The Artisan: An Artistic Assassin Thriller

by Dyal Bailey

  Antonio glanced up, saw his uncle’s expression, and smiled slyly.

  “Yeah, I figured it might be you and Günter, seeing as how the bodies were dressed when they found ‘em.”

  “It’s not a problem, is it?” One of Antonio’s ample eyebrows shot up.

  “Joey’s a little pissed since he was partnering with the Colombians, but he’s just venting; it’s part of the grieving process. The way I see it, maybe we have to find another supplier, but if Carlitos was in your way, he was in your way. How did the video turn out?” He held his hands behind his back.

  “I haven’t had time to watch it yet.” Antonio pressed his hand against his whisker-covered cheek.

  Mezzo patted his back and gave him a little shake. “Antonio Pappano Peloso. You work too hard. Take some time for yourself. Have some fun.” He gave his nephew a winking nod and headed out the door.

  Antonio sat up. He knew his uncle was right. Massaging his stiff neck, he collapsed the page containing his latest additions to his Werther algorithm, and clicked on Günter’s video. He leaned back and propped up his feet just as the distinctive sound of Bizet’s Chanson Bohème hurled itself into the air. By the time Anna Caterina Antonacci’s voluptuous voice resonated throughout the room, Antonio was lost to everything except the beauty of the moment at hand.

  …

  Rafaela was naked under the covers in Micah’s bed. “We have to stop.” She stood up and shrugged on his robe, heading for the kitchen.

  Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he followed her. “Don’t pretend this is just sex, Rafaela. It never was, and it never will be.” His eyes narrowed as he stroked his throat.

  “Then what is it?” Turning to him, she fingered the tennis bracelet he had given her. Rolling it between her fingers, feeling every bump and ridge. She knew she loved the bracelet, because he had given it to her. For that reason alone, she would love it.

  He responded with a soft sweeping touch, pushing her hair back from her face. “Did you mean it when you said you’ve forgiven me about before?”

  “Yes, I … I overreacted before. I can hardly think about it now.”

  “If you truly forgive me, then this is the best thing that ever happened to either of us. It’s beautiful. And it’s the only thing that matters.”

  “But what about Bailey? He can be dangerous.” Still toying with his gift, she looked down at her hands.

  Not wanting her to continue and ruin the moment, he cut her off with a kiss. It was several minutes before he pulled away. “Do you love me?” he murmured, caressing her cheek with his hand. Wanting, waiting, hoping that her answer would be yes. He prayed. Being there with her, in frozen silence, he breathed her in and waited.

  “I—” She swallowed, and pulled away for a moment, then let her eyes locked onto his. “Yes,” she whispered.

  Never breaking eye contact, they kissed and swam together in the depths of their love. Each adoring moment fed the long aching need that had for too long been festering deep inside both of them.

  …

  Antonio watched the end of Günter’s video, which finished with a flourish of his matador’s cape. He beamed and his expression evolved into a very broad smile as he dialed his cell.

  “Bravo, I just watched it all the way through.” He picked up a Spanish dagger and twirled it in the air. “No, I do think Carmen is better as a blonde. I’m surprised Bizet didn’t think of it himself. And Carlitos as the bull was brilliant. Was that all his blood?” Smiling, he touched the edge of his blade. “Yes, the picadors were a bit of a disappointment. What can you do? Some people just refuse to take stage direction.” He leaned back, enjoying his chat. “But where did you find that horse?—Completely unexpected. And that flip during the last ole’. Totally took my breath away. You’ve obviously been working out.” He took out his yellow pad and flipped to his most recent Werther checklist under the Günter heading. “Listen, I need you to secure a residence in Augusta until this project is wrapped up. I’ll forward the money to your account tonight.”

  Unexpectedly, there was a ding, and he saw he had an email. He read it while still holding the phone to his ear.

  “Hmm, something important just came up. I’ll buzz you right back.”

  Antonio clicked his email, and pictures of Rafaela and Micah embracing one another in bed popped up on the screen. Then he clicked a link to a video of their “I love you” kiss. After watching and listening to her answer his question, Antonio grabbed a set of Rosary Beads kissed them and said a quick “Hail Mary”.

  Thank God for hulky, love-starved computer programmers! Another thought occurred to him. It never hurt to layer one’s bets when it came to divine intervention. He pulled out another checklist and made a note to deliver an anonymous truckload of laptop computers to the St. Isidore of Seville Orphanage tomorrow. Somehow he knew that Werther would approve.

  …

  Rafaela went back to work at Gen-Bio-Lab undisturbed and unmolested for the next three days. She finished her work on Jacobs' new PCR method, leaving the question of her working on the other project unspoken and unanswered. Every night was spent in Micah’s arms.

  Somehow, that cold and brittle wall surrounding Rafaela’s heart had crumbled when she was inside the coffin-like box on the Arabic plane. Alone with nothing but her reflections, her mind had kept spinning the same thoughts over and over again. What if I never see him again? What if I never again feel his lips pressed against mine?

  And perhaps because of the terror surrounding those thoughts, she let herself go emotionally. Loving Micah was all she lived for now. His every look, his every touch, was beautiful and fascinating to her. She adored the way he brought her toast and coffee in the morning made with his large clumsy hands. Just the thought of those big hands caressing her cheek made her face feel warm and flushed.

