Vigilantes and Lovers

by Charles Dougherty

  "But who would that have been?"

  "The senator comes to mind. Harris might have been stepping on his toes, somehow. Or some of the O'Hanlon crowd."

  "What about the recording, though? Would that have been a normal thing?"

  "I don't know," I said. "But Aaron might have recorded an interview with an anonymous source. When I got briefed on targets, I sometimes got snippets of interviews like that. It avoids losing nuanced information — little things that could get lost in transcription. But it wouldn't normally ever be heard by anybody outside our organization."

  Mary nodded. "You're still talking like you're one of them, Finn."

  "I am?"

  "You used the phrase, 'outside our organization.'"

  "You're right. Old habits die hard, I guess. I don't feel like one of them. Not anymore."

  "This is off the subject, Finn, but I have to wonder who paid me to hit Harris."

  "You said it was anonymous — through your broker."

  "It was. But I…" She shook her head, frowning.

  "That's a distraction, Mary. You'll never know. Could have even been Nora. Or the senator, or O'Hanlon. Or somebody we never heard of, who had hooks into Nora."

  She thought about that for a few seconds, frowning. Then she nodded.

  "You ready to call Nora?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said, keying the number into the iPhone.

  36

  Nora answered, rattling off the four-digit code I used to get past the first menu.

  "Sorry for the delayed response," I said. "I haven't been where I could get email. I just got your message. What's up?"

  She waited for a cue from her voice recognition system.

  "Okay, you're authenticated," she said, after a few seconds. "Are you on a clean phone?"

  "VOIP through a VPN, via a satellite connection."

  "That should do it. What happened to the satellite phone I gave you?"

  "Stolen," I said, skipping the details I gave her boss the day before. I was curious to see what she said, versus what I told him.

  "I wondered. It was found in the Miami airport, not long after you and I talked. Did somebody snatch it while you were waiting on your flight back to the islands?"

  That's at odds with what I told your boss yesterday. A couple of possibilities here. You lied to me about the phone's tracking being disabled, or you made a guess and tossed it out, to see if I would give away anything.

  "They stole it while I was in the bar. Druggies, probably. My guess is they hocked it to buy dope." Her boss would have told her about his conversation with me. If she was trying to trip me up and get me to admit I was in Miami, my answer didn't give her any help. Or she lied, and she had tracking data that put me in Miami when she talked with me a few days ago.

  "Whoever stole it sanitized it for you," she said.

  I didn't respond.

  "Pulled the SIM and everything. I figured you did that and ditched it."

  She's messing with me; she knows I'm not going to take the bait. She's up to something, here. But what?

  "Why would I have done that?"

  "I thought you were worried after what happened in St. Thomas. Not that I would blame you. It was a little strange."

  "Yes, it was. But somebody just took the phone while I wasn't looking." Even if she had tracking data from the sat phone, she couldn't know where in the airport I was when we spoke. Unless she had somebody on the ground watching me.

  "Could be, I guess. They must have been pissed when they discovered they stole a phone that didn't work," she said.

  "Maybe that's why they stripped it," I said.

  "Maybe. The girl still with you?"

  "I can reach her if I need to. Why?"

  Mary grinned and poked me in the ribs.

  "I just wondered."

  Was Nora behind planting the tracker in Guánica? If so, she knows Mary's with me. How can I test that?

  "She called from Florida," I said.

  "So she's there now?" Nora asked.

  "She could be, I guess."

  "Do you know where in Florida?"

  "No, not really. She was visiting family. Different places, I think."

  Is she screwing with me? Or does she not know Mary came to Puerto Rico? And what about the tracker planted on Island Girl? Wouldn't the Russians tell her, if she works for them?

  "You and I need to meet again, Finn. Face-to-face. A lot's going on."

  I didn't say anything, waiting to see what she proposed.

  "You’re in the islands?" she asked.

  "Yes. You going to come down?"

  "I can do that. Where's a good place for you? St. Martin again? It's easy for me to get there."

  "I could do that. Depends on how soon, though. That's two days of hard sailing, if the wind holds. How about somewhere farther south?"

