by Wolf Wootan
“My God! How did you pick up on them watching me?”
“Well, I’m a people watcher. I was, if you will excuse my crass behavior, watching you. I thought you looked stunning and I enjoyed what I saw. Do you forgive me?” Hatch said, patting her hand.
“Of course. A girl loves being ogled!” she answered, batting her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.
“Well, I spotted them ogling you, too. At first, I thought it was just that. But the way they were dressed, plus their nervous actions, raised my suspicions.”
“I sure am glad you were crassly ogling me, or I might be dead now! And I am flattered! If you hadn’t followed me …” she said as she ran her hand across her throat in the familiar gesture for throat-cutting.
“I still don’t see why I can’t go home and get cleaned up. Those two will not be bothering anybody any more,” Syd continued with a frown.
“I may be reading too much into this, but we don’t know that they are the only ones watching you. They followed you from somewhere. Your house is the most likely place. Others may be waiting there still, in case you return,” opined Hatch.
She looked worried all of a sudden, then scanned the patio.
“There will not be any more around here. Too many cops. Your house is suspect, though,” Hatch told her.
The silent pager on his belt began vibrating. He looked at it and determined that Sara was calling him.
“Excuse me, Syd, but I had better return this call,” he smiled.
“Please, go ahead, Hatch,” she said, taking another slug of her gin, feeling it warm her.
Hatch pulled out his satellite phone and dialed Sara’s ID Number. The system would find her wherever she was logged in. She answered on the first ring.
“Hatch? Sara. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. The guys in Virginia just got back to me. They show four people coming into New York from London. They had Iranian passports. Our guys are still trying to find out more, but it will take time. Did Danny get there and get his pictures? That may help,” Sara informed him.
“Yes. Yes, they should help,” he murmured.
“Are you with someone?”
“You’re right about that.”
“Her?”
“Yes, how did you guess?”
“Where are the two dark suits now?” Sara went on.
“Thanks for tracking me down, Sara. Yes, I would appreciate it if you sent a car for me here at The Blue Grotto. And when Danny shows up, please expedite things for him,” Hatch answered enigmatically.
“You can’t talk and you want to be picked up?”
“You’re correct on both points. Where are you now?” he asked.
“At the office. Do you want me somewhere else?” she asked.
“Yes. I’ll have a guest and I will have the driver take us to the house. You can meet me there, OK?”
“Sure thing, Hatch. Are you all right?”
“You know me, Sara. I couldn’t be better,” he shrugged.
“You got yourself into trouble, didn’t you! I knew I should have insisted on a baby sitter for you!” she exploded. “I suppose the guest is the girl you were hitting on? Stay out of her pants until I check her out! By the way, the quick checks on her came back normal. She lives in the area—has for three months. Not all of my inquiries have come back yet.”
“I’ll see you at the house,” he replied, hanging up.
She’s worse than a mother hen! he mused.
Syd was having her own thoughts while he was on the phone.
That must be his secretary. He sure is curt with her. What is this about a house and a guest? Could the guest be me? Lord, are you answering my prayers? It looks like I will get to spend some more time with him! There are several questions I want to ask him.
“Well, Syd, I have a car coming for us. We’ll go to the house I use when I’m in this part of the world. You can get cleaned up there. Then I’ll send someone to check out your house and get you some of your things.”
“Some of my things? Are you saying I’ll not be going home for awhile? Just who are you, Mr. Van Lincoln?” She emphasized his name as she said it. “You’re telling me where I can go, and where I can’t? That Detective Jackson—even the uniformed cops—seemed to know you. You have an office and house here—for when you are here. You know how to handle yourself in a fight, way beyond the ability of a housewife’s spouse. Are you a cop, or what?”
“No, I’m not a cop. We’ll discuss the rest of this later—have a long talk. I really don’t want that discussion in an unsecured place. It shouldn’t be much longer. Ah, there’s our ride now!”
When he used the word unsecured, Syd’s defenses ratcheted up a notch. Ordinary people did not use that word often.
