Demons are Forever

by Kim Baldwin; Xenia Alexiou

  “Why do we need her?” one of the ops asked.

  “Because she’s the best person for the job,” Joanne Grant replied with an uncharacteristically stern tone.

  “Since when do we employ criminals?” Domino asked her.

  Jaclyn didn’t react.

  “I realize this is unconventional, to say the least,” Monty said, “but this is also an exceptional mission.”

  “But—”

  Monty lifted his hand. “Let me finish. Jaclyn is not new to the organization.”

  “Sleeper?” one of the men asked.

  “No. Her name is Jaclyn Harding. ETF op Phantom.”

  Some looked puzzled. Others gasped. Only two didn’t react. One was Reno, their computer whiz. During Operation Face a year earlier, his photo-manipulation skills had helped them identify the mercenary Jack Norris as their rogue operative Phantom. The other op who took the revelation in stride was Chase. While the rest turned to stare at Jaclyn, Chase absentmindedly caressed her coffee cup.

  “Jaclyn Harding died in Israel,” Allegro said.

  “She doesn’t look like Harding,” Domino added. “I worked a couple of jobs with her. This is not Harding.”

  “I knew her pretty well, too,” one of the male ops said. “This can’t be her. I mean, we were present at Harding’s memorial service.” Monty remembered the two had been in the same hand-to-hand combat classes, and Jaclyn always won.

  Chase spoke up for the first time, her eyes still on her cup. “It’s Harding.”

  “What?” someone asked.

  “It’s Harding. Different face, same person.”

  More gasps. Reno said nothing, but he nodded in agreement.

  “Disappeared ten years and two months ago. Probably faked her death and got a new face. Ended up taking jobs from whoever could afford her services. No one better at not asking for credentials than scum who want someone offed or scared.” Chase sat back in her chair and looked at Jaclyn. “How am I doing so far…Jack?”

  “Predictably accurate,” Jaclyn replied wryly.

  “Did you know about this?” Domino asked Monty.

  He looked around the room. All eyes were on him. “We found out a year ago.”

  “And why were we not told?” Fetch asked.

  “Why is she still alive, for that matter?” Allegro asked.

  “For reasons that do not concern you,” Grant replied.

  “How is that fair? We all know what the consequences for treason are,” Domino said.

  “We have made this one exception,” Grant replied.

  “But—”

  “End of discussion,” Monty said forcefully.

  “I’d rather chew my arm off than be here, which means my reasons are thoroughly selfish,” Jaclyn said.

  “No surprise there,” Chase added.

  Jaclyn seemed to ignore the jab. “I didn’t show up to chew the fat or discuss my past.”

  “Why the hell are you here?” Domino asked.

  Monty held up his hand. “And this brings us to Operation Phoenix.”

  “Oh, can I? Can I?” Allegro started waving her hand. “I wanna tell them.”

  Monty sighed heavily. “Allegro, let’s hear what you have.”

  “Okay, guys. I received this phone call early yesterday.” Allegro set her cell phone on the table. “Caller ID said unknown caller. I answered without saying anything. When a man with a heavy Hungarian accent came on and said, ‘You have something of mine, and I have something of yours,’ I started recording. It picks up from there.”

  Allegro: Who is this? How did you get this number?

  Male voice: From your associate’s cell phone. The blonde who called you twice as she was breaking into my lab?

  Allegro, after a slight hesitation: You’ve got a lot of nerve, asshole. You’ll pay for what you did to her.

  Male voice: You’re more than associates, yes? I assure you, your friend is very much alive, and currently my guest. That’s why I’m calling.

  Allegro: What did you just say?

  Male voice: Your friend will be returned safely to you, as soon as you transfer the money you stole from me into my new bank account.

  Allegro: I want proof you have her. Put her on the phone. Now.

  Male voice: Very well. But I’m afraid she’s very…tired. She may not be entirely coherent.

  Another brief silence, then Agent Lynx’s voice rang through the room. Instantly recognizable, though from the cadence and slurring of her words she’d obviously been drugged.

  Lynx: Why are you…(groan) Why are you doing this? What’s…

  Monty watched Jaclyn as Cassady’s voice played back. A spectrum of emotions raced across her face, from fear and anger to love and impatience, as she started to pace.

  Lynx: What is this place? (groan) What do you want?

  A brief silence.

  Lynx: My head hurts…my mouth is so dry…

  Male voice: I will call you back in a few days with the account information.

  Allegro: We don’t have your money. Interpol does.

  Male voice: How you acquire it is not my concern.

  The line went dead.

  Allegro pressed the Stop button and the room remained silent for several seconds.

  “So crazy-ass scientist has Cassady. She’s not dead.”

  “What do we have to go on?” Domino asked Monty.

  “Reno will give us an update.”

  Reno, a brute of a man with slick black hair, looked like he hadn’t slept in a long while. “After the explosion that presumably killed Lynx, we sent the material we had of Rózsa’s—his home hard drive and the data from his lab office—to Interpol. But I guess it slipped my mind to delete the copies I made like I was supposed to.”

