Lynn stuffed the gun in her backpack of critical items, jumped from her third story balcony, ran a few dozen yards then stepped into the shadows and slipped away into the night. Within a few minutes, she heard sirens. Her car was a quarter of a mile away, on purpose.
Lynn would go away as had Stacey, never to be seen again. Neither would the gun.
Within twenty minutes she was miles away. Her transformation to Anna Drake, brunette, was complete. And Karen – Stacey – Lynn – Anna and all the other aliases she had gone by over the years – was lonelier and more conflicted than ever.
Her ploy had worked. She had learned so much. And so little. At such a cost.
The team that came for her, and all the teams over the years, were mercenaries as she had suspected. That made her feel just a tinge better that no legitimate security personnel were injured or…
That was the next issue. Two men were dead. And she had killed one of them herself. She was queasy, uncomfortable. But she also experienced a rush, a thrill that she had finally taken the offensive, played the tough girl, and made some wicked people suffer for a change. She felt empowered, in control. And those attitudes also bothered her. They just didn’t seem right.
Was she doomed to be the smartest, strongest, healthiest, and someday the oldest person on earth, and also the loneliest?
Anna forced herself to focus. Why was it becoming so difficult?
Okay. Jason compartmentalizes everything. It’s clear that there’s no coordination between his various endeavors, teams, organizations, or whatever; whether legitimate or not. There’s no Rosetta stone, nothing to tie it all together and bring him down. The man is an absolute genius. He plays all of his hands very close.
Was there any way to pin the attack on him? The dead men. One shot the other who and was himself shot by an unknown party from a gun that would never be recovered. Three other men will wake up soon, in police custody, and with severe headaches. One will have a broken wrist, and none will have any reasonable explanation for why they were there, or for their fingerprints on guns found at the scene.
Five men. Two dead. And theirs will be the only fingerprints found. For her entire stay at the apartment, except when she bathed, she had worn the new prototype, transparent graphene gloves she had developed.
Could the attack be pinned on Jason? It would take a miracle.
If the survivors start to talk, Jason will have them lawyered up, released on bail and then conveniently terminated.
He gets off again. At the most, I may have slowed Jason down a little.
I tried. I really tried.
That last thought was both a silent prayer and an excuse.
As she waited for the six thirty morning bus to Valdosta, Georgia, Anna again planned how she would execute Jason Matthews.
Senator, you have two weeks to live.
Soft whispers from Scripture that had been such a part of her life, especially since 2006, were drowned out by the turmoil and planning going on in her mind. Admonitions like, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding” and “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay” went unheard and unheeded.
7. CONSTRAINT?
No apartment this time. And no car or change of address, which was always a challenge as every relocation included a new alias.
Anna Drake checked into an extended stay motel. She registered for a month and paid the first week with cash. The motel was close to a large Kroger grocery store with a growing organic food section. Her room had a kitchenette so it would be more like a home than some of the dives she had to stay at in the past.
Anna thought through her simple punch list:
Step One: Order materials from my lab.
Step Two: Monitor Jason’s itinerary.
Step Three: Execute.
Based on her brief “interview” with RC, all of Jason’s bad guy security should now be neutralized and it would take him a while to reconstitute his team. So, any security would likely be legitimate and must be protected. She would try to target his rare “extra-curricular” activities once she found one.
As she had been for weeks, Anna was engrossed in planning the perfect execution to avoid collateral damage and minimize second and third order effects. She sat deep in thought while eating lunch in the grocery store’s deli, hardly tasting the sandwich that used to be her favorite. She was typically much more aware of her surroundings and was startled when a handsome, athletic man somewhere in his early forties interrupted her train of thought.
“You must be military. I haven’t seen such intense concentration since I left the Pentagon.”
His disarming smile caught her off guard as much as his boldness, standing there in front of her with his tray. Short-cropped black hair along with his strong, high cheekbones and cleft chin; his persona shouted “military and important” or an A-list actor playing that role.
“Excuse me,” the handsome stranger continued. “I’m Don Draper. I’m TDY here at Moody, and I may be transferred here or up to Robins soon. May I join you?”
Years of loneliness, anger, and isolation overwhelmed her. For a split second, Anna thought once more of what it might be like to be normal.
“I’m sorry. No. I have some important issues I have to think through. And I’m not from around here. But I wish you well on your…career.”
That would have been her normal response, with just the right inflection to be pleasant but final. It was a response she had perfected over the years from hundreds of similar encounters.
She simply said, “No.”
The stranger smiled, cocked his head slightly, and started toward a different table by the window.
Why shouldn’t I have someone to talk to, like any normal person?
Before she could think it through another dozen times, Anna caught herself saying, “Excuse me. Sure. I was just distracted. I’m not military, and I’m not from around here. But what do you think of Valdosta so far?”
She motioned to the chair in front of her. The man’s smile continued as he walked back over and sat down.