Syd expected to see a man in chauffeur’s livery, but instead she saw a dark-haired man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, dressed in a tan linen suit and a brown golf shirt. She could tell he was wearing a gun under his left arm. He was about five feet eleven inches tall and really solid looking. He did not look like your typical driver. He looked more like a Secret Service agent behind his dark glasses. In fact, she would find out later that he had been one in a previous life. His name was Bruno Finelli and he was devoted completely to Hatch Lincoln. His main job with Triple Eye was Security Coordinator for the Florida area. He waved at Hatch and made his way to the table. Hatch stood and shook his hand.
“Thanks for getting here so quickly, Bruno. You didn’t have to come yourself. Ms. Steppe, this is Bruno Finelli. Bruno, this is Sydney Steppe.”
Bruno looked her over. He noticed that she was a tall, beautiful woman with a bloody shirt and leg. She appeared to have been in a fight of some sort. He shook her hand, enjoying her firm grip.
He said, “Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Steppe.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” she responded.
“I came myself, Hatch, because Sara was having a cow. You know how she can get,” stated Bruno. He did not mention Syd’s disarray.
“You must not let Sara browbeat you, Bruno. You know I can take care of myself,” shrugged Hatch.
“So does Sara, but that doesn’t stop her from worrying about you,” smiled Bruno.
Hatch drained his glass and motioned for Carlos, who appeared at their table immediately.
“Yes, Mr. Lincoln?” he asked.
“Carlos, put everything on my tab, including whatever Ms. Steppe owes.”
He pulled out a money clip, peeled off two fifty-dollar bills, and put them in Carlos’ hand. He winked at Carlos, who nodded. Hatch did not want Carlos telling the police that he had asked about Ms. Steppe earlier. No reason to give them grist for their mill that would just waste everyone’s time.
Syd finished her drink and stood up.
“I hope I don’t mess up your upholstery. I’m a mess!” she said to Bruno.
“Not to worry, Ms. Steppe. The seats are leather. They clean up quite easily,” Bruno smiled at her.
How do you know? Is carrying bloody people around an everyday occurrence for you?
Hatch and Syd followed Bruno, who took them in the opposite direction from the police activity; he led them into a small park. There was a silver, four-door Cadillac sedan parked at the curb of the street that circled the park.
“Couldn’t get in the front way. Too many cops,” he explained.
He opened the back door and Syd got in and slid over to make room for Hatch. When they were all buckled up, Bruno drove the car smoothly away.
• • •
As the Cadillac sped along palm-lined streets, Syd thought, I wonder what a driver is doing packing a gun? He didn’t seem upset when he saw what a bloody mess I was. What kind of people have I stumbled upon? Curiouser and curiouser!
After a twenty minute drive, Bruno guided the car into a wide driveway and pushed a button on a device like a garage door opener; it was mounted above the center of the windshield. A large iron gate, painted white, moved smoothly out of their way, permitting Bruno t
o enter a long, curving road. He followed it to the top of a small hill and a large house came into view. It was a two-story, plantation-style mansion—painted white with blue trim. It had a blue, double front door that was at least eight feet tall. A fancy wooden sign over the door had “Klaus Haus” carved in it.
This is his house? This is no house, it’s a friggin’ mansion! It must be at least 30,000 square feet, and that’s just what I can see! Could be Tara. I wonder if Scarlett will greet us at the door.
Bruno stopped the car in front of the steps that led to the huge blue door. The three of them got out and Bruno rushed up the steps and opened the right side of the door. Syd entered first, followed by the other two.
A tall, good-looking woman with short blonde hair approached them quickly, a frown on her face. She wore a tight, red tee shirt, which stretched across large breasts, and a tan skirt that reached to mid-thigh. She wore low-heel, brown shoes, probably because of her height.
Definitely not Scarlett! thought Syd.
The scowl on her face became a beaming smile as she spotted Hatch, and then her face was transformed into a question mark as she spotted Syd.
“Well, Bruno, I see you retrieved his sorry ass. You had me worried, Hatch! I assume this is the guest,” she said.
“Be polite, Sara! This young lady and I have just had a very stressful lunch. Sara, meet Ms. Sydney Steppe. Syd, this impolite woman is Ms. Sara Smith,” said Hatch.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Sara said with sarcasm.
