The Operator

by Craig Martelle

  She relaxed. “Are you trying to be tough for me?”

  “I will always be tough for you. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m perfectly fine. Better than fine. On a completely unrelated topic, do you have Bacitracin and Band-Aids?”

  “Unrelated?” Our noses were touching again.

  “We better clean up. I want to shoot some big guns. And so do you.”

  “Of course.”

  “I want you to carry the little pistol with you this next week, just in case.” I finally rolled to the side. My back stuck to the comforter on the bed. I hunched my shoulders to free myself and swung my legs to the floor. Jenny slipped past me and pulled me to my feet.

  “Come on. Into the shower with you.” She took me by the hand and dragged me to the one bathroom in the house, located off the hall. Old-style, a shower over the tub.

  The water felt good. Afterward, Jenny tamped my back dry with a paper towel. I finally got a look at the damage. Four claw marks on each side of my back. Even the most puritan observer would know what they were from.

  “Those are some serious badges of honor.”

  “You shush,” Jenny said. The mirror showed her smiling, but she dabbed at my shrapnel scars as well. Love and war in all its glory.

  Leaving similar scars. “I prefer the marks you made over mine.”

  “You were hurt.” She ran a warm finger over my ragged flesh.

  “It blasted from the side. Got under my flak jacket because I didn’t have it fastened all the way. It was hot in the desert. Other guys were hurt worse.”

  “Is that why it scarred like that? You took care of the others before anyone had a chance to look at you?” She finished covering my new cuts.

  “Something like that. Why are we still naked?”

  “That’s your fault.” She slapped my butt hard. I faced her. She threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. Pride. Confidence.

  “I think you’re tough enough to enter my world. I expect you’re a better shot than you give yourself credit for, too.” I kissed her forehead. “I’ll get breakfast. Join me when you’re ready.” I headed into the hallway to find my clothes. I thought I’d left them in the living room.

  ***

  The range had two sections, an enclosed pistol area and a much longer but covered range for rifles. They had security cameras in key locations, so I kept my ball cap pulled down over my face. Jenny wore a visor that covered some of her face. It would have to be good enough.

  We had to sign up for a time slot on the rifle range since most of the lanes were already full. I opted to maximize our time on the pistol range, where we could shoot paper targets that reeled back and forth. We didn’t have to wait for the range to clear to put out a target or see where the bullets were striking.

  We didn’t need to rent weapons and we had our own ammunition, but we needed to get two ports because they only allowed one person per firing port. We sat through a fifteen-minute safety lecture before they handed us targets and eye and ear protection. Once turned loose, we took our assigned lanes.

  Miss Jenny knew how to load and unload both pistols. We went through the stance she would use and the grip, keeping the pistol pointed downrange. Couldn’t have an accident. “Never point it at something you don’t want to shoot.”

  She took aim and popped off five rounds. I tapped her on the shoulder. She cleared the chamber and put the pistol on the bench in front of her. We reeled the target back to us. She was all over the paper.

  “What are you looking at when you aim?”

  “Down the barrel, focusing on the target.”

  “Focus on the front sight post. Let the target be fuzzy. Put that front sight right into the middle of the fuzzball in the center of the target. Breathe out and hold it as you squeeze the trigger. Let the round going off be a surprise. Those are the keys to a good shot.”

  “Are you a good shot?” Jenny pointed to the .45 on the bench in my lane.

  “Throwing the gauntlet down, Miss Jenny? I accept.” I picked up the pistol, chambered a round, and assumed my modified Weaver stance, firing across my body as I pulled the pistol into the palms of my hands.

  When the round erupted from the barrel, I started to laugh.

  “Oh, yeah! Bring it, baby. Rock me!” I focused on the target to see where the round had impacted. Six o’clock low. I raised my aiming point and sent four more rounds into the center of the black. I rolled the target back to me.

  “I hit what I aim at.” It wasn’t bragging. In my world, it was a cold reality.

