Merit Badge Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  Riley saw Rex to the door. He shook his hand. "Thanks for everything Detective. I really appreciate it."

  Rex nodded at him, then turned to look at me. "You did great, Ms. Wrath. Nice job."

  I blushed. "You can call me Merry, Detective. We're neighbors too."

  Rex smiled. It was the kind of smile you wanted to curl up inside of. "Then you should definitely call me Rex." He winked. I melted. He left.

  I made Lana some eggs for breakfast. I at least knew how to do that. Riley sat with her in the other room. I thought about what I should do next. Lana needed to know, if she hadn't figured it out already, that FSB may have been behind this all along. Riley should move her to a safer place. I needed to go on a vacation. Under an assumed name. To a country I'd never been to before. Which was a very short list that was unfortunately made up of only Greenland and Papua New Guinea.

  "Here you go." I handed Lana a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and a fork. "Do you feel like eating?"

  Lana nodded and took a few bites. She swallowed some more tea. Riley and I watched her as she ate the whole thing. I could bet that her mind was racing like ours was. Interesting how you could put three spies in the same room and know, without them talking, that they were all thinking completely different things about the same problem. It was just a given.

  "Lana," Riley said quietly, "can you remember anything else?"

  She looked at Riley. Then she looked at me. She held my gaze so long I had to look away. Did she wonder why I didn't come to help her last night?

  "I didn't hear anything, Lana. I swear! I had no idea until you woke me up kicking the side of the house." I felt terrible. Horrible. Worse than horrible. Horriblester.

  "It's okay, Merry," she said. "It happened pretty fast. I didn't have much opportunity to fight back." Her words hit me like arrows. Arrows tipped in curare and lemon juice.

  "Sorry," I said softly.

  "Lana…" Riley turned her attention back to himself. "Have you seen any FSB around? Was there any sign they were in town?"

  I stifled a laugh. The idea of Russian spies trying to blend in, in small town Iowa, was ridiculous. If they'd been there, we would've noticed.

  Lana's eyes went up and to…the right. "No. I never saw anything."

  She was lying. The woman was obviously terrified. Their intimidation had worked on her. If I'd been a better friend, maybe she would've confided in me.

  Riley stood up. "All right. I need to call this in." He looked out the window. "Looks like Rex moves fast."

  I joined him at the window to see a black and white sitting at the curb. Subtle.

  "Small town cops won't scare off the FSB," I said.

  Riley raised an eyebrow and studied me. "I'll only be gone a couple of hours. I need to get back to the hotel and make a few calls. Then I'll be back." He grabbed my hands in his and winked. "You'll be okay until then."

  I watched as he walked out the door. Two winks in one day by two gorgeous men. It may not sound like much, but it's been a bit of a dry spell for me this past…well…lifetime. I'd take what I can get.

  "Merry?" Lana's voice sounded pitiful behind me. I joined her on the couch.

  "I didn't mean to upset you yesterday." Her eyes grew watery, and her lower lip was quivering. Remember how I said I couldn't handle it when my Girl Scouts did this? Same was true for Lana.

  I hugged her, gently of course. "It's okay. I know that now." I still thought a little bit that she was on the make with Rex, but I could overlook that. What I really wanted to know was why she was lying to us about having no clue Russian assassins were in town. But I still felt guilty about not being there for her, and she needed some rest. I could interrogate her later.

  "You can sleep in my room," I said. "I'll call Rex and see if I can go ahead and clean up yours."

  "Okay," she said in a small voice. I watched as she stood up and handed me her plate and tea cup. Then she walked down the hall to my room and closed the door.

  I sat back on the couch. From where I was, I could see the police car in front of the house. The cop inside was drinking coffee. I was tired just looking at him. Yawning, I realized I hadn't gotten much sleep either. But with Lana out and the Russians probably watching the house, I needed to stay awake.

  I'd only ever dealt with the Russian Foreign Intelligence Agency through Lana. I'd been stationed in Kiev and made only a dozen trips across the border to meet with her in Moscow and St. Petersburg. I knew what the agents looked like but had no up-close experience with them. They tended to wear expensive Italian suits and shoes, which would stand out like a neon yellow sperm whale in a public fountain here.

