Living Lies (32 page)

CHAPTER 19

The South of France, with its acres of vineyards still barren and dormant, looked dry and dead, but with spring approaching, life was exploding just below the surface. At the tip of the stem undeveloped buds waited to meet the sun for the first time. The beauty of the patchwork countryside went unnoticed by the man behind the dark sunglasses.

On a desolate stretch of road he stopped at the house of his target: a converted stone barn tucked 30 yards inside a field of grapevines.

He observed.

A family: man, woman, red-haired girl with ringlets like her mother’s riding her tricycle, a baby balancing on wobbly legs. Laughing, the woman scooped up the toddler and the man lovingly leaned in to kiss her porcelain cheek. The older girl remained determined, struggling to pedal on the gravel driveway.

Before long, the father lifted his nose into the air, catching the scent of death. Coolly, he ushered his family to the safety of their home.

The killer had been detected.

The target, tall and thin with blonde hair and a beard, took long strides to the waiting car. Squatting down to eye level he asked, “Could you give me a day? I don’t want my family to be here or to see…” he cleared his throat. “My boy is just a baby but this would haunt

my wife and daughter.”

He didn’t beg – accepting his fate – he negotiated on behalf of his family. His past had caught up with him. But the killer did the unexpected: he looked deep into the eyes of his target, full of vitality and sadness. He did not want to be the one to extinguish the life from this man. He wanted to
be
this man.

“You don’t have much time,” he said in a deep grumble.

The man did not thank him but stepped back as the car sped away.

The killer did not return the following day, instead, he flew to London, unplugged his computer and formulated a new plan for his life.

CHAPTER 20

“You look like crap,” Jack said, lifting her feet off the couch so he could sit. “Why don’t you sleep in the apartment upstairs?”

“I was just taking a nap,” she rubbed her burning eyes. “I should be used to no sleep by now.” The pressure had been relentless, scrutinizing eyes were upon her and she knew more than a few hoped she failed. “Is it day or night?”

“Both,” Jack answered.

“What is that I smell?” Now her eyes were open and sat up. “Pepperoni? Yum. Jane has been feeding me salads all week.”

“I brought beer, too.”

He handed her a steaming slice, cheese dripping off the sides. Melanie ignored the inferno melting her taste buds, draining half a beer to cool off her singed her tongue. She closed her eyes to enjoy.

“I thought we should celebrate,” Jack said, clinking his beer to hers. “In two weeks we’ve cleared up the festering problems, the system is mostly mended and the assignments are finally smoothing out.”

“You’re right,” she said.

Melanie had arranged cases like a master puzzler and Jack had been invaluable. They were finally noticing a reduction in the strain. The need for intervention lessened each day. Reaching the point where the emphasis was no longer on cleaning up, instead she was taking on new cases and actively moving forward in securing the nation.

She’d even maintained a personal life, even if it was only a few moments each day.

Melanie leaned back and listened to the scraping of tree branches against her window.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” He nodded toward the flat-screen TVs that took the wall space where the file cabinets had once stood.

Melanie glanced at the headline news and dug into a second slice.

“Thanks,” she said, raising her second bottle.

“I had no idea you were starving.”

Shoptalk was the only thing they had in common, and with the planet under control their conversation waned. She closed her eyes. The beer, combined with a full stomach, added to her fatigue.

“You look stressed,” Jack said, walking around the couch.

“I do?” she asked drowsily.

Jack’s mumbled words were just beyond comprehension as she nearly drifted off to sleep.

“What are you doing?!” she asked, suddenly frightfully awake.

“Giving you a massage.”

It was true – his hands were on her shoulders, moving up to her
now
highly tense neck.

“Thank you, but…”

She searched for a gentle way of telling him to get the hell off her.

“Your muscles are tight.”

Melanie turned her body, placing her back out of reach.

“Think about it, Mel, why don’t we give it a shot, you and me?”

