Ulterior Objectives: A Lillian Saxton Thriller

by Scott Dennis Parker

  He stood outside on the street opposite the Adelphi’s front doors. The woman was clearly sick so the chances she and Monroe would visit the restaurant were small. Besides, he wasn’t sure of the state of the romance. If they were in love, they might not even leave the room even if she was well. That meant he was going to need to determine their room number in a manner that would arouse no suspicion.

  Involuntarily, he reached over and pressed the comforting weight of his Sig Sauer nestled in its shoulder holster. He never went anywhere without it. He wasn’t sure if he would need it tonight, but he had other means to obtain what he needed.

  He crossed the street and entered the Adelphi. At this hour of the evening, the lobby was a tizzy of movement. Locals were out on the town for a fancy meal. Passengers embarking on and disembarking from ocean liners caused general havoc around the concierge. It was a contained frenzy, something Bauer determined to use to his advantage.

  He sauntered over to the bellboy row and assumed an exasperated, confused look. “Good evening,” Bauer said in his best American accent—not a problem considering he was born in America—“I was wondering if you could help me?”

  A bellboy, stocky with hair cut short and little in the way of a neck, said, “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m meeting my friend, Frank Monroe, here tonight. He’s just come in from America and I’m going back. We need to meet to discuss banking business. Could you tell me what room he’s staying in so I can go up and see him?” He held out his hand. A blue five-pound British note rested in his palm.

  The bellboy eyed Bauer, then grabbed the bill and slipped it into his pocket. Turning on his heel, he walked over to the main desk and came around the back. He craned his neck and studied the register. Satisfied, he returned to Bauer.

  “7D.”

  Bauer tipped his hat. “Much obliged.” The German spy crossed the lobby and ascended the stairs. Reaching the seventh floor, he peered out into the hall. He saw no one. The stairwell was on the opposite side from Monroe’s room so Bauer walked across the entire floor and put an ear to the door of 7D.

  Inside, he heard rustling and moving around. His nose picked up perfume. Perhaps this really was Monroe’s girlfriend. Bauer made a mental note to add that to his report.

  He gave serious consideration to the idea of barging in, gun drawn, and demanding the book and the identity of the redhead. In his mind, he saw himself like a gangster in one of those films Hollywood churned out every year. Bauer didn’t always have to inflict pain on those he followed, but when he did, he found he had a knack for the job. And an enjoyment of it.

  He took a few moments to play out what results he might get if he took that action. He would certainly get the element of surprise. He could use the gun coercively to get Monroe and the woman to do his bidding. He’d be less inclined to shoot them outright at first, but he would, noise be damned. The silencer for his pistol was in his suit pocket. As long as he had the time to make them stand down, he’d have time to screw it on before he shot them.

  The rustling from inside the room got closer. A hand gripped the doorknob. Bauer had to make a split-second decision: shoot or not.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lillian Saxton discovered that a shower went a great deal to making her feel better. The warm water flowing over her skin seemed to relax her clenching stomach muscles. The soap refreshed her skin after all the miles traveled. By the time she stepped out of the tub, towel wrapped around her, she felt pretty good.

  She ran a brush through her hair. She wiped the condensation off the mirror and looked at herself. Typically, on a mission, there was a hardness to her eyes. She needed that strength when she did her job. But this assignment was unlike any she had undertaken for the Army. Outside that door was a man she could find herself loving. They had history. They were already friends. Could they conceivably take the next step? In the long hours on the liner when she wasn’t confined in the bathroom throwing up, she had learned more about Frank in the intervening years. He was still a bachelor, having not found any woman he loved deep enough to ask the question he had asked Lillian years ago. Honestly, Lillian liked hearing that.

  Her hair combed, she unwrapped herself and toweled dry. She stood there, naked, looking at herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw. She had a positive outlook on her physical appearance. On the liner, she had caught Frank’s eyes lingering on her more than once. If she opened that door right now and went to him, she knew what would happen.

