by Tom Haase
"You were recommended to me, and I require your services," the voice declared, sounding like a computer-generated one, akin to the Robocop vocal manipulation he’d heard recently in a movie. This intriguing touch captured his attention.
“I hope it’s important. Is it?” the man demanded.
“I will make it worth your while,” the disguised voice informed him.
"What do you need?" the man said.
"I have a contract for you," the altered voice intoned.
"I don't do contracts." The man shifted the phone to his other ear, expecting the voice to continue despite his denial.
"Don't insult me. I know who you are and what you can do. Now, let's talk money. I need a problem eliminated, and the fee I'm willing to pay is five million.” Suddenly, the call commanded heightened interest. This presented an unexpected opportunity for immense profit. The man considered for a few seconds before he answered.
"I don't do anything for less than ten," he replied and waited.
The caller took his own time before he responded.
“Five now and five on completion," came from the disguised voice.
"What is this contract?” the man inquired.
"Believe me, this is one you will want to take. The details will arrive in your personal email in a moment. I expect it to be executed within the next few days. Time is of the essence. Agreed?"
“Wait a minute.”
The man jumped out of bed and hit the wakeup bar on his desktop computer located on the far side of his bedroom. The machine’s display lit up, illuminating the picture of his daughter sitting on the desktop, and a message popped up on the screen. He opened it, read it, looked at the attached pictures, and concentrated on the request for the bank information needed for the initial deposit of money. He viewed the sender's email address, undoubtedly one that would be deactivated very soon, and provided his account number in a one-line response.
“Agreed,” the man said.
The line went dead.
He printed the message and returned to his bed, where he reread the words to ensure there was no mistake. There wasn't. His heart pounded in anticipation of getting the money. The contract would be easy to fulfill.
Eliminate Bridget and Scott Donavan as well as Matt Higgins. No collateral damage to anyone else.
2
Alexandria, Virginia
9:40 p.m.
Bridget Donavan sat in the farthest corner of the U-shaped main bar. She faced the dance area, so it gave her a view of all approaches to her location. She twirled a swizzle stick in her martini after eating the last of three olives. Having consumed her second drink, she felt the effects of the alcohol begin to take hold as it became harder to focus her thoughts. She flipped a strand of her red hair out of her face before she took another sip.
This night, she had come to this semi-private club. The music played at a loud volume, which along with the chatter emanating from the bar flies, distorted the sound so it defied recognition as belonging to any particular musical genre. She couldn’t actually understand any of the words being sung by a woman on the bandstand because of the noise level emanating from multiple gigantic speakers hanging from the ceiling. This didn't discourage dancing in the sardine-packed small floor, surrounded by tables occupied by customers in various stages of inebriation.
She hadn't heard from Matt for three days—not since they'd made love in Savannah on their last night there. She’d initially hoped their surrender to the palpable chemistry between them would be the beginning of a great future, both in their new business venture and in a renewed love life. She’d felt, for the first time in ages, the peace of a deep emotional connection to someone. An image of Matt popped into her mind. She'd watched him in the bathroom of their hotel room afterwards, with his dark sun-tanned face and his thick black hair. He often ran his fingers through it. He stood a little over six feet tall, the perfect height for her to nestle into his caress, and to place her lips on his.
As the days had passed with no contact from Matt, her initial hopes and dreams had begun to fade. Now, she rested on a stool, alone in a bar, waiting for a call that so far hadn’t materialized. Twisting a dangling strand of hair, she fought against the depression that threatened to engulf her. That was why she’d escaped from the apartment tonight—she needed to get out and be with people.
The sex hadn’t been a simple release of tension for them, she though. They’d killed a Russian arms dealer and taken down a homegrown terrorist cell, but she’d believed their lovemaking had been so much more than a simple pressure relief following the shoot-out and the crazy chase through the center of downtown Savannah, Georgia.
Did he think they were sex buddies now? She didn’t believe that deep in her heart.
She’d decided for some stubborn reason to refuse to be the one to call first. In her mind, he must make the first move. She remembered how she’d almost involuntarily initiated that event in Savannah, and now it was his turn to reciprocate.
Bridget ordered her third drink. In the deep regions of her subconscious, she conceded there had to be a pressing reason for his silence. He would have to work it out in his mind, whether they were or were not going forward as a team.
So tonight, she’d decided not to sit in her brother’s apartment and wait for his answer. She’d been staying with her brother, Scott, and his fiancée, Gerti, while searching for her own place in the Washington area. She’d halted the search based on what now seemed a false hope of cohabitation with Matt. At present, Scott and Gerti were away in New York, visiting her father. Scott had called her earlier today and informed her that he and Gerti had gotten married in a small civil ceremony. They would have a formal wedding in a few months, and all would be invited.
This revelation had caught her by surprise, although it wasn’t totally unexpected because she’d overheard some of their future plans when they talked in the apartment. Nevertheless, he should have invited her to the informal service. She’d told him that. After all, she was his sister. She had shown her agitation to say the least, but knew deep in her heart that she would forgive him. Little brother had grown up, and he’d made his own way. She needed to concede that and she actually delighted in the news, and looked forward to the promised formal repeat.
