“I can’t even think what we’d argued about. Just stuff.” She said, bewildered.
"Do something. Whatever it is, do something," he told her frankly, as he shuffled some papers into his briefcase. “Make the most of the situation. Don’t sit and wait for someone to fix everything for you. You’ve got to snap out of it."
She arched an eyebrow through her tears.
***
After a short drive, they parked behind the local drug store and walked to the nearby bar. Milan swiftly ushered her in and settled her in a booth with a view through the window whilst he went to the bar and procured them drinks.
Drinda stayed quiet, even as Milan returned with the two scotches. She didn’t really know what to expect, staring at each car as it flashed past the window in the pooling dusk. Pressing her right hand against her forehead, she willed the world to stitch itself back together in some semblance of order. She raised her head after a few minutes.
“Will he be long?” Her voice raised a couple of octaves.
“He shouldn’t be too long,” Milan replied, as Drinda spotted a black Ford parked in the lot, noticeable only because of the light glinting off the driver’s side door as it opened.
The man that got out was tall and slender, but his frame was clearly muscular as he moved to the door of the bar with an easy grace. Even in the dark, she could see that he had dark hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. The two men locked eyes and before she knew it the men were shaking hands whilst some kind of rapid, fluent, non-verbal messaging passed between them.
Milan turned to her then, and introduced her to Pedro, who smiled mirthlessly.
“No need to look so pleased to see me,” she joked weakly before ducking her head in apology, almost missing the stranger’s wince.
“He must have treated you badly.” The stranger said matter-of-factly.
Her eyes widened with surprise and she gave him a long, hard look.
“What?”
An uncomfortable silence settled as Milan maneuvered the man into the other side of the booth, and signaled to a waiter. The staff at the bar buzzed around preparing for the dinner crowd, setting tables and serving drinks over the bar. Drinda realized that Milan must have set up a command with the staff earlier, as a waiter manoeuvred his way through the crowd to the bar and returned with three glasses of champagne and a dish of olives on a circular tray..
“Now then – Drinda, this is Pedro Garcia. He’s your ticket out of San Francisco.” Milan rested his hands on the table top, clearly feeling satisfied with himself at the introduction, and Drinda felt her tension ease as she studied Pedro.
They sat there talking of small, inconsequential things, each sipping at their champagne. Across from her, Milan smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling into little lines.
Drinda took a deep breath and reached for an olive while she thought of what to say next. She watched Pedro scratch the corner of his finely sculptured mouth with his index finger and found herself strangely mesmerized. So much so, that he made her momentarily forget all the horrendous things that had happened to her.
“I’ve heard some impressive stories about you, Pedro,” she said.
Pedro traced the stem of his champagne glass slowly before bringing his hands together on the table in front of him. As he opened his mouth to respond, one of the waitresses came over and whispered something in his ear. Grimacing, Pedro pushed back his chair and stood up.
“I’ve been called back to the office,” he said apologetically, draining the rest of his champagne, before giving a grim smile and nodding. “See you on the cruise in one week.”
Drinda smiled at him approvingly and shook his extended hand. As he walked away, she watched as he tossed his keys up and caught them in the same hand. She felt a great sense of relief as she watched him leave the room, but then within a few seconds, asked herself why he was leaving so quickly. Something didn't feel right.
She turned and gave a single twist of her head to tell Milan that it was time to go. As they pulled away in the car, Drinda spoke.
“That was an… interesting meeting.”
Milan agreed mildly, but underneath his bland façade was a cunning mind.
Chapter 5
As always on a Friday night, Pedro headed to the gym. He found that whenever he needed to think, having his body busy doing something else freed his mind. The night was calm, utterly silent except for the mellow whine of his Ford engine, newly tuned and sensitive to the slightest touch of his fingers. Pedro drew a deep breath and pushed his head back into the leather-head rest before putting his foot more firmly on the gas pedal. The Ford leapt forward, hitting eighty, and pulling up to the gym’s main gate with its tires screeching.
