The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology
Page 25
“That one probably can't put you in too much danger. But I can see what you mean about being nonpartisan.”
“I'll look it over tonight, but I do think I'll need to take that out, too; keep things balanced.”
“That one's up to you. But I can see what you mean about balancing it out.”
“Yeah. By the way, were you there when that guy got shot in the knee on the White House lawn? I think his name was Pickett or Puckett, something like that.”
“Oh, right. Ahh, it was Pickett, Robert Pickett, February of '01. No, Laura and my team were at the ranch in Crawford that day. I did know the officer that shot him, though.”
“Just wondering. I think I read somewhere he got three years … Pickett, I mean.”
“I think that's right, something like that.”
“Thanks.”
“Bitte, and de nada,” Pam said, smiling.
“Now you're just showing off,” Jake replied, smiling more.
“Guilty as charged, Jake. Sorry,” Pam fake-pouted.
“Nothing to be sorry about. I love it.”
“Which reminds me. Are you ready to read my love scene?”
“Absolutely. Been looking forward to that all morning.”
“Well, let's go, then. I printed it out for you.”
“Lead on, MacDuff.”
As they headed out of the water, Sharon's smoky voice came over the Mimosa twins' earbuds. “Now, don't you kids miss any of this. I want to hear every moan and groan, okay?”
The twins glanced subtly at each other and giggled. Jill replied, “Don't worry, you horny old hooker; we'll keep you plugged in.”
Sharon laughed and said, “I don't make rugs. Over and out, you poor little virgins.”
The twins giggled and settled in for the duration, still tapping their feet to the now-nonexistent music on their earbuds.
-59-
Monday, January 9, 2012
9:05 a.m. local time
The Reclining Buddha
Wat Pho Temple
Bangkok, Thailand
A youngish, pretty blonde woman using the name Missy sidled up to a short, heavy-set man waiting at the feet of the 46-meter-long gold-leafed statue and said, “He sure has big feet, doesn't he?”
The man replied with a leer, “You know what they say about men with big feet, don't you?”
“I do.” She paused, then said, “They have to buy big shoes.”
Recognition codes completed, the man said, “Okay, young lady, I'm here and I left the key next to the Buddha by the door.”
“I know,” she replied. “Our associate has already picked up the deposit and the target information from the locker.”
“So we're all set?”
“Not quite. My principal always operates in the deep background, and the death always appears to be from either natural causes or an accident, or the body is never found. No women, no children, no innocents and minimal collateral damage. You understand?”
“I do. But for 20 million euros, we expect proof of death.”
“He does not guarantee that. But you know that no one has ever been disappointed in his results.”
“I will have to check with my principal on that.”
“Go ahead. I'll wait right here. You have five minutes.”
The man walked around to the front of the Buddha, and three minutes later, returned with an open cell phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Not gonna happen. Tell him he accepts the terms or he loses his deposit.”
The man spoke quietly into his phone, finally closed it and turned back to Missy, frowning.
“He accepts, but with objections.”
“Tough. And he knows that his life is collateral for the final payment once the job is done, I trust?”
“He does.”
“He understands we would have no problem taking out a lobbyist, even in the heart of DC, right?”
“He does.”
“Even if he has a family.”
“He understands.”
“Now give me the email address and password for the account you set up.”
The man handed her an envelope, which she put in her purse.
“And the instruction card that got you here.”
The man handed over a 3x5 card, which also went in her purse.
“Your principal also understands that with the thin information on the target that you've provided, this may take a while?”
“He does, and he wishes he could give you more.”
“My principal can work with what you've given him.”
“Good.”
“When the job is done, you'll find a message in the Drafts folder of the email account you provided, and the final payment will be due within 24 hours in the bank account that he will provide in that message. And under NO circumstances are you to send that message anywhere, but just change it with the single word 'Sent' in the body, NOT the subject line, and save it back in the Drafts folder.”
“I understand.”
“Once we have received the final payment, we will scrub that message and the account, which will let you know that we have finished and our arrangement is complete … until the next time you need his services. Then you can contact us as you did this time.”
“I understand.”
“Any questions or concerns?”
After a pause, the man shrugged and said, “No.”
“Good. The Andorran appreciates your business and thanks you for thinking of him. Now walk away … no, no, casually.”
Once he was out of earshot, she muttered to herself, “Geez; amateurs.”
-60-
Five Months Earlier
Sunday, August 14, 2011
10:10 a.m.
Bonita Beach, Florida
“What' s so funny, Jake?”
Trying hard to control his laughter, Jake said, “Sorry, Pam. This is good, but that one word always gets me going.”
“What word?”
“'Voluptuous.' Whenever I read or hear that, it takes me back to high school, when I misread it as 'volumptuous,' with an M in there, and the whole class laughed at me. And then I had an image of a woman walking down the street and her chest bouncing along, going 'volump-volump, volump-volump.' It just cracks me up.”