  But could she give up this job and the work she did?

  Frank rapped on the door. “You fall in?”

  Shaken out of her fantasies, she said, “No. I’m just getting ready.” She reached over and started dressing. Five minutes later, she opened the door and walked back into the room.

  Frank Monroe’s mouth hung open. He inhaled the air. “Your perfume smells great. And you look even better.”

  Lillian walked into the room and did a twirl. She ended up directly in front of him. She looked up at him. “Thank you. Do you need the lavatory?”

  “Already cleaned up.” He gazed down at her and deep into her eyes.

  Her stomach flipped at the attention. She sniffed the air. “You smell good, too. And you’re pretty easy on the eyes as well.”

  “I’ll take that as high praise from a woman who carries a gun.”

  And there it was. Frank’s knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time was still in place.

  The moment dead, she smiled wanly. She picked up her purse, opened it to verify both the gun and the book were inside, and snapped it closed. “I’m ready.”

  Frank figured out he did wrong. He hid it by slipping on his suit coat and walking to the door. He patted his pocket for the room key and opened the door. He held out his arm and let Lillian into the hallway first.

  The first thing she noticed was a man in a blue suit. He stood next to a door two rooms down. He let go of the doorknob and sauntered in their direction.

  “Good evening, folks.” His accent pegged him as a New Yorker. “Heading down to the restaurant?”

  “We are,” Frank said. “Been there yet?”

  He shook his head. “Just got in on the Queen Mary. I’m pretty tired, but I’m famished.”

  Lillian examined the man head to toe. He was nearly six feet tall. His hair was neatly coiffed in the latest style. His suit looked well tailored. His shirt was neatly pressed. Almost perfectly pressed. She glanced at Frank. He had changed shirts but travel wrinkles were visible on his clothes.

  The man in the blue suit didn’t have any of them. And he carried his left arm just slightly away from his body. Her eyes travelled to his chest. If she were asked to bet, she’d say this man wore a shoulder holster.

  Lillian doubled over, holding her stomach. She let a small moan escape. She leaned against Frank. “We’re going to need to stop at the pharmacy before we get down there.”

  Frank put his arm around her. To the man, he said, “She had a bad trip. Seasick almost the entire time. Catch you downstairs, then?”

  The man looked concerned. “Sure. Hope she feels better.” Pausing an additional moment or two, the man began walking to the elevator. He pushed the button. “Going down?”

  “Yes.” Frank started moving to the elevator. Lillian tried to hold back, but he half carried her. There was no way she could warn him and not tip off the mystery man. She relented, but kept a wary eye on the potential adversary.

  Frank and the man talked business while the elevator descended. They got in, the elevator man opening and closing the door. On the lobby level, Lillian asked if the hotel had a pharmacy. He directed her and she thanked him.

  “Save you a seat?” the man in the blue suit asked. “It’d be great to talk to another Yankee.”

  “Sure thing.” Frank and the man shook hands and the man walked to the restaurant.

  “You feeling that bad?” Frank asked.

  “I’m fine, but that man is wearing a gun.”

  He looked at her ske
ptically. “Are you sure?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “It’s my job to be sure. Yes, I’m sure. Trust me, Frank. I know what I’m doing. Let’s eat, but stay away from him. Okay?” She turned his face to hers with her finger on his chin. “Remember, we’re on a mission here. You’ve already been spotted back in Washington. We can’t trust anyone here. No one. That man may be exactly who he says he is, or he may be trying to kill us. Or question us. In my line of work, you want to face off against the ones who only want to kill you. It’s much easier that way.”

  “Why?”

  Lillian sighed, thinking back to earlier assignments. “Because questioning can get messy.” She slid her arm around his. “Now, Mr. Monroe,” she said, a little of her earlier excitement returning to her voice, “will you please take me to supper?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Johannes Bauer watched from a concealed area as Monroe and the woman walked across the lobby. They stopped and talked. When they moved again, they did not go to the pharmacy. They went to the restaurant.

