Through an unusual series of events, she helped take out a rogue agent who was moonlighting, killing holistic doctors for a large pharmaceutical company. This bought her some goodwill with her former agency and they let her retire.
Her real name was Sara Savage, code name, Nightshade. A condition of her retirement was to change her name to Martha Miller and take a job in a local flower shop.
She was spotted, identified, and captured by a terrorist cell. Ultimately, she was instrumental in exposing that cell and averting a disaster. Since she had been identified, it was necessary to reinvent herself again. Now she is Helen Hunter and works in a pet store in Waldo.
“Helen?” I asked. “Do you really think we should get her involved in this mess?”
“Who do you know that knows more about how these spooks operate? And remember how she took out that rogue agent. That old gal’s got some skills.”
I thought about it for a moment. “I can’t think of anything better. Let’s pay her a visit.”
I had Kevin give her a call and set up a meeting. I still had my suspicions that both my cell phone and home phone were bugged.
Remembering that the front of my building was probably being watched, I had him drive around to the street behind.
We met Helen at her little rented bungalow.
“What’s up, boys? Why the urgent meeting?”
I repeated everything I had told Kevin earlier. As I shared my story, I saw her demeanor change from sweet and demure to steely and hard.
When I finished, she just shook her head. “You boys are in way over your heads. Whatever is in that box is obviously important enough to kill for, and you’re up against some pros. Randall Stokes and Brian Steele. I know those two. They work for Garret Scarborough. None of them are to be trusted. No telling what they would do if they got their hands on that box. Probably sell it to the highest bidder.”
“That’s what Ishmael and Mark Davenport said. They didn’t trust them either. How can people like that be a part of the agency that’s supposed to be protecting our country?”
“Powerful connections for one. No telling where their loyalties lie. They might also have compromising information about people in high places. There is so much corruption in our government. People just don’t understand how far-reaching it is.”
“And even if they did know,” I added, “what could they do about it? Frankly, I don’t think people really care. They’d rather look the other way than get involved. To be honest, I wish I’d never set eyes on that box. We’re involved and look where we are.”
“Back to the subject at hand,” Kevin said. “Any ideas? Can you help?”
She thought for a moment. “Maybe, but we’re going to need all the help we can get. I’m wondering about Alexandra Dupree, Ishmael’s contact here in Kansas City. He must have trusted her. Even though Ishmael’s dead, maybe she’s still in play. I think we should try to contact her.”
“The guy in Washington couldn’t get in touch with her. He wasn’t even sure she was still alive.”
“I guess we won’t know until we try,” Helen replied. “You said you have her phone number.”
“I do.”
“Good! Then give your old buddy, Ox, a call and have his tech guys ping her phone.”
Helen may have been retired, but she certainly wasn’t out to pasture.
“Good idea. Kevin, give me your phone. Mine may be bugged.”
Kevin handed me his phone and I dialed Ox’s cell.
“Kevin,” he answered, “what’s up?”
“This is Walt. I’m using Kevin’s phone. I need a favor.”
“Sure, buddy. Name it.”
“I’ll give you a cell phone number. I’d like you to have your tech guys ping it and give us a location.”
“Oh, is that all? I’m sticking my neck out you know. You guys have a new case?”
“Something like that. This is really important. Can you do it?”
“Give me the number. I’m at the precinct. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Fifteen minutes later, he called back.
“You’re not going to believe this. The cell phone we pinged is across the street and down a half-block from your building. What’s going on, Walt?”
“I can’t tell you right now. Maybe later. Thanks, I gotta go.”
I turned to Helen and Kevin. “She’s right across the street in a rental unit. Ishmael must have placed her there to keep an eye on things and let him know when I placed an X on the window. I guess the good news is that I haven’t seen any cops over there in the past few days, so there must not have been any dead bodies.”
“Then let’s pay our mysterious friend a visit,” Helen said.
Figuring my building was probably being watched, we parked on the block behind and entered her building from the rear.
“Third floor,” I said, “apartment 3-A.”
“Let me do this,” Helen said. “Undoubtedly she knows her boss is dead and she may be expecting them to come after her.”
We climbed the three flights of stairs and found 3-A.
Helen knocked softly. “Alexandra, my name is Helen. I’m here with Walt Williams and his partner. We need to talk.”
No response.
She knocked again. “Alexandra, we know Ishmael is dead. Someone at his number gave us your number. You must be scared to death. We need to work together so we can all get out of this alive.”
We heard footsteps inside and saw a shadow on the peephole. She was checking us out.
A moment later, the door opened. Alexandra Dupree looked like a young Meg Ryan, late twenties, early thirties. She looked past us, up and down the hall.
“Come in.” She quickly shut the door and bolted it tight. “I hope you weren’t seen coming into the building.”
“No,” Helen replied, “we parked on the block in back and came in through the rear entrance.”
“I know these two,” she said. “Walt and his partner, Kevin. Who are you?”
