Takeoff

by Joseph Reid

  Linda Vasquez pretends to be Questar’s daytime receptionist. She sits at the front desk, answers the phone if it ever rings, and signs for packages when the FedEx guy arrives each day. A five-foot-two-inch mother of three, Vasquez wears conservative clothes, glasses, and a “mom” haircut. She also keeps an H&K MP5 submachine gun hidden underneath her desk and is a black belt in three different martial arts. My house would be in good hands.

  “Thanks.”

  “I have Special Agent Franklin and Max’s father here in my office—they flew out after what happened at the airport yesterday. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

  The background noise on the other end changed, deepening, until Franklin’s subtle drawl appeared. “Mr. Walker, how are you? I assume Mr. Drew’s daughter is with you?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got Max. We’re both safe.”

  “Mr. Walker, this is Gregory Drew. I cannot thank you enough for saving my little girl.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  “The Bureau owes you a great debt, too,” Franklin said. “Five of the seven agents from the LAX detail survived yesterday’s assault. From the reports I’ve heard, that’s mostly thanks to your quick thinking. Leading the shooters away probably saved their lives, so again, thank you.”

  Although that hadn’t been my concern at the time, I was glad for the result. “I’m sorry about Moore. He never had a chance.”

  Franklin remained silent, leaving my mind to replay the feeling of Moore’s blood splattering against my cheek.

  Lavorgna’s Philadelphia accent cut in. “Where are you now, Seth?”

  Clever, asking the question before Franklin could get to it. Keeping control of the conversation. “We’re mobile,” I said. “Figured a moving target would be harder to hit.”

  “We’d obviously like to work out a time and place for you to come in,” Franklin said.

  “I’d love to. But I think we may be better holding off until you track down the guys who hit us. What’s the status on that?” Now we’d see how forthcoming Franklin was going to be.

  “Honestly, we’re not totally sure who they are. The ones at the airport took two of the three bodies with them—the only one they left was wedged into the luggage chute. Same thing last night. We found lots of casings, bullets, and blood trails around your house, but no bodies.”

  “I know I nailed at least a couple. So they’re a gang that takes their casualties home with them? I would think that’s weird enough to be an identifier all by itself.”

  “We’re looking,” Franklin said. “We just don’t have any answers yet.”

  “You said you got one body. What about those facial tattoos . . .”

  “Again,” he said, “we’re processing them. But they’re not like anything we’ve seen before.”

  “Did you get anything helpful? Age, prints, anything?” I asked.

  “Coroner put the guy in his early twenties. No hit on his prints. We’re working on all those angles. But I think everyone here would feel better if Mr. Drew’s daughter was under the full protection of the Bureau.”

  “I can appreciate that,” I said, not really meaning it. “But like I said, I just don’t know that I’ll feel comfortable bringing her in until we really know what we’re up against.”

  “All due respect, Mr. Walker, these guys already found your house. Don’t you think she’d be better—”

  “Exactly. They found my house. And before that, they found us at the airport. Both secrets people were entrusted to keep. You told me at JFK that we were likely facing a lone psycho, yet in both places you had large details outfitted for an attack, and one of those still got slashed to pieces. So, no, I don’t think Max is better off with you, at least not yet.” My pulse was pounding harder than I’d expected.

  “So you’re not going to hand her over?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not going to give us your location?”

  “Nope.”

  “Mr. Walker, this is Greg Drew again. I realize I’m just the father here.” His tone suggested he thought he was a lot more than that. “But I think it stands to reason that Max can be much better protected in an environment like an FBI office than wherever you are, on the road, as you said. No offense—you’ve done a wonderful job. But, she is—quite literally—a multimillion-dollar asset. I mean,” Drew chuckled slightly, “if you’re holding on to a priceless statue, you don’t just throw it on the front seat of the car and go rumbling around the dirt track. You very carefully set it down on a pedestal at the museum and let the guards patrol around it.”

