Arch Enemy

by Leo J. Maloney

  He fished for his wallet in his pocket and set down a ten-dollar bill. “Let me get you out of here.”

  Arms around her, he led her to his Infiniti (parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant), and held the door open for her. As he shut the door, she felt relief wash over her. His car felt like the safest place in the world.

  He took off down Battery back toward Market Street.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I want to tell you everything,” she blurted. “But now I just need to go somewhere else. Please. Can we just get out of here?”

  “Of course. I’ll take you to my place.”

  Lily sat on Scott’s bed, wrapped in a woven woolen blanket. She was wearing one of his dress shirts—he was skinny, but it was still baggy on her. She looked out the gorgeous bay windows, which overlooked the ocean, tinted by the light of the setting sun. It was a spectacular view, in one of the most expensive real estate markets in the country. The perks of being a multimillionaire, she supposed.

  She absently ran her fingers along where Baxter had choked her. It felt raw. She wondered how bad it looked. She didn’t want to look at herself in the mirror to find out.

  “The cleanup crew found no sign of Baxter or the attacker.”

  That’s what Bloch had told her when she called. Someone else had gotten there first. No sign of the murder. Nothing in the security cameras. Everything, physical and digital, had been scrubbed clean.

  Scott returned from his kitchen holding two cups of hot cocoa.

  “I hope Swiss Miss is okay,” he said with a bashful chuckle. “I don’t really keep any full-time staff. I was never very comfortable with that sort of thing.”

  She smiled, taking the warm mug in her hand. It grounded her and made her feel secure. And it smelled like home. “It’s wonderful.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Better. It feels good to be here. It feels safe.”

  “You don’t even know me that well.”

  “And yet.” She just smiled as she looked into his baby blue eyes, half-hidden behind his blond curls.

  “I ordered some clothes for you,” he said, fumbling the moment. “Should be here in a couple hours.”

  “I didn’t know you could get clothes delivered like a pizza.”

  “This is Silicon Valley. You can get anything delivered like a pizza. I went with comfy over sexy, considering, you know.”

  “Good call.”

  He sat next to her in bed. “So,” he said. “You said you had things you wanted to tell me?” He must have seen her countenance darken because he backpedaled with his next words. “It’s fine, you really don’t have to.”

  But he had come to her rescue. She couldn’t keep doing this.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” she asked. “You’re not getting ready to hightail it away from me as soon as you can?”

  “Do you see me pushing you out the door? Come on. Try me.”

  “There’s a reason I never wanted to talk about work,” she said. She looked down. “Shit. You know how you put something off because you know it’s going to be awful, and the longer you wait, the worse it gets?”

  This seemed to put him on edge. She felt him move his body away from her, maybe without even being aware of it. “I know the feeling,” he said, just a little colder than before.

  “I’m afraid,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “Because you’ve been wonderful. I’m afraid you’ll kick me out, and I’m afraid of what you’ll think when you find out. That you think I’m awful and dishonest.”

  He bit his lower lip. “Are you married?”

  “No,” she said. “That’s not it. It’s about my work. And with what happened today. And that has to do with the fact that I haven’t exactly been exclusive with you.” She looked at him to gauge his reaction, but there was no change.

  “Are you a prostitute?” he said, then caught himself. “A sex worker?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled. “What if I was? Would that be it for you?”

  He rubbed his hand against his temple, mussing his hair. “I hadn’t really thought about it before.”

  “So it doesn’t make you hate me that I haven’t been faithful?”

  He chuckled at this. “I live in Silicon Valley,” he said. “Half my friends are polyamorous, free love types.”

  Lily looked out into the setting sun. “It really is a bold new frontier, isn’t it?” She looked back at Scott. “Then you’d really be okay with that?”

  He hesitated, looking out the window. “You know, when we consider questions like this in the abstract, we don’t really think about the real person they might apply to.” He turned his gaze back to her. “But now that it’s here, and I know you, it doesn’t feel like a problem at all.”

  She couldn’t restrain a smile. It was something. Not everything, but something.

  “Did a client do that to you?”

  “That’s where it gets a little complicated. I’m not a prostitute, really. I’m—I guess you could call me something like a spy.”

  His eyes widened and his eyebrow visibly tensed. His expression read as something between bemusement and surprise.

  “Like, MI-5?” he said. “Spying on . . . this country?”

  “No! No, nothing like that.” She emitted a nervous laugh. “No, we’re an American outfit. Sort of clandestine. Honestly, the less you know about the details, the better.”

  “I see.” He sounded incredulous. She was losing him.

  “It’s true,” she said. “The older guy, from the night we met. He was a mark. High-ranking executive in a major corporation.”

  “Is he the one that did that to you?”

  Her hand went to her neck. “Yes. He’s . . . dead now.”

  “You killed him?” She sensed the alarm in his voice.

  “No! It was never part of the mission. Someone else showed up—I don’t know who. But he killed Baxter—my mark. I only just made it out alive.”

  He exhaled, staring into the middle distance. “This is a lot to take in.”

  “I know.”

