Amy Lynn, The Lady Of Castle Dunn

by Jack July

“Hmm, can I get you a towel?”

  Chapter 43

  Meyer Braddock sat in a conference room with his attorney, L. Herbert Black, the Director of Intelligence for the FBI, John Rubin, and Department of Justice attorney, Ben Brady. Brady shook his head and said, “I think you’re lying. I think you got caught. Now tell us who you are working with before I drop treason on the center of this table.”

  Meyer started to say something but Black held up his hand and said, “Ben, you have nothing. Mr. Braddock asked the Senator some innocent questions. He had an operation and doesn’t know where, or doesn’t want to tell you where, which he really doesn’t have to do. He called his lawyer because he’s smart and felt trapped by the agents. If you can’t give him the benefit of the doubt and listen to what he’s trying to tell you, we are leaving.”

  Up to that point, Rubin hadn’t said anything other than hello. He sat back in his chair, hands folded on his lap, looking over the top of his glasses with a stone expression. The meeting had stopped moving forward, which was his cue to step in. He sat up, folded his hands on the table and said, ‘“Mr. Braddock, I…”

  Black interrupted him, “He’s not fielding questions. Speak to me.”

  “Herb, you interrupt me again and you will have a very bad day.” The tension got thick. Black knew Rubin was a son of a bitch. However, they had known each other since law school. They didn’t come any more clean and polished than John Rubin.

  Meyer spoke up and said, “That’s okay, Herb. Mr. Rubin, please continue.”

  Rubin took off his glasses and slowly stuck them in his suit coat pocket. He nodded his head and said, “Mr. Braddock, I believe you,” He looked at Black and said, “I think there is more. I think there are things that he doesn’t know.” Rubin kept his eyes on Meyer and said, “Ben”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “This man is not a liar, at least not a good one. It took two agents five minutes to trip him up. He’s also not a criminal. A lifetime of hard work, a financially secure family and a legally run, well-managed business debunks that. Herb?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Rubin looked at his watch and said, “It’s 9:30 AM. I want him at Langley by 3:00 PM. There will be people waiting for him.” Rubin stood up and said, “Good luck, Mr. Braddock.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. The CIA? I doubt my client wants to expose himself to that,” protested Mr. Black.

  Rubin shook his head and said, “I thought you had his best interests in mind.”

  Meyer put his hand on Herb’s shoulder, looked at Rubin and said, “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Braddock, if you are telling the truth, they are the only ones who can save you.” Rubin stood and walked out the door.

  In a sparsely decorated office, certainly not as inviting as the conference room he had been in earlier in the day, Meyer sat with CIA analyst Carter Spencer. Carter seemed warm and friendly, unlike his new steel-gray surroundings. He shifted the papers around in the open file in front of him, trying to put them in an order that worked for him, when suddenly the door opened. Carter jumped to his feet, and Meyer, from his former military experience, knew to follow suit. The older blonde woman who entered looked at Spencer, smiled and said, “Good morning, Mr. Spencer.”

  All Spencer could think was, Oh shit, she actually knows my name. “Good morning, ma’am.”

  “Mr. Braddock?” she presumed.

  “Yes ma’am.” He put out his hand, but she didn’t take it. He was immediately overcome with a sense of fear. This woman had an executioner’s smile.

  “Take a seat,” she half-commanded, then sat uncomfortably close to Meyer and crossed her legs. “Mr. Braddock, do you know who I am?”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ve seen you on television.”

  “I’m better looking in person, aren’t I?”

  “Yes ma’am, much.”

  The smile left her face and she said, “So, you’re saying I’m an ugly bitch on T.V.?”

  “No, no, ah…”

  “Relax, Mr. Braddock,” she said with a little grin and a wink.

  Adele Harris, CIA Director, didn’t get to have this much fun often, so when she did she took total advantage of it. She gave a little sigh and said, “So there I was in my private office bathroom, taking a shit. I have this file on my lap reading through all the things I can’t find the time to get done, when I ran across you. I just had to come see you.”