“Pleased to meet you, too, Ms. Smith,” replied Syd with a mock curtsey.
“All right, Hatch, what’s been going on? How much damage control do Bruno and I have to do?” Sara exclaimed, ignoring Syd.
“Calm down, Sara! The first order of business is to get Syd cleaned up and into some clean clothes. Then I’ll tell you everything I know, and we’ll set a course of action. Find a room for Syd so she can take a shower, and rustle her up something to wear. Have Mrs. C. get her some clothes, since we can’t go get hers right now. Then, come back down here and meet Bruno and I in the library,” said Hatch like a man used to giving orders.
“Yes, Your Imminence,” Sara replied sarcastically, but in a calmer voice. Syd could tell that she was starting to relax some now that she knew Hatch was all right.
“Come with me, Syd. The Oracle has spoken. Let’s go get you cleaned up. And then maybe someone will fucking tell me how you got this way.”
She doesn’t act like a secretary. I wonder what her relationship with Hatch is.
Sara led Syd to a door just to the left of the large front door. It had a brass sign mounted on it that read Mrs. Chamberlain.
“This is Mrs. Chamberlain’s office. I’ll introduce you to her and let her know that you have VIP status. She’s the House Administrator—much more than a Head Housekeeper, as you will learn. She can make sure all of your needs are taken care of.”
Sara rapped on the door.
“Enter,” said a muffled voice.
Sara opened the door and ushered Syd into a spacious room tastefully decorated in English antiques. An ornate, massive antique desk faced out from the far wall. The woman behind the desk was not what Syd had expected. Instead of a white-haired old crone—Syd’s guess of what “Mrs. Chamberlain” would look like—a buxom lady of about forty-five, wearing a tailored, yellow suit with a short skirt stood up and walked toward them. Her face seemed as if it had just jumped off the page of a cosmetic ad. Her hair was short, stylish brown curls, without a speck of gray.
“Mrs. Chamberlain, this is Syd Steppe. She will be Hatch’s guest for a day or two. She needs a suite, and some clothes, since we can’t retrieve hers just yet,” said Sara sweetly.
“Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Steppe,” Mrs. Chamberlain answered with a pleasant British accent. She shook Syd’s hand, then retreated back behind her massive desk and sat down. She opened a leather-bound, loose-leaf binder and consulted the page she had in front of her.
“First, Sara, put her in the Blue Suite, 2A. I think she shall be quite comfortable there. Now for the clothes. You shan’t need many, I suppose, but we’ll get you a selection, just to be safe. Underwear, a couple of bathing suits, something casual, something for dinner.”
She was writing on a pad as she spoke, mumbling to herself. She peered up at Syd and scanned her body from head to toe.
“Shoe size?” she asked.
“Nine and a half, medium,” replied Syd.
“Let’s see. You would be five feet eight or nine, 135 pounds. Bra size 36-C. Do you prefer bikini panties?” Mrs. Chamberlain rattled on as she scribbled. She never commented on how Syd looked at the moment.
Is she used to guests that are such a mess?
“Wow! You’re good! Five eight and a half, 133 pounds, actually. Bikini is fine. How did you get so good at this? You could be in a circus,” Syd chuckled.
With a haughty stare, Mrs. Chamberlain answered, “Just part of my job, dearie. I’ll send someone out right away to fetch these things for you. In the meantime, Sara will have to scrounge something up for you. Now, I suggest you visit your shower.”
“Thanks, Mrs. C. I’ll see what I can dig up,” said Sara.
“Now, Ms. Steppe, if you need anything, just dial 10 on your house phone and it will reach me. I’m here to serve you,” she said, all business again.
Syd felt like that was a dismissal, so she shook her hand again and headed for the door. Sara followed, closing the door quietly behind them.
When they were at the bottom of the huge circular staircase, Syd turned to Sara and whispered, “Christ! I expected her to be an old crone. That lady just stepped out of the pages of Vogue!”