  “Is your name even Lily Harper?”

  “We use real first names,” she said. “Whenever possible. It’s nearly impossible to fake a different first name. The response is too automatic, too ingrained. So my name is Lily.”

  “But not Harper?”

  “It’s Randall. My name is Lily Randall.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lily Randall. I’m Scott Renard.”

  “So do you think we can start over?” she asked.

  “Why? I think we’re doing just fine this time around.”

  She kissed him and he pulled her close, enveloping her in his arms.

  Chapter 47

  “Here, I found one!” Simon jumped off the bed in excitement. “Adam Groener! Oh, never mind. Another football player.”

  The window was closed now against the cold. People were milling about the first floor hallway of Prather House in the usual nighttime bustle. Alex scanned what seemed like the five-hundredth patient log, looking for Groener’s name—for a girl he might have intimidated like he did Katie.

  It had taken a little sniffing around, but Simon had found the logs in the system. The pages were scanned individually every day. “It’s so much more work,” said Simon. “All because they don’t take a few hours to implement a proper electronic system.”

  “Lucky us,” she said.

  “Unlucky us. You’ll see.”

  The unlucky part being that image files were not searchable by word, so that now they were stuck with scrolling through each sign-in sheet for the past six years one by one, looking for Coach Groener’s name. It appeared plenty—but mostly it was to visit his players. They hadn’t found his name associated with a single female patient yet.

  “Maybe this is a red herring,” said Simon. “Maybe it was just a onetime thing.”

  “He’s done this before,” Alex insisted.

  Simon lay down
against his pillow. “But maybe it’s a break with his usual MO.”

  “We can only go on what we know,” said Alex.

  “Maybe this is the wrong approach.”

  “So many maybes with you,” said Alex. “Someone who doesn’t know better might think you’re stalling to avoid the work.”

  “Well, what if there’s a way to automate this task that I haven’t thought of? I mean, maybe if we scan his signature and run a Bayesian probabilistic search with fuzzy—”

  “I got one!”

  Simon looked almost crestfallen that his scheming was cut short. “Woman?”

  Alex nodded. “The name’s Hillary Chen.”

  “I’m looking her up right now,” said Simon. “She’s graduated already, uh . . . three years ago.”

  “Can you get me a number?”

  “You want to call her? Like, now?”

  “What the hell do you think this is all about, Burczyk? Get me a damn number!”

  “All right,” said Simon. “That’s easy enough. Here we go, LinkedIn profile. Cell phone. I’m messaging it to you right now.”

  It popped up on Alex’s screen and she dialed.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Hillary? My name is Alex Morgan, I’m a student at Springhaven University.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m sorry to call out of the blue like this. I write for the Inquirer—you know, the campus newspaper. I’m investigating something that happened at one of the fraternities on campus. Phi Epsilon. I was hoping you might talk to me about similar occurrences that might have—”

  “I’m going to stop you there,” said Hillary. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please don’t call again.”

  She hung up.

  “What happened?” Simon asked.

  “She hung up when I mentioned Phi Epsilon.”

  “Too bad.”

  “No,” said Alex. “It’s a good sign. It means that we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Ugh,” said Simon. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Back to work, Burczyk.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that, too.”

  Chapter 48

  “Alex. Alex!” She opened her eyes with a start, disoriented. Simon’s room. Night. That much she got. He was showing her the screen of his computer, but her vision was too blurry to make out what it was. She rubbed her eyes.

  “What is it, Simon?”

  “I found one. I think she’s the real deal. Annette Baig.”

  Alex yawned. She must have fallen asleep. Hunger gnawed at her insides. The dorm was silent, which meant that it must be late. “Spell that for me,” she said, pulling her computer onto her lap. “I’m going to look her up.”

  “I can tell you she wasn’t an athlete,” said Simon. “I searched her name through all the databases. Got nothing.”

  Alex searched through the university website, in the enrollment and student information database. “I’m not finding much,” she said. “She enrolled at Springhaven six years ago. And graduated . . .” Alex looked at the graduation announcements from two years before, then from the year before. She even looked at the announcements from three years before, in case she graduated early. Nothing. “Huh. Weird. Looks to me like she never graduated.”

  “No LinkedIn, no social media presence,” said Simon.

  “Leave it. We have this one in the bag, and I need some carbs or I’m literally going to pass out.”

  “Late-night snack?”

  “Aw crap, it’s past eleven,” she said, checking her phone. “The student center’s closed.”

  “Then we go to the Athena.”

  “Again?” Alex complained. The Athena was the local Greek-themed diner, the nearest restaurant to campus and the only one that was open 24/7. They took full advantage of the monopoly by jacking up prices for mediocre offerings.

  “Got a better idea?” he asked. “Let’s go. We’ll have us a plate of mozzarella sticks.”

  “Make it chicken tenders and a hot chocolate and you got a deal.”

  “How exactly do you stay so thin?”

  “Have you checked out my muffin top lately?” She pulled up her shirt to reveal the fat poking out of the waist of her pants. Simon reached out and pinched her. “Ow! Ass.”