  That meant the woman had lied. Who was she? Bauer thought there might be answers in their room.

  He doubled back and went up the stairs to the seventh floor. As before, no other person walked the hallway. He slipped up to the door of 7D. It was locked, of course, but locked doors were no problem for Bauer.

  He pulled out a small case full of tools. He extracted a couple and, within seconds, had the door open. He slipped inside and put his tools away. Now, in the room, he found both travel bags. He started with the woman’s.

  It was full of her clothes and toiletries, of course, but the zipped leather case at the bottom of the case surprised him. He pretty much knew what it was but opened it to verify. It was a gun-cleaning kit complete with a spare clip. He ejected one of the shells and examined it. Nine millimeter. He ejected the remaining shells, counting each one. Thirteen. His mind went through all the guns that held a thirteen-shell clip. There were a few, but it didn’t matter what kind of gun she carried. What mattered was that she was carrying a gun at all. The questions about this woman deepened, but Bauer now assumed she was not the delicate flower she pretended to be.

  The kind of woman who carried a gun that held thirteen shells was also the kind of woman who knew how to use it. Bauer thought through possibilities as he searched the rest of her bag and then onto Monroe’s bag. Surprisingly, he found no name tag anywhere on her belongings. Monroe’s accouterments revealed no information on her either. On a hunch, he dumped the contents of the trash can onto the made bed. He sorted and sifted through the crumpled papers, unwrapping each one.

  A grin formed on his face when he read a name on the ocean liner ticket: Lillian Saxton.

  “Bingo.” Bauer slipped the ticket into his pocket. Not wanting to wait any longer, he picked up the phone in the room and asked for an outside line.

  “What listing?” the operator asked.

  “Buckley’s Antique Shop.”

  ***

  It turned out Lillian’s stomach wasn’t nearly as well as she hoped. Frank had slipped the maitred’ a little extra to buy a secluded corner of the restaurant. The room itself was massive. Easily fifty tables were arranged on the floor. Each one had a black tablecloth with a separate white cloth on top of that, and at an angle. A lit candle sat in the center of each. The shiniest silver, the most dazzling wine and water glasses, and the most delicate china all were placed at their precise positions.

  Lillian was impressed. She was also unhappy that the odor of all the food made her stomach start to flip for all the bad reasons. All the food looked and smelled scrumptious. Lillian knew, even as she took a menu from the waiter, she was not going to have any of it.

  She latched onto a roll and gnawed on it. She had tasted few rolls as good as that one, so she savored what might be her only food for the night.

  After encouragement from her, Frank ordered shepherd’s pie, a red wine, and a salad. She asked the waiter if there was any soup or broth. He said yes and she asked for some. She hoped it would be the best soup she ever tasted because that was her supper for the evening.

  His face, lit by the low lights of the restaurant and the candle, looked so good to Lillian. Again, thoughts of a life with Frank flashed into her mind. A life like that would bring many more meals like this one.

  “So, tell me this other secret you mentioned,” Frank said.

  Inwardly, Lillian sighed. Frank Monroe could teach a class on saying the wrong things at the wrong times. Outwardly, she leaned forward.

  “So, you know about the message that got us here. James actually wrote me two messages. I just decided to keep the other one to myself since it has no bearing on the mission.”

  Frank gave her a curious look. “That doesn’t seem like you, deliberately misleading your commanding officers.”

  “It’s not misleading if you never mention it.”

  “Sure it is. That’s like insider trading. It’s illegal in my field. Isn’t there something similar in yours?”

  In some cases, Lillian might agree. In this one, however, she didn’t. “It’s about Samuel.”

  “Samuel?”

  “My brother. Remember I told you about him. He was killed a few weeks ago. That’s why I was in Houston when I got your message. I was supposed to rendezvous with a reporter who had information on what had happened to Sam. The reporter was killed, but the private investigator I hired on the Army’s behalf found the truth.”

