She was a woman of many contrasts. She came from a family of shit-kickers in Missouri, and you could tell that she’d worked hard to cover up her southern accent.
Frank had been trying to get into her pants with no success. Sharon and Luther were friends, and Luther knew that part of Frank’s inviting him out tonight was just to make Sharon feel comfortable while he tried to get some drinks into her and then get himself into her.
“Hey, Luther,” said Sharon. She hugged him tightly, patting him on the back.
She hugged Frank as well, but there was a world of difference in her manner. She seemed to like him but was made uncomfortable by his attraction to her, or perhaps it was the fact that he couldn’t hide his attraction. Luther found her alluring, as any man would, but he had instinct, and he turned his attraction off whenever she was around. It seemed foul to like Sharon. It was like dating your sister.
They made small talk for a while, Sharon telling them about a drug cartel in Argentina that had met an untimely demise. Luther talked about a fire in Stockholm.
Frank brought up the Homeland Security Act. The act was a joke, a political trick intended mostly to allow government agencies more power and money to do their jobs. E-1 had gotten a load of cash from the HSA, and so the agency would soon be upgraded in all areas.
“So, Luther,” Sharon began, “I’m sure you know this was not really a social call tonight.”
Luther nodded, and Frank seemed to be taken off guard. Luther didn’t look at him as his face fell into a subtly quizzical look to cover the obvious truth Sharon was telling. It was good and would have fooled a layman, but to Luther it was just more evidence that Frank didn’t speak the language that he and Sharon Bane did.
“Well, we really wanted to hang with you, Luth,” Frank stumbled.
A very pregnant moment passed; then Sharon sighed a little. “He’s way ahead of us, Frank,” said Sharon. “He knows why we asked him here. Don’t you, Luther?” She smiled at her friend.
Luther had surmised this a long time ago but was hoping that they would lose their nerve. He should have known better of Sharon. She had once shot herself in the side to avoid blowing her cover. She was fearless.
“You two want to know what the director said to me,” said Luther. “And since we all generally respect an agent’s right to privacy, I assume you have some interest in whatever assignment, if any, the director gave me. If that were the case, sadly, I would have to decline.”
Sharon just stared at Luther with intensity. It was as if they were reading each other’s minds. Luther stared back, and in that moment something did pass between them, an understanding born of their shared instinct.
“I’m sorry, Luther,” said Sharon. “But we know that the staff has been processing a lot of nationwide intel on local law enforcement, which leads us to believe that there’s something big going on.”
“And if it’s big,” said Frank, “you might need help.”
“It’s cool,” said Luther. He wasn’t angry with them. “I understand. “Well, if that’s all…”
“Wait,” said Frank. “The discussion can’t be over.”
“Thanks for asking me out, guys,” said Luther. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay, Luther,” said Sharon, and the guilt over trying to compromise her friend’s mission was in her voice. Luther hugged her in a forgiving manner, and when he let her go, she looked better.
Frank was ready to protest. Obviously he’d brought this whole thing about. He had come to the X Club to get information on Luther’s assignment and get Sharon Bane into bed. In his mind one was linked to the other. He’d crack Luther, Sharon would be grateful, and before she knew it, he’d be between her legs. Now he saw both prizes slipping away. He didn’t protest, however. He just remained silent.
Luther finished his drink and then descended the riser back to the bar and dance floor. He searched for Tomiko, but she was gone. He gave the place the once-over, then left. Tomiko’s party was still chattering at a table, so he figured she had decided to find some other man interesting and go home with him.
He was a little surprised when he went out to the valet and found her waiting for him.
“Your friends are long-winded,” she said.
“I was headed home,” said Luther. He gave the valet his ticket.
“Are you sure that beautiful girl you were with in there won’t mind?” she asked.
“You don’t seem like the jealous type,” he said.
“And you never answer a question directly.” Tomiko moved closer to him, nestling under his arm. “Maybe you’ll be more talkative tomorrow morning.”
They didn’t talk much on the way back to Luther’s place. Tomiko rubbed his leg and pulled his hand under her skirt while he drove. It was elegant the way she did it, as if she’d done it before, but not with just anyone.
They got to his condo and went inside the building under the watchful eye of the guard at the door. Luther very badly wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t really like public displays of affection. Tomiko controlled herself as well, and it only made what was coming more exciting for them both.
When Luther got to his door, Tomiko pulled him to her and kissed him hard. He gave in for a moment and then moved to find his keys. She pulled his hand to her breast, as if sensing that he was going to do some other silly thing with it.
Luther was letting go, wanting her body and the lovely, sweet abandon it would bring. Then all his instincts were immediately turned back on.
The polycord on the doorjamb was broken.
Luther pushed Tomiko away a little too hard. He moved back and assumed a slightly crouched posture. How stupid he’d been, he thought. He knew that desire was the most potent of all disablers, and no matter how many times you read the E-1 manual, no matter how many courses in counteragent methods you took, you lost IQ points when your dick got stiff.
“What’s wrong?” asked Tomiko breathlessly.
