by John Locke
“Did you say Darwin?”
“Yeah. Darwin’s alive and well.”
“So I was right? Lou Kelly is Darwin?”
“Try Dr. Petrovsky.”
“Bullshit!”
“I’m serious.”
“Dr. P.? But how did you—”
“I’ll tell you later. Let’s try another name Sam might be using.”
“Go ahead.”
“Donovan Creed.”
“What? Why would he use your name?”
“Just give it a try. See if I’m registered.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
“No. Just see if he used my name. It would be just like him.”
“Okay.”
She puts me on hold again. Moments later she says, “Bingo.”
Callie says, “I can kill him now, once and for all.”
I don’t respond.
She says, “Donovan?”
“Sorry. I’m still pondering the idea Sam has stolen my identity.”
“Your identity?”
“In order to check in, he’d need a credit card with my name on it.”
“Wow!”
“Wow, indeed.”
Darwin told me Sam hasn’t left the bunker. Doesn’t mean he’s lying. Sam’s a genius. He could probably find a way to confuse Darwin for a few minutes when he needs to come and go. It would have been especially easy during the past thirty hours, since Darwin’s with me in Virginia, away from all his equipment.
Darwin also said he’s positive Kimberly isn’t having sex with Sam. He said she’s got some sort of sexual issue she’s been discussing with a psychiatrist.
My gut tells me Sam’s in a hotel room with my daughter, and sexual issues or not, I expect he’s found a way to manipulate her into a physical relationship.
The burning question is do I let Callie kill him?
That’s the smart play, and she’d love to do it. But there are two problems with that scenario. First, I’d be denying myself the opportunity to torture Sam to death. And second, my daughter’s in the room. Kimberly’s not in Callie’s league, but she’s had some training. If she puts up a fight, Callie will have to hurt her. If she pulls a gun or knife, Callie will have to kill her.
“What do you want me to do?” Callie says.
“Are you available to stay there until Kimberly leaves?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. When she leaves, subdue him and keep him there.”
“You’re on your way?”
“I’m on my way.”
Maybe Taylor.
SAM’S PHONE IS buzzing.
“I need to get that,” he says.
“Tough shit.”
“Maybe, seriously. I need to answer my phone. You’ve had your fun. Now untie me.”
It has been fun, but there’s more fun to be had. She looks at the man who’s been such a powerful influence on her life the past twelve months. He’s on the floor on his side, naked, curled in a fetal position, arms tied behind his back, wrists cuffed. Knees tied, ankles cuffed. A twelve-inch tail of red tubing protrudes from his backside, courtesy of the butt plug she’s placed in his rectum. She was in the process of forcing a red plastic ball in Sam’s mouth when his cell phone started buzzing.
She opens it, puts it to his ear.
Sam says, “Hello?”
She hears an altered voice coming through the ear piece. With his ear blocking most of the sound, the words aren’t clear to her.
But Sam seems alarmed.
He says things like, “No!” and “You’re kidding!” and “What’re you talking about?” and “You can’t quit!” and “What’s going to happen to me?”
Maybe’s heard enough. While she enjoys humiliating her boyfriend, no one else is going to upset him on her watch. She pulls the phone from Sam’s ear and says, “Who is this?”
Sam screams, “No!”
The person on the other end immediately stops talking, but it’s too late. She heard the last few words, and recognized him.
“It’s you!” she says.
The voice says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Maybe says, “I’d know your voice anywhere. Just because it’s altered doesn’t mean it’s different. You called me every day for the past year. Every day until…”
She looks at Sam, sees fear in his eyes. He struggles to break free from the cuffs.
But the cuffs are real.
From some dark place in the pit of Maybe’s stomach the anger starts like a smoldering chunk of coal. Within seconds it flares up as if coaxed by a bellows. The flame rises through her body, flushing her neck, ears, and face. Her eyes narrow.
Sam stops trying to break free long enough to say, “Please!”
But the word didn’t come from a man’s voice. It was more like the sound a whimpering, sniveling little boy might make.
When Maybe speaks into the phone her words are measured, but firm.
She says, “What’s going on here?”
The voice on the other end pauses, then says, “I knew nothing about this business with Sam until I heard the tape.”
“What tape?”
“Sam had a friend, Doc Howard, who recently passed away. I was going through Doc’s things today and came across a tape of a phone conversation he had with Sam a few days ago. I’m going to play you the tape.”
And he does.
She stares straight ahead. Blinks twice. Then presses the record button on Sam’s phone and says, “Please. Play it once more.”
He does.
Then he hangs up.
Then Maybe hangs up.
She looks at Sam, trussed like a turkey.
He whimpers, “I love you!”
She shakes her head, hoping to force her brain to comprehend what she just heard.
“Kimberly!” he says. “What’s wrong?”
“You love me, don’t you Sam?”
He strains to break the handcuffs on his wrists and ankles, but again, these aren’t lovers’ toys, they’re regulation handcuffs. Sam flops around the floor like the fish she caught many years ago when she was a kid. The fish flipped and flapped and kept trying to hurl itself back into the lake. Eventually the fish gave up and accepted its fate.
