by Jack July
“I DON’T CARE. GET US OUT OF THIS NEIGHBORHOOD!” she yelled. More gunfire shattered his rear window. He turned left, squealing the tires and shifting gears. Fenian rolled down her window and moved the side view mirror in time to see a car fishtail out of a side street. She looked up at the smoked glass sunroof and asked, “How far does this open?”
Ben, still panicked, said, “What?”
“Never mind,” she said under her breath. She hit the sunroof by the hinge with her left palm, breaking it. She used both hands to flip it up, where the air caught it and ripped it the rest of the way off.
“My car,” whined Ben.
“Hey,” she barked. “Your ass, Ben, start worrying about your ass!”
He glanced at the rear view mirror. The car was getting closer. She yanked a grenade from her vest, pulled the pin and released the safety lever, letting the five-second fuse cook. She counted to herself, One mississippi, Two mississippi then flipped it through the sun roof. She watched it bounce off the pavement, smash into the pursuers’ windshield and explode. The car veered and crashed into parked cars, revealing headlights from another behind it. She grabbed another grenade, pulled the pin, counted and flipped it up. The chase car drove over it before it exploded, and kept coming. She had one grenade left and decided to keep it in case they got cornered. She yelled at him, “I thought this car was fast? You can’t outrun a couple of Al Qaeda in a Buick?”
“Al Qaeda?” he exclaimed.
“Ain’t the Boy Scouts, Ben. Let’s go!”
She glanced at the side mirror then looked back at him. His expression had changed at the challenge: his lip curled in an almost angry smile. He reached behind his seat and furiously twisted a knob on a big blue tank. The sticker on it read “NOS, Nitrous Oxide Systems.” He snapped his head to the right and gave her what was undoubtedly his best badass look. She nearly laughed out loud because he looked like Gizmo driving the toy car in the final scene of the movie Gremlins. He gave her a nod and said, “Hang on beautiful, shit just got real. Goin’ stealth.”
He hit a switch, killing every light on the inside and outside of the car, and then another which activated the big-amped ass-kickin’ Bose Stereo. He hit one more button and “Crush” by Anthrax blasted through the speakers.
She checked the mirror again and saw two cars in the chase. She yelled, “Hey!” held up two fingers and pointed to the rear of the car.
He checked the mirror, downshifted, grabbed the emergency brake, locked up the rear wheels and slid sideways before taking a hard left through an intersection. He let go of the brake and popped the clutch, drifting through the turn, tires smoking at full power. They ended up on a four-lane boulevard through the center of Toronto, dodging light traffic. After a couple shots of nitrous and a few more full speed drifts, he began to put some distance between them and their pursuers. He zigzagged through backstreets until they were both sure he had lost them. He pulled over and killed the engine. As if from some pre-planned movie script, he reached across, grabbed the top of her Kevlar vest and pulled her toward him, intent on a hero’s kiss. What he got was a face full of .45. She shook her head and said, “Back up, Romeo.”
He sighed and leaned back in his seat, appearing more hurt than afraid. However, she knew she owed him, big time. “So, where did you learn to drive like that?”
“Skip Barber Racing School, Road America. It’s in Wisconsin.”
She could see he was bottoming out, the adrenalin was waning and just sadness remained. She reached over, held his arm and said, “I’ve seen some good driving, but that was something else. You were awesome.”
“Apparently not that awesome,” he said, looking down toward his feet.
She reached over, put two fingers under his chin and said, “Hey, look at me.” He did. She gave him a serious look and said, “I’ve seen some big, bad men ball up and piss their pants under that much pressure. You earned your Man Card.”
That got a little smile out of him. Then she said, “I’m gonna tell you something personal, you listening?” He nodded, “I’m married, very married and I love my husband very much...but if I wasn’t, I’d be paying you back far more than I owe you.” Then she gave him the look and said, “If you know what I mean.”
“Okay,” he said with the smile she was looking for.
“Alright, now, we need a place to go.”
“My apartment?”
“No, can’t go there, and I recommend you don’t either.”
“Why not?”
“Because whoever was chasing us may have your license number. They will get your address and wait for you. They’ll probably torture you while asking questions about me. When they figure out you don’t know anything, they will cut your head off and send it to your parents.”
He turned white as a sheet. She gave him a smile and said, “Anyplace else?”
“Um, my friend Todd’s?”
“Is he alone?”
“It’s his parents’ house, but I think they are gone for the winter.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
Ben looked at her a few more seconds, then asked, “Are you an assassin?”
She smirked and shook her head. “Really Ben, do I look like an assassin?”
“Yeah, every one I have ever seen.”
“I think you watch too many movies. Let’s go.”
“Comic books,” said Ben.
“What?”
“Comic books. You are the perfect character.”
“Okay, whatever you say. Now, LET’S GO.”
He started the car, put it in gear and started to drive. He glanced at her and asked, “Can I tell Todd you’re my girlfriend?”
She sighed, rolled her eyes, shook her head and said, “Sure, why not.”
