by Dyal Bailey
“So, what do you think?” Bailey clicked off the TV, lit a cigar, and looked at him with a half-concealed smile.
“Honestly?”
“The doors are shut.” Bailey raised his eyebrows again and ground out his cigar.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. But who was the man being fed Jägerschnitzel with the tip of that silver knife?”
“Brilliantine. He’s the guy who almost grabbed Rafaela right after the French Ambassador job. We've been trying to catch that bastard for months.” He sat back.
“Of course I know of Brilliantine, but I didn’t recognize him. Not wearing guy-liner and with his hair dyed blond.” Hans touched his temple while closing his eyes. Suddenly, all the facts came together inside his mind. His eyes popped open wide. “So this was…a present?” He gave Bailey a very knowing look.
Bailey tossed him a bundle of apricot wrapping paper swathed in ornate ribbons-and-bows that were nothing less than a knotted masterpiece. “Apparently so. The disc was inside this and waiting for me on my desk when I came in.”
“Well, well. And wrapped in your favorite color to boot.” He smiled and Bailey flushed. He stifled a laughing cough.
Bailey straightened. “Did you get my emails on those ‘Dress-Up Murders’ in Augusta, Georgia?”
He nodded.
“Do you think the guy in the video wearing that red scarf and the lilac stretchy pants could be the same guy doing those murders?” he continued, studying him.
Hans paused, contemplating. “Possibly. What’s your interest in Augusta?
“That’s not important,” he shot back and Hans knew not to pry any further.
Bailey picked up a pen. “What was he saying? It sounded like poetry.”
“You’re right. ‘Ich denke dein, wenn mir der sonnes shimmer.’ It’s a poem by Goethe. It translates something like: I think of you, when I see the sun shimmer.”
Bailey was blowing a circle of smoke and started to choke. He grabbed a bottle of scotch from his drawer and poured himself a drink. Taking a large swallow of the warming liquid, he recovered himself. He offered a drink to Hans, who declined. “Did you pick up anything from his accent?”
Hans shrugged. “At first, I thought he might be that video assassin from Munich we’ve been hearing so much about. But that can't be true.”
He glanced up. “Why’s that?”
Hans shook his head. “We know that Brilliantine was alive and in Shanghai last week, right?”
Bailey inclined his head.
“So there’s no way. This type of elaborate video and staging would take weeks, even months. And my sources reported that The Municher was in New York only days ago buying opera tickets.”
“Can you trust your sources?” Bailey looked him in the eye.
“Very much so. Besides, no true Municher would leave the mushrooms out of his Jägerschnitzel.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought.
Bailey sighed and Hans regarded him with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“Sending me this video just doesn’t make sense. Why would someone try to tip me off about killing Brilliantine in the first place?” he was asking himself as much as his friend.
Hans scratched his head. “Perhaps they aren’t trying to tip you off as much as throw you off.”
His eyes narrowing, Bailey nodded and pushed back his chair.
…
Three weeks later, Antonio listened to Andrea Bocelli’s La voce del silenzio while reading over the list of fake “Dress-Up Murders” his beloved algorithm had chosen for his men to plant in carefully selected locations around Atlanta. All were high profile targets and just as Werther had predicted, it was putting the press in a frenzy. Experts were now saying the murderer had evolved and moved on to bigger quarry.
He smirked. That should keep Bailey busy and distracted for a while. Hopefully, he had sufficiently tweaked the underground head of the CIA’s interest with Günter’s video of Brilliantine. And following Werther’s instructions to the letter, Antonio also gave Günter a directive that the remains of any further kills should be found in or around Atlanta as well.
An email popped up concerning Dickinson’s erratic behavior of late. Damn it! He better get Günter on that right away before the guy went off the deep end. He sent off a quick text to the assassin. He cleared his throat as the phone rang.
