Desperate Creed

by Alex Kava

  “Just get down here,” Hannah had said.

  She made it through security and found her gate, but continued walking, not stopping until she was two gates down. In the last three years Frankie had traveled for the agency, meeting clients all over the country, so she was familiar with O’Hare, especially this terminal. She found a seat with her back to a wall and a view of everyone coming from security, making the turn and down the ramp to the gates. A television monitor was close enough for her to read the new alert crawl. Satisfied that no one was paying attention to her, she pulled out her cell phone and turned it on.

  New messages started pinging. With only a glance, Frankie could see none of them were from Hannah. All were from Angela, and she was getting impatient:

  WHERE ARE YOU?

  STILL STUCK IN TRAFFIC?

  HOW MUCH LONGER DO YOU THINK YOU’LL BE?

  The last message was seven minutes ago.

  She sat back, shook her head and released a heavy sigh. She missed Holly. Angela was no Holly.

  In her mind Frankie had gone over exactly what she’d tell her new young assistant. They barely knew each other, which meant she didn’t owe Frankie any loyalty or favors. Her old assistant, Holly, had worked with Frankie for five years, and with Frankie’s help had recently been promoted to project manager. Holly would have been quick to help come up with ways to delay and distract the men without Frankie needing to prompt her. But on the other hand, Holly knew her too well for Frankie to have ever gotten away with the excuse she was getting ready to use. Holly would have seen right through it and would have wanted to know what was going on.

  Frankie tapped:

  FEELING SICK. MUST HAVE EATEN SOMETHING BAD AT THAT NEW DELI. HEADING BACK HOME. PLEASE TAKE CARE OF THINGS.

  She shut off her phone before Angela responded. The young woman would either freak out or recognize this as an opportunity to show off her skills.

  One good thing, Mr. McGavin didn’t expect her back until next week. Even if Tyler had set Mr. McGavin on edge with his cereal protest, she knew her boss wouldn’t interrupt her time off. He was a true proponent of working hard but refilling the creative well with time off.

  Reluctantly, she left her spot to buy snacks, a couple bottles of water and two pre-paid phones, all of which finally made her backpack heavier. And yet, when she returned to her favorite seat, she still had an hour and twenty minutes before her flight boarded. All the urgency, all the rush and now she had to sit and wait. She tried to relax and sipped from one of the bottles of water, her back to the wall, her eyes watching and observing.

  That’s when she saw him.

  It wasn’t possible.

  It had to be a different man.

  He was supposed to be waiting downtown outside her office. But of course, he would have left when Angela told him she wasn’t coming in. She glanced at her watch. Tapped the faceplate.

  Damn it! She didn’t need to know how many steps. Just the time.

  It had been a little over an hour. There was no way he could know she was at the airport.

  And yet, Frankie knew she’d never forget those eyes, that hawk nose, that massive forehead. From thirty feet away she saw him tug at his shirt collar like a man not used to wearing a necktie. When his fingers came away she saw just enough of that ugly, twisted scar to know it was the same man.

  And yes, he was here! Nevermind how.

  He hadn’t seen her...yet. He was trying to blend in, but his head rotated like a square block on thick shoulders. He was checking out the passengers waiting at Gate 2. Her gate!

  She needed to get out. Her heart began to pound. Her pulse started racing, and she felt like a trapped animal, sitting against the wall. Less than thirty feet away. What was worse—he blocked her path. There was no way to leave the terminal without walking by him.

  Frankie shouldered her backpack and handbag, keeping both high enough that she could slouch, half her face hidden behind the bundle. She got up, startled to find her knees wobbly.

  Stay calm. Don’t look at him.

  A sudden swell of passengers separated Frankie from the man. She knew how to slide into a moving crowd without making anyone slow down or take notice, allowing the wave to swallow her. But the crowd was walking in the wrong direction. Away from the terminal’s entrance, toward more gates and deeper into a trap. There was a women’s restroom. She knew it was close.

