Manuel took a swig of his beer as well, then shook his head. He’d just spent the better part of an hour explaining to Heath how grateful he was to find work, especially something as well paid and glamorous as groundskeeper at the Plaza de Toros México, the largest bullfighting arena in the world. He probably thought Heath hadn’t been listening.
Of course, Heath had heard every word.
In fact, Heath knew all about Manuel’s financial problems before he’d arranged to “accidently” run into him at his neighborhood watering hole. He knew that Manuel had a wife named Juana, who worked at a stand in their neighborhood food market selling chilies. Of his five children, three were girls, ages fourteen, twelve, and six. The oldest was pregnant and unmarried. His two sons were nine and four.
A half hour and two beers later, Heath had laid the groundwork with Manuel, describing his experience as an aficionado practico, or amateur bullfighter, until a steer had taken his eye and he’d had to retire from the sport. Now it was time to make his pitch. And Manuel himself would choose whether he made some extra money for his family or left them without a provider.
Plata o plomo?
“I would love to have a taste of that world, be an arenero, however I can, just for the exhibition. I could fill in for you.”
Manuel gave his head an almost imperceptible shake and stared into his beer.
“Just for a few days? I will pay you.”
“And then you will take the job for good, and my family will starve. I’ll have to go north again.”
Before returning home by choice, not deportation, Manuel had spent three years in Houston, tending a rich family’s horse stable and sending money back to his family. This guy was salt of the earth, as they would say in the States. A good man. A hard worker.
Heath would regret taking him out, leaving his family destitute. “I will pay double.”
Manuel paused for a moment, considering, but then shook his head again. “Double wages for a few days will not feed my family like a regular job will.”
Heath had a roll of cash on him. He also had a Sig Sauer SP2022. Either way, he needed the man’s job for the next few days, and he would resolve this tonight, either here in the bar or later in the street.
Last chance, cabrón.
“Five hundred American dollars, and you introduce me as your cousin, filling in while you attend your mother’s funeral.”
Manuel choked on his Modelo Especial. “Five hundred?”
“For a few days off and an introduction.”
“Why?”
“I have lost my eye, but not my passion for the fight.”
“It’s hard work.”
“Believe me, I don’t expect it to be easy.” But if this played out the way he intended, he did expect it would be worth it. To him, to Manuel’s family, and to all the people of Mexico. “Do we have a deal?”
Manuel nodded. “Come to work with me tomorrow morning. If my employer says it’s OK, then it is a deal.”
Heath smiled and raised his bottle. “It will be OK. Don’t worry. I’ll convince him.”
Fleming
“Spying makes for strange bedfellows,” The Instructor said. “Sometimes literally.”
After a long, detailed discussion, Bradley gave Fleming a list of supplies he needed, which could all be purchased at a nearby electronics shop. Fleming had already pirated a computer-aided drafting program online using a torrent site, and she left Bradley alone to get started while she went out, making sure the Internet was off.
“Can you stop at my place, bring me some clean clothes, deodorant and toothbrush and such?” he asked, eyes on the computer monitor. “My keys are on the table, next to my wallet.”
Fleming considered the situation. Bradley didn’t seem like a guy who’d been kidnapped and coerced. He seemed like this was business as usual. And he didn’t even complain or resist when she cut off their impromptu make-out session. Honestly, he was less like any man she’d ever met and more like a puppy.
“Sure,” Fleming said. “Anything else?”
“If I’m going to be here a few days, can you also bring Sasha?”
“Your fox?”
“She’ll get lonely. If that happens, she starts chewing on my stuff. Her leash and food are in the kitchen pantry.”
Fleming hesitated, not convinced this was a good idea.
“If Sasha’s safe, I can concentrate fully on this design,” Bradley said. “I could go with you to get her if it’s too much trouble.”
“I’d rather you stay here and work. I’ll get her.”
“Thanks, Ian. Is that your real name?”
“No.” Fleming wasn’t sure why she admitted it.
“What is it?”
“I don’t use my real name anymore.”
“So what should I call you?”
“Ian is fine.”
Fleming’s real name wasn’t Fleming. In fact, the only person still alive who knew her real name was The Instructor. Her many male admirers all knew Fleming under different names. Which Fleming preferred because it made them easy to sort out. If someone called asking for Jenny, or Aria, or Francesca, Fleming immediately knew who it was.
“OK, I guess I’ll stick with Ian.”
“Do you prefer Bradley or Brad?”
“Bradley.”
“You’re probably aware your name is Milton Bradley backward.”
“I may have heard that once or twice. Or eighty thousand times.”
“Did your parents like board games?”
“I didn’t have parents,” he said. “I was raised by two brothers named Parker.”
She caught the joke and smiled. “Cute.”
Bradley smiled back. “My parents did like board games, actually. I grew up in the suburbs, had a white picket fence around my house, and a dog named Spot. For real. How hokey is that?”
“Sounds nice,” Fleming said, meaning it.
“It was. Idyllic. I was destined to grow up to be a nerd, but I can’t complain about anything. I’ve had a nice, uneventful life, up until right now.” He lowered his voice. “You’re the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me, Ian. Can I ask you a question?”