They drove through quiet suburbs, a perfect neighborhood to hide in. Ben parked behind the house, next to the garage, out of sight. They walked to the back door and knocked. A skinny kid with a mop of dark hair answered the door. “Hey, Ben. What’s goin…” He froze as he looked up at Elle.
Elle stood with her MP-5 in her right hand, looking down at Todd. Ben slid to the left of Elle, put his arm around her waist. “This is my girlfriend, Elle.” Todd was still staring with his mouth open. Ben’s hand slid about six inches below Elle’s waist. She turned, arched her eyebrows and gave Ben an I don’t think so glare. His hand quickly moved back up.
Elle changed hands with the MP-5, smiled, reached out to shake his hand and said, “Hello Todd, it’s very nice to meet you.”
Todd stumbled back with, “Yeah, you too.”
“Do you have a phone I can use?”
Todd pointed across the large open-concept first floor to a phone next to a couch. As she walked away she heard Todd in a hushed tone say, “Oh my God, her ass is perfect.”
Elle picked up the phone and started to dial. She then said loud enough so they could hear, “Thank you, Todd, although that’s a little rude. You may want to work on your whispering.”
She heard Ben chastising Todd and smiled. The phone rang at Langley, picked up, beeped, and she dialed in her secure line code. A woman answered and said, “How may I direct your call?”
“This is Fenian. I need Adele Harris.”
“She’s gone home for the day.”
“I know that. Put me through to her home.”
“Who is this again?”
“Fenian, Fenian, F-E-N-I-A-N,” you idiot she thought. Elle heard keys clicking in the background.
“Oh, oh yes, right away,” said the operator.
“HEY!” said Adele a little too loud when answering the phone.
“Hi, Adele. The asset tried to burn me.”
“No shit? Well, it happens. Anything else?”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya. Ya had a bad asset. You handled i
t, what do you want, a parade?”
“Well, ah, no but…” Fenian heard a voice in the background. She could’ve sworn it was slurring.
“Who is that?” asked the voice, which suddenly sounded very familiar.
“It’s Amy,” said Adele.
“My Amy?”
“Yep.”
“Tell her Liz says hello.”
“Liz says hello,” said Adele.
“The President? Are you getting drunk with the President?”
“Amy says, ‘Hey, you old lush.’”
Fenian heard laughing in the background. Then Liz said, “Smart girl.”
“Honey, there is a very short list of people I can get drunk with. Anything else?”
“Well ah, no. I just thought you would—”
Adele interrupted her, “Is this the first asset you outed?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought so,” said Adele, sounding a bit more sober. “I know it’s unnerving, but you handled it. Did you get the imam?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How about the Akhtars?”
“No.”
“Alright, you need to calm down, get your head out of your ass and go finish your job, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I love you honey, be safe.” In the background Liz shouted, “I love Amy too, tell her, I love her too!”
Fenian laughed and shook her head, “I love you guys,” she said.
Adele yelled across the room at Liz, “She said she loves you too, ya old drunk.”
She could hear the president laughing in the background when Adele said, “Be safe, talk to you soon.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Adele hung up.
Fenian took a deep breath, let it out, then dialed another number. Tatiana answered, “Hi.”
“Hi, I need it.”
“Okay, got a pen?”
“Yeah, go ahead.” Fenian took down the address. “Anything else?”
“He’s a dirty old man, but he’s really smart. Pay attention, you’ll learn some things.”
“I am so tired of all these hard peckers pointed at me.”
Tatiana chuckled and said, “Oh really? It’s one of your best tools, embrace it. Besides, wait till you’re a chubby almost forty year old and the men look past you like you aren’t even there. You’ll pray for these days.”
“Okay, thanks.” She paused for a moment and asked, “How’s my little Godson?”
“Kicking the shit out of me.”
“Good, it means he’s healthy. You have to stop swearing when he’s born.”
“Yeah, Brandon mentions that too.”
“I gotta go. Thank you.”
“Talk to you later.”
Fenian hung up and dialed one last number. Through a reflection in the back door glass, she could see Ben and Todd with one of those Whisper 2000 eavesdropping devices, earpieces in place. Oh really? Okay, if that’s the way you boys want it she thought. Her pilot, Harold Renner, picked up the phone and said, “You ready?”
“No, relax. It may be a day or two.”
“Okay. I met this girl at the FOB and I was wondering—”
Fenian interrupted him and said, “Not in my plane. Don’t even think about it. I’ll park you at Z logistics flying standby, got me?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, keep your phone close. Goodbye.”
She checked the door glass again, they were still listening, she put a little wicked grin on her face, dialed another number and quickly hung up. Then she started having a one-way conversation.
“Yeah, I’m ready to go.”
“No, well, they’re nice guys.”
“Yes I know the rules, but just this once?”
“They’re just college kids.”
“Yes, I know, it’s the only way to be sure.”
“Okay, I’ll make it quick, two in the chest, one in the head.”
“Thanks, boss. Later.”
She quickly picked up the MP-5 in her left hand, walked into the kitchen and pulled her .45 with her right hand. As she pulled back the hammer with her thumb, she said, “Sorry guys, our time together is over.”