  I wished I had a dog. Walking a dog was the perfect way to do surveillance of a neighborhood. Going jogging was out—I couldn't run ten feet without quitting. And if they've been watching the house, they'd know that I never so much as walked around for exercise.

  But I'd feel better if I did some recon, just to play Spot-the-Spies so I'd know how many were out there. On the other hand, if I left, they might move in. These guys weren't afraid of a local cop. They'd probably kill him. No, if they saw I was gone, they'd definitely try to finish what they'd started last night.

  Chances were they'd strike after dark. Making a spectacle of themselves was not in their modus operandi. They'd hit us hard at night, then get clear of town before dawn. They broke in last night and did everything they could to keep it covert. Clearly they wouldn't launch a full scale attack in broad daylight.

  They tried to avoid me last night—maybe they were setting me up for the fall, thinking I'd be blamed for Lana's death. Maybe they were after both of us. After all—I'd been Lana's handler.

  Another thought crossed my mind. Why didn't they kill Lana outright? Why leave her dangling and alive? Seemed to me they'd just as easily have slit her throat and leave. But they didn't. Why not? Were they worried about being seen and decided to make a break for it?

  Ahmed and Midori were dead when I stumbled upon them. But Carlos was still alive. This was getting me no where. Maybe I was overthinking it.

  I should just wait for Riley to get back. It really was up to him to figure this out and come up with the plan. He was the professional now, not me. I needed to let him handle this. But the urge to get involved was kind of tough. Old habits, especially the ones you liked, die hard. I didn't want to retire. My own government made me.

  Rubbing my eyes, I went into the kitchen to make a very strong pot of tea. The caffeine would do me some good. I drank two cups before I remembered: the suitcase. I smiled. Maybe I wasn't so out of it after all. But first, I needed to talk to Rex.

  "Detective…I mean, Rex?" I asked as he answered his cell on the first ring. I got a little thrill when he answered. After all—this was our first private phone call together. Clearly it was time for me to consider bridesmaids dresses.

  "Ms. Wrath?" Of course he answered that way. He was in the office and on duty. "Has something happened?" Rex sounded alert, ready to pounce. It was hot.

  "I just wanted to know if I can clean up Lana's room. She's sleeping in my bedroom. I thought I'd put everything back so she isn't traumatized when she wakes up."

  "Go ahead. We took photos and had everyone in there. It's pretty obvious what happened. You can clean it up."

  "Thanks. I'll talk to you later then," I said.

  I heard a smile in his voice. The same one he'd given me earlier. "You're welcome. Looking forward to it."

  Ooooh! He was looking forward to it! I tried to hide my glee as I went down into the basement. First things first. Secure the perimeter, clean up Lana's room, then date the detective.

  I only used the basement for storage. My washer and dryer were in the upstairs bathroom in a closet, so I never needed to go down there. It was an unfinished basement—all cement and spiderwebs and visible beams. I switched on the bare, exposed light bulb and went to the corner shelves. Pulling out a bunch of old paint cans, I felt for the case. I found it and carried it back upstairs.

&
nbsp; It was dusty, and I thought I spotted some mouse droppings. I guess I really did need a cat. I set it on the breakfast bar and wiped it down. It was a small, leather case from the '50's I'd gotten at a thrift shop for five dollars on my first week on the job. The leather creaked as I opened it.

  Perfect.

  Some people bought souvenirs of all the places they traveled to. I collected all the tools I'd used. The ear piece I'd used in Malaysia…the pack of tampons that held a hidden camera from Brazil…the tiny bobby pins that doubled as extra secure door locks that I'd used in Qatar…and much more. These were my souvenirs.

