by Dave Derin
I furrowed my eyebrows and tried to link the puzzle pieces together, but couldn’t decipher the vague clues. I had obviously missed something.
“I don’t think I’ve heard about Operation Northwoods, nor how it could be connected to this case, but I have a feeling you do,” I said carefully.
“You bet your ass I do,” Claire exclaimed, flipped her long golden hair over her shoulder, and took a gulp of her white wine. “I didn’t think anything about it at first, until George turned his phone back around, realized I’d seen the text, and totally freaked the hell out.”
“What do you mean?”
“He started, like, stuttering and yelling about going on vacation in his cabin in the north woods,” she put her pinky finger to her mouth and started to gnaw on the small, red nail. “He doesn’t have a cabin in any woods, only a beach house on the coast. I’m certain of that.”
I took her hand away from her mouth and held it between mine, her petite polished fingers dwarfed by my own.
“So, what is Operation Northwoods, then?”
“Well,” she sighed, “it’s not really what Operation Northwoods was about specifically, but what it stands for. It’s what the military calls a false flag. It’s when a government, or in this case, an organization, pins the blame of an incident on a targeted group just so they can use it as an excuse to go in and take over, or whatever their goals may be.”
I looked down at her small hand in mine, then back up to meet her eyes once more.
“I’m sorry sweetie, but I honestly don’t see what you’re getting at here,” I said, and gently moved a tendril of silken hair that had fallen in front of her eye and tucked it behind her ear.
She huffed, stood up, and began to pace the spacious room. “I heard that a few execs at Tranquility Air were trying to tell CUSA that the Islamic State must be to blame for the attacks, but now they’re going after this other woman, some flight attendant. They said she’s involved with some sort of anarchy group, but I saw them interview her on the news, and I just don’t think she could be involved. She seems so innocent.”
That was the second person to use the word innocent to describe Susanna Jenkins.
I gave her a confused look and shook my head once more. I knew Claire would only be this worked up if it was something serious, but I just couldn’t see the connection.
“Seven. Three. Zero nine ten?” She stated and held her hands out palms up as if I should understand her perfectly.
I shook my head and widened my eyes. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The last bomb exploded on the third of July, which is the seventh month, and the plane’s anticipated arrival time in Dallas was 9:10 a.m.”
I scratched the back of my neck; it prickled uncomfortably. I didn’t like how perfectly those numbers lined up. I took her face tenderly in my hands, leaned forward, and lightly pressed my lips against hers. She looked up at me, and tears glistened in her round eyes. “So, you believe me? You actually think he’s the terrorist?”
“I believe that you know what you saw, and that coincidences like that don’t happen often.”
Her face lit up with a tearful smile, and she placed her hands on top of mine against her face. “Will you stay with me tonight?” The bleary-eyed Claire requested, then quickly added, “I understand if you can’t, but I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Of course I will, sweetheart. I wasn’t about to leave you like this,” I whispered and lightly kissed her forehead.
She sighed deeply and leaned her head against my chest. Her vanilla and amber perfume surrounded me and made me feel light-headed. “Let’s go get more comfortable,” Claire whispered in my ear, then stood and sauntered toward her bedroom. She looked back at me, “Aren’t you coming?”
I waggled my eyebrows at her, “Ladies first.”
She released a genuine howl and bent over with laughter. I jumped up from the sofa, scooped my delightful date from her feet, tossed her over my shoulder, and gave her toned buttocks a smack as she playfully protested.
I carried her into her bedroom, a magnificent display of creativity and wealth, and closed the door behind us with my foot.
Claire’s California king size bed rested under three enormous windows that looked out over downtown Dallas. The glow of the city lights through the windows sublimely lit the bedroom. The sleek black metal bed frame, jet black bedding with deep red damask accents, and a crimson chenille blanket thrown across the bottom perfectly exposed Claire’s obsessions with modern elegance, power, and the color red.
