by Jake Devlin
“Yes; it's the only chance I have to meet these clients.”
“Well, good luck with that.”
“Thanks, Jake. Have a good day.”
“I will, Charlotte; thanks. You, too.
As he unloaded his stuff and headed to the beach, Jake heard Charlotte calling to 'her' cats. “Here, Andrea, Yasi, Casey. C'mon, Cori, Cocheta, Heidi, Tammy, Crystal, Diane, Dianne, Dianna, Dakota, Patrick, Susan, Courtney.”
Two minutes after getting himself set up near the high water line, he saw Pam running onto the sand, carrying her beach stuff, an indecipherable expression on her face.
“Oh, Jake, I can't believe you did it,” she panted.
“Did what? G'morning, Pam.”
“You've just put yourself in the crosshairs again.”
“What?”
In the elevated gazebo in front of the Lee County restrooms, Jill, one of the Mimosa twins, switched on her equipment. Carie, the other twin, hidden from view in the middle gazebo on the Collier side, also switched hers on.
“I told you not to touch that stuff, that it'd put you in danger, and now you've got 23 pages of it in there, all way too close to the real facts. Have you let anybody else see that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The info that waitress gave you when we met over there,” she said, pointing generally at the towers across the street, “the one I told you would put you in danger.”
“Oh, that; yeah, I remember. I found a lot of stuff on the internet, and that led to lots more, and I just had to include it; it was so explosive and covered up.”
“Well, it's a hornet's nest, and you have no idea what they could do to you just for knowing about it, much less putting it in the book.”
“But it's all on the internet, I think. Some of it was awfully hard to find, but it's there. I did push some of the situations to add some pizzazz to the plot, but --”
“Jake, I don't know how you did it, but you were like 99 percent accurate.”
“Really? Holy shit. I was just spicing it up. Damn.”
“Has anybody else seen this? Anybody at all?”
“No, Pam, nobody; just you – well, I did send the stuttering stuff to a friend who's a speech therapist for some suggestions; that's it. Nobody else. Really.”
“Well, you've got to take it out. If you leave it in and publish it, I guarantee you'll be dead within a month after that.”
“Oh, Pam --”
Pam raised an index finger and shook it in Jake's face.
“No, Jake, I'm serious. Don't be naive; these people play for keeps. Don't forget, I've been on the inside, Secret Service and the CIA before that. Those people have long memories and they hold grudges over lifetimes.”
“But --”
“No buts, Jake. Christ, I can't believe it. You don't seem all that suicidal, but you're setting yourself up in ways you can't even begin to comprehend. You like waving red flags in front of angry bulls?”
“How am I setting myself up, exactly?”
“Okay, okay. Let me catch my breath.”
“Take your time. Want some water?”
“Got some right here, but thanks.” She took a long swig from a bottle, then flipped open her beach chair and flopped into it, taking several deep, deep breaths.
“Okay? Better?”
“Just another minute. Geez, I still can't believe it.” She pulled a towel from her bag and wiped her face, throat and shoulders, took several more deep breaths and moved her chair to face Jake, right beside his lounge, as close as she could get.
“Okay, Jake. First, you've got to keep this totally confidential.”
“Okay. Promise.”
“I mean it; it could be dangerous for both of us.”
“I mean it, too; promise.”
Pam dropped her voice to a near-whisper. “Okay. You know I was Secret Service.”
“And CIA before that. I know.”
“CIA's not relevant to this. But in the Service, I was on the PPD twice, once --”
“The what?”
“PPD, Presidential Protection Detail.”
“Ah, okay.”
“Once from '99 to '02, and again from '07 to '09.”
“Wow. So Clinton to Bush and then Bush to Obama, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay. Is that when you got shot?”
“No, no; that was '91, not relevant to this.”
“Okay; sorry.”
“Anyhow, I was assigned to the First Ladies both times.”
“Wow. Bet you heard all kinds of stuff.”
“Yes, I did. But I can't tell you anything about what I heard, other than to tell you that some of the stuff I heard in the last part of my second tour confirms what you've got in those 23 pages; I have no idea how you got it so right.”
“Like I said, Pam, I was just taking what I got off the internet and spicing it up for a more dramatic oomph.”
“Well, Jake, your oomph could get you killed.”
“Geez.”
“And maybe me, too, 'cause they know that I'm involved with you.”
“Involved?”
“You know what I mean. I investigated you, I retired, I'm sitting here with you now. What would they think?”
“Christ, how paranoid are they?”
“Pretty paranoid. Think, Jake, think. Look at what you've got in those 23 pages, especially the last six or seven.”
“Oh, about the --”
“Shhh, Jake. Don't even mention it. You never know who might be listening.”
“Even here?”
“Even here.”
“Geez, Pam; I didn't think. I had no idea that a little bit of fiction would put you in danger, too. I'll take those right out, tonight.”
“Oh, thank you, Jake, thank you.”
Pam leaned over and gave Jake an awkward hug and then kissed him on the mouth. Then she gasped and pulled away.
“Oh, Jake, I'm sorry.” She blushed. “I'm so embarrassed.”
“That's okay, Pam. No need to be. That was … um … nice.”