We had decided if we wanted her help we should be upfront with her.
“My name right now is Helen Hunt. I used to be Sara Savage. My code name was Nightshade when I was an agent with Consular Ops.”
Alexandra’s eyes grew wide. “Nightshade! We studied some of your cases at Langley. You’re kind of a legend there. How did you get involved in this mess?”
Helen nodded to Kevin. “This bozo’s my son-in-law.”
I saw the confusion on her face. “But he looks older than you. A lot older.”
“It’s a long story,” Helen replied. “We need to talk about our current predicament. What can you tell us about Ishmael?”
I saw tears well up in her eyes. “He was a brilliant man. He developed a surveillance system that made the NSA’s snooping look like kid’s stuff. Naturally, it had to be kept under wraps. After all, no one wants the government poking around in our private affairs.
“In the short time it was being used, he uncovered dozens of terrorist plots that were thwarted before they could be carried out. Unfortunately, the public never hears about that. They only hear about our government snooping on our private conversations.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “If this system was so great, why is the guy dead?”
“Not only did Ishmael uncover terrorist plots, he also uncovered things that people in high places didn’t want exposed, congressmen taking payoffs to support special interest legislation, the FDA taking payoffs from large pharmaceutical companies, Defense Department officials taking payoffs from weapons manufacturers. That kind of thing. He had information that would shake the very foundation of our political structure.”
I shook my head. “So he had to be eliminated --- for the good of the country, I suppose. What a shame.”
“Back to our current situation,” Kevin said. “As you well know, Walt has a box locked in his safe, and some very bad people are trying to get their hands on it. What the hell is in that box?”
She s
hook her head. “Ishmael would never tell me. He said it was better for me if I didn’t know, but that I should protect it with my life.”
I sighed. “That’s exactly what he told me.”
“So, we’re right back where we started,” Kevin said.
“No, we’re not,” I replied. “A few hours ago, Alexandra and I both thought we were all alone in this thing. Now there’s four of us. Much better odds.”
“Speaking of that,” Helen said, “before he signed off, your man in Washington said the North Koreans might be dipping their toes in the water. Have you heard anything about that?”
Alexandra nodded. “That was the last information I received from Ishmael before he --- before he was killed. He had intel that two North Korean agents had arrived in Kansas City, and that it wouldn’t be long before they were onto our location. They may very well be out there right now.”
“Swell,” Kevin said. “Two Americans and two Koreans. Well, at least it’s four against four.”
“Maybe not,” Helen said. “I think it might be time for the Shanghai Bait and Wait.”
“The what?”
“I know what that is!” Alexandra said, enthusiastically. “We studied it at Langley. If I remember correctly, you had a thumb drive that had a list of our operatives inside China. Naturally, the Chinese wanted it, but so did the Russians. You let the Russians get a fake drive with bogus information. When the Chinese found out, they went after the Russians and you made your escape while they were battling it out.”
“You were a good student, Alexandra. That could work for us too. So far, the Kansas City mafia took out the Russians and the Americans took out the Chinese. If we can get the Americans and the North Koreans at each other’s throats, maybe we can make those odds four to two.”
“I’m in!” Alexandra said, “and by the way, you can just call me Alex.”
So there we were, two old dudes in their mid-seventies, a retired CIA operative, and new agent, still wet behind the ears, plotting against four trained assassins.
“Scarborough was really pissed that we lost Williams in Osceola,” Stokes said as they sat in their car a block from the apartment building. “He must have called ahead for help.”
“He’s leading a charmed life for sure,” Steele replied. “At least our guy took out Ishmael’s man in Springfield before Williams could deliver the box.”
“That means it must be back in that apartment building somewhere.”
“What were Scarborough’s orders? Is he ready for us to storm the place and get this over with?”
“Not yet. Apparently Williams has a half-brother in the agency, Mark Davenport. He’s afraid if we ice Williams and the other old-timers in the building, Davenport will get bent out of shape and come snooping. He said to sit tight and await his orders.”
Juwon Rhee and Kim Chung pulled to the curb after circling the block.
“The American agents are in that car,” Rhee said, pointing to the blue sedan, “and that’s the building where the box is being held a block ahead.”
“So how are we to proceed?” Chung asked. “If we try to take the building, the Americans will see.”
“Our orders are to watch the Americans. They have been on this since the beginning. They have a much better chance of acquiring the box. Once they have it in their possession we will make our move. They may not know of our presence and we can take them by surprise.”
“If we succeed,” Chung said, smiling, “Kim Jong-un will reward us with great riches.”
“But if we fail,” Rhee said, grimly, “he will have our heads.”
CHAPTER 11
The first thing we needed for operation Bait and Wait was a box identical to the one hidden in my safe. That wasn’t a difficult task. It was just an ordinary box with a lid. It was what was inside that made it special. I snuck out the back of my building, made a trip to Office Depot, and found just the box I was looking for. I figured while I was there I might as well get several of them. They just might come in handy in the future.