  I’d lost a lot of blood and had been unconscious, but I had to check myself to see if Max’s father had really just compared her to a piece of artwork.

  Franklin’s drawl cut in. “Vince, maybe you could help Agent Walker understand—”

  “Oh, I think my air marshal understands the situation better than all of us, considering he was the one dodging all those bullets last night. I think what he’s saying is that the gang appears to have some source of intelligence on this end, and we need to plug the leak. Once we do that, I’m sure he’ll feel perfectly comfortable returning Max to your purview. Do I have that right, Seth?”

  “Exactly what I meant, sir.” I remembered the way an FBI friend of mine had once squirmed in Lavorgna’s presence—he was pretty much Bureau royalty—and I wondered what Franklin was thinking right about now.

  Drew’s voice appeared on the line again. “I just have to say, I don’t find this acceptable, not acceptable at all. Leading her out of the airport was one thing. But now you’re proposing trusting my daughter’s safety to a single man—not even an experienced bodyguard, but some kind of . . . of . . . airline rent-a-cop—to—”

  “Be very, very careful right now, Mr. Drew,” Lavorgna said. “My job is overseeing those ‘rent-a-cops,’ as you just called them, and I can tell you they’re far more than that.”

  “I don’t mean any offense. I’m sure your men are very good at what they do. Blending in, protecting the airlines—when I saw Mr. Walker at JFK, I never would have guessed someone who looked like him was in law enforcement. But you’re talking about an impressionable sixteen-year-old girl here. You’re trusting some . . . some lone wolf to escort her through who-knows-what-kind of environments . . .”

  “I’m sure Agent Walker will—”

  “See, it’s wonderful that you’re sure. But as her father, I’m not. I don’t know Agent Walker from a hole in the wall so—again, no offense—I have absolutely no idea if he’s the kind of man who can be trusted with a girl my daughter’s age. Maybe you haven’t seen pictures of her, Mr. Lavorgna, but—”

  “Enough.” Lavorgna didn’t yell the word, but he said it with enough force that the call went silent. I could imagine the grim line his mouth had formed beneath his beard. “While I appreciate your concerns,” he said, more calmly than I expected, “I can tell you with absolute confidence that Agent Walker is the best we have. I would trust him to protect my own family. So—no offense—I would appreciate it if you avoided impugning him, or any of the rest of my air marshals, any further than you already have. Franklin, Walker’s not coming in until you’ve got the leak plugged on your end. Clear?”

  Before Franklin or Drew could say another word, I hung up.

  “That got heated,” Shen said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Max’s dad went a little overboard.”

  He shrugged. “Hard to blame the guy.”

  I nodded silently, but my wheels had started turning. After a minute, I said, “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to see how fast the FBI can fix a cell position.”

  “Plus, Brian’s gonna be pissed. We’re late for dinner.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Shen’s prediction proved correct: we found Brian standing in the kitchen, flipping the pages of a magazine so hard, I thought he’d rip them out. A large pan sat on the stove next to him, and although it was covered, the whole space was filled with the subtle aroma of saffron.


  “Sorry,” Shen said.

  “Oh, it’s no problem. I cooked half the afternoon, but no one’s going to eat the damn thing until it’s cold.”

  “It’s my fault,” I said. “I forced Shen to drive me down to where I could call the office. I didn’t want to be too close, in case someone tried to trace the call.”

  Brian’s face softened at that, and he nodded.

  I glanced around. “Where’s Max?”

  “Still in the bathroom, I think. She’s been in there since you guys left.”

  As fast as I could go on my gimpy legs, I tracked back to the powder room where I’d spent so much time the night before and knocked softly. “You okay in there?”

  The toilet flushed and the sink ran for a few moments. Then the door popped open, and Max came out with her head down. She beelined for the kitchen, but I grabbed her elbow, spinning her back around.

  “Hey, I asked if you were okay.”

