Flee, Spree, Three (Codename: Chandler Trilogy - Three Complete Novels)

by J. A. Konrath

  “You’ve been well paid for your work.”

  “I expect to be well paid as Secretary of Defense.”

  “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “Have you ever seen what the Ebola virus does to a body? It liquefies your insides. Your cells turn to mush. Blood leaks out your pores. As fast as the doctors can pump blood into you, it flows right back out. And my people are able to transmit Ebola through the air. Like through that air conditioner blowing down on you right now.”

  Ratzenberger shot a nervous glance at the air vent on the far wall.

  “Let me tell you,” The Instructor continued, “if I had to choose, a cell phone blowing up is a much nicer way to go. But I know you and I are friends, so we’d never do anything to harm one another.”

  The president cleared his throat. “I…I have some things to put in order. I’ll make the announcement next week.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. It will give us some time to get to know each other on a personal level. I expect, once Operation MD2 gets into full swing, you will enjoy unprecedented popularity not only among this nation but worldwide,” The Instructor said. “Which will be perfect, come next election, when you pick me as your running mate.”

  Fleming

  “If you want to make someone do what you want, you have two choices,” The Instructor said. “You can reward them. Or you can punish them.”

  The drugstore alarm clock woke Fleming up at 5:00 a.m. She stretched on the air mattress, surprised by how sore she was, and forced herself out of the sleeping bag and onto the floor for some yoga. After twenty minutes she was bendy and sweaty and needed a shower, but the store she’d rented had just a sink and a toilet.

  If all went well, she’d get one soon. Instead, she toweled off, washed her face and brushed her teeth, then did what she could with her hair and minimal makeup.

  Dressing in a new outfit—a short skirt and red leggings with black Chuck Taylors, and a bulky sweater that bared one shoulder—she judged herself sufficiently cute enough to go abduct Bradley.

  By a quarter to six, she was back in his parking lot, behind the wheel, waiting for him to come out to go to work. He appeared at six, like yesterday, but when he saw his Volvo he stopped before getting in. That was Fleming’s cue to start up her van and back out. When she pulled up to him, she rolled down the window.

  “Good morning, Bradley. What happened?”

  “Huh? Oh, hey, Ian. Two flat tires.”

  “Did you run something over?”

  “I don’t know. They seemed fine last night.”

  “Do you have spares?” Helpful Fleming, master of the obvious.

  “I have one in the trunk, but not two.”

  “Need a lift to the tire shop? There’s a twenty-four-hour Walmart nearby.”

  “Um…would you mind?”

  “No problem. You saved me last night, I’m happy to return the favor. Climb in.”

  Said the spider to the fly.

  When Bradley hopped into the passenger seat, he offered a shy grin. “Thanks, Ian. This is really cool of you.”

  Fleming gave him another full-wattage smile, but he didn’t notice because he was looking at her legs and seemed to be liking what he saw. She tried to remember the last time a man had looked at her legs with something other than pity. With her braces off and colored leggings on, Fleming guessed they looked relatively normal.

  “Do you work out?” she asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

  “I try to. There’s a gym at my work. Management felt too much desk time turned employees into vegetables, so…oh God.” Bradley turned white. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by the vegetable comment. I mean, not that you’re a vegetable or anything…”

  He made a face and put his hand over his eyes.

  This guy was really too cute. “You know the worst part about eating vegetables?”

  “What?” he asked, peeking through his fingers.

  “Taking off the diaper.”

  Bradley made a choking noise, then began to laugh. “That’s…That’s the most tasteless joke I’ve ever heard.”

  “I bet the vegetable wasn’t tasteless, though.”

  He laughed even harder. “Wow, you’re…that’s horrible.”

  “I’m not a vegetable, Bradley. And I don’t wear a diaper. I have feeling in my legs. Since the fall, they just don’t work like they should. But don’t feel you have to walk on tiptoes around me, just because I can’t.”

  “I’m just…It’s been a while since I’ve talked to an attractive woman. A looong while. I’m one of the top people in my field, but a pretty face makes me act like an idiot.”

  “You think I’m pretty?” Fleming knew she was pushing it, but this was more fun than it should have been.

  “You’re very pretty, Ian. Are you, um, seeing anybody?”

  Fleming thought about Tequila, and her stable of other studs she could call on the fly whenever the need arose. But she played it coy. “No one that doesn’t need batteries.”

  “What do…Oh, I get it.” He laughed. “Wow, you really speak your mind, don’t you?”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “No. I think it’s great.”

  So far, so good. Now to reel him in.

  “Look, the reason I asked if you work out is because I have this piece of equipment at my shop, and it weighs about a hundred pounds, and I’m having trouble getting it on the table. I thought, maybe, if you wouldn’t mind…”

  “Where’s your shop?”

  “On the way to Walmart.”

  “Happy to help. Least I can do.”

  Fleming drove to her shop, parked, and spent a minute climbing into her wheelchair and using the lift to get out the side door.

  “Not very efficient,” Bradley said. “Why didn’t they design it so you could drive while in your wheelchair? With an electric ramp straight out the back, instead of a side lift. Be a lot faster.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Fleming said, meaning it.

