She returned to her room to shower. After combing out her wet hair she wrapped a towel around her and stepped out of the bathroom. She sat on her bed, and started moistening her legs with lotion. Then she whirled around so fast her towel fell to the floor.
Barry had been standing behind a bureau in one corner of the room.
He had stepped out so she could see him, a broad smile on his face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she cried out.
“Cheryl didn’t show up for her session. They sent me to get her,” Barry said quickly, his gaze squarely on Michelle’s naked body. She snatched a sheet off the bed, wrapped it around her and stood.
“She’s not here, so get the hell out!”
“Sorry to have disturbed you,” Barry said, the smile still playing across his lips.
“I’m going to report you for this, you son of a bitch,” she said furiously. “I know exactly what you’re up to.”
“I was told to come here to see about a patient. It’s not my fault you were walking around naked. Didn’t you read the section of the facility’s information packet that said during the day patient rooms are treated as public spaces and staff may come and go at all times? It also goes on to say that all patients should therefore dress in the bathroom if they desire privacy.”
“You seem to have focused on that particular section. Let me guess why, Mr. Pervert.”
He backed toward the door, his gaze on her long, bare legs. “And if you file a report against me I’ll have to defend myself.”
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Michelle said furiously.
“It means that other female patients have stooped to seducing male staff in order to get preferential treatment, small favors, drugs, smokes, candy, even vibrators. I mean the way I look at it I was standing right here and you started showing off your body to me. Do you want a vibrator, sweetie? But being the good staff member that I am, I can’t treat you any differently. Sorry.”
Michelle’s fists were clenched she was so angry. “I didn’t see you, you bastard! You were hiding over in that corner.”
“You said I was hiding, I say I wasn’t. Have a nice day.” He gave her one last, penetrating stare and then turned and left.
Michelle was so upset she was trembling. She took several calming breaths, grabbed her clothes and finished dressing in the bathroom. The door didn’t have a lock for obvious reasons, so she stood with her back pressed against it in case the man came back for something more than a peek at her ass and boobs. She felt violated beyond belief. She was deciding whether to report Barry when another staff member walked in after Michelle had finishing dressing.
“I’m here to take you to the session,” the woman said.
“What session?” Michelle asked.
“Horatio Barnes has scheduled you for a group session this afternoon.”
“He didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, it’s on your chart. I’m just here to make sure you go.”
Michelle hesitated. Damn him. “How many people in the group?”
“Ten. I’m sure you’ll get a lot out of it. And it’s only thirty minutes long.”
“Fine, let’s just get it over with,” Michelle said sharply.
“That’s not the proper attitude to have,” the woman said in a scolding tone.
“Lady, right now it’s the only attitude I’ve got.”
A male doctor Michelle had never seen before was leading the session.
The only saving grace for Michelle was that Sandy was there. She made a beeline for the woman and sat next to her. As soon as Michelle did so the door opened and Barry came in. He stood in the back against the wall.
Every time Michelle felt his gaze on her, her skin prickled. That jerk had seen her naked. It was killing her. Even Sean had never seen that much of her.
While the doctor was handing out some materials, Sandy looked over at Michelle and saw her expression of misery. “You okay?”
“No, but I’ll tell you about it later. How does this session work?” she whispered.
“Just follow my lead. It’ll be okay. This shrink isn’t bad. He means well, but he’s totally clueless to what goes on in the real world.”
“That’s inspiring,” Michelle said.
After the session was over, Michelle pushed Sandy’s wheelchair past Barry.
“You ladies have a nice day,” Barry said, holding the door for them and smiling broadly.
“Go fuck yourself!” Michelle said loud enough for him and everyone else to hear.
Sandy screwed up her face. “Oh, honey, please, that conjures up such a nasty vision and I just had my lunch.”
Barry stopped smiling.
On the way back to Sandy’s room Michelle filled her in on Barry’s actions.
“I’ve heard he listens for the showers to go on and off in the good-looking women’s rooms and then slips in for a little peek.”
Michelle looked outraged. “If the bastard has an MO that people know about why hasn’t he been fired?”
“People are afraid to speak up. Face it, most folks are here because they’re messed up, vulnerable. They’re not in the best position to defend themselves against assholes like that.”
“I’d love a few minutes alone with the guy. His face would be even uglier than it is now.”
“That would be hard to do,” Sandy replied.
Michelle wheeled Sandy into her room and saw the large bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. “You have a secret admirer?” she asked.
“Don’t all women?” Sandy fingered a rose petal. “Speaking of admirers, who was that tall, gorgeous man I saw you talking to when you first got here?”
“Sean King. We’re partners.”
“Partners? So no ring yet?”
“No, we’re partners in a detective agency.”
“You’re a detective?”
“And ex-Secret Service.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for being a fed.”
“Why, are we supposed to have a certain look?”
“No. But I’m usually pretty good at telling the goodies from the baddies.”
“You’ve had a lot of experience with both?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had lots of experience period.” She patted Michelle’s hand. “So this Sean King and you? Anything happening outside of work?”
