1 Manic Monday (8 page)

Jake still stood by the chair.  It seemed everyone had
forgotten him.  The dusty street began to clear.  The sun shone on
the lonely hero. 
Nothing to see here, folks.

The Director had edged from his seat to the coffee table set
against the windows.  He opened a carafe and looked inside.  Jake
guessed that Lars had filled that one with Vodka.

Jake imagined his smoking revolvers were aimed at Violet's
meddling head.  He was not angry, but she had just put them all in
jeopardy.  He always enjoyed a challenge, but for what he was attempting,
this could be suicide.

Gary was standing at the end of the room now, nervously
watching the mafia suits file out of the room behind the Darius brothers. 
He glanced at Jake, a look of desperation and doom. 

Jake shrugged and smiled.

Only Matthew remained, chatting quietly with Violet. 
Jake was amazed as he watched Violet write down a number on a slip of paper and
he took it, a sparkle in his eye. 

Wonders never cease
, Jake thought wryly.

A Girl's Best Friend

Camilla Cross knew his type.  He sat with his back
against the window, watching the other passengers with curiosity.  He was
cooly
confident, eyes like a hunter, built like an athlete,
with an aggressive intelligence and an inflated sense of self.  She liked
to take men like him down a peg.

It was a bonus when her assignment was to humiliate someone
who deserved it, who could possibly build a little character from it. 

From her briefing, this was a very delicate
assignment.  The Farm knew that international terrorist organizations were
employing counter measures for what they had once coined “CHATTER.”  A
combination of drugs and other mind bending techniques were employed to create
loyalty, suppress memory, and to heighten aggression, mental and physical
acuity.  Instead of uncovering truth by breaking down barriers, terrorists
sought to create a new truth, to build up walls, and bend individual’s talents
to their own agenda.

She was looking at a puppet.  The only question
was,
who was pulling the strings?  The marionette in
this case had to have deep pockets and a very secretive agenda.

Her target had been designated VMUNIT.  As usual, the
cryptonym meant nothing to her.  It was probably generated by a computer,
anyway.  As a rookie, she had expected more creativity from The Company in
regards to naming conventions for mission designations. She had soon been
disabused of that notion.

Her task was to plant seeds that would counter this puppet’s
programming.  A team of psychiatrists and doctors specializing in these
procedures had developed two techniques that they were confident would act as a
Trojan worm for his programming.  One was tactile.  One was focused
on a previous program plant and was auditory. 

She held the locket in her hand.  She glanced at it,
turning it over.  It had no inscriptions.  It was a simple silver
locket with a thin silver chain.  Camilla shrugged.  The
idea was to hand VMUNIT the locket and then repeat
the key
word three times. 

Although this seemed simple enough, she understood the
danger she faced.  She also knew the stakes.

The plane had reached altitude and she swallowed hard to pop
her ears.  She hated flying.  This was the most controlled
environment for this particular encounter, so the journey was necessary.

Agent Cross got up from her seat, glancing ahead to the air
marshal she had identified earlier.  He saw her and nodded.  He got
up and went to first class.  Camilla put on her best smile and smoothed
her business suit.  She was off wire, no cameras.  She was taking a
big risk, but VMUNIT would be able to smell her coming a mile away if she were
hooked up like an agent.

She made her way back, avoiding the feet in the aisle until
she reached the big guy in 12b.  She tripped headlong, giving up her body
for the fall.  As she fell, she could see her target already
reacting.  With the quickness of predator, he saved her.  He had her
by the shoulders, his hands strong but gentle.  His eyes were a deep
blue. 
An ocean to bask in if she were tempted.

“Whoa there, lady.
 
You alright?”
  He seemed genuinely concerned. 

Camilla was breathless.  The ploy was working.  It
was so simple she had hardly believed it would succeed. 

She gathered herself, shaking her head.

“I mean, yes.  Yes.  I am fine.  Thank you.” 
She tried to stand, and found that she had truly wrenched an ankle.  “
Ow
.”  She did not have to act.  The pain was
immediate and bright.