  Heart still pounding, she eased her way to the other side of the crowd, moving with the flow and waiting until she was exactly at the doorway before she pivoted and ducked inside. She almost collided with an abandoned janitor cart tucked in at the elbow of the entrance.

  Frankie found an empty stall, a prized corner unit with extra room to breathe. Only as she latched the lock did she notice her fingers were shaking.

  What was she going to do? Could she stay here until they called her flight? He wouldn’t be able to follow her on board. Or would he be able to convince the airline attendants that he had some sort of authority? He obviously convinced Angela that he was important enough.

  The fact that he was here—that he even knew she was here—dispelled any chance this man only wanted to talk to her. That he only wanted to give her information about Tyler. And being in a public place didn’t seem to discourage him. She could still see his eyes looking at her through the screen of her phone, eyes filled with anger when he realized there was an unexpected witness to his crime.

  She needed to think. She needed to focus. Be creative. Come up with a solution. She got paid to play out scenarios all the time. What was important to one demographic didn’t matter to another. It was her job to make people see and believe exactly what the advertising campaign wanted them to see and believe.

  The man on the phone had only seen her face. Her hair had been up in a towel. Though by now, he may have Googled her and found an image. Still, he had no idea how tall she was, how she walked or what she was wearing.

  She looked down at her clothes. What if someone had followed her from her apartment? Was there someone there on the train platform with her? Is that how they knew she was at the airport? What airline and even what gate number? Was there someone else following her that she hadn’t even noticed?

  Almost immediately she took off her jacket and started peeling off her clothes, hanging them on the hook on the back of the door. Out of her backpack, she pulled out jeans and a black T-shirt. She exchanged her flats for running shoes. At the bottom of the bag her fingers found a hairband. She tied her hair back then stuffed it up into a black ballcap. She folded and rolled her clothes and shoved them into the bag as she silently prayed, “Please let it still be there. Please let it still be there.”

  Several deep breaths later and she exited the safety of the bathroom stall. She took time to wash her hands and seeing the slight tremor almost unnerved her. A couple of the stalls were occupied but no one else was using the sinks. And no one else was coming in, but she knew she would have only seconds, not minutes to pull this off.

  As she rounded the corner she almost gasped with relief. The janitor cart was still there. She dropped her bags into the yellow vinyl trash container, not even paying attention what garbage they might be landing in. She grasped the handholds and backed the cart out of the entrance, keeping herself from wincing at the rattle of the mop and bucket. The castors squealed until they left the tile of the bathroom entrance and made it onto the industrial carpet.

  Frankie pulled the bill of her cap lower, curved her shoulders inward as if she did this everyday and off she went. She didn’t dare look around.

  14

  CHICAGO O’HARE INTERNATIONAL Airport

  “She’s here. She’s in this terminal.”

  “I don’t see her.”

  They talked using earbuds, a small white button with an inch long stem that was hardly noticeable. Technological advancements that made his job easier. August Braxton probably should have cared how it all worked. Years ago, he might have cared. But now? He was getting too old fo
r this crap. He left the technical stuff to the experts. He counted that as one of his strengthens, that he depended on people smarter than him. Smarter in certain things. No one had better instincts than him. That’s why they continued to hire him. Ironic. All the technological advances and artificial intelligence that money could buy, and they still needed his old world, old school instincts.

  He brought up the woman’s photo again on his cell phone screen. Pinched it and pulled it larger. He’d grabbed the image from McGavin Holt’s website. It was a headshot that didn’t look anything like Francine Russo’s driver’s license photo. In this one, she wore full makeup. In the other, her face was scrubbed clean and she wore her hair a bit short. She looked years younger.

  His eyes scanned the crowded area. More and more passengers flooded the gates as boarding calls were made. He rubbed his jaw trying to brush away the exhaustion.

  So which image are you today, Francine Russo?

