by J C Ryan
“I was standing too close to him to get a good shot,” Marissa narrated. On the computer, Carson’s voice said, “You can change in here.”
“Wait,” said Brandt, pausing the video. “How did you get those shots? Wasn’t the camera hidden in your bustier?”
“As I got up from the table, I opened the top button of my blouse. I figured it wouldn’t hurt the view any,” she said.
Brandt glanced involuntarily at her chest.
No, I suppose the view would have been fine.
Hastily, he brought his eyes back to the screen and restarted the video. It went black for a second, and then came back on, showing a door opening. Brandt gasped. What had been hidden by the camera’s proximity to Carson’s body before was now in full view. Brandt’s blush raised the temperature in the room a full degree.
Just then, a knock on the door interrupted what he was about to say. “Room service!” came the call. Before Brandt could get out of his chair, Marissa was across the room.
“Thank you, lord!” she said, opening the door.
Brandt had quickly closed the laptop, flustered by Marissa’s careless action. The young man with the coffee could have seen. Meanwhile, Marissa had invited the boy in to set the coffee service down on the table where Brandt sat. She tipped him and ushered him out, then breathed in deeply.
“I just love the smell of freshly brewed coffee,” she said. “I need about a gallon of it now. Can I pour you a cup?”
Brandt thought that he’d had put enough stress on his heart already, and he expected more. More coffee was the last thing he needed.
“No, thanks. You go ahead — it’s all yours.”
He opened the laptop, which had gone to sleep when he closed the lid to hide what was on the screen from the server and woke it up again.
Marissa walked around to stand beside him again as he continued viewing the video. This time, he steeled himself against the vision of a torture room, and avoided an overt reaction, though the sight did twist his gut.
“You didn’t actually…” he started to say.
She said, “Just watch the video.”
Now Brandt had a fresh shock as the camera showed Carson entering its view from another room. Brandt’s jaw dropped at the costume, if you could call it that, Carson wore. It consisted of nothing but wide leather straps, held together by links of metal, leaving far more of Carson’s… anatomy… showing than Brandt had ever hoped to see.
Damn, that must hurt!
A few moments later, he was beyond such observations. What Marissa had done with a quirt and something that looked like a short version of a pirate’s whip, a cat o’ nine tails, definitely had to have hurt.
Brandt looked at the meter that showed how much of the video he’d watched. There was much more, but he was sick to his stomach already and couldn’t bring himself to continue, not with Marissa in the room with him. If the camera showed Carson’s hands approaching… He didn’t trust what he’d do. He turned it off.
“Is it enough, boss?”
Brandt just nodded and turned his face away from her view to gain some control over his emotions. In the parlance of his Navy days, before he’d joined the CIA, what he’d just seen would gag a maggot. “I’m so sorry to have put you through that, Marissa. Do you need some R&R before your next assignment? Go to the Bahamas, put that out of your mind?”
“Boss, look at me.”
Reluctantly he turned.
“That. Was. Fun. No, I don’t mean I’m into that, it was sickening, but look — you told me that scum was responsible for the deaths of eight good men, including one of our agents. And that was just in one operation. How many more could there be with a rat like him?
“And if he’s involved in protecting the heroin trade, he’s indirectly responsible for the death of my sister. She OD’d.
“No, I’m good, I signed up to work for CRC to defend our country against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
Brandt reacted with shock. Her sister had OD’d? Why hadn’t he known that? But Marissa was still talking.
“I enjoyed punishing him for that. You don’t need to be worried about the rest of the video. Nothing happened that we didn’t both want to happen. Okay, so maybe I drew blood with that whip, and maybe he didn’t anticipate that, but the son of a bitch begged for it. Begged. And I was happy to oblige. There was nothing else. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I understand,” Brandt answered, relieved. He’d chosen well. Marissa seemed unaffected by that obscenity on the video. His admiration for her grew a few more notches. He couldn’t have done what she had. Couldn’t have stomached it. She was a trouper.
“There’ll be a bonus in your next paycheck,” he growled, overcome with emotion he didn’t understand.
“No need for that, boss. Truly. But what are you going to do with that video? I think I deserve to hear what happens to him.”
“I’ll do better than that. How would you like to be with me when I confront him with this?”
“You’re right. That’s even better.”
Brandt told her he needed to finish watching it alone, and he needed to read her report and view the still pictures, as well. Only then could he formulate a plan to destroy Carson. Once he had everything reasoned out, he’d call her with a time and place to meet with them.
It wouldn’t take long.
BRANDT REFLECTED THAT it had taken longer than he anticipated. It turned out he had to watch the video several times before he could reduce its impact on him enough to act with cunning and reason.
Marissa’s report was long and thorough, as well.
After studying everything, he sketched out several scenarios to anticipate how Carson would react when confronted. Then he had to find a meeting place that would accommodate that reaction without drawing the notice of people who weren’t involved, but that also wouldn’t raise Carson’s suspicions.
Short of killing the man, which Brandt seriously considered, there were only a few alternatives that would result in the desired outcome. He’d give Carson the choice.