The color drained from their faces as they started to beg, “No, no, please, no, we won’t say anything. Oh God, please…”
She let them beg and plead for what was undoubtedly the longest fifteen seconds of their young lives. Then she put the hammer back down and slid the .45 into its holster. In a stoic tone she said, “Eavesdropping is not a good idea. It’ll get you killed. Give me that.” She pointed to the device on the counter. Todd handed it to her. She dropped it on the floor and smashed it with her foot. “Todd, I need to use your car.”
He grabbed the keys from the counter and handed them to her. She reached back and hit the garage door opener next to the back door and saw the Pontiac Sunbird. Perfect, she thought. “I’ll leave the keys in your car on a safe street. Report it stolen in a few days and they’ll get it back to you, got it?”
“You’re not gonna kill us?” asked Todd, still shaking.
“No.” She looked over at Ben and said, “Thank you. Remember what I said; I meant every word. Good luck, men.” Then she turned and walked out the door.
As they watched her drive away, Todd looked at Ben and said, “She’s not really your girlfriend, is she?”
Chapter 38
FBI Special Agents Smith and Landry ascended the quarter-mile driveway to the massive front doors of the Braddock home. They stepped out of the car and Landry whistled softly at the 18,000 square foot colonial. With a slight edge to his voice he said, “I wonder how many people you have to fuck over to live like this?”
The leader, Special Agent Smith, shook his head and said, “I’ve met this man a few times, and he knew my father well.”
“Really?” said a surprised Landry. He knew Smith came from money, but he didn’t know how much. It would certainly explain the half million-dollar condo and the Cadillac Escalade.
Smith shook his head and said, “This man is a patriot. A very good man who has worked his ass off since he was a child in the oil fields of Oklahoma.”
Landry looked at Smith and said, “You think you might be a little too close to him? You can still recuse yourself from this investigation.”
“No, I said he knew my father. He doesn’t really know me.”
“Well, Smitty, let’s go talk to him.”
They knocked and were invited in by the nanny, who escorted them to the study, where they found Meyer, cigar between his teeth, Maker’s Mark on the rocks in his hand, staring intently at the television. The program looked to be a rerun of a 1980’s Oklahoma State football game. “Gentleman,” he said with a gruff voice, “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Special Agent Smith and this is Special Agent Landry. We’re with the FBI.”
Meyer smiled and said, “I know who you are, Jackson.” Smith’s first name was Stephen, but his father always called him Jackson, and Meyer remembered why. At age 16, Stephen, his father, Meyer and Meyer’s nephew had gone fishing in Del Rio Texas. The evenings were spent across the border in bars and strip clubs of Ciudad Acuna, where Stephen lost his virginity to a Mexican hooker. But that wasn’t enough; he kept going back to Meyer to get twenty dollar bills, trying to work his way through the entire whorehouse. “I need a Jackson,” he would say with a glimmer in his eye.
Smith looked down and shook his head, an embarrassed smile on his face. He nodded to Landry to do the talking. “Mr. Braddock, we’ll make this quick. I just have a couple questions.”
Meyer nodded, walked over to the wet bar and refilled his glass. He said, “Sure, son, go ahead.”
“Eight days ago, did you meet with Senator Neri?�
�
“Yes, I did.”
“Could you tell me the nature of that visit?”
“Yes, I offered him support for his re-election campaign.”
“He accepted that support?”
“Yes, he did.”
Landry looked around the room and saw the shelves lined with books, neatly arranged. He smiled and said, “Looks like you enjoy reading.”
“Yes. Intelligent men are usually voracious readers. Is that all?”
Smith gave Landry a nod signaling it was his turn. Landry said, “Mr. Braddock, the reason we’re here is that you made Senator Neri uncomfortable with your questions about America’s nuclear submarine arsenal. We understand you became interested after reading the Tom Clancy book, Submarine.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Landry looked up on the shelf and found the Clancy books lined up neatly, Submarine not among them. He turned to Meyer and asked, “Sir, where is that book?”
Smith noticed he didn’t bother to look up at the books. Meyer stuttered for a second and said, “Um, it’s, it’s ’round here somewhere. I got books laying all over this house.”
Landry looked back at Smith, who changed the subject, “Sir, we understand you recently had surgery.”
“Yes.”
“What was the nature of that surgery?”
Meyer was growing weary of the questioning, and the alcohol was helping to decrease his patience. He looked at Smith and said, “That’s none of your damn business. Anything else?”
“You’re right I’m sorry, Mr. Braddock,” Smith apologized, “That’s between you and your doctor. We talked to Dr. Cates, and he said you would have most likely had to leave the country for your surgery. Could you tell us where you went?”
Braddock began to scowl and said, “That son of a bitch. That’s doctor-patient privilege.”
Smith shook his head and said, “No, sir, he told us nothing about any affliction or anything concerning your medical records. But he did tell us what you needed was not available in this country. Sir, where did you go?”
Meyer sat quietly, not answering. “Sir?” Smith prompted, followed by more silence. “Mr. Braddock, could I please see your passport?”