for Frank, you don't work for anyone else, including yourself. Angelo wasn't working for, with, or in any way around the Solitto Family. I can guarantee that.”

  “So Martin broke the cardinal rule and was working with Angelo?” Stephanie tossed the pen back onto the desk. “So Frankie Solitto had him whacked?”

  “It's possible,” John shrugged. “I'm going through Martins' bank statements now. Not an easy task.”

  Stephanie nodded and pushed him off her desk.

  “Then you better get back to it,” she said. John headed back to his desk. “If the mob had them both whacked, our friend from DHS can go on his merry way.”

  “I thought of that.” John sat down again. After a moment, he glanced up. “But it can't be that easy, can it?”