  By the way—the box of tampons with the hidden camera was one of my favorites. I've never met a man who would touch it—so it always went uninvestigated. In fact, I think we need more spy stuff disguised as feminine hygiene products. I think a douche box with a hidden gun inside would be perfect. Of course, that would only work for a female spy…

  Oh sure, I was supposed to turn stuff like this in when I left the agency. That's why I didn't use the agency's Halliburton metal briefcases. They would've confiscated that. No one ever touched this suitcase that I told them had been my grandmother's when she went to boarding school at the convent. (Pssst—my grandmother never went to a boarding school, and if she had ever been in a convent I was pretty sure she'd have burst into flame. Grandma had some authority issues.)

  Why did I keep it if I was never planning to use this stuff again? Sentimental value mostly. I thought that someday I'd buy one of those display pieces, the ones people use for those weird little porcelain statues or china, and put this stuff in there. That reminded me—I needed to buy a display case—in addition to getting a cat.

  When I did get a house, I thought people might find it weird to see I kept things like bobby pins and tampon boxes in a glass display case—so until I had a better idea, the case was hidden in the basement. Among the spiders and mice. My argument for getting a cat was definitely shaping up to be a good one.

  I picked carefully through everything, the laser sights that looked like a contact lens case, the can of Diet Coke that took pictures when you tilted it up to drink, my disguise kit…until I found the security alarm system. The orange iPod Nano and its docking station were one of the best inventions Langley put out. Most travelers brought mp3 players with them to make cold, impersonal hotel rooms seem more like home. No one ever suspected it, especially when teamed up with a set of earbuds and the speaker you docked the iPod on.

  It worked wirelessly. When you plugged the iPod into the speaker, it cast a five thousand square foot perimeter that alerted you to intruders, based on music selections. For example, if a raccoon or anything crawling on all fours entered, "Rocky Raccoon" by The Beatles played. For the two-legged animals that wanted to kill you in your sleep, you got "Brahms' Lullaby."

  I never figured out how to change the music. It was weird that classical played when a human approached. But maybe the lab thought an intruder would dismiss classical music. It didn't really matter, because it worked. Saved my life once in Budapest. An assassin tried to slip into my hotel room. I'd heard the Brahms' and took him out with a salad fork before he even saw me. Fortunately, room service hadn't come up to claim my dishes yet.

  I picked through the case and found one or two other things I might need, set them on the counter, and closed the case. Time to get to work. With a little bit of luck, some extra batteries, and a screwdriver—no one would get to us today.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I spent the morning setting up the equipment. Bobby pins were inserted into every window as extra locks, and the iPod was set up to alarm the house a few feet into the yard in all directions.

  Now I just needed weapons. I didn't have anything but a steak knife. One steak knife. I hadn't really thought I'd need lethal weapons once I retired. I'm pretty damn good in a fist fight and have a few martial arts moves they taught me at the academy. But I'm even better with a pistol.

  The only problem was the waiting period. You needed to go and buy the gun, fill out the paperwork, and come back three days later to fill out more paperwork before you could pick it up. I didn't have that kind of time. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say the Russians would be back tonight to finish what they started. And they wouldn't take the time to frame me for it. This job was supposed to have been done yesterday, so they'd most likely break down the door and shoot us in our beds. It was messy, but they couldn't afford another mistake.

  Kelly was the only other person I really knew in town, and she didn't have so much as a shotgun, which was weird with her living in Iowa and all. I was pretty sure neither Riley nor Rex would lend me their service pieces. Riley knew I could handle it, but Rex had no idea about my past. He'd think it was an impulse thing, and he'd assume I had no training. Asking him wouldn't work.

  And until Riley got back, I couldn't leave the house. I was all that stood between Lana and the FSB. It wasn't enough. Driving to Weapons R Us (if it existed, which by the way would be very cool) or anywhere else and leaving Lana alone was out of the question. I couldn't count on the cop outside to be the first and only line of defense.

  Which meant I'd have to come up with something lethal from whatever I had. Theoretically, I could kill the first guy through the door and use his gun on the others. But that was a crapshoot if I wasn't able to take him out. I didn't like crapshoots.

  I checked the garage first. A bunch of tools came with the house when I'd bought it. I thought nothing of it at the time, since I could afford to hire people to fix stuff for me. But since I needed something, I figured this would be a good time to go through things and see what I had.

