Bodyguard of Lies (13 page)

Neeley was trying to think. She hadn't thought they had been followed after picking up the truck, but obviously they had.

"That guy was a creep," Hannah said. "He was grabbing my leg. He jabbed me with his knife."

Neeley glanced over. There was definitely blood seeping through the napkins that Hannah was pressing against her skin. The wound was deeper than she had initially thought. Hannah was now wrapping a kerchief around the wound.

“Is it bad?" Neeley asked.

“Not too bad," Hannah replied as she tied off the cloth.

“We have to get rid of this truck," Neeley said. "There's got to be a bug in it somewhere and if we don't get rid of it, neither of us will live."

She saw what she was looking for. She slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel, turning onto the crossover. Tires squealing, she quickly drove up onto the westbound lanes.

Hannah made no comment on the move. Indeed, she didn’t react at all, other than to grip the door handle to keep steady during the turn. Her stillness was a bit disconcerting to Neeley, who, although she preferred it over panic, wasn’t sure what to make of the other woman. Neeley checked the mirror. No other car imitated the maneuver, but that wasn't much consolation.

“John Masterson is dead," Nero's metallic voicebox grated the words out.

"Do you have his package?" Senator Collins asked. He hadn’t bothered to sit down since entering the room a minute ago. One of the lights over Nero’s head was out; making it look like a pair of headlights was over the old man. Collins wondered if the effect was deliberate or simply that no one had mentioned to the old man that the light bulb had burnt out.

"No."

"Damn it!" Collins exclaimed.

"His package isn't as important as Gant's," Nero said.

“What about the woman?” Collins asked.

“Masterson’s wife?” Nero was puzzled for the moment.

“No. Gant’s girlfriend. I assume she has his package.”

“Ah, Neeley,” Nero said. “She made it to John Masterson before we could.”

Collins grimaced. “Then she has Masterson’s papers now. She has to.”

Nero shrugged. “And she probably either has Gant’s tape or knows where it is. When Gant was alive they had them also. I still believe nothing has changed and by acting we are forcing a dangerous situation.”

"Do you realize the repercussion if this becomes public?" Collins asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "This will make Iran-Contra look like a parking violation! A lot of heads will roll, yours among them."

Nero did not appear to be particularly worried about that possibility. “It is curious you mention Iran-Contra. I was never briefed on that action, never mind sign off on it.”

“Remember your place,” Collins threatened.

Nero abruptly shifted the subject. "I understand you had Mister Racine perform a task for you in Baltimore not long ago.”

Collins frowned. "So? It was a minor matter.”

“Racine works for the Government under specific contracts, not for you," Nero said.

“I am the government," Collins said. He caught the look Nero gave him and quickly amended: "All right, not exactly, but I have input. I’m on the Oversight Committee for Christ’s sake."

“Input?" Nero repeated the word, as if considering it. “The action in Baltimore was not sanctioned by the Committee. Has Mister Racine worked for you in the past?”

“No.”

Nero was running his fingers over a piece of paper. Collins looked at it, but all he could see were the raised Braille bumps. “I have the official report from when you were in the Sudan in August 1993. You were helping Cintgo negotiate pipeline rights across Afghanistan. I had surveillance on the meeting. When I found out you were there, I contacted you about the tape. You asked me to send my people to recover it. I did.

“But what exactly happened there? Racine seems to have disappeared during that time period also,” Nero continued. “It was of no great concern at the time because Racine often took extended, how shall we call them, jaunts. But I’ve done some checking and it turns out, of all things that he was in Africa also at that time. An interesting coincidence considering you say he never worked for you before.”

Collins face went pale, unnoticed of course by Nero. But the change in his breathing pattern was obvious to the old man. Collins remained quiet.

“Also what’s curious about the Sudan at that time was that the FBI had a counter-terrorist cell there. And certain notorious terrorist figures were also concurrently in-country. And shortly after your visit, the FBI’s team was pulled out.” Nero tossed that piece of paper to the side and picked up another one. “You know the Cellar rarely takes action, don’t you Senator?”

Collins nodded, realized Nero couldn’t see him and spoke. “Yes.” The word came out drier that he wished.

“Mainly the Cellar’s job is to gather information. Information unbiased by political, religious, moral—any slant. Just the facts. Even if they don’t, how should I say, shine a favorable light on our own country. After all, we do bad things in the name of freedom, do we not? For the greater good?”

Collins remained silent.