Pam laughed and said, “Volump-volump. Oh, god, Jake, that's – that's – I can't even think of a word for that.”
“How about 'sophomoric' … or 'juvenile' … or just 'stupid'?”
“Yeah, but I was thinking more of … of 'hysterical.'” Her laughter turned into cackling and snorting. “Volump-volump.”
Up near the boardwalk, Jill and Carie started laughing, and quickly pulled out a cell phone and pretended to be looking at a photo or a video, focusing on it and completely avoiding looking anywhere near Pam and Jake. It didn't help them that Sharon's smoky guffaws came over their earbuds. “Volump-volump.”
Pam pulled up a corner of her towel and wiped her eyes. “Oh, god, Jake, you got me going again.” Then she laughed even harder. “Stevie … Stevie … Stevie Bruce. Oh, god.” And off she went again.
Jake was the first to sort of get his laughter under control, but not at all successfully.
“Okay; serious. Let me get back into --”
“And what you did with him with Jennifer and … oh, god, I'm gone … Jennifer and … and … and Poopsie.” And Pam truly was gone, to the point that she had to get her noodle and head into the Gulf, laughing all the way. Jake tried not to stare, but the white bikini she'd worn today, with the same gold-ring decorations as the black one, swayed so delightfully that he couldn't avoid it.
Finally, he tore his eyes away and looked back at the papers in his hand, still chuckling. Absently, he picked up a cigarette and lit it.
He had read only about halfway through the second page when Pam returned, having finally either controlled her laughter or let it drain itself away. She dropped the noodle and flopped back into her chair, looking at Jake expectantly.
/> “Wow, Pam, I had no idea that you could write so … so … so … oh, what's the word? Graphically?”
Pam smiled. “You need two more syllables before that.”
Jake looked at her blankly.
“Starting with a P.”
“A P?” He puzzled on that for a moment, than said, “Oh, right. Right.” He continued reading, with Pam watching him closely.
“Geez, Pam. 'Oh, my god, it's huge'? 'Throbbing'? 'Swollen'? 'Squeeze'? 'A tiny trickle of blood'? Pam, how could --”
“Just keep reading, Jake, and take that filter off.”
“Okay, okay.”
He turned his attention back to the pages. A moment later, he swallowed hard, then after reading a bit more, he gasped.
“Can a human body actually get into that --”
“Please, Jake, just keep reading.”
“But I can't see how --”
“Please, Jake.”
He shut up and kept reading. Another few moments and he looked up at Pam, who was still watching him intently.
“Feathers? Okay. But Neapolitan? Why Neapolitan?”
“'Variety is the spice of life,' right? Three flavors in one.”
Jake shrugged, nodded and continued reading.
“Oh, my god!” He looked over at Pam, his eyes wider than the lenses on his sunglasses. “Where could you even get something like that?”
“Like what?” Pam asked; Jake pointed to the page.
“Oh, that? Lots of places; you just need to know where to go. And I know where to go.”
“Ohhhh, okay.”
“Or you might just want to make one of your own; gotta make sure it fits on exactly right. If you don't, it could cause blisters.”
“Oh, god!!! I don't even want to think about that.”
“Well, you wouldn't be the one getting the blisters.”
“Like that makes me feel better?”
“Just keep reading, Jake. You've still got a ways to go.”
“Okay.” He continued, quietly.
Carie whispered to Jill. “What was that? Blisters?”
Sharon rasped over their earbuds, “I think I know what it is.”
“Yeah? What?”
Sharon chuckled. “You're not old enough yet.”
Jill whispered, “Oh, yes, we are. Tell us.”
“Maybe later. Keep concentrating. Listen to his breathing.”
Sure enough, Jake's breathing had gotten deeper and faster, and had he thought about it, he would have noticed that his blood pressure was rising, not dangerously, but definitely up to near normal.
“Geez, Pam, this --”
“You've still got the filter on, Jake. Set it aside, please.” She smiled at him, gently running her tongue over the inside of her lower lip.
“I'm trying to.” He looked back at the paper. “But it's hard – I mean difficult … to concentrate out here in public.”
“Don't worry about it, Jake; just keep reading. Please.” Jake complied. Pam kept watching him. So did the twins. So did Sharon, but she had to use her scope and couldn't really get a good angle on his face.
“Oh, geez. Neapolitan again? Wow. 'Moist,' 'twitching,' 'writhing in ecstasy,' 'exposed,' 'volcanic eruption,' 'creamy'? Geez.”
Pam smiled. “Almost done, Jake, almost done.”
“I know, I know.” He continued, his breathing getting even deeper and faster, then said, “Oh, my god,” and let out a great sigh.
Then he folded the papers and handed them back to Pam, but she demurred.
“Keep it, Jake; I've got it on my PC.”
“Okay.” Jake put them in his bag, stubbed out his cigarette and picked up his noodles. “I've gotta get in the water.”