“Let me take a look at that.”

He lowered her into the empty seat opposite of him. 
She fought embarrassment.  She almost forgot her mission as she bit her
lip from the pain and from the sensation of her target’s gentle hands carefully
grasping her lower leg.

“Looks like you sprained it.  It is
gonna
swell.”  He stared at her a second.  Camilla’s leg was extended into
the aisle, her target crouching there with his back to the seat behind
him.  His eyes were so focused, so deep, yet revealed nothing.

“Can I help?” The stewardess interrupted.

“Yes.  Ice please.  In a plastic bag if you have
it.”

“We have ice wraps.”

“Excellent.  I will need some pillows, too. I need to
prop her leg and her head.”

Wordlessly, she turned and walked carefully back toward the
forward bulkhead.

“Are you a doctor?” asked a small boy in the seat in front
of them.  His round face was smudged with jelly and he had a Star Wars
action toy. 

VMUNIT smiled at him.

“You can say that.  I know my way around the human
body, certainly.”

“You don’t look like a doctor.”  He commented.

VMUNIT nodded and then shared a smile with her.

“You’re in good hands, Miss.  Don’t worry.”

“Thank you for your kindness.”

“Call me Jake.  What’s your name?”

Camilla swallowed.  She did not expect him to engage
her this much.  It was totally against mission protocols.  But she
was here now.  There was no room for retreat.  She was
vulnerable.  She hated that feeling, but suddenly it felt right to
her.  She gave into the sensation and then made yet another mistake. 
She told the truth.

“My name is Camilla.”

“That is a beautiful name.  What do you do, Camilla?”

“I work for an international agency.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Me too.
  Well, we will get
you walking straight before we hit the ground.  You based out of Los
Angeles usually?”

“Uh.
  No.  I hate white
Christmas.  I would rather be at a beach.”

“The Pacific is pretty cold in the winter.  Hawaii
would be nicer.”

“I agree.”  An awkward silence prevailed until the
stewardess returned.

She handed Camilla some pillows, a knowing look in her
eye.  Camilla returned her smug attitude with a disarming smile.

“Thank you, Mary.  You’re a big help,” Jake told the
stewardess as he pressed the cold compress on her ankle and lower leg.

He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

“That cold?”

“Not as cold as the Pacific in winter.”

He chuckled softly.

“You have nice feet, Camilla.”

She was embarrassed again.  She had not blushed since
high school.

Gathering her nerve, she scooted back so her back was
against the outside wall of the plane and her foot was no longer in the
aisle. 

Their little friend was still watching, sucking his thumb, his
eyes bright.

She was aware that several people were watching them. 

“It was so nice of you to provide some in-flight
entertainment, Camilla.”  Jake quipped.

She wished that he would quit using her name.  She had
been foolish to make that slip.  Had she said her last name, too? She
tried to smile through the panic.

“I was going to do some karaoke, but the pilot said he would
need the speakers for announcements.”

Jake finished wrapping her ankle and put some pillows under
the heel of her foot.  The pain subsided some but the embarrassment and
sense of failure remained. 

She was running out of time and here she was getting
emotionally wrapped up with her target.  Wasn’t he the one that was
supposed to get humiliated? 

She leaned forward and took his hand, her eyes searching
his.

“Thank you again.  You didn’t need to do all
this.  You are so kind.”

He shrugged.

“I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

She smiled and grabbed his wrist.  He looked at her,
puzzled.

Camilla turned his palm over and placed the chain in his
hand, folding his fingers over the locket.

“Vanity.
 
Vanity.
 
Vanity,” she breathed.  She said the word with force, their eyes
connected.  His look of confusion turned to concern.   She
watched for a reaction.  His eyes remained flat, but his brow scrunched.

“Are you alright, Camilla?”

She nodded.

“Yes.  Please take this as a gift for your kindness.”