"Excuse me," said a voice near her.
She turned from the bar, where she had been staring at her new drink, and surveyed the man standing behind her. A tall, striking, dark-skinned muscular man in an open white collared shirt, a blue blazer and khaki pants, smiled down at her.
"May I sit?" he queried.
She didn’t nod, but only took a large sip from her glass. What stupidity. Thinking of a future with Matt, and now a stranger sat down next to her. She knew she should get up and leave.
"Care for a drink?" the man asked.
"Sorry, I'm just leaving." She decided to move away before she might change her mind.
"Such a shame—not even one dance?"
She stood up and instantly felt the effects of the drinks. She tried to make the bar stand still. After a few attempts, it settled down and she felt she could now walk. Gotta leave by myself before I'm tempted to take this hunk of man home. That’s the booze talking, she thought. She understood the feeling and needed to exit immediately.
The man reached to steady her after she took two steps and swayed a little, trying to maintain her balance. He stood about the same height as she at five feet eleven.
"Come, let me escort you. My name is Daniel," he said. "What's yours?"
"Bridget," she responded and tried to head for the main door. She realized she had to get rid of this guy. She’d made up her mind and felt sure Matt would reach the correct conclusion in due time. They needed one another, now and in the future.
Get away from this Daniel.
Daniel maneuvered her toward a side exit rather than the front door, which remained blockaded with bodies dancing and drinking. "I think we can go out this way. Easier than trying the main entrance," he sho
uted next to her ear to allow her to hear him over the cacophony of noise surrounding them. Upon reaching the exit, he pushed the side door open and led her outside into an alley.
“This’ll be a good place for us,” she heard Daniel murmur.
Bridget knew she’d made a mistake in allowing this man to get so close to her in her present state. She didn’t want sex from anyone but Matt, and now this stranger seemed to think she wanted some kind of quickie against the wall of an alley.
Her brain remained a little foggy, but Bridget decided to go back inside to lose this stranger. She loved Matt, she realized. And even if he didn’t love her—and she didn’t believe that—she couldn’t experience meaningless sex with this Daniel guy.
The alley loomed dark around her. The night air hit her nostrils as the door slammed shut behind her, closing out the sounds of the club, leaving silence—a deadly silence. At that moment, Bridget’s sense of danger triggered. She’d felt this intuition of imminent danger before—the subconscious awareness she’d gained on the battlefield—and she knew she must pay immediate attention to it. Not doing so had occasionally caused her pain in the past, but acting as soon as she felt the warning had saved her life on several occasions. Her combat training, on top of a tour in the Middle East, had permanently inculcated a sixth sense in her. That feeling buzzed on high alert in her head.
She straightened up and took a deep breath, deciding she would tell him she wanted to go inside for something she forgot. Hell no, this seemed a stupid move to delay. She would go home and call Matt. This waiting demanded an end, and it must culminate tonight. The time to make her move had arrived. She decided to act.
She pivoted away from the door to go down the alley. There she could reach the street and go home. She rotated back, and faced him to tell him she wanted to be alone, and to get away from her. As she turned, she saw the knife. God, she hated knives. In the microsecond it took for her mind to register the danger, Daniel plunged the weapon toward her heart.
She instinctively twisted with a rapid movement, but now the effects of all the alcohol slowed her reaction. The knife slashed across her neck and up the side of her face. The pain lit up the universe in front of her eyes. Then he plunged the blade into her chest. During the brief moment it had taken her to realize the danger she was in, the sharp end of the blade impaled her. With concentrated effort, she willed her defensive combat training to kick in. She rotated away and the knife pulled out.
Continuing her swivel, she reached out to grab the extended arm of her assailant. She used all the weight of her body to press down as she grabbed his wrist and twisted, while falling forward onto his outstretched appendage. She saw her own blood on the knife's blade. She felt the intense pain in her rib cage and the sting of the slice across her neck. The wet redness oozed out of her chest. She could smell the hot metallic odor of her own blood.
The attacker screamed as she allowed her weight to collapse onto his arm. She heard it snap, and her body maneuvered to be on top of his outstretched hand when he landed. She knew she must act fast as her life force would leave her soon. Her efforts resulted in the man releasing his weapon.
Bridget caught the knife in midair with her right hand. Daniel continued his fall toward the alley pavement, while she maintained her downward pressure. She pressed her weight onto his arm. In a last effort, she used the remainder of her strength to propel her right arm upward. With a mighty energy erupting from her final desperation, she plunged the point of the blade up into her attacker's throat right under his chin, forcing it up into his brain. The resulting blood spray covered her face.
