Better Off Dead

by Meryl Sawyer

  He switched off the reverse caller ID and stroked a few keys on his computer to bring up the internal records of Mid-Atlantic Bell. Jordan hadn’t said where she lived, but if she kept her car in Falls Church, chances were she lived in Mid-Atlantic’s territory.

  No Jordan Walsh was listed, but there were four J. Walshes in the greater Metro area. He didn’t have time to check them all now. He hit Print and generated the information for future reference.

  He spent the next hour in Cassidy’s office explaining what was essentially a simple plan with no flaws. Cassidy liked to nitpick. Brock humored him while he admired the view from the corner office. Soon it would be his.

  “This had better work,” Cassidy told him. “Last time you fucked up. The boys aren’t happy.”

  “The boys” led by Olofson had gotten wealthy by funneling money to Obelisk. From there the funds went to purchase military equipment. It was then sold to the highest bidder.

  Third World countries that couldn’t develop their own weapons paid top dollar. Terrorist cells forked over gold. Drug cartels handed over bags of already laundered cash for items they wanted. The money these sales generated went into offshore or Swiss accounts, making “the boys” even richer.

  Only three people at Obelisk knew the secret: himself, Cassidy and CFO Harold Nolan. To protect the project, they had needed top-notch security. It had been necessary to hire Brock and cut him in with a minuscule portion of the profits to keep their dirty little scheme under wraps.

  Once Brock would have frowned on trafficking in military weapons to America’s enemies. Not anymore. Morality was relative. Someone was going to make the sale. If Obelisk handled it, Brock and Cassidy and “the boys” profited.

  Had Brock stayed at the Defense Department he would be still making less than six figures. He wouldn’t have the town-house in Georgetown or his most prized possessions, his cars. Once he was CEO, Brock’s take from the cash cow would bring him staggering wealth.

  “You hear me?” Cassidy said, snapping Brock back to their conversation.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured Cassidy. “She’ll talk. There’s always a limit to human endurance.”

  Cassidy grunted unenthusiastically. Brock left his office, set to implement the plan. This would require two operatives. Number 77 was his first choice. He liked the way 77 had carried out the mission.

  The second operative was harder to pick. Brock went through his computer files. After much deliberation, he selected a kid handling negotiations with drug lords in Colombia. The cartels there were ruthless. They’d shoot down a commercial airliner just to whack one person.

  Operative 251 had been commended several times by trusted men in the field. He was a trained sniper who used a .50 caliber rifle. That meant 251 had to be accurate from three-quarters of a mile away.

  Not only did a sniper have to be an expert shot, but he had to be extremely patient. He usually had to lie in wait for hours at a time to hit the targeted person. This job would take patience.

  Brock liked this guy on paper. He would need to meet him in person to be certain. It would take a little time to find him in whatever godforsaken part of Colombia he was working and fly him here. Cassidy would give him a ration of shit over the delay, but Brock didn’t care. He needed the right team for this job.

  He used his laptop to type in a message to Operative 251 to contact Brock ASAP. Even if the kid was in the jungle, he would check in, using his battery-powered laptop, when the DoD satellite passed over Colombia. Brock expected to hear from him soon.

  He almost called the J. Walshes listed in the Metro area, but decided if he did, he would be compelled to ask Jordan out tonight. His time would be better spent waiting for 251’s call.

  He ran reverse ID programs on the other Obelisk employees, a routine security measure. The secretive nature of the project meant as few employees as possible were hired. They all seemed to buy the antiterrorism bit. Paying them way above what they normally could earn ensured a certain loyalty in this economy. But you never knew when some smart-ass like Samantha Robbins would become suspicious and contact the authorities.

  While he waited for the computer to run through the numbers, Brock took out the device Operative 77 had stolen. It resembled a handheld GPS, but it had several interesting buttons on it. He knew it must access the DoD satellite and require a laser scan of an authorized thumbprint.

  No wait.

  This was DARPA’s latest gizmo. It would scan the iris. The man was dead. Brock wasn’t going to be able to test this.

