Room 1515

by Bill Wetterman

  “I did.”

  “I rub shoulders with U.S. politicians daily. I don’t want to be used as a ticket to influence government officials.”

  The moonlight reflected his calmness. He nodded. “Agreed, however if you are in a position to help me, would you?”

  “If helping you doesn’t hurt my country, fine. Your request must be legal and above reproach.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s important to me that you honor my wishes.”

  “Let’s use an example,” Pendleton said. “You know I want the Stromiehre deal to go through. If our lobbyist asked you to arrange a meeting with a specific congressman simply to talk, would that cross your moral line?”

  “No. But asking me to bribe or entrap one would.”

  “Agreed then,” Pendleton said, “still batting a thousand.”

  Now he kicked some sand into her shoe and twirled her around to face him. “But being used works both ways. Being my wife means you’ll learn far more than you’ll want to about the dirt of international politics. You can’t tell what you know. I can’t let you. Do you understand?”

  “Jump on that, Peacock,” Polaris whispered. “Reassure him. You’ll be the most valuable agent on our team, the vixen in the hen house.”

  “Agreed. What you tell me will never escape my lips.” She hadn’t lied. She’d keep every secret. Her implant would break the rules. Still she had a problem. “Seeing me a dozen times a year or so, can’t be enough sexual relief for you.”

  “Actually, that’s about par for the course?”

  Peacock’s conscience again slammed her. Damn moral righteousness. Ursa and her job precluded faithfulness.

  “Twelve times a year isn’t enough for me,” she said. “I’ll be honest. I’ll love you the best I can. I’ll stand by you and be whatever you want me to be. I promise to be ultra-discreet, but I won’t promise to be faithful to you.”

  “Ouch.” Pendleton let go her hand and stepped back. “There’s honesty, a bloody punch below the belt, but an honest punch. You’re right. I can’t have my reputation besmirched.”

  “You checked me out. What did you find? I’ll tell you, not one piece of filth. Yet I’ve had my affairs.” She reached out and motioned for his hand. He reluctantly gave it. “I won’t disappoint you. Are we still batting a thousand?”

  “No, but the disagreement isn’t a deal breaker.”

  He reached in his pocket and she didn’t stop him.

  “Laverna Smythe, salt that you are, will you marry me? I hope that someday you’ll willingly be mine.”

  “A salt is a loose woman,” Polaris said. “He’s got you pegged.”

  She cringed. Damn him for saying that. She shrugged the comment off and focused her attention on a huge bluish-purple stone, so large it hid the ring beneath it.

  “Arthur, sweetheart, what kind of stone is this?”

  His face lit up like an eight-year-old on a rollercoaster.

  “This, my love, is a blue garnet. The garnet is your birthstone is it not.”

  “But garnets are red. With this stone, it’s hard to tell what color it is. It changes as the light changes.”

  “This is your color, deep blue in natural light and purple in reflected or incandescent light. The gem’s from Madagascar, four carats, and worth six million wholesale.”

  He got down on his knee, and she said. “Yes, Arthur Pendleton, I’ll marry you. Seeing this, I promise I’ll actually try to be faithful to you.”

  Pendleton grinned so wide his teeth sparkled.

  “Oh Lovey,” he winked. “I won’t be faithful to you either. Don’t promise something you can’t deliver. I will promise to love you and protect you all my life.”

  Peacock gulped. What had she done? No. What had Ursa dropped her into? Okay, she could handle this. She was trained to live in the moment.

  “How about we have it off then?” she said. “No sense wasting time.”

  #

  Pendleton hadn’t moved since three in the morning. Peacock hadn’t slept. At least she now had time to reason things out. Ursa wanted this marriage, and after making love to this powerful man, she knew Pendleton was hooked. She’d soon be winging her way back to D.C. and receiving instructions on murdering Zelinoff’s bodyguard. Popping from one role to another took all the mental energy she could muster.

  Her husband-to-be ordered murders, extortions, paid bribes, and fearlessly defended his countrymen. He was the enemy’s Ursa. In fact, he was anti-Ursa, the leader of the opposition. She groaned. One day this would end badly. She’d end up having to kill him, or vice versa.

