5 Years After (Book 2.5): Smoke & Mirrors

by Correll, Richard

  5 YEARS AFTER 2.5 Smoke and Mirrors

  by

  Richard Correll

  Copyright 2019 Richard Correll,

  All rights reserved.

  Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com

  http://www.eBookIt.com

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-3349-3

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  CONTENTS

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS

  BAKER, CHARLESWORTH & NESTLETON

  ALICE AND THE LOOKING GLASS

  THE BROKEN ROAD

  THREADS

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS

  Suddenly, eyes wide open.

  She took a breath and then held it. Molly didn’t dare move but her eyes scanned the ceiling left to right. The darkness seemed to be hiding something. Her neck craned to the left and the window of her hotel room. There was some feeble light from far fewer street lights and signs that made the blackness turn grey. Yes, just enough luminosity to give substance to shadows. Now, her imagination had something to work with.

  Was he back? That one who had reached out of the car window and grabbed her in Cleveland? Stop. She exhaled. The one who touched her leg in Washington, was he here? Stop. She felt a cold chill caress her ankle. That’s right where he touched you, isn’t it? Imagination ignored the plea and played on. Perhaps it was that girl from the highway that had far away eyes on the road to Huntington. It was like she was listening to music. She had followed you all the way here.

  “Stop,” Molly finally whispered to an empty room.

  She sat upright in the queen sized bed. Her fingers gripped the covers tightly. At any second she was ready to pull the bed linen up as a feeble defense to whatever lunged out of the shadows. We just don’t wake up like we used to. Her breathing felt more controlled now. Primal fear is our passage from slumber. That’s what happens when you’re the prey. Molly’s eyes carefully scanned the room, watching the darkness for anything out of the ordinary. The chair was still a chair. The desk had not moved one iota in the few hours she had been asleep.

  It winked at her. From the corner of her eye she saw it. A reddish hue played the game of there/not there in the shadows. Now you see me now, now you don’t. It was there, Molly watched the black canvas for a repeat, a confirmation.

  There it was. She was on her feet now. Fuck the dark. Her Blackberry winked again.

  Her fingers easily found the plastic case without any enablement of light. Molly had done this so many times. The Blackberry couldn’t resist one more playful twinkle in the dark before her fingers lit up the faceplate. Messages: one. She tapped the icon.

  You have one new message. The screen was black with white lettering. Molly’s thumb tapped the keyboard and cut to the chase as her left hand turned on the lights. It was on messenger.

  I do hope this note from an old friend finds you well. The words took shape on her screen. I just thought it was strange to see General Beauregard’s forces so far into Kentucky territory.

  “What are you up to, General? She heard her own voice from a few hours ago. The answer had arrived. Molly thumbed the two attachments. The first was a map display. A teardrop was hovering over two intersecting ribbons of roadway. The Deacon had been close to Louisville.

  What were you doing there so late at night, my friend? Molly let that thought file itself away as she tapped the second icon on the message, a jpg.

  The picture was crystal clear in the Kentucky rain. A multi wheeled metal machine. Molly tried to access her limited military knowledge and came up blank. Was it a tank? Armored car maybe? Perched on top was a figure facing forward with his left shoulder to the camera. The man’s helmeted head had turned abruptly in the rain to face his photographer. A perfect “O” of surprise and guilt formed on his mouth. Molly’s fingers touched the screen and began zooming in on an emblem on the vehicle’s side.

  There…….right there on the side of…..whatever it was. It was a tree of some kind. Molly’s eyes became intense and a touch wider. She had seen it a few times on flags and uniforms while she was in Huntington, The Republic of West Virginia.

  “Damn.” She whispered. Molly carefully slowed her fingers and became deliberate. The information was saved in her phone with the care of a geologist opening a mummy’s tomb. She turned on her lap top and fished around in her Louis Vuitton bag for a cord. She plugged the cord into her Blackberry and the other into her laptop as it obediently awakened from its electric dreams.