“As long as it doesn’t violate national security.”
“Are you kidding?”
She shrugged. “Kind of.”
“Have you had a lot of boyfriends?”
“Yes.”
“What did they call you?”
“I’ve used a lot of names over the years.”
“Am I the first to call you Ian?”
“Yes.”
“Did you pick it because you knew I liked Ian Fleming?”
“No. I didn’t know that.”
“But you must have known something about me. That’s why you picked me, right?”
“Google search. Your name came up. I know a lot about electronics, but not much robotics. I could have taught myself, but we need this right away. Kidnapping you was the quicker solution.”
“Who is we?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“I know what we’re building. What are you going to use it for?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Can you tell me when I can kiss you again?”
Fleming blushed a little, an odd reaction for her. “Maybe when I get back with your fox. There’s some food in the fridge, in back. Coffee, too. If you try to yell for help, or get attention by breaking the windows or setting a fire…” Fleming thought about saying she’d kill Sasha as a threat. Instead she said, “Then no kissing later.”
Bradley’s eyes got wide. “I’ll…I’ll be very good. No problem.”
Fleming kept her smile hidden. If only all men were that easy.
She pocketed his keys, told him she’d be back soon, and then wheeled out to the van and drove to her first stop, a semiconductor manufacturer. After some earlier back-and-forth discussion, Fleming and Bradley decided upon the microchip they’d use for the project, and Fleming bought one for cash. Nex
t stop was a specialty electronics store, where Fleming bought everything she needed to etch her circuit board design. Then it was off to Bradley’s place.
When she’d been a field agent, one of Fleming’s specialties had been breaking and entering. She had a burglar’s touch: the ability to enter and assess strange places, move about undetected, and stay calm and coolheaded when things went wrong.
While going into Bradley’s condo wasn’t actually burglary, it felt similar. Prowling through a strange domicile, adjusting to the layout while looking for something, grappling with the sense that she shouldn’t be there. The sense of anticipation was a lot like walking through a haunted house attraction on Halloween, maneuvering carefully through the unknown, expecting something to pop out at any moment.
In this case, what popped out was a silver fox. And it popped right onto Fleming’s wheelchair, staring up at her with the cutest little face she’d ever seen. Blue eyes, pointy ears, a mottled black-and-white coat, and a ridiculously bushy tail that swished back and forth.
“You must be Sasha.” She patted the vixen on the head, surprised by how soft her fur was. No wonder people paid so much for coats. It was nothing less than glorious. Fleming might have to rethink her policy on wearing animal hides.
“Then again, it probably looks better on you than it would on me.”
The vixen immediately curled up onto Fleming’s lap. No watchdog, this one. The only protection Sasha offered against home invaders was possibly snuggling them to death.
Fleming rolled into the kitchen, getting a feel for the space. For a bachelor, Bradley kept a surprisingly tidy house. No dishes in the sink. No dirty clothing strewn about. Stove top wiped down, garbage taken out.
She was only there for a few items, but curiosity got the better of her and Fleming began to snoop around a bit. His DVD collection was primarily action, science fiction, and Japanese anime. Books were sci-fi, thrillers, and some horror. Lots of magazines, mostly robotics and electronics, organized on the shelf chronologically.
Nothing interesting in the fridge, except for a potentially life-threatening amount of energy drinks, so many that Fleming wondered if he had stock in Red Bull.
As she gathered clothing in his bedroom, she found the obligatory spank magazines in his dresser, Playboy and Penthouse Letters and a few specialty publications that seemed centered around blow jobs and eating pussy. Good information for later.
His clothes were unremarkable, average to above average labels, folded neatly and hung up in an organized way that made picking out an outfit convenient. There were some well-worn running shoes, a few pairs of dress loafers. Fleming didn’t find any photo albums, and there was a box of papers she didn’t bother rifling through.
She figured Bradley might have more hints to his personality on his computer, but Fleming had no desire to search it. If anything, she had a desire to get back to the store to see Bradley. The idea of corrupting a virgin was occupying more of Fleming’s mind than she would have liked to admit, and even though she decided to wait until their project was complete, those magazines had given her some delightfully wicked ideas.
Sasha slept in Fleming’s lap like a cat, a big bundle of black and white and gray fur. Fleming hooked a backpack filled with what she’d taken on the back of her wheelchair, and then put a leash on Sasha in case she woke up and tried to bolt. But she didn’t. The fox remained sleeping even as Fleming rotated her collar one hundred and eighty degrees.
“I thought you guys were supposed to be crafty and alert.”
Sasha yawned.
While Fleming didn’t have the soft spot for animals that Hammett apparently had, she found the fox to be ridiculously charming.
Her cell phone rang. Chandler. Fleming picked up.
“The video was released.”
“Shit. Good thing I grabbed my guy before he saw that. You meet with the PI?”
“Yeah.”
“Get what we needed?”
“Tomorrow. Waiting for our other friend now. Keep out of sight.”
“You too.”
