by Arno Joubert
“What are you doing?” he asked, straining backward to see over his shoulder.
“Killing you. Alcohol poisoning.”
“Why?”
Alexa removed her wig. “My birth name was Rebecca Cohen.”
Callahan’s jaw dropped. “But how?” His eyes flitted around in his head, trying to process the information. “You disappeared—”
“I joined the French Legion. Got a new identity.”
Callahan shook his head slowly. “Laiveaux?”
Alexa nodded.
Callahan propped himself up in the chair. “Come closer, girl, you look just like your father.”
She sauntered toward him, leaned close to him, and locked eyes with him. He seemed to be regaining his composure, his lips curling up slowly as he nodded. Then he spat in her face. “I should have killed you like we killed that bastard father of yours. Your tits are just as small as your mom’s, you anorexic bitch.”
Alexa stood back, wiping the spittle from her chin with the back of her hand. “Naughty boy.” She adjusted the IV bag’s drip control to its lowest setting.
She went back to the cabinet, removed a bottle of Hennessy cognac, and refilled the bag. “They say you shouldn’t mix your alcohol.”
“Screw you, you skank. Worthless-piece-of-shit whore!” he shrieked, trying to kick out at Alexa.
Alexa sat on the sofa and folded her legs beneath her. She watched him dejectedly as the expletives rolled from his lips. After a while, his face started to pale, his breathing becoming more labored. He swallowed hard and shook his head, his bald skull gleaming with sweat.
Alexa sauntered to him and ran a teasing finger over his chin. “It’s a pity, you won’t even get drunk. In a couple of minutes, you will pass out. And then you will fall into a coma.”
Callahan’s face distorted in a wry smile. “What a way to go.”
His body convulsed, and then he doubled over and threw up over his chest, spitting some slime on the floor.
Alexa waved a finger at him. “I’m not going to let you off that easy.” She removed a roll of black duct tape from her handbag and tore of a strip with her teeth, then stuck it over his mouth. “I’m going to let you suffocate first,” she said smiling sweetly. “You shouldn’t have had such a large dinner.”
Callahan’s body convulsed again and he threw up, a thin stream of vomit trickling down his nose. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, his eyes looking up at her, pleading.
She ripped the duct tape from his mouth and wiped her hand with a tissue. Callahan gasped and spat out the contents of his mouth onto the floor, wheezing and coughing.
Alexa took a seat on the sofa. “Tell me about Allan.”
“What do you want to know?” he gasped, sucking in deep lungfuls of air.
She shrugged. “Anything.”
Callahan breathed deeply. “He phoned me a week ago, said he had information that I might find interesting.”
Alexa waited patiently as he had another coughing fit.
“We met in Israel. He said he was paid to assassinate me. So we made a deal. Simple.”
“What kind of a deal?”
Callahan lifted his shoulders. “We pay him, he gives us information.” The corners of his mouths twitched into a smile.
“What else?”
“That Laiveaux was supplying you with arms and intel. That you stole our money.”
Alexa refilled the IV bag with the rest of the Cognac. “Who are you sending the shipments to?”
Callahan shook his head, sweat meandering from his brow and dripping off his nose. His lips trembled, his entire body racked by a cold shiver. “I—I cannot say.”
Alexa ambled up to him and leaned closer, putting her lips to his ear. “I’ll let you go, I promise.”
Callahan looked up hopefully. “Honestly?”
She bent down and kissed his ear. “I promise.”
Alexa took a couple of steps backward as Callahan bent forward and puked again. She folded her arms. “We’re wasting precious time, Mr. Callahan.”
Callahan looked at her in a stupor, his mouth open, dribble running down his chin. His skin had turned a sickly yellow, the veins on his forehead bulging. He breathed in deeply and said, “His name is Metcalfe. Senator Robert Metcalfe, US Congress.”
Alexa removed a Glock from her handbag and smiled sweetly. “Thanks,” she said and shot him in the head. His head jerked back in the chair, and then he slumped down. She fired two more slugs into his torso then walked over and felt his pulse.
The bastard was finally dead.