His voice was an octave higher, his eyes wide, and Melanie knew he wasn’t kidding.

“Jack.”

“Who knows the demands of an agent better than another agent? We wouldn’t have to lie to anyone about where we are and what we do. It’s the perfect solution.”

Jack hopped over the back of the large black leather couch and sat facing Melanie, who was stunned.

“What … when did all this happen?” she asked, thinking back for signs she may have missed about his intentions.

“We have a chemistry, your words.”

“When did I say that?”

He inched nearer.

“Jack, you know I like you and you’ve been a great friend these past weeks, but truly, this isn’t going to happen.” His blue eyes were hazed and unconvinced. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m serious.”

Before the period had been placed on her sentence Jack’s lips were pressed against hers and he was pulling her into the confines of his arms.

“Jack,” Melanie said, wiggling out of the odd embrace. “Jack, really.”

“Just agree to think it over.”

Melanie shook her head. “No, there’s nothing to…”

She was stopped in mid-sentence by a knock at the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked, shooting Jack an angry glance.

“Excuse me,” a young man said. He was obviously embarrassed at witnessing her and Jack’s exchange. “I’m Dom DiRito.”

Bad news
, she thought looking at her watch.
Good news doesn’t arrive after 2 a.m.

“I know who you are, Agent DiRito. Why don’t you come in and have a seat?”

“I’m sorry to be interrupting,” he gave Jack a sideways glance. “But I was told by my supervisor that the matter couldn’t wait for him and since I was at the Manor, I mean since I was here I was to speak to you directly.”

“It’s fine, Dom, just tell us what’s on your mind.”

“Two months ago when I was part of a team in Turkey bidding for a set of stolen nuclear devices. Agent Levine and I were tying to ascertain if the offer was legit. But before the transaction was authenticated Agent Parker pulled the operation.” Dom DiRito’s round face was filled with anticipation. “Ten minutes ago I received a phone call from the line we used for that assignment. It was from a man who said he was in possession of one of the devices.
I agreed to meet him at a motel just outside of Tampa tomorrow … well, today, at noon.”

“What’s the name and address of that motel?” Melanie asked, already grabbing hold of her phone to make the first of several calls.

They were going to need blueprints, satellite feed, an explosives expert and a sharpshooter.

Jack waited until Dom was outside of earshot.

“Do you think this has something to do with Parker?”

Melanie shrugged, “He’d better hope not.”

Her first breath of Florida air was oppressive. It was steamy and thick, even in the early morning hours, leaving nothing to look forward to as the sun would soon be beating down from directly overhead. Melanie didn’t mind the perspiration that came from physical labor, but sweat running down her back as she walked to the SUV just wasn’t right.

Waiting for her, Dom and Mike’s assistant Ed, were fellow agents Colleen Bricks and John Roberts.

“Colleen, how’ve you been?” Melanie asked once the A/C was cranked to full blast.

Colleen was the utmost expert in armaments, a major feat considering how difficult it was for a woman to succeed in a man’s field.

“Busy. I’ve been meaning to call and congratulate you on your promotion,” Colleen smiled.

“Hello, John.”

John nodded.

Inside the SUV, Ed, almost as non-verbal as John, immediately went to work linking his computer to the flat-screen.

“This is the motel,” Ed said, pointing to a green building in the center of the screen. Showing off, he zoomed quickly in on the structure, leaving only a narrow image of the surroundings. “We’re in real time.”

Melanie took over. “Larry Schuster checked into room 214 last night, making two phone calls. The first was at midnight to his ex-wife, and the second to DiRito. Schuster was released last week after serving two years of a three-year sentence for battery.”

“Where’d he get the suitcase? Any possible scenarios?” Colleen asked, studying the picture.

“We lost him from the time he was released until he arrived at this motel. The local PD has been staking out the motel since 4 a.m. and was able to hold off the news crews until about an hour ago,” Dom explained.