“Now you sound like my shrink.”
“Is he as good inside as he looks on the outside?”
“Even better actually.”
“Then honey, can I ask why you don’t have a ring on your finger?”
“We’re business partners.”
“There’re lots of ways to make a living. But it’s been my experience that handsome men with hearts of gold are as rare as a woman leaving a bar without getting her bottom grabbed. Find one like that, you better reel him in or someone else will.”
Michelle thought of Sean and Joan working together again while she was stuck in here having a fight for her soul with Horatio “Harley-Davidson” Barnes and getting peeped on by Barry the Dickhead. “It’s not that simple,” she finally said.
“Oh, women tell themselves that all the time. That’s partially because nothing for women is simple. It’s only simple for men and that’s because, God love the little bastards, they just can’t see any higher than they can grope.”
“Sean is different.”
“Then you’re just making my point for me. Screw the complex and keep it simple. A ring on the finger. That’s all it takes.”
“Assuming for argument’s sake that I’m willing, what if he’s not?”
Sandy ran her gaze over Michelle. “Then, frankly, he needs to be in here more than you. He might be a cut above most men, but I’m assuming he still has a zipper and something behind it.”
“Relying on physical attraction doesn’t work long term.”
“Of course it doesn’t! But you bait them with the curves, haul them in and use the time till your looks fail to train
them properly.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“I was. For about ten minutes.”
“Quickie divorce?”
“No, I was shot on my wedding day and ended up like this. My husband of ten minutes wasn’t so lucky.”
“My God, he was killed? During your wedding!”
Sandy nodded. “The wedding planner was pretty much speechless. She’d been fussing about the shrimp and the ice sculpture. She didn’t have a clue how to do triage.”
“How did it happen?”
Sandy nimbly lifted herself out of her chair and onto the bed. She had on a short-sleeve shirt and Michelle saw the ripple of triceps muscles and the veins down both the woman’s biceps. Sandy sat back on the bed. “What it was, was a long time ago. I only had the love of my life officially for ten minutes. But let me tell you I wouldn’t have traded it for a lifetime with anyone else. So you think about your Mr. King. You think long and hard. And realize he won’t always be there. Because there are lots of women out there who could give a damn about complex. They just take what they want, sweetie. They just take what they want.”
Chapter 20
Sean had spent his first night at Babbage Town alternating between trying to sleep and looking out the window at the darkened grounds. His room was in the mansion on the second floor overlooking the side of the property close to where Champ Pollion’s house was and also within sight of Hut Number One run by the very blunt and very one-legged Alicia Chadwick. The mansion’s decorations had a European flavor, and each guest room, he’d quickly discovered, came equipped with its own computer and WiFi high-speed Internet connection.
Around two A.M. Sean saw some movement near Champ’s house. He thought it was the physicist he’d seen climbing the steps to the front door and going in, but the moonlight was weak and he couldn’t be sure. Then Sean heard a noise that took him completely by surprise. He flung open his window and looked out.
It was a plane coming in, and not just any plane. It was a jet, a large one judging by the sound of the engines, and from the level of noise, the damn thing was landing. He leaned out the window but saw nothing, not even a blink of lights against the black sky. He listened for a while longer and heard the plane’s engines being thrown into reverse to stop the aircraft after it touched down. Yet where had the plane landed? Camp Peary? The Naval Weapons Station? And what the hell was a large jet flying without lights doing landing across the river in the middle of the night?
Nearly two hours later he’d awoken again and taken a seat by the window. He saw two guards standing on the pebble path, talking and sipping coffee. Even from up here he could hear the squawks coming from their portable radios.
At five o’clock, Sean gave up on sleep, showered, dressed and headed down the stairs with a knapsack slung over his shoulder. In the broad, barrel-vaulted entrance hall, there was the smell of coffee and eggs and bacon coming from the dining room.
He ate breakfast and carried a Styrofoam cup of coffee with him as he stopped by the security desk set up near the mansion’s front door and showed the guard stationed there his badge. The stocky man nodded but said nothing as he took Sean’s card and swiped it through a slot on top of his computer screen.
Apparently they want to know where everyone is at all times, Sean thought to himself. Including their own hired detective.
“You hear that plane come in earlier?” he asked the guard.
The man didn’t answer. He simply handed Sean his card and turned back to his computer monitor.
“Love you too,” Sean muttered as he headed out.
It was still dark and Sean stood there for a bit wondering what to do. Alicia had been wrong; he wasn’t just doing this for the money. He wanted to find out what had happened to Monk Turing. Every child should know what had happened to his or her parents. And every murderer should be punished.
Monk had left the country eight or nine months ago. Where had he gone? His passport would show where if he had used the normal channels of international travel. But if he had traveled under a fake name or via another country’s planes? Was he a spy? Had he gone out of the country to pass Babbage Town secrets to another country willing to pay well for them?
