No Place to Hide

by Opa Hysea Wise

  “Yes, yes! God the Source is speaking to you, and I am confirmation!”

  “Thank you, my friend. You should open your shop again, and I should order food for Artie. I’m sure she is famished.”

  “I will give a dozen malasadas. Some for now, and some for another time. I will also place a new creation in her bag. It has healing properties.”

  The baker rose from the booth and shuffled to the back of one of his display cases. Smythe followed him, her eyes observing the sluggish gait to his steps.

  “Joao, are you alright? You’re moving a bit… tired.”

  “My daughter, I am only weary. My shop keeps me busy, and today, several events are taking place around our city. I have been hard at work to prepare for them, for many have called to place special orders.”

  Smythe nodded as she stood before the case, eyeing the various pastries. Her stomach was growling and mouth salivating even though she had eaten her own malasadas while listening to the baker. The baker boxed Artie’s order and handed it to Smythe. She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out her wallet to pay for the for order, but the baker waved off the attempt.

  “You two have been faithful guests. Extraordinary, actually. She looks after you. It is the least I can do.”

  “How did you know she looks after me?” Smythe asked. It occurred to her that their interaction before him should not have given him a clue of Artie’s original assignment to Smythe, and it was only today that she revealed her personal relationship with Artie to him.

  “It is in her eyes, Smythe. Love is in her eyes,” the baker replied before hurrying to the door to reopen his shop for business.

  Smythe, Artie, and the rest of her detail returned from the baker’s shop to Smythe’s apartment. After distributing the pastries between Artie and her teams, Smythe expressed her need to get back to her studies.

  “I feel like I’m falling a bit behind, and I need to change that.”

  “Before you delve too deeply into that, we need to discuss the next six weeks.”

  “Ok.”

  “First, we have the out of state wedding you’re attending in a couple of days. We’ll drive. All teams will be present. I have hired additional teams to watch your place while we are away. Second, because the trial has been moved up, everything you are scheduling must be planned as a tentative. I doubt I will have the same access to advanced information that I once had with Carole. Along the same lines, I’ve received a call from the FBI response team. I have a meeting with them later this afternoon. I’m hoping to meet the agent in charge of your case and begin the process of developing a new, cordial relationship.”

  “I thought the trial wasn’t supposed to come up for several months?”

  “It wasn’t, based on the last information from Carole. But I just received a voicemail. The case is on the docket for seven weeks from today. My hope is that I’ll know more this afternoon,” Artie replied.

  “Of course, I’ll keep things as tentative as I can, but it’s a busy month for me, Artie. I’ve scheduled a community training class, along with trying to complete the book and preparing for a presentation. If you can give me as much notice as possible, that would be helpful.”

  “I will as I find out. I anticipate the prosecutor is going to want to talk with you prior to your testimony. It’s protocol, so I’ll work to find out what the timeline for that will be.”

  Smythe sat, quietly absorbing the information, and noticed she was beginning to panic. Her greatest concern was a presentation she would be required to give at her mentor’s conference. Acing the presentation was necessary in order for her to obtain her certification. Artie broke into her thoughts, sensing her concern.

  “Let’s plan this out. I have a paper calendar I can print out. We can plan out every week in order to make sure you take care of your business and education needs.”

  “Great idea. I have a calendar in the dining room closet. Let me grab it. You can grab yours so that we have duplicate information.”

  Both women retrieved their calendars. Sitting at the dining room table, they meticulously mapped out the next six weeks leading up to the trial. For Smythe’s part, she would have to double her efforts in areas of her business prep in order to make space for late changes around the trial preparation.

  As far as Artie was concerned, she would need every resource available to her to prepare for what was ahead. That would require hiring additional team members.

  Later that afternoon, while Smythe prepped for an upcoming class, Artie and her security detail left for the FBI field office. Bracing herself as she entered the building, she was escorted into a conference room where she met not only with Warren and his response team, but also with the lead agent who was now in charge of Smythe’s case. She anticipated they would not hold her in high regard, former FBI special agent or not. In fact, she expected they would find her presence in the Daniels case a nuisance, and they behaved in ways that confirmed her hunch. They treated her with rancid suspicion.

  “So, Carole just up and hired to you to protect our witness, is that what you are telling us?” asked the new special agent in charge of Smythe’s case.

  “Carole did not hire me. An unknown benefactor reached out to her, suggesting that Daniels’ life may be in danger. Since the witness refused witness protection, Carole had a back-up plan—me,” Artie responded. Artie sat with her hands on the table and reflexively balled them into tight fists. She was becoming more irritated, but she also knew that this line of questioning was to find a crack in her story.

  Over and over again, she confirmed her prior experience as an FBI agent, defense attorney, and her current position as CEO of her own security protection agency.

  “Once again, yes. You all know my work history, my attorney background, and yes, for many of you sitting in this room, if you don’t know, I now operate a security protection agency. When a special witness needs protection for one of your cases, Carole has looped my company in. Period.”