Fleming frowned, stroking the fox. She’d logged off the Internet before leaving Bradley, and he didn’t have a radio or television, so for the moment it should be OK. If he saw that video, sex might not be enough to persuade him to help.
Fleming wheeled herself to the door, locking it behind her. She tried to keep her mind on her next move, but instead found herself thinking about Bradley in a way that was anything but professional.
A virgin. A real live virgin.
Fleming was still sore from the strenuous sex she’d had with Tequila, but she felt ready to go again. When it came to men, she liked all types. The macho, athletic types who liked to show off with marathon lovemaking sessions were fun. But so were the sensitive guys who fell all over themselves trying to please her. Guys who gave massages and foot rubs and went down on a girl for hours.
She loaded the van, setting Sasha in the passenger seat. The fox curled up, tucking her head under her tail so it resembled one of those Russian fur hats. Pulling out of the condo parking lot, Fleming remembered Bradley’s kiss, and all the potential it hinted at.
Breaking him in was going to be fun.
She was considering what to do with him first when her subconscious poked her. Suddenly razor focused, Fleming turned right at the next light and eyed the rearview mirror.
The black Mustang that had been behind her for the last five minutes turned as well.
Fleming was being followed.
Chandler
“People close to you will get hurt,” The Instructor said. “Don’t make friends.”
Lieutenant Jacqueline Daniels was wearing a gray pantsuit, black pumps, and a black duster jacket than hung to her knees and concealed her shoulder holster. She was in her forties, but moved like someone younger. Fought like it, too. I knew that from experience.
I’d only met Jack a few days ago, but she’d already helped me out several times. Now I needed her once more.
She approached at a quick clip, walking across the courtyard of Daley Plaza, pigeons clearing a path for her. I was standing next to the Picasso on the south side of the Daley Center, pretending to take a picture of it with my cell phone. Hammett was across the street, on Dearborn, looking for tails.
“Were you followed?” I asked when she stood next to me.
“Nice to see you, too. And no, I wasn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve been doing this longer that you have, Chandler.”
“Sorry. Things have gotten…well, I’d say worse, but they’ve been pretty bad for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Did you rescue your sister?”
I nodded.
“Good.” Jack gave me a once-over. “I like the new hairstyle, but you look like you’re ready to keel over.”
“I feel like it, too. Thanks for coming. And for not bringing the entire Chicago PD along to arrest me.”
Especially since the only weapon I had on me was the folding knife. Tough to conceal a shotgun in your pants pocket.
“Yeah. You’re quite the celebrity. Did you do it?”
I met her stare and put every bit of my acting skill into the lie. “No. It’s a frame.”
Jack didn’t say anything. I endured her gaze, only showing her what I wanted her to see. She was a homicide cop, and a damn good one, which meant her bullshit detector was the best of the best. But I had the best of the best training, and my lying skills were solid.
“If I thought you did it, I’d arrest you.”
“You’d try to arrest me, you mean.”
“Convince me you’re not a presidential assassin.”
“The man behind this is the one who trained me. He’s working with the VP.”
“The vice president killed him?”
I nodded.
“Can you prove it?”
“No. At least, not yet. But I’m going to try to get proof.”
“How?”
“I nee
d you to plant a recording device for me.”
“Where?”
“The White House.”
Jack laughed, then caught herself when she saw my expression hadn’t changed. “You’re not kidding.”
“This isn’t about saving my ass, Jack. I just came from Maine, where a young woman was kidnapped by my former boss. She’s a carrier for the Ebola virus. They’re going to use her to make biological weapons.”
Jack put her hands on her hips. “Even if I believed you, which I’m not sure I do, this is all way out of my league. It sounds like an over-the-top spy novel.”
“Says the woman who recently drove a truck full of explosives into a sewage treatment plant.”
I’d read up on Jack before this meeting. That was one of many well-known acts of bravery she’d committed in order to save lives.
“How do you expect me to bug the White House?”
“White House tours are by appointment only. You need to contact your congressman. You’re a hero cop, the toast of Chicago. I’m sure you can pull some strings.”
“You expect me to take you with?”
“No. Too dangerous. You can’t be seen with me.”
“I don’t think they’ll let me tour the Oval Office.”
“The bug will be robotic. Just drop it inside and we’ll get it where it needs to go.”
Jack folded her arms across her chest. A bad sign.
“I understand if you can’t do it,” I said. “If you get caught, it’s treason. If they find out you’re helping me, they’ll kill you. Or worse. But if you help, you’ll be saving untold lives. Possibly preventing the biggest epidemic since the Spanish flu killed 50 million people ninety years ago.”
I had no way of knowing what The Instructor was going to do with the Ebola, but I was already lying to Jack, so there was no reason not to lay it on thick.
“The president was just killed,” she said. “They might not be letting anyone take tours.”
“Maybe not. But you’re my only shot.”
More silence. I could have tried pushing harder, giving Jack more information so she could understand better. But I was already putting this woman in great danger. The less she knew the better off she’d be.
“You’re either lying to me about something or holding something back,” Jack said.
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