  Braddock was white as a ghost. She reached over, patted him on the knee and said, “You can relax, we don’t torture people,” she paused and continued, “in this room. Anyway, I’m reading the file and what do we have? Child abduction, child murder, human trafficking, black market organ trafficking, bribing a senator, espionage, and, the cherry on this shit sundae, a Nazi. A fucking Nazi? You know I’m half-Jewish, right, Mr. Braddock? I fucking hate Nazis.” She paused a moment while she motioned to the doorway and a man handed her a file. “You doing okay, Mr. Braddock?”

  He nodded quickly and she asked, “What was that?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m fine.”

  “Good. Now, here are the transcripts of your interview with the FBI. This particular interrogator has a way to annotate his thoughts while he’s doing the interview. His notes are: question answered, question answered dishonestly, or non-responsive. Mr. Spencer is going to ask you the same questions, then he’s going to call me. He’s either going to say ‘he cooperated’ or ‘he didn’t cooperate’.” She held up the piece of paper and said, “You see these non-responsives?”

  He nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Yeah, me too. Time to answer the fucking questions, and just maybe we can save your ass. If not, I’ll be back and we’ll take a little ride to the basement.” She stood up, smoothed her skirt, gave Mr. Spencer a nod, then leaned over and whispered in Meyer’s ear, “Bad things happen in the basement, very bad things. Goodbye, Mr. Braddock.” She turned and walked out, closing the door.

  Meyer looked across the table at Spencer and said, “That’s the most terrifying person I have ever met.”

  Spencer’s head was down and under his breath he said, “Oh Jesus I know, and she knows my fucking name.”

  Adele and John Masters, Director of Covert Operations, were walking down the hall when John looked over at her and said, “There isn’t anything in the basement but pipes.”

  “Yes, and they all need to be painted. You busy?”

  “Yes, ma’am, very.”

  The kitchen staff had left for the day, so Bogus and Amy were raiding the refrigerator. Amy made a sandwich that dwarfed the monsters found in a Jewish New York deli. She took a knife, cut it in half, and they pulled up stools at the kitchen counter. Bogus wrestled, trying to find a way to take a bite. When he finally did, he smiled and said, “This is fantastic.”

  She leaned over to give him a kiss and left a splotch of mayo on his cheek. She leaned in again and slowly licked it off. Bogus smiled and said, “I really enjoy eating with you.”

  Amy caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Claire stood in the doorway, looking a bit unsure. Amy smiled and said, “Hi, are you Claire?”

  She was clearly shy. Bogus had taken the time to tell Amy about the trauma she had endured. Claire nodded and said, “Yes, My Lady.”

  Amy wiped off her hands and face on Bogus’ shirt, which made Claire laugh. Bogus looked at Claire, rolled his eyes and said, “Some Lady.”

  Claire was on the small side for fifteen, so Amy got about four feet away, knelt down, held her arms open wide and said, “How ’bout a hug.”

  Claire nodded and gave Amy an unusually warm hug for a child so traumatized. Amy surmised it was because she was a woman. Claire asked in a small voice, “Can I have something to eat?”

  Amy looked over her shoulder and said, “Did you tell Claire about her position in the castle?”

  Bogus shook his head not hav
ing a clue what she was talking about. Amy faked a prim and proper stance and announced, “You, my dear, have a new title: Lady in Waiting...my Lady in Waiting. With this title comes great responsibility. You must hang around with me and be my friend. Can you do that?”

  Claire shot Bogus a look. He arched his brow and twirled his finger next to his head while mouthing, “She’s crazy.”

  Claire laughed out loud and said, “Yes, I can do that.”

  “Good. Now sit up here while I make you something to eat. Do you like roast beef?”

  “Sure.”

  Oh, and honey? If you ever get hungry, take what you want. It’s your house now, too.”

  Claire nodded and said, “Thank you.”

  Bogus gave Claire a little nudge and smile then he said to Amy, “You have company coming tomorrow at 1:00 P.M.”

  “For what?”

  “You said you wanted friends.”

  “I have one, right Claire?” Claire nodded.

  “Oh, you will enjoy these two. They’re a lot of fun.”