  Her eyes stayed locked on the floor. “I’m fine.”

  “What took you so long?”

  “Jeez.” Max lifted her head, but instead of rage, her voice sounded flat, almost defeated. “Can’t I even go to the bathroom in peace?”

  The way she squinted made me uncomfortable, as if I’d intruded on her in a way that wasn’t appropriate. “I—I’m sorry.”

  Her chin rose slightly. “I’m . . .” She paused. “I’m a little . . . plugged up.” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes sliding to the side. But then they came back to glare at me, and her voice rose again. “Happy? Now you know all my intimate details.”

  “I just . . . I was . . . worried about you.”

  She blinked at me as if she expected me to say something more. Then she spun on her heel and stalked off toward the kitchen. As she disappeared around the corner, I kicked myself a little bit.

  The saffron smell turned out to belong to a giant pan of vegetable risotto, which Brian left on the stove as he served us at the counter. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the first bite hit my mouth, but then I quickly gobbled an entire plate of creamy rice, mushrooms, and other vegetables. Solid and warm in my stomach, it made me feel stronger than I had since waking in the guest room.

  Glancing around the quiet table, Shen was shoveling food into his mouth like it might be his last meal, but Max had her head down and was just sort of toying with hers.

  “So, Max,” I said, “what’s the best part of being a superstar?”

  “Huh?” She glanced up from her plate. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never met anyone as famous as you, that’s all.”

  “I met Norman Schwarzkopf once,” Shen said between bites.

  “Who’s that?” Max asked.

  “A famous general,” I said. “Before your time, probably. But c’mon, what’s the best part? What do you like the most?”

  “I don’t know,” Max said, sweeping her hair behind her ear. “I mean, I love singing, but I’ve always loved that. Maybe photo shoots? Those are kind of cool. You get to dress up, and sometimes they let you keep the clothes.”

  “I would be so self-conscious,” Brian said. “I can’t even take a regular photo without closing my eyes.”

  Max giggled; then her face straightened. “I was kind of nervous the first couple times. It’s weird, you know, them giving you directions and stuff. But eventually you figure it out and just get into it.”

  “The night before we met at JFK,” I said, “I saw a couple of your photo shoots online. There wasn’t much clothing to take home.” At the time, the cheesecake photos hadn’t seemed like a big deal. But now that I knew Max, thinking back over them felt . . . awkward.

  “Did you see the FGO one? For Guys Only, in the white bikini?”

  “I don’t know . . . maybe?” I absolutely remembered it: draped across a boat in that one, Max had on a strapless top, and wore bottoms with metal rings at the hips to show more skin. In full makeup, she’d looked twenty-five.

  “God, I hated that one.”

  I relaxed slightly. “Really? Because I—”

  “That bikini was totally wrong for me. The color washed me out, and it made my ass look too big and my boobs look too small.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Didn’t you think it made my ass look too big?” She was staring directly at me, expecting an immediate answer, as if she’d asked what time it was.

  “No . . . I . . .”

  She smirked. “So you like a girl with a big ass?”

  My cheeks flushed. “I didn’t say that, either . . .” I looked to either side, but Brian and Shen weren’t offering any help.

  “Did you see the spread in Men’s Quarterly?”

  “Was that the one on the rug?”

  Max leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and nodded. “What did you think of that one?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, hoping my glances around the room might be sufficient cover. When she continued to press me, I said, “I was kind of surprised . . .”

  A proud smile bloomed across her face. “I loved that spread.” Speaking to Shen and Brian in turn, she said, “They shot me from the side, on my hands and knees. They got awesome sideboob.” A little sigh. “I wish I looked more like Kate Upton. Her boobs are so fantastic . . .”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “Doesn’t it bother you when—”

  Max’s smile disappeared. “When what?”

  “When they . . . make you pose that way? So . . .”

  “So . . . what?” Max’s eyebrows rose, and her nostrils flared like she knew exactly what was coming.