Luther didn’t answer. He just watched her standing there looking gorgeous and confused. Did she know that his place had been compromised? Did she kiss him because she wanted to fuck him or because she wanted him to go inside without seeing that the polycord seal had been broken? Luther’s face fell into a flat, dangerous look, the look that said he was about to do violence, and Tomiko unconsciously took a step backward.
If she was going to do something, it would happen right now, Luther thought, and he’d have to respond quickly and cleanly. He had a backup weapon, an S&W shorty .40 in an ankle holster. The P99 was too big to hide under his clothes. He’d have to drop her before she could reach hers. But Tomiko just kept looking at him with innocence and fear in her eyes. The moment was heavy, but he did not sense danger from her.
Luther quickly assessed the situation and began to relax. If Tomiko was out to get him, she could have done so many times in the car or at the club. She was just what he thought she was: a beautiful woman who wanted to sleep with him.
“I’m okay,” said Luther. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay tonight.”
“Are you married or something?” she asked with a tiny bit of disappointment in her voice.
“No, I’m not,” he responded calmly. “Look, the guard downstairs will call a car for you. I’m sorry, Tomiko, really.”
Tomiko was struck silent. Luther could see so many things going through her head: Was he lying? Was he gay? Was he crazy? She stood straight and then walked over to him, placing a small kiss on his cheek.
“Take care, Jordan,” she said. And she said his name as if she wasn’t sure it was his real name. She had intuition, too, this woman, and he was deeply sorry to see her move away from him. He wanted to grab her, to forget who and what he was, but that feeling was buried under a mountain of training and discipline.
Luther watched her walk off. When he was sure she was gone, he pulled the shorty .40 and went inside. He moved into the little hallway off the front door. He knew that if there were someone still inside, he wo
uld have to show himself soon or the element of surprise would be lost. Who would be foolish enough to try to take down an E-1 agent in D.C.? Not many, Luther thought, but that didn’t stop him from moving into the living room, then into the bedrooms and kitchen, looking for intruders. He checked each closet and even the ledge outside the window. He made a thorough sweep and even did a quick electronic scan for devices. It was all clear.
But someone had been inside his place, he thought. Luther turned off all the lights, went into his utility area, and removed a pair of thermal readout glasses. Through the glasses Luther could now see impressions of depth and temperature. The glasses were effective, but they hurt his eyes like all hell.
Luther saw his own depression tracks. Temperature readings showed pink where he had pressed his hands just moments before. Then he saw them—foot impressions left by someone else. The impressions looked to be those of a smaller person. He followed the footprints into his bedroom and saw them stop by his bed.
He saw hand impressions and temperature readings on his bedcovers. The handprints were thick and rounded at the fingertips, telling Luther that the intruder had worn gloves. The impressions ended at his pillow.
Luther gently pressed the pillow and heard the soft crinkle of paper as he did. He took off the glasses and lifted the pillow carefully. His eyes adjusted, and the pain stopped as he did.
Under the pillow, written on a piece of plain white paper and printed with care and precision, was this message:
DON’T TAKE THE MISSION.
The Evidence of Nothing
The note that had been secreted into his room was on Luther’s mind as he read through the case file on Alex Deavers. He didn’t know who had left the missive, and he wasn’t going to try to find out right now. That would just slow him down, and if he reported it to Kilmer, it might endanger his status on the mission.
He did surmise that the note writer was an insider, someone who had training and knew how to break into a place virtually undetected. It could have been anybody from E-1, even Kilmer. Hampton was back in the United States, but he was getting ready to accompany Luther on the mission. He ruled Hampton out. Frank and Sharon Bane had both come to the X Club late and were not together, so it could have been either of them.
These were troubling thoughts for Luther, but if the note writer had wanted to do him harm, he or she would have tried.
Luther had gotten up early to read over the file on Deavers’s disappearance. They had him tracked fairly well until Canada, and then they’d found the wrong man on a ship. The Canadians had good government agents, and if they’d lost Alex, it was only because he was good, not because they were deficient. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Border Police, and the Security Intelligence Review Committee all had good people and expert trackers and fully cooperated with the United States.
If he was going to find Alex Deavers, he’d have to be resourceful. An agent leaves the evidence of nothing, he said again to himself. But that truth was relative. If nothing was left, then no one could ever find an agent. What Deavers had meant was that an agent leaves a trail of normality, a statement that things are maybe too right and good.
Luther looked at the ship’s log information again. The Sjømannskirken, a Norwegian freighter, had left Great Britain and had an uneventful journey to a northern Canadian port in the province of Quebec, in Tête-à-la-Baleine. Once it got there, Gustav Brehimson, a man with questionable papers, had gotten off and disappeared. This was the man E-1 thought to be Alex Deavers.
When the man calling himself Brehimson was located, it was discovered that his real name was Norske Svalbard and that he was an illegal immigrant from Norway. Alex was nowhere to be found.