He breathed in fresh air devoid of the toxic fumes of the Washington Beltway and listened for a moment to scurrying feet from the nearby woods. Squirrels and deer probably; people made far different noises when they were moving. Sean had been trained to deduce the motive behind a person’s movements. It wasn’t actually all that hard to do. Most people couldn’t hide their motives to save their lives. If they could, far more than four American presidents would have been assassinated.
Sean had some FBI Hostage Rescue buddies who’d trained at Camp Peary with the CIA’s paramilitary units. These units traveled the world doing things no one at the CIA or anyone else in the government would ever talk about. Sean definitely did not want to cross swords with them. But had Turing?
Sean walked on, finally arriving at Len Rivest’s place. It was pretty early as yet and Rivest had really hung one on last night. He decided he’d let the guy sleep. He tossed his coffee in a trash can, passed the security office and a one-story squat building that appeared to be a garage and turned left where a sign that read “Boathouse” pointed down a gravel path. As he walked along Sean was quickly engulfed by forest.
It took twenty minutes to clear the trees and he came to the York River and the boathouse belonging to Babbage Town, which was situated along a pier that jutted out into the wide, calm, deepwater river. It was a long, plain cedar board structure painted yellow with multiple slips and garage-style doors enclosing each slip. He tried the door to the boathouse but it was locked. He peered through a window and could make out the shapes of several boats. He walked out onto a floating dock attached to the boathouse and noted several kayaks stacked on a holder there as well as two paddleboats tethered to cleats. One covered boat slip was open. On a power lift there were three Sea-Doos with their covers on. If Monk had used one of these crafts to get to Camp Peary, who had returned it here? Dead men didn’t make good sailors.
The sun was coming up now, throwing streams of light across the flat surface of the water. Sean pulled out a pair of binoculars from his knapsack. The sunlight was glinting off the razor wire fence on the other side of the York. Sean walked down to the edge of the river, his feet near the sandy edge, and took a sweep of the land opposite, not seeing much of interest. A couple of discarded crab pots floated in the water. Channel markers rose out of the depths of the York and a low-flying heron swooped effortlessly across his line of sight looking for breakfast in the murky water.
He wondered where the runway was that would allow a large jet to land. As he looked to his left he saw it: a clearing in the tree line revealing a wide swath of grass. The runway must start just after the grass, he thought.
Farther down to his left, long crane arms reached to the sky. The Cheatham Annex, he concluded. Navy boys. On the drive to Babbage Town he’d seen a gunmetal gray destroyer alongside a pier in front of the Naval Weapons Station. This area was alive with the presence of the military. For some reason that didn’t give him comfort.
The small branch fell from the tree and hit him on the head. Sean dropped to the ground not because the branch had hurt him, but because something else almost had. It had to have been a long-range rifle round. The bullet had clipped the branch right over his head. He hunkered down in the tall river grass. Who the hell had taken a shot at him? After about a minute he chanced a peek, his gaze scanning across the river. The shot had to have come from there. Now the question was obvious. Did the shooter intend to miss just to scare him, or was the branch supposed to be Sean’s brain?
When the next bullet whipped over his head, missing it by inches, his question was answered. The person was trying to kill him.
He burrowed deeper into the dirt and sand, pressing his body as flat to the ground as he could.
He waited for two minutes. When no other shot saile
d past he began clutching at the short grass and propelling himself backward, resembling a snake whipping through the grass, albeit in reverse. He reached a patch of tall grass, and then the tree line. Once behind a thick oak, he stood and began zigzagging through the trees back toward Babbage Town.
He hit the path and ran flat-out to Len Rivest’s bungalow. Rivest didn’t answer his knock, so Sean pushed the door open and went in.
“Len. Len! Somebody just took a shot at me.”
No one was on the main floor. He raced up the stairs, two steps at a time, and flung open the first door he came to and stopped, his chest heaving.
Len Rivest was lying naked at the bottom of his claw-footed bathtub, his eyes staring unseeingly at the pale blue ceiling.
Chapter 21
Horatio Barnes was sitting at his desk looking at a map showing the small town in Tennessee where Michelle had lived when she was six.
Horatio had learned from Bill Maxwell that Michelle was many years younger than her next oldest sibling. Michelle might have been a mistake, Horatio mused. That could affect a child, he knew.
Horatio had pulled a few strings and gotten some information from her work file at the Secret Service. It had listed all the traits he knew that she had: control freak, hard on her underlings, but hardest on herself, incorruptible, fair, all earmarks of a good federal agent. Somewhere along the line she had lost or at least managed to control her fears, her inability to trust others, though the two agents he’d talked to about her had had strikingly similar comments. Both men had said that they would have trusted her with their lives, but they had never managed to get to know the enigmatic person behind the Kevlar and Glock pistol.
He’d had patients like Michelle before, and he’d wanted to help them all, but with Michelle he felt an extra urge to get her straight. It might be because she’d risked her life for her country or was the closest friend of Sean King, a man he respected like few others of his acquaintance. Or perhaps it was because he felt in her a hurt so deep that he just wanted to help her erase it, if she could.
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