by Tim Tigner
That’s what he would do now.
He didn’t want to bail on Sandy. She was the best fit of the remaining candidates, and the quickest solution.
Aria was screaming for a quick solution.
He’d just have to take precautions. Work his own counterintelligence. Set his own traps. This was nothing new for him, and in fact he rather enjoyed it, but it was time consuming.
Tory spent the night thinking about the situation. He researched tactics and reviewed alternatives while drinking Japanese green tea. Then he thought it all through again while practicing tai chi.
The next morning, during his preparations to trap Sandy and satisfy Aria, a new alternative presented itself with a bing. Literally. A fresh Facebook account triggered the facial recognition search he had running in the background. He put his analysis of the Miami Beach Marina’s website on hold in order to check her out.
At first glance, the new candidate looked promising. The right face, the right build, and a recent transplant to boot. Unfortunately, she had not submitted any contact information. No phone, no address, no email, not even a full last name. However, Jenny J. was right here in Miami.
He stared at her picture. She had the Aria look. Healthy skin, an athletic physique, and the Snow White nose atop a Scandinavian bone structure. He would definitely keep Jenny J. in mind if Sandy turned sour.
Speaking of which, it was time for that call.
“Sandy, this is Tom. We spoke yesterday in the parking lot.”
“Yes, hello.” She sounded much less wary today. Her voice seemed deeper and more relaxed.
“Something’s come up that’s added urgency to my search for a replacement chef. I need to know if you’re potentially interested?”
“Absolutely. Sorry if I was less than fully enthusiastic yesterday. You caught me on the heels of some disturbing personal news, so I was a little off-kilter. I’d love to learn more.”
Taken at face value, that was good news. Unless the personal matter involved a new relationship. Tory couldn’t ask about that now, though. Tomorrow he’d delve deeper. “Excellent! Well, as I mentioned, something’s come up. The Sassones need to sail for Saint Bart’s this Friday. So we’d like to have you out to the Grey Poupon tomorrow morning to meet them and perhaps cook a couple of omelets.”
“Omelets?”
Tory had discovered that the key to effective cons was to provide bits of emotion-driven detail. The little things that helped the mark picture the people inhabiting the fictitious world he was selling. “Mrs. Sassone has it on authority that you can tell all you need to know about a chef from how she works with eggs. I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”
“Very kind of you.”
“It’s in my interest to see you succeed.” And I like the idea of having you cook me breakfast.
“Should I bring ingredients, or will there be eggs on hand?”
“I was going to say that everything will be provided, but come to think of it, I guess we’ll garner additional information from your selections. Thanks for offering.”
“But of course.
“The yacht is berthed at the Miami Beach Marina. I’ll meet you at the gate to D Dock at eight a.m. sharp.”
“Eight a.m. sharp. Okay. Anything else I need to know? What can you tell me about the owners—that I won’t find online?”
Tory felt his shoulders relaxing. Aria would soon be thrilled. “The Sassones are fair but demanding. They don’t mind paying top dollar for top service, but that’s what they expect. As I mentioned yesterday, they are both very health conscious. You’ll be cooking lots of fish, all of it fresh, as in straight off the hook. Mr. Sassone and Captain Connor are both good with rod and reel.”
“Thank you for the tip.”
“As I mentioned earlier, if all goes well with your audition, they’d like you to start on Friday. Is that going to be a problem? You’ll only be able to give two days’ notice.”
“I know someone who can cover for me. Someone who’d love my job. I can make it work.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Sandy. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As Tory hung up the phone, he mused that this was Jenny J’s lucky day. Alas, she’d never know how close she’d come to the mortal precipice. Just goes to show you, fate’s as fickle as a flipping coin.
52
Fresh Perspective
ALTHOUGH LISA had known Pierce for nearly thirty years, she’d never visited his home. In fact, she’d never been to Montana. Not at ground level.
As she stepped off her G650 onto the private aviation runway at Glacier Park International Airport, the state’s nickname suddenly made sense. She’d always considered “Big Sky Country” an attempt to put a shine on desolation. After all, wasn’t the sky the same everywhere? But no. Even here at the airport, the mountainous horizon somehow seemed more grand. Perhaps there was something to Pierce’s eccentric selection of residence.
The reclusive Immortal had a car waiting for her, as promised. Lisa didn’t recognize the model. She asked the driver standing attentively beside the open door. “What is this?”
“It’s a Jeep Grand Cherokee, ma’am.”
A Jeep. Another first. “It’s very nice. Thank you. How long’s the drive?”
“Just thirty minutes.”
Lisa spent the trip staring at the mountains in a trance of self-reflection. How had her life come to this? How was it that she, CEO of the company that had made the biggest breakthrough in human history, was sneaking off to the sticks in fear for her life? The irony of that actuality was enough to drive a lesser mind crazy. It did have her trembling at times.
Before she knew it, Pierce was opening her door. “Welcome to Whitefish. Thank you for coming.”