Only then did Maybe kick it back into the water.
Sam looks like a trussed turkey when he’s not flopping around like a fish out of water. A trussed turkey with a heavily-bandaged beak.
“You love me, Sam?”
“I do! I swear to God!”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
She presses the rewind button and says, “Don’t lie to God.”
“I wasn’t! I was just—”
She presses the speaker button, so he can hear the tape. Without question, it’s Sam’s voice. And what he’s saying is, “Kimberly Creed is inferior to me in every possible way. And now I’ve made her my fuck pony.”
She presses the stop button to observe the effect these words have on her boyfriend.
As she expected, Sam doesn’t look so good. His face has turned pale. His lips are trembling.
She presses the play button so Sam can hear his voice say, “Fucking her was child’s play! And I’ll continue to fuck her as long as it suits me, though she’s not much of a lay. If not for the connection to Creed, I wouldn’t travel across town to do her.”
She’s so hurt, so dejected, all she can manage to say is, “Sam.”
He says, “I can explain.”
But he can’t. She sees his mind racing to come up with something plausible to say, but the tape blindsided him so completely he’s got…nothing.
She closes Sam’s cell phone, tosses it on the bed. Then she walks across the room to retrieve something from her handbag.
He sees it and says, “Don’t do this!”
She moves toward him.
Darwin.
DARWIN CAN’T BELIEVE it. Things had been going so well. He called Sam, told him to forget the hit
on Sherry Cherry, told him it was too late. Told him, “I’m quitting. I’m out of it.”
Then Sam said, “You can’t quit!” and Darwin said, “Creed knows everything. You’re on your own!”
Then Darwin said, “If you’re smart, you’ll take your life before Creed hunts you down.”
Except that last part was heard by Kimberly.
Creed’s daughter.
The one who thought she’d been talking to Sam for the past year.
Darwin didn’t get to age sixty in the assassination business without being quick-witted. He had one ace in the hole.
The tape.
…And figured this was as good a time as any to play it.
Perhaps the tape would infuriate her enough to kill Sam. That would be the ideal situation. Because if Sam’s alive when Creed shows up, he’ll spill his guts and Creed will learn it was Darwin who manipulated Kimberly to become a killer.
Darwin, not Sam.
So he played the tape. She asked him to play it again, and Darwin obliged. Then he hung up and started to make one last call. But before he could press the button on his speed dial, his phone rang.
Creed.
He answers, and Creed says, “Get your things and meet us in the lobby in two minutes. We’re out of here!”
Darwin’s bags are already packed, which gives him sixty seconds to make one last phone call before his official retirement. The call he’s contemplating will impact Rachel Case’s future. In Darwin’s opinion, Rachel is certifiably insane, and she’s Creed’s only weakness. He thinks a moment, trying to decide if the call is necessary. For the sake of his partnership with Creed, he decides it is.
When he presses the button, Lou answers.
“This is Lou Kelly. Who’s calling?”
Darwin turns on the voice-altering equipment and says, “Lou, this is Holden Prescott.
Lou knows Holden is the chairman of Homeland Security.
Darwin continues, “The committee has reviewed your credentials and are preparing to render a decision regarding your request to replace Darwin. In fairness, I need to point out the committee is divided. Several members feel Donovan Creed is the best candidate for the job. I happen to disagree. In my opinion, Creed’s unstable.”
“What can I do to help sway the vote?” Lou says.
“Those who support Creed think you’re too soft.”
“What? Creed and I worked overseas for years with the CIA. If you check the record you’ll see I matched him kill for kill.”
“That was a long time ago, Mr. Kelly.”
“I’m up for any action that protects my country,” Lou says. “Name it.”
“There’s one thing I know that would sway the committee.”
“Tell me. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“It has recently come to our attention there’s a patient locked away in your facility, in an interior padded cell. She’s been receiving drug rehabilitation treatments.”
“I’m aware of the patient and the significance of keeping her safe.”
“Her safety is no longer an issue.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Center for Disease Control has gotten to the President. He’s nixed the exchange. The scientists at Mount Weather are refusing to give up Rachel Case for Sherry Birdsong.”
“Actually, that’s good news for me.”
“Why’s that?”
“As a matter of full disclosure, Ms. Birdsong—who goes by her maiden name, Cherry—has expressed an interest in dating me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Kelly, because the government can’t afford to let Sherry live. If she’s captured by one of our enemies, they could possibly use her genetic code to create the Spanish Flu virus. You want to be head of Sensory Resources? I believe the job is yours, provided you can assume credit for terminating Ms. Birdsong.”
“Surely there must be a better way! Have you considered placing her in the bunker at Mount Weather? She’s the perfect backup in case something happens to Rachel. You could protect her there, and harvest her genetic code along with Rachel’s.”
Darwin pauses, then says, “Perhaps the committee is right.”
“Sir?”
“Perhaps you aren’t emotionally equipped to handle the requirements of the job.”
“Wait!” Lou says. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Just to be clear, you’re saying if I terminate Sherry Cherry, I get Darwin’s old job?”