On the opposite wall, she’d installed a spread of modern art. She’d once told me the backstory of the artists and their inspiration for each one, but I must admit, I’d been looking at Claire more than I was at the paintings.
The flaxen-locked seductress had placed vanilla scented candles all along her black wooden dresser, and the aroma reminded me of our past romantic liaisons.
I carefully slid Claire down from around my shoulder into a cradle position, then gently laid her on the lush, crimson blanket. She smiled and closed her eyes as she ran her hands along the velvety fabric.
I slowly lowered myself onto the bed next to her and lightly traced her jawline as I tenderly lifted her lips to mine and kissed her fully, the way I’d longed for all night. Our tongues explored each other passionately; my body ached for hers.
We caressed and cross-examined every special curve of each other’s body that night, and Claire reminded me of why I’d been missing her. We came to a mutual conclusion as we lay in her bed, our bodies intertwined, exhausted and glistening with sweat, that we would try to see each other at least once a month for a wine and dine session.
After the blonde beauty had fallen asleep, I carefully unwrapped myself from her embrace, crawled out of bed, and tiptoed toward the door. I glanced behind me to see that Claire still slept peacefully, then softly closed the bedroom door. I grabbed a notepad from Claire’s kitchen countertop and rummaged through a drawer until I found a pen, then sat on the couch and formulated my plan of attack to take Tranquility Air out of the sky.
Chapter 4
Light jazz saxophone music played quietly from the other side of the closed bedroom door and woke me pleasantly from a deep sleep. I arched my back, stretched my legs, cracked open one eye, and noticed that the right side of the bed was empty.
Claire must have gotten up already. What time was it?
I pulled myself out of her cozy bed and threw on my crumpled shirt, jeans, and socks. I checked my phone for the time, but the battery had died overnight. I cracked open her bedroom door and saw that she stood with her back to me as she cooked something on the stove. It smelled delicious, and I heard bacon sizzling on the stove. She was wearing tiny red shorts that exposed the bottom of her smooth buttocks and a white, sheer tank top. Her long, blonde hair was pulled up into a high ponytail on top of her head.
She was so good to me.
I stealthily snuck from her bedroom, crept silently across the living room, wrapped her in a giant bear hug from behind, and swung her in a wide circle away from the stove. She screamed, startled, then began to giggle furiously as she pushed away and playfully kicked at me.
“You’d better stop that nonsense,” she shouted at me through bursts of laughter. “And be grateful I didn’t have a knife in my hand. I might have stabbed ‘ya.”
“Your knife is no match for my fingers.” I chased her around the kitchen island and tried to tickle her. She laughed hysterically as I chased her, but then grabbed a wooden spoon and batted my hand away each time I got too close.
“Enough,” she giggled and pointed the wooden utensil at my face. “I have to finish cooking this bacon before it burns. Go sit down.”
She motioned toward the couch with her weapon, and I feigned dejection and shuffled to the couch. Then I flopped down, turned on the TV, and saw that it was 7:40 a.m.
“Holy crap, is it really almost 8 a.m.?” I jumped up from the crimson colored sofa and st
rode quickly into the kitchen.
Claire glanced at the microwave timer, “Yep, appears so. Why? I thought you didn’t have to go in until 9?”
“Well, yeah, but I can’t exactly go in looking like a hungover college student,” I cheesed at her.
“I guess that wouldn't be a smart move, huh?” She smiled broadly, turned back to the stove, pulled the bacon from the popping grease, and placed it on a ceramic plate covered with a paper towel.
“Naw, but I’m smart 99.9 percent of the time,” I said as I watched her pat the crispy bacon with another paper towel before she put a few pieces in a napkin.
“Here,” she said and handed me the napkin-wrapped meat and a blue plastic travel mug with Tranquility Air in teal script across it. “Take this with you. I knew you’d need some coffee. It’s extra strong, just how you like it.”
I looked into her large eyes that appeared deep blue in the morning light, shook my head, then kissed her lips softly.
“And you wonder what you did to deserve me,” I smiled and took a sip of coffee. It was prepared perfectly.