Lisa had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she’d failed to notice their arrival. She gave Pierce a perfunctory hug while studying the scene behind him. A big, beautiful mountain lodge of a house on the edge of a brilliant blue lake. The air was remarkably fresh and delightfully fragrant with the scent from enormous pines. She immediately felt better. “Glad to be here. I must say, I can already see why you’re maximizing your Montana time prior to the full press of a Senate campaign.”
“Frankly, I’d rather give up meat and wine. But what we’re doing is for the greater good.”
She wondered if Pierce actually believed that. No, she was sure he didn’t. As much as it pained her to acknowledge it, they weren’t that different.
Pierce escorted her through a grand room with a soaring ceiling supported by pine logs toward two overstuffed natural leather chairs arranged before the largest fieldstone fireplace Lisa had ever seen. The rug laid out before it was an elegant sheepskin—rather than some more fearsome creature. The scene reminded her of the romance novels that were her guilty pleasure.
“What are you drinking?” he asked.
Lisa inhaled deeply. She loved the smell of pine smoke almost as much as pine trees. “Green tea, please. I need a clear head.”
Pierce turned to the driver, who had followed them inside with her bags. “We’ll take a pot of green and a pot of mountain huckleberry, please.”
“I must admit, I’m impressed,” Lisa said, looking around. “Not just with the house, I knew that would be nice, but with the location. It’s so natural. It makes my soul feel like it’s come home.”
“Glad you approve. I know my place is far from the norm, but with a satellite dish, I’m as connected to the human world as I’d be on Wall Street. Granted, I don’t have the same array of dining or entertainment options, but I rotate chefs a month at a time, and as an introvert, I don’t miss the other stuff.”
The tea arrived. The kettle must have been boiling already.
Pierce poured from his pot first then handed her the cup and saucer. “Have a sip of mine. It’s a Montana favorite.”
Lisa tasted the dark brown brew. It was as different from her green tea as Montana was from Southern California. Spicy and semisweet with half a dozen distinct flav
ors. She didn’t care for it. Too bold and busy for her palate. But she trusted that the taste could be acquired, and suspected that it packed quite a lift. “I’ll keep this cup.”
Pierce gave her a gracious nod, then opened the door to business. “What are we going to do?”
The news of Felix’s death had really rattled both of them. Felix was part of their contingent, the business-minded Immortals. The other victims had all felt more distant.
Even though the restaurant owner had told the police that Felix was worried for his life, the coroner had labeled his death a heart attack. The other members of his party had consumed the same food and drink, and all three were fine. The autopsy turned up nothing out of the ordinary. But Lisa and Pierce knew it had been murder.
“What can we do?” Lisa asked. “Besides hide.”
“Figure it out. We’re good at problem solving.”
This wouldn’t be their first attempt at that. “I keep coming back to the idea that it has to be an insider, but then I get nowhere. I’m here because I know it’s not you. We need each other to get to the White House, and I dare say that ambition is the driving force in both our lives. But with Felix gone, that leaves David and Aria. The brilliant, tree-hugging research scientist, and the beautiful island-loving former socialite. Neither strikes me as a killer.”
Pierce pushed back with a surprising statement. “They aren’t the only insiders remaining.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Surely you’re not forgetting Kirsten? Obviously she’s gone, but she has relatives. That was the whole problem.”
Lisa had not forgotten Kirsten. Lisa would never forget Kirsten. “That was over twenty years ago.”
“Exactly. Suppose her husband saw one of us, looking like we did back then, and put two and two together? Suppose he then investigated and found that we all looked the same.”
“If that were the case, I’d have been the first to die. Don’t you think?”
“Not if he doesn’t know which of us killed his wife.”
Lisa wasn’t buying it. “No revenge plot would prioritize Camilla over me.”
An attractive Asian woman in a modern chef’s uniform approached with a silver platter of sushi. She silently set it on the coffee table with a bow. Lisa concluded that it was Asian cooking month.
“I would agree if it weren’t for one thing,” Pierce said, refilling their teacups. “None of the victims have suffered. We, the survivors, are the ones suffering. We’re suffering from their loss, and we’re suffering from fear and anxiety.”
The insight struck Lisa like a splash of cold water, chilling her spine and refocusing her attention. She made a mental rundown of the list. Eric had died skydiving. Camilla had cracked her head in her sleep. Ries had slipped after climbing a cliff. Allison had passed out at the wheel. Felix had suffered a heart attack during dinner. In summary, a couple of the killings had included a few short seconds of terror, but that was it. “You’re right. Oddly, that makes it more sinister, from my perspective as a survivor.”
“I know.”
Lisa continued processing out loud. “I had focused on the result, rather than the process. Now that I think about it, we are suffering more than they did. The anticipation is torture.”
“Agreed.”
“So the question becomes—”
“Who would want to torture us?”
53
Disturbing Pattern
LISA RETURNED from a long contemplative walk in the woods to find Pierce watching from his back porch as she approached. She’d smelled the cigar from a quarter mile away, but hadn’t known it was his. “I didn’t know you smoked?”