  “So . . . sexually.”

  “Didn’t you think I looked good?”

  “Looking good isn’t the issue . . .”

  She nodded. “So I did look good. You just don’t want to admit you liked it.”

  My face burned even hotter now, and realizing Max would probably notice only made it worse. “It’s more that you’re only sixteen. No sixteen-year-old should—”

  “Should what? Should be proud of her body? I should be ashamed? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. I just don’t know that everyone should see . . . everything.”

  Max’s eyebrows furrowed, her mouth drawing to a point. “Oh. So I shouldn’t be allowed to embrace my own sexuality? We’re going back to the 1700s now, or something, and women should just go off to the back room?”

  “‘Embracing your sexuality’? Is that really what you were doing rolling around topless on a rug?” My voice rose. “Because it looked more like you were just trying to get a bunch of guys lathered up.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” she asked. “Why should you or anybody be allowed to keep me from doing what I want with my body? If I want to show it off, that’s my choice.”

  “You don’t think it sends the wrong message?”

  “I think the message I’m sending is to buy my records. And I think a lot more guys’ll buy them if I let them see the side of my boobs. Do you know how much publicity I got from those shoots? It was probably the difference between gold and platinum. All for just being in a bathing suit I’d wear to the beach, anyway.”

  I leaned in over my plate. “Doesn’t it make you feel like a piece of meat?”

  Max didn’t retreat. The opposite—she leaned in as well, planting her palms on the table, her voice continuing to rise. “What makes me feel like a piece of meat is people like you controlling me. Telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. I’ve got the talent. I’m the one people pay to listen to. So why does everybody else think they get to tell me what’s best for me?”

  “You mean like Charlie Garcia?”

  “Charlie. The FBI. You.” Max paused for a moment, but the muscles in her neck flexed, and she looked up to the ceiling. “Everyone. I just need to get away. Away from everyone so I can decide what happens in my life and my career.” Her eyes dropped back down on me. “So I can be in charge for once.”

  Although she was glaring, when
our eyes locked on each other, I thought I saw a spasm of sadness flash across Max’s face. Just a quick twitch of it before she pressed it back down. But even that brief glimpse was enough to force me back in my chair.

  Trying not to show it, I took a deep, cleansing breath.

  While the moment was still hanging there, Brian piped up. “Have you gotten to go anyplace exotic for your shoots? I love to travel.”

  She blinked at me a few more times, then turned to Brian, her face softening. “Um, no. No place that exciting.”

  “I read you went to the Caribbean for a while,” I said, my voice deliberately gentler now. “Did you do any shoots down there?”

  Max’s eyes darted at me, like I’d said something poisonous. “No,” she said, clipping the word.

  “I’ve been trying to get him”—Brian nodded at Shen—“to take me, but it’s never the right time. Which islands did you see?”

  She glanced all around, as if maps were printed across the walls and ceiling. “Um . . . a few different places. The Bahamas.” She paused. “Saint Lucia.” She looked down at her plate and fell silent for a moment. Then she turned to Brian. “I’m sorry—you cooked a wonderful meal, but I’m . . . I’m not feeling quite right. Do you mind if I—”

  “No, no, of course, sweetie,” he said, rising and smiling. He touched her shoulder as she turned to go. “If you need anything in the middle of the night, you just let us know.”

  She gave him a weak smile, then dropped her eyes and headed off toward the bedrooms.

  Once she was gone, Brian shook his head. “Poor thing.”

  I glanced over at Shen, only to find he was already staring at me, attempting to remind me of his warnings about Max during our earlier conversation.

  Wincing slightly, I apologized for the scene. Then I told them what she’d said outside the bathroom, whispering in case she was listening. “I shouldn’t have pressed her.”

  “She’ll be okay,” Brian said.

  “Think so?”

  “She’s traumatized. Who could blame her?”

  Shen nodded. “Question is, what’s next for you two?”