Merit Badge Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  I scrubbed the mud off the wall under the window. That made me feel a little better. It was like washing away what had happened. I got the muddy footprints out of the carpet next and then made Lana's bed. As I did I noticed a little stuffed bear no larger than my hand. It had fallen on the floor. I picked it up. The label was in Russian. The dark brown fur was worn, and it was missing an ear. She'd had this a long time. Maybe since the orphanage.

  Where had it come from? She showed up in a skin tight dress and a pair of shoes. Maybe she'd had a purse. No, I'd remember that. Hell, she probably hid it between those huge boobs of hers. I could imagine she didn't want anyone to see it.

  I was just about to set it down when my spy sensor went off in my brain. Why wasn't I more suspicious here? I was getting too lazy. The bear could've come from anywhere. I'd never seen it before. Did the FSB drop it to spy on us? It would be just like them to do that.

  I turned it over in my hands but couldn't find a zipper. I found a little seam at the bear's neck. Aha! They thought they were really getting one over on me. I slipped out of my room and took the bear to the kitchen for a pair of scissors. At the kitchen counter, I carefully snipped the dark brown threads until I could pull the head completely off. Sawdust spilled out onto the counter as I shook the now limp stuffed animal to see what fell out. Nothing. Wait! I saw a little something stuck in one of the arms. I reached in with my fingers and pulled it out.

  A yellowed piece of paper, folded several times, lay in the palm of my hand. I looked around to make sure Lana hadn't snuck up on me. Very carefully, I unfolded it. In Russian, in a crude, child's hand, it said, Mr. Booboo belongs to Svetlana. Uh-oh.

  I heard a sound and tiptoed down the hall to my room. Very quietly, I opened the door. Lana laid there, sound asleep.

  "Mr. Booboo?" she asked as she blindly pawed the sheets as if looking for him in her dreams. She finally stopped moving—which was good because it was killing me to see her like that. I closed the door and made my way back to the kitchen.

  The bear was Lana's. And it meant a lot to her. And I'd decapitated and gutted it. I'd have to fix it. I re-folded the note and shoved it back inside, but now I had a problem.

  The neck of the bear was only about two inches wide. How could I get all that sawdust back in there? At first, I tried picking up small amounts with my fingers, but that only made more of a mess. An idea popped into my head, and I dug through the drawers to find my funnel.

  I don't know why I had a funnel. But it wasn't worth questioning now. Sticking the narrow end into the bear's neck, I held the top part level with the counter by wrapping my fingers around the necks of the bear and funnel. Using my other hand, I carefully scraped the sawdust off the counter and into the bear.

  Okay, the bear was now full again. Which brought me to the next problem—how to get the head back on? The funnel was lucky, but I couldn't find the needle and thread I'd used on the yearbook. I looked everywhere, but it was gone. Apparently my mind wasn't the only thing I was losing. So what could I use? The head had to be sewed back on so it looked like it hadn't been eviscerated by a paranoid idiotic former CIA agent.

  It was getting late. Lana could wake up at any time. I was starting to panic. Maybe I could convince her that the FSB took it? But then she'd be upset, and I'd get the pouty lips and tear-filled eyes. That seemed far more horrifying.

  Kelly! She might have stuff like that. I called her and gave a silent thanks when she answered.

  "You need what?" she asked on the other end, as if I'd asked for something weird like a cup of sugar.

  "I need a needle and dark brown thread," I whispered. "Do you have any?"

  "I'll be right there." Kelly sighed. She arrived in minutes with both.

  I told her what I'd done. You can't keep stuff like that from your best friend. They always know when you're lying. Kelly frowned and said something to the effect that I was a moron, and I agreed. And then she sewed the bear's head back onto its body without being asked.

  "I have no idea what kind of stitch originally held it together," she said when she was through. "She'll probably figure it out if she's had it since she was little."

  "I'll think of something," I said as I shoved her out the front door, locking it behind her.

