by DJ Steele
"I didn’t order another glass," Elke said to the waiter dressed in black pants and a white shirt.
"This is from the gentleman at the bar." The waiter gestured toward the man who had just sat down.
Elke looked toward the man sitting on the bar stool. He smiled, stood and strolled over to her table.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Actually, I do," she replied curtly.
The man slid the chair out and sat down facing her.
"You know who I am?" he said.
Elke tucked her long silver hair back behind her ear. Her silence did not faze the stranger.
"The years have been kind to you," he said as his gaze passed over her. "You’re a very attractive woman."
"You’re not my type."
"Let’s not play games Addy. This is a serious situation." Addy Bravo was another identity she often used.
"Serious for whom?"
"You, your country. Possibly your granddaughter."
"Why would this situation concern her?"
"Because she’s your granddaughter." The man lowered his voice and leaned closer, "Intelligence agencies in Russia look for weaknesses to use against our field officers. Your granddaughter is your kryptonite."
"Careful when you talk about my granddaughter," she warned.
The man sitting directly across from her worked for the CIA. The same agency she had once pledged allegiance to. He was no different than the assassin she had killed. They both wanted something from her and would use whatever means they could to get it.
"I am no longer an officer for the CIA," she said in a cold, emotionless voice. "I have a flight to catch which I’m sure you know since you paid for my ticket. I have nothing for you."
"The Russians believe you have intel they want. They’ll do whatever it takes to get it. You need to cooperate with us, Addy. We can protect you and your granddaughter."
"Bullshit." Anger flashed through her eyes. "Like you protected my daughter?"
"We didn’t know there was a mole in our agency. It wasn’t our fault. As soon as it happened, we suspected the agency had been infiltrated and made moves to uncover his identity."
Then he quickly added, "Which we did."
"Too damn late, she was already dead," Elke’s tone hardened.
"That’s the nature of this business. You’ve always known the risks."
"I knew the risks. What I failed to realize was in our line of business you can’t trust anybody." She stood, pointed her finger at the man. "Not even the agency you work for."
The man folded his hands on the table and continued, "With your help we can nail this bastard. We knew before the Russian handler was murdered in the park, she told you something. That information might save our country from another attack. Did she give you any indication who the spy might be?"
"If I did know something, you’d already know it."
"We need you on this one, Addy."
"Listen to me carefully," her voice rising in intensity, finger shaking. "Tell your boss to pull off all the tails you have on me. Now. Or when I do have intel, he’ll be the last to know."
The man leaned back, rubbed his chin and repeated himself, "We need you on this one, Addy."
Elke grabbed her bag and headed to her gate.
Chapter Eleven
It had been one hell of a day.
Julia was mad. Too mad to talk.
Laquita had told her friend Max too much.
Julia and Laquita faced each other in her office in what appeared to be a staring contest. She handed Laquita back her phone.
Laquita chewed on her bottom lip. Her finger rubbed the scar on her forehead. "I…I’m worried," Laquita stammered. "Max is a badass. The only way he told that killer anythin’ was with a gun to his head."
She knew this wasn’t the time to blame Laquita. They needed a plan. First, she had to calm herself down.
After an edgy silence she placed her hand on Laquita’s arm and looked her straight in the eye. "He knows about us. Knows where we work and probably where you live. We need to get out of here. We’ll take my car and go to the police. It’s the only option we have right now."
Going to the police and handing over the photos should keep her and Laquita safe, but she couldn’t be certain. It seemed the best course of action, however she couldn’t shake the urge to call her grandmother and ask what to do.
No, she thought. I made her promise to stay out of my life. If I drag her back in, then I’m admitting I can’t figure things out for myself. I can do this without Elke’s help.
Laquita slung her large pocketbook over her shoulder, picked up the bat leaning against the bookcase and said, "Damn right. Let’s git the hell outta here."
After locking the office door, she and Laquita hurried down the hall to the elevator. Inside, Julia pushed the button for the main lobby.
"Phew!" she said watching the creaking doors slowly begin to close.
Without warning, a hand from the outside squeezed in and forced the elevator doors open. A man shoved his way inside and stood in front of Laquita and to Julia’s right.
"Going down?" his voice sounded familiar.
Julia nodded. His index finger pressed the lobby button.
The man was tall. His unbuttoned coat revealed a paunch that tugged at his shirt. His hair was an unnatural jet-black color that did not match his weathered pockmarked face. He reminded Julia of several of her accounting professors at college. Nerdy.
When the elevator stopped and the doors pulled apart, the man moved aside and stood in front of Julia to let Laquita pass by him. Then, he shifted to allow Julia to step out. Julia gave a brisk smile and started out when the man’s hand wrapped around her arm pulling her back.
Julia didn't like the serious glint in the man's eyes. Laquita was shaking her head and swinging the bat in small circles by her side like she was ready to strike. Julia's breathing accelerated.
"Julia," the man said.
Julia looked back to the man.