  She respected her future husband regardless. Either Pendleton had no clue she was a Herculean, or she was bait for a greater scheme. She’d have to rely on Ursa’s directions.

  Peacock rolled out of bed and winced. Sore but satisfied, she decided Pendleton was an excellent choice. The sliding doors to the veranda were opened. Outside nearer the shore both her bodyguards and his were pacing along the perimeter of the property, pretending not to notice each other. Her life was now more complicated, if that was possible.

  Pendleton arose and made one call. He planned the wedding for September 10th, one month away. He wanted the marriage to be quick and private, but opulent. She told him to arrange it anyway he wished.

  The words of her father spoke clearly in her mind. The last words he’d spoken to her. “Honey, you’re too bright to waste your time with that boy. Your talent will take you beyond his dreams and expectations.”

  She shook her head. She’d liked the bad boys all her life. Now she was about to marry the nastiest, one for whom the reach of his dreams matched hers. How was this going to work?

  Chapter 12

  Ursa wanted to smother Doctor Kolb, the witch. He’d asked Major, his boss, for a replacement twice to no avail.

  “I’ve read the scans from Peacock’s transmitter,” Dr. Kolb said, stone-faced and smelling antiseptically clean. “You made a mistake. Her mind responds to this Pendleton fellow with increased activity in the regions harboring her suppressed emotional attachments.”

  “So?”

  “Idiot! In a normal woman, the readings would mean she’s forming a bond. In one of our special agents, bonds like this are not supposed to form.”

  He bit his lower lip at the word, idiot. No one called him an idiot without a severe consequence. She’d receive her punishment at another time.

  “She’s operated efficiently up to now,” Ursa said. “We need her in the position she’s in. Keep an eye on the readings. I’m not wasting this opportunity.”

  “Mark my words,” Kolb tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “Eventually, she’ll either require reprogramming, or she’ll betray you.” Kolb sighed. “Still, her readings are better than anyone else we’ve experimented on.”

  Ursa relaxed. He liked Peacock. She performed her assignments with skill and grace. Monitor her, of course he would. He’d taken a calculated risk. Peacock wouldn’t let him down. He feared more for her sanity. A conflicting sense of duty colliding with a conflicting emotional bond formation could cause psychosis under fire.

  He’d deal with her psychosis if it occurred.

  #

  Movement to Peacock’s left caught her eye. She dove and rolled as a flash of light shot over her head. Peacock righted herself and fired, destroying the last two targets. She crossed over the finish line at the training facility and placed her hands on her knees. Her hair fell down over her eyes, and from her body scent, she knew her morning application of deodorant was insufficient.

  “Forty-five seconds.” Magnus ran up and handed her a cup of power drink. “Forty-five damn seconds. Nobody runs the gauntlet in that time.”

  “I do.” She gulped down her power drink. “Points?”

  “Ninety-seven out of a hundred, three kills, and four key targets destroyed. One target was inoperable but still transmitting random signals, hence the deduction.”

  “The next time I won’t have a deduction.”

  “You
broke my record of ninety-five points.” He grumbled under his breath. “Being beaten by a woman is humiliating. I’ll live it down since that woman is you.”

  “You trained me, Boss.” She slapped him on the butt. “I owe my talent to you.”

  “Sit. Let’s relax and talk.” Magnus grabbed a chair, turned it backwards, and sat at a table in the debrief area. “Zelinoff’s bodyguard continues to accompany him to Room 1515. We tracked him back to the Georgian Embassy and then to the Hotel Bristol. Various embassies’ diplomats rent opulent suites there. The bodyguard is housed one floor below Zelinoff. He has two other suitemates.”

  “The Bristol is less than a block from where I was attacked.”

  “And less than a mile from the Emerald and the old Victorian you shared with Nash.”

  Peacock scrunched up her face. “Damn. I’m going to have to kill him in his hotel room, hopefully when he’s alone.”

  Magnus rubbed his balding head and the muscles in his arm bulged from sheer size. “It’s the best place, unless he goes out for a walk by himself. We’ve watched him for four days. He’s never alone.”