“I can’t speak for the rest of the committee, but you’ll certainly get my vote.”
“What sort of proof will you require?”
“Her hands and head.”
“Both hands?”
“Yes.”
“How long do I have?”
“Minutes, not hours.”
“Count on me,” he says.
Darwin hangs up, thinking whatever happens, happens.
He tosses the voice-altering device in the trash, grabs his cell phone, suitcase, and doctor’s bag, and heads for the lobby.
From this point on, whether he lives or dies, he’ll do so as a civilian.
Lou Kelly.
SHERRY CHERRY WANTS Lou to sneak her out of Sensory Resources. She wants to go to dinner in Roanoke, someplace fancy. Then she’d like to spend the night with Lou in a nice hotel. Lou would like to do those things, too.
But he also wants to be head of Sensory Resources.
As Lou sees it, there are three issues. One, he’s fallen for Sherry, and wants her to be a big part of his life. Two, the chairman of Homeland Security has ordered her death. Three, Donovan Creed has ordered him to protect her at all costs.
If he lets Sherry live, he loses the Sensory job, and Creed will eventually bully the committee, the CDC, and the President himself into putting Sherry in the bunker in exchange for her loony tunes daughter, Rachel. If Lou kills Sherry, Creed will probably try to kill him. On the other hand…
Is there another hand?
Yes.
As head of Sensory Resources, Lou can discharge Creed, put a bounty on his head, and double the security around Sensory until Creed is terminated.
It’s not a great hand, but it’s the one he intends to play. He cringes, thinking about putting a bounty on Creed’s head. There are only so many times you can attempt to kill Donovan Creed and expect to live.
Lou’s been told by Holden Prescott he has minutes, not hours, to kill Sherry. But if he disconnects his phone, Prescott will assume he’s killed her and is busy disposing of her body.
Lou has every intention of being busy with Sherry’s body. It’s the least he can do. Give Sherry a nice evening and cap it off with one last round of sex before taking her life.
He doesn’t look forward to cutting off her head and hands, though.
Donovan Creed.
I’M ON THE jet with Miranda and Dr. P., heading back to Vegas, where I have every reason to believe my daughter is holed up in a hotel room with Rachel’s husband, Sam Case. There’s a slight chance she could be in there with some random guy, but I don’t believe a random guy would have booked the room in my name.
I’d call Kimberly, but I don’t want to take a chance on losing Sam. If she’s fallen for him, she might tip him off and help him escape.
The jet we’re in has four captain’s chairs, two facing forward, two back. There’s also a sofa and table just aft of the chairs. Two additional captain’s chairs rest against the back wall where the carry-on bags are stored. Behind that is a full-sized bathroom.
I’m riding backwards, in one of the captain’s chairs, facing Miranda. Dr. P. is semi-reclining on the sofa, facing me. He’s either napping, or pretending to nap. He told me Sam hasn’t left the bunker at Area B. Either that’s a lie, or Sam found a way to leave and re-enter Area B undetected.
I don’t think Dr. P. is lying about Sam. If he truly wants to retire from the business, why bother lying about Sam?
We’re at 40,000 feet now, and there’s no way Dr. P. can listen in on my calls while I’m watchin
g him.
I call Callie.
“Hi boss,” she says.
“What’s up?”
“Same old. Can you talk?”
“Yes.”
“She’s still in there.”
“Have you gotten close enough to listen?”
“No. I don’t know how extensive her training has been, but if I’m close enough to hear, I’m close enough to be noticed through the peep hole.”
“Where are you?”
Callie laughs. “Down the hall, in the cubby with the ice machine. I’m using my makeup mirror to keep an eye on the room.”
“And Gwen?”
Callie sighs. “Gwen’s texting me to death. I’m either going to have to get a new girlfriend or get out of the business.”
“The pretty ones are always high maintenance,” I say, noting the smirk on Miranda’s pretty face. She glances behind her to make sure she’s not being watched, then lifts her tank top and gives me a double.
I smile, enjoying the view. She allows me five seconds of entertainment before putting the twins back to bed.
Callie says, “I can think of a dozen ways to get in their hotel room. And all of them involve eating a sandwich while watching the Dani Ripper thing on TV. After I tie Sam and Maybe to their chairs, of course.”
“I’ll bring you some fries,” I say. “In the meantime, eat ice.”
“Forget the fries. You’re buying me and Gwen a steak dinner at Switch.”
“She’ll eat steak?”
“On steak day.”
“She has a steak day?”
“Steak day, fruit day, smoothie day, vegetable day, sweet day—how many is that?”
“Who gives a shit?” I say.
“Good point.”
She pauses, then says, “Remember the last time we went there?”
“Switch?”
“Yeah.”
“I do. A lot’s happened since then.”
We go quiet while I think about Kathleen and she thinks about Eva.
Finally she says, “I’ll let you know if something changes.”
“Thanks.”
I look at my watch. We’re three hours from Vegas.
Miranda says, “Can I buy a few things when we land?”
“I won’t have time. But I’ll get you a car and driver and give you a credit card.”