“The problem though, is who determines the greater good? All the information is useless unless someone is able to do something with it. Do you know what a Bodyguard of Lies is?”

Collins still didn’t answer.

“Winston Churchill said that ‘in wartime, the truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a Bodyguard of Lies’.” Nero put the paper down and Collins shoulders relaxed slightly. Nero held his hands up and then pointed at his face. “Do you know what happened to my eyes?”

Collins tongue snaked across his lips. “No.”

“Someone put a red hot steel reinforcing rod into each eye socket and burned them out.”

Beads of sweat were on Collins’ forehead. “Listen, I—“

“That someone was a Gestapo interrogator,” Nero continued as if he hadn’t heard the Senator speak at all. “History. It’s very, very important. There’s the famous saying that those who don’t learn from it are doomed to repeat it. I think it’s much simpler—those who don’t know history are stupid. Ignorant. I’ve made history in this room. And you’ve made history, too, haven’t you, Senator? Of course, much of it will never be written down in the books. Only the effects. Some good. Some bad.

“Do you know what a Jedbergh team was?” Nero asked. He waited a second. “Speak up man.”

The powerful Senator had not been spoken to like this in many years. “No.”

“The OSS?”

“No.”

“SOE?”

“No.”

Nero shook his head sadly. “The SOE was the Special Operations Executive. British. Their military spies in World War II. The OSS was the Office of Strategic Services. The forerunner of the CIA and our spy service in World War II. A Jedbergh team consisted of three men. One SOE—Brit; one American—OSS; and one Free French agent. Teams jumped into France, linked up with the Resistance and carried on the guerilla war against the Germans.

“Sounds pretty straightforward, doesn’t it?” Nero didn’t wait for a response this time. “But of course it wasn’t. Did you ever hear of Ultra or Enigma?”

“Yes,” Collins said. “Ultra was the British machine that decoded German messages sent via Enigma.”

“Very good. Every time Ultra decoded a German signal, Churchill had to decide whether to take action. This was much more difficult than it might initially appear. Because the primary consideration at all times was that he had to keep Ultra a secret from the Germans so they wouldn’t stop using Enigma. Quite a quandary wouldn’t you say?

“For example, the Ultra operators decode a German message from a U-Boat giving its location. It’s sitting right in the path of a convoy. So you go sink the U-Boat, correct? Wrong. Because the Germans will begin to wonder how you knew where the U-boat was if it just suddenly disappears without reporting being spotted. So, if you were going to attack it, you must send out a reconnaissance plane to that area, with the crew, of course, not knowing there was a U-Boat there. And when the plane reported seeing a U-Boat, why then you could attack it. But if the recon plane got shot down looking for a U-Boat whose location you already knew, not only was it tough luck for the crew of the plane, but tough also on the convoy because you couldn’t attack it. Also, if the plane didn’t spot the U-boat, which was likely, then again, tough luck on the convoy. This happened many times.

“Churchill allowed the city of Coventry to be bombed, even though he had adequate warning from Ultra to protect it. Which brings me to the Jedberghs. And things I didn’t know in 1943. We were young and full of piss, ready to fight and die. And our bosses knew that. So when they learned from Ultra that a Resistance network had been compromised by the Gestapo they were in a quandary. After all, they had already radioed the Resistance group that a Jedbergh team would be jumping in to join them within the fortnight. If they canceled the team coming, the Gestapo would know something was up.

“So some really smart chap, as the Brits were wont to say, thought, well let’s make the best of this, how shall we say, awkward situation. So they took me and my two teammates and they briefed us on various things.” A strange noise came out of the wand—Nero chuckling. “All lies—disinformation is the proper term. Except we believed it. Why shouldn’t we?

“So we jumped into France into a network our superiors knew had been compromised. We were quite disconcerted, to put it lightly, to be picked up by the Gestapo before we could even gather in our parachutes. The Frenchman was the smartest. He went down shooting on the drop zone rather than be captured. The Brit and I were taken prisoner.”

Almost perfect silence reigned in the dark room for several moments. The only slight sound was Collins’ breathing.

“I talked,” Nero finally said. “After the first eye I talked. I never quite understood why they took out the second considering they were going to execute me the next day. A touch of sadism I suspect. The Brit talked too. And the Germans believed us. I would have believed too. Because
we
believed what we were saying under torture. Which was, of course, lies fed to us. Quite a brilliant scheme, if you think about. Which I have, of course. Often over the years.