  “What are we supposed to do?”

  “Ride horses, have lunch, whatever. Oh, and you will need proper riding attire.”

  “What? Why can’t I wear jeans?”

  “Because you are the Lady of Castle Dunn. You don’t wear jeans in front of the rich and famous.”

  She shook her head and said under her breath, “This is more trouble than it’s worth. Claire, will you help me entertain tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good, then you get to wear the silly riding clothes with me. Ha.”

  “Oh, Lady Amy, I love those. They make a lady look, um, regal.”

  Bogus gave Amy the I told’ja so look, then said, “Wisdom from the mouths of babes.”

  Chapter 44

  There were times when Amy’s new life wore on her, when she wanted nothing more than to sit with Granny Patches on her front porch and sing gospel songs while shelling peas. This was not one of those times.

  On this beautiful sunny sixty-degree morning, she stood in the garage doorway and played eany-meany-miny-mo with three of the fastest and most expensive supercars on the planet. Her choices were the Bugatti Veyron, 1000 HP, 230+ MPH top speed; the candy apple red S7 Saleen twin turbo, 750 HP, 0-60 in 2.8 seconds; and then there was her favorite, the Rosa Corsa Red Ferrari F-50 Bogus had bought from Tatiana. It had been a gift to Tatiana from the Sultan of Brunei.

  Claire appeared next to her and stood quietly for a moment. Amy looked at her and said, “Good morning. I’m trying to decide which car we are going to take to Shannon.”

  “Aye, I see where that would be troublesome.”

  Suddenly Amy felt like an ass. Days ago this girl didn’t know if she would live or die, and now Amy fretted over which million dollar car she would drive. “Why don’t you choose?”

  “Okay,” Claire replied. “That one,” she announced, pointing at the Ferrari.

  “The Ferrari? Well, I see you are clearly a woman of style and distinction.”

  Claire nodded and said, “It’s a gift.”

  Amy laughed out loud and said, “You are funny, I had no idea.” Claire smiled, the first truly open one Amy had seen. “Well then, shall we?”

  They buckled in and Amy went over the little mental checklist Bogus had given her. This was a factory race car, hardly something you jump into and drive away. Amy turned the key and smiled as she heard the sonorous purrrrr, fast, fat and deep like a Bengal tiger getting its tummy scratched. Twelve cylinders and 600+ horses tugging at the leash, and it was time to turn her loose.

  Amy arranged her hair in a ponytail, put the Ferrari hat on backwards and donned her sunglasses. Then she handed Claire a hair band for her own ponytail and gave her the spare pair of sunglasses stored in the door pocket. She wished she had another Ferrari hat for Claire. Instead she took hers off, adjusted the band and put it on Claire. “We need music,” Amy proclaimed, handing a thick pack of CDs to Claire. The F-50 did not come with a stereo so Bogus had one installed. Claire furiously sorted the CDs until she found what she wanted. She put it in the slot, selected song #3 and cranked it up.

  They pulled out past the Gatekeeper’s onto the highway. Amy pulled second gear and brought the RPM’s up as Shirley Manson growled, “I’m only happy when it rains,” through the hi-tech speakers.

  The crunch of the guitar harmonized beautifully with the scream of the twelve cylinder as it climbed past 8000 RPMs. Traction control was off, so she knew when she shifted, the car would get “ass happy,” as Bogus called it. The tires broke loose, and the rear end walked to the left. Amy corrected slightly but left her foot on the gas, and when it hooked up, it was like they were shot out of a cannon. A quick glance at the speedometer saw it fly past 200 KPH. She slowed to a sane speed, reached over and gave Claire’s leg a little backhand. She was still singing as she turned to look at Amy’s raised eyebrow. She pulled her glasses to the tip of her nose so Amy could see her eyes, smiled at Amy and nodded her head. “Oh yeah! Oh bloody yeah!”

