Catch & Neutralize (26 page)

Chapter 46

Only a few hours, Angie thought, and already on my way home.

This particular assignment ended much sooner than expected. She turned the radio off and the heater up.

Snow fluttered over the windshield, swept away by wipers. She thought about snuggling up to Mark in their warm bed. His hair disheveled and sticking up in the back, body temperature like a heating blanket set to high. She smiled, wondering if he was still up.

Pulling to a red light, Angie checked her cell phone for messages. Nothing. She checked The Institute assigned compact. Nothing.

The light still shone red. Angie tapped the steering wheel impatiently and peered at her reflection. Dark marks exposed around her neck and chest. Shadows? She pulled down the mirrored sun visor, lighting her face, and lifted the Tiffany necklace. A perfect key shaped outline on her chest, green and unsightly. She wiped at it, but it was going to take more than that to clear the stain.

It was a fake, a cheap knockoff.

Angie gripped the steering wheel, threw her head back, and wailed like a banshee. She punched a honk from the steering wheel and punched it again for spite. Her ponytail loosened, blonde feathers tickling her cheeks.

A car full of teenage boys pulled up beside her. The driver’s window slid down, “Hey, hottie, wanna go to a party?”

Angie held up her gun, not pointing it at him, but he got the message.

The car squealed off without waiting for the light to change, fishtailing in the snow.

She thought she heard the driver yell, “Crazy bitch!”

“Damn straight,” Angie said to her reflection, “Crazy as they get. But, the real question is should I go home and forget about the phony Tiffany or confront the useless cheapskate who gave it to me?”

“Yeah,” she answered herself, “let’s confront the cheap bastard.”

The light turned green and she flipped the turn, heading back the way she came.

“Confrontation is good for me, shows strength and knowledge. Lets Pilfer know he can’t screw with me. Plus,” she lifted the necklace, “a fake is super insulting.” Angie let the key slap against her chest. “Damn drug dealing loser.”

Her foot plowed down the gas pedal.

Angie found the Corner Stone lobby bustling with people. A sign at the door stated: Pandowski Brothers Reunion. By the look of it, male Pandowskis had a fascination with light beer in a can and large-brimmed cowboy hats. Stale alcohol along with hoots and hollers filled the air. Clearly, the door sign was the fanciest part of this gathering.

Angie was lucky to get to the elevator without being stopped. She checked her cell for the time: 1:37 a.m. With her keycard, she ascended to the Penthouse. She preferred not walking in on Pilfer. One could never be sure what was going on behind closed doors, especially with a pervert like that.

Angie slipped the keycard into a pocket and thumped on the door. If he didn’t answer in three knocks, she’d go in anyway. No way she’d let a doofus like that pull one over on her.

She gave another pound to the door. Still no answer.

That jerk is either in there with a prostitute or stoned out of his mind, Angie thought, hopefully the later.

She gave the door a final rapping.

Angie brought out her pistol then swiped the keycard. She opened the door slowly and peered into the dim living quarters. The fire, nothing but glowing embers, gave little light and looked something of a scorched animal carcass.

Angie followed the faint light of the hallway into the bedroom. The self-proclaimed cousins, Tiffany and Laura, held each other at gunpoint. Tristan lie in bed, duct-taped to the headboard.

And, Mark. Dear God, Mark!

What is he doing here?!?

“What the hell?” Angie asked no one in particular.

The shots began, one after another, a private battleground.

Angie crouched, dragging Mark into the hallway. She checked his pulse and used her belt as a tourniquet for his thigh. A bruised knot the size of a plum shone above his cheek. He’d be okay for now. She kissed his lips, cocked her pistol, and returned to the madness of the bedroom.

Laura lie on the ground, blood trickling from chest and head wounds, her breathing shallow and erratic. Tiffany and Tristan were gone. A blood trail leading from the bed disappeared at the emergency door exit.

Angie knelt next to Laura, holding her hand.

“They’re,” Laura huffed, “going to kill…our director.” She inhaled deeply and coughed. A gush of blood erupted from her chest, a thin line ran from the corner of her mouth. “Main Headquarters. Disguised as…an employment agency. Go.” She struggled, eyes panic filled.

Laura coughed again, wheezing. She squeezed Angie’s hand. “Go,” she repeated.

A last hiss of breath and her grip went limp, chest still, eyes without focus.

The cleanup crew arrived as Angie bolted out the emergency exit. “Dr. Mark Carter in the hallway needs immediate medical attention,” she called over her shoulder. “He’s my husband.”

Angie took the steps two at a time, following blood splatters.

The trail ended at a door two floors down. Angie burst through it in time to see elevator doors close in front of Tristan. He wore a white robe, no shoes. His arm soaked in blood, droplets falling from his fingers.

Angie ran down the hallway towards a second elevator, hands pumping at her sides, hair flapping behind.