“I don’t regret it. In retrospect, my little team of three helped- along with many other lies-- convince the Germans the invasion was coming in Calais, not Normandy. Do you know how many lives that saved in the long run? And I lived. The only one. These—“ he waved his hand in front of his face—“what are the loss of these compared to death?

“Do you know how I survived? The Resistance attacked the Gestapo building where I was being held. One of the fighters got me out of my cell. But we were trapped on the third floor. There was only one way out. Through a window and sliding down a radio transmission wire extended across the street to the next roof.” Nero held up his hands, showing the scars. “My hands were sliced to the bone sliding down that wire, but I didn’t let go until I got to the other side. The Resistance gathered me in and eventually got me back to England.

“I later found out that someone here in Washington had approved of the mission I was sent on. My predecessor here in the Cellar. He’d heard about me and he had me brought here. He wanted to know how I felt about what had happened. I told him the truth.” Nero paused for a couple of seconds. “That if I were him, I would have done the same thing.”

Senator Collins wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

“From that moment on he began grooming me to be his replacement. I took over from him in 1947 and have been here ever since. I also learned later that he had ordered that Resistance unit to rescue me. Most interesting and foresightful don’t you think?” Nero frowned, an obscene gesture with eyebrows furrowing over empty sockets. “Do you understand what I am saying to you, Senator?”

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t, I fear.”

"Is this matter going to be taken care of?" Collins demanded as he checked his watch.

"Oh, yes, indeed, it will be taken care of," Nero assured the Senator, the nature of his artificial voice making it impossible for Collins to determine anything of meaning in the comment beyond the words themselves. "That's my job, taking care of things."

Racine slowly drove by the abandoned truck. The two women had left it eighty miles west of the exit at which Racine had sent the two motorcycle thugs after them. He had been impressed with Neeley for the second time. She had handled herself well. Perhaps Gant had had more than pussy on his mind when he’d hooked up with her.

He could have taken them himself, but the restaurant was too public. Some dumb shit would call the cops as they had. The two motorcycle goons had been gathered up but they had no clue that Racine was other than a man who had their phone number and had given them each a thousand in cash.

Better to flush the game and set it running and catch up some place more private. From the way Neeley had handled the Glock back at the Masterson's house and her actions in the restaurant, he decided that Gant's woman could prove difficult. She'd obviously fight like hell to keep the blond bitch alive. The situation was unraveling. Much as he hated to admit it, a more direct approach and some backup were needed. He'd already called the Agency number about the latter requirement and forces were moving.

He looked at the glowing dot on the screen of his tracking computer. It was sitting still in the middle; the bug that he had placed on the truck. He switched frequencies. "Come to papa," he muttered. A new, moving dot lit up on the screen to the west near Kansas City and Racine drove to the on-ramp in pursuit.

***************

It was nearing noon as Neeley and Hannah approached the eastern suburbs of Kansas City. Hannah had fallen asleep a couple of hours ago. It was more of a collapse from complete exhaustion than a pleasant nap. Neeley was grateful for the quiet as she tried to make plans for the immediate future.

They'd dumped the truck in exchange for a four door, white sedan that would be hard for police to spot. Another felony to add to her growing list of crimes. It didn't bother Neeley. If she was ever caught, and the authorities found out who she really was, she had a lot more to worry about than grand theft auto. She'd quickly loaded everything from the truck into the trunk and back seat of the car.

They were going to Boulder, Colorado as Gant had instructed. Gant had another house there. She had no clue what to do with Hannah now that she seemed to have adopted the woman like a stray cat. For better or worse, they were joined together.

Glancing at the briefcases in the backseat, she consoled herself with the knowledge that they had money, and one could do just about anything with the right amount of cash. She also had John's briefcase and the material that was in it.

She was disturbed with the thought of Hannah as her companion in flight. Neeley preferred to work alone as did any true professional. Gant had spent years training her out of the everyday incompetence that ruled most people's lives. Adding another person to a mission doubled your chance of screwing up but it did not double your chance of succeeding. Another of Gant’s rules.

How Neeley was supposed to deal with this bleached blond was a mystery to her. Neeley was tired, though, and she knew they needed a good night's sleep before attempting the long haul across Kansas. She hoped they had some space from the Cellar.

As Hannah's slow regular breathing filled the interior of the sedan, Neeley began to warm to the idea of Boulder. As far as she knew, Gant's house there was an unknown to the Cellar. It was managed by one of the many accounts that had funded Gant's secret world. They had used it mainly as a base for their yearly rock climbing expeditions to nearby Eldorado Canyon.

