by C. De Melo
“Greed can cause good people to do bad things.” There was a moment of silence before he said, “I want us to go away somewhere after this is over; to a place where we don’t have to worry about a single thing.”
“Can we go somewhere tropical?”
“Will you wear a bikini every day?” he retorted with a wink.
“Yes, maybe even go topless.”
He leaned in close and whispered, “Did it just get hotter in here or is it me?”
I appreciated his attempt to lighten the seriousness of our conversation through flirtation. I smiled and kissed him. The road ahead was not going to be easy, but there was something good waiting for me at the end of it- a life with Lance.
Chapter Thirteen
I signed the divorce papers in mid-September. Michael and I had agreed (through our attorneys) that a non-contested divorce was the best course of action. As Lance had predicted, the divorce settlement was generous. Our marriage was dissolved with minimal fuss and minimal publicity. There was one tabloid, however, that ran a story stating that Michael was having a torrid affair with a twenty year old pop singer who sported multicolored spiky hair. Lance and I laughed aloud when we read the article.
I had stipulated to my attorney at the onset that I didn’t want any money. Michael, however, had insisted upon it as a condition of the divorce and offered me an enormous sum. I only agreed to it because I wanted to get the divorce done and over with. Afterward I asked myself: was it guilt that prompted him to make such a grand, final gesture on my behalf? The truth was I had no idea.
Michael and I had not spoken since the night of my abduction. He never once attempted to contact me or visit me at the gallery. I was sure he would drop by for the gala since he was on Nancy’s guest list, but he declined the invitation.
Lance made arrangements with Yolanda (who made arrangements with Juana) to retrieve my belongings from the house. Everything I owned, including all the gifts Michael had ever bestowed upon me, showed up one morning on Lance’s doorstep- or rather, our doorstep. It didn’t take me long to settle into my new environment with my new lover. Although Lance had not mentioned the word ‘marriage’ while I was pursuing the divorce, he had made it abundantly clear to me on more than one occasion that he wanted to legalize our union. And I wanted the same.
The scandal that Michael Adams wanted so desperately to avoid hit the public full force by the end of September when he was arrested and charged with high treason and a string of federal offenses. The Head of CIA made a shocking public announcement that was broadcast throughout the world. Not only did America’s hero fund the creation of the Pod virus, he had a hand in releasing it into the public. The entire epidemic was an orchestrated event, complete with the later release of the Pod’s miraculous cure so that Michael’s position in society and politics was guaranteed forever. In addition to this, Z-Lab Industries (and its shareholders) made billions of dollars in profit from that cure.
Despite his despicable deeds, I could not help but feel pity for Michael. I loved him once upon a time and it was difficult to make my heart grow cold towards him. Also, were it not for him I would not be alive. Lance liked to remind me that were it not for Michael I would have never contracted the Pod in the first place, and there would have been no need to freeze me cryogenically. But if the latter had not taken place, I would not be with Lance today.
My ex-husband had gone from hero to villain virtually overnight. His image was everywhere and the story was mentioned several times a day on various networks. He looked tired, haggard, defeated.
Lance and I followed the news stories closely. I winced inwardly when it was announced on the news that Michael’s assets were seized. Due to the heinous nature of his crimes, a court date was set as soon as possible. He would be tried as early as December.
Chapter Fourteen
Despite having hired the best criminal defense attorney that money could buy, Michael Adams was sentenced to life in prison (126 years to be exact). The day after Michael’s sentence was announced to the world Brady called and told us he needed to speak with us face to face as soon as possible. We agreed to meet that same night at bar on the outskirts of town.
Lance drove us to a sketchy area where prostitutes stood outside a small bar that had seen better days. We got out of the car and I shivered from the cold. I stuck my gloved hands inside the pockets of my parka. A light dusting of snow covered the treetops and shrubs. Christmas was a few days away and a weak attempt had been made to make the bar look cheerful; red and green lights were tacked around the door. Some of the lights were burned out, however.
“Nice place,” I said. “Come here often?”
“I’ve met Brady here a couple of times, actually. It’s not so bad.” When I shot him a look of disbelief he laughed.
A rickety computerized jukebox in the corner played an old song. Despite the pulsating techno beat, no one danced. In fact, no one seemed to move as we made our way towards a dark booth. The people sitting at the bar and in the neighboring booths were either really down in the dumps or tripping on some new homemade illegal drug. I thought I saw one man drooling. Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long because Brady was punctual.
“You two look good,” he said to us before calling out an order to the bartender.
The man behind the bar nodded and started pouring scotch into three glasses.
“So what’s up?” Lance asked.
Brady rubbed his stubbly chin. “I’ve just discovered some important information.”
A young cocktail waitress wearing far too much makeup arrived with three scotches on the rocks. Brady looked up at her and said, “Put it on my tab, sweetheart.” He then looked at us and held up his glass. “Cheers. Let’s drink to justice.”
We raised our glasses before bringing them to our lips. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Brady seemed tense, nervous. He took another long sip and set down the glass.
“Brady, is everything okay?” I asked.