In the satellite pictures Ed had brought up on the computer Melanie could identify police cars, media vans and the popular freeway that butted up against the old building, which would be bumper-to-bumper in a few hours. In the hours before the city dressed for another business day, Melanie assigned each of her agents a task. The motel was a two-story 60s-style relic. Cars parked right up against the first-floor rooms while two stairways led to the second-floor breezeway. The doors to the balcony and parking lot were the only ways in or out of each room.

It was remodeled 11 years ago, enabling Ed to pull up the blueprints.

“I have the decoy you asked for right here.” Colleen gently patted a silver suitcase resting against her leg.

Melanie looked to John. Going over possible outcomes, the one that caused the least pandemonium was his “suicide.” It could have gone easier had the ex-wife not called the police. But now there was no way to bring Schuster out of this alive.

“I’m ready,” John said.

Melanie wondered if he was as bored as he sounded, or if taking lives had taken his soul. They revisited the plan one last time.

From a thicket on the northern end of the motel, Colleen and John would crawl through the ventilation system to Schuster’s room with a low-grade, homemade bomb in a suitcase. Colleen would inspect Schuster’s device, disarm it and bring it back safely, leaving the decoy. John would interrogate Schuster before injecting him with a lethal dose of heroine.

The entire case was resolved three hours after touchdown.

Colleen transported the bomb to her lab and Melanie spent the day with the Agency’s Tampa personnel.

The heat of the day was behind them as the aircraft lifted off the sweltering tarmac heading toward dusk.

She returned phone calls and cleared up loose ends before dialing Carla.

Voice mail, again. Trish didn’t answer either.

Dom and Ed’s voices carried in the small comfortable cabin as they laughed and spoke cheerfully. The two men had had a very good day.

The lights and the level of noise in the fuselage were both dimmed, as if on one switch, for the descent into D.C. From her oval window, Melanie, like a novice astronomer, made out the familiar constellations of her city: the brightest lights from the Capital Building, Lincoln Memorial and the long dark stretch across the mall to the Washington Monument were the planets in this solar system. She closed her stinging eyes, shutting out the city. The most powerful city in the world, filled with corruption, lies and empty promises. It was no place for the weak or complacent. Melanie was tired. She missed the Southern California sun.

Gravity forced her back against the seat and for a moment she wondered where the hell Ben was and when would he return.

Melanie’s heels tapped along the asphalt runway toward her waiting car as Agent DiRito called out to her.

“Agent Ward?”

His suitcase teetered on one wheel as he ran to catch her.

“What’s up?” Melanie asked, attempting to keep exhaustion out of her tone.

“I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink?”

“Agent, I’m going to pass on that, but you did a fine job asking,” Melanie laughed, stepping into the company car.

He stuck his head inside before she could get the door closed. “But, Ma’am, I was hoping to discuss my career options. How do you think I did today?”

She was too tired for this.

“If there’s a position you’re interested in have your supervisor submit your name. Goodnight.” She shifted her gaze to the car door.

“Right, sorry,” he said, jumping back. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

“Home please, Marcos,” Melanie said as she slid into the back seat of the cool car.

The evening was still young but she wanted nothing more than to sleep in a real bed with sheets and a soft pillow.

After making arrangements for a 5:30 a.m. pick-up, Melanie stood outside the little iron fence, admiring her old place. It hadn’t changed in 50 years, much less in the two months since she’d packed her bags and left for San Diego. The neighbors were still arguing and she wondered if they’d even noticed she’d been away.

Melanie skimmed her fingers above the door for the key, exactly where she’d left it. The lights still worked and she held hopes that the air conditioning unit would soon be humming along. She lugged her bag up to the loft, where her bed was still unmade, the sheets half off the mattress in a crumpled heap on the floor. Absently, she switched on the TV she headed toward the bathroom for a cool, refreshing shower.

Afterwards, she pulled on an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts that were balled up at the back of the closet, and called one of her old haunts, The House of Wang.

“An order of the house lo mein.”