He decided on a golf course for the meeting. He didn’t have time for golf anymore, but with a ten handicap, he’d once played a passable game. Carson, though, was a fanatic. He’d jump at the chance to trounce Brandt in a game. He called Carson as soon as he’d thought it all through. Today was too soon. The late notice would mean Carson might not be available. They made plans for the next afternoon.
He thought about how to involve Marissa in the scheme. He didn’t want another witness, so bringing her in as part of a foursome was out. Then he got an idea that tickled his sense of humor. He’d have her disguise herself as a caddy, and he’d have her stay in the golf cart while he and Carson walked. When he had enough privacy, at a hole where no one was nearby, he’d hand Carson the still pictures and have Marissa get out of the cart to be introduced. Once Carson saw her beautiful face, he’d know he was screwed. Brandt couldn’t wait to see his face.
It was time to call Marissa and let her in on the plan.
“Marissa, it’s me,” he began.
“Oh, hi, boss. What’s up?”
“We have a date to play golf with Carson tomorrow afternoon at two,” he said. He gave her the name of the golf course.
“Interesting. I’d have thought you wanted to surprise him with the evidence,” she said.
“Oh, I do, and here’s how it’s going to go down.” He explained the ruse. “Do you think you can pull that off?”
“You bet I can,” she said, laughing. “I’ll wear a red wig and I’ll have freckles. Even you won’t recognize me unless you look closely. Give me a sign when you’re about to call me out of the cart, and I’ll have the freckles and wig off faster than you can say hole-in-one.”
“Sounds good!”
“Then what?” she asked.
“Then Carson will have to make a choice,” Brandt replied. “You’ll hear the options soon enough.”
After a few minutes of bante
r, Brandt ended the call and thought it all through again.
Yes, it’ll work. I can’t wait to hear his choice.
CARSON HUNG UP after Brandt’s call and unexpected invitation.
Strange. I guess he’s ready to kiss and make up.
Carson had played golf with Brandt once before and had humiliated him at every hole.
Maybe he’s been practicing, or maybe he’s just a sucker for punishment.
Carson didn’t relate the word to his own peculiar tastes. He was able to compartmentalize so well that he’d never even thought to stop and analyze why he indulged in his platinum club member activities.
By the same token, he never thought about the Senator’s activities, unless he was forced to by some circumstance, like the Senator pressing him for a favor. Then he allowed himself to be disgusted, never thinking that others might find his tastes disgusting.
However, disgusted or not by their shared secret, he did as he was asked.
It was the trait and talent of many government officials. Their private lives might not reflect their public stance, but they lost no sleep over it. And with the specter of mutually assured destruction hanging over their heads, they occasionally met each other in those dim halls but never felt threatened.
Quid pro quo was the name of the game.
Sometimes one needed a favor and might casually mention the club to another. It was always couched in friendly terms.
As a fellow member of the club, surely you wouldn’t mind doing this.
Subtle.
Never threatening, but it carried a threat anyway. And everybody toed the line. No one was offended. All very civilized. Next time the favor might go in the opposite direction.
Carson looked forward to the golf game. He hadn’t liked Brandt’s attitude the last time they’d met, so this would give him a chance to put Brandt in his place. First by beating the pants off him in the game and then afterwards, telling Brandt in no uncertain terms to never dare to threaten him again like he did a few days before.
Carson still had to answer to the Senator and whoever was pulling his strings for the disaster in Afghanistan, but he had no doubt he could finesse it somehow. The brotherhood between them because of their mutual platinum club membership would help with that.
He’d had many years to practice covering the errors of his agency. With Brandt’s assurances that no one man could have done the damage and that he only had one man in Afghanistan, who’d been killed in the explosion he, Carson, had arranged, he could confidently say that it wasn’t his people.
Plausible deniability.
For a fleeting moment the thought crossed his mind that Brandt could be playing him. But no, Brandt was a straight shooter. He didn’t have the balls to play in the atmosphere of Washington.
Soon, he wouldn’t dare ever invite me to even play golf with him again.
THE NEXT MORNING brought a sunny dawn and an unexpected cold front that dropped the temperatures in Washington to a pleasant seventy-five degrees, unheard of in July. All over the city, proponents of global warming were hearing from their opposite numbers, global warming my ass!
It was going to be a great day for golf.
Brandt planned to leave the city right after giving Carson his ultimatum. Independence Day, only two days from then and on a Friday, which meant a three-day weekend, was exciting for people in Washington who enjoyed a spectacle and crowds. Brandt wasn’t one of them. Give him his desert, his open vistas of stark beauty, breathtaking sunsets, and an outdoor cookout with his men, any day.
By the fourth of July, he’d have made his long-delayed escape from the town he called Sin City, Washington DC.
Naturally, he’d have to worry about who the clowns in charge would put in Carson’s place, and what cockamamie schemes they’d assign him. But that was for another day. He was content to worry about one at a time.