“You’re the best,” I gave her one more lingering kiss, placed the coffee mug and bacon on the counter, and grabbed my shoes from beside the couch.
I flopped down on the springy sofa and slipped on my shoes. “Don’t worry about anything with work today, okay Claire? I’m going to talk to Swinger first thing this morning and get it all figured out.”
I turned around and saw her frozen in front of her butcher block sink in the kitchen island with round blue-gray eyes trained on me. Her lips were fixed in a nervous, tight smile. “Okay, I’ll try,” the gorgeous blonde said. “Luckily George is out of the country for the next week, so I won’t have to deal with this situation today. I’ll probably just head out early anyway since he won’t be there.”
“That’s a great idea,” I nodded and moved to stand behind her at the sink.
I wrapped my arms around her waist, and she leaned her head back against my chest. Her silky, light blonde hair smelled like fresh vanilla and soap. I breathed her scent in deeply, then kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m just full of them,” she said with a giggle.
“I’d love to stay and hang out with you, but I’ve really got to get going,” I explained and gave her an exaggerated pout.
“I understand babe, it’s fine,” she replied and gave my fake pouty lip a quick kiss. “I’m probably just going to stay in today, so let me know if you find out anything, okay?”
“Of course I will, just as soon as I can,” I assured her, scooped up my bacon and coffee, and headed for the front door. “See you later, candy britches.”
“Hey, John,” she said as I moved toward the door.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Look, I know that we aren’t really a ‘thing,’ and I know that it’s mutual, and I know we have like ‘benefits,’ and all that, but thanks for coming over.”
“You got it, sweetheart,” I winked at her, and then turned back around.
I heard her giggle melodically as the door closed behind me. Then I sped around the enormous table in the foyer and pressed the down arrow on the elevator. Apparently, no one had used it since I had come up the night before, so it immediately dinged and opened.
I rushed inside and pressed the ground floor button. The elevator descended quickly as I took a big bite of the thick-cut bacon. The doors slid open, and I once again faced the immaculate green tile floor of the lobby. An elderly, white-haired doorman dressed in hunter green with gold trim stood in the doorway and opened it for me as I drew closer.
“Have a great day, sir,” he said blandly as I exited the building.
“Thanks, you too,” I replied cheerfully.
I wondered where the doorman had been the previous night, but pushed the thought from my mind as I strode through the doors and headed to my vehicle. Downtown was especially foggy that morning and presented a challenge as I attempted to navigate the flow of traffic. I cut through a back alley that led me straight to a one-way street that directly connected to the highway, jumped on 75-E, and flew back to my apartment in the Cedars area just south of downtown. Fortunately, most of the traffic was headed into downtown, not away from it, so I made it home before 8:30 a.m.
I whipped into the garage and parked in the closest available spot near the elevator. I jogged toward the double metal doors as I clicked the black key fob to lock my car, then pressed the elevator call button. I shook my leg impatiently as the elevator crept to the basement level.
“Come on,” I whispered.
The metal doors finally creaked open. I rushed inside, pressed the button for floor fourteen, and cursed under my breath when I realized I’d left the bacon and coffee Claire had thoughtfully prepared for me back in my car.
Oh, well. At least I’d have something to enjoy on the ride to work.
The elevator had just begun to rise when it stopped on the ground floor. I sighed, annoyed with my bad luck, until I saw who entered the elevator.
Katerina Volkov looked stunning in skin-tight black yoga pants, a hot pink, body-hugging athletic top, and fashionable matching black and pink gym shoes. Her short, jet black hair was pulled away from her delicate face with a neon pink headband. Somehow her makeup had not budged during her workout, her eyes were still fringed with long, dark lashes, and her cheeks flushed only where blush was applied. Her ensemble made her look like she’d stepped off the cover of a fitness magazine.
“Well, good morning, 14B,” the toned raven-haired beauty purred.
