Krystal Scent (Krystal Vibration Series Book 2)

by Richard Corrigan

  Karen agreed and disconnected. She knew this was going to happen. Ever since the Labyrinth they had been in contact with her. And Nathan Mallory said that he was going to recommend they enlist her for future assignments.

  Etheridge had previously told her that he wanted her to go for some training. And then there was that Jihadist letter. That’s probably why Etheridge wanted to accelerate the time schedule and give her an assignment.

  While she was crawling through the Labyrinth caves with Mallory, she wondered what it would be like being an agent. Only days before that, she found out that her father was a spy, and she was told that he had died in Syria at the hand of a terrorist.

  Although Karen had a license to carry a gun, had taken lessons, and was a decent shot; she had occasion to use her weapon only a couple of times. Being an agent in the field, she was sure that would change.

  Karen had to admit to herself that the prospect of working for the U.S. Government’s security sector intrigued her. And maybe she’d be able to avenge her father’s death. Although, she didn’t want to partner with anyone. She wanted to work alone. The only place she felt comfortable working with others was on the soccer field alongside her Golden Eagles teammates. During the contests, there were no hidden agendas, only one mission—to score against the opponent and win the match. She stared off into the distance.

  I don’t know if I’m ready for this.

  CHAPTER 15

  Alexandria, Egypt

  Iqbal Rahal walked into the room and said, “We got a call from Peyton in the U.S. They think they know how to do it.”

  Mohammed Ally Atwah turned from the mirror and said, “What have they discovered?”

  “About every two weeks, her sister receives something from Amanda’s Boudoir.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “It’s a women’s Internet store that specializes in slutty lingerie and all types of attention-getting, female clothes.”

  “Shit, Karen doesn’t dress like that. She’s ultra conservative.”

  “Yes, but her sister does.”

  “How the hell does that help us?”

  Rahal pulled out his phone and showed Atwah a photo of an empty box. “They know how the shipments arrive at the Krystal house. A box like this. They’re placed in the mailbox through the gate. The mail person has a key to unlock the door.”

  “I still don’t know how this helps us.”

  “They’ll place a bomb in the box and address it to Karen Krystal. They’ll wrap it exactly like deliveries from Amanda’s Boudoir. She knows her sister orders items from there all the time. She’ll think her sister ordered something for her. When she opens it, the trigger will set off the bomb and no more Karen Krystal.”

  Atwah stared off into the distance and then shook himself back into the room. “I really wanted the satisfaction of killing her myself. But tell them to do it. Do it now.”

  “What about finding out what Homeland Security wants with her and what they know about us?”

  “We’ve got that covered,” Atwah said, turning back to the mirror.

  Rahal left to carry out Karen’s execution.

  ***

  Middleburg, Virginia

  Another day passed and Karen was still having a difficult time adjusting to having nowhere in particular to go each day since she quit her job, and her work at the Labyrinth had ended. Less than a year ago, she was reporting to the RL2 offices and working with the partners who bought out Krystal Vision, her father’s Washington D.C. architectural company.

  Since the Labyrinth and her exposure to the strange chemicals released within the tunnels, Karen has never needed an alarm clock to wake up on time for appointments. Her circadian rhythms and her internal “master” biological clock were perfect. She knew just what time it was at all times, day or night. But the habit of looking at her watch, her phone, or a wall clock to check the time had not yet left her.

  She rose quietly. She knew Sharon must be still sleeping. When Karen went to bed, Sharon had not yet arrived home.

  Another late-night date.

  Karen showered and got dressed in her workout clothes and then went downstairs to have a quick bite before driving to the District to go through her strenuous exercise routine. She never ate too much: some plain, Greek yogurt and honey this morning.

  There were other fitness facilities much closer, but the one in the District operated by Homeland Security was far superior.

  A small light in the corner of the kitchen above the counter began to blink. The mail had arrived. Karen decided to leave her breakfast on the chopping block and walk the one-hundred-yard driveway of the fourteen-acre site to the iron-gated entrance of the property.

  She opened the mailbox door, gathered the letters, junk mail, circulars and a package, and walked back to finish her meal.

  She returned to her stool in the kitchen in front of the chopping-block counter and separated the mail into three piles: junk, Sharon’s, and hers. There was a package from Amanda’s Boudoir, and Karen placed it next to Sharon’s pile.

  She gets one every other day it seems.

  Karen glanced back at the label and discovered the parcel was addressed to her.

  “I don’t believe you, Sharon, you just won’t give up.”

  Sharon continually prodded Karen, trying to get her to loosen up her wardrobe. She wanted her to dress more youthful, more today, less conservative.

  Sharon didn’t understand Karen’s style of dress. Everything Karen owned could be labeled “Business Attire.” Sharon wouldn’t be caught dead in just grays and blacks unless they were skintight and she could go without a bra.

  Karen looked at the return label. The letters AB were above the Paris address. Her curiosity caused her to open the drawer beneath the counter and take out the scissors.

  Karen punctured the seal on the box and jumped when Shasta suddenly leapt to the counter.