“Not military, but very intense. So, what brings you to Valdosta, Ms…?”
“Anna. Anna Drake.” She extended her hand, which he shook; and held on perhaps a split second longer than typical.
“I’m between things right now. I may stay here for a while. You?”
“Conference. Heading back to the five-sided square, as we call it—the Pentagon—in a few days. We’re evaluating the old A-10s, whether to upgrade or retire and replace, and how we’d reallocate missions. My current tour is up in about six months, so like I say, I may end up down here or up in Warner Robins. You’re between jobs? What do you do?
He took a bite of his Philly cheese steak sandwich.
The truth? Oh, I’m a billionaire with over twenty-five patents under almost as many aliases. There’s a senator who would sacrifice ten mercenaries—even a hundred—to get his hands back on me. And I know I look around twelve years younger than you, but in reality, I’m at least eight years older. I can complete a full Iron Man Triathlon in under six hours and then go to the gym and easily out-press any Olympic weightlifter. And I’m not referring to the women.
She cleared her throat, suppressing a slight smile, and then answered. “I’m into various areas of research and marketing. And just doing things I enjoy since I lost my husband to cancer.” She paused, reminiscing but decided to continue before he could chase that rabbit. “Are you a pilot?”
She took another bite of her sandwich, a chicken club on sourdough, and noticed for the first time that it was very good.
Their back-and-forth continued as they enjoyed a pleasant conversation, discussing world events, favorite sports teams, places they had visited, and a dozen other topics. Anna had to admit that she enjoyed just being able to talk to a real person. The fact that he was an intelligent, articulate, drop dead gorgeous Lieutenant Colonel selectee was quite impressive as well.
His phone alarm interrupted he
r train of thought.
“Oh, excuse me, Anna. Duty calls.” He put his smartphone away, took out his wallet, pulled out an official looking Air Force business card, and handed it to Anna smiling.
“I’ve enjoyed our chat. Here’s my number. No pressure, but after you’ve done your shopping if you’d like to continue our conversation or take in a movie or something, give me a call?”
Anna responded by taking the card and returning his smile.
“I hope you’ll call,” he said, smiling, as he walked away.
Don’s smile got even wider once he turned his back to her. Grocery stores work every time. Don’t be pushy. Let her think she’s in charge. We’ll be in her bed or mine by ten.
As Anna started her shopping, she was smiling too. At least, at first. An uneasiness gnawed at her like she was missing something. The internal dialog made it hard for her to concentrate on her main purpose for being here.
It feels good to have someone show me some attention.
Do you honestly think he’s that interested in you as a person? You’re beauty-queen gorgeous, just another conquest for his ego.
I’ve helped hundreds of thousands of people for decades; don’t I get a little pleasure in life?
You talked an hour, about what? Do you know anything more about him than he knows about you? And you’re a pro at concealing who you are.
The guy’s a patriot, conservative, intelligent, and personable; what’s wrong with me enjoying being with someone for a few days?
Do you even know if he’s married? Kids?
The last piece was a real eye-opener. What about that? She had been faithful to her husband, Ed Richardson, their entire marriage. She had honored God by being celibate since his death. Did that apply to Don? And just what would the outcome be of their few days together?
And if he is my knight in shining armor, what would he think about my planning to execute a sitting U.S. senator? Or would he be willing to move from state to state, country to country to avoid men willing to die to capture me, or according to RC, to kill me?
It isn’t fair.
To live again for two or three nights…
Anna took the card back out of her purse and looked at it for a long, long time.
8. FINAL AFFAIRS
Four in the afternoon. Anna still hadn’t decided whether to call the man or not. She finished putting away her groceries and went for a walk to clear her head. A surprising thought occurred that she hadn’t thought of Jason for at least two hours—a good thing.
Anna decided to indulge in some Rocky Road ice cream at a hangout that was apparently popular with college students and young Airmen. The place was packed. She couldn’t help notice that most customers were couples; laughing, smiling, enjoying life. Her loneliness was overwhelming.
She ordered her ice cream, paid, and walked over to a table. But something didn’t seem right. There was a guy walking across the parking lot—very intense—wearing more clothes than normal for that time of the year. Young, bearded, hands twitching; she glanced back inside the ice cream shop. There were a lot of military personnel inside.
Anna stood up as he entered the store. There was a clear path between her and the door. As she expected, he pulled out two high caliber handguns. Before he could begin his massacre, Anna picked up the heavy steel table she was sitting at and charged him. Her deep throated roar drowned out his chant to his god of destruction until both of them were drowned out as he emptied his guns into her steel table as fast as he could pull the triggers. The sound was deafening and even worse as patrons screamed and ducked for cover or ran for the rear exit.