  They bundled up and set off into the freezing cold night.

  “Wanna call the campus bus?” Simon asked.

  “Nah. It takes forever. I’d rather brave the cold.”

  She regretted the decision about seven minutes into their walk.

  “So tomorrow morning we call Annette Baig,” said Simon through ragged breaths. “What if she doesn’t want to talk?”

  “Then we keep trying,” said Alex. “We’ll find another, and another, until someone is willing to speak up. I’m going to expose these creeps, if I have to track down every single victim. They’re not getting away with this.”

  They walked with teeth chattering, bracing against the cold. Once they got away from the quad, the walk to the Athena took them through a dark and deserted street with woodland on either side. Alex checked her phone.

  “Cell reception’s dead, for a change.”

  “It’ll come back in a hundred yards or so,” said Simon.

  The only sound she heard as they walked was the snow crunching beneath her feet until something teased her ears. She turned her head.

  “Don’t look back,” she said. “We’re being followed.”

  “What?” He turned instinctively.

  “Don’t!”

  “You’re paranoid, Alex. This is the way to the Athena. It’s gotta be just another hungry student.”

  “Well, I think he’s wearing a university hoodie,” she said “But I’m getting a bad vibe from this guy.”

  “There’s a fork ahead,” said Simon. “The right leads to the Spotswood apartments.”

  “So we take it and see if he follows.” She fingered the knife in her pocket. It calmed her, like a talisman.

  The walk was interminable. She pressed on as hard as she could, but there was only so much she could do on crutches, and the guy walked like an athlete, catching up with every step. They turned on the fork, where the road turned flat. Thirty seconds later, Alex saw that their tail turned behind them.

  “He’s coming after us,” said Alex.

  “Damn it.” Simon checked his cell phone “Still no signal.”

  “I’m guessing that’s why he chose this place.”

  “What do we do? There’s nothing around.”

  “I want you to run to the apartments,” Alex said. “I remember there’s an emergency phone right outside the first block.”

  “I’m not going to leave you alone!”

  “I’m not being brave, Simon. I want you to do this because this is the best chance we have. What, you think you can fight him?” Simon didn’t answer. “Run and get help while I hold him off.”

  She closed her fist around the butterfly knife in her pocket. It was time to put her father’s training to good use.

  “Just hit the emergency button and run back,” she said. “On my signal. Go! Run!”

  Simon took off, feet crunching snow under his shoes. She turned around and drew the knife from her coat.

  She saw the pursuer’s face. She didn’t recognize him, but she memorized his features in the dim light. Definitely college-aged, with a body for football. He was ready to take off after Simon when his eyes turned to her and were filled with horrified surprise.

  “What, did you expect the damsel in distress?” she demanded, brandishing the knife. “Come at me, bro.”

  He looked at Simon, now far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to close the distance before Simon arrived at the emergency phone.

  “Come on. Or are you afraid of a woman that’s not unconscious?”

  This was a decisive moment for him. Could he take the crippled girl with the knife?

  Thinking better of it, he spat into the clear white snow. “Stay away from this, bitch,” he s
aid, puffing his chest like a rooster. “Quit sniffing around where you don’t belong. You won’t see me coming next time.”

  He turned and ran into the darkness, the sound of his footsteps in the snow receding until they were lost in the stillness of the night. Shaking, turning her head to make sure he wasn’t following, and jumping at every noise, Alex walked on until she saw Simon running back toward her.

  “Security’s coming.”

  “Then let’s get out of here,” she said. “I don’t want to be here when they arrive. I don’t want to draw any more attention to us than necessary. Not while we’re investigating.”

  “What? Are you crazy? You still want to continue after this?”

  “We’re on to something, Simon,” she said. “We can’t stop now.”

  “I don’t think joining the Ekklesia is worth putting ourselves in danger.”

  “It’s not about the Ekklesia anymore,” she said. “I don’t care what it costs me. I’m going to bring these bastards down.”

  Chapter 49

  Morgan was awakened by the raiding party’s sentry, who announced the arrival of the rest of Dimka’s men, skulking through the jungle to mask their approach. The nocturnal heat was humid and oppressive. Morgan and Honoré walked through the pitch black, each trekking soldier they encountered pointing them in the direction of the leader. They found Dimka bringing up the rear, a rag tied around his head as a headband, AK-47 in his hand. Walking alongside him was Yolande, face set in a look of determination. She refused to acknowledge Morgan.

  She had taken on their cause. He should have known. The hardest people can be the most idealistic.

  Morgan and Honoré talked tactics with Dimka as they walked, laying out their plan and making adjustments according to the leader’s more detailed picture of their capabilities. They split up the dynamite from the gold mine—six sticks for the raiding party, the rest to be divided to breach the walls.

  Once they got into position at the top of the hill overlooking the house, Morgan and Honoré spent half an hour looking for sentries. Two were guarding the trucks. Among the others, the ones carrying flashlights were almost too obvious. But they spotted three creeping in the dark, within the camp and around the perimeter. And if they had seen that many, there would be more.