The gym was almost empty. As he started his workout and looked out of the gym’s windows to the streetlights illuminated below, Pedro reflected on the task that the CIA had assigned to him. All he knew so far that he was to observe a Wallace Wilkinson who would be on the same cruise ship that they had assigned him to. He didn’t have the official file as yet – his handler had that and would be meeting him in the morning to hand it over. Breathing hard as he finished his workout, Pedro wiped the sweat from his forehead using the back of his hand and wondered what exactly the CIA wanted with Wilkinson.
Once he was back at home, Pedro flipped through the dossier he had been compiling, looking at a series of photos. On the second page, a spread of photos of Wilkinson’s various homes caught his attention and he briefly wondered how anyone could get that rich. Scanning his eyes over the latest information from the CIA, it seemed that Wilkinson was into everything from petty theft to major fraud. It wasn’t only that that he was into either –at least a third of the file dealt with his proclivity for prostitutes. At least Wilkinson’s wife had left him years ago and taken the kids, and got the hell out of his sad life.
The man was clever, Pedro grudgingly admitted; he knew how to make money through whatever means he came across. The CIA wanted him behind bars, and under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Pedro closed the file thoughtfully – the timing on this was crucial. His mind raced through all the possible alternatives at his disposal – he didn’t really want to spend too much time on this. One thing was certain, however: he needed to pick his team sooner rather than later. He glanced at his watch. It was 8.10 a.m. and he had a growing list of priorities that needed his attention. Firstly, he needed to talk to Milan.
***
They’d agreed to meet at André's that afternoon. Pedro arrived early and slouched down low in his seat, sipping at the glass of red wine promptly delivered by one of the bar staff. He looked around as he overheard the Maître d' welcoming Milan and directing him over to the table.
"What would you like to drink?" Pedro asked as Milan settled at the table.
"Water," Milan said, hoarsely.
Pedro frowned as he nodded at the Maître d'; he seemed very off-balance, as if his emotions couldn't decide where to settle. There was a kind of tension in the air between them – one that said they had been friends all those years ago, but were pretending they hadn't.
After a few more moments of tense silence, Pedro crossed his arms and shot Milan a pointed look.
"Are we going to do this?"
Milan sat back, rolling his eyes, and held up a cautionary finger.
"Yes, alright."
"You need to make the arrangements with London, let them know of my arrival," Pedro said.
"Consider it done. You may be lucky; you can always find a Brit on a ship."
He stared at Milan in disbelief. "You want me to work with a civilian?"
"Yes. A Brit would be ideal. We need an outsider; someone who no-one knows."
"That won't be easy." Pedro fired back, struggling to grasp the significance of Milan’s words.
Milan smiled and handed him a letter. "Have a look."
It was background information on a young British man who worked onboard the ship. Milan had done his homework and discovered that the man
had a rather long criminal record as a thief, and potentially useful friends in London’s underworld.
“There’s plenty of information here he wouldn’t want you to reveal to the authorities once he starts working for us. He won’t be able to back out even he figures out our plans.”
"You're sure about this guy? You can't make a mistake here." Pedro stared doubtfully at Milan.
"Yes, and Drinda will be useful as well – she could be a good asset. Just don't tell her too much."
"Do you think we can trust her? And how do we know that she has her facts straight?" said Pedro. He'd heard she was smart, but he had yet to see.
"She was perhaps the only person who had me fooled," Milan replied.
"What do you mean?"
“When I started to represent her, I was convinced that she was telling the truth – that she’d had nothing to do with her boyfriend's death. She demonstrated none of the telltale signs. She could lie without blinking if it served the moment. The only thing that I realized was safe to assume was that when her mouth was moving, she was lying."
"So are you saying she did kill him?"
“Without a doubt," Milan said, flippantly.
“So how the heck did you get her off?”