He took his time answering my question. “Guess who owns the biggest chunk of ALTSYS?”
“Michael, of course. He’s the primary shareholder,” Lance replied.
“That would be the logical assumption, but no.”
Lance and I looked at each other and shrugged. Brady looked long and hard at both of us and then fixed his gaze upon me.
“You do,” he said in a low voice.
His tone was accusatory, so I reacted defensively. “What? You’re joking,” I said. He never broke eye contact with me when he shook his head. “That’s crazy! First of all, the government seized Michael’s assets-”
Brady cut me off. “If seventy-five percent of the shares are in your name, ALTSYS is not one of his assets.”
My mouth fell open.
Lance leaned forward. “What are you saying?”
Brady focused his attention on Lance. “I’m saying that your big brother put ALTSYS in Zoë’s name.”
“He never discussed anything about that with me,” I protested.
“He doesn’t have to; you were married at the time and shared many assets.”
“But why would he do that? He knew we were getting divorced.”
“Michael is a smart man. Maybe he knew it was just a matter of time before he got busted. He put ALTSYS in your name so that his plans would be carried out no matter what happened to him.”
Lance ran his hands through his hair. “Shit.”
“Zoë, your kidnapping was a desperate attempt to prevent the UAN deal from going through,” Brady explained. “Clean energy will kill the oil business, but Michael is in too deep. He can’t pull out now. Too much money is at stake and too many important people are counting on this deal.”
“Even the president made an investment,” Lance added.
“So my abductors had no idea,” I said.
“Nobody did!” Brady exclaimed.
“We need to get her out of here,” Lance hissed.
“You do, which is
why I’ve made these,” Brady said, reaching into his coat and pulling out a thin plastic case.
Lance opened the case and pulled out two sleek U.S. passport cards that contained our holographic photos with different names written underneath. There was another plastic card in the case that made him look at Brady and nod before tucking it away in his pocket.
“Am I really in that much danger?” I demanded as I looked at my new alias: Gina Clifford.
“The minute that Mr. X discovers that you- not Michael- is in charge at ALTSYS, your life is at risk,” Brady replied soberly.
“Why would Michael do this to me?” I wondered aloud.
“To stay alive, of course.” At my confused expression, he continued, “Let me explain something to you…prison for someone like your husband- sorry, ex-husband- is not like prison for everyone else. He’ll have an abundance of creature comforts, limited freedom, and excellent food thanks to his deep pockets. Now if the people who invested in the ALTSYS deal lost their investments, nothing could protect him from the consequences. Not even his money.”
“And those consequences would be..?”
“Michael dealt with many kinds of people; not all of them are upright, law abiding citizens. According to our intelligence reports, he’s connected with some sketchy organizations, including the Russian mafia.”
There was a pause before Lance said, “Michael put her ass on the line to save his own.”
Brady shrugged. “He’s a ruthless man.” He paused. “Get out of town while we work this out. Hopefully, the information hasn’t leaked out to the public yet. The shareholders will be furious when it does, however. They assumed Michael held the greatest chunk of the company, not his wife.”
“What about Majed? Have you pumped him for information?” Lance demanded.
Brady’s expression became grave. “His body was found last night,” he said reluctantly. “This is why I’m meeting with you- to warn you.”
This news surprised me. “I thought you had Majed in custody.”
“We did. He was killed during a brief outdoor recess. There were sixty-eight prisoners present at the time the crime took place and none of them saw a thing; not a single eye witness. It’s as if the killer was a ghost.”
“You think Mr. X is involved?” I asked.
“The CIA believes that to be the case, yes.”
“Have you discovered who’s in charge?” Lance asked. “Every group has a leader.”
“We suspect it may be an American that we’ve been keeping an eye on.”
Lance frowned. “I thought you said they were a bunch of Arabs.”
“I did say that, but judging from what we now know, Mr. Charles White from Texas could be the leader of Mr. X.” He paused and added, “You don’t think a shit name like ‘Mr. X’ came from a bunch of sand-spitting Arabs, do you? It doesn’t get any more pathetically Hollywood than that! White probably watched one too many spy movies as a kid. Anyway, White’s domestic oil business grew so big he went international. When one of Saudi Arabia’s richest sheiks died he bought the oil business from the man’s son- a spoiled playboy brat. Stupid kid took less money than he should have, but that’s beside the point. Apparently, this White character is a piece of work; suspected tax evasion, embezzlement, even murder given the fact that he has an army of thugs.” Brady took a drink and chuckled. “And he’s a looker, too. Picture an obese, sweaty Texan wearing the whole Arabian robe and headgear. Looks like a fucking circus tent.”
“I thought obesity was eradicated,” I commented.
“It is for normal people. A man like White can be whatever the hell he wants to be.”
I took a sip of scotch to smother my mounting anxiety. “So you’re implying that Charles White could be responsible for Majed’s death.