  Peacock nodded. “Still it’s easier to clean-up in a hotel room, than clean-up in public.”

  “Before you change and put on that rock Pendleton bought you, let me demonstrate some new weapons we’re arming you with.” He pulled a black case similar to the one he’d given her on Day 366 out from the drawer of a cabinet next to their table. Magnus opened the case. Inside was an amazing assortment of gadgets: Rings, star wheels, and a variety of switchblades from extremely small to standard size.

  “Put this ring on your right hand, little finger.”

  She obliged.

  He handed her a dulled star wheel. Its spiked edges had been smoothed. “I’m going to fling one at the dummy across the room.” He demonstrated by extending his finger toward the dummy. “Guide it like I’m doing.”

  She watched his hand and wrist swivel. The star wheel hit its target.

  “Now you try it with a real star wheel.”

  Peacock pointed, adjusted, and flung the star wheel. The dummy’s head sheared off and the star wheel embedded in the sheetrock.

  “Nasty little thing,” she said. “Isn’t technology wonderful?”

  “Yes. The ring increases your accuracy.”

  “I’ll kill my target with or without the ring.”

  “Oh, by the way,” Magnus said. “Ursa had Pendleton’s ring tested. It’s valued at only, five million, five hundred thousand. Pendleton got snookered to the tune of a half million.”

  “Arthur’s people got snookered. Arthur just brokered the deal.” She smiled. “Besides, it’s the thought that counts. I’m worth six million, don’t you think?”

  #

  Day 505

  Peacock entered the Hotel Bristol from a side entrance and hurried past two meeting rooms.

  “Keep out of view,” Vega, her second shift guide, whispered inside her head. “Ursa has two men positioned in the gift shop in case you run into trouble. We also have a team outside in case you’re walking into a trap.”

  “Roger that.” She moved into a state of heighted awareness.

  The bodyguard had entered the hotel an hour earlier with two other men. He hadn’t been seen in the dining room or the bar that evening. She assumed he was in his room. She’d find out soon enough.

  Peacock glanced toward the elevators but opted for the stairs. A navy blue, flowery scarf covered her face and head. She ascended the staircase to the ninth floor with the speed of a gazelle and the skill of a mountain goat, staying next to the inner wall with her face down to avoid camera identification. The stairwell smelled of disinfectant from a recent scrubbing. Odd, she thought, people rarely come this way.

  Once outside the ninth floor door, she paused, cracked the door open a smidge, and peered into the hall. The number on the room across from where she stood was 922. The target room was 904, ten doors down a curved green-carpeted hallway. She’d be halfway down the hall before she saw the room.

  She stayed in the stairwell an extra minute rechecking her tools. The star wheel ring Magnus had given her was secure on her finger. A switchblade was tucked into a pocket inside the long sleeve of her gray-hooded workout jacket. She had another inside her boot. A belt full of star wheels fit securely around her waist concealed by the jacket.

  Peacock stepped into the hallway clutching her 9-millimeter Glock in her hand. She removed her scarf and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. Seeing no one, she stayed close to the wall on the right side of the hallway and edged toward Room 904. As she crept close, she leaned forward to see down the curve along the arch. Two men stood outside Room 904. Neither of them was the bodyguard, himself.

  She inched back out of sight. “Two men in front of the door.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Nothing, not even talking.”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  Peacock took another step backward staying flat against the wall. “It’s not normal for bodyguards to guard the door of a bodyguard.”

  “This confirms our suspicions that someone more important than a bodyguard is there.”

  “I’m going to do what I came for.”

  She tucked the Glock into its holster and moved the zipper several inches down the front of her sweat suit. She pulled off the hood of her jacket and let her hair tumble onto her shoulders. Then she approached the men.

  “Excuse me. Can you tell me where the ice machine is?”

  To her surprise, she’d confronted twins: Not pretty twins, but hulky, half-balding, twins with nasty scowls and piercing steel-hazel eyes. “You’re not supposed to be on this floor, Molly.”

  The distinct Irish brogue startled her.

