Painless (20 page)

Chapter 44

After being awoken by the news of the Lake George debacle, Dr. Naqui couldn’t get back to sleep. He needed to think, and his office was always the place he found solace to do so. So he arrived at his Manhattan office at five a.m. on Wednesday morning.

The simple recruitment of a young child had turned into a newsworthy forest fire. The parents reported the child as missing, and while nobody would say it, the public expectation was that the little girl had died in the fire.

He walked into his dark office and turned on the lights. He then immediately hopped backward, startled by the figure sitting in the chair behind his desk.

“Hello, doc, I figured you Johnny Jihad types always show up early for work.”

Naqui’s fists clenched as he peered at Franklin Stipe’s cocky grin. Stipe looked more Madison Avenue than military in a dark, double-breasted pinstriped suit. But his skin was shedding like a reptile.

“Did you come to gloat over your seamless performance last night?” Naqui asked.

 Stipe either ignored, or didn’t comprehend the sarcasm. “I’m on my way to New Canaan this morning to conduct a little business at the Whitcomb residence, so I figured I’d stop by on my way and get me a cocktail. I had a tough night.”

“I think you are confusing terms. You had an incompetent night last night, just like you did in Iran. Isn’t there some baseball metaphor about three strikes?”

Naqui used a remote to turn on the flat-screen that hung like a painting on the wall. He flipped channels until he came to something called
Good Morning New York
, although for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what was so good about it. They were showing video—again—of the raging forest fire, along with a recent school photo of the “missing” Carolyn Whitcomb, sporting a toothless grin.

Naqui clapped sarcastically. “Bravo, Mr. Stipe, bravo. You are finally receiving the headlines you’ve sought.”

The news changed to a preview of today’s first day of the Senate hearings on the Iran hostages, headed by Senator Oliver LaRoche. Today’s star witness would be Kerry Rutherford, the U.S. Director of National Intelligence. The news just kept getting better and better.

“I hope that son of a bitch doesn’t sell us out. He wants out, you know,” Stipe tried to shift focus to Rutherford.

“He would never do that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because unlike yourself, he is a great patriot. And he knows Operation Anesthesia has done God’s work in keeping this country safe. Anesthesia is like his child. And he will protect it like his child. Now tell me exactly what happened last night.”

“Can’t we do this inquisition after I get the shot?” He pointed to the syringe he had already set up on the edge of the desk, locked and loaded.

Naqui took the syringe into his hands. “No—we’ll do it now.”

Stipe pulled a gun. “Either I get
that shot
or you get
this shot
right between your eyes. Your call, doc.”

Naqui held the glass syringe loosely in his hand, so the pain remover would crash to the ground if a bullet struck him.

“Go ahead, Stipe, lose-lose propositions have become your M.O. Just remember, three strikes and you’ll be out.”

Stipe lowered the gun. Naqui knew he so badly needed the pain medication that he couldn’t think of anything else. “They were tipped off,” Stipe began what Naqui knew would be a laundry list of lies and excuses.

“Who would tip off this unsuspecting family? And even if they were, how come you still couldn’t take them down? You are a trained soldier.”

“I believe they are working with Calvin Rose.”

Naqui’s throat tightened. “Calvin Rose?”

Still seated in Naqui’s high-backed, leather chair, Stipe tossed some photos on the desk, which Naqui picked up in his manicured hands.

“The photos are from Monday, shot from a security camera at a Bank of America in New Canaan. We believe the man on the motorcycle is Calvin Rose, and the girl is Carolyn Whitcomb.”

Naqui’s fists clenched as he studied the photos. “Go on.”

“Calvin Rose also meets the description of the man wanted in a breaking-and-entering at the Whitcomb’s home this past Sunday. But I was able to snag these before the authorities arrived last night.” He tossed a zip-lock bag onto Naqui’s desk. It was full of human teeth and bone fragments. “They want us to think they are the remains of Carolyn Whitcomb or her friend Billy Harper. But my instincts tell me they belong to Calvin Rose, which means he will no longer be a problem.”

Operation Anesthesia possessed the only dental records on Calvin Rose, so they could easily match them, if it was him. He didn’t exist to the outside world.