“White knows Majed was taken into custody and confessed to a few things. For example, he told us when Bushra first approached him to convince Michael to drop the UAN deal, he refused. But when Majed found out how much money White was willing to pay for his services, he changed his mind.” Brady looked at me and added, “That’s why we saw him in Brazil with Michael. When coercion and vandalism in Rio didn’t work, Bushra suggested kidnapping you. When that plan failed…well, the rest is history. There is no doubt that Majed was executed by a professional assassin. The bullet that went through his brain is untraceable. The fact that no one reported hearing a gun being fired tells us the killer used a high grade silencer.”
Did this mean that I, too, was now an assassin’s target? I couldn’t even formulate the words in my mouth to ask them aloud. My hands began to tremble and then my body followed suit.
Lance put his arm around me and drew me close to his side. “Everything will be okay,” he whispered in my ear. He frowned at Brady. “What measures are your people taking to protect her? We helped the CIA and now we demand reciprocation.”
“We can do round the clock surveillance until you leave tomorrow, and have a couple of armed guards stand watch at your place,” Brady replied. “Does that work for you?”
Lance gave him a curt nod. “Yes.”
Brady picked up his glass and leaned comfortably against the back of his seat. “Now go make some travel plans. Be sure to tell no one where you’re going- except me, of course.”
I was annoyed at the fact that Brady was being so casual. As Lance and I exited the booth, I couldn’t help asking, “Forgive me for saying this, Brady, but shouldn’t you be calling someone to set things up?”
Brady gave me a cocky half grin and held up his glass. “I already did.”
***
There was an unmarked car parked on the street with two men inside and two armed guards in civilian clothes standing outside the door when we arrived home. We asked the men if they needed anything (like a drink or a bathroom break) and they told us to pretend they didn’t exist.
“Military,” Lance whispered as soon as we had entered the condo and locked the door.
We shed our winter coats and I hung them in the closet. Lance wasted no time searching the internet for places where we could hide out for a while.
“What will I tell Nancy?” I asked as I glanced over his shoulder at the 3-D computer holograph.
He turned to look at me. “Do you trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Give her a watered down version of the truth,” he said thoughtfully. “Tell her you can’t divulge all the details, but it’s imperative for you to leave town for a while. She’ll understand.”
I took Lance’s advice. Nancy was sad about me leaving, but promised that my job would be waiting for me when I got back.
“Feel better?” Lance asked when I ended the call.
“Much.”
He pointed to the hologram floating in front of him. “I found something I think you might like. How’s your French?”
I stared at the aquamarine water and sugar white sand. “The French Polynesia?”
“I was thinking Tahiti…unless you prefer one of the smaller, more remote islands.”
“I’ve never been to Tahiti,” I admitted. “Or any of the South Pacific islands.”
“What better way to visit them than on the run? It will feel like we’re in a movie.” When I only cracked a half smile at his attempt at humor, he frowned in concern. “Zoë, don’t be scared.”
I only nodded in response and he stared at me for several seconds. Suddenly, he stood up and walked to a small closet tucked into the hallway. I saw him lean forward to get something and when he closed the door he held what looked like a black suitcase in his hand. Without saying a word he placed it on a nearby table.
“Open it,” he said.
I undid the metal clasps and gasped when I pushed the lid open. Two automatic weapons complete with ammunition were neatly packed inside the special carrying case. One was large rifle and the other much smaller and easily concealable. Lance was watching me closely. I remembered the gun he had in Italy, too. The sight of the deadly weapons made me uneasy.
“Are these yours?” I asked.
He pulled out the small card Brady had given him earlier from his pocket and handed it to me. It was a weapons permit card with his new alias: Scott Pierce. I looked at him askance.
“You don’t work closely with the CIA for years and not take necessary precautions to cover your ass,” he said softly, taking my hands in his. “I learned how to shoot a long time ago when Michael used to take me hunting, but I became an excellent shot within the last few years thanks to training. I visit the gun range regularly, and I’ve even taught a class or two in the past. I know my weapons.”
“Oh.”
He put his face close to mine. “I can protect you,” he assured.
It was my turn to make an attempt at humor. “Can you street fight, too?”
“Street fighting, no,” he replied with a smile. “Taekwondo and judo, yes.”
I slid my arms around his neck. “Okay, tough guy, I feel safer now.”
Lance exhaled deeply and ran his hands down the sides of my body. “I would kill for you, Zoë…without hesitation.”
His words evoked a strong, primal attraction and I kissed him hungrily. Our passion mounted as we stripped. When I was free of all clothing he pushed me towards the kitchen counter and sat me down upon it. Our lovemaking was hot, lustful.
As we panted heavily in each other’s arms afterward, he said, “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
My legs were still wrapped around his hips as I stared into the infinite blue of his eyes. I began to kiss his face, his eyelids and finally, his mouth. He growled when I rubbed up against him. This time he lifted me and carried me into the bedroom.
***
We departed for Tahiti the next morning. It would be the peak of summer in the southern hemisphere, so we packed mostly swimsuits and light clothing. With one small suitcase each, we were escorted to the airport by the two guards.
Lance tucked his loaded gun inside a shoulder holster and the rifle was packed in the suitcase along with ammunition. “Let’s do this,” he said, removing his passport and weapons permit.