The Smiling Man Conspiracy (Evils of this World Book 2)
Page 21
“In this mad world,” the Smiling Man said as they dragged him off to await trial, “I’m only a cog in the machine.”
Rossiter finished his drink and wiped his mouth. “Damn good wine.”
The dust settled. All was quiet at the FBI. Finch and Willow breathed easy. It was over.
He watched Rossiter relax into Lamarck’s well-cushioned chair. He looked more at home than he ever had in his own office at BOPAC.
“Merry Christmas, Agent Finch,” he said. “Same to you, Miss Donahue.”
“Merry Christmas, Silver Fox,” said Finch, giving him an exaggerated wink.
Rossiter’s smile reached his sunglasses. It suited him. “It’d be in your best interest to forget that name, Llewyn.”
“Understood, sir.”
The director clasped his hands together and said, “Phil was right about one thing: it will take time for the restructuring process to complete.”
“We are short on staff,” Finch admitted. “With Sinclair gone, we’ll need a new assistant director.”
Rossiter dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “That’s in the past. I’ve been talking with a few of our colleagues at the FBI, CIA, and NSA and we all agree: BOPAC should be on the books. From this point on, no more cloak-and-dagger routine. We’re on the up and up.”
“That’s…good news?”
Rossiter shrugged. “I’ll miss the old days. But we’ve operated in the shadows for far too long. After the Code Omega, I realized it was time for a change.”
The mention of what happened in Lone Oak no longer bothered Finch. “Any ideas where we should start?”
“A few, yes. I’d say you need a new partner, but I think you’ve already got one—if she wants the job.”
He eyed Willow. Finch already knew her answer.
“Me? Well, I am two for two on these cases…why not?”
Rossiter nodded his approval. “You’ll have to go through a brief training program. Nothing’s official until then, but in the meantime there’s something I want you to consider.”
The director handed them each a manila folder.
“The investigation can wait until after New Year’s, but a quick peek wouldn’t hurt.”
Finch opened the file. A stack of documents with dates, places, and theories was inside. On one of the freshly minted papers, a name stood out: SysLife Biotechnology Corporation.
“We’ll get right on this,” he said, shaking the director’s hand. Willow did the same.
Rossiter addressed them both. “Agent Finch. Agent Donahue. I look forward to reading your report.”
*
Somewhere in South Africa, there was a little known restaurant that catered to stereotypes and American tourists. The sign above the door featured caricatures of tribesmen on the prowl. Their prey? The white man. It wasn’t meant to be tasteful.
Awful music, too. The constant beat of jungle drums tested Kasey’s patience. That was the price she paid for choosing a public venue over clandestine comfort.
She fiddled with the vial and USB drive in her pocket. The company insisted exchanges be made in person. Their entire off-the-books operation depended on minimal paper trails.
With Lamarck behind bars at a federal prison, the company’s leadership was in dire straits. No Smiling Man at the FBI meant that only a few lower level grunts had insight into the government’s inner workings. Not enough political pull for them to work around.
By her reckoning, Kasey held all the cards. She had the data and the sample. They had nothing but her guarantee. She could demand any price she wanted.
Sunset approached. Her contact had agreed to meet her at the bar around this time. With any luck, she’d check into her hotel in Cape Town before midnight. The way her shirt clung to her chest, a warm bath and scented oils sounded like heaven.
She swatted a buzzing mosquito. The dead insect landed in a man’s ketchup right as he scooped a glop of it with his fry. Gross.
Kasey gulped down her drink. The bland margarita suppressed the rising vomit. At least it was good for something.
A bearded man in a dreadful Hawaiian shirt sat next to her at the bar and ordered a brandy. Even among a throng of his peers, his alabaster skin didn’t blend.
Without looking at her, he asked, “Does the giver incur wisdom?”
“No,” she said. “He assumes it for the good of mankind.”
He sighed. “A poor paraphrase. But it’ll do.”
The bartender arrived with his drink and poured out a shot. The bearded man handed him twenty rand and advised him to take his smoke break.
“Nice duds,” Kasey told him. “You get the fake gut and the bad hairpiece from a joke shop?”
Her contact ignored the jab. “How much?”
“Did you get them on clearance? I hope you did.”
“Name your price,” he insisted.
He cut straight to the point. How she wanted to have her fun with him. Too bad. The least he could’ve done was let her milk it for five minutes.
Kasey set the USB drive and the sample on the countertop.
“One hundred million. Direct deposit.”
“Daylight robbery,” he groaned, reaching for the goods.
She slapped his hand away and said, “I wasn’t finished.”
He cursed. “Fine. What else do you want? Your own private jet? A gold statue erected in your name?”
She’d known for weeks that this day would come. Her heart’s simple desire summed up in one word. One idea. Absolution.
“Freedom,” said Kasey.
It became impossible to overhear their discussion. The drums in the background escalated to a crescendo. Their powerful rhythm rumbled like thunder on the African savanna.
“That’s not my department,” he said, not taking his eyes off the sample and the test data.
“No, it’s not. But you can give them a message from me: I’m done. This was my last job.”
“What makes you think I care?”
“I know you don’t,” she said, grabbing the USB drive and holding it inches from his face. “But this isn’t the only copy. If something happens to me, your competitors get this information.”
His beard slackened as he scoffed at her ultimatum. The faux hair slipped beneath the line of his mouth. Kasey thought she recognized him before, but couldn’t place where she’d seen his face. Now she knew.
“You think you’ve got all the angles covered?”
“Something along those lines,” she said, studying his movements.
When he grabbed the knife from his pocket, she kicked the stool out from under him. He howled and fell, swinging the blade at her stomach.
Her nimble dodge surprised him. He yelped as the serrated edge slashed across his knee, gouging a vein. The knife dropped from his hand. She booted it under a table far from his grasp.
By the time he looked up, she already had the Glock pointed at his head.
“No one’s watching. I could shoot you right here and not bat an eyelash,” she said, cocking the hammer. “I know you’re the one Lamarck hired to kill Llewyn Finch.”
He hissed as blood from the wound leaked through his fingers. Nothing a bandage couldn’t fix. Much to her regret, he’d live.
“Stupid whore,” he said. “You’ll regret this.”
“You’re wrong,” she countered, holding the vial of Founder’s Formula in her left hand. “The only thing I’ll regret is not walking away sooner.”
She tossed the sample on the floor and stomped hard on the glass, crushing the devilish contents inside.
Kneeling down, she aimed her pistol at his groin and whispered, “Keep the money.”
Applause erupted. The band had finished playing their set. Kasey changed her mind; the music wasn’t half bad.
She stood and started toward the exit. Bar patrons crowded the scene, unsure what to make of the bearded man lying in pain on the floor.
“You can’t leave,” her contact screamed, clutching his injured leg.
“Watch me.”
Kasey sauntered through the door, sweaty and victorious, ready to begin her new life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Craig James Sears Jr. is a graduate of Arkansas Tech University where he earned a Bachelor’s Degree of Arts in Creative Writing. When he’s not writing fiction, he runs a weekly blog about his work and his faith. Currently, he happily resides in the boondocks of the American South with his father and his pets.
For additional information about the author and supplementary material for his books, please visit this site and subscribe: impromptugameof52.wordpress.com
Table of Contents
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Harbinger of Death
We Were Partners
Truth
Arrested Developments
Blood on the Snow
P3RF3CTPUR1TY
Consequences
Nothing Left
Refuge
Bad Juju
The Monster Inside
A Dog Needs A Leash
The Labyrinth
Scarred
Dark Water
Kiss the Sand
End Game
Epilogue