  And although she was aware that she was living an illusion, she pretended that this was her own little slice of paradise, and that it would last forever.

  That was, until she received Bailey’s call.

  Leaving Micah that night was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but the moment she got word that Bailey was in Augusta and wanted to see her, she slipped from bed, pulling on her clothes.

  She would have ignored the curtness of the demand, but she knew the longer she hesitated, the more dangerous it would be for Micah, as well as herself. So she forced herself to leave the heart-rending warmth of Micah’s large, protective arms, and soon she was driving to meet Bailey at the designated location.

  She was almost to her there when her cell phone rang. She was half relieved, half disturbed that it was Micah. She listened to his voice on her Bluetooth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be vague. No, I don’t know if I’ll be coming back tonight.” She pushed her fingers through her hair. “I just don’t know. Bailey can be—unpredictable. And his message wasn’t exactly affable. Yes. I … I love you, too.”

  She hung up and hit the gas. She pulled into the dimly lit parking lot and screeched to a halt. Dickinson met her outside Bailey’s suburban. When he opened the door for her then started to leave, she stared at him. “Aren’t you coming too?”

  “No, Mr. Bailey asked to see you alone.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, turned on his heels, and strode away.

  She slid into the back seat of the suburban—then froze. Hundreds of photos of her and Micah were scattered on the seat next to Bailey.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen your new play-toy. Care to explain?” He studied her expression.

  Her hands clenched. “I guess that’s my business, isn’t it?”

  “I should shoot you dead right now.” His eyes never left her face.

  She stared him down. “Why don’t you?”

  He huffed, “A few weeks ago everything was fine. Now this.” He gestured at pictures of Micah and her kissing.

  “Fine for who? Fine for you?” she retorted.

  “Cut the crap! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Shifting, he moved tow
ards her so that he was up in her face.

  She didn’t back down. “I’m doing what I want to for a change.”

  “Cute,” he clipped. “As if anyone in our business gets to do what they want.” Chuckling, he sat back in his seat.

  “Maybe I don’t want to be in your business anymore. Maybe I’d like to have a life.” She looked down at the pictures of her and Micah again.

  “Are you just…frustrated? Do you need for me to set you up?” He searched her face again.

  “No! I’m not interested in those kinds of men right now.” She glanced over at him. He was giving her an unusual look.

  “You’ve never been not interested before.” His eyes narrowed.

  “I’ve got other things on my mind.” She noticed he was crushing his fists inside his hand.

  “Like Micah Carteret?” He picked up his cigar and sucked on it hard; the glow illuminated the windows.

  “Yes.” She squeezed her hands.

  He smiled, but there was a coldness in his eyes. “So, you actually care about this guy?”

  Pausing, she knew what was coming next. “Yes.”

  He slammed his fist on the pile of photos. “What the hell, Ramos?! You realize what this means! And in a week, every drug lord and terrorist in the world will know about it.”

  “Then he’ll need protection.” She folded her hands in her lap.

  “No kidding!” he huffed and glared out the window. After a while, he turned to her. “Okay, luckily I’ve already made provisions for something like this.”

  She gripped her hands until her knuckles turned white. “Provisions?”

  He looked her dead in the eye. “Protective living arrangements, and, by God, you’re going to submit to them.”

  Nostrils flared, she shifted in her seat. “What kind of living arrangements?”

  “One that’s suitable for our nation’s most dangerous weapon. You’re beyond just another genius—you’re irreplaceable, Rafaela. No one can create the viruses that you create and kill the way you kill. And where I put you will be where you must be kept.”

  “Where? Tell me! And what about Micah?” Her hands clutched her knees and her legs had shifted to a position of readiness to leave.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. After you’ve taken care of the Serbian.” He put out his cigar and lit another one.

  Her face reddened. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

  “You better be scared, young lady. Now let me do my job of protecting you, and in doing so, the entire country.”

  She jerked her head to face him. “Either tell me, or find someone else to do the Serbian job."

  He remained silent.

  “Fine then.” Her eyes became hard as stone, but her heart was pounding as she started to exit the car.

  “Walk away from me and your lover boy is a package.” His jaw was set.

  She stopped and studied his eyes. “You can’t be serious.” The look she saw made her blood run cold.

  …

  Antonio held his cell phone to his ear as he headed up the stairs of his hideout. He inhaled, puffing his chest out, when he reached the surface.

  “Can you hear me now?” He made his way through a bunch of trees toward his truck “Did you find a house?—Good. Yes, Günter, I know playing babysitter isn’t your usual role, but at this stage of the game, you’re the only one I can trust to keep an eye on her coming in and out of the lab. And it’s not like you won’t get to kill anyone who tries to snatch her.—Now, now, it won’t be for long. Not if our scientist cooperates.” He kept hiking. “Yes, I set up the cameras in the hideout. Really, would I do anything to bungle your signature piece?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Of course I watched the short you did with the janitors.—Fabulous.—And the lighting! How in the world did you get the tall one to carry that torch?—No, I loved it in black and white. And I was especially impressed with the way you severed their hands.” He perused his wooded surroundings. “Honestly, I clicked back and watched the ending six or seven times.”