Ahead, the door to Room 1427 opened. Out stumbled a Pandowski Brother. His belly, large and round, protruded over his white briefs. He wore cowboy boots and hat, chubby hand gripping a silver can of what Angie assumed was light beer

“Pandowski Power!” Big Belly Man roared, lifting the can.

Angie sidestepped to avoid crashing into him. Just before reaching the elevator, Tiffany jumped from around the corner. She nailed Angie in the chest with a broom handle, knocking her breath away.

Fire gripped Angie’s lungs as she lie on the floor gulping for air. She watched, reaching for Tiffany as she stepped into the elevator. Blisters covered her neck and more were developing on her cheeks.

Tiffany pushed her glasses up, stuck out her tongue, and waved before the doors slid closed.

Oxygen finally filled Angie’s lungs. She sucked in hard, easing the flow.

Big Belly Pandowski called with a cowboy slur: “You all right, sweet thang?”

He started stumbling her way.

Angie got to her feet, holding her gun up, not aiming. “Everything’s okay, sir. Return to your room. You forgot your pants.”

Pandowski chuckled, rubbing his belly. Angie didn’t stick around for a reply. She was already halfway to ground floor when he realized she was gone.

The lobby was mostly empty. Angie ran through to the snowy parking lot, cold air stabbing at her sweaty skin.

No Tiffany, no Tristan, no blood, no squealing tires. Nothing.

They’d vanished.

Chapter 47

“The C&N Employment Agency on Main Street,” Angie reminded herself, speeding away. But, at 3 a.m.? Angie shook her head. Director Bell wouldn’t be there at this hour, and she had no clue where the director lived.

Angie checked her compact, hoping for instructions or address, something, anything. The compact showed a clear screen. She slammed the device down on the passenger seat.

Angie screamed in frustration, gripping the steering wheel.

Her cell phone chimed a text message. It was from a number she didn’t recognize: “You lose. You’re a loser. Get used to it.”

Had to be from Tiffany using a burner phone. Angie was pissed at herself for not knowing, not seeing the real Tiffany. And now Tiffany wanted to kill the director of the Catch & Neutralize Institute. Why? Jealousy? Money? Angie couldn’t think of another reason. There had to be more going on here. Tons more.

Angie texted back with: “You will be eliminated. The End.”

Without any other clues, she raced to C&N Employment Agency, missing all stoplights but one. With no other cars in sight, Angie ran it. Her Spyder thumped over hills and potholes like an out of control rollercoaster.

The snow came down heavier now, coating the road. At the speed she was going, Angie slid around the corner and skidded into the parking garage. She barely missed slamming into a concrete support beam. Grabbing her gun and compact, she ran to the employee entrance.

The building stood tall and sturdy, classic Santa Fe architecture, dark and locked up tight. Wind howled through the parking structure, imitating a pack of wild dogs.

Angie gained entry using the compact as a key. Although she’d heard about this building while training, she’d never actually been in it. Opposite from the outside appearance, the inside dazzled with modern computers and equipment. Machines blinked and processors buzzed. The faint odor of microwave popcorn lingered in the air.

An intercom system crackled to life: “Phalanges Carter, this is Director Sophia Bell. Go to the third floor, room two. I’ll be with you momentarily.”

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Ms. Bell, but this is an emergency. Your life is in danger.”

Everything felt odd, this entire setup off. Angie did as requested, hand hovering over pistol as the elevator offered the third floor.

This level contained a long hallway with rows of doors with gold numbers, most rooms hidden behind closed blinds. Angie opened door number two. The metal number slid, scratching back and forth over a worn area of wood.

The small room gave the impression of an interrogation cell. A conference table dominated the area, leaving room for little else. No windows or pictures decorated the walls. White tiles gave the room a medicinal look. Angie thought she could almost pick up the scent of rubbing alcohol.

She pulled a seat but changed her mind and inspected the room from a standing position. Finding nothing extraordinary, Angie checked her compact and cell phone. No instructions. No messages. No service.

It sure was taking the director a long time. Angie couldn’t wait any longer. What if sending her to this room was a trick, some stall tactic? She decided it was time to find Ms. Bell.

The door wouldn’t open. Angie rattled the doorknob. Locked.

“Damn it!” She burst, kicking the door.

Small rooms and tight spaces were not her thing. Angie pulled her pistol, aimed at the knob, and shot. The bullet ricocheted off the knob, zipped past her ear, bounced off the wall, and planted itself into the back of a chair.

She ran a hand over her head. Even with the silencer, Angie’s ears burned. A silencer did tone down the sound, but did not mean silent.

“Bulletproof. Interesting.”

The door opened and a petite Asian lady, early fifties, waved her out.

“I’m Director Bell. Let’s discuss this urgency in my office.” She walked ahead with red and black skirt suit swaying, heels clacking down the poorly lit corridor.