Johannesburg, South Africa
Alexa met Neil at Moyo’s restaurant in Melrose Arch, Johannesburg. She pecked him on the cheek and led him to a private table at the back. They ordered beers and settled in.
“How did things go in Mozambique?” Neil asked.
“I’ve done my bit. It’s up to Laiveaux to wrap it all up now,” Alexa said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.
“Wrap it all up?” Neil asked. “That’s it?”
“Yes, why?”
Neil frowned then leaned back in his chair. “Oh, I dunno, thought you would give me more details, I guess.”
Alexa smiled and patted his hand. “How was your trip, Sergeant? How was the weather in Ireland?”
“Ah well. Ireland. The weather was fine. Rainy, you know.” Neil said shifting around in his chair.
“And how is our dear friend, Mr. Owen Callahan doing?”
Neil looked up, fixing his pale blue eyes on her. “I’ve done my bit. It’s up to MI6 to wrap it all up now.”
Alexa frowned. “MI6?”
“Yep. MI6.”
“Oh, OK. Anything else?”
“Nope, I scoped out his place and gave the info to MI6, that’s all.”
A waiter approached them with their drinks. “Uh, excuse me, Miss Guerra, the security guard at the car park says that there is a policeman wanting to write a fine for your car. He said he would give you five minutes to put money into the parking meter.”
Alexa thanked the man then pouted at Neil. “Pretty please will you put some money in my meter? I want to go freshen up.”
Neil stood up. “Sure, where are you parked?”
“Bay A13, the white Montero, you know the one?”
“Yes, I do. See you in a minute,” he said with a nod and turned to leave.
Alexa smiled at Neil and blew him a kiss. She opened her purse, took out a hundred rand note, and gave it to the waiter. “Thank you for that. Oh, and I may need your help a little later on. My partner has been drinking a lot.”
“Thank you, miss,” the waiter said with a beaming smile. “No problem, you call me when you need me to help.”
Alexa smiled as the man left, then she took a small vial from her purse and emptied it into Neil’s beer. She stirred it with her fork until she was happy that none of the white powder was visible.
Bloody American men, can’t trust them as far as you can see them.
The Legionnaire in her took over.
I’m going to make this a night that you’re never going to forget, dear Mr. Allen.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Johannesburg, South Africa
Neil briskly walked to the car park. He stopped at a street vendor and bought a pack of smokes, lit one for the first time in fifteen years, and then berated himself. He simply couldn’t lie to Alexa anymore; she knew that he hadn’t gone to Ireland. She knew that something was up.
He walked to her bay and glanced around. No one was there. He scanned the parking meter; she had another half an hour on the clock. He inserted a five rand coin in the slot.
He hoped that she wouldn’t quiz him anymore on his trip; he wouldn’t be able to lie again, that was for sure. He had looked forward to dinner with Alexa. He was falling for her, hard. She was beautiful, kind, and bright. But she had a steely strength to her, and he was sure that she wasn’t lying about the Legion.
He punched a number into h
is phone. “Bruce? Hi, Neil here.”
“Neil, how are you, my boy?”
He looked over his shoulder nervously. “Scared shitless.”
Bruce chuckled. “You, scared? Why?”
“She knows I didn’t go to Ireland, Bruce.”
“Impossible. You’re being paranoid.”
“I’m telling you Bruce, she found out somehow.“
“Look, Neil. I’ll clear this up with her tomorrow.” Neil heard a female voice in the background. “I’m preoccupied at the moment.”
Neil nodded. “OK, I understand.”
“Enjoy the evening, Neil.”
He sighed. “I’ll try.”
The phone clicked in his ear.
He finished the smoke and dumped the full pack in a trash can. He sauntered into the restaurant and saw Alexa look up at him, smiling. His heart melted, and he fervently wished that they could be together tonight.
Neil woke up and tried to focus his blurred vision. He groggily shook his head. He felt his pulse pound in his temple; he had a splitting headache. Alexa stood in front of him, her hand on her hip. In the other she held a baseball bat, which she was tapping on the ground.
“Pleasant dreams?”