  “I expected.” Jenny nodded, tight-lipped and determined. “I need to shoot better.”

  “This is a nice pistol. Your old man did well with it, and you need to fire both of these, be comfortable with both.”

  We continued through two boxes of ammunition. Jenny fired the .45 last. She held a tighter group with it than the .25, but it was a big piece of hardware. She shook out her wrists after draining a single magazine. We never fired the long rifle, canceling our lane after the pistol time. We’d taken nearly two hours.

  I was satisfied and gratified.

  We packed up the pistols and headed out, thanking the kind folks for the use of their range. It had only cost a hundred dollars, but I was far more comfortable. Peace of mind. Jenny would be able to defend herself.

  Cancel the contract, I wished. Cancel it!

  Once we were in the car, I said, “I need to do a little more research. Can we go back home for a bit?”

  “Home,” she repeated. “Can we go home? Yes. I would love to go home with you.”

  “I have a little research to do. I thought of a couple things while shooting.”

  “What are you digging into, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I looked at her while she concentrated on driving. “I never realized how important it was for me not to be alone. I’d grown harder than I was comfortable with. I was losing me.” I watched the scenery as Jenny drove the speed limit. I approved. “Tricia Tripplethorn. I want to show you a private email she maintains. The cryptic messages within and her answers that she deleted but never removed from the deleted folder.”

  “People do that?”

  “People with something to hide. I don’t care about other people’s secrets except for how they impact me and this contract.”

  “Don’t I know about getting into other people’s secrets,” Jenny said, squeezing my hand. “I’m kidding. It’s for the best, Ian. All the way around. If you hadn’t met me, would you have killed Jimmy Tripplethorn?”

  “No. I probably would have offed his wife so there was no one to complain about not fulfilling the hit.”

  “What if it’s not her?”

  “That’s why I need to keep digging. She’s going somewhere on Monday. I want to know where and who she’s meeting.” I stroked the back of Jenny’s hand. “I’m probably going to have to follow her the hard way.”

  “How good do you think she is?”

  “An insightful question, my dear. I think she made me when I was in the hobo outfit.”

  “Is that what that smell was?”

  “I had to pay first to order Chinese. It was a little embarrassing.”

  “My God. I’m getting a firsthand account of a hitman, and it’s not anything like what we see in the movies. Those guys are high-tech, always one step ahead of their marks. James Bond-classy.”

  “I’m classy.”

  “You came home smelling of fish.”

  “Is this our first fight, my love?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Not quite. What you describe makes sense to me—loners who aren’t connected and leave no footprints. You can’t do that if you are constantly online, connected by radio with a team, always tracking and all-knowing. It is a stretch for believability.”

  “I have to know just enough to make the hit and leave. No more. I don’t need to know every aspect of their lives. The simpler, the better. Nothing about Jimmy’s life is simple. Nothing about the Wonderbeast’s life is simple.
Where is she going on Monday? What does the rest of the week hold? The clock is ticking. To answer your question, never underestimate the enemy. She’s the daughter with a billion-dollar inheritance. She’s nobody’s fool. I will treat her as if she’s that good.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “To contemplate is to look at shadows.” Victor Hugo

  Monday morning came early. Jenny was willing but had a hard time waking up. We didn’t have far to go to get back to the hotel, but we’d be in the middle of the rush-hour commute. I wore her father’s rain jacket, something she wanted me to have.

  Jenny preferred that I drove. I kicked the seat back in her car and connected my music to her radio. It’s what I listened to while I drove.

  “Rush? I might have to rethink our relationship, Mr. Bragg.”

  “I have found solace in the words of Neil Peart my entire life. I need Rush more than coffee, I think.”

  “Damn!” Jenny seemed put out but turned the volume up. “The lead singer’s voice gets to me.”

  “He gets to me, too. Have I told you today how beautiful you are?” Deflecting and distracting.

  I could see her out of the corner of my eye, smiling and staring. “I don’t think he gets to us in the same way. I shall concede this one point for the moment, but you can owe me.”

