Baksheesh (Bribes)

by D S Kane

  Ann waited in the living room as Betsy Brown smoothed out the wrinkles in the sleeping bag she planted across from the fireplace. The teen smiled. “Thanks, Butterfly.” She sank into one of the armchairs and waited. Brown sniffled and rolled over, covering her face with one of the bag’s flaps. Nearby, Tyler snored on the couch.

  Ten minutes later there was a sharp rap in the front door. She peeked through the small one-way glass window. Two faces. One was a bodyguard, the other was Charles Breckenridge. She opened the door, smiling coyly.

  The guard grinned. “He said it’s a very late study date.” Ann suddenly realized that all the help already knew about her and Charles. She nodded back to the guard and touched the boy’s shoulder. Drawing him inside, she glared at the guard. “Thanks. With my parents gone, I’ll be signing your paycheck. She snapped the door closed, turned, and smiled at Charles. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Not yet I didn’t.” He chuckled at his pun. “Um, listen, my parents won’t be home at all, not for two days. Dad’s still at the sales conference in Hawaii. Mom’s court case in Miami was supposed to end yesterday, but the jury’s deadlocked. So, I can stay with you for as long as you want. Well, two days, anyway.”

  His face betrayed nervousness, and, to assuage it, she flashed what she hoped was a radiant smile. She leaned toward him and gently brushed his lips with hers. “Sure, C. Follow me. Be quiet.” She gripped his hand and tugged him behind her. In the guest room, adjacent to the one she used to call her own, she closed the door.

  He looked around. “I didn’t know you were a Megadeath fan. Wow. Heavy metal.”

  “She shook her head. “I’m not. For me it’s blues, all blues. My mom was teaching me.” She wondered how much it was safe to tell him. “Before she died. Don’t know who put that poster on the door.”

  He touched her shoulder with his hand and drew her closer. “Sorry about your mother.”

  She frowned, faking sadness, wondering if he’d buy it. “Well, thanks. Anyway, she left one of her guitars here.” Her smile was truly devilish. “Tomorrow morning if you make me really happy tonight, maybe I’ll play you something she taught me.” She watched his eyes light up with the knowledge he was being asked to stay the night.

  “But to have me as your girl tonight, you have to promise me something in return. Something important.”

  She watched his smile vanish. “I’ll do anything you want. Just ask.”

  She pulled her sweater off and reached behind her to unhook her bra. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone you were here. Promise me you won’t tell anyone what we did tonight. My dad would murder me if he found out. Okay?”

  His face brightened as he stared at her breasts, peeking from beneath the bra now hanging open. “Okay.” When she reached for the buckle of his pants, he stopped her. “Wait.” Before we go any farther, there’s something I should tell you.”

  Her face froze.

  “I just found out I got early acceptance into Harvard. In Boston. My dad called tonight and when I told him it made him so happy. It’s where he went to school, so it looks like I’ll be leaving for there in August.”

  Her hands fell away from him. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. By then I’ll be living somewhere else.” She turned away. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

  “No. No. But, see, I still, I, uh—” He turned her back around and lifted her chin. He stared into her eyes. “What I mean is, I’m in love with you. Can you wait for me?”

  Several divergent thoughts and feelings assaulted her. How could he? It wouldn’t work. She should have known. But what did she feel? Slowly, a new feeling built inside her. She’d felt something like it before. But this was deeper and more intense than what she felt for Lee, closer to how she felt about Cassie, and this was undeniable. Not something she’d sought. Unwelcome, yet irrefutable. This was a feeling she couldn’t fight, springing from her core.

  As Ann folded herself into his arms, the heat inside her overflowed like a volcano. She surrendered. Confused, at first no words followed. She stared back into his eyes. “We can try, we have to try to make it work.”

  He nodded, standing straight. Gently, his lips moved against hers. She guided him to the bed and tugged off his clothing.

  * * *

  At half-past eight the next morning, Ann’s eyes popped open.

  Charles’s arms were wrapped around her, his body hugging against hers as they slept naked. She felt his erection against her thigh. She sighed, still sleepy.

  She’d lost count of the number of times she’d satisfied him, but last night something different happened to her during sex. She couldn’t remember which time, maybe the third or fourth. He’d been so attentive, asking her what felt good, what felt better. He’d tried his mouth, his fingers, his hands on her breasts, her nipples, her crotch. Did this excite her? What about this? And he was so patient. Never before had she felt anything besides pain or, at best, just the pressure of touch.

  She’d almost told him to stop trying when she felt tingling in one of her nipples as he gently pinched. When he suckled at that breast, the feeling grew intense, and suddenly the spot his other hand touched at the top of her crotch exploded. The explosions grew bigger with every stroke of his finger. Her breathing quickened, and as he sucked her nipple harder, her entire body lit up in a bonfire, beyond any attempt she could make to quell or even control it. In seconds her feelings found voice; she shrieked. Endlessly, a passionate heat grinding her to jelly. She wasn’t sure when, but she was atop him, riding him hard, grunting and screaming. So, that’s what it was like. Her first orgasm.

  Now, she turned and kissed his forehead. Then, slipping away, she donned a robe and closed the door behind her. She found Tyler and the Butterfly sitting on chairs around the island in the kitchen, sipping hot coffee. She noticed they were holding hands. She poured herself a cup from the carafe between them.

  The Butterfly chuckled. “You didn’t sleep, did you, Little Nasty? And, you’ll pay for it today. What we have to do next is tougher.”

  Tyler grinned slyly. “Not Little Nasty. More like Little Noisy. You kept the whole house up. Noisy, noisy. Wing must be jealous. He snapped at me. Wants us to get started in less than an hour.” He sniffed the air. “You should shower first.”

  She sniffed herself and her face dropped in alarm. She could smell the sex they’d had.

  CHAPTER 27

  June 8, 7:45 a.m.

  The Swiftshadow Group headquarters,

  2099 K Street NW, Washington, DC

  Shimmel pursed his lips, deep in thought. The aroma of coffee filled the air from the cup on his desk. His face screwed into a frown. He held the phone’s receiver tight to his ear. “I understand, William. You did your best. Please give thanks to your team, and, keep them ready. We aren’t done yet. I think I have a way to get us past the barrier. We still need to know what Mastoff bought from the Russian mafiya in Vlad. And, what does Greenfield know that made him decide to short the stock markets?”

  Wing replied, “That’s about it. I’ve nothing to add. Call me when you need us again. Wing out.”

  Shimmel sighed. They were still nowhere. He wondered what the Bank of Trade had to do with this? He considered Jon Sommers and Sandra Rubin. What were their roles? Was there more buried in this than he’d previously thought? No answers were apparent at this moment.

  He shook his head, opening his email to send a note of thanks to Sashakovich. He’d barely keyed three words when his computer chimed with an incoming message. Its subject line read: “Urgent Request for Assistance.”

  He decided to complete writing the email to Cassie first. Ten minutes later, he opened the request:

  Most esteemed gentlemen warriors—

  We are leaders of an underground resistance group opposing our government in Iran. We have funds enough to accomplish our limited missions without military support. However, our need is for your hackers to determine weaknesses of our religious leaders so we can dispatch them to Allah at