  Molly had suspicions that Beauragard was watching her email and listening in to her calls. If you had the right gear it was a piece of cake to do both. Marshall University was nearby and had a reputation for smart minds and high tech toys. The General had both at his command. The old school information passage was completed. Molly then filed the jpg and map away in the hard drive of her laptop and then replaced the cord in the Louis Vuitton. She reached for her Blackberry and thumbed down the phone directory. It was time to wake some people up.

  They could be listening in. Her lips pursed for a second before her left hand found the secure Blackberry the military had provided. I got to find me a ride, her mouth creased to one side as she counted out her options. The Blackberry purred in her ear and CBS news promptly answered.

  “This is Molly Hunter.” Her voice was all business and crystal clear.

  “Yes, Ms. Hunter.” The man on the night desk vocally snapped to attention. “How can I help you?”

  It turned out he couldn’t help that much. The guy had all the right numbers at his fingertips. That wasn’t the problem. Molly hated the next twenty minutes of call after call. She had to be somewhere and she had to be somewhere now. Every conversation went into elaborate detail of why Molly couldn’t get there.

  “We just can’t do it, Ms. Hunter.” A pilot explained over and over. “I’m sorry.”

  “How can you do it?” Molly pushed. Trying to drag him out of the logistical box he was in.

  “Ma’am, CBS has commercial helicopters.” The pilot had reached a dead end. “We could fly out and try and pick you up…….”

  “And……?”

  “Well, first off.” The guy was riding a fine line between politeness and exasperation. “They’d hear us way before we landed. We’d get blown out of the sky or arrested the minute we touched down. On top of that, we’d be out of fuel.”

  “Okay. “ Molly eased up and tried another route. “How do I get there?”

  “The bridges are probably all guarded by the Republic’s forces so you can’t drive.” The pilot paused for a second before continuing. “Ms. Hunter, those things are everywhere on the highway. Please tell me you’re not thinking of driving.”

  “I will if we don’t come up with something.” She threatened.

  “I’m trying to tell you, Ms. Hunter.” The pilot was right and she knew it. It just burned to hear why you couldn’t do something instead of why you could. “Commercial helicopters do not have that kind of range.”

  “Okay, I…” Molly heard the words he spoke inside her head for a second. It became a translation of what he was really saying. Her tone changed as soon as the right words clicked and made sense.

  “So wait, there are helicopters that can make this journey?” The velvet voice of the girl with a plan probed further.

  “I’m sure the military has a few but that’s…..”

  “You’ve been very helpful. I got to go now, thanks.” Molly hit end call and was already thinking of her next move. She star
ed at the phone screen for a second.

  So, the Pentagon said they wanted information did they?

  *

  “Ms. Hunter, I’m asking you to be reasonable.” The desk officer at the Pentagon balled his free hand in frustration.

  “I am being reasonable.” Molly’s saccharine voice replied. She almost batted her eyes sweetly to no one in particular.

  “Just tell us where his forces are.” He tried again.

  “You come pick me up and you’ll find out.” This time she did bat her eyes. Molly knew he couldn’t see it. But she wanted to stay in character. This was a role Molly Hunter had played before; the sweetheart of a girl who had you by the balls.

  “Ms. Hunter…….” He tried again.

  “I don’t think you understand my relationship with the Pentagon, sir.” Molly kept the voice sweet as Venus fly trap nectar as she tightened the screws. “It’s a Ying and Yang thing.”

  “Ying and Yang?” His voice was a set monotone. He had lost his patience long ago but knew he couldn’t show it.

  “I have just yinged you with intel that General Beauragard is on the move.” Molly explained in a kindly way that she knew was killing him “Now, I need some Yang.”

  “Yang, ma’am?”

  “Yang,” Molly snapped the trap. “I need you to come pick me up and I’ll tell you where he is.”