“I was just so worried for you when I read that.”
“And for yourself.”
“That was later, much later, after I remembered what I'd heard.”
“That's okay, Pam; it's gone.”
“Good.”
“Well, as soon as I get home. I'll write something around it. I can figure it out.”
Pam pulled up her towel and wiped her eyes, although she tried to make it look as if she were wiping her whole face, and then her throat and shoulders. Jake lay back on his lounge, watching her, a smile playing its way across his mouth. After a moment, Pam glanced at him.
“What?”
“Again, you never fail to surprise and amaze me.”
“Why, suh, whatevuh do you mean?” Pam asked, again dropping into her Southern accent. Then, without the accent, she immediately followed that with, “Actually, Jake, that feeling is mutual.”
“Why, ma'am, whatevuh do you mean?” Jake asked, dropping into his own Southern accent.
“It's when I read your stuff, and from getting to know you and the brain behind all that.”
“Oh, dear. I'm not sure you really want to know that. Sometimes it gets a little carried away; the filter goes bye-bye.”
“The what? Filter?”
“Filter. That thing that we all learn to stick in there between our wacky old brain and the mouth, so we can fit in with society. But for me, I put it away when I get in front of the PC and let the craziness go through my fingertips into the keyboard and onto the screen.”
“Ah.”
“And sometimes it's tough for me to get it back and stick it in where it's supposed to be. It sorta goes bye-bye.”
“I get it, I think.”
“Sometimes I worry that maybe someday I won't be able to get it back, and then … and then it's off to the loony bin for ol' Jake.” He wiped his knuckles at the corners of his eyes.
“Oh, Jake,”
Pam said, “I don't think you need to worry about that. You seem to be able to put it back when you need to.”
“For now, yeah. But down the road? I don't know. I just don't know.”
“Oh, Jake,” Pam said, reaching over and taking his hand in hers and holding it tightly. “We never know what the future will bring, do we?”
Jake squeezed her hand. “Thank you. You're right; we don't.”
“Nobody does. So we just do --”
They finished the sentence together. “The best we can.” Then they both laughed and looked into each other's eyes.
“Look, the sun's coming up, Pam,” Jake said as the first gleam of its rays hit her and shone brightly on her face.
“Oh, cool. It's beautiful.”
“Want to take a walk?”
“Sure. Will our stuff be safe?”
“Yup, no problem. Nobody's here.”
“Let me just take my little bag along. And I'd feel a lot better if you brought your backup CD.”
“Oh, I don't think – okay.”
Jake pulled out his CD as Pam dug a smallish bag out of her beach bag and threw the strap over her shoulder.
“Ready, old man?” Pam asked, getting out of her chair.
“Ready, kid. I want to show you the Wacky Future house.”
“The what house?”
“The Wacky Future house; that's what we call it. You'll see.” Jake climbed off his lounge, with a quick assist from Pam and a subdued creaking from his knees.
As they walked south, arm in arm and then hand in hand as they adjusted their pace, Carie and Jill both turned off their equipment. Once Pam and Jake had gone a good ways, Carie sneaked out of the Collier gazebo and joined Jill up on the one in Lee County. They high-fived and then both of them wiped the corners of their eyes.
“This is gonna be good, Jillybean,” Carie said, smiling.
“Nobody knows the future, Carie Berry,” Jill said, also smiling.
“No, they don't,” a deep, raspy female voice said in their earbuds. “But I can see farther into it than you two can.”
“Don't you mean 'further,' Sharon?” said Carie.
“No, 'farther' is right,” Jill interjected.
“Now, now, you two, don't be divisive,”
“Don't you mean divisive?” Jill said, chuckling.
“No, I mean divisive,” Sharon snarled. “It's way too early in the morning. Why don't you go get a couple of Mimosas at Pop's? You've got time and I'll cover for you from up here.”
“Now, that's a great idea,” the twins responded. And they did just that.
-57-
Saturday, January 7, 2012
1:33 p.m. Local time
An obscure apartment on Via Tigre
Rome, Italy
The call came over his sat phone. “Gaetano here. Hold on.” He hit the mute button and said, “Get dressed and be gone” to the blond Swedish beauty lying naked on the bed beside him, who looked at him quizzically until he translated his command into his native language, adding “You must never tell anyone about this. Do you understand?” The boy nodded, picked up his school uniform and began to put it on.
“No, not here; in there,” Gaetano said, pointing to the bathroom. “And close the door while you clean yourself.” The boy complied, slamming the door.
Looking out the window past the Villa Borghese to St. Peter's and the Vatican in the distance, he again hit the mute button.
“Speak.” A brief pause. “WHAT? Dead? Minchia! Where? When? How?” He listened intently, his face betraying no emotion at all. And when he finally spoke, his voice was granite.
“An RPG? Anything to connect him back to us?” Another brief pause. “Good. Now, when will you have a replacement? We need it done by the original deadline.” Another pause. “Then I will expect a full refund of the ten million.” Another pause. “I don't care about his policy; he's dead. You will have that back to us by tomorrow. I will hold you personally responsible for that. Do you understand?” A longer pause. “Do you understand?” A shorter pause. “Good, and goodbye.” He hung up and yelled at the bathroom door, “Out, now!”