  “I’ll treat you to breakfast.”

  “Am I that cheap a date?”

  “No, but I am.” I declared victory. She leaned back and closed her eyes, drifting off in the early morning drive.

  We’d stop by the hotel’s restaurant, and then I’d work out while Miss Jenny went back home. I wanted to be in place outside the Tripplethorn neighborhood a couple hours early to make sure I caught the Wonderbeast when she left. We had reviewed the emails again and again. I could come to no other conclusion. I doubted anyone would come to their house for a meeting. Too many nosy neighbors.

  The neighborhood watch .

  I carried a bag with my freshly cleaned and folded laundry to my room. Jenny threw her purse inside. I locked the computer and thumb drive in the safe for the time we’d be out of the room.

  The nice lady who had hooked me up the first morning was in the restaurant, still setting up even though the restaurant was already open. She smiled at Jenny and me. We were the only ones there.

  “No conferences this week. Very few staying at the hotel,” she explained.

  “We’ll do our best to keep anything from going to waste.” She had not put out very much, and nothing was under the heat lamp. I stared at the empty space.

  “Sausage biscuits coming right up.” She wiped her hands on her apron and returned to the kitchen.

  “Not eating cereal today?” Jenny wondered as she browsed the sparse cold offerings, settling for a pre-packaged muffin.

  I added cream to a coffee for myself, but Jenny only wanted water.

  “Not when I can get a sausage muffin fresh out of the microwave.” I wiggled my eyebrows at her.

  “If you don’t mind, I am going to avail myself of your bed for a nap before driving back home.”

  Her keys were in my pocket. I handed them over before I forgot. She took them with a nod.

  “Do I mind if you are in my bed? Let me think about that.” I rubbed my chin.

  Jenny slowly licked her lips before taking a small bite of her muffin.

  The attendant returned. “It’s good that your wife is able to join you today. I’m sorry, honey, but you don’t look like a morning person, while your man is ridiculously perky.”

  “Ridiculously so.” Jenny smiled, and her eyes twinkled with the titles the woman had bestowed on us.

  “I’m not sorry, honey,” I said, holding Jenny’s gaze. The sausage biscuits and hash browns were steaming. I couldn’t wait to dig in, but the attendant hovered.

  “Ian and Jenny,” I told her.

  “I’m Rose. Nice to have you in the hotel. Are you here for a while?”

  “A little bit. Another week or so, then it’s off to the next adventure.” I looked at my sausage biscuits. I could smell them, but they had stopped steaming. They were congealing before my eyes. “Thank you for these, they smell great. Righteous, even.”

  “You enjoy them. Are you newlyweds?”

  Jenny smiled. I answered, “Nah. We’ve been together nearly our whole lives. We just act like newlyweds. Life is too short to give it anything less, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t wait. I slid half the sausage biscuit out of the package and took a big bite.

  She gave us the matronly look of approval before heading back to arranging the buffet.

  “You still get up too early.”

  “I know,” I mumbled. A few crumbs escaped my mouth. “I also talk with my mouth full.”

  Jenny shook her head while daintily chewing her muffin. I inhaled my breakfast, eating it while it was at least lukewarm. I stuffed a twenty under my plate, and we left while I was still chewing.

  By the time I got my shorts and t-shirt on for the workout room, Jenny’s clothes were on the floor, and she was bundled under the covers. I hung the do not disturb sign on the door.

  I headed out for a quick hour in the fitness center to tune my body. The hard part of the job was coming. I could feel it.

  When I returned, I cleaned up, removed my computer from the safe in the closet, and put it on the desk before folding Jenny’s clothes and setting them on the overstuffed chair wedged into the corner next to the window. I peeked behind the curtains. It was overcast. No mountain view. I watched the gray world for a few moments before turning on my computer.

  VPN. Browsing. Searching. Tricia Tripplethorn. DN74XTW1. Emails. I pulled up the satellite view of the Tripplethorn neighborhood. There were two exits from the community, but only one led to a main road. From there, she could go anywhere. I’d have to wait for her on that route. What time would she leave for a noon soirée?