Exhausted, she collapsed to the asphalt, landing on top of her dead attacker. No one else appeared from the exit door. She thought it might need to be opened from the inside. Her energy now ebbed as she mustered the last of it to reach into her pocket as she rolled off the man. She withdrew her cell, and when the screen lit up, she saw the time: 9:45 p.m. She hit the speed dial number for Matt, located in her favorites. It rang, and finally his voice. She heard him say something, and then in a few seconds he called her name, but a gurgling sound was the only thing she could produce as blood came from her mouth.
"Matt, I love you," were the words she unsuccessfully attempted to say as darkness enveloped her.
3
New York, NY
8:55 p.m.
Scott Donavan rose to his feet as he watched Gerti pivot between tables and people to reach his table. The two of them would, at last, have a chance to celebrate without her father being present. Scott and Gerti had arrived at her home in New York from Savannah. After his recovery in the hospital, they’d announced to her father their intention to marry. On Gerti’s insistence, her father had arranged a private civil ceremony.
Scott had called Bridget to tell her after the fact. A formal wedding, he told her, was planned for some time in the near future, to which all family members would be invited. Bridget had sounded a little miffed, but she’d forgive him. She always did, whenever he did something to upset her.
They’d been married in the morning at the city clerk’s office with Gerti’s father as a witness. After they’d been pronounced husband and wife, Benjamin Schultz had welcomed Scott into the family with a handshake, but no pat on the back.
Now Gerti had entered the wine bar a half hour after Scott—later than he’d expected, because of their earlier-agreed-on time. She hadn’t answered her cell despite his repeated attempts to contact her, so all he could do was wait.
She reached his side and let out a whoosh of breath as she placed a hand on his and rose on tiptoes. He leaned over his drink to give her a kiss. She walked around the table and sat, and he poured her a glass of champagne.
“Do you realize what’s happened in our lives since we met?” he said. “It’s absolutely unbelievable. I’m the luckiest guy in the world, and I love you so much.”
“Besides the numerous adventures we’ve shared, this new one will be a lifetime commitment,” Gerti said. “I’ve come to love you, more than I thought I could ever love anyone.” She gave him a radiant smile that lit up her eyes. “Sorry I’m late, but I had to make quick stop.”
Scott stole a glance around. He noticed two Muslim women with their heads covered, casting sideways glances in their direction. For a non-drinking group of people, they seemed out of place here. This watering hole contained so many patrons that it was standing room only around the bar. Before the late rush-hour drinkers arrived, he had secured a two-person table.
She tugged him closer and kissed him deep, giving him a taste of her tongue.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“For marrying me, for starters, but also for something else. I remind you that we’ve only been married for one day. But I have news that most couples must wait months to receive.”
“Would you like to drink some of your champagne? I got it to celebrate.”
She didn’t answer, but waved the waiter over. “A glass of Perrier, please.”
“What’s that about?” he queried.
He poured himself a drink from the bottle of Dom Pérignon for this special occasion to toast their nuptial. They’d previously agreed that tonight they would discuss where they would take their honeymoon, and also where to live in the near future. She knew that he didn’t want to stay in her apartment, where her father resided, but somehow he suspected she would push for that, at least for a short time. Maybe she’d reached some form of arrangement with her father for his quick approval of their marriage, and that’s what she wanted to convey.
He looked at her and thanked his stars for his extreme good luck. Although their initial contact in the Smithsonian had proven disastrous, and a little humorous, he’d found his soul mate and his best friend in the same person. The gunshot wound he’d received in Savannah continued to heal, but he didn’t want her to use that as a reason to move in with her father. The point where the bullet entered still hurt, but not that much.
He took in her beauty, as he ado
red her close-cropped jet-black hair, the light olive-toned skin, and her fine sculpted body. Her blue eyes—in reality, stunning sky-blue eyes—were offset by the soft red lipstick. The silver medal hanging around her neck contrasted with the lovely skin tone she inherited from her deceased mother.
“Sit back and relax. I have something to say. I don’t know how you’ll take it, but it’s important.” She took a sip of her water. “We’ve known one another for a long time, as modern relationships go, and we’ve been lovers for months. Are you ready for this, newly married man that you are?” she asked.
“For what? What did you do, love?” He gave her a wide grin.
“We did.” She gleamed as she revealed this. “You’re going to be a father.”
Scott choked on the champagne he’d just sipped, and almost spat it directly at Gerti. His mind raced. A father. Not possible. Oh, my god!
A slow smile spread across his face until it encompassed his eyes as they conveyed his inner happiness. He grabbed her hands. “Really?” he managed to get out.
“Yes, really,” she affirmed.
“I’m going to be a father?”
She nodded.
He stood up and leaned in to give her a hug. He backed off when he started to squeeze her.
“Don’t be silly. I’m not fragile now. But no more drinks for me. That’s why the water.”
“I wanted to order another bottle, but I won’t,” he said.
“Good. You finish this one and then we’ll go tell my father.”
“Let’s go now,” Scott urged.
“Not yet. I came in his limo, so we can use it. His bodyguards came with me. They parked the car outside. I requested they stay out there so we could enjoy a little privacy. So now, are you happy?”