  Many of the ops laughed, knowing Reno’s tendency to meticulously catalogue every bit of information that crossed his desk. “Anyway, I started going through it once Allegro got the call.

  Most is encrypted, and Rózsa deleted a lot of files, so it’s going to take time to recover everything. But I did find he had another active Grand Cayman bank account we knew nothing about, which logged a deposit of fifty thousand a week ago. The money was immediately transferred to still another account I’ve yet to access, but I was able to track the IP of whoever sent him the money. It’s an address in Manhattan.”

  Monty recapped. “So Rózsa has a US associate who’s providing him the resources to stay hidden. Hopefully that contact can put us on the right track.”

  “So what does any of this have to do with Harding?” Allegro asked.

  Monty could feel his blood pressure rising. “I was about to get to that when you interrupted.”

  “Can’t wait to hear this one,” Allegro replied.

  “This mission goes to Chase and Phantom.”

  Several of the ops immediately reacted with “What?” or “Why?”

  Monty ignored them. “They will be working together with all the assistance they can get from us to bring Cassady back alive.”

  “What is Harding’s involvement in all this?” Domino asked.

  “Cass is my girlfriend,” Jaclyn replied.

  “She’s what?”

  “We’ve been together about a year.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Allegro said. “This is like a bad soap opera.”

  Domino turned to Jaclyn. “Monty, Joanne, David, Cassady, Reno, and who knows who else, all knew about you. Why the hell have the rest of us been kept in the dark?”

  Jaclyn shrugged. “If it was up to me no one but Cass would know.”

  “Of course,” Chase said, without looking at Jaclyn. “Why bother with a triviality such as friendship?”

  “Harding is going after her with or without us,” Monty told the group. “I’d much rather have her on our side. No one wants Cassady back here and safe more than she.” He stood and looked from Chase to Jaclyn. “Operation Phoenix is yours.” When Jaclyn met his eyes, he added, “Your code name and number are effective as of now. Your fli
ght to New York leaves in two-and-a-half hours.”

  * * *

  New York

  8:30 p.m.

  As soon as Mike exited the room, Heather put on a robe and poured herself a Diet Coke from the well-stocked bar. Dario waited until she settled comfortably into an armchair facing the mirror before he spoke. “Thank you, Amber.”

  She knew his voice—a soothing tenor, with a hint of an accent—almost as well as she knew her own. After nearly two years as her sole, once- or twice-a-week client, she was also well familiar with what turned him on, yet she still had no idea what he looked like. Dario took extraordinary precautions to safeguard his privacy, perhaps because his face was too recognizable.

  Ordinarily, clients who visited Direct Connect’s Manhattan brownstone were admitted through the rear entrance by Massimo, the brooding hulk employed to protect the girls. But Dario had a special arrangement with the agency. Massimo would prop open the rear door when Dario’s cab arrived and wait in the front until he had entered and was upstairs. Dario also had exclusive use of the second-floor watcher’s room on those nights.

  Direct Connect had other voyeurs among their regulars, so the owner had renovated one suite to enable optimal, discreet viewing of the bedroom through a two-way mirror. As part of her arrangement with Dario, Heather was never to open the door to the watcher’s room while he was there, and she was to linger so he could chat with her through a two-way intercom after the john had departed.

  “Was tonight to your satisfaction?” Heather asked.

  “You are always a pleasure to work with.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” Heather did her best to sound seductive.

  “You are very good at what you do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I have a rather personal question, if you don’t mind.”

  This is new, Heather thought. His usual repertoire rarely contained more than sycophantic compliments, thank you, and see you next week.

  “I doubt I am the first or last to ask you, but what are your reasons for doing this? I would prefer an honest answer rather than the generic I love to please.”

  “So I’m not the first to pique your curiosity.”

  “But you are the first I don’t expect a cliché from.”

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  “You are different. Please answer why you have chosen this avenue.”

  “If I had better options, I would have chosen differently.”

  “And the choices we make when we haven’t better options, do they define us?” he asked.

  What did her choices really say about her? Was her self-worth of much lesser importance than her brother’s health and her own ambitions? She refused to give up her fashion career, though it barely covered her own expenses. She needed another six grand a month for Adam’s medical bills, and she got that much working an average of one or two nights a week, thanks to Dario’s largesse. Sure, she could have gotten the money working a second full-time job somewhere and maintained her self-esteem, but the long hours would eventually take their toll and she’d have no time to work on her own designs. Some would say her dignity had fallen victim to her needs, but for Heather it was a matter of priorities.

  “You choose to watch,” Heather finally replied. “Like me, you have your reasons. Actions merely reflect our current needs or circumstances. I want to believe our dreams are what define us.”

  “Like I said, you are different.” The silence that followed was so prolonged Heather thought Dario had departed. She was about to take her robe off and get dressed when the voice came back, startling her. “Does it bother you? What you do here, for me?”

  “I can’t deny it took some getting used to.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s less strange, I suppose.”