  He pondered the situation for half an hour, then decided to try backdooring it. His iris was in the DoD database, and his security clearance was the highest. With a few keystrokes, he told the DoD satellite to let him in.

  He put his eye up to the small screen and punched the on button. Bingo! He was in. It was almost too easy. Their security sucked. He put in the coordinates for Cairo where it was the middle of the night.

  Pinpricks of red light coalesced on the screen just like regular infrared. It didn’t tell him a damn thing. He hit the Zoom button to zero in on the American Embassy. Pinpricks of red light appeared.

  “Interesting.”

  They could isolate images in a city packed with heat generating objects. That was a step forward. A mile forward actually. He pressed the ID button.

  Bovine.

  A cow or a bull? Couldn’t be. Cairo was a sea of unwashed humanity with some of the dirtiest, most disgusting animals on the planet, but the only animals at the American Embassy were bomb sniffing dogs.

  He double-checked the coordinates and hit Zoom again. He stared at the screen, his stomach beginning to have that debilitating hungover feeling again.

  Bovine.

  He thought about it for a moment and decided there could be a reasonable explanation. Some Arab with a camel had entered the compound. With security being what it was these days, it didn’t seem likely.

  Brock looked up some info on his laptop, then entered the coordinates for the El-Hijra Mosque. Evening prayers were long over, but there were always men hanging around the mosques.

  The handheld showed about a dozen separate pinpricks of light. That was about right for this hour, he decided. He zoomed in on one.

  Canine.

  What? Dogs were not allowed in mosques. On the off-chance there was a mutt there, Brock zoomed in on another figure.

  Canine.

  What a piss-off! This thing was a long, long way from being perfected. He couldn’t waltz into General Olofson’s office, and claim to have the Holy Grail of nighttime surveillance.

  The weight of all his forty-one years slammed down on his shoulders. He slumped back in his chair and stared at the so-called revolutionary device.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE CALL being traced,” Warren told her. “We’ve installed special equipment on your sister’s line. We’ll know if anyone is monitoring her telephone.”

  Devon nodded and dialed her sister’s number for the first time in months. They were sitting in Warren’s office and using a special cell phone Warren had flown to Honolulu for Devon to use once. The next time she called, it would be on a different telephone.

  Tina answered with an excited “Hello” on the second ring. Devon wasn’t surprised. The Federal Marshals would have told Tina to expect the call.

  “It’s me,” Devon said, tears welling up in her eyes unexpectedly.

  “How are you?”

  One hot tear rolled down her cheek. Just the sound of her sister’s voice after not hearing it all these months cracked the emotional armor she’d built around herself after Santa Fe. “I’m fine,” she managed to say after an edgy silence. “Just fine.”

  “We had your favorite—German chocolate cake—on your birthday,” Tina told her, the threat of tears now in her voice. “Ariel blew out the candles for you.”

  “I’ll bet she was cute,” Devon responded, being as upbeat as she could. She’d spent her birthday in the WITSEC
safe house. If anyone there knew about her birthday, they hadn’t mentioned it.

  “You should see Ariel. She’s growing up so fast. She’ll be eight next month.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  Devon wished she could ask her sister to send Ariel’s picture to WITSEC, but she knew it would be useless. No pictures. No personal items. Ever. She was lucky to have Zach with her. Only Masterson’s clout had made it possible.

  “Steve received a big promotion,” her sister said. “There’s a chance we’ll be moving.”

  “Moving? Where?”

  This tenuous telephone link was all she had of her sister. She’d been to her sister’s home many times. She could picture Tina there. In an odd way it was comforting to be able to visualize her sister in familiar surroundings. If they moved, Devon wouldn’t be able to “see” Tina in the same way.

  “Well, you know Steve. He wants a bigger house with a media room. We’ve been looking in Boca Raton.”

  “Nice area.” Devon could just picture her brother-in-law in a palatial home. A successful member of a venture capital team, Steve Layton was easily impressed by the trappings of wealth. No doubt he gave Tina a hard time over Devon’s situation.