“Hello. Are you up to a trip to Atlanta? I can’t say that the kill will be interesting, but it’s necessary. Here, let me send you a picture.” He typed and hit send. “What do you mean he just walked into Gen-Bio-Lab?” Antonio’s eyes grew wide. “No, no. Stay where you are. I’ll see if I can get an anonymous message to Bailey’s other men. Yes, pick him up the minute he steps out the door.”
…
Rafaela rushed through the entrance of Dr. Jacobs’ private lab where Dickinson was standing. He swayed and hiccupped.
“Why are you here? I explained to Bailey that I don’t want you or anyone else anywhere near the lab.” Dickinson didn’t answer; he just kept looking over Rafaela’s work.
She clenched her fist as he sauntered past her. Checking the window that showed the other lab rooms, she saw Jacobs was busy at work. Then she eyed Dr. Raja Puja through the glass. He stared at Dickinson like he was seeing a ghost.
“I'm just making sure you are doing okay.” He gave her a dismissive nod.
She gritted her teeth. “I'm fine. We can talk later.” She saw him swaying again. “Un-freaking-believable! Are you drunk?!”
Dr. Jacobs entered the room. “What is this man doing in here? He's not even wearing gloves.”
Dickinson tottered towards him, unsteady on his feet. “Hello, Dr. Jacobs, I've read a lot about you.”
“Who are you? Do you know this man?” He turned to Rafaela who started to answer when Dickinson broke in.
“She knows me. Then again, she doesn’t really know me. I’m the guy who’s been keeping her alive the last few months. But not anymore. Not anymore.” He let out a Grinch-like laugh. “Now I’m here to make sure Dr. Ramos doesn’t forget who she’s really working for.”
Jacobs stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “What is he talking about?”
She froze. “My God, you’re one of them.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “What can I say? The offer was too tempting to turn down.”
“What is this man saying? Is he talking about our project?” Jacobs walked over to her and touched her arm.
“He’s an insect, who’s about to get exterminated.” She moved away from Jacobs and towards Dickinson, who fumbled and pulled out a pistol.
She stared him down and laughed. “Go ahead and shoot.” Stalking him like a lioness, she looked completely insane.
Jacobs tried to hold her and stop her. He swung her aside then jumped in front of Rafaela just as Dickinson fired. The dart hit his chest and he fell into her arms.
Puja rushed into the room. “What the hell have you done?”
Dickinson shrugged. “It was only a tranquilizer gun.”
“You idiot, Dr. Jacobs has a heart condition.” Puja wrung his hands.
Rafaela was on the floor with Jacobs, checking his pulse. She sighed in relief, but something occurred to her. While they were distracted, she pulled out her pouch full of bio-chems, and put one on the back of his neck. When the results she had hoped for occurred, she removed the patch and called out, “He’s fading fast! Call an ambulance.”
Puja followed Dickinson, who was staring at Jacobs’ still form in Rafaela’s arms. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. As soon as he hung up, a light flashed, signaling the lab door was opening. Everyone looked up.
Puja gasped when he saw the man with a gun. “Who are you?”
The man ignored the question and headed toward Dickinson.
Dickinson looked at him like he was seeing a ghost. “You!” He hurried to pull a real pistol out of his jacket and barely reached it as the man fired three swift rounds into his head and chest.
&n
bsp; Rafaela gasped as blood drenched the room and Dickinson’s corpse fell at Dr. Jacobs’ feet. Still holding Jacobs in her arms, she winced as the man moved toward her.
“Dr. Ramos, my name is Faulkner. Mr. Bailey sends his regrets over this unfortunate incident.” They locked eyes as he leveled the gun at Puja who froze in place. “He asked me to say it's June and his mother has gone mountain climbing.”
She sighed, relieved, but rubbed her eyes as if to keep her head from spinning.
“Is this Dr. Jacobs?”
She nodded.
“How is he?”
She made as if checking Jacobs’ pulse and gave Faulkner a knowing look. “He’s dead.”