  Several times, she recounted her relationship to Carole, her reason for being at their office, and the assault from the intruder. The agents were more than just a bit curious about who hired Artie to protect Smythe, and thus pursued that line of questioning.

  “No, I don’t know, and while I asked, Carole did not offer the name. I trust Carole; therefore, I took her word that the benefactor is legitimate.”

  Artie confirmed the benefactor provided all of the necessary funds to protect Smythe and had even increased her original budget after the first attempt on Smythe’s life. But, beyond that, the funds were deposited into her business account every week, and they were not traceable.

  Still, Artie knew a little more than she was letting on. Carole confided in her that she had given her director just enough information to keep him in the loop, including Artie’s involvement. She did not reveal the name of the benefactor to the director, nor would she offer it to Artie, unless absolutely necessary.

  After roughly three hours, the agents excused themselves to the hallway. Carole’s director abruptly barreled into the room.

  “Leone,” the director said as he stood before her. His eyes piercing, there was no trace of cordialness in his tone.

  “Director,” Artie responded flatly.

  “We have an ongoing investigation into the source of your budget.”

  Artie remained quiet, staring down at the conference table.

  “Don’t you find it strange?”

  Artie lifted her head. She was in no mood to play games. “Find what strange? That you’ve turned your investigation toward me, or that I am being handsomely paid to protect one of your star witnesses?”

  The director eyed Artie coolly.

  “Leone, did you know your money from this benefactor is coming through an offshore account?”

  “No, I did not,” Artie responded a bit annoyed. “But, if it is coming from an offshore account, the identity of the benefactor can’t be traced.”

  “You are correct,” the
director said, narrowing his glare to Artie.

  “Did you ever think it was the syndicate that is funding the protection?” the director asked, using his hands to create quotation marks in the air.

  “Impossible. That would make them extremely stupid, given…” Artie came up short as she thought of the attempts on Smythe’s life. If she revealed that, the director would remove Smythe from her protection.

  “…given that they would be spending a tidy sum if their main objective is to kill her before trial.”

  The director pressed Artie to place Smythe into WitSec. Yet, the idea of placing Smythe into Witness Protection sent cold chills through her heart. Smythe was no longer just a witness who needed protecting, but her love.

  While she respected the work agents in the WitSec program provided to their witnesses, Artie had more than enough experience with this particular syndicate to know that Smythe would be killed shortly after they removed her from Artie’s care. As a result, she refused her former director’s suggestion. Instead, she intimated, in no uncertain terms, that given his position, he should look deep into her business dealings to alleviate any concern he had in protecting “the witness.”

  “Trust me, I have.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Leone, I don’t appreciate your involvement. I dislike the lack of control over this case. I’m not sure how much Carole divulged to you, but this case has national implications. But,” the director paused, “I trust Carole. And, believe it or not, I trust you. You were a stellar FBI agent. One of my best, in fact. Carole expressed her confidence in your ability to keep my witness protected. Now that Carole is dead, protocols are going to change. You will make your weekly reports to me. In. My. Office. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” Artie replied.

  “WitSec is not off the table, and I alone will decide if and when.”

  They negotiated timelines, reporting structure and the potential for additional assistance. For Artie, it was a good start. Although they regarded each other as adversaries on the same side, she gathered that the director seemed at least willing to assist where he could. Her biggest obstacle was to continue to tactfully sidestep his threat to force Smythe into WitSec until after the trial.

  Artie returned to Smythe’s apartment and worked with Dennis to review their security plans. By late evening, both women found themselves weary of the day. Smythe’s body had yet to fully recover from the pills and alcohol she consumed the night before, and Artie was gritting through the pain of bruised ribs and a variety of other ailments that had begun to surface.

  Artie excused herself to the bathroom. She was hoping a bath would soothe the ache in her body. Once she was out of the bathroom, Smythe took her turn to get a shower. After she exited the bathroom and fiddled around in her bedroom, she found Artie in the living room, making up her makeshift bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

  “No, love. Your place is next to me in my room. I mean, if you want,” Smythe said shyly.

  Artie stared into Smythe’s eyes. “I didn’t want to presume anything. You’ve been through enough.”

  “I’d prefer you next to me tonight, Artie, if that is ok with you. I’m not suggesting anything physical, but… I just want you next to me.”

  “I’d like that very much.” Smythe nodded and waited for Artie as she attempted to pick up her pillow from the air mattress. Watching her struggle, Smythe walked over.

  “Let me get it. Bending has got to be difficult.”

  Artie smiled and headed in the direction of the bedroom. Smythe had her tablet sitting on the bed and was ready to watch a show.

  “What are we watching?”

  “‘Star Trek: Voyager’. An old favorite.”

  “Ahh, Captain Janeway.”

  “You watched Voyager?!”

  “Yeah. I found the series on Netflix and watched it from beginning to end. At times I binge-watched if Davey wasn’t around.”

  “Who knew?!”

  “I loved Janeway. Her character offered me an opportunity to believe in what was possible for women. Captain of a starship. The flagship for the Federation. That show set my imagination ablaze.”

  Smythe smiled and signaled Artie to join her in bed. Artie, in turn, smiled to herself, thinking, This woman is going to be a whole lot of trouble.