Climbing was the one physical skill she had brought into the relationship with Gant. Jean-Philippe had introduced her to the sport when they were teenagers. She allowed herself a moment of emotion and remembered the childish excitement she felt every summer when she returned to Strasbourg, her grandmother and Jean-Philippe.

Hannah stirred. "Where are we going?"

"To Boulder, Colorado."

"By car? Don't you know someone who will swoop down and rescue some damsels in distress?"

Neeley wrinkled her nose at the thought of being a damsel but she did get an idea. "I know someone who swoop down and help us for money."

It was Hannah's turn to feign disgust. "My, what charming friends you have."

Neeley snorted. "Hey, I wouldn't talk. I heard you and the bitch brigade playing golf."

"You were the person on the hill!" Hannah exclaimed. "Did you hear everything? What were they saying?"

"Let's get into that when we're not running for our lives," Neeley said.

"I have a feeling that you're always running for your life," Hannah said.

"Better than running from it," Neeley said sharply.

Hannah changed the subject. "So what about our mercenary savior?"

Neeley explained that he was a pilot who could be persuaded to fly anywhere if the price was right. "I'll call him."

Hannah nodded. "Better than driving." Her eyes narrowed. "Why are we going to Boulder?"

Neeley figured she needed to take things one step at a time and not overload Hannah. "I have a safe house in Colorado. We'll go there and figure out a plan." She paused. “Do you know what a safe house is?”

“I’ve read a book or two,” Hannah said.

“What was with all those books?” Neeley asked.

Hannah shrugged. “It beat living in the real world as you noted earlier.”

Neeley spotted a truck stop and decided it was a good time to change cars again. Neeley took an exit and parked in the lot. After transferring the load to a new car, she wiped the old car down, removing their prints. She left the windows open and the keys in the ignition. With any luck it would get stolen again. She found a pay phone near the truck stop and left the motor idling while she talked.

"Hello?" a man's voice answered.

"Kent, this is Neeley."

"Hey, lady, how you doing? Been a long time since I heard from you. How's your Gant?"

"Gant's dead, Kent."

"Shit. What happened?"

"Cancer."

"Damn. Sorry to hear that. He was a good man. You could count on him."

"I need a flight."

"I only do domestic service now," Kent said. "Flat fee ten grand anywhere in the Continental United States. One way. No hanging around waiting."

Kent was an old acquaintance of Gant's. He was the one who had flown them up into the mountains for the winter training a few years back. Gant and she had gone to his place in Wyoming twice more to do some skiing over the years.

"I've got the money," Neeley said.

"Where to where and when?" Kent succinctly asked.

"As soon as possible. I'll be in Lawrence, Kansas. I need to get to Boulder, Colorado."

"Hold on a second. Let me check the weather."

While she waited the operator demanded more money and Neeley slid the quarters in.

Kent was back on in two minutes. "I can leave tonight and do IFR. I'll be there in the morning. There’s a small airfield outside Lawrence. No tower." He gave her the directions.

"I'll have one person with me," Neeley said.

"Just double the fee."

"All right."

"See you in the morning."

The phone went dead.

A car pulled into the lot and slowly drove along the front of the restaurant. Neeley recognized the make. The same as the one that had been in the parking lot of the restaurant outside St. Louis. Hannah watched it too.

"Goddamn," Neeley muttered as she hung up the phone. The car rolled through the end of the parking lot and disappeared but Neeley knew it wouldn't go far.

"He knows where we are all the time,” Hannah said.

Neeley headed back toward the Interstate. She glanced at her companion and returned her attention to the speedometer. "You just figured that out? We've got to make it to Lawrence and that plane."

Hannah nodded. "But how do we keep that guy from climbing right on board? He doesn't seem to have any trouble following us and this is a new car. He can’t have bugged it."

Neeley banged her hand on the steering wheel with frustration, causing Hannah to jump. "We're going to have to make a run for it."

Hannah nodded in slow agreement and reached back for her tote in the backseat. She pulled out a brush and began brushing her sleep matted hair.

"What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? Besides, it helps me think."

Neeley gripped the wheel tighter. "What you need is about fifty more IQ points to help you think."

Hannah tossed the brush back in the bag. She pushed the bag on the floorboard and reached for a metal case in the back seat. "And your stuff's perfect, right? Let's see what John had that was so damn important." Popping it open, she murmured, "Oh." Hannah didn't recognize the contents of the case in her lap. "What's this?"