  “Get down you renegade,” Karen said, dropping the scissors and picking up Shasta, snuggling her, and then setting her on the floor.

  Karen grabbed the scissors and noticed that the box didn’t smell like the other Amanda’s Boudoir, signature-perfumed parcels that Sharon always received. She bent over, squinting her eyes, tilting her head, and sniffed.

  ***

  Alexandria, Egypt

  Atwah got off the phone and turned to Fadhil and said. “We’ll soon be rid of her.”

  “Who?” Fadhil asked, expelling the cigar smoke into the air.

  “Karen Krystal.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Some of our allies in the States have sent her a special present. When she opens it, it’ll explode. And goodbye fucking Karen Krystal.”

  ***

  Middleburg, Virginia

  The phone rang. Karen answered it.

  It was Carl Etheridge again. “Can you come into the District right away?” he asked. “We need to talk about the threat you received.”

  “Now?”

  “If that’s convenient?”

  Karen knew that “Come into the District right away,” and “If that’s convenient,” meant “Come immediately.” Karen agreed, set the scissors on the chopping block, ran upstairs to change, and placed her workout clothes in her duffel bag.

  Moments later, she came back downstairs and grabbed her computer to force the Jaguar into basic mode if she lost control again, lifted her keys off the hook, but then stopped to look back at the package before she set the house alarm.

  I wonder what she bought me.

  ***

  Alexandria, Egypt

  Fadhil asked, “Any word on the bomb? It’s been over three hours.”

  Atwah said, “She had to leave. She’ll probably open it as soon as she gets back.”

  “Let me know.”

  ***

  Middleburg, Virginia

  The package exploded. The sharp noise and sound of breaking glass set off the alarm system. The smoke detectors reacted and within minutes the fire trucks, pa
ramedics, and the police were at the scene.

  The officers unlocked the gate and the emergency crew rushed to the front door. They deactivated the code on the outside pad and moved quickly to the kitchen.

  Flames were climbing up the curtains and lapping at the ceiling. The glass on the microwave door was cracked. The stainless steel, Sub-Zero refrigerator had a sizeable dent in it. The glass on the front of the stove was gone. The pans that hung over the island were strewn across the floor, and the cupboard doors were singed.

  There were pieces of cloth scattered all over.

  The firemen quickly doused the flames.

  “It looks like the result of an explosion. A bomb,” Sergeant Massy said.

  “We’ll have to investigate,” Captain Martin said and picked up what looked like the sleeve of a shirt.

  “Looks like there may be causalities,” Sergeant Massy said as he scanned the walls and floor for blood.

  ***

  Sharon had stayed out all night and was finally on her way home. She was listening to her favorite song compilation on her car’s CD player and wasn’t paying attention when she hit the iron-gate-entrance remote of her childhood home. She slammed on her brakes and swerved from slamming into a row of official-looking unmarked cars.

  She audibly gasped when she spotted the fire trucks, emergency vehicles and police cars blocking her way. Normally, she’d careen through the gateway, squeal her tires around the circular driveway and slip into the garage, just clearing the opening door.

  This time, she was forced to stop outside the gate and get out of the car.

  A police officer standing guard stopped her just as she was about to enter the property.

  “Sorry, Miss. No one can enter,” he said, holding up his hand.

  “I live here,” Sharon said.

  “May I see ID?”

  Sharon pulled out her wallet and offered her Virginia driver’s license.

  Pointing to the man in the suit standing outside the front door, the officer said, “You need to see Lieutenant Damski.”

  Sharon walked to the front door and Lieutenant Damski turned to face her.

  “I’m Sharon Krystal. The officer over there told me to speak to you. What’s going on?”

  The Lieutenant swallowed hard and said, “Sorry, I have some bad news. It appears that there’s been an explosion in the kitchen. There’s a good amount of damage. We’ve put out the fire. We’re viewing this as a crime scene. I need to ask you some questions.”

  Sharon’s normally-suntanned face became ghostly ashen. “Karen, my sister.”

  “What about the cleaning lady or the other maintenance people?”

  Sharon bristled at the lieutenant’s remark. She stiffened her back and said, “You assume because we live in this house we have support staff. Well, you’re wrong. Karen and I share the responsibility of taking care of everything. We pay for lawn service, and we have a pool person, but they don’t have access to the house.”

  The lieutenant didn’t apologize but coldly informed Sharon that there were remnants of clothing found in the room of the explosion, and that it was an extremely powerful blast.

  Sharon tried to process what she was hearing. “Are you saying that my sister is dead?” Her eyes began to fill and her hands shook.

  “There’s no evidence of human remains, yet. Only pieces of clothing. Were you expecting a package?”

  “I order things all the time.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “She doesn’t order anything.”

  “So, the package was for you?”

  “How am I supposed to know that?” Sharon asked, her eyes wide.

  “Do you know why someone would plant a bomb in a package you’d receive?”

  Sharon’s eyes glazed over.

  The lieutenant said, “Okay, Ms. Krystal, just don’t leave town until we’ve had a chance to make sense of all this. Where’s your sister?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Please stay close by until we’re through here.”