Marissa showed up before two o’clock in her disguise, for his approval. He couldn’t believe the difference. She’d covered the startling blue of her eyes with green contacts, drawn freckles on her silky skin with an eyeliner pencil, and disguised her shiny black hair with what he would have called a fright wig – a mop of unruly red curls, needing a wash. If he’d passed her on the street, he wouldn’t have known her, and neither would her own mother.
“Yes, that should do nicely. Now, you need to get to the course on your own. I wouldn’t be seen with the likes of you,” he teased.
Marissa put on a Cockney accent. “Right-o, guvner.” She winked and mock-saluted him, then left, laughing.
It was over the top, to be sure, but she wouldn’t speak until Brandt introduced her to Carson, by which time she’d be herself again. Brandt relaxed. This was going to work just as he’d planned. The only question was which option Carson would choose. Brandt made a bet with himself, and then called downstairs for a car to take him to the last meeting he’d ever have with the guy.
CARSON STRODE CONFIDENTLY in Brandt’s direction at the tee of the first hole. He was ten minutes late, and it was deliberate. Brandt could tell from the smirk on Carson’s face.
“Glad you could make it,” Brandt said mildly. He refused to rise to the bait of Carson’s rudeness.
“Sorry I’m late. Important business,” Carson said.
Brandt knew he just couldn’t resist rubbing someone’s nose in his importance.
We’ll talk about important business very soon, asshole.
They hit off. They walked and the golf cart, driven by the red-haired caddy, followed them. Carson ignored it as Brandt had hoped. Brandt surveyed the rest of the course, as far as he could see and worked out, if the group behind and the one ahead proceeded with average speed, he and Carson would be out of sight of anyone else once they were on the third hole. Until then, he’d pretend to be upset that his game had deteriorated so much since he played last.
Carson would relax and begin to taunt him, if not before, then certainly by the third hole. It would be too much for Carson to remain quiet.
It played out exactly as he’d foreseen. Carson had him by four strokes after the second hole and was beginning to act like his obnoxious self. When they got to the tee on the third, a par three hole, Brandt spoke as casually as if he were discussing the game.
“I know you had something to do with my man and his team being killed in Afghanistan.”
Carson startled, but he recovered quickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned and lined up for his shot.
“Oh, I think you do. We’re going to talk about that now, before we go any further.”
“Seriously, Brandt, what’s gotten into you…” Carson stopped talking abruptly as he saw the top picture on the stack that Brandt shoved under his nose. “What the hell is this?”
“Take a look. When you’re finished, you’ll tell me the truth.”
Carson’s skin tone began to turn a bit green as he looked at the explicit photos of his latest adventure with that exotic creature at the club.
“Where did you get these? I’ll say they were faked. Anyone can fake a photo these days,” he spluttered.
“There’s more. Keep your voice down. Go ahead and play, or the next party will be on top of us in a moment.”
Carson, acting like a man who’d had too much to drink, tried to ignore what he just saw, lined up, and hooked the ball straight into the rough. He’d have to take a penalty shot.
Brandt laid one expertly, ten feet from the flag.
As they walked to the place where Carson’s ball had disappeared into the trees and undergrowth, Brandt said, “You’re going to have to play it as it lies.” He wasn’t talking about the ball.
Carson shook his head. “You may have assets, but I have more. I’ll destroy you.”
“Tsk, tsk, Carson. Surely you don’t think I’m an idiot, do you? My lawyer has copies, and have you forgotten there’s a witness? There’s nothing you can do to stop this filth from being released if you don’t tell me the truth.”
C
arson stopped walking and turned to Brandt, his face nearly purple with wrath. “All right. Here’s the truth. Yes, I arranged the greeting party for your man and his team. You have no idea who he was messing with, destroying labs and products. He was told to gather intel only. Instead he went on a rampage. He had to be stopped.”
“Why? Because you’re involved in the trafficking? My God, man, how did you get into the position as DCIA?”
“I happen to have a very influential friend,” Carson sneered. “He’s untouchable, and he vouched for me.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to say he’s involved in the trafficking, too.”
“Not directly, but you know as well as I do that official policy has been hands off. Taking on the heroin trade would destabilize the country. Your man was acting directly against orders.”
Brandt had to admit the last part was true. Rex acted outside the parameters of his brief. But he understood it, perhaps better than Rex did himself. The heroin trade supported terrorism, and Brandt knew that Rex hated terrorists more than anything — to him, they were the devil incarnate. He also knew why. He didn’t blame Rex for coloring outside the lines.”
“Who is it?” he asked Carson.
“Who is what?”
“Your ‘friend’. What’s his name? What’s his position?”
Carson started to protest, saw the look in Brandt’s eye, and told him. He didn’t care that Brandt knew the name. There was nothing Brandt could do, anyway. Unless he somehow discovered the Senator was also part of the club that showed all too clearly in those photos.
“And who pulls the Senator’s strings? You and I both know he’s too senile to run an operation this big.”
“I don’t know.”
“No? I think you do. I think you know quite a few of the people involved. Give me their names or these photos go to the press.”
Carson summoned courage from somewhere and shook his head. “No. I told you, if those are disseminated, I’ll say they’re fake. Who are people going to believe, a nobody like you, or the respected head of the CIA?”