"Wrong case," Neeley said. "That's mine and it's a receiver." Neeley glanced in her rear view mirror. No sign of the trailing car but she knew it was back there. Could he have had observation on them all this time? Neeley had been careful but she supposed it was possible.

Hannah reached along the side of the flat green screen and she pushed the small button that was there. There was a brief hum, the screen glowed and a bright dot showed up square in the center accompanied by a low beeping noise.

"Damn," Neeley whispered as she heard the sound and glanced over.

"What?" Hannah asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong." Neeley lifted a hand off the wheel and pointed. "That dot. It represents a tracking bug. We've got one in the car. That's how this guy is following us."

"How can we have one in the car?" Hannah demanded. "We switched cars."

"It's not in the car," Neeley said. "Well, it is, but not on the car."

"What do you mean?" Hannah asked.

"Your thigh," Neeley said. "It's in your thigh. That's why that guy stuck you with the knife. He was putting a bug in you." She should have focused on the fact that the knife had looked strange, but it had been one detail in the middle of a lot of things happening.

Hannah stared at the spot on her thigh with her first sign of emotion in quite a while. "Get it out."

Neeley switched out of the fast lane and headed for the nearest downtown exit. "Hold your horses, Hannah, I'm driving."

Hannah spoke in short clipped words. "I don't care. Get it out! Get it out now!"

"Well, at least we know how he's tracking us. We need to set up a trap and get rid of this guy."

***************

Racine knew they had spotted him. He didn’t want them to become complacent. He always found it best to keep the quarry off-balance.

He stopped at the booth the tall one had been in. He called the operator for the company that serviced the phone. Using his FBI badge number, another perk from the Cellar, he had her give him the last number called from that phone.

After he hung up, Racine looked at the number for a few seconds. The area code was Montana. The shadow world covered the entire planet but the population that dwelled inside the borders of that world was a small one. Racine closed his eyes and his mind flashed through names and faces until it clicked.

“Damn,” Racine muttered as he got back in the car. The bitches were going to fly. He couldn’t allow that. Then Nero would get involved further and it would be out of his hands. He would have to stop them before they got on that plane.

Racine stood still for several seconds, thinking, coming up with his plans. Plan A was to stop them himself. But he knew he needed a plan B, just in case.

***************

Neeley was slowly navigating through the crowded business district and looking for a place to park. They left the car and headed for a mostly empty restaurant, Neeley carrying a small black kit and John's briefcase. In the bathroom, Hannah looked down at the hole in her thigh as Neeley dabbed away the blood. "They can really make one that small?"

"They can make transmitters extremely small," Neeley said. "The problem is the battery. That's what takes up most of the space." Neeley looked about. “But I don’t think he was worrying about it having to last very long. Just long enough to catch us.”

Neeley felt with her fingers in the cut and Hannah took a sharp breath, but didn't make any other noise. "I can't feel anything in there."

Neeley reached into the kit. She pulled a small scalpel and tweezers out. "I'm going to have to dig. It'll hurt."

Hannah nodded and looked at the wall over Neeley's shoulder. "How did you end up like this?"

Neeley turned the faucet on hot, letting the water run until it started steaming the glass over the sink. Then she put the blade under the water and held it there.

Neeley turned to look at Hannah. It was a question she had only answered for Gant. She thought about it for a few moments, and then spoke. "My earliest memories are of my mother locked up in her room whenever my dad was gone. He was some kind of low-level Department of Defense spook and he was gone a lot. That's the way it was; dinner would stop, she would stop, our lives would come to a standstill while she waited for him to come home. He was gone for months at a time.

"I swore I'd never be like that, so dependent on another human being, but I followed in her footsteps like I'd been in training my whole life. His name was Jean-Philippe.

"He was a boy I knew in Strasbourg. My mother was French—my father met her when he was stationed in Germany-- and every summer I went to my grandparents. You had John, I had my Jean-Philippe. I'd spend those weeks exploring the city with him and bettering my French. Every year he was taller and more beautiful and every year it was harder for me to leave.”

Someone knocked on the locked door. “Cleaning,” Neeley yelled. The person went away and Neeley resumed her story as she heated the blade. "Finally, after high school, I moved there to go to college and Jean-Philippe and I became lovers. By then he was involved in a lot of weird businesses I barely understood. I really didn't even pay attention. I just loved the image of it. Me and my handsome French lover with his friends in a smoky café. Jean-Philippe was making money, a lot of money, and hanging with other people with a lot of money. For a nineteen year old it was pretty wild.”