“You know as well as I do that there’s always ways to tamper with evidence – as long as you’re willing to pay,” Milan gave Pedro a lopsided grin. “And I was sure she’d repay me in one way or another.”
Pedro swirled the red wine around in his glass, thoughtfully. "Milan, we’ve always been straight with each other. There can't be any mistakes. I need to know about her. The more information I have the smoother this whole business will go."
Milan held up his glass of water and, with a reassuring smile, said, "I'll get her to call you."
Pedro was under no illusions that he could trust her, but Milan's points were valid. Pedro would never be able to share everything, but maybe he could give her just enough to help point her in the right direction. And see what might come of it.
***
Two days later, Pedro arrived home from a meeting to find his answering machine blinking. Two missed calls, neither of which left any form of message. He was contemplating who had his number but wouldn’t leave a message when the phone rang again.
"Hello, who is this?"
"Hey, where are you?" Drinda’s voice sounded nervous and tinny on the line. "Milan gave me your number; said you wanted to talk to me.”
"How about we go for a drink tonight."
"Hmm, alright.”
The answer brought a smile to Pedro's face. She was cute, he supposed. He made quick arrangements to meet her at her apartment block before heading to the beach club. She was waiting outside when Pedro pulled up in his Ford. He pushed open the door and she slid into the seat. She smelled showered and fresh, her hair styled perfectly. They made small talk as he drove, pausing momentarily as they arrived, the familiar sounds of a bar reaching out to greet them as Pedro helped Drinda out of the car.
"Does a booth sound alright?" he asked as they made their way inside.
Drinda nodded, and she followed as Pedro rushed to claim a recently vacated booth. They both sank back into the cushions of the booth. She was turned on by the fact that he was a good-looking, smart man who made her laugh.
"I am looking forward to being on the ship." Drinda said, straightening in her seat.
"Did Milan tell you I need to recruit?" Pedro replied.
"Yes he did; though, aren't you supposed to be there to observe somebody?"
"Milan informed you well."
Pedro smiled and signaled to a waiter; he already knew what he was going to order. "Two glasses of champagne, please."
Pedro was enjoying her company, and clearly the feeling was mutual, as she invited him back to her place when he offered her a lift home.
Inside, he took his jacket off and felt himself freeze as a piece of notebook paper fell from his pocket.
"What's this?"
She leaned forward, her voice raised by curiosity squinting as she made out that it was a name of a ship's crew member. Pedro lunged for the paper, but she got there first, holding it in a tight grip and laughing. She eyed him suspiciously, looking like she wanted to ask for a little more detail, but Pedro didn't give her the chance. After enduring another few seconds of scrutiny, he gripped her arm and led her to the bedroom. Sliding into bed, Pedro was caught off guard by a wave of loneliness.
He wished he could open up to Drinda and tell her about his life. It would be nice to have the freedom to be with someone for more than a night. Pedro had never before stayed up and talked and got to know a woman he was attracted to; his history was sprinkled with clandestine meetings, hurried sex and rushed orgasms. It had never been about companionship, or love because that was a risk to his work. Drinda was the biggest risk he’d ever had, but her natural sympathetic attitude and Milan's assessment of her convinced Pedro that she was apparently very good at keeping her lips zipped.
Chapter 6
Pedro did not expect to find him until he was on board, this Wilkinson. He knew where he was booked in first class: en suite on A deck, with his stateroom just around the corner. In the jostle of the crowd, he was content to not even think about him for the moment. The ship security was tight, and he was content to be frisked and passed along, but it turned out that the strong lavender smell behind him was the pomade slicking down the black, centre-parted hair of none other than Wilkinson. He recognized him from the photos: faintly jowled, dense eyebrows, wide in the shoulders and short in the legs.