The man spoke low and fast, "You and your friend go to your place. You’ll be safe there. Take the long route. We’ll make sure you aren’t followed." He let go of her arm and shoved a phone in her hand.
"Did you break into my office?" snapped Julia.
He didn't answer.
"Who are you?"
"Bridge Club. We’ll be in touch."
He cut her off before she could respond, "And get rid of both your phones. You can be traced with them."
The man strode briskly past Laquita, through the bakery and out the door of the building.
"Who the hell was that weirdo?" asked Laquita, her hand wrapped firmly around the bat. "I was fixin’ to use this bat on him."
Julia stared at her hand holding the phone the stranger gave her. She quickly made up her mind.
"Let me see your phone," demanded Julia.
"Huh?" Laquita looked at her strangely. "Don’t ya have your own?"
"I need it now," Julia’s voice was impatient. "Trust me on this one. I’ll explain later."
Laquita pulled the phone out of her back-jean pocket and reluctantly handed it to Julia. "I ain’t heard from Max, if that’s what ya wanna know."
Julia scrolled on Laquita’s phone till she found Max’s contact information. She promptly entered the info in the phone the stranger gave her.
"We need to hurry." She pushed Laquita ahead.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a trash receptacle by the bakery exit. She tucked the stranger’s phone in her pocket and collected her phone. Right before walking out, she tossed Laquita’s and her phone in the receptacle. Laquita was in front of her and didn’t notice.
Outside she gestured to the left. "I’m parked down the street in the parking garage."
The sidewalk was crowded with pedestrians. A gathering of clouds had blocked the sun causing a slight drop in the temperature. They both buttoned up their jackets in an attempt to fight off the chill created from the cloud cover. Julia had stepped up the
pace. Her long legs were no match for Laquita’s giraffe’s stride.
Her car was parked on the second floor of the parking garage. Nervously, they searched for any sign of possible threats. There were only a few people moving inside the garage and none appeared interested in them.
Julia beeped the lock twice and they climbed in her car. She backed out of the parking space and headed out of the garage. At the main street, she turned right and accelerated.
"I ’spect we ain’t goin’ to no police department since you’re goin’ the wrong direction," quipped Laquita.
"Not yet," replied Julia.
"What’d that weirdo man say to you?"
"He told me we need to go back to my place for now."
"Then we’ll call the cops?" Laquita asked sharply.
"I’ll let you know when we get there." She glanced and saw the frown on Laquita’s face.
"I want my phone back now." Laquita held out her hand.
Julia mumbled, "I threw your phone in the trash."
"What'd you say?"
"I said, I threw your phone in the trash can at the bakery."
"You shittin’ me, right?"
"I threw mine away too, Laquita."
"That supposed to make me feel better?"
"I’m sorry, really I am." Julia stared straight ahead. "But our phones could have been used to track us."
"Is that what that crazy ol’ fool told ya in the elevator?"
"I know that man." The light rain grew heavier splattering the windshield. Julia clicked up the speed on the windshield wipers.
"Uh-huh. You sure as hell didn’t look like ya knew him. I’m a damn fool for trusting ya."
Julia drove through two red lights before making an abrupt turn. Laquita grabbed the handle on the roof before she was slung into Julia.
"Now, ya gonna try and kill me?"
"What I meant was I don’t know him personally. I know the people he works with."
"Ya know," Laquita began, "I thought he looked like FBI."
"FBI?" said Julia. "No. What makes you think…. oh, forget it. He’s not FBI." Julia sensed Laquita was excited at the prospect of the stranger being with the FBI.
"He’s CIA." Julia deliberately left out the word retired. She was busy making sure nobody was following them.
"Omigod. That’s it. That’s why ya bought Fly’s business ain’t it? He told me he worked for ‘em way back. I never believed him. Thought he just wanted to get in my pants. Then I heard he got himself killed at City Park. It made me think maybe he did work for the CIA. I stayed away from the office for a while. I liked Fly. He was good to me. When you took over the business, I never figgered you were with the CIA. I needed a job and I liked the work."
Julia pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The car lurched though the intersection.
Laquita braced herself with both hands against the dashboard. "Looks like God has other plans for me," she said under her breath.
"Did you find anything?" the woman asked.
"Her most recent client is a person called Kat Lejeune. Not much info in the file on her," said the man.
"She didn’t see you, did she?"
"No. I almost got caught but got out in time."
"You gave her the warning?"
"Yes. And she took my advice and headed back to her home."
"See if the Club can find out who this Kat Lejeune really is."
"Think it’s an alias?"
"If it’s connected to her surveillance at the motel, probably."
"Besides tracking down Kat Lejeune, what do you want us to do regarding Julia?"
"Keep eyes on her and keep me updated. She’s not to know I’m involved. I plan on paying a visit to an old acquaintance."
"Alright, I’ll let you know what we find."
The line clicked off.
Elke knew the Bridge Club was good, but right now she needed to speed things up. She had to make sure Julia was safe.
Chapter Twelve
A dead reporter.