  Her ribs throbbing their displeasure as she climbed into bed next to Smythe, Artie voiced, “This has got to be one of the highest beds that I’ve ever gotten into.”

  “I know, right? I bought a new mattress and box spring for the bed frame about a year ago. My old ones were high, but it doesn’t compare to this one. I have to do a little hop to get into it, and I’m 5'6"!”

  “Yeah, I noticed that last night as I climbed in, but it is comfortable. I’ve never slept so well.” The couple settled into bed and watched a couple of episodes before drifting off to sleep. As Smythe lay next to Artie, a single thought emerged: “Sufficiency and grace for the day.”

  Benef

  ARTIE’S PIERCING, COLD STARE TOOK HIM BY SURPRISE. HER EYES plunged daggers through him, as though facing an enemy.

  “Since I’m not sure where to begin, let’s just begin,” Artie growled. He gave her only a hint of a nod.

  Her words sharp and biting, she continued. “I’m sure you know that Carole’s dead. You know, the FBI agent in charge of Smythe’s case. My best friend, my confidant, our go-between.”

  He slowly nodded, his eyes barely showing the fear that now gripped him in a vise.

  “Of course, you do. You also know that my life was threatened.”

  He closed his eyes and offered a single nod.

  “And, of course, you remember Smythe. Cute, light brown-skinned woman, buzz haircut, Malcolm X looking black glasses, about 5’6”, my girlfriend?” Artie grit her teeth. “The woman I’ve been hired to protect!”

  “Of course, I know her, and I know you, Artie. Why are you so angry?” He searched her eyes, wondering what had happened to cause Artie to show such fury toward him.

  “It’s been almost a year, that’s why! We’re into early fall, damn it, and you never once revealed that you were my financial benefactor to protect Smythe! Why not?!”

  A slight frown formed around the edges of his mouth. He looked down at his hands. He held them together, his right hand over his left in an effort to ease a slight tremor that had begun to surface. The tremors were the result of a slow-moving degenerative disease which would one day take his life.

  “Answer me! Why not?”

  “It brings me too much pain to discuss the why; suffice it to say, it is as you say,” he offered quietly.

  “I’m having a hard time trusting you right now. Just so you know, I have my security detail posted just outside. You will tell me,” Artie growled.

  The baker stood in the middle of his shop. He had just closed up for the day when Artie knocked on his door. He opened the door and welcomed her in, stating he had nothing to offer her. She flatly explained that she wasn’t there for food or drink, but for information. As she entered, she locked the door behind her.

  “May I sit?” he asked. “It has been a long day.”

  Artie nodded. The baker moved to a booth toward the front of the shop, and Artie took a seat across from him. The lights were dimmed low. Artie glanced around, noticing the shop was eerily aglow from the street lamps outside.

  “It is a story of love, Artie,” the baker began, his sorrow cracking his voice at his memory. “But let me preface that my intention has always been to protect Smythe. You must believe me.”

  “Then why the secrecy, Joao? Smythe trusted you. She thought of you as this kindly older gentleman baker, the kind of which stories are written about. She confided her most precious inner thoughts to you. How could you pretend not to know the details of the case, or of her? How could you pretend to be so wise? Or were you just pretending to befriend her? Damn it, Joao, you betr
ayed her!”

  “You are incorrect, Artie. I did not know the intimate details of the case. I only knew them as Smythe herself told them to me. Once I learned of her experience—what she saw and what she felt—only then could I counsel her.”

  The veins in Artie’s neck were beginning to protrude, and her ribs ached from the long days in preparation for Smythe’s second travel excursion outside the valley. She was physically weakened, refusing to acknowledge even to herself the severe extent of her injuries. She needed rest, but she was singularly focused on engaging in this conversation; her heart broken in jagged pieces at what she believed was the baker’s betrayal of trust to Smythe.

  “Joao, you were her benefactor from the beginning. That’s why the FBI didn’t place her in WitSec. My company came in at my friend’s urging with the necessary monies already in place because of you. You knew, at least from the beginning, that her life was in danger.”

  “Yes, this is true, but all that she has gone through I was unaware of until she said so herself. As I discovered the ruthlessness of him, the two physical threats against her, that is when I needed to add more money for security. And I am willing to do so again, if need be.”

  “Why!” Artie demanded, slamming her fist on the table.

  “Let me start from the beginning, please,” he implored.

  His story wound through the decades of his life. He described his entry into the United States, immigrating from Portugal to Hawaii 35 years ago. His father, an outsider to Hawaii, came to the islands employed by sugar plantations. As he grew into adulthood, he came to understand the colonization of the Hawaiian islands and could no longer remain there. He watched as, year after year, those in power stole lands from the Hawaiian people.

  He considered himself a simple man who only wished to bake and, unable to contain his grief in Hawaii, he moved to the valley. It was his single wish to open a simple bakery and delight his customers with his mother’s old recipes; recipes she was eager to pass onto a willing son. After a several years of working for other bakery shops, he saved enough money to open his own.