  “I’m sorry but it’s only ice I want.”

  She batted her eyelashes.

  “Grab her, Sean.”

  The man to her right reached for Peacock’s arm, his last act among the living. She flung him headlong to the floor and crushed his skull with her boot. The door behind her burst open as she gashed the other twin’s throat. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder. She hit the floor and Pendleton’s face flashed into her mind for a second before she blacked out.

  #

  Peacock groaned, as water splashed over her.

  “We’re on our way.” Vega was speaking in her head.

  Her hands were tied behind her back. Her waist was tied to a straight-back chair. A dank smell filled her nostrils. She was in a damp basement and five nasty men surrounded her. She must have been out cold for a while. A pain in her shoulder and back grew with each breath she took.

  “We know exactly where you are,” Vega said. “It will be rough for a bit, but hang in there. They won’t kill you until they get the information they want. String them along.”

  “The bitch is back to the land of the living, Lytle,” a man’s voice called out.

  She couldn’t focus her eyes. A fist slammed into her shoulder snapping her neck back and shooting pain into her head. She screamed.

  “Yes, she’s quite awake. It wasn’t nice of you to break our Irish twins. What do the Herculeans call you?”

  “Up yours,” she growled and was smacked again. This time she swallowed the pain. She’d tell them nothing.

  “All right then, Up Yours. Who sent you here?”

  Two of the men spoke with a Slavic accent. She recognized one as Zelinoff’s bodyguard. He was a foot soldier, not the leader.

  “I’m outnumbered five to one. I guess I have no choice. Untie me and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “So there are five of them. We can handle five.” Vega’s voice gave her hope. “We’re less than a minute away.”

  “Keep her tied.” Another man stepped out of the shadows dressed in a brown suit, hands clean as a saint, and face ugly as the devil. For a red-haired devil he was. He smelled like peanuts. She saw him pop some in his mouth. This man was the boss. He probably murdered Valencia.

/>   “I’m not an idiot, Lytle.”

  “She’s not either.”

  Lytle walked up to her and shocked her with the cattle prod in his hand. Fire ripped up her spine and into her mind. She screamed again and blacked out.

  A loud explosion jarred her back to her senses. The steel entrance door flew inward and slammed flat with a resonating clang. A star wheel zipped past her and through the neck of the man who had been talking to Lytle. A Herculean slit the ropes on her hands, handed her a star wheel and a Glock, which she holstered. She sprang free.

  Killing hand-to-hand suited her far better than using a gun.

  Her captors were quick and skillful. She was now engaged in a war.

  “Alcor, to your left,” her rescuer shouted. The man called Alcor locked himself in battle with a maniac who moved like Bruce Lee. Peacock and her Herculean rescuer leaped into action, knocking two assailants off balance. He held the knife he’d slit her ropes with and stabbed one of the attackers, who continued to fight with him though wounded.

  Peacock held off two men with her speedy, well-placed kicks. Lytle slipped off to the side by a laundry chute. Someone screamed and distracted one of her attackers. She pulled the switchblade her captors had missed from her boot and slit his throat. His partner kicked her in the midsection and dislodged the blade, which bounced away along the cement floor. She blocked her assailant’s next blow, somersaulted backward, and flung a star wheel, beheading her adversary.

  Zelinoff’s bodyguard retrieved the wayward blade. She dove across the floor as he threw it. The blade barely missed her head, and she came up between the bodyguard’s legs. Grabbing him by his testicles, she yanked him to the floor and thrust her palm up against his jaw with such force his neck cracked.

  She leaped up to attack Lytle, only to see Lytle’s shoes disappearing through the laundry chute. “Hear this, Lytle. You should have killed me when you had the chance. Watch your back. I’m coming after you.”

  How had he escaped through the chute?

  The eerie silence, interrupted only by an occasional dying gasp, seemed strange compared to the flurry of a few seconds earlier. Peacock glanced about. Both Alcor and his adversary lay dead in each other’s fatal embrace. Three of the four remaining foes were dead also. One lay groaning, barely alive. A fellow Herculean stood over that man.