  Okay, so now I had to think of something. Well, the main thing was to hide the stitching, right? A ribbon! I could say I found the bear on the floor when cleaning her room and tied a ribbon onto it—like I was sentimental and compassionate or something.

  Ribbon…ribbon…where would I find a ribbon? I had garrotes, but as far as I knew, no ribbon. What to do…

  The ropes we used for the Girl Scout knot-tying class! I could tell her I used that so she'd always have a reminder of that happy day. It was weak, but it just might work. I found the rope in the closet and cut a length and tied a clumsy bow around Mr. Booboo's neck. Perfect.

  I placed the bear on top of the pillow on the air mattress, let out a huge sigh of relief, and moved on. I still had a lot to do. I hung up clothes and stacked what was left on the closet shelf. At least the room looked a lot better.

  Crossing the hall, I quietly opened the door to my room and looked in. Lana was out cold. Good. At least she was sleeping.

  The front door creaked. Someone was coming in. That was fast. Apparently the FSB wanted to finish Lana off and get it over with. I silently closed the door to Lana's room and spotted the nail gun on the floor in the hall. I ran for it, plugging it into the outlet and dropping to my stomach. I saw the flash of black shoes and fired.

  There was a great roar, followed by, "Dammit Wrath!"

  I looked around the corner and saw Riley standing there. He'd showered. The tips of his hair were still wet, and he was freshly shaved. A snug, black T-shirt showed off his lean muscles and topped off dark denim blue jeans that fit like they were sculpted onto his body. Riley was dressed for action, and he looked amazing.

  Well, except for the nail sticking out of his shoe. That kind of ruined his look.

  "Sorry," I mumbled as I got to my feet, "I thought you were the baddies."

  Riley grimaced as he reached down and pulled the nail out of his shoe. There wasn't any blood on the nail. Huh. I must've missed. I'd need to work on my accuracy.

  "What the hell is this?" Riley held the nail out to me.

  I took it, slipping into my pocket. "It's a nail."

  He stared at me. "I know it's a nail, Wrath. What's it doing in my foot?"

  I rolled my eyes. "It didn't go into your foot—there's no blood on it, you big baby."

  "I'm not a big baby!" Riley cursed. "I just don't like having hardware embedded in my body."

  "But it wasn't embedded. I missed," I said as I turned to go into the kitchen.

  "You haven't answered my question," Riley said behind me.

  "Oh," I said, "that's my home defense system.

  Riley followed me into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar.

  His eyes ran over the suitcase on the counter. Damn. I should've put that away.

  "A nail gun is your home defense system?" He looked amused now.

  "It's all I have to work with," I said. "Lana's sleeping. I cleaned up her room and put some security measures in place."

  Riley nodded as he rubbed his now perforated shoe. "I'm staying. It looks like you'll need my help." He pulled his gun from his belt. "And my gun."

  It was then I noticed he had a duffle bag with him.

  "I parked in the driveway," he added. "I'm hoping that will be a deterrent to anyone watching the house. It isn't much, but I made a slow demonstration of getting out of the car and walking up to the house. They'll know I'm here and staying."

  The image of Riley casually stepping out of the car—of his slow, confident swagger as he walked to the door turned me on a little. And he was sleeping over.

  "What's this?" Riley indicated the suitcase.

  There wasn't any point in hiding this from him. If he confiscated the equipment when it was all over, there wa
s nothing I could do about it. I was too tired to argue anyhow.

  "Come on. I'll show you," I said. I led him through the house, showing him what I'd done and the weapons I'd selected. We ended in the living room.

  Riley picked up the nail gun in the hallway, weighing it in his hands. "I should get you a gun," he said.

  "Can you?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "Well, you have mine and me. But I don't know how I'd get you your own. There's no one from the agency within driving distance who could loan you theirs."

  "Come on. You're the CIA. Surely there's something…"

  "I don't think so. Sorry," he said. I could tell he meant it. But that didn't help.