“Only the occasional cigar. But there have been a lot of occasions lately,” he added with a wink. “I like to puff back here on the porch while I reflect and deliberate. Lots of cause for that these days.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’ve got a cigar with your name on it if you’re interested?” He transferred the Dominican to his left hand, but then hoisted a wine bottle in his right. “I’ve also opened an Opus One to breathe, in case you’re feeling less adventurous.”
Lisa’s first impulse was to pass on both. She was feeling healthy after burning off calories hiking by the lake. But then she heard her mouth accepting. “You know, in my whole life, I’ve never once smoked a cigar.”
“Well then it’s definitely time to try.”
He smiled politely, but she knew the same thought had just crossed his mind. This might be her last chance.
She climbed up onto the porch and dropped into a matching teak Adirondack chair. “You really do have a beautiful view.”
“Coming from you, that’s no small compliment.”
“The ocean is also beautiful, but very different. It’s wilder. Uncontained. With oceans, you get the full range of emotions, whereas this,” she gestured, “must always feel serene.”
“It does.”
Pierce pulled a fresh cigar from a tube, clipped the end, and applied a torch. “It’s a Romeo y Julieta. But don’t get any ideas.” He winked as he handed it over.
Pierce was a handsome man. He had that rugged outdoorsman look that paired well with flannel shirts and a scruffy beard. Her thoughts flittered back to her books, and his sheepskin rug. Oh, how far they’d come.
She mimicked his grasp on the cigar, taking it between two fingers. “This is just tobacco leaf, right? Nothing else?”
“Nothing else. Unlike cigarettes, which have filters and paper and chemical additives, these babies are all natural.”
“But they’ll still kill you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
They chuckled.
“Don’t breathe it in,” Pierce cautioned, as she moved the cigar toward her mouth.
Lisa stopped. “What?”
“If the smoke goes into your lungs you’ll cough like crazy. Just pull some into your mouth, like you’re sipping a milkshake you’re not sure you’ll like.”
Who knew? Lisa took a tiny pull.
“Now savor the smoke like you would wine, then exhale it through your mouth. Keep your breathing separate. Do that through your nose.”
Lisa complied. The cigar tasted like it smelled, rich and woody and, of course, smoky. She was glad she’d tried it once, but doubted there would be a second time—no matter how long she lived.
“Hold the cigar aside until you’re ready for another taste,” he advised. “Get a feel for it between your fingers. That’s part of the experience. I’ll pour the wine.”
The cigar had the circumference of her thumb and felt roughly the same, warm and firm but soft when pressure was applied. She could see how some might find it comforting—especially when sitting alone outside. The cigar’s band was regal, if not a bit boring, just red and gold with white words, but the box boasted a classic depiction of the young Romeo at Juliet’s balcony. Filthy though it might be, this was a classic experience, and she resolved to savor it.
They sat in silence for a while, wine glasses in their left hands, cigars in their right. Lisa knew the isolation of this place would drive her crazy in the long run, but at that moment there was no place she would rather be than with an old friend on that peaceful porch.
“While you were walking, I was thinking about the hypothesis I proposed earlier.”
“You and me both. I’m warming to the idea.”
“Funny, I’m having second thoughts.”
“How so?”
“As I recall, Kirsten’s husband had nowhere near her intellectual caliber. His IQ was above average, to be sure, but he didn’t strike me as someone with the mental horsepower of a criminal mastermind.”
Despite her earlier prediction, Lisa found herself taking a second puff. “Well, now I’m completely confused. Who’s the killer then? One of us Immortals, or someone we’ve offended?”
“If you think about it, the assassinations were brilliant. Each different, each unexpected, each without inflicting suffering or leaving
a trace. That exercise led me to consider who could be intellectually capable of such feats.”
She swirled her wine while Pierce spoke, then guessed. “David?”
“The CIA.”
She coughed, choking on her Cabernet. Was Pierce crazy? Thank goodness it hadn’t been the cigar between her lips. She raised her stogie. “Do these contain narcotics?”
Pierce just smiled. “Who controls the CIA?”
She thought about it. “Ultimately the White House, I suppose.”
“That’s right. The CIA is run by a political appointee, the CIA director, who reports to another political appointee, the Director of National Intelligence, who reports to the president, who, among other things, is the head of a political party.”
She took another puff of her cigar without thinking. “So?”
“Do you believe, even for a second, that people like those, the players at the peak of such professions, aren’t acutely attuned to threats against their hold on power? That they’re not using the resources at their disposal to stay in place? To fend off potential assaults?” Pierce talked with his hands, threatening to fling ash and slosh wine, but never actually doing either.
“I never really thought about it.”
“Well, seeing as politics is your new profession, it’s time you started.”
“Agreed. But I don’t see what that could have to do with the deaths of Allison and Camilla.” Lisa noted that despite her cigar being half-gone and her glass nearly empty, her nerves remained on edge.
Pierce followed her gaze toward the tip of her cigar. “You liked it more than you expected.”
“Apparently I did. Must be the mountain air.”
“Must be. But I’m limiting you to one.” He grinned and poured more wine. “Suppose Carl Casteel is on retainer to report emerging threats, like an early warning system. I submit that’s not just possible, but likely, given that he’s widely regarded as the country’s top political strategist.”