“Me, too,” Pam said, smiling to herself. The twins smiled at each other, and Sharon said, “Aw, shit; I'd thought he'd read the whole thing out loud,” in their earbuds. “I was so ready for some volcanic erupting.”
-61-
Monday, January 9, 2012
9:05 a.m. EST
Arlington, VA
An older yet stunning woman using the name Andreana sidled up to a rail-thin, very tall man waiting at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and said, “Do you know what war he fought in?”
The man replied, “His last one.”
Andreana responded, “Actually, it was World War One.”
“Okay, Andreana, if that's your real name” he said, “I'm here and I left the key in the pencil cactus pot next to the ticket counter outside the station.”
“I know,” she replied, ignoring his dig. “Our associate has already picked up the deposit and the target information from the locker.”
“So we're all set?”
“Not quite. My principal always operates in the deep background, and the death always appears to be from either natural causes or an accident, or the body is never found. No women, no children, no innocents and minimal collateral damage. You understand?”
“I do. But for 20 million euros, we expect proof of death.”
“He does not guarantee that. But you know that no one has ever been disappointed in his results.”
“Then we must accept his terms.”
“And your principal knows that his life is collateral for the final payment once the job is done, I trust?”
“He does.”
“He understands we would have no problem taking out a televangelist, even in the heart of Houston, right?”
“He does.”
“Even if he has a family.”
“He understands.”
“Now give me the email address and password for the account you set up, and the instruction card that got you here.”
The man handed her an envelope and a 3x5 card, which she put in her purse.
“Your principal also understands that with the thin information on the target that you've provided, this may take a while?”
“He does, and he wishes he could give you more.”
“My principal can work with what you've given him.”
“Good.”
“When the job is done, you'll find a message in the Drafts folder of the email account you provided, and the final payment will be due within 24 hours in the bank account that he will provide in that message. And under NO circumstances are you to send that message anywhere, but just change it with the single word 'Sent' in the body, NOT the subject line, and save it back in the Drafts folder.”
“I understand.”
“Once we have received the final payment, we will scrub that message and the account, which will let you know that we have finished and our arrangement is complete … until the next time you need his services. Then you can contact us as you did this time.”
“I understand.”
“Any questions or concerns?”
“No.”
“Good. The Reaper appreciates your business and thanks you for thinking of him. Now walk away.” He did. “Good; at last, a professional.”
-62-
Five Months Earlier
Sunday, August 14, 2011
10:35 a.m.
Bonita Beach, Florida
“That was an incredible scene, Pam, very visual, with strong images, almost photographic, just like you said. I liked it a lot.”
“I'm glad, Jake. But?” Pam floated on her noodle, right in front of Jake, floating on his two, bicycling his legs under the water.
“But I can't see Donne getting tangled up in – oops; I mean involved in something that graphic. He just doesn't have any interest in sex … at least as I've written him so far.
“Don't get me wrong. That may change, but I think his filters are pretty ingrained.”
“Like most people's are.”
“Yup, if you define 'most' as anything above 51 percent.”
“In this case, I mean probably around 92 percent.”
“92? How'd you come up with that number?”
“Uh, I just pulled it out of the air. It seemed about right. I mean, it could be 87 or 94, but somewher
e in there. Why?”
“That's a number I've used for years.”
“For what?”
“Stress reduction.”
“What? How?”
“Stress reduction. I think that about 92 percent of most people's time is spent doing relatively routine, not emotionally charged, stuff, like laundry, sleeping, cooking, driving, all that kind of routine and boring stuff – well, not boring in the negative sense, just routine. So you don't have to worry much about that, and you can focus your energy on making the other eight percent as good as you can. I'd rather put energy into that small eight percent than the whole hundred. So it's a lot less stressful.”
“So if --”
“OW!!!! What the hell?”
Jake swiveled to see who had cried out. He saw Christopher and Paige Davenport, an elderly couple who walked in the water every day, believing that the salt water was good for their arthritis. They were about eight feet from Jake and Pam.
“What is it, Chris?” Paige asked, worried.
“I just banged my toe on something down there. Christ, I knew we should have bought those water shoes.”
“What did you bang it on?”
“I don't know. Can you hold these for a second?”
“Sure.” He gave Paige his hat and sunglasses and ducked under the water, coming up a moment later with a large chunk of coral, about double the size of a football.
“Oh my god, it's huge, Chris.”
“I'm gonna take this in to shore so nobody else gets hurt on it.”
“Hey, Chris, I'm going in; I'll take it,” said a female voice behind him.
“Oh, thanks --” Chris turned to see who it was “-- Sheila.”
“No problem.” She started toward the shore, coral in hand. “This'll look great in my garden; I'm doing a Neapolitan style with it. Thanks, Chris.”
“No, thank you, Sheila.”
She continued to shore, carrying her newfound treasure.
“So, Chris – what's wrong?”
“Sorry, Paige; it's throbbing, hurts like hell.”
“Let me see it.”