  "Like where?"

  "I could be in the Saintes pretty quick."

  "In Guadeloupe?" she asked.

  "Yes, that's right."

  "Hang on a sec," she said. I could hear her keyboard clicking as she checked the flights. "Hmm. That sucks. One flight a day. Unless… okay. I'll spend a night in Miami. That's not too bad. I can get some work done there. That puts me in Pointe-à-Pitre day after tomorrow. How do I get to the Saintes?"

  "There are plenty of ferries and nice places to stay. I'd figure on spending the night in the Saintes. I'll meet you for dinner, maybe?"

  "Yes. I'm looking… okay. You're on. Do you still have that iPhone?"

  "No — "

  Mary poked me and leaned over to cup my ear. "Hang on a sec. I've got an unused burner. Let me get the number." She scrambled down the companionway ladder.

  "Just a second, Nora. I'm looking for my prepaid local phone."

  "Okay. I've booked my flights, working on lodging. Looks like several nice places."

  Mary handed me a scrap of paper with a Martinique cellphone number. I read it off to Nora, and she repeated it to me.

  "That's it," I said.

  "Good. I'll call you when I'm leaving the airport. Do you look the same as the last time I saw you?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. I'll find you. You won't recognize me. But you'll like my new look. I've been thinking about that um…business we didn't get around to in St. Martin." She made a kissing sound. "Bring your toothbrush." With that, she disconnected the call.

  "Bring your toothbrush?" Mary laughed. "I'm just imagining the business you two didn't get around to in St. Martin. She's your age?"

  "Give or take. Why?"

  "I don't know. Just her choice of words. That was supposed to get you thinking about a romantic interlude?"

  "I can't imagine what else she was hinting at," I said. "She was flirting with me in St. Martin."

  "Can't blame her for that." Mary laughed again and shook her head. "Old people."

  "Hey, kid, watch who you're calling old."

  "Think you can run with the young dogs, old man?"

  "Try me."

  "You're on, but you have to catch me first." She slipped off the T-shirt she slept in. "Bring your toothbrush." She laughed and dove over the side, striking out for the beach. I was right behind her, but I let her get to the shallow water before I caught her.

  37

  When the ferry from Guadeloupe rounded Îlet à Cabrit two days later, I was standing in the back of the crowd of vendors waiting to hustle the late afternoon arrivals. Mary called me an hour earlier to tell me she spotted Nora and her companion when they got to the ferry terminal in Pointe-à-Pitre.

  Mary and I arrived in Bourg des Saintes early the previous afternoon and scouted the area. Island Girl was anchored by herself, tucked in behind Tête Rouge, off Anse Galet. That was a half a mile from town, but well away from the crowds of visiting yachts in the more popular anchorages.

  This morning, Mary caught an early ferry from Bourg des Saintes to Pointe-à-Pitre to stake out the ferry terminal there. Although she only had my description of Nora to go on, she didn't
have any trouble spotting the two women. Obvious American tourists with little command of French, they stuck out among the crowd of locals and Europeans on holiday.

  Wearing a baseball cap, ragged designer jeans, and a tie-dyed T-shirt, Mary looked like a typical young Eurotrash vagabond. Even if Nora saw her in St. Thomas when Mary killed the crooked FBI agent, she wouldn't recognize her today.

  My throwaway cellphone vibrated against my thigh. I pulled it from my pocket and checked to be sure it was Mary calling.

  "Hey," I said.

  "Hey, yourself. We're just rounding the point into the harbor."

  "Yes, I see you."

  "They've split up, getting ready to go ashore separately. Nora looks good. She cleans up nice. You'll spot her, with the big straw hat and the gauzy white wraparound skirt. She's wearing a matching bikini top and a spray-on tan. Truck-stop blond hair — lots of it. Definitely on the make. You behave yourself with her, you hear?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I'll restrain myself. What about the hitter?"

  "I've got her. Nothing remarkable at all. Attractive and neatly dressed, but not flashy. Fades into the background. You have to look twice to be sure she's really even there. She's good, I'll bet."

  "You nervous? Going up against another pro?"