  “Wouldn’t take long to convert. Wouldn’t be expensive, either. Need some sort of restraint system, in case of accidents. A wheel lock. Could probably do it for under two hundred bucks.”

  Spoken like a true engineer. Solving problems that aren’t even his.

  “This is my store, here. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

  And Fleming meant it. If Bradley did what she needed him to do, he’d be saving her and her sisters’ lives.

  She wheeled up to the front door, checked to make sure no one in the parking lot was watching, and then let Bradley inside. Fleming switched on the overhead fluorescent lights.

  “Did you just move in?” Bradley asked.

  “Yesterday. Inventory and all my supplies coming in this week.”

  “Where’s the heavy object that needs lifting?”

  “In the back.”

  Fleming stuck close to his heels, reaching under her chair and pulling out the shotgun.

  “Over there. You see the length of wire with the open padlock on it? Loop it around your ankle and secure the lock.”

  “What?” He turned around to look at her, a goofy grin on his face.

  His grin disappeared when he noticed the gun.

  “Is that thing loaded?”

  Fleming flipped the safety and pumped the shotgun, ejecting one shell and loading the next.

  Bradley rushed to comply, encircling his ankle and fastening the padlock with shaking hands.

  “Now listen closely. I’m not a computer repair person. I’m a spy. I design integrated circuits and computer programs. But I have limited experience with robotics, especially miniature. I need you to build something for me. If you do, you’ll go free, with a very large cash reward.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “No, Bradley. It’s not.”

  “You’re a spy?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re the one who slashed my tires.”

  Fleming nodded.

  “Are you
undercover? Is the wheelchair fake?”

  “No. My legs really don’t work. But this gun does. Take out your cell phone.”

  He did. His expression had more surprise than fear. Fleming would have to fix that. She needed him afraid in order to make him compliant.

  The textbook thing to do was to hurt him. Break his nose. Shoot his knee. Something to convince him he had no choice but to follow her every instruction.

  But, shit, he was a really nice guy. Maybe instead of causing him pain, she could just threaten him. And there was one threat all men responded to.

  Fleming held the shotgun in one hand, and rolled toward him, backing Bradley up to the desk.

  “Sit.”

  He did, so they were eye to eye. With her free hand she locked her wheels, and then took a tactical folder out of the armrest. His eyes got wide when she flicked the knife blade open with her thumb.

  “Call in sick to work.”

  “My boss doesn’t get in until later.”

  “Leave a message. You have a stomach virus. Won’t be in today.”

  As he dialed, Fleming set down the shotgun and reached between his legs, one hand grasping him through his trousers, the other bringing up the knife.

  “Any nonsense and I cut it off. Got it?”

  “Oh God.”

  But Fleming didn’t think his prayer was fear-induced. Barely a few seconds after she grabbed him, Bradley was fully aroused.

  “Seriously?” she said. “I’ve got a knife on you. How is that sexy?”

  “It’s not. Jeez, Ian…I…it’s been…it’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman. I’m sorry. I just…”

  “How long?” Fleming asked.

  “What do you mean? How long is my—”

  Fleming already knew that because she could feel it for herself. “How long since you’ve been with a woman?”

  “Years,” he said, face downcast.

  “You haven’t had sex in years?”

  “Yeah. Look, this is really embarrassing.”

  Fleming didn’t find it embarrassing at all. She found it pretty damn amusing. And a little exciting.

  “How many years, Bradley?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Um…twenty-eight.”

  “Twenty-eight years?”

  “I’m…I’m a virgin.”

  Fleming laughed. “Really?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Not for lack of trying. I just…College was really busy. Now I’m working all the time, my office is nothing but men, there isn’t any place to meet women.”

  Fleming squeezed him harder, and also pulled a little, causing him to gasp. She couldn’t believe it. She had been with lots of men, but never a virgin. And she’d never felt someone get so hard, so fast.

  She considered her options. There was the stick and the carrot. Which would be more effective in this case?

  “Have you ever fooled around?” she asked.

  “Yeah. But nothing…um…nothing to conclusion.”

  “Never had a blow job?” she asked.

  “No.” His voice was barely a croak.

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “I’m not. I haven’t.”

  “Call work. Say you’re sick.”

  He finished dialing and said in one quick breath, “Mr.-Manning-it’s-Bradley-I-can’t-make-it-in-today-stomach-flu-sorry-bye.”

  Then he hung up, staring at Fleming expectantly, like a puppy waiting for its reward.

  “Here’s what I need,” she said, taking his phone and tucking it into her wheelchair. Then Fleming told him, in great detail, what she wanted him to build.

  “Wow,” he said when she’d finished. “Tall order.”

  During her lengthy explanation, his erection hadn’t waned.

  “Can you build something like that?”

  “There are challenges. But yes.”

  “Can you build it within a few days?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe, with the right equipment.”

  “I can get all the equipment you need. But I need it within seventy-two hours. If you can do it, I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars, cash. And…” Fleming gave him a sly smile. “I’ll sleep with you.”

  Bradley’s eyes got wide. “Are you serious?”