  Braxton swiped away her photo and replaced it with the map. Was it possible he missed something? And yet, there was the red light, beating like a heart, stationary like she was sitting somewhere close by.

  The system wasn’t advanced enough to show him the exact location. Just the area. Any movement came in tiny increments, jerky and delayed by a second or two. Yet, HQ had been able to direct him to Gate G2. They even gave him the flight, time, number and seat. He didn’t ask how they managed to accomplish that. He supposed they’d gotten the information the same way they’d known that Deacon Kaye had hacked into the corporate server.

  He couldn’t help but smile at the irony. The same company that hacked into federal computers without a hesitation were surprised and offended to find their own system so easily exploited. And by two guys barely out of college. The corporation had gotten too big, too ballsy. They thought they were infallible. Just like the Titanic.

  He smiled to himself. He liked reading historical books. The Titanic was his latest fascination. Not just the event but the ramifications the sinking of the unsinkable had on an entire era. The ripple effect.

  His stomach growled reminding him that coffee and a protein bar had been too many hours ago. Hunger pangs only added to his frustration. Maybe this job would be his last. He had enough stashed away to take a long vacation. A cabin in the mountains. He could hike, read, fix himself gourmet meals and sip some of the expensive wines he’s collected.

  He glanced across the noisy, bustling crowd. Rex’s head and eyes continued to pivot on massive shoulders. Everyone discounted the man as a dim brute. That caveman forehead didn’t help. But those beady eyes missed very little. He reminded him of a huge lizard of dinosaur proportions. He’d never tell the man to his face that that was exactly how he’d come up with the nickname. Rex, short for T-Rex. Although he suspected he might actually appreciate the dinosaur comparison. Maybe not the lizard.

  Bottom line, the man followed orders and was loyal to a fault. In this business those two traits were invaluable and had saved him more times than he liked to remember.

  On his phone’s screen the red dot pulsed, possibly moving but very little. She was still here...somewhere. He stretched his neck to see above and in between the crowd. He needed to quiet his stomach.

  He tapped the earbud and told Rex, “I’m gonna grab a quick sandwich. You want anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  Of course, he was good. He’d downed three fast-food breakfast sandwiches between hits. The man could wolf down food no matter the circumstances.

  He saw a vendor on the other side. The line didn’t look long. He wasn’t thrilled about a plastic-wrapped pre-made sandwich but it’d have to do. He waited for a janitor and cart to pass then he weaved his way through traffic.

  15

  CHICAGO O’HARE INTERNATIONAL Airport

  In the back her mind Frankie kept telling herself, just be exactly what people expect to see. Walk with purpose. But not too fast. Get to the next bathroom. But again, not too fast. Remember, you don’t enjoy cleaning toilets so much that you’re in a rush. Keep it slow.

  People stepped aside for the moving cart, but no one really took time to look at her. In a matter of seconds she was steering the cart right by Gate 2, the mop handle bouncing around in front of her. A broom was slid into the left side of the cart with its bristles obscuring her vision, but it also would partly obscure her face. Still, when she saw the man with the scar every nerve ending came alert. He was looking up the ramp, watching for new passengers coming to the gates from the security checkpoint. She would be in his line of vision the entire trip. Would he notice something different about the woman pushing the cart?

  Her heart already pounded in her ears. Would she even hear if the real janitor started yelling at her?

  Passengers engulfed her on both sides, going both ways. She stayed close to the right, plodding along with a steady pace. She didn’t stop for anyone, didn’t weave around. A straight line. Boarding calls blared around her. People talked on cell phones. Families scurried to keep up with each other. Passengers bumped each other’s roller suitcases without slowing and without apology. And Frankie just kept moving, pushing the cart, hoping to not meet up with another janitor pushing another cart.

  The whole time she could feel the presence of the man with the scar. He was now behind her, his eyes on her back. Only a bit farther and she’d turn a corner to an open concourse with several paths to other gates. She tried to picture exactly where the escalator was. He wouldn’t be able to see her once she turned that corner.