The heavy steel table absorbed enough of the impact of eight rounds to prevent ricochet. In only a few steps Anna was already at a full sprint. The table hit him with the force of a runaway car, slamming him backward through the store window, past the sidewalk and into the parking lot. She continued her charge and before he could recover, she slammed the table flat down on him, then threw it aside just missing parked cars. By now his guns were several feet away on either side, he was unconscious, and likely would need significant medical attention to set multiple broken bones. But Anna knew too well that there was another risk.
She ripped open his jacket and sure enough, he was wearing an explosive vest. There was no time to wait for a team. If he regained consciousness for even a second, he could take out everyone within a hundred-foot radius.
The vest was sophisticated; homegrown, lone-wolf terrorists had learned a lot over the previous six years. But Anna disarmed it and removed it in seconds. She looked around and identified a young airman who seemed to have enough focus and courage to do what was needed. He hadn’t run away; he was approaching to help.
“You. Take his guns and this explosive vest. It’s disarmed. Give them to the police when they arrive. If that man moves, don’t let him reach for anything. He may have more guns.”
Cell phones were coming out as bystanders came closer to look at the young superwoman who single-handedly stopped a terrorist attack with a heavy table and her bare hands.
She heard sirens in the distance, growing louder.
Anna quickly ran into another shop down the strip and out the back door, then broke into a full sprint. No one could keep up with her on foot, but she knew from human nature that at least a few bystanders would try to track her by car. She ducked in and out of a few more shops, even setting off an exit alarm as she went out a back door, then entered her motel through a side door. She slowed to a normal pace and walked to her room. In moments, she stepped back out, carrying her backpack, and walked back to the side door. Sure enough, there were two young adults running down her hall, looking for a thirty-something brunette in a stylish but comfortable brown and tan jumpsuit and matching shoes.
They wouldn’t find her. Redhead Stephanie Craig, with matching eyebrows, a light red shirt, and dark slacks left the hotel and walked away. She followed a path that also avoided security cameras, which she had already identified when she checked into the motel.
Stephanie didn’t normally cut her hair as she morphed from one alias to another. But too many people had seen her up close and might see her again. She had practiced her quick cut countless times, and the trim was salon-perfect. She had carefully collected the hair along with her other paraphernalia, including her hair color packet, and would discretely dispose of everything where it wouldn’t be found. To further the transformation, she had applied a colorful fake tattoo on her neck and an artificial nose piercing with a diamond stud.
Karen had committed to herself and to God, that she would always try to help others when she could. For whatever reason God gave her the unique qualities that were both a blessing and a curse, she would try to use them to His honor. But this time the cost had been high. Within hours, social media would be saturated with viral videos of her terrorist takedown. Jason’s team—any remaining—would again have a fix on her position. And…she was out of aliases. Stephanie was her last one. No matter the cost to her prime goal, she now had to sequester herself for a full month and work on the next set of seven.
Every four years, Karen would break away from whatever she was doing and develop seven aliases besides her current identity. She had never run out before. She needed Social Security numbers, drivers licenses, back-stories, bank accounts with credit cards, business cards; and each set became more difficult. To spoof NSA-level facial recognition software, she needed to make more sophisticated dental appliances, contact lenses, and more recently, long-term prosthetics that would change the appearance of her ears. By the next iteration, she’d also need to develop natural-looking add-ons to her chin and nose. And artificial fingerprints and fingernails for her whisper-thin graphene gloves. She had also considered adding collagen injections. But now?
Jason will have to wait.
+ + +
Don was bewildered. Everything had played out perfectly as it had so many times before. He had expected several phenomenal nights with the gorgeous brunette. Then
he’d have to go back to the plain-vanilla marriage, family, and all the other responsibilities he endured for the sake of excursions like this.
He hadn’t gotten around to asking, but he knew she had to be a physical trainer or an athlete. When he shook her hand goodbye and gently grasped her forearm—that, along with his smile, had always been a winner—her muscles were like bricks under her smooth, soft skin. She must have noticed his mild surprise but had said nothing.
Why didn’t she call? He wondered as he ate breakfast in his motel lobby.
A news story on the motel’s eighty-inch television caught his attention, as the reporter described a thwarted terrorist attack the previous afternoon just a few blocks away. The lone wolf jihadist had two handguns and over forty rounds of ammo. His explosive vest could have destroyed a medium church which officials speculated was his final target according to documents found on him.
Don lasered in on the news story as similar attacks were increasing across the nation and were the first or second topic of the daily Pentagon briefings.
What he didn’t expect were the eyewitness interviews that followed. A single woman had overpowered the terrorist in a matter of seconds. He was in custody and was in extremely critical condition at the local hospital, under tight security. There were no pictures of the actual take-down. Everyone had been fleeing for their lives…but several pictures and videos showed her disarming and removing the bomb vest, then talking to the Airman before running at an incredible sprint into the other store.
Anna?!
The Guardian Collection (End of the Sixth Age Book 2) Page 4