  Frank sipped his wine. “What does that have to do with James’s other message?”

  She lowered her voice so much he had to lean in to hear. “James knows who it was that killed Sam. He’s going to tell me.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Frank blurted. He looked around, then lowered his voice. “What are you planning on doing with that information?”

  “I’m not sure. Our mission here is very tight: in and out in a matter of hours. A day or two at the most. After it’s over....” Her voice trailed off.

  “What?” Frank persisted. “What will happen after it’s over?”

  Lillian shrugged. “Depending on the type of intelligence James gives me, I might ask for some time off.”

  “To do what? Hunt this guy? Kill him?” He downed another large drink of wine. He stared at her, studying her.

  No, she thought. Frank was judging me. The realization stung her. She sloughed it off. What the hell did he know about her world anyway? Dealing with enemies in a final manner was what you had to do sometimes. The alternative—keeping them alive—could prove too dangerous.

  “Whoever this person is who killed my brother. That kind of thing shouldn’t go unpunished.”

  “And you’re the judge, jury, and executioner?”

  “If need be, yes.” She roughly tore off a hunk of a roll and ate. The taste had evaporated. Her appetite withered as well.

  The waiter arrived bearing a large tray. He set Frank’s shepherd’s pie in front of him. For Lillian, a steaming bowl of nearly clear broth. She thanked the waiter but made no move to pick up her spoon. She gazed away from Frank and out the window.

  Frank, on the other hand, actually rubbed his hands together. He gripped his fork and plunged it into the mashed potatoes that topped his savory dish. Steam visibly rose from the food on his fork. He blew on it and gingerly ate the bite.

  He inhaled rapidly, trying to get air to cool his scorched tongue. He waved his hand in front of his mouth to help out the cause.

  Lillian smirked at him. “Next time, blow longer.” The next thing he did surprised her.

  Frank Monroe’s hand went to his throat. His brow furrowed in concentration, then concern, then outright panic. His eyes bulged. The food from his mouth popped out and landed on the table.

  Lillian’s senses went on alert. “Frank? Are you choking?”

  He nodded. Both hands clutched his throat. His movements brought the attention of other diners.

  Lillian dropped her roll and moved to stand behind Frank. She motioned for hi
m to stand up. She wanted to try to force the lodged piece of food out of him. A part of her brain that processed situations like this told her something: the food had fallen out of his mouth. It lay there on the table.

  Panic driving her actions, Lillian knelt next to him. She grabbed his face and turned it. His eyes continued to bulge. His skin took on a bluish hue. Foam had formed around the corners of his mouth.

  Frank Monroe looked at Lillian Saxton one last time before he fell forward. His head slammed on the table, bounced once, and fell over the side. His body followed suit. Lillian had to stand quickly to avoid having his body land on hers.

  The shock of the moment had already begun the transition to sadness. Tears stung her eyes as she touched her fingers to his neck to determine his pulse. She knew the action was futile. She had seen dead bodies before. She already knew the truth: Frank Monroe was dead.

  CHAPTER 10

  The part of Lillian Saxton that was an old friend and potential future lover of Frank Monroe stood frozen in place looking down at the body. The part of Lillian Saxton that was a sergeant in the United States Army on a clandestine mission took over.

  She turned, scanning the entire restaurant. Nearly every person stared in her direction. Waiters had stopped moving between the tables. The maitred’ leaned on the doorway, wondering what had happened. The only sounds, other than a few gasps, came from the kitchen where the chefs and cooks continued their jobs unaware that a man had died.

  One person seemed out of place. He stood off to the side, near the kitchen door. She recognized him. The man in the blue suit, the one they had seen up on the seventh floor. The one with the gun.

  She made a leap of a decision: Blue Suit had poisoned Frank. Maybe her food was poisoned as well. Surprisingly, her seasickness had saved her.