by J. K. Kelly
“Well, I’m not going to waste time pissing into the wind on this one,” he stated. “I’m still going out there this afternoon to see some friends, so you’re still welcome.” Neither of the women bit.
After another half-hour, Matt said he’d give Eve a call later that day and went off to take a shower. When he came out of the bathroom, Eve and Vicki had cleaned up after themselves and left the suite. There was a note under his phone. See you tonight!
An hour later, after taking the subway from downtown Montreal to Notre Dame Island, the site of the 1967 World Expo, and now the home to the road racing circuit that held the F1 each June, Matt signed in at the credential booth. He found his way to the paddock and one of the teams for which he knew the owner and many of the engineers.
They had met two years earlier in Singapore when Matt was called in under the guise of being a travel writer to cover the event for Singapore Airlines magazine. In actuality, the wife of an American diplomat was rumored to be having an affair with an F1 driver, and Matt was sent to investigate. When one of the team principals, an American from Indianapolis, was arrested after an encounter with a local in a hotel bathroom, Matt had been able to step in and neutralize the situation.
A few significant blows by Matt to a knife-wielding drunk had been all it took. The punk was arrested, and the principal assured his rescuer that he would always be welcome by his team wherever they traveled.
Matt spent a couple hours in the team’s hospitality area, posing for pictures with fans who continued to mistake him for a movie star. On pit road, after mingling with celebrities as they watched the Ferraris, Mercedes, Red Bulls, and other race cars speed past them on the track, Matt thanked his host and headed for the subway. He thought he saw the now-former wife of the diplomat somewhere in the paddock, but he didn’t bother to pursue that any further. As he boarded the subway, he felt a text arrive on his phone.
We still on for tonight? What should we wear?
He smiled and texted back a few ideas. At nine o’clock that night, the ladies arrived in the town car he had sent for them. They immediately went through the hotel lobby, showed their photo IDs to security, passed through metal detectors, and then took the elevator to the rooftop bar to enjoy a party being hosted by the prime minister of Canada. Eve and Vicki had said they wouldn’t attend a racing party, but the opportunity to mingle with politicians and celebrities from the music and movie worlds intrigued them.
Eve’s gold mini-dress caught the eye of every man and woman at the party, rivaled closely by Vicki’s floral mini sundress. For Matt, he’d picked up a dress shirt and pants at a high-end store on St. Catherine Street on the way back from the track before returning to his room for a shower.
The atmosphere was festive, much like a beach party in Cabo but without the sand. The margaritas and tequila were flowing and the music of the Gipsy Kings played into the air. The weather was a perfect 70 degrees Fahrenheit with little humidity, and the noise and the hustle and bustle of downtown Montreal were 20 floors below them and far from sight.
After catching up over drinks, Matt excused himself to mingle with some of the racing people he knew and left Eve and Vicki to enjoy the event and mix with the rich and famous. The prime minister had opened the event but left just before the three arrived. It wasn’t long, though, before more fireworks began to go off.
“That guy’s a real pig!” Eve shouted, pointing at a tall man in his twenties who had just made an offensive suggestion to her.
The man, who had left his band of buddies at the bar to strike up a conversation with her, had blended back into the crowd, but she wasn’t having any part of his retreat. She walked right into the midst of the men, stopped face to face with the offender, and the two heatedly exchanged insults. Matt noticed everyone’s focus turning toward the confrontation. When he saw the gold mini-dress in the midst of it, he moved quickly to render assistance.
Eve stopped him dead in his tracks. “I can handle this!” she stated, putting her left hand to Matt’s chest as he closed in. Vicki had come up behind her and seemed prepared to help as well.
“Just here for moral support, luv.” Matt assessed the man in Eve’s sights and the crew standing with him.
As the two continued to trade insults, Matt could see that of the guy’s four friends, only one might be an issue. He was an alpha, the type always ready to fight at the drop of a hat, and already amped on energy drinks, white powder, or both. The rest were followers and would run or back down if challenged, but only if the alpha was put down first. If anything were to go down, he decided he’d let Eve take the lead if she truly did have what it took.