Naqui walked to his window and looked out at the scurrying ants participating in the maddening morning rush. Many of them would discuss the testimony of today’s Iran hearing over dinner or drinks. Little did they know what really happened. Naqui was in the dark himself. “I need to know what the hell happened in Iran. And I need the truth this time.”

Stipe put his hands behind his head like he was performing a full-nelson wrestling move on himself. Naqui made it very clear that the sooner he told the true story, the sooner he could get the shot. Stipe grunted a pained sigh, and began.

“We just finished our mission outside of Yazd. The Mi-17 was hovering overhead with Jones piloting. The copter was parked about twenty-feet over the desert and the Anesthesia soldiers were climbing the rope to safety. Just another day at the office. I was in charge, making sure everybody boarded. André Rose was the most experienced member, so he stood beside me, assisting the evacuation. The helicopter’s rotors were whipping, sand was flying everywhere, and visibility was minimal.”

Naqui stood still, taking in every word, and trying to dissect the truths from the lies. Not an easy chore when it came to Stipe.

“Then all hell broke lose,” Stipe went on. “André Rose kicked my gun away. Before I could react, sand filled my eyes and I was blinded. But I did manage to see Bronson Rose shoot me in the shoulder. Then Calvin Rose launched a grenade into the helicopter. The copter began to hover erratically. I knew right away it was going down.

“You mean how you bailed on your men to save your sorry self?”

Stipe’s face contorted in anger, but was in too much pain to fight.

“Do you think it’s a coincidence they were brothers?” Naqui asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Why don’t you get your head out of your curry-smelling ass. Of course it wasn’t. There was a major breakdown in security.”

“Security is your responsibility.”

“Jones was running the day-to-day at the plantation while I was on assignment. I did a full audit of the situation and found major gaps in listening devices, especially in moments when the Rose children were alone with their mother. They obviously found the listening devices and were playing Jones for a fool. I have addressed the problem.”

“Stop trying to deflect the blame. Do you think that all three of the Rose children on that mission are in North America and working together?”

Stipe pointed at the bag of teeth. “I think you’ll find that Calvin is no longer with us. But yes, I believe André Rose and his brother Bronson are here.”

Naqui threw a fist into the air, showing rare outward emotion. They had to find the other two brothers or Operation Anesthesia would truly be over, as would they. “You lied to me, you son of a bitch!”

“I’m taking care of the problem. So don’t worry your pretty dot-head over it.”

“You’re taking care of it?” Naqui scoffed. “Do you at least know where the little girl is? She’s obviously not dead like those around her are trying to make people think.”

Stipe folded open the laptop computer on Naqui’s desk and angled it so he could see. He typed in numerous passwords and clearance codes at security checkpoints, before a sophisticated map sequence displayed on the screen. Naqui’s eyes were drawn to the blinking orange-dot that was tracking Carolyn Whitcomb’s movement.

“One thing your boy Jordan did well was plant that security chip in her back. If you notice on the GPS, they appear to be on a train headed toward Canada.” Stipe boasted, as if he wasn’t the one who lost them in the first place. He then punched keys and the map zoomed to a city level. It was sophisticated, but not their most sophisticated tracking system, which included video and voice tracking.
Who would ever have thought they would’ve needed it with a four-year-old girl?
Naqui thought with a sad shake of his head.

 “I guess they think they’ll be safe north of the border,” Stipe said, his tone actually cocky. The man had moxie, if nothing else.

“Just like those cowards who tried to flee from their duty in Vietnam,” Naqui spat angrily, his eyes then shot daggers at Stipe. “What are you waiting for? You need to bring them in ASAP!”
Stipe nodded his head in the direction of his pain medication.

Naqui wanted to withhold it as a punishment, but needed Stipe at his best to clean up this mess. He applied the needle, and Stipe’s eyes rolled back in his head with ecstasy. “Ahh, doc, I want to smoke a cigarette after that.”

He then got up and began to walk away with his arrogant swagger. “We’ll cuddle next time,” he said, flashing his cocky smirk, “I’ll give your regards to the Whitcombs.”