Neil looked up. His hands were cuffed and he was hoisted by some pulley mechanism to a metal ceiling beam. They were in what looked like a deserted warehouse. He could hear the faint sound of jet propulsion engines somewhere off in the distance. An abandoned hangar, then. He dropped his eyes. He was naked, his toes barely touching the ground. He tried to straighten up, but a searing pain jolted through his chest. He grimaced in pain.
“Oh sorry, Neil. I started on you before you were awake. Rohypnol allows you these dirty little pleasures, you know. I guess I may have broken a rib by mistake.”
Neil grinned at her. Alexa was wearing skinny jeans and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. She blew a strand of hair from her forehead. Shit, she looked terrific.
“Not a problem, baby. Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
Alexa swung the bat and hit Neil in the stomach. He dangled back in a painful arch and groaned.
“Wait, Alexa. Wait. Just give me a moment to explain. It will all make sense to you, I promise. Just trust me, OK?”
Alexa drilled a straight right into his mouth.
“Trust you? Trust you?” she shouted, shaking her hand painfully. “You’re a fucking traitor. You could have had us all killed.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I was falling for you, Neil, you betrayed me.”
Neil shook his head and spat blood from his mouth. “Alexa, don’t say that. You don't understand. I had to—”
Alexa hit Neil with such a vicious blow against the chin that she lost her balance and nearly tripped. Neil groaned, close to blacking out.
She fetched a metal drum and filled it with water from a tap somewhere behind him then emptied the bucket over his head.
Neil spluttered, shaking his head and moving his jaw from side to side. “That hit the spot. I guess dinner and a movie are out of the question?” he said, a pained expression on his face. “Oh wait, we’ve already had dinner.”
Alexa growled in exasperation. She pounded his chest with her fists. “How could you? We trusted you,” she shouted.
“How could I what Alexa? What? You’re not making any sense.”
She stood back. “Oh please, Neil. Do not bullshit me.” She pursed her lips. “I hacked into your cell phone records. Callahan hasn’t stopped dialing your number this past week. And you were never in Ireland. You were in Israel, making deals with that bastard. You are such a pathetic liar, Neil,” she said, stomping her foot as she spoke.
His head slumped forward. “I had to do it. There is more at stake than me and you and Bruce’s stupid personal vendetta against the Dalerians. Do you have a phone?”
Alexa looked at Neil incredulously. “What, you want to phone a friend?” She shook her head, a disbelieving smile on her face.
Neil sighed. “Please phone this number. It will all make sense in a couple of minutes.”
Neil recited a number. Alexis reluctantly fished her phone from her pocket then punched in the number.
She put the phone to her ear then shook her head and hung up. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this again. Why did I ever trust you?” she asked and turned around, heading toward the exit.
“What about me?” Neil yelled at her back. “You can’t leave me hanging here.”
“I hope you rot in here and the rats eat your tiny penis first.”
Neil chuckled. “Alexa, now I know you’re being unreasonable. Tiny penis?”
Alexa strode away, shaking her head. She lifted her hand in the air and showed him the finger.
“Phone the bloody number,” he shouted as she walked away.
Alexa climbed into her SUV and slammed the door shut. She pounded the steering wheel and screamed at the top of her lungs. She knew she couldn’t leave Neil in the hangar, but she didn’t care. She would make him wait for a couple of hours and fetch him later.
She felt betrayed. No man could be trusted; their moral high grounds were dictated by their love of money and tits. Still, Neil was cute in his own boyish kind of way. And a soldier never leaves the wounded behind. Not even if they betrayed you.
Her phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. Private number. She composed herself and answered. “Alexa Guerra.”
“Hi, Alexa. I received a missed call from this number a minute ago.”
“Ah yes, sorry about that. I dialed the wrong number.”
“Well that is actually quite fortunate since I’ve been looking forward to receiving a call from you.”
Alexa frowned. “From me?”
“Yes, I asked Neil to give you my number.”
She didn't have time for this cloak and dagger shit. “Sorry, but who exactly am I talking to?”