Her person of interest was, from what Matt could see and hear, a rich punk who would always rely on his friends or his family’s money when his mouth or his hands got him into hot water. Matt kept his focus on the alpha until he noticed Vicki’s attention suddenly shift to something behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The rooftop was still a party but the crowd hadn’t known when they arrived they might be attending a prize fight. A man stepped past Matt, excusing himself as he bumped or squeezed through the crowd until he came face to face with the troublemaker. He undoubtedly had done so many times before. As quickly as it had begun, within minutes, the entire confrontation was defused. Matt recognized the newcomer immediately as the owner of a prominent F1 team, a powerful and very wealthy industrialist that had transplanted his family years ago from the volatile Middle East to safer Canadian soil.
Turning to Eve, the father spoke in a sincere and subdued tone. “My dear, my son continues to embarrass me and our adopted country,” he stated. “I am sure his vulgar mouth or his wandering eyes and hands may have insulted you or invaded your space, and for that, I most sincerely apologize.”
Turning to look at his son, he slapped him with an open hand across the face. The son’s alpha friend stepped forward and appeared ready to challenge the father. Matt smiled and took a step back. He didn’t have a dog in this fight and most certainly didn’t want any additional or unnecessary attention north of the border.
When he looked to Eve and then Vicki as they walked away from the confrontation, he saw that their expressions had changed. They were both laughing – a reaction not lost on Matt or the son and his crew. Catching up to the ladies, Matt suggested it might be time to leave before things flared up again.
“I need to take a wee,” Eve said with a laugh as she headed for the restrooms, ignoring Matt’s suggestion.
Frustrated, he stopped and turned to see where the father, son, and their minions were. Vicki put her hand on his shoulder.
“You don’t know her well enough to think she’d ever leave a fight, especially one that is still to be fought,” Vicki told him.
Matt nodded but expressed his desire to avoid a fight like this one. “We’re outnumbered, and I know men like the ones you two are pushing,” he said, looking back again to see where they were. “At least two of them can be trouble. And now that the father has embarrassed his son in front of his friends, the punk will have even more venom in him. He’ll want to bite.”
Vicki smiled and patted Matt’s back. “There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye. I’ve seen men like you before, too.”
He laughed.
“I was watching you back there, and all weekend, for that matter. I don’t know who you really are, but you’re not a travel writer,” she said. “Who are you? I can keep a secret.”
Just then, Eve returned to them and put both of her hands on Matt’s cheeks. “I appreciate the chivalry, my dear, but we really can handle knuckleheads like those,” she said. “There are plenty of them walking the planet.”
Matt put his hands on hers. “I hope you washed your hands!” he said with a laugh. “Say it again for me, just once. I love it when you say big words with that beautiful, sexy French accent.”
“Knucklehead?” she asked.
He grinned from ear to ear. “Oui. Now can we please get out of here an
d head back to the Sheraton? I’ll bet the bar has seats waiting for us.”
Eve and Vicki looked at each other and nodded.
“Okay, okay. Make love, not war,” Vicki said and led the couple to the elevator. Matt didn’t let his guard down until they were in a taxi. Once they had all piled onto the bench seat of a white mini-van with Canada Cab written on the sides and hood of the vehicle, he finally let out a sigh of relief.
Vicki noticed it and smiled at him, but Eve appeared to be preoccupied.
“I don’t feel so good,” she said, rubbing her abdomen.
Five minutes later – as Matt paid the fare, slid the side door back, and climbed out – Eve gave him a look from inside the cab that let him know their night was over. He ducked his head back inside to study her with concern. But it was at that moment his suspicions were confirmed. It didn’t take his professional training to tell she had other plans.
“Abdomen, my ass,” he said to her in a somber tone. “You girls are going back there for a fight. I can tell.”