Chapter 45

Billy and Carolyn arrived at the train station in Montreal, Gare Centrale, just past noon. Billy had never been to Montreal, and the first thing he noticed was how French it was. He thought the English/French ratio might be fifty-fifty, but found it to be as French as Paris. All the signs were predominantly in French, as was the chatter of the surrounding conversations.

“They talk funny,” Carolyn observed.

Surrounded by the congestion of travelers in the train station made Billy feel like a sitting duck, floating in a sea of potential sharks.

According to the Fodor’s guide, there were three real sections in Montreal. The historic section, filled with cultural landmarks and cobblestone streets. The modern downtown section featuring a skyline of glass office buildings typical of a major North American city. But they were going to the third section—the underground city—thirty kilometers of tunnels that networked the city’s shopping, dining, and major event areas.

The underground city took off in the 1960s when the metro subway was built, and expanded over time to become what the travel guide hyped as “the biggest underground network in the world.” In the harsh Montreal winters, one could theoretically walk downtown, hit all the major shops and restaurants, and never leave the comforts of climate control.

Billy wasn’t overly impressed, expecting something space age. It seemed like just a bunch of well-lit hallways surrounded by shopping and restaurants. It reminded him more of being in the airport than in the lost city of Atlantis.

Carolyn, on the other hand, was a believer. “An underground city looks like fun!” She then beamed as a subway came to a halt. “Can we go on the underground train?”

Billy didn’t like the idea of being locked in a subway car like a caged animal. If attacked, he preferred to have the option of escaping into the many underground tunnels.

Carolyn took the ‘no’ in stride, too tired to negotiate.

He saw how exhausted she was and couldn’t envision having to carry her. He needed her awake and alert. So he tried to keep her mind sharp by teaching French from his dictionary. He was talked into buying the dictionary by the clerk when he purchased his travel guide, and was now glad he did.

“Carolyn, do you know what they call the underground city in French?”

Her face perked up. While she wasn’t born with the ability to feel pain, she did inherit a relentless intellectual curiosity.

“Tell me,” she shot back in an excited voice, her stride quickening to match Billy’s.

“La ville souterraine,” he said with his best Pepé Le Pew accent.

“La ville souterraine!” she shouted back with the accent of a four-year-old with a damaged tongue.

The process continued.

“Bonjour,” he said. “It means hello.”

“Bonjour, Billy!”

They followed the signs to Place Ville-Marie, a cruciform office tower that was on the cover of Billy’s travel guide. It was connected by tunnel to their destination—Centre Eaton, the biggest mall in Montreal. Billy saw it as a good place to get strategically lost for a couple hours while they figured out the all-important second part of the plan. Which was, how the hell were they going to find Bronson Rose? But first things first, they needed new clothing, preferably of the “warm and fluffy” variety.

He took Carolyn to the GAP for Kids in Zone-5B of the mall. He initially got it mixed up with the Baby GAP, which led to a mini-meltdown, Carolyn insisting she wasn’t a baby. Maybe not, but she was definitely tired, and you can only beat the Sandman for so long. It was going to be a long day, and that was the good option.

They settled on a candy-striped, cotton sweater and a pair of khakis for the
young lady
. A pair of sneakers he thought would make good walking shoes, and Beth would be impressed that he also bought her a fall jacket for the October temperatures, which could sink into the low forties at night. He rounded out the outfit with a very French looking beret. The beret was to help conceal her identity, but it also seemed to make her happy.

Billy paid with cash. Their funds were limited, so they needed to ration. He would only use the ATM in an emergency. He didn’t need to give Operation Anesthesia any help.

He also purchased Carolyn a backpack, a compromise that allowed her to keep her hockey jersey. Her name was embroidered on the back, so putting it in the public garbage didn’t seem like a good idea. She kept the jersey in the backpack, but Billy got rid of the rest of the clothing in a garbage can located in a woman’s bathroom in Zone-4.

But Billy was deflated by the knowledge she had been traveling around with a large name-tag, or more specifically, a bull’s-eye on her back. How many other mistakes had they made? He couldn’t even calculate how far over their heads they were.