Luther checked again and again, looking for anything he might find. Then, in the captain’s supplemental log, a massive pile of paper that contained everything useless that had occurred on the voyage, there was an entry that stood out. Luther didn’t know why the entry was not listed separately as a report or put into the main log. He guessed that the captain didn’t want to bother with all the paperwork involved. On its second night, the Sjømannskirken had been aided by a ship named the Métier, a French vessel headed for the United States. The Métier had come upon the Sjømannskirken when she had developed engine trouble and had stopped for repairs at sea. The captain of the Sjømannskirken had logged information earlier about questionable engines in port. He allowed the other ship to assist, and then both ships had gone on their separate ways. The entry was a single paragraph.
Luther smiled and almost laughed at the simplicity of the event.
That was how Alex had done it.
Alex was indeed on the Sjømannskirken as Gustav Brehimson, but he had switched ships. Alex had sabotaged the engine and jumped aboard the Baltimore-bound Métier. He’d switched his papers with Norske Svalbard and then vanished. It was a classic E-1 diversion. Alex had gotten information on the Métier’s course and planned to have the ships rendezvous. The son of a bitch had gone straight into the States.
Luther’s heart began to race. He quickly got on his computer and accessed E-1’s mainframe. There he got the information on the Métier. It had landed in Baltimore, and only its captain had kept an official record of the midocean encounter.
Alex had sneaked into the country and landed just miles from E-1 itself. It was quintessential agent logic: hide in plain sight.
Luther called Hampton, who praised him on his sleuthing. Then he reported his findings to Kilmer and started planning his trip. He didn’t see it done, but he knew as soon as he hung up the phone that his little gold button was moved from Washington, D.C., to Baltimore.
As Luther prepared to go, a thought crept back into his head. It was vague at first and then became focused and intense. The mark of a good agent is that his analytical mind processed information subconsciously. Since Kilmer had said these words, Luther had been haunted by them. It was a slip of the tongue from a man who never slipped, a lapse from a man who could not afford to have gaps in his logic. And for an agent it was undeniably a clue to something.
“…in possession of that information, too.”
Luther was tracking a dangerous man who held something that the leader of the agency did not want to tell him about. He’d be leaving for Baltimore with more than one mystery on his mind.
Luther
Luther set out that day to make the short drive from D.C. to Baltimore, with Hampton riding shotgun. He and Hampton had done many missions together. They got along fine, but Hampton was a stickler for protocol, and Luther liked to wing it. Once, on an assignment in Korea, Hampton’s by-the-book attitude caused them to be discovered, and an ambush was set for them. Luther saw the sign of the trap, but instead of avoiding it, which was the standard policy, he engaged the men and killed them all. Hampton had almost been shot. Afterward they argued bitterly about who was at fault. In Luther’s mind Hampton was a stiff, and in Hampton’s mind Luther could be a loose cannon. It was a good match.
The black Ford pulsed with the sounds of Biggie Smalls. The rearview mirror vibrated with the thick bass.
“Do we have to listen to that stuff all the time?” asked Hampton, referring to the music. “I know it gets you in the mood, but it just gives me a headache.”
“Sorry, but I need my music.”
“Would a little Coldplay kill you?”
“Yes, it would,” said Luther. He actually liked the group, but he was a creature of habit. “You always complain about the music. I would think that by now you would’ve established an appreciation.”
“It’s all derivative imitation, and you know it. Hip-hop is the beginning of the end of society.”
They laughed, and Luther drove on. To anyone on the freeway, they could have been two friends off to a fun weekend, not two men looking for a third man who had to be killed.
“Do you think anyone else knows about our mission?” asked Luther.
“No, but it’s not impossible that someone would know,” said Hampton. “Ev
en secret agencies have leaks. Why? Someone say something to you?”
“No,” said Luther. He started to tell Hampton about the note but thought better of it.
Hampton flipped open a laptop computer and accessed the mainframe. Luther saw a map of Baltimore pop on-screen. Then the screen split, and a list of weapons and devices appeared. Hampton was mapping out a strategy and scenarios for finding Alex. That’s why he was the best TWA in E-1. He was always thinking ahead.
Luther let Hampton go to his business and immersed himself in the throbbing bass of the song. He was in full mission mode now, ready for anything.
Luther Martin Green had been born into a normal midwestern family. His parents, Roland and Theresa, were both from the South—Kentucky and New Orleans, respectively. Roland and Theresa had five children: Micah James, Ruth Ann, Thomas Paul, Mary Theresa, whom they all called Mary Sunshine because of her fascination with shiny objects, and finally Luther.
Like most people in Detroit, the home they made in the North was just a transplanted southern one. They struggled financially but always managed to keep the family afloat.
Luther was a tiny thing when he was born, and his mother had nicknamed him Cricket because of this. But as he grew up, it soon became obvious that young Luther was an exceptional human being. He seemed to know things before they were taught, and that which was instructed was learned immediately. He was talking and reading early and before long had plowed his way through every book in the house.
Theresa and Roland were of course proud of their son. So within the limits of their financially challenged lives, they steered resources toward the bright young man.
Luther breezed through a special prep school for gifted students and later Cass Tech High in Detroit.
In high school he met Vanessa Brown, a sweet little junior who was every bit as smart as he was. She was a book nerd but cute as she could be, and she always had a smile on her face. They bonded, sharing dreams and sweet kisses, and one night when her parents were away, they made love for the first time with each other.
The Executioner's Game Page 5