  There was an exasperated sigh. Molly could feel others listening in. She let the silence between them gather weight and momentum while hand signals and notes were being passed on the other side of the phone. I can’t believe you thought I would just give this kind of shit up for free. She bit her lip to pass the time.

  “We have to make a few calls…..”

  “Good.” The word was a conclusion to the negotiation. “Call me back in twenty minutes.”

  She ended the conversation with a flick of her thumb and headed for the shower. Molly closed the bathroom door and locked it automatically. It’s what we do these days. She slipped out of her Agent Provocateur lingerie and glanced over her shoulder to confirm the lock was in place. Remember the boogie man? He’s real now.......

  Her hair was never going to dry fast enough. That’s just the Caribbean life, her hand fished into a luggage bag and slipped on a Reebok Sports bra, Eve St. Laurent short black sleeve top and an equally black Lululemon zip up hoodie. Brown pants and Merrell Moab ventilator hiking shoes finished things off. Molly surveyed the room and decided to travel light. She packed the camera, laptop, cords and batteries and rolled them into a ball of clothes. One bag, that’s it, the Louis Vuitton, of course.

  Molly took a deep breath and slipped out of the bathroom and surveyed the room quickly before her phone chimed. She let it ring twice before picking up the secure Blackberry and raised it to her ear.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ll be there in forty five minutes, Ms. Hunter.” It was a new voice now. The woman was terse, to the point.

  “Good.” She let the word play into the phone silky smooth. It was a raw knifepoint, a reminder of just who got what they wanted here.

  “Where are you?” There were other voices now in the room, on headsets. It was the sound of shit coming together at warp speed.

  “The former Holiday Inn on Third Avenue, it’s called the West Virginia Republic Suites now.” She heard her relay the information, a male voice tersely replied with one syllable over the speakers.

  “Do you know where the Robert S. Byrd Bridge is?” For a minute, Molly marveled how the woman could concentrate on their conversation with all the other voices in the room. Oh yeah, we girls can do that, she remembered.

  “I know exactly where it is.” Molly could see the old metal skeleton of the bridge across the Ohio River in her mind. The last time she had passed by there were boats cruising on the brownish surface, men were searching the murky depths with flashlights, dredging slowly along the silty bottom. They definitely were not looking for fish.

  “There is a patch of greenery separating the highways and on ramps on your side of the Ohio River.” The instructions were spoken in a cadence that made her think of Maggie when she was giving orders. Slow, careful and crystal clear.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t stand on the grass.” The voice slowed even further. “Stand on the highway so we can see you.”

  “Got it,” Molly took a few more things and slipped them into her bag, she couldn’t help but add coyly; “You people put this all together rather quickly.”

  “That’s what happens when you say the magic word around here, Ma’am.” The communications officer replied without a beat.

  “The magic word?” Molly was caught off guard by the reply.

  “Beauragard,” the woman replied. “Forty five minutes, Ms. Hunter.”

  *

  The lock eased back carefully. In the cavernous hallway of the Republic Suites it still sounded like a pistol shot. There was always something odd about hotel hallways. The way the doors stretched into imagined infinity on both sides. Molly had observed to herself once or twice in a pensive moment how they looked like crossroads in your life, decision points. Your existence lined up and judged by each choice. You walked down the hall and opened a door, then what? There would be another hallway of endless decisions and doors before you. On and on, a never ending universe of what might have been.

  You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?

  “Yes,” She felt her feet quiver at the ankles before lowering her head and striding toward the elevator door. They’re out there, you know that. Molly tried to calm her nerves by remembering how safe The Republic of West Virginia had been, according to media sources.

  According to media sources, the panic part of her replied as Molly’s finger tapped the down button on the elevator. Yeah, we in the media never lie. Not us, we’re right as rain. As the doors rolled open Molly distracted herself by taking one last look down the infinite hallway. If I were Beauragard, I’d have put someone on watch outside my door. She continued her train of thought while entering the elevator. You know, just in case I tried something like this. As Molly’s eyes sifted around her surroundings she happened to glance up at the darkened ceiling and its tiny, artistic nodules that seemed to blink back at her.