  “Does James Bond get laid in every book?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Same thing, but reverse roles.”

  “You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve had fantasies of this happening. Except the spy was Angelina Jolie.”

  “Angelina is frigid compared to me. Are you up to this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to kiss me?”

  “Oh my God. Yes.”

  Fleming tucked away the knife, realizing she didn’t need it anymore. When she leaned in and touched her lips to his, he kissed like a high school boy, eager and inexperienced and seemingly in awe of his good luck.

  The next few days would be easier, and more fun, than Fleming could have hoped. Popping his cherry sure beat torturing the poor guy.

  Julie

  The door opened with a slight squeak, and soft-soled shoes padded across tile.

  Julie kept her eyes closed, peering through the fringe of her lashes, careful not to move, not to change the rhythm of her breathing.

  She didn’t recognize her visitor, an older woman with dull blond hair and a mole on her chin the size of a ladybug. If Julie had seen her before, she didn’t remember. But then, in all these hours of sedation, she didn’t remember much.

  The woman wore scrubs and a white lab coat. She scurried around Julie’s bed, efficiently checking the monitors and IV, and singing a tune under her breath that Julie had heard before. It took a few moments before she could name it.

  The theme to The Brady Bunch.

  The woman fiddled with Julie’s arm, and a ripping sound rose over the story of a lovely lady and the incessant beeping of the heart monitor. For a few seconds, Julie couldn’t place the sound. Then the woman turned Julie’s arm up, palm to the sky, and Julie realized the Velcro cuff fastening her wrist to the bed was gone.

  Her arm was free.

  If she were Chandler, she’d know what to do. But she was only Julie, so she simply lay there, pretending to be unconscious, too frightened to move.

  The woman switched to wordless humming as she rolled a stool to Julie’s bedside and wound a rubber tourniquet around her upper arm. She tore open a sterile packet and withdrew something and brought it to Julie’s arm.

  The scent of alcohol snapped at Julie’s senses, then pain pricked the inside of her elbow. The woman filled one vial. Pulling the tube free, she left the needle in place and hooked up another vial. And another.

  Drawing blood as if milking a cow.

  Tears stung Julie’s eyes, threatening to squeeze through her lowered lids.

  After the woman drew her last vial, she refastened the Velcro and padded out of the room.

  As soon as she heard the door close, Julie drew a shuddering breath and let the tears come. They coursed down the sides of her face, flowing around her ears and puddling inside.

  Chandler wasn’t here.

  Chandler couldn’t save her.

  Julie would have to save herself this time.

  No, not herself. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t possible. Saving herself would only mean more people in white coats would find her, shut her in labs, harvest her poisoned blood.

  This clarity brought resolve. She had to prevent them from succeeding. No matter the cost.

  Julie couldn’t save herself.

  But maybe she could save the world.

  Scarlett

  “There are two types of interrogations: those where the subject is required to live, and those where the subject dies,” The Instructor said. “Both can be messy. Plan ahead.”

  Much as it bugged her, Scarlett let Rhett do the talking. Though his good ol’ boy charm didn’t work on her, weaker-minded peop
le (which was almost everyone else) tended to find Rhett instantly likable. When you liked someone, you wanted him to like you back, and tried harder. For all of her considerable skills, Scarlett was terrible at flirting. The course on seduction at Hydra Deux was the only course she hadn’t excelled at. She was so bad that when The Instructor had slept with her, he advised her to avoid sex in the field, or with targets.

  Scarlett didn’t take it personally. She wasn’t frigid. But she found sex to be perfunctory, rather than sensual. Performing in front of a partner made her self-conscious, too aware to enjoy herself. That reluctance tended to spill over with her personal interactions with people. So being partnered with Rhett did make some sense, because he had charisma to spare. Within two minutes of finding Eric Brockney at Finklestad’s Automotive Sales in Waltham, Rhett had become his new best friend, and they were trading jokes like they’d been buddies for years. Neither man even seemed to notice she was there.

  Scarlett didn’t mind. Her specialty would come later.

  She climbed into the backseat as Rhett test-drove a newer-model Mustang GT, spinning tires and screeching around corners as Eric droned on and on about suspension and horsepower and torque.

  “So, partner, we asked for you specifically because you’re famous,” Rhett said. “We read ’bout you in the paper.”

  “Best thing that ever happened to me,” Eric said. “I’ve sold four cars today, just because of the publicity.”

  “Wasn’t it scary?”

  “Naw. Girl was crippled. I bet the gun wasn’t even loaded. I felt sorry for her, more than anything.”

  Rhett dropped a gear, slowing the Mustang down. “Me and the old lady back there would love to hear about it, if you don’t mind.”

  Scarlett ignored the old lady comment and forced herself to be patient while Eric told a rambling and obviously embellished tale of how he’d been abducted and carjacked. Scarlett knew a great deal about Fleming, and Eric’s account didn’t sound at all truthful. If Rhett bought the bogus story, he didn’t let on, but Scarlett noticed that while asking questions Rhett had managed to drive into a mostly secluded industrial park. The majority of the buildings and parking lots looked empty, closed for the night. A very good location for what was to come next.