He smirked.  He let the locket fall out of the palm of
his hand and caught the silver chain.  The locket
 
spun
in the air.

“Pretty.  Thank you.  But, this looks like an
heirloom.  I cannot take
this,
I was just playing
doctor with a pretty girl.  That is a reward of itself.”

She fought the urge to blush again.

“It is yours.  Please take it,” she said firmly.

He nodded.

“I will remember you by it, then, Camilla.”  He patted
her knee and rose to return to his seat.

Camilla bit her lip.  She was not sure what she had
expected.  She had almost failed her assignment.  Now she was unsure
she had accomplished anything at all.  She watched him gather into his
seat, the locket spinning from his hand as he put the magazine back in the
pouch in front of him.

“Your ankle looks like a balloon,” her young friend
noted.  He had given up sucking on his thumb.

Camilla looked down.  He was right.  She could see
a blue tint beginning to show near her arch.  She knew she would not be
wearing a shoe when she exited the plane.

She glanced back at VMUNIT—it was difficult to continue to
think of him as a target anymore, but she tried.  He was holding the
locket up to the light from the plane’s window, the sun glinting off of the
silver as it spun.  His eyes seemed distant and his face serious. 
Camilla hoped it worked.  It made her sad to realize that she may never
know.

A Time to Throw Away Stones

The traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard was mild.  It was
a relief to get away from the airport.  The holiday crowd was brisk. 

Jake drove the Maserati Convertible Sport with the top
up.  The California winter wind was uncharacteristically brisk.  This
disappointed him; he had looked forward to driving with the top down around
Beverly Hills and through Hollywood before flying back to the frozen northeast.

Jake was pleased to listen to the deep bass baffle of the
sport car, though.  The low rumble was soothing and therapeutic—very male,
and satisfying to his ego.  Jake downshifted and whipped the convertible
into an underground parking garage near the Los Angeles Country Club.  He
placed his aviator glasses in his front pocket as he steered into a guest
parking slot. 

He removed the leather driving gloves and placed them in a
small satchel on the passenger seat.  

Galbraith had no qualms providing him with the perks of a
six-figure vehicle, an expensive suite at the Four Seasons of Beverly Hills,
and a wardrobe purchased from the priciest shops on Sunset Strip. 

He felt ready.  Something about the velvet and gold
trappings of this profession prepared him for the grittiness of the act he
committed.  Murder was such a mess. However, in an
Alexandre
Plokhov
blazer, Armani high-waist slacks, and
Damir
Doma
derbies, he felt as
though it added a class,
a purity
, to the untidiness
that came with taking another’s life.

He exited the vehicle, not bothering with the alarm
system.  He had his satchel.  It was all he would need.  No
prints on the car.  He would just leave it here. 
Such a waste
,
he thought.  There was some sense of freedom in the act of leaving behind
expensive breadcrumbs. 

Jake extracted the disposable cell phone he had purchased
with a pre-paid credit card in the airport.  He dialed Gary’s number.

“Hello, pal.”

“You there?”

“Yes.  I parked next door, underground.”

 “I have the feed for your glasses on tap here.”

“And Galbraith Central won’t know you are tapped in?”

“It isn’t that type of frequency.  Anyone with a
Bluetooth cell phone or laptop could pick up your feed if they knew the
password.”

Jake kept walking, noting a couple ahead of him getting out
of their SUV.

“Isn’t that a security risk?”

“Yeah.
 
A
big one.
 
Unlikely, but a risk all the same.
 
Violet is a fool.”

“Let’s hope that is true.  Just remember I will hit the
button in mid-sentence so it seems legitimate.  I will go live once I get
in the building.  I will approach the elevator and then be talking as the
elevator closes.  You have the elevator controls, too, right?”

“Got it yesterday.
  Stay
frosty.”

“Stop it. 
Out.”
  He
switched off and pocketed the phone.  He would need to dispose of it
later.  He got out the glasses and put them on.