  It all depended on how far she was going. I had no answers.

  Jimmy had scheduled a three-hour meeting in the district campaign office for tonight. I wondered if those were every Monday and every Thursday. It made sense, but I couldn’t make assumptions. I needed the next week’s schedule.

  I accessed the city council’s agenda for the next week. Jimmy was scheduled to be at the meetings all week, as usual. On Jimmy’s campaign page, he had everything laid bare before the world.

  No wonder the schedules had been lying about haphazardly. All one had to do was pull up JimmyTripplethorn4Mayor.com and his complete itinerary was right there. Today and next Monday, meetings in the district campaign office, but on Thursday, the meeting was in the downtown office. Various campaign stops, and then next Tuesday, he was taking a trip to Washington, DC.

  That cut my timeline short by two days. I had eight days to make a decision and finalize the contract.

  But I’d already made the decision. Jimmy was not going to die by my hand. The jury was out on the Wonderbeast.

  More searching. Logged into Facebook with my fake profile and looked for Seattle’s future First Lady. Her profile and posts were as fake as mine. They told me nothing, but there was a picture of the backs of the kids looking over the rail toward the grandeur of Seattle as seen from the mouth of Puget Sound.

  Nothing to show Euripedes’ Ion . No picture of Clive Barrows or her stepmother. I ran a quick search to find Clive’s second wife. Trinity Johnson was the same age as his daughter. Her father was Senator Abel Johnson.

  Who said the practice of kings bartering their daughters to expand influence was dead?

  Political royalty. Clive’s money, Trinity’s influence, and Jimmy’s up-and-coming career. The Barrows family was positioned for a major power move.

  It left the question of who wanted Jimmy dead? The Wonderbeast still had the best motive, but she would benefit from her husband’s aspirations and her father’s influence. A political rival? A slighted former contender?

  The aggrieved party had to have money. Big money.

  Tricia Tripple
thorn, who are you going to meet?

  I watched more videos of campaign rallies, looking for the Wonderbeast and anyone who seemed friendly. Her position had always been perfectly choreographed. Never anything out of place.

  Well-timed laughs and smiles. Appropriately supportive.

  Before I closed my laptop, I set up my two GPS transmitters. I used a fake address for registration. It would be the only time I used the New York City address or the one-time email address. I created a password consisting of the New York address, linking the two to keep them straight in my mind.

  I closed my laptop and put it back in the safe and hid the thumb drive behind the light switch. I opted for another business casual look, with Mr. Lawless’ old rain jacket topping me off. Jenny had been happy to give it to me.

  She was sound asleep. I didn’t want to wake her. I leaned against the wall and watched her sleep. I finally gave in and kissed her goodbye, softly so as not to wake her.

  Rose let me back in for a second round in the restaurant since I only wanted coffee. I was her best customer. The competition was not fierce. I think Jenny and I were the only ones she had seen that morning.

  In my car, I set up my music player and brought up Power Windows , yet another exceptional album. Grand Designs seemed appropriate for the day’s events.

  I drove straight to the neighborhood and parked out of the way, but where I could see. I turned off the engine. Half a tank of gas. I couldn’t refill anywhere near here. It would have to do until I was done following the Wonderbeast.

  I enjoyed my coffee to go, sipping slowly. It was nine-thirty. Two and a half hours before the meeting. There was a slim chance she was already gone, but the meeting could be less than five minutes away, and she might not leave for a while. I settled in and relaxed. I didn’t bother with my phone. I watched the cars drive by. The late commuter rush.

  People wearing stoic expressions, driving as a burden. Few looked like they enjoyed being behind the wheel.

  Traffic thinned as I entered my second hour of waiting. I selected Permanent Waves and turned the volume up. The last song on the album, Natural Science, started playing when Barchetta appeared. The Wonderbeast looking angry as she raced down the road in her Porsche Panamera.