Still making no move to leave the cab, Eve stared at him, shaking her head in disagreement.
“You’re ready for a fight, I can see it in your eyes,” he said. “Please come inside with me, the both of you.” He leaned further in to make eye contact with Vicki, but she had her head turned away from him, seeming to watch the Saturday night city traffic as it inched past them.
“Don’t worry about us, my dear,” Eve whispered as she pulled him close. “We can take care of ourselves.” She then put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer for a long kiss goodbye. As he stepped back from the cab and began to reach for the door handle, Eve smiled and blew him another kiss.
“Next time I’m anywhere near D.C., I will be sure to call you,” she said.
Matt closed the door and watched as the cab pulled away. He had a choice. He could go back to the party. If the girls did indeed return there, he could be there in case he was needed. Instead, he turned, walked into the Sheraton, and headed straight for the lobby bar.
Highlights of the day’s F1 qualifying laps were being broadcast on the flat-screen behind the bar. As Matt drank down his first and then second cold beer, his thoughts were of the lady in the gold dress. Hope to see you again soon, he whispered as he held his beer glass up. Those around him must have thought he was toasting the pole winner on TV.
The next morning, he checked out of his suite and caught an early morning commuter flight back to Washington. He could have chartered a private jet directly to D.C. but opted to fly commercial for a slower, less comfortable ride home.
By two o’clock, he was sitting very comfortably on the stern deck of Bella, beer in hand, preparing for the race to be broadcast on his laptop. He checked his phone again and again for a text from Eve, but none came. It was time to put her in the rearview mirror and get ready for what would most certainly be an uncomfortable debrief with his beloved Clydesdale the next morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Monday mornings in the nation’s capital were always hectic. Traffic and the underground metro were jammed at rush hour, but Matt had allowed for that and had gotten moving early so his pit stop at the coffee shop wouldn’t be compromised. Getting to Dale’s office 10 minutes ahead of their scheduled meeting was the plan. Matt was always punctual, a habit that had been driven into him by his late father. Plus, he always liked to visit with the receptionists and admins whenever possible. He never knew what he might learn in the small talk but this morning he needed the men’s room but once he took a spot on the long line of white porcelain urinals he immediately regretted his choice.
“How’s that boat of yours these days,” a familiar voice with a Boston accent asked from his right.
“God, it smells bad in here,” he answered.
“Develop any leaks yet?” the man continued. It was former colleague and FBI Special Agent Andy Bruce. The two had worked together at the bureau until Matt’s investigations ruffled too many feathers and Bruce chose career advancement rather than doing the right thing - at least that’s the way Matt saw it.
“She’s fine. Guess I could ask that about the wife, oops, ex-wife I mean – developed any new leaks herself?” Matt responded. He knew which buttons to push. Bruce had been written up for suspected spousal abuse but was cleared of the charges when the ex testified her black eye was the result of a fall and not her husband’s fist. He got to keep his job and she got the house, and the car, and the dog out of it. As the two men zipped up, they stood back and readied to square off, once and for all. Luckily, for Bruce, an FBI Assistant Director entered the room and upon seeing their postures told Bruce to find something better to do with his time. As Matt began to follow Bruce out the door, the AD suggested he wait and wash his hands. “He’s an asshole but he has friends in the building. Give him a few minutes to go away before you wind up having to kick everyone’s ass.” Matt agreed, waited, and then headed to his meeting.
Once he logged in to the FBI building’s secure Wi-Fi on his phone, Matt did a quick search of Montreal city news. He was hoping there wouldn’t be stories of a woman throwing a man off a downtown rooftop, or perhaps two women being beaten and left for dead. To his relief, there was nothing of the sort. As he began to scroll through his favorite Instagram accounts, Dale’s assistant called his name.
“They’re ready for you now, Matt,” she said. “Good luck.”