“Hi, good morning. Did you have a good workout?” I asked and stepped to the side to give the dark-haired beauty some space in the tiny enclosure.
“I had a wonderful yoga session, yes,” she replied as she stared straight ahead at her reflection in the shiny elevator doors. “And what has you out and about so early in your casual clothes?”
“Oh, I stayed at a friend’s house last night. I’m just here to shower and change, then it’s back to the daily grind,” I explained.
She glanced at me with a raised eyebrow, “A friend?”
“Yes, an old friend. We’ve known each other for nearly ten years,” I replied, but knew exactly what question she was really asking.
The elevator dinged and saved me from that impending awkward conversation.
“See you around,” I said with a smile, strode quickly to my front door, and hurried to unlock it. I ran down the hall and undressed as I went. I started the shower, grabbed a fresh towel, and slipped off my boxers before I stepped under the steaming shower head.
I lingered in the shower for a moment after I finished bathing and let the warm water trickle soothingly down my back, then I stepped out and dried off with a midnight blue cotton towel. I rubbed the towel roughly over my hair, then hung it on the wall rack to dry before I strode nude to my bedroom to get dressed.
I slipped on a pair of red plaid boxers, black Gold Toe socks, and gray pinstripe slacks, then selected a white collared shirt from my walk-in closet. I buttoned up the shirt, tucked it in, and removed the matching gray suit coat from its hanger before I exited the closet.
I grabbed my black Oxfords that were still on the floor next to my closet from the previous day, sat down on my bed, and rapidly tied the laces. I retrieved my wallet, phone, and keys from my jeans and slipped them into my pockets before I headed toward the front door.
I locked the door behind me and sped toward the elevator. It opened immediately, so I jumped inside and pressed the garage floor button.
How should I approach this with Swinger? I didn’t know where to begin. Our client going after an innocent person and being set up by their number one competitor probably wouldn’t sit well with that scrutinous attorney. He’d want hard evidence, as would any federal judge, so I’d need to recruit Claire to get the dirt on her sleazy boss first, and somehow arrange for a face-to-face meeting with Susanna Jenkins to determine if I really believed in her innocence.
The elevator doors slid
open, and I bounded toward my car. I jumped in, slammed the door, cranked up, and backed out of the spot quickly.
The clock on my car’s screen read 8:48 a.m. I sighed, then remembered I hadn’t heard from my sick paralegal yet. I emerged from the garage and found the air to be just as foggy as when I’d left downtown, as if the misty cloud had followed me home. I dialed Elizabeth’s cell phone from the beemer.
“Hey boss,” a voice croaked after a few rings.
“Hey kiddo, how ya’ feelin’ this morning?” I asked as I sped toward the highway.
“A little better,” she sniffled. “But I still need to take another sick day, if that’s alright with you.”
“Yes, of course it is, Liz,” I replied. “Stay through the weekend too, if you need it.”
“No, it’s okay,” my paralegal responded. “I’ve taken some meds so I should be better soon.”
“Okay, but if you get the entire office sick, Swinger will have your ass,” I joked.
“I know, I know,” she said and let out a raspy cough. “I’m on antibiotics now, so I shouldn’t be contagious by tomorrow.”
“Alright, well you get some rest and start feeling better soon,” I said gently. “We’ll miss you at the office today, but take care of yourself, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
We said our goodbyes, and I flew toward my office. I picked up the two remaining pieces of my unfinished bacon and savored the crunchy, salted strips of meat on the drive. When I was finished, I wiped my greasy fingers on the cleanest part of the napkin. Somehow I made it to the downtown parking garage at exactly 9:02 a.m. I still don’t know how I managed that, but I was thankful someone watched over me that morning.
I parked on the second floor of the dismal stone structure, grabbed my to-go mug and briefcase from the passenger floorboard, and strode toward the steps that led to Main Street. I reached the front doors of the building and used my pointer finger on the hand that held the coffee mug to open the glass door. As I entered, I glanced up at the large, square analog clock that was mounted above the reception desk.
9:06 a.m.