  "Scared to death. I was sitting right behind them before they separated. They're clueless. You just deal with Nora. I'll put Miss Nondescript away and join you as quickly as I can. Think you can keep Nora on her feet until we get her to the dinghy?"

  "I'll manage."

  "I'm sure. Better go. The captain's slowing this thing down. I need to get in position. Bye."

  I put the phone back in my pocket and made a last-minute check on the syringe taped to the inside of my left forearm. The sheath over the needle was fastened securely, but the barrel and plunger were held loosely. It was hidden by the long sleeve of the loose-fitting fishing shirt I wore.

  Satisfied, I moved away from the crowd a little, hoping to make myself easy for Nora to spot. Besides, I wanted to be sure nobody was close enough to see what happened, in case things didn't go smoothly.

  The ferry's rusted steel hull ground against the rough concrete of the pier. Two deck hands dropped mooring lines over the bollards, and the skipper throttled the engines back to idle.

  When the gangway clanked into place, Nora was one of the first ashore. Thanks to Mary, I recognized her with no problem. I chuckled at the memory of Mary's catty description. No wonder. Nora was drop-dead gorgeous. Dressed to kill. Me.

  She paused before she reached the front rank of vendors. Slinging her soft leather travel bag over her shoulder, she rose to tiptoes and scanned the crowd.

  Just before Nora spotted me, I saw a disturbance on the ferry's bridge. An agitated crewman scrambled up the ladder and went inside the wheelhouse. Seconds later, he emerged, followed by two men in officer's uniforms. They stepped out onto the side deck, one carrying a large yellow bag with a big red cross on it. The crewman led them down a ladder at a fast clip, and they disappeared from view.

  Mary stepped off the gangway onto the dock, ambling toward the vendors as she gawked at the sights like the rest of the people on holiday. She must have accomplished her mission.

  Returning my attention to Nora, I stood still. I pretended to watch the people coming off the ferry, remembering that I wasn't supposed to recognize her. And without Mary's warning, I wouldn't have noticed Nora, except perhaps to admire her stunning good looks.

  When she saw me, her face lit up with a thousand-watt smile and she walked straight toward me. When she broke from the crowd, she called out, "Hi, handsome!"

  I returned the smile and gave her a little wave. "Welcome to the Saintes," I said. "You look wonderful."

  "Aw, you're sweet to say so." She dropped her shoulder bag and stepped into my arms.

  As I returned her embrace, I looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching us. Mary was. She was moving at a leisurely pace, coming toward us. When she caught my eye, she smirked and shook her head.

  Nora wrapped both arms around my neck and shoulders, turning her face up for a kiss. I tipped my head down and obliged. As her kiss became progressively more passionate, my hands stroked the bare skin of her lower back. When her tongue found its way past my lips, I squeezed her hip with my left hand, moaning a little to encourage her.

  I could feel the edge of her bikini bottoms through the flimsy fabric of her skirt; the back of the bottoms wasn't quite a thong, but it was close enough for my purposes. I slid my right hand down and pulled her tighter against me as I unbuttoned the left cuff of my long-sleeved shirt. While I massaged her bottom with my left hand, I took the syringe in my right. Plunging it through the gauzy skirt into her bare left hip, I tightened my left arm, keeping my mouth over hers as she struggled briefly. As I felt Nora relax, Mary tapped me on the shoulder. No longer kissing me, Nora put her head on my chest, snuggling against me.

  "Enough, you pervert. Unhand that poor woman. You're taking advantage of her. I saw you groping her."

  Nora mumbled something unintelligible, leaning against me. Her face was split in a goofy grin, and her gaze was unfocused.

  "She was loving every second of it," I said.

  "You need counseling, you old reprobate," Mary said. "And I'm going to show you what consent means. But first…"

  Mary took Nora's left arm from around my neck and ducked under it, taking part of Nora's weight. I took Nora's other arm, draped it over my shoulders, and put my left arm around her waist. As we took our first step, I leaned down and scooped up Nora's bag in my right hand.

  "Shall we go for a nice little sail?" Mary asked.