The next part of our operation was trickier. We had to involve one of my tenants, Bernice. We discussed the notion of telling her the truth, but we feared that if we told her armed assassins were watching our building from across the street, she would pull the little .32 from her ankle holster and storm the car.
I hated to lie to my old friend, but in the final analysis, we decided it was the best course of action.
I knocked on her door, and much to my dismay, she was sporting the titty tassels she had given Dad for his birthday.
I quickly averted my eyes. “Bernice, could you possibly put on a robe? We need to talk.”
“Be right back,” she replied, obviously not a bit embarrassed.
Dad stepped into the room pulling up his pants. “Son, your timing sucks.”
“Sorry about that,” I replied, trying my best not to snicker. “I need to borrow Bernice for a few hours.”
At that moment, Bernice returned. She had taken my advice literally and was just closing a fluffy pink robe, but not before both Dad and I got another look at his dangly birthday presents.
“You wouldn’t believe how fast she can twirl those things,” he whispered.
An image flashed into my mind that I would have to try to forget.
“Okay, Son,” Dad said, “What’s so all-fired important that you have to interrupt our little tête-à-tête?”
“I’d like Bernice to bake a batch of her scrumptious snickerdoodles.”
“You interrupted us for cookies?” Dad asked incredulously. “What on earth for?”
“A gift,” I replied, “for some very special guys.”
Now I’d captured Bernice’s interest. “What kind of guys?”
“Courageous men who’ve volunteered for Neighborhood Watch. There have been reports of strange men lurking around the neighborhood, so two of our Neighborhood Watch guys have been sitting in their car all day protecting us. I just thought a batch of your warm snickerdoodles would be a great way to show our thanks and appreciation for their service to our community.”
Apparently I had pushed Bernice’s patriotic button.
She stood ram-rod straight and threw her head back. “I’d be honored to bake those fine men a batch of cookies.” Then she turned to Dad. “Do you want to give me a hand?”
“I don’t believe it! I’m all hot and bothered and you’ve got my squeeze baking cookies?” He looked at Bernice. “Sorry, Babe. I’m heading home for a cold shower. Let me know when you’re through being Betty Crocker.”
Dad’s not the epitome of tact.
After Dad had stomped out the door, Bernice said, “I’ll get started right now.”
“Thanks, Bernice. Let me know when you have a batch ready to go.”
Forty-five minutes later, Bernice knocked on my door.
“The first batch is out of the oven,” she announced proudly.
“Great! Hang on a minute and we’ll box them up.”
I grabbed one of the empty boxes and we headed to her apartment. The place was filled with the scent of the fresh-baked cookies.
“These smell just wonderful,” I said. “I’m sure the men outside will love them.”
We packed a dozen of them in the box and closed the lid.
“Since you baked them,” I said, “I think you should be the one to deliver them.”
Then I noticed she was still in her pink robe. “Maybe you should put something else on.”
“Not gonna do it,” she replied with a wink. “If those boys have spent their whole day protecting us, they deserve a special treat. I’m gonna deliver the cookies and maybe even give them a quick peek.”
Heaven help us! I thought.
Bernice grabbed the box of cookies and headed out the door.
“It’s the two men sitting in the blue sedan about a half-block down the street.”
She had seen the two agents at Dad’s birthday party, but with her Alzheimer’s, I was hoping she wouldn’t remember the
m.
I went to the window, parted the curtain, and crossed my fingers as I watched as Bernice cross the street, her pink robe fluttering in the breeze.
“What the hell?” Stokes said, as he saw the pink apparition heading their way. “Isn’t that Oliver McDermont’s sister?”
“Sure is,” Steele replied. “Jesus! What’s she got in her hands? It looks like the box!”
“It is the box! Surely she hasn’t had it all this time.”
At that moment, Bernice arrived and tapped on the window.
Stokes rolled it down a few inches. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought you some cookies,” she replied proudly, holding up the box.
“Cookies! Why on earth would you bring us cookies?”
“You boys have been sitting out here all day and I just thought you deserved a special treat. Here, take them. They’re still warm.”
Stokes rolled the window the rest of the way and accepted the box. “Uhhh --- thank you, I think.”
Bernice stood at attention and gave them a smart salute. “Thank you both for your service.”
The two agents were speechless.
Then Bernice leaned closer. “During World War II, the servicemen kept a picture of Marilyn Monroe to remind them of what they were fighting for. I ain’t no Marilyn Monroe, but I’m willing to do my part for my country.”
And with that, she threw open her robe and gave her tassels a twirl.
“You boys keep your powder dry,” she said, closing her robe.
Once again, the agents were speechless as they watched her walk away.
“Jesus!” Steele muttered. “Did all that just happen or was I having some kind of nightmare?”
“It must have happened,” Stokes replied. “We have the cookies to prove it.”
Lady Justice and the Mysterious Box Page 8