He stayed just ahead of him through the whole process with the purser and the baggage steward, and then lingered at the foot of the grand staircase. He saw him in his periphery and he moved away and up the plush, ruby red carpet of the staircase. He passed what he knew to be Wilkinson's en suite rooms, A20 and A21, and then he moved on down the corridor and turned into a passageway. A few steps later, beyond a short, forward-heading corridor, he arrived at the door of his own single-room cabin, A4. Still conscious of him, from around the corner, he distantly heard Wilkinson shutting his door.
Pedro looked at himself in the mirror over the cabin’s wash basin. He washed and dried his face, rubbing hard at it, and put his jacket, shirt and tie back on, before leaving his cabin and passing Wilkinson's suite. He checked the stairs quickly and then started up them two at a time. Stopping just short of the top, he listened. From the door straight ahead and to the left came passionate purrs of a young woman moaning. He stepped out onto B deck promenade, and there, quite near, leaning at the railing with his back turned towards the dock and an air of casual indifference, was Wilkinson. He watched him holding a cigarette rather effetely between the tips of thumb and forefinger with his little finger lifted. He looked content.
Pedro needed to focus on his assignment. He knew how to move quickly. He went to Wilkinson's en suite and, using his picklock, opened the door. He needed to find Wilkinson's notebook, which would reveal amounts, dates, and names. His mind began to move fast. In the corner, on the floor, he saw a black suitcase; he forced it open. In between the numerous crisp white shirts, he could see the black leather book. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He checked the rest of the case to confirm there was nothing else he should know about. He pulled the door shut and quickly slipped out of the cabin. Taking a deep breath, he decided to go for a walk.
He'd arranged to meet Drinda later at the grand lobby bar. The place was full of tuxedoed men and bejeweled women who were milling about with cocktails in their hands and murmuring to each other as they were trying to find a seat at one of the glass tables with their cream sofas. There was a stage, framed with spotlights above and big speakers at either side. In the centre of the room, an expensive-looking chandelier hung proudly from the ceiling. The bar was shiny aluminum and there was every optic known to mankind behind it.
Drinda sat at one of the tables and met his eyes as he came in. He walked over to her, then leant down a
nd kissed her on the cheek. He sat in one of the luxurious armchairs and angled it so he could watch the main entrance. He signaled to the waiter to bring a bottle of champagne. Draining half the glass in two mouthfuls, she smiled, before draining the rest. She took her time with the second drink, talking excitedly about the people she had seen and the views from the upper decks. She threw her head back when she laughed, her face animated by joy, her moves fuelled by the surge of alcohol in her blood.
After the second bottle, he took a deep breath and said, "Remember, you need to get him to come to San Francisco."
She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I know."
He reminded himself that this was nothing more than a business relationship.
When she raised her hand to touch her dark hair, a tiny strip of tanned and toned navel showed. He pulled her from her chair. "My cabin's right over here."
He extracted the key from his pocket and slid it into the metal lock with a steady hand. She pursed those full, glossy lips and looked deep into his eyes with a big, sincere smile. He pressed her against the hard surface of the cabin wall as his tongue explored her mouth. He undressed her slowly, his warm hands fondling her gently. He was kissing parts of her body that had nothing to do with sex – her shoulder, her ear. She delicately guided him away from her wrist and ankles.
"Just fuck me, for Christ’s sake," she said.
He began pumping gently, pausing for kisses, until she grabbed him by the buttocks and began pushing him into her.
"Fuck me hard," she cried out. Her insides fluttered with the feel of him. She arched, moaned. She gasped as he entered her more deeply. A minute passed. Then another. His expression tightened as a small noise caught his attention. The door was slightly ajar. A man stood there, gawking in disbelief, clearly caught between the desire to stay and watch and the common decency of leaving quickly. Suddenly, Drinda's eyes, which had been screwed shut, opened slightly in ecstasy only to fly wide upon seeing the man. Pedro barked a warning, and the rhythmic bouncing of the bed ceased.
The Assassin's Keeper Page 6