He glanced at Puja, then at Rafaela. She shook her head. Faulkner turned to Puja. “You, go outside until the ambulance gets here.”
Puja made a hasty retreat and Faulkner knelt down very close to Rafaela, looking over Jacobs. “Is this what I think this is?”
She half-nodded then leaned very close to him. She brushed her wrist across her lips and spoke softly. “How much does Bailey know?”
He scratched his nose and watched her with expectation. “Everything.”
Lowering her chin, tears began to shine inside her eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
Antonio sent off the email and sighed in relief as he received Günter’s read receipt. After about a fifteen minute wait, his phone finally rang.
“Hello Günter, I sensed you might be feeling a bit let down.” He balanced an old Apache arrow on his fingertips. “Let’s just be happy the man is dead and out of our way, with little to no repercussions to our project.” He was overjoyed and toyed with the tip of the arrowhead, while petting himself like a preening cat. “Surely your entire face didn’t break out. Yes, yes. It was creatively constipating to be at readiness and have some CIA suit just swagger in and shoot him outright.” He tried to control the glee in his voice. “It’s not like you sewed him a special dress or anything. Besides, things are wrapping up. Soon you’ll be killing worthy victims all over the globe again.”
Antonio smiled, put the arrow down, and clicked on his computer.
“Of course, but look at what Van Gogh did with his Starry Night. —No, I wasn't suggesting you cut off your ear. It would ruin your profile.” He read off the screen and clicked ahead. “Perhaps you need to do something bold and progressive. Like, I don't know. How about the wedding scene from The Godfather meets Back Draft.” He continued to read and click. “I agree, the firemen’s hair was ridiculous, as if a little flame and smoke was an excuse.” He sighed. “Listen, Dr. Jacobs is already out of the game. And I’m not kidding myself, Dr. Rafaela Ramos is deadly. If she snaps or tells everything to Bailey, I’m going to need for you to take care of her and her boyfriend as well.” He listened and drummed his fingers. “Please, one small blemish on your chin is no reason to isolate yourself.—Yes, I do understand your anguish over these little imperfections, but what a wonderful opportunity to show off your makeup skills.” Picking up the arrow again, he started twirling it like a baton. “Exactly. And you can use the drag time to work on your wardrobe design.” He smoothed the hair flowing over his knuckles. “No, he’s definitely not a blond, but his muscle tone and facial features are incredible. Yes and he’s quite a hulk.—Is he what? No, not like Hank Tanker, more like Hercules meets Othello on steroids.” Typing with his furry little finger, he scanned a picture of Micah and sent it off to Günter. “Check your email and tell me that again.”
After a pause, Antonio’s face widened to a grin. “Apology accepted.”
…
A week later, after changing cars several times and going through multiple evasions, a ragged and strung out Rafaela stepped inside the CIA van and sat next to Faulkner.
He bent his neck as if to consider her. “I’m afraid you were correct about the funding for the lab. We were finally able to trace it back to the Peloso Crime family.”
“Hairy bastards.” She pursed her lips.
“Hairy bastards with lots of money.” He bowed to some extent then straightened.
“Find out everywhere they spent it around here.” She studied him.
He shook his head. “We’ve already dug into everything we can. All their holdings are wrapped around a million bogus corporations. It would take a team of geniuses to flush anymore out.”
“Then get them. And have them start with all new properties acquired over the last three years within a sixty mile radius of my hotel.” She started examining his profile strangely.
“What? What’s wrong?” He turned towards her.
“I’ve made a breakthrough.” Rafaela started squeezing her hands.
“Really? Isn’t that good?” He peered sideways at her then looked away.
Her face became stone as she stared at her hands. “No, it’s very, very bad. Bad for Micah, and bad for everyone.”
He coughed and she looked up. Clearing his throat, he turned to face her fully. “Do you think Micah Carteret knew who he was working for?”
She looked out into the distance. “I don’t think he cared.”