  Antonio smiled. His hidden little lair was the perfect needle in a virtually limitless haystack, and there was nothing Rafaela, Bailey, or the CIA would be able to do about it.

  …

  Rafaela was dressed in a sexy form-fitting black dress with a low dipped back, but long formfitting sleeves that hid the recent injuries to her arms. Perched in the back of a CIA van, she looked at a plan of the layout to the hotel in New Orleans and tossed it aside. With practiced ease, she injected a virus into a specially-designed, multi-vial, spray perfume container. A CIA guy watched, wearing safety glasses and a mask.

  “How can you be sure you won’t be infected?” he asked with trepidation.

  “For one, this virus that I’ve chemically trained in the lab especially for this job is very DNA specific to our victim. His own brother could stand next to him and be safe. The worst that he might experience would be a headache. And two, I don’t have anything in my gene background suitable for heart problems.” She placed the vial inside her purse.

  “How long can the virus stay alive?”

  “Once I release it into the perfumed base? Maybe sixty seconds.” She hopped from the van which was parked in front of the lavish hotel.

  Rafaela waited outside the bathrooms of the restaurant. Her diamond drop earrings sparkled in the light as she pretended to preen into a small mirror hanging on the wall next to the ladies room. She saw the Serbian strutting towards the men’s room and slipped her hand into her purse. After pressing a lever, combining the virus with the perfume, she sprayed the scent into the air and onto her arms and the front of her dress. She pivoted on her heels, and as if by accident, bumped into him as he walked by.

  He held her by both arms, steadied her to keep her from falling, then paused to take a good look at her. He smiled and took in a deep breath. “You smell very nice.”

  She eyed him, smiling back, and he leaned closer. She looked into his eyes until she saw that his pupils were already dilated. She continued to smile seductively, and softly caressed his cheek. Then abruptly, as if changing her mind, she slapped his face and stormed away.

  He gasped, anger and frustration rising in his face, turning it red. Less than four seconds later, Rafaela turned and saw that he was gulping for air and clutching his chest. He buckled to the ground.

  …

  Dickinson was standing outside the hotel entrance when Rafaela came out. “Is it done?”

  She gave him a terse look. “What are you doing here? Bailey said you were keeping an eye on Jacobs and Micah in Augusta.”

  “They’re secure. Micah Carteret asked that you go to his cabin and wait. He’ll meet you there.”

  She studied him, untrusting. Something wasn’t right. She felt it all the way to her bones.

  …

  At six in the morning, Rafaela was pacing back and forth inside Micah’s cabin. There was a knock and she rushed to pull the door open. “Micah, why aren’t you answering your— “

  Puja walked in. “Hello.”

  Her expression of joy moved to annoyance. “What are you doing here? Tell Dr. Jacobs I—”

  “Oh, I have something I think you’ll find fascinating.” He pushed his way in.

  She ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t have time for this.” She started to reopen the door, but stopped when he flipped open an iPad. He clicked on a video of Micah being abducted and drugged.

  Her face burned red. “I hope you know that I’ll kill you for this.”

  “I don’t think so, Dr. Ramos, because if you do, you’ll never see Micah Carteret or Dr. Jacobs alive again.”

  “What have you done with Dr. Jacobs?”

  “Nothing, yet. And we won’t have to, if you cooperate with my employer. Relax and trust me, this is a win-win. You get to work on the science project of your dreams, and my employer will get to enjoy the benefits of your research before your friends at the CIA get a chance to steal it from you.” With a gloating smile, he han
ded her a script of what she should say to the CIA so that they would allow her to continue her work in Augusta at Gen-Bio-Lab. She scanned it and tossed it aside.

  “They’ll never buy it.” She stared him down.

  He returned her glare, gathering his things. “You better hope they do, or your friends will pay the consequences.”

  Although she felt like she’d been gut punched, she attempted to pull herself together. “Who are you working for?”

  “That’s not important. What is important is that you keep your CIA friends at bay until this project is completed.” He gave her another pointed look and walked away.

  As soon as he left, she slammed the door. But she picked up her script and dialed her cell.

  “Bailey. There’s been a change of plan. Micah Carteret is missing and I have to stay in Augusta until he can be located.—No, he didn’t leave a note.”

  …

  Antonio saw by the high tech monitors bleeping on his desk that Micah was beginning to stir. He stretched and regarded his video monitor with great interest.

  Micah rubbed his eyes and shook his head until he was awake. Feeling his wrists, he struggled with the memory of being captured and bound. He looked around, knowing only that he was in some kind of prison. But it looked more like a well-organized apartment. Micah had no idea where he was. He could be in a big city or the middle of the desert. The one thing he did know—he was royally screwed.

  After opening and closing several closets that held clothes, all exactly his size, he found a sink and rinsed his mouth out with water. He spit the water mixed with blood into the sink, his tongue probing a gap from his now missing tooth. Yes, he had fought off his attackers and gave several of them as good as he got, until that needle found his arm. Within seconds, his thoughts had become a blur.