Sara whispered back, “Don’t let her looks fool you! She runs a tight ship. Technically, she works for me, but I would never tell her what to do. She is very good at her job. She’s in charge of meals, too. I don’t know what she has planned for dinner, but you’ll be impressed. It will be five star, whatever it is. It’s the same, even when Hatch isn’t here.”
“I wonder what Mr. Chamberlain thinks about going to bed with a Gestapo Colonel?” giggled Syd.
“There is no Mr. Chamberlain. She’s a widow. She’s currently seeing a male model about half her age. I’d like to be a fly on their bedroom wall!” chortled Sara. “I can guess who would be on top!”
“Sara!” exclaimed Syd. “Why the ‘Mrs. Chamberlain’? Everyone else around here seems to go by first names.”
“Her first name is Hermione. ‘Mrs. C.’ is easier. Besides, nobody has had the nerve to do otherwise.”
“Not even Hatch?”
“If he has, I’ve never heard him do it,” shrugged Sara.
“You guys are a strange bunch,” commented Syd.
“That we are. But likeable. I apologize for being so rude to you when we met. I was just concerned about Hatch. We all have our good points, now and then—even Mrs. Chamberlain. Hatch had the British Ambassador here once, and Mrs. C. taught us all the correct protocol, then had the Ambassador eating out of her hand. Led him around like a puppy dog. She squeezed that great body of hers into a strapless evening gown and he—and we—kept waiting for her tits to pop out of it. They never did, much to his disappointment. Hatch got his favor from the Ambassador!”
“Why, that’s pure sexism! Using a female employee’s body to influence a business decision,” Syd said facetiously, showing mock horror on her face.
“It wasn’t Hatch’s idea, it was hers. She would do anything to help Hatch in any endeavor. We all would,” Sara said solemnly.
“Why is everyone so dedicated to Hatch?” asked Syd.
“We all have our reasons; all different, I guess. In Mrs. C.’s case, her husband—who was about Hatch’s age—was in British Intelligence, MI-5 or MI-6, I think. Hatch knew him since the eighties, and when he was killed in 1997, Hatch brought his widow over here and gave her a job. He said he had promised Mr. C. that he would look after her if anything ever happened to Mr. C. I don’t know a
ny details. I just know that Hatch is a very compassionate man. Once you’re his friend, he always looks after you. And you him.”
That explains why Sara reacted the way she did about Hatch. I have to know more about this man! And I wonder what Sara’s story is? Does Hatch go around collecting unfortunate, distraught people? Maybe he’ll collect me! I should have been more distraught!
She chortled under her breath. She followed Sara up the wide circular staircase to the second floor landing. At the top of the staircase, Sara turned down one of the three hallways that intersected at the landing. It was lined on both sides with door after door. It reminded Syd of a hotel corridor. Sara stopped in front of a door with a brass “2A” on it and opened it. They stepped into a spacious, elegantly decorated suite. Syd’s mouth was agape at what she saw.
“The bathroom is in there. You can either shower or soak in the tub. Now for some clothes for you until Mrs. C. works her magic. I’m a little taller than you, but you can probably wear my clothes in a pinch. Underwear can be a problem. That blood on your shirt most surely soaked through into your bra, and my bras won’t fit you. I’m a 40-D and you’re an itty-bitty 36-C,” teased Sara.
“Itty-bitty! I’ve never had any complaints from men before!” snorted Syd.
“Everything is relative, Syd,” laughed Sara. “I can most likely get you some panties from Maria, the maid. Her butt is about your size. Her tits are much smaller though, so no bra from her either. Hell, you can just go braless! The men will love it! Go get cleaned up and I’ll see what I can rustle up for you to wear.”
She turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Wow! I don’t know what to make of her. But I think I am beginning to like her. Who would have thought she had a sense of humor after that greeting downstairs? She must have been worried about Hatch. She seems to really care for him. But who wouldn’t? I hardly know him and I could get to care for him easily. He is such a sexy hunk!
She strolled into the extra large bathroom and pulled off her bloody shirt and dropped it on the white tile floor. The blood had stained her white strapless bra. She unhooked it and it joined the shirt on the tile. Her breasts were also spotted with blood. She put her hands under her breasts and lifted them as she looked at herself in the large mirror.