  "Why are you the only agent here?" I asked.

  Riley frowned. "What?"

  I repeated the question. "Why is it just you here, handling this? If it's what you said—that this is a matter of national security, why not send you some help?"

  Riley looked out the window. "That's classified."

  I threw my hands up. "Classified? You can't be serious! How is having the entire encyclopedia of news networks on my front lawn something that's classified? How is having the FSB in my house, uninvited I might add, classified? The secret's out, Riley. The whole world knows what's happened here."

  "I'm aware of that, Merry," he said slowly, "but it's still classified. Which means I can't tell you. Which means you should stop asking."

  I thought about what we still needed to do and about the uninvited guests who would soon be knocking at the door or smashing in the windows.

  "I will…for now. But you can't stop me from thinking about it. And I will bring this up later." I knew I had a valid question. And I knew he was evading. But maybe this wasn't the right time. I wasn't going to give up though.

  Riley smiled and nodded. He was probably trying to figure out how he could blow me off later. Good luck with that, I thought.

  "I brought lunch." From his duffle bag he produced a large, plastic bucket with a lid and two, long loaves of bread wrapped in foil. I knew what it was before I smelled it.

  "Oh thank God," I said as I took the food and unwrapped it. Tortellini in red meat sauce and garlic bread. "I must be a good influence on you. You're starting to eat like a normal person."

  He smirked. "My eating habits are not up for debate. Accept your victory gracefully, or it's tofu and veggies from here on out."

  I held up my hands in surrender. "You got it. No complaints from me."

  I pulled out plates and forks, sliced the bread, and served the pasta. Riley and I sat side by side at the breakfast bar.

  "Oh…" I moaned. "This is sooooo good." I took another bite of tortellini and moaned again.

  Riley looked at me, one eyebrow arched. "You really enjoy your food, don't you?"

  I nodded. "Of course. It's one of the great pleasures in life that you get to do three times a day. Well, I can see how you don't enjoy your food, what with your weird health habits and all."

  He frowned. "Hey! I'm not that bad."

  "Oh really? Are you saying you don't savor carrot sticks and low-fat salad dressing?"

  "No. Not really." He looked at the Italian feast on his plate. "You may be onto something there. But remember, I'm from California. I grew up eating like that."

  "And I grew up here, eating meat with potatoes almost every night."

  "That's a bit revolting," Riley said, biting his lower lip. He looked adorable doing that.

  "Don't judge," I said as I got up to put the leftovers away. "You haven't been shying away from food here."

  "I'm not totally reformed. Yet." He smiled and got up, went over to the sink, and started washing the dishes.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, trying to keep my eyeballs from popping out of my head. Over the years, I'd imagined Riley doing many things, but this wasn't one of them.

  "The dishes. I can do dishes, Wrath. Most people can."

  "You are welcome to do them anytime," I said.

  We finished cleaning up. I put a plate for Lana in the oven, and we went to the couch.

  "I owe you an apology," I started

  He frowned. "What for?"

  "Lana. You were right about her being the target. I still have some doubts and questions, but they very obviously went after her."

  Riley nodded. "I talked to Langley this morning about the whole thing. They alerted the Feds to the appearance of the FSB. I don't like your house being Ground Zero."

  "Nothing we can do about that." I looked around my living room and thought that it might be in ruins before the night is out. I mean, maybe we could get lucky and they'd move on, but after seeing Lana dangling from that tree, I kind of doubted it.

  "Is there any other place we could lure them to?" Riley asked.

  I perked up. "That's a good idea. We walk out in broad daylight with Lana and a suitcase and maybe they'll follow us."

  "Okay, so where? This is your turf, Wrath. I don't know my way around like you do."

  I thought about this. Taking the fight elsewhere would mean innocent people wouldn't get hurt. It also meant we might be able to keep Rex and the police out of it. But would they fall for it? Would they take the bait?