  The old man who'd lived here before had taken a lot of care of his tools before he died. He'd had no family, so they stayed with the house. There was a workbench along the back wall with all kinds of shelves. I started there.

  The first thing I found was a giant wrench. It was extremely heavy and the length of my arm. Perfect for bashing a man's skull in. I set it aside as a yes. Hanging on the wall were two hammers—a large sledge and a small claw hammer. I took both of those too. I sorted through boxes of nails, screws, and washers till I found a case filled with screw drivers. I took the medium sized flat-tip and put it with the hammers and wrench. On a good piece of luck, I found a whetstone and put it with the screwdriver. So far so good, but I needed something I could use from a distance.

  I'd gone through almost everything before I found it…a nail gun. I'd never used one before, but how hard could it be? I pulled it from the box, and after finding the right sized nails, I plugged it in. There was an old block of wood in the corner on the floor. I picked that up and aiming the nail gun at it, fired.

  I'd need to be fairly close. The nail went in but it didn't shoot a projectile like a bullet from a gun. And it had to be plugged in. That might be a problem. But I felt a little bit better having something with the word gun in the name, so I decided to add it.

  Carrying everything into the house and kitchen, I dumped the stuff on the counter. I'd have to stash each of these in just the right place. The points of entry were the garage door to the house, the kitchen door, and the front door. No matter what I did, those could all be kicked in fairly easily. There was no time to buy ironwork for them—and that kind of thing, while at home in a bad neighborhood in L.A., looked weirdly out of place here.

  I also had to consider the windows in each bedroom, the living room, and kitchen. I was pretty sure even I couldn't get through the basement windows, so I'd leave those for now. I got some paper and a pencil and drew a sketch of the house.

  It was nice getting to do this again. Well, nice and scary, because some big nasty bad guys were going to attack and try to kill us. But nice nonetheless. It was also nice to be busy with something to do. This past year had been pretty dull.

  I put the nail gun in the living room. The outlet was on the wall near the front door, but it could also cover the kitchen entrance into the hallway and the garage entrance through the kitchen.
Since I could fire multiple nails, that was the best location for staving off attacks from the three entrances.

  I put the steak knife…the one steak knife…on the counter in the kitchen, under a dishtowel. It would look more natural there, and I'd have quick access. The large sledge would be a problem. It would have to go someplace where I could swing it. My house was small. The living room and kitchen were the only places large enough. I thought about taking it back out to the garage but then realized if they came in through the back door there, they could use it to break down the door to the kitchen.

  I set it in the hallway, within reach of both rooms. It still worried me, because I didn't want it used against us. But in a bad situation I'd need it, so I left it. That left me with the big wrench, claw hammer, and the flat-tipped screwdriver. I wetted the whetstone and started sharpening the screwdriver while I thought about this.

  I needed to put something in each bedroom. The windows had been locked down, backed up by the bobby pins. But the bad guys could just smash through the glass. It would make noise and possibly alert Rex across the street, but they were probably desperate. If they'd be thoughtful enough to provide us with a schedule, I'd know exactly when they'd attack, and I could stash Lana in the bathroom. There were no windows there, and she could lie in the tub with some protection against bullets.

  But sadly, FSB couldn't be counted on to call me and make an appointment, so I'd have to figure this out on my own. I looked down at my hands, and butterflies flew around my stomach. A screwdriver, wrench, and two hammers. That was all I had for the bedrooms. What was I thinking? I set the tools on the floor in the hall between the two bedrooms.

  I still needed to clean up Lana's room. The solution might come to me while cleaning, and Riley would probably show up before I had to decide. I got some rags and solvent and went into her room.

  The police had shut and locked the window, but the curtain was open and the mud was still there. My rattled nerves were replaced by guilt. I'd been so tired when I crashed that I didn't hear the struggle in the next room. But then, there was a closet, hallway, and two walls between us, and they'd muffled the sound. The glass hadn't broken, so I didn't hear that. And there was no window on the side where they hung Lana. The logic that I wouldn't have heard anything was sound, but it didn't help.