  Sharon immediately pulled out her cellphone and dialed Karen.

  There was no answer.

  ***

  The District

  Karen, carrying the new Homeland Security portfolio Etheridge had given her, was just about to pass through the outside door of the Homeland Security offices and walk to her car when an aid came running up and told her that Etheridge wanted to see her.

  “I just left him,” Karen said, frowning.

  “He said it was urgent, and that I had to stop you from leaving.”

  Karen returned to Etheridge’s office, and as soon as she entered he said, “There’s a situation at your house. We think a bomb exploded. It was meant for you.”

  “What about Sharon?”

  “She wasn’t home.”

  “How do you know it was a bomb and that it was meant for me?”

  “The mail person delivered a package addressed to you from Amanda’s Boudoir.”

  Karen face lost all expression. She said, “That was a package that Sharon must have had sent to me. She’s always trying to get me to wear that stuff. I continually refuse. I carried it into the house and set it on the chopping block in the kitchen. I was about to open it, I had just cut through the seal, when you called.”

  “Does she always send you packages from Amanda’s Boudoir?”

  “This is the first time. And she knows that I would never wear that stuff, I’m just not that type of…”

  “Look, Karen, the issue is the bomb that exploded in the kitchen. The appliances are damaged and there was a fire. Some of the curtains were destroyed along with a few cupboard doors, the microwave and the oven. If you had been there, you’d be dead right now.”

  “If Sharon wasn’t home, what caused the bomb to go off?”

  “It must have been on a timer. You were here, and your sister showed up after the emergency personnel and police arrived on the scene.”

  “She didn’t send me the package.”

  “We know that.”

  “It has to be connected with that Jihad letter I received. I still don’t know why anyone would want me dead.”

  “That’s what we’d like to know, too. Have you been investigating anything on your own outside of Homeland Security?”

  “All I’ve been doing is exercising at the Homeland Security facilities in the District and…”

  “And what?”

  “Trying to learn who killed my father. Nothing more.”

  “Well, we don’t want you to go back to the house tonight. We’ve arranged for you to stay somewhere safe. Tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do.”

  “But, I have no other clothes. I don’t have any of my personal belongings. I don’t have my phone charger, no make-up, and if I want to go to the gym, I only have one change of clothes for that.”

  “Karen, you might as well know this, we know everything about you. From your childhood, through your school years, university, graduate school, the soccer team, your ring size, dress size, even your bra size.”

  Karen’s face contorted.

  “All our operatives are thoroughly vetted,” Etheridge said, not apologizing for unmasking Karen without her consent.

  Karen stayed silent and kept her eyes fixed on Etheridge’s.

  “You can decline being part of the agency at any time.”

  Karen swallowed. “Where will I stay this evening? And what if I want to go somewhere tomorrow; am I a prisoner?”

  “We have a safe house in District. It’s the old Lancaster House owned by your alma mater. We’ve already populated the closets with clothes your size.”

  Karen grimaced. “And my style?”

  Etheridge said, “Not the kind your sister would wear if that’s what you’re implying. Conservative, like you’re wearing now.”

  “You’ve investigated Sharon, too?”

  “She was vetted a while ago. We have to know everything. We can’t afford to jeopardize our operations or jeopardize t
he president.”

  “What about my car?”

  “Leave it here for now. It’ll be safe.”

  “I want to be able to go back home.”

  “As soon as we check it all out and assign someone to keep watch over you, you can.”

  “I’m going to have someone with me at all times?”

  “No. But you’ll be tailed, and someone will always be parked outside the house whether you’re there or not. There’s a driver downstairs who’ll take you to the safe house.”

  “What about tomorrow? What if I want to go to the gym?”

  “You’ll be driven there and picked up. Probably tomorrow, you’ll be able to return to your house.”

  “Are you watching Sharon, too?”

  “Yes.”

  Realizing that there was nothing she could do about her situation as it currently stood, she rose from her chair and walked to the door. She turned to look back at Etheridge.

  “The driver’s downstairs, waiting,” he said.

  She left Etheridge for the second time.

  ***

  Middleburg, Virginia

  After the police, firemen and emergency crews left, Sharon realized that she hadn’t seen Shasta.

  Karen never had any pets except for Grandpa Buhr’s homing pigeons she had kept at Swan Nest Pond. For a time though, she did take care of Shasta while Sharon lived in Edgewood, Pennsylvania. Sharon’s landlord didn’t allow pets. During that time, Shasta had become just as much Karen’s furry friend as Sharon’s.

  Sharon walked throughout the house calling out Shasta’s name, but the feline never appeared. There was the possibility that with all the opening and closing of doors, she scooted out and was somewhere in the yard waiting for things to quiet down. Or, Sharon dreaded the thought—she was vaporized by the bomb.

  But cats just don’t commonly respond when called, so maybe she was hiding somewhere in one of the rooms.

  The phone rang. Sharon could see the call was from Karen’s cellphone. She answered it and said, “I tried to call you but it went to voicemail.”

  “I was in a meeting. I had the ringer turned off. I know about the explosion.”