-58-
Five Months Earlier
Sunday, August 14, 2011
9:55 a.m.
Bonita Beach, Florida
“I can see why you call that the Wacky Future house; that's quite a piece of architecture. Those three big holes in that flowing roof really give it a futuristic feel. And it looks like a fish from the side.”
“Yup. I heard that the second floor floor is made of glass.”
“Glass, really? That seems really … um … weird.”
“Well, maybe it's so you can look down and see when dinner's ready.”
“But can people look up, too?”
“I have no idea. Haven't been in there myself.”
Pam leaned back on her noodle and let her feet float up again.
“Oh, I just remembered. Gratingly.”
“What?”
“Gratingly. How's that for the word for the off-key Elvis guy?”
“Gratingly; hmm. Yeah, I think that'll work. Where'd you come up with that?”
“I don't know; it just popped up.”
“Just now?”
“No, yesterday afternoon, as I was writing the love scene. But then I started reading your stuff and totally forgot it.”
“You, Pam, forget? That's my shtick.”
“Hey, it happens.”
“I've got to write that down,” he said and turned toward the shore.
“Don't worry, Jake, I'll remember.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Once I forget something and then remember it, especially in front of someone else, I almost always remember it better.”
“Me, too. I think it's the negative feedback, like when I see someone I've met once or twice and have to ask for their name again, the embarrassment sorta locks it in better.”
“That makes sense. Did you know that guidance systems on rockets work completely on negative feedback?”
“How's that?”
“It's like 'Oops, too far right, correct; too far left, correct; too far up, correct; too far down, correct,' and the rocket hits its target.”
“Oh, I like that. Can I use that in the book?”
“Sure. It's not mine; it's just physics … and rocket science.” She smiled and Jake chuckled.
“That's right; I forgot.”
“Ah. Hold out your hand.” Jake did and she gently slapped his wrist. “There; negative feedback.”
“Thanks, physics major. So did you work at NASA, too?”
“Just a couple of projects when I was in college; research stuff.”
“So that's how the CIA found you and recruited you?”
Pam paused, looked around and up at the blue sky, then said, “Oh, what lovely weather,” and then smiled at Jake, who smiled back.
“Got it. Can't blame a guy for trying.”
Pam laughed, then glanced at the shore and back at Jake.
“Not too many people here, are there? And it's almost ten.”
“It'll probably fill up a little more by noon, when the churches are all done.”
“Ah. But there's those two girls again. You sure they're not pros?”
“The Mimosa twins? Naw, they're just beach bunnies.”
“Mimosa twins?”
“Um, that's what I call 'em. Saw 'em drinking those at Pop's one morning.”
“They look like pros to me.”
“Naw – wait, you mean hookers?” Jake said, giving Pam his innocent, naive look.
Pam laughed. “Oh, Jake, no, no, no. Pros, spies, eyes, ears.”
“Oh, surveillance.” He looked up at the twins, who were tapping their feet on their towels as they listened to whatever music was coming through their earbuds.
“Naw, just cute little kids, kinda ditzy. I talked with them once.”
“Remember their names?”
“Oh, geez, Pam. I did, once. Ah … nope.
Gone.”
“Maybe you could introduce me to them sometime.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Just for fun.”
“Fun? I think you want to check them out.”
“Got me there, Jake. Just to satisfy my suspicions. No rush.”
“Okay; we can do that. But I'll bet you'll see they're just a couple of ditzy kids.”
“Or ditzy chicks?”
Jake laughed. “Good one, Pam; that goes into the database.”
“Thank you, thank you very much,” Pam said; Jake laughed.
“I'll bet they get hit on a lot,” Pam said.
“I'd guess so. The sniffers would go after them, for sure.”
“Sniffers?”
“That's what I call 'em. The guys who come to the beach just to pick up girls.”
“Ah. Lots of them around?”
“Eh, just like anywhere, I'd guess. Three that I can think of offhand; can't remember their names.”
“Sniffers; hmm. That fits.”
Suddenly, a burst of applause broke out. Pam, startled, looked over her shoulder to see where it was coming from.
“Ten o'clock; the AA meetings are letting out.”
“Where?”
“You'll see 'em in a second. First gazebo down there.”
“Oh, got it. I didn't see them arrive.”
“Ah, that was while you went jogging after our walk. I hardly notice 'em anymore, other than the ten o'clock applause. Yup, here they come.”
“Gee, Jake, look at the figure on her. Must be a 38 double D.”
“Naw, she's really a 32B; she just has really good posture.”
Pam cracked up. “Oh, Jake.”
They watched the exodus of the AA people for a minute or two, and then Jake snapped his fingers.
“Pam, one serious question.”
“Go for it, Jake.”
“When I get rid of that section tonight --”
“Yeah.”
“-- what do you think about the other part, Bush and Cheney's meeting with Donne?”
“That I don't know; I never heard anything about that. That reads more like fiction, anyhow.”
“Damn. I meant it to sound realistic.” Jake rubbed his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I probably should take that out, too. I don't want this to come off as anything even remotely partisan.”