The phone call from the man he hired was not what Wagner had expected to hear. The hired man was supposed to find out what the journalist knew concerning a Washington mole, then persuade her to leave the area.
Not kill her.
When Congressman Quatterman came to his office two weeks ago and told him there was a reporter snooping around the Hill asking questions about the rumor of a spy in a government agency, Wagner panicked. What if the journalist had made the connection between him and the Russians?
His Russian handler would have taken care of the reporter, but Wagner didn’t tell him. If he had told his handler, he would never feel safe.
The Kremlin had highly skilled assassins on their payroll. The journalist would die in an accident of some kind. But his problems wouldn’t end there. He feared the Russian government might see him more as a liability than an asset or at the least, a high risk. Perhaps he would be gunned down in a drive-by shooting. Or poisoned. The former Russian spy, Alexander Litvinenko was poisoned by radioactive polonium-210 believed to have been administered in a cup of tea. The assassins had elaborate methods of killing in painful hard-to-trace ways.
That’s why he believed he had to make the problem go away by handling it himself. It could have worked, except he hired the wrong man.
Why on earth had Max given him the name of a contract killer? Did Max know the reputation of the man he recommended? What the hell did it matter now, he thought while pacing back and forth from the large picture window in his office to the middle of the room. An overwhelming sense of dread made him too nervous to sit.
Max had graduated with honors from college. Besides his economic degree, he had a political science degree. A degree that taught how laws were made. Instead, Max chose to break laws. He was a petty criminal who had spent plenty of time in jail. Once for breaking into a closed liquor store in the middle of the night. The next time was more serious, selling crack to an undercover cop. He claimed he’d been set up by a police informant.
Wagner grew tired of helping the man out. Max always blamed others for his problems. Nothing was ever his fault. Always scraped by to make a living. Wagner shook his head thinking about Max never living up to his potential. Finally, he needed to tell Max not to call him again. Get your shit together, Max. You can do better, he remembered telling him. Wagner knew Max might jeopardize his career if he stayed involved with him.
Then, the tables turned. It was Wagner’s turn to ask for a favor. He had figured Max was a better choice than going to his handler thinking the reporter might not really know anything. Or had she?
The assassin instructed him over the phone to meet him again at the park, tomorrow at noon. Then he would reveal what he had learned from the reporter. The murderer demanded more money. Why he made this demand, he didn’t say.
Wagner wanted to tell the smug killer he had fucked up the job he hired him to do. He wanted to say that, but rational thinking helped him keep his mouth shut. His mind was whirling with thoughts of having another meeting with the killer. What if he didn’t go? What if—
A soft rap on his office door startled him. His nerves already on edge.
Standing in the middle of his office, he wiped his damp forehead, hurried over to his desk and sat in his high-back leather chair.
"Yes," he cleared his throat and composed himself.
His assistant, Megan eased the door open and walked in holding a tall drink with a cup sleeve wrapped around it. She was dressed in a tailored gray pantsuit accented with a navy blouse underneath the jacket. The way those pants snugged her curvy body distracted him for a second.
Megan was the most competent assistant he had ever had. He and Megan were alike in many ways. They both were Type-A personalities and cared nothing about a work-life balance. It was a high price they both paid in their personal lives. Megan, on the other hand, did have a boyfriend. Wagner was surprised when he found out. Why, he wasn’t sure since she was such a desirable young woman.
"You
look tired, Mr. Wagner. Is everything okay?"
Wagner shuffled a stack of papers on his desk attempting to look like he had been busy working.
"Please, call me Alan in private, Megan. We know each other well enough to drop the formalities."
"Sorry, Mr.—I mean Alan. You’re right." Her lips curled upward, and she added, "It’s a hard habit for me to break."
He grinned and continued, "I’m working on which legislation reaches the floor for a vote." His gaze passed over her again.
Gripping the cup with both hands, she said, "I knew you were busy. You haven’t even gone to lunch. I bought you some coffee with an extra shot of expresso, just the way you like it." She walked around his desk and stood next to him.
He could smell the scent of her perfume. Suddenly his thoughts were consumed with how he wanted to grab her and press his lips against her voluminous lips. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman.
Megan leaned forward and handed him the hot drink. "Is there anything you need me to do?"
His hand wrapped around the hot cup sleeve, accidentally brushing against her hand. Wagner felt a surge of electricity shoot through his body.
If he were to act on his impulses right now it might complicate his already complicated life. He had enough problems. Besides, Megan would probably reject him. He was almost twice her age.
He longed to share his problems with somebody. His last lover always listened, never judged. This time was different. They work together. She had a boyfriend. Even if Megan was interested, how would she react if she ever found out he was a Russian spy? Would she hate him if she knew he was involved in a murder? No, those secrets were better left buried.
Wagner coughed to clear his throat. "Not right now." He was certain if Megan kept standing next to him, he would no longer be able to resist the temptation to pull her next to him. He lifted the cup and said, "Thanks for this. I need it."