  “But you do not enjoy it.”

  “I should probably be going,” Heather said.

  “Of course. It was a silly question.”

  “I’ve learned to accept it.”

  “Very well, I won’t take any more of your time, Amber. Thank you again for tonight.”

  “Good night, Dario.” Heather turned her back to the two-way mirror. “I’ll see you soon?”

  “Yes.”

  She heard the click of the intercom being turned off.

  On impulse, Heather decided to swing by Gigi’s apartment on her way home. She didn’t really expect to find her there at nine p.m., but Gigi had given her a key, so she could at least leave a note and maybe reassure herself if she found evidence her friend had been there recently. Gigi trolled for clients around the 8th Avenue porn and sex-toy establishments and had been robbed a few times, so perhaps her lack of contact was merely because a john had stolen her cell and she hadn’t replaced it yet.

  When no one answered her knock, Heather let herself in to the darkened studio apartment and switched on the overhead light. The first thing she noticed was the paper that had been slipped under the door—a notice from the landlord, dated a week earlier, that the rent was overdue. Frowning, Heather surveyed the rest of the apartment.

  Nothing looked unusual or alarming, though the place was always so messy it was hard to tell if anything had been moved or stolen. Everything of obvious value—television, stereo, laptop— remained undisturbed.

  But a foul smell emanated from the corner kitchen, and Heather’s concern escalated when she discovered the source. Two cartons of half-eaten Chinese food had been left in the sink, and from the look of them, they’d been there several days at least. An inspection of the fridge—sour milk, mold-fuzzy cheese, rotten lettuce—reinforced the conclusion that Gigi hadn’t been home in a long while.

  Heather bagged up the foul Chinese food to dispose of on her way home. She was torn over whether to file a missing-person report. Certainly, no one else would. Gigi had cut all ties with her family long ago and had no other close friends. But Heather had no record with the cops and was anxious to keep it that way. Because she wasn’t a relative, they’d likely question her about how she and Gigi knew each other. Not only would that put her on law enforcement’s radar, it could also jeopardize her fashion career if her boss at Chelline got wind of it. She also doubted authorities would pursue the matter, given Gigi’s numerous arrests for prostitution.

  After long consideration, Heather decided to make the call, but with minimal risk to herself. She used a pay phone near her apartment to file the report and refused to give her name. It was all she could do.

  * * *

  New York

  11:30 p.m.

  Chase avoided conversation with Jack beyond the bare minimum during their flight to LaGuardia, still brooding about the abrupt severance of their long friendship. By the time they picked up their rental car and headed into the city, the tension between them was palpable. As Jack pulled out a pack of Marlboros and started to light one, Chase said, “No smoking in my presence.”

  Jack put the cigarettes away. “So, you knew it was me?” she asked after a long silence.

  “Yes.” Chase turned on the radio and tuned to a jazz station.

  “Coltrane,” Jack said.

  “Yes.” Chase drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, keeping cadence with the beat.

  Jack kept time as well, brushing her palm against her knee. “So, what’s new?”

  Her nonchalant effort to resume their easy camaraderie grated on Chase. If Jack expected her to throw her a welcome-home party, she was seriously deluded. “Plenty.”

  Jack took the hint and went back to staring out the window for several blocks. “Are you really going to play the pissed housewife?” she finally asked. “Somehow, I can’t picture you in an apron.”

  “And I can’t see you collecting on hits.”

  “Life makes you do things.”

  “I disagree. But then again, I’ve never been a fan of blaming my decisions on the universe.”

  “I’m not blaming anyone.”

  “Make up your mind,” Chase said. “I have a strong distaste for
contradictions.”

  “And I’m not crazy about having to defend my actions.”

  “Probably due to the fact that you’re not very good at it.”

  Jack didn’t answer and turned back to the view out her window. Another long silence ensued before she spoke again. “I’m not saying what I did was right. If I could do it all over, I would. The things I’ve done—”

  “I don’t want to hear about your regrets or how rough times have been for you. I don’t want to hear anything, for that matter.”

  “What the hell do you want, Landis? You want me to say I’m sorry? You want to hear why I made the choices I did? Do you even care? ”

  “Ten years and two months, Jack. That’s how long ago you lost the right to ask me if I care. You up and disappeared one day and never looked back.”

  “I had to.”

  “Maybe you did. I don’t know the details. But you could have told me.”

  “It wasn’t planned.”

  “You could have contacted me.”

  “I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” Jack’s voice was subdued. “I needed to start over.”

  “You could have told me. You knew you could trust me.”

  “I needed to put my previous life behind me.”

  “I don’t know if you succeeded in forgetting your previous life, but I can tell you for a fact that it completely erased you.”

  “Landis, my not telling you isn’t because I—”

  “He who excuses himself accuses himself. I’d rather return my attention to Coltrane.”

  Jack sighed. “You’re still the same control freak. Still deciding whether or not a conversation or situation has ended. Let me guess. Your existence is still calculated and divided into time slots. Have you even taken off your watch since 2002?”