  Unless he was walking up and down the ramp looking for her. He might be right behind her, right now. She didn’t dare glance back.

  She hugged the wall.

  Almost there.

  She turned right. Ten feet away was another women’s restroom. Frankie guided the janitor cart into the entrance and waited for a group of women to exit. She did a quick scan to make sure no one could see her then she dug her bags out from deep inside the trash container. She didn’t even care that her backpack now had something disgusting hanging from it. She simply brushed it off, shouldered both bags and left.

  This time her eyes darted around searching for the man while she headed for the escalators. Walking briskly.

  Don’t run.

  Once she hit the bottom it was an effort to keep from breaking out in a sprint.

  Just keeping walking. Blend in.

  She glanced up at signs directing passengers, but Frankie really didn’t need them. She knew exactly where to go. While other passengers moved toward baggage claim she rushed to the exit. As soon as she walked out the door she gulped in the blast of fresh air. It didn’t matter that it was filled with the fumes of gasoline and diesel. It was one step closer to escaping.

  A shuttle started to leave, and she raised her hand, getting the driver’s attention. He stopped. The side door slid open, and Frankie bounded up the steps. The door slid shut, and they were moving again, almost knocking her off her feet. She purposely by-passed several open seats. Her eyes darted out the windows. She wanted to see if the man with the scar had followed her outside. She tried to watch while she teetered down the aisle.

  Very few passengers dared to look up at her and away from their phone screens. Most of the time it annoyed Frankie how glued people were to their electronic devices. Today, she was grateful for those same obsessions. She didn’t want anyone to see the panic and urgency on her face, in her gestures. She made her way to the back, an empty bench all to herself. Only now did she realize she was out of breath.

  No time to rest. She dug out her cell phone. She turned it on and ignored the messages binging and lighting up. Instead, she brought up the rental car service still bookmarked. Not the one McGavin Holt always had her use. The one her boyfriend...ex-boyfriend had a membership with. The one he’d asked her to use when she arranged their weekend getaway before Christmas. Before she knew the lying son of a bitch was banging his fitness trainer. The fitness trainer who used to be Frankie’s friend. In single swoop, she
’d lost her two closest friends.

  Forget about it, she told herself. She couldn’t think about that right now.

  What impressed her was how his rental car membership made it so easy and convenient. She brought up the website. She still remembered his gold card membership number, his user name and password. She even remembered his VISA number. Details, numbers—she had a knack. Call it payback. The best part—even though she was listed as a secondary driver, no one could track the rental car to her. It would be in his name.

  In a matter of seconds, she had an SUV reserved. A few minutes later, her watch vibrated, letting her know she had a new email. She logged into her account and there waiting was the confirmation number along with the parking stall number. The keys would be in the vehicle, and it would be ready to go when she arrived in the next ten to fifteen minutes.

  Okay, so this would just take her longer. She should have thought of this sooner. She could have saved herself the cost of a flight and the near confrontation with Tyler’s attacker. She shut down her phone. Tossed it into her bag and told herself she’d need to use the pre-paid phones from here on out. And as soon as she got outside of the Chicago area she would call Hannah, again.

  She leaned her head against the back of the seat. She could relax if even for a short time. And yet, her heart still pounded in her ears. Without glancing down, she knew her hands were shaking.

  She’d be okay. She just needed to get away from Chicago. Lose these guys. Whatever was going on, Hannah would help her figure out what to do.

  16

  OLD EBBITTS GRILL

  Washington, D.C.

  Maggie O’Dell arrived late. But she had a good excuse. This was the third time in less than a month that her boss had called her into his office for an unscheduled meeting. Twice before the impromptu summons seemed like a waste of time to Maggie. Checking and double-checking on reports that had already been submitted. In hindsight, Maggie now wondered if those two call-ins were simply practice runs for today. Because today’s meeting was a doozy.