  And then I had it. I knew exactly where to go.

  Riley looked at me, amused. "You have an idea."

  I nodded. "I have an idea."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  About half a mile out of town was an elementary school. It had been there since the 1930's (nothing screams Depression Era Architecture like a big, brick block.) and was slated to be demolished at the end of the summer. Normally it wouldn't be very convenient to have a school on the outskirts of town, but eighty years ago, a farmer gave some of his land to the city, and the city jumped on the freebie to replace a crumbling school in the center of town.

  Kids attended there up until this past May, while they built a new school, ironically, on the land where the original school had been. As far as I knew, the school would be completely empty. And being outside of town—a skirmish there wouldn't attract undue attention. At least, not for a little while. Also, there'd be no innocent civilians to get in the way or to grab as human shields, and a hottie detective didn't live across the street.

  Riley liked the plan. We decided to go about six p.m. That would give us a little time to prepare for them.

  "And you know the building well?" Riley asked.

  "I should. I went there from kindergarten to sixth grade." And I had. The only real differences might be educational décor, but the building would be the same essentially. I drew out a diagram for Riley.

  "It's a big square," I said as I pointed to what actually looked like a trapezoid with wavy lines, because I can't draw worth a damn. "Classrooms are lined up along the outer walls, leaving one, square hallway that loops around a gym that sits right in the center of the building."

  "How many ways into the gym?" Riley asked.

  "Three," I indicated by drawing lines to indicate doorways. "One on each side opposite each other and one at the back where the kitchen is." Memories of pigs in a blanket and Tater Tots filled my head and reminded me that I was hungry. We needed to eat before we went to our shootout.

  "Is the school only one story?" Riley looked a little concerned.

  I shook my head with a smile. "No. It looks like it is only one story from the outside. But there's a basement, where the boiler is, and a hidden attic over the office. You can't see it from the outside. You wouldn't know it's even there until you're in the office, and only if you happen to open the principal's closet to see a trapdoor in the ceiling. It hasn't been used in years. That's where I think we should stash Lana."

  "Not bad." Riley looked at the drawing. "Are there adjoining doors between classrooms?"

  I nodded. "Yes. It's obvious, but it's still an advantage, for a few seconds really." Anyone could come barging through the hallway door into a classroom, but it would take a second for them to register that you'd gone out the adjoining door to the next room. When heade
d for a standoff with an unknown number of bad guys, every second would be an advantage, and you take what you can get in this line of work.

  "We'll have to either get past the cop out front or give him a plausible story as to why we're leaving," I said.

  "Since we want the FSB to see us leaving, we'll have to give the policeman an excuse. Otherwise he'll call it in, and then we'll have locals following us to a showdown they're not equipped for."

  "I don't know," I said slowly. "Maybe we should rethink that. After all, their mission is to protect the public. Maybe we should involve them or the Feds."

  Riley shook his head. "Absolutely not. The Agency doesn't want anyone else involved."

  That kind of pissed me off. "But why? It doesn't make sense. Why just have two people take on who knows how many FSB? It's suicide."

  "I think it's probably two or three FSB at most." Riley gave me his mind-control smile. I recognized it from when we worked together. That smile could get almost anything and had loosened the underwear of many an unsuspecting woman. "Do we really want to start an international incident between two governments?" he added.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. This was how the CIA operated. Keep it simple, and keep it quiet. A full-scale high-noon shootout between a U.S. agency that wasn't supposed to operate on American soil and our former number one villain would make headlines the world over and cause endless government investigations. I'd already been involved in one such investigation, and Riley knew I didn't want to go through that again.

  "We'd better get all of them, then. There's no margin for error if that's how we're going to play it out," I said.

  Riley nodded. And that was the end of that.

  We woke Lana up, and I made dinner (Sadly, I didn't have pigs in a blanket or Tater Tots.) while she showered and got dressed. We briefed her while we ate.