  “There are better schools in Boca for Ariel. She’s taken up horseback riding, you know.”

  “Really?” Devon didn’t know, but then they hadn’t been in touch in months.

  “Yes. Hunter-jumpers. There’s an excellent instructor at the Flintridge Equestrian Academy. Ariel could work with her every day, if we lived nearby.”

  Devon listened as Tina chattered on about Ariel and Steve and life in suburbia. She was happy for her sister. This was the way the world was meant to be—a normal existence.

  “You’re doing okay?” Apparently her sister had finally run out of family news.

  “I’m much better than I was.”

  They both knew the rules. Devon couldn’t discuss her job or the weather or anything about her present situation. Even if the phone wasn’t tapped, there was always the possibility someone might try to force information out of Tina.

  She wanted to tell Tina all about Hawaii. Like many people who lived in the East, Tina went to the Bahamas or the Caribbean to vacation, not Hawaii. But saying anything about where she was could get her thrown out of WITSEC. No matter how desperately she wanted to share this magnificent island with her sister, Devon couldn’t.

  In truth, there wasn’t anything of any relevance Devon could tell her sister about herself. Her comments had to be limited to boring comments like: I’m feeling fine. The weather was off-limits. So was her job. Even if she made friends, they couldn’t be mentioned by name.

  Her life was a big nothing. All she was supposed to do was listen to her sister talk about her own life. Once this would have depressed Devon, but not now. Just hearing her sister’s voice was enough.

  KEKE STOOD AT THE BAR set up near the infinity pool. The cocktail party following Phaedra Nitsui’s wedding had lasted nearly an hour and a half. There were three other bars set up on the grounds, but Keke had done the work of two bartenders at this station. She’d had Rory at her side, pouring wine and champagne. He was learning to bartend so he could get a job at one of the trendy Waikiki clubs.

  Guests were now midway through dinner so business was light. She and Rory were stacking glasses in the trays to be picked up by Royal Palms Rentals. Shelby bounced up, smiling, and chattering.

  “Know why the wedding party, like, always dresses in the same awesome outfits?” Shelby asked both of them, but her eyes were on Rory.

  Keke resisted the urge to tell Shelby this was no way to flirt. Guys were not obsessed with wedding trivia the way Shelby was.

  “I give,” Rory replied.

  Shelby looked at her, and Keke shrugged.

  “It goes back to Roman times. They, like, thought evil spirits attended weddings, soooo looking for trouble. People dressed alike confused them, and they flew off.”

  “I get it,” Rory said unenthusiastically.

  Shelby leaned against the bar, gazing at Rory. “That’s why brides wear veils. Then the evil spirits can’t see them.”

  “As if,” Rory sneered.

  “It’s sooo totally awesome that superstitions from waaay back are still, like, with us today.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something for Devon?” Keke asked. Devon had been everywhere, calm, but handling a million details.

  “She’s helping put the fresh flowers on the wedding cake. I’m supposed to get the bride’s bouquet from the woman who catches it. I have to rush it down to Hazuriku’s and have it freeze-dried.”

  “Freeze-dried?” Rory asked. “What for?”

  “It’s, like, the latest. You can save them forever. They don’t look all dried out or soooo phony like the silk flower duplicates some brides have made. The bouquet stays, like, exactly the way it is today.”

  Rory grunted and shook his head. “Let’s see how Rudy’s doing.”

  Shelby trotted off with Rory to see how Chad’s black swan was faring in the pond filled with red canna leaves. Another waste of money, Keke thought. The whole wedding had been over the top.

  The exotic scent of Hawaii’s native plumeria had been overwhelmed by a special machine that wafted the smell of roses into the yard. A suggestion of a breeze had rustled the palms all evening. When it blew in her direction, the air became heavy and cloying.

  Nothing could detract from the astonishing beauty of the site, she decided, her eyes drifting to the ocean. A lover’s moon hung low in the star-filled sky and gave the sea a magical luster. Ribbons of sea foam glistened on the sand. Like a handful of diamonds thrown on to the water, the waves sparkled.