  Oh, I do have a kindred spirit Amy thought. They took Dublin Road over the Shannon River, through downtown Limerick, and picked up Ennis Road which dumped them out on N18, the highway. Then she dropped the hammer. It was three miles of open highway and one long sweeping turn into Shannon. The Garda, the Irish National Police clocked her at 295 KPH (184 MPH) before finally catching her and pulling her over on the north side of Shannon. They were not pleased. However, once they figured out who she was and, after a little flirting, a few pictures and a kiss on a couple of cheeks, Amy was allowed to go with a warning.

  After shopping for matching riding outfits in Ennis, they headed home, this time at a reasonable speed. When Amy approached the garage, she saw Bogus leaning against one of the closed doors. He had a smile on his face; not the I’m happy smile, the I’m extremely perturbed smile. She backed the car into its space and they grabbed their outfits and walked outside. “Hello ladies,” said Bogus with a bit of an edge.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” replied Amy with a big kiss on the lips.

  “I see you were out making friends again.”

  “What?”

  “Imagine the pleasantries exchanged when I got a call from the commissioner of the Garda. You know, the one who reports to the prime minister.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Uh oh? That’s all? You see, apparently the Lady of Castle Dunn was clocked at quadruple the legal speed on the N18 in her Ferrari. THREE HUNDRED KILOMETERS PER HOUR! THREE HUNDRED! Just what were you thinking?”

  “Um, it was really only 295.”

  “Oh, well then, that makes so much of a difference.”

  Amy turned to look at Claire and said, “I think I’m in trouble.”

  Claire nodded her head and said, “Yes my Lady.”

  Amy pulled out her most powerful weapon, the I’m pretending I’m ashamed but you know better smile.

  Bogus stared at her a moment, shook his head and said calmly, “That won’t work. You screwed up.”

  She moved over to him, put her right hand on the center of his back, ran the fingers of her left hand through the hair on the back of his head, and pulled him close. Then she whispered in his ear, “I am sorry. I promise to make it up to you in any way I can, and I do mean ANY way I can.”

  Bogus shook his head and said, “You are incorrigible.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile, which meant he was done. Then he said, “There is something you need to do, which is more for you than for me.”

  “Do you want me to call the commissioner and apologize?”

  “Yes, that would be a wonderful gesture.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that. Claire, what do ya say we get changed for our guests.”

  She gave Bogus another kiss and headed to the residence. Claire caught up with
her and asked, “What did you say to him that made him smile?”

  “I said the same thing that most wives say when they let their husbands down.”

  “What is that?”

  “I’ll tell you on your wedding day.”

  Claire smiled and said, “You owe him a good shagging then?”

  Amy shook her head. Know your audience Amy Lynn, know your audience.

  After the first couple of sentences, it was clear the commissioner didn’t want to talk about her infraction; he wanted to talk about her cars. A few not-so-subtle hints later, Amy invited him for a test drive. He seemed satisfied with that.

  Amy and Claire were standing by the drawbridge when the big white Sikorsky with the red Z flew a lazy arc and set down on the heliport next to the castle. “Lady Amy?”

  “Call me Amy, okay? Please?”

  “Sorry, can’t do that. Miss Constance said no.”

  Amy smiled and said, “Yes, Lady Claire.”

  “Who are these people?”

  “One is named Kate and the other, Pippa. They are sisters.”

  Claire’s eyes got big and she asked, “Middleton?”

  “Yes, I think that’s what Bogus said.”

  Claire tugged at Amy’s shirt and said, “Do you know who she is?”

  “I’ve heard the name but I couldn’t place it.”

  “Kate is dating Prince William.”

  “Prince William? The future king of England?”

  “Yes.”

  “So that makes her the…”

  Claire finished the thought, “The future Queen of England.”

  Sweet Jesus, doesn’t Bogus have any normal friends? Amy thought, shaking her head.

  Richard escorted the sisters to the drawbridge where introductions were made. All quite formal with titles, curtseys and, after Amy had enough, a few pecks on cheeks. Richard informed them that lunch was being served, so they all adjourned to the small dining room by the kitchen.

  After the tension of introduction subsided, Amy was forthright about why they were there. “To be honest, I told Bogus I was lonely, so he said he would find me a few friends.”