…
Four days later, Micah was banging on the door of his prison. He started kicking it with his feet. Finally, he stopped to think. He sat in a chair, propped up his feet and closed his eyes. He rubbed his temples, trying to sort out all the information that he knew.
Point one: By the lack of sound coming from the outside, his prison was either well isolated, or underground, or both.
Point two: By the clothing and other items, he knew his kidnapper had planned his kidnapping a long time ago, and that his prison had been specifically designed for him all the way down to the extra-long, oversized bed.
Point three: He was powerless against the knock-out gases the man released.
Point four: Whenever Rafaela gave these people what they were looking for, he was as good as dead.
Point five: He was speeding himself and Rafaela toward their imminent deaths by cooperating.
The speaker crackled and his harried eyes shot open. “It’s video time. I don't need to remind you of how things are to be done."
“No. I’m not stupid. I know where all this is leading, and I’m not playing your freaking games anymore.” Micah crossed his arms and turned away.
“Hmm, you’re right. I have all the footage I need on you anyway. And this is all becoming way too tedious.” Moments later, a bluish fog started oozing into the room from the vent. Micah took off his shirt and attempted to shove it into the vent.
“When you wake up and meet your fate, Mr. Carteret, I hope for your sake that you’ll be wise enough to cooperate.”
Micah slid to the floor.
…
Deciding to run some more tests, Rafaela hurried into Gen-Bio-Lab as Dr. Puja was placing several vials of live viruses into an insulated container. He packed the tubes with dry ice and sealed them tight.
“What are you doing?” She grabbed his arm.
He shrugged her off. “Bringing my boss a sample.”
Her eyes grew wide with terror. “The project isn’t complete. You saw the rats. They’re all dying of old age.”
“Yes.” Puja squinted and gave her a hard smile.
“Those viruses are not only lethal, they’re contagious. To everyone.” She clenched her fists.
He continued his packing. “That’s what we’ve been counting on.”
“I can’t let you do this.” With an exhausted swipe, she started to grab the metal case from his right hand, but he tasered her with his left. She fell and stared at him, paralyzed, only able to plead with her eyes
…
An hour later, a limping Rafaela hurried into the parking lot towards her car. Faulkner rushed up to her. “Our men followed Puja’s drop to Peloso’s men; they headed in the direction of the big lake. Although we took the precaution of putting low signal tracers on all the containers inside Gen-Bio-Lab, you’ll have to be within a hundred yards to pick up a signal.” He handed her a t
racking device.
She accepted it and inhaled to steady herself. “Thanks, I’m also going to need some sort of long distance weapon.”
Popping his trunk, he showed her a compact rocket launcher.
“That should do.” She picked up the case and heaved it into her trunk.
“Are you sure you should go alone?” He observed her anxiously.
“If I do it any other way, Micah will be dead. I’ll call in reinforcements as soon as I get what I need.” All her earlier exhaustion and despair had vanished from her face. Now she was focused and resolute.
He looked down at her. “Do you think this slim chance of finding Micah is worth risking your life and the lives of millions if your rapid aging virus gets out?”
She looked at him, pleading. “Please, I know what Bailey would want you to do, but I need you to let me do this. I can barely breathe when I think about those bastards killing him.” She slid into the driver’s seat of her car.
“I suggest you stop breathing then,” he shot back.
“When this is done, maybe I will.” Nodding, but without hesitating, she hurriedly drove away.
…
Rafaela was almost to the lake when her cell phone rang. “Faulkner. Did you get the info that I need? Antonio Peloso. Hmm, it figures. Text me the GPS coordinates?”
She drove straight to a dock on Strom Thurmond Lake where a large pontoon boat was waiting for her. She loaded all her gear and headed out into the deep water. Within minutes, she saw Antonio’s houseboat in the distance.
Suddenly, the device tracking the toxic containers started beeping wildly, and shortly thereafter, she saw a helicopter in the distance, heading toward the houseboat. Through binoculars, she saw a man holding the toxic container.