“Oh, sorry for being so rude. My name is Sal Frydman. Major Sal Frydman, Israeli Intelligence Services. By the way, how is Neil doing?”
Alexa shrugged. “OK, I guess. He’s kind of hung up at the moment.”
“Oh, all right,” the Major answered hesitantly. “Send him my regards. I guess he told you about my little discovery?”
Alexa frowned. “Um, no. He didn’t mention anything. As I said, I dialed the number by mistake.”
“Quite a coincidence, then. Well, Neil paid me a visit a couple of days ago. Told me about the Dalerian Institute.” He chuckled. “And about the bank account.”
Alexa stiffened in her seat. “OK, what else?”
“I told him how I managed to recreate your father’s entire online profile. Your father told us about the grave danger that the Dalerians posed to you and how Bryden managed to get you a new identity. We then managed to infiltrate the Dalerian’s mainframe and establish contact with—”
Alexa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d had about enough of this crap for an entire year. “What the fuck, Mister? Is this one of Neil’s sick little jokes? What are you on about?”
“Tsk, tsk, Miss Guerra, you father would not approve of your foul language. I guess it would be better for Neil to brief you personally. I honestly thought he would have done so by now.”
“OK then, good-bye!” she shouted, trying to disconnect the phone but struggling to push the disconnect button. It didn’t work. She could still hear him speak. Exasperated, she pulled the battery out and threw the phone on the back seat, then she jumped out of the car and jogged to the hangar.
Alexa flung the door open and ran to Neil, shouting questions at him as soon as she entered the hangar. “Neil, who the hell is this Frydman character and what is he on about? What the hell is my dad’s online profile?”
Neil lifted his head from his chest. “So I guess you phoned the number?”
“No. Well, yes. Argh, it doesn’t matter. Please explain,” she said, stomping the floor with her foot.
“Untie me first, I think better on my feet.”
Alexa roughly unlocked the cuffs and tossed Neil his clothes.
He rubbed his wrists and scowled. “Shit, Alexa, that hurt. I thought you left me here for good.”
“C’mon, Neil. Cut the baby boy routine and tell me what is going on.”
Neil nodded. “OK, so about a week ago Bruce receives a call from a gentleman called Major Frydman from Israeli intelligence,” Neil said, pulling on his jeans. “Frydman says that he has somehow managed to find some information on the Dalerians and that your father is involved in it all.” He shrugged. “Bruce is busy so he asks me to fly over and chat with the major.”
Alexa examined Neil intently, tapping her foot and biting her lower lip. “Uh-huh, OK. Go on.”
“So I visit the major, and he tells me that they recently upgraded their computer systems with the latest antivirus software. The software detected a program called Becky22 that was quite suspicious because it uses up all of the computer’s CPU resources whenever a user is not using their computer.” Neil pulled his T-shirt over his head. “What further intrigued him was that this piece of software had replicated itself to all PCs in the Israeli Defense Force’s network and to the mainframe—”
Alexa closed her eyes and sighed. “Somebody’s boring me, and I think it’s you.”
Neil touched her arm. “Just hear me out.”
Alexa slapped his hand away, giving him a hostile look.
Neil lifted his hands defensively. “Listen to me, please.”
Alexa scrutinized him with narrowed eyes, cocking her head slightly to the side. “OK, but if you’re bullshitting, it’ll be me and your gonads—”
Neil smiled at her threat.
“For God’s sake, Neil, get your mind out of the gutter,” Alexa said shaking her head in disbelief.
Neil grinned then continued. “OK, this program, Becky22, had replicated itself to the White House, CIA, FBI, and all prominent military intelligence systems’ computer networks across the globe. So Frydman starts reverse engineering the software to see what it’s doing.”
He walked to a chair and picked up his shoes, then sat and put them on. “Basically it's a fancy search engine, like Google, but only focused on finding intel about the Dalerians. So Frydman decodes it and runs it independently, and it spits out two names—Perreira and Callahan. He digs around and finds out that your dad and Bruce were investigating Perreira and Callahan in the nineties.” Neil looked up and shrugged. “So he phoned Bruce and told him about his findings.”