  Keke could almost hear her mother saying, “It’s the menehunes dancing.” She couldn’t help wonder what her mother would think if she could see Chad’s home. They’d grown up as a typical middle class family. They’d never lacked for anything, but they hadn’t been indulged, either.

  Chad had always been a little different. He’d excelled at school without even trying. Most of his friends thought of him as a surfer, but Keke had always known her brother harbored secret ambitions. In his sophomore year in high school, Chad had sent away for several college catalogs—not just any catalogs—ones from top schools like Yale and Stanford. He’d been the only student from the North Shore to win a scholarship to Stanford.

  Her brother becoming successful wasn’t a shock to Keke. What did surprise her was his return to Hawaii. When he’d joined Special Forces after college, she believed he would never come home again, but she’d been wrong.

  Keke saw Chad sitting at a table across the lawn. Naturally he’d been invited to the wedding, and not just because it was his house. He was one of the more successful businessmen in the islands. He didn’t know the bride personally, but he was acquainted with Senator Inoye, her uncle.

  The woman next to Chad appeared to be flirting with him. Keke couldn’t help being proud of her brother. Chad was handsome, but in a tuxedo, he was devastating. Even so, Keke thought tuxedos were too warm, too formal for Hawaii.

  The pretty brunette seated beside Chad would have trouble interesting him. Since early this morning, when they’d begun setting up, Chad had covertly watched Devon. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but Keke knew her brother well. Devon had his number, all right.

  Keke admired the woman’s take-charge efficiency, but she did not want to see her brother hurt. Until this morning, the thought had never occurred to Keke. Chad always seemed so invincible. But Keke’s sixth sense had kicked in, telling her Chad was in trouble this time. She had no idea how to help him except to hang around and watch. If Chad needed her, she’d be there.

  Her mother had always said everyone had an Achilles’ heel. She couldn’t help wondering if Devon would be his. Just then, Chad looked up and caught her staring at him. She waved, thankful he didn’t know what she was thinking.

  Chad rose and walked across the grass over to the
bar. “Whew! That’s a load off my mind. The food was great—just great.”

  “You were worried about the food?” Keke couldn’t imagine her brother caring one hoot about what he ate. Here was a man who’d lived behind enemy lines on MREs.

  “Eddie had never used Trade Winds Catering. I didn’t want him to be embarrassed if the company didn’t meet expectations.”

  She nodded dubiously. “You were worried about Devon pulling this off. Weren’t you?”

  “Yeah. But Devon really did a great job.” There was more than just a hint of pride in his tone.

  “The caterer was Lori’s legacy,” she pointed out.

  “True, but getting this wedding together on such short notice is impressive.”

  Keke nodded, not quite willing to give Devon any more accolades. Her brother was already too taken with the woman.

  FROM THE POND where Rudy was gliding in endless circles through thousands of red canna leaves, Devon watched the bride and groom cut the cake. Thank God, the day was almost over. It had gone better than she could ever have imagined, considering the event had been done almost entirely at the last minute. Tomorrow was Monday and Aloha Weddings was closed. She planned to sleep in, then take Zach to a remote beach to let him run and swim.

  “Everyone’s raving about the food, the decorations, the band.”

  She nearly jumped at the sound of Chad’s voice. How had he come up behind her without her knowing? She must be so tired that she’d let her guard down.

  She ventured a glance at him, looming beside her. He had a bod that looked good in anything, but did wonders for a tuxedo. He was smiling at her, and she couldn’t help smiling back. He had the most extraordinary eyes, she decided. The incandescent blue of the water off Waikiki.

  She wondered what he thought of the backless lavender dress she’d impulsively bought for this wedding. When she’d discovered how many prominent people were going to attend, she’d wanted to make a good impression. Don’t kid yourself, she thought. Chad is the one you wanted to impress.

  “I had a lot of assistance with this wedding,” Devon told him. “Your sisters, Rory, everyone was a tremendous help. Thanks for everything.”