  Gotcha, her mouth pursed as the cameras tracked her move.

  She carefully placed her Louis Vuitton on the floor and pulled the hoodie over her head. Molly had a moment to size up the situation while the numbers counted down to her destination. It slowly occurred to her who she was dealing with. Beauragard was a man of command, always in control and giving the orders.

  At least when it comes to me, she started to feel herself get some wriggle room. She remembered back to the battlefield and how close he was when she turned around. Molly arched her neck in thought as the elevator settled in to its destination with hydraulic resonance. Remember the soldier in the jeep when you changed the game plan and said you didn’t need a crew?

  Oh shit, his face had said it all. He had to get new orders. Molly picked up her Louis Vuitton and stepped a bit closer to the doors. Okay, we’ve got a plan.

  Ping!

  It never occurred to Molly how slow elevator doors really were. They began to grind open to reveal the Chianti colored rugs. The off white walls were overgrown with moldings and wooden shapes. It seemed like an attempt at imperial that had fallen a bit short. Molly put her head down and made a quick pace to the front door.

  “Oh....oh!” A voice called out as she passed the front desk. “Ms. Hunter! Ms. Hunter!”

  “Yes?” Molly turned slowly and made her face into a friendly smile. Her eyes tried to hide the shade of deviousness in her thoughts. I love it when I have a plan. Her right eyebrow arched slightly under the hoodie.

  “You aren’t going out are you?” His voice seemed to be a touch higher than she remembered. He was a thin black man with short hair and the touch of a moustache. He was the perfectly tailored attendant for the night shift.

  “Family business,” She kept i
t short and turned toward the door.

  “Oh ........um....” From the corner of her eye, Molly saw that look again. Oh, shit!

  “It’s okay, honey.” Molly called over her shoulder. “I’ve got a ride.”

  As her hand pushed into the thick, plate glass door Molly knew she had found Beauragard’s Achilles heel. His people had been given specific orders in that deep, serious tone of his. But what happens when you pull the unexpected, when army grey encounters Technicolor? The automaton takes a pause, reboots. Molly did not have to look back to know the desk clerk was already on the phone to his superiors.

  What do I do now? He would ask almost fearfully.

  His superiors were just part of the chain. They would be like the ponderous elevator doors, grinding through the options while time ticks away. It might come down to waking the General. How long would that be?

  About forty five minutes, Molly reassured herself. Damn, that’s nice timing.

  It started at the spot between her back and neck. It was a cold chill that seemed to lace out like tentacles around her shoulders. It seemed to crawl to her up her back with the care of a spider creeping forward. A long leg caressed her at the tip of her spine, causing her eyes to widen. Her hands were laced with cold ice. My fingertips, her breath stopped for a second. I can’t feel my fingertips.

  Molly’s movements stopped and became numb. The darkness and shadows seemed to watch her. Everything about the night took on a darker shade, a careful conspiracy of her surroundings to hide her final fate. If darkness was an emotion, it was icy, pitch black fear. You’re outside now, where they are.....

  This was almost fucking funny until now………

  You have to move. Molly felt her right leg move forward rigidly with the left leg following the rhythm. It all has a very familiar feel to it, doesn’t it? That taste of fear that evaporates everything and leaves your mouth dry. Suddenly, you want to run and hide in the shadows.

  Don’t be silly. You can’t go there. That’s where they’re waiting for you.......

  But, you have got to go there. Molly felt like her plan was the trigger to a trap. You can’t stay in the open, the patrols will see you. You have to hide in the dark, work your way through the shadows. The cold spider that Molly had felt on her spine paused for a rapturous moment. The poetry of it all was almost lyrical. Molly Hunter, clever girl. You’ve spun your own web and trapped yourself.