Matt had known Dale’s various assistants over the years, as she’d brought them over with her when she transferred agencies and left the CIA, and he had been friendly with all of them. So much so that the ‘Good luck’ was taken as a heads-up, just as she had meant it to be.
As he stepped into her office, Matt’s cheerful greeting to Dale aimed at disarming her expected fury over the Tilton incident was shut down before he could get out a word. Theirs was a complicated arrangement. They had trained together at Quantico and Langley, and both had fast-tracked their way up the FBI ladder until Matt’s ‘against the stream’ and bad behavior had led to his demise. It had been her suggestion to the director that they maintain Matt as an asset with contractor status.
Over time, as the political winds and office nameplates in Washington changed, Matt’s rise to fame as a valuable jack-of-all-trades had allowed his assignments, his challenges, to come from the CIA and NSA as well. What had complicated things greatly, at least within the J. Edgar Hoover Building, was that Dale and Matt had been sharing a luxurious condo at the District Wharf in D.C. and, as a result of his formal separation from the FBI, their relationship too had ended somewhat abruptly. His refusal to play politics, among other things, had driven them apart. But it was Coleman who had been able to step in and weave the complicated relationship that now existed between them all. When Matt’s pursuit of criminal activity led to the addresses of some of the most powerful people in the country, they framed him for a crime he didn’t commit and it carried a prison sentence. With the help of Helene Coleman, the Director of National Intelligence, Matt received a get out of jail card but it came with caveats. Matt would never forget the words the Attorney General offered as he and Coleman left the man’s office. “You can flash that badge anywhere you want, just not here,” he’d said.
“Matt Christopher,” Dale stated, “meet Jules Miller. He’s with the CIA.”
Matt turned his attention to the man sitting at the small, round meeting table to his right. Miller stood up and extended his hand. After a few minutes of obligatory, benign small talk, Matt joined him at the table.
“I’ve got a hard stop at the bottom of the hour,” Dale stated, “so let’s get to it.”
Matt nodded, forced a smile, and turned his attention to the CIA staffer.
“We have two issues to discuss, Mr. Christopher,” Miller began. “First is Thomas Sinclair. The second is Charlie Chaste.”
Matt looked to Dale with an expression that she read correctly. Thanks for the heads-up!
“We know you had some involvement there. And although Ms. D
ale has told us what she knows of your involvement with them over the past few weeks, I’m here to debrief you on what you know and what, if anything, your involvement was in the operation that resulted in the death of Sinclair and his nephew.”
Matt looked to Dale. He reported to her, and he had no intention of disclosing anything to anyone but her unless she directed him to do so.
“Go for it, Matt,” she said with a grin. “I’m dying to hear it as well.”
For the next 20 minutes, Matt went over the thought processes and events that both he and Charlie had discussed and had agreed to put into play in London. Both Dale and Miller interrupted him from time to time to get clarification on a point or to ask Matt to elaborate. When it seemed as though every detail of the entire op had been laid out, Dale got up from her chair, pushed a button on her desk, stated, “Pause recording,” and walked over to the table and sat down between the two men.
“Now that’s a nice dress, Claire,” Matt said in a complimentary tone. “It shows off your guns nicely.” Miller was startled by the remark, and the expression on his face let them both know it.
“No worries, Jules,” Matt continued. “We’re besties and go back a long way.”
Dale laughed and then checked her wristwatch.
“Is that new?” Matt asked. Miller’s puzzled expression remained.
“We are best friends, Jules,” she assured him as she gave Matt a ‘knock it off’ look. “We went through the academy together and used to be roommates, so this is just ordinary banter between good friends. No need for HR or an internal investigation request.” Turning to Matt, she looked again at her watch.
“Yes, it’s new,” she answered. “The Movado you gave me finally died – and yes, I bought it.” She and Matt’s romantic relationship might have ended long ago, but she could tell he was curious about her current status.
“Now, I think we’ve covered everything you might have needed?” she suggested to Miller. “Unless you have more, I do have that hard stop and need to get moving to another meeting upstairs.”