  "Sailing, sailing, over the bounding… what's it?" Nora gurgled, as we led her to the dinghy.

  38

  Several hours later, Island Girl was rolling along, running before a brisk 20-knot breeze. I was on watch, and Mary was below cooking dinner. Our course was to the west; Mary wanted to spend more time at Isla de Aves. I was all for that.

  Nora wasn't with us any longer. We dropped her overboard about 45 minutes earlier, with a little anchor chain to take her to the bottom in about 4,000 feet of water. She answered our questions readily enough. The drugs Mary administered made Nora downright chatty.

  We learned that Nora's boss, Henry Jacobs, was Deputy Undersecretary of Defense for Political Studies. She was quick to tell us we wouldn't find that information — not even his title — on any public documents. She also volunteered that Henry was her lover.

  Under the influence of the drugs Mary used, Nora didn't seem to recognize either of us. But she bonded with Mary — a woman-to-woman thing, I guess.

  Nora and Henry were working arm-in-arm with O'Hanlon, but they were already shifting their allegiance to someone else when O'Hanlon was killed. She didn't know who the new person was. Apparently, Henry didn't share everything with her.

  Nora was full of information on Frankie Dailey, too. Frankie was working for the new person, whoever he was. It was at the behest of the new person that Frankie tried to retrieve the files that his parents kept for O'Hanlon. Mary and I thought Frankie only betrayed his parents, but he sold out O'Hanlon, too. We underestimated his capacity for treachery.

  That went wrong, Nora explained, when the whore hired for a threesome with Mr. and Mrs. Dailey seized the opportunity of Frankie's arrival to steal Mrs. Dailey's jewelry. The files were in the same hidden safe.

  "The little slut got the files and the account codes for O'Hanlon's offshore accounts. Stupid bitch probably just raked everything out of the safe into a bag, or something," Nora said. "She was in the Dailey's bedroom. While Frankie was torturing them, she probably overheard them tell him about the hidden safe. Even the combination, he figured."

  "Just dumb luck, huh?" Mary asked, egging Nora on.

  "No doubt. Give her credit for being quick on her feet, though. The little vixen stole everything right out from under Frankie's nose. Then she emptied the accounts."

  "So Fra
nkie told you all this?" Mary asked.

  "Yes. O'Hanlon had no clue what happened. He didn't know Frankie killed his own parents."

  "But O'Hanlon must have known Frankie was there when it happened," Mary said. "How did he cover himself?"

  "He told O'Hanlon he dropped in to visit his parents right after it happened. Blamed it all on the hooker; suggested that she had help. Her pimp, maybe. I don't know, exactly. But Frankie and his boys caught her."

  "The hooker?" Mary asked.

  "Yes. Her. But the dumb shit left her with his two guys, and whoever she was working with must have rescued her. Killed Frankie's guys. She got away."

  "Really? Clean away?" Mary asked.

  "For a while. But she surfaced eventually. Funny. We caught up with her by accident, but that's a long story."

  "We have time," Mary said. "This is fascinating."

  "Yes," Nora said. "Fascinating. Everything happened fast, with the new guy trying to take over from O'Hanlon. Kind of right in the middle of everything. Signals got crossed. It was a nightmare."

  "What happened?"

  "Well, Henry and I aren't gangsters, like these people. We run a super-secret, counterespionage operation. For the government."

  "Awesome," Mary said. "Spies and stuff?"

  "More like assassinations. We're completely off the books. This is where things get confusing. There was a man named Dimitrovsky, a Russian agent. His mission was to fund any radical organizations he could find in the U.S., just to disrupt the political process.

  "He was running drugs to raise money and funneling it back to the States. Shipping in drugs, too. But the main thing was money. Anyway, we had a warrant for his execution."

  "That's so amazing," Mary said. "And does this tie in with O'Hanlon?"

  "Indirectly, it does. If this got out, we'd all be screwed. You follow?"

  "We won't tell a soul," Mary said.

  "O'Hanlon was behind the warrant. He saw Dimitrovsky as competition, and… well, O'Hanlon's connections went up much higher than me and Henry."