Ms. Bell led Angie up the elevator two floors and into a large office. She sat behind a light colored New Mexican styled desk, handcrafted and rustic. Raising a hand, Ms. Bell indicated Angie should take a seat.

Angie remained standing.

“So, Mrs. Carter, what’s all this fuss about my life? This immediate danger you speak of?”

“Tiffany Bell is on her way here to murder you. She has the backup of a thug named James Dean Pilfer, who also goes by Tristan Bellamy. They want to take over The Institute, use your state-of-the-art electronics to build a drug empire.”

Sophia Bell laughed, raising her hand again at the chair across from her.

“Please sit, Angie. Tiffany is being treated for a poison called Toxin Gina at one of our private hospitals. From there she’ll be transported to a mental facility in New York City, where she’ll become a permanent resident. Tiffany was a mistake. We rarely make mistakes. As for Mr. Pilfer…” She smoothed her black and gray splotched hair. “Let’s just say, his future doesn’t look too bright.”

“No, Ms. Bell, Tiffany escaped. And, do you know… or, what I mean is, are you related to Laura Bell?”

“I’m her aunt by marriage. Her uncle is long gone, heart attack fifteen years ago. Why do you ask?”

“I’m sorry, very sorry to tell you this: Tiffany killed Laura. Now, she’s after you. This is not a joke, Director. We must get you to safety.”

“Oh, that poor child.” Director Bell’s smile faded. “The Institute broke their own rules allowing her to join so young. Some situations are just too harsh, too rough for younger women. Laura and I weren’t close, but we shared a mutual respect for each other and for The Institute. Intelligent. Enthusiastic. Gifted. She’ll be greatly missed. And, as far as my safety goes, there’s no place safer for me than here. This building cannot be penetrated without a series of authorized checks.”

“What do you mean? I got in here with a simple wave of my compact.”

“Yes, but that compact was issued to you. Only you can use it to get inside. Your entire body was scanned before you pulled the compact from your pocket. I was immediately notified. I knew you were here before you got out of your car. What is it? An Audi R8 Spyder, Sepang Blue pearl with Black roof?” Sophia’s slim eyebrows rose. “I also know you have a pistol on your right hip, your breasts are surgically enhanced, and you have a cherry tattoo on your ass. Shall I go on?”

“No, no. I got it.” Angie grinned. “Did your scan take a DNA sample as well?”

“Not yet. Soon, I hope. We’ve got someone in the technical field exploring options. Any more questions?”

“Just one.”

A pop sounded from Director Bell’s computer. She held up a finger, eyes lining across the screen.

“It seems you were correct about Tiffany. She’s escaped and injured two of my cleanup crew.” Sophia Bell’s hands steepled under her chin. “What’s your question?”

“How’re you planning to catch Tiffany and her drug dealing boyfriend?

Sophia leaned forward, elbows on the desk, chin resting on fists. “That’s your next assignment, Angie. To catch and neutralize those two.” She opened a drawer and pulled out another mirror compact. This one was larger and square. She handed it to Angie. “This is a two-way communicator. You’ll be able to send messages to me and other crew members. It operates like the one you’ve been using, but closer to a cell phone. Please leave your old compact, the starter, on my desk.”

“Okay? Why doesn’t The Institute just use cell phones? I mean, the compact thing is cool and all, but…?”

“Compacts are less conspicuous, and they’re on The Institute’s personal network. It’s safer, hidden, more secure. Now, you’d better get going. You’ve got twelve hours to catch and neutralize Tiffany and Tristan before I send another agent.” Director Bell stood. “Consider this a test of your abilities, a test to see if you’re ready to move to the next level, Angie. Five o’clock tomorrow evening is your cutoff. I wish you superior judgment and even better luck.”

~

Angie drove away from the C&N Employment Agency and pulled into a Hollite Coffee drive-thru. She needed both a pick-me-up and to take a look at her new contact device. More importantly, she needed to figure out where Tiffany and Tristan were headed.

The square compact popped open with Angie’s thumbprint. A message was already waiting for her:
Targets headed northwest towards California.

Angie’s gut told her no way, incorrect info. She bet The Institute marked Tiffany’s car with a tracking device, and Tiffany had already found it. Hadn’t Tiffany learned all about tracking devices from her cop boyfriend, Stockton Wood?

Angie figured Tiffany located and placed the tracker on a random car at a gas station or on a big rig at a truck stop. She wasn’t about to drive thirteen or more hours when twelve hours was her time limit. Besides, if Tiffany’s goal was to get rid of Director Bell, why would she head to California?

Armed with Hollite’s largest cup of coffee, dubbed The Hollinator, Angie headed towards Bell Manor. Nobody running from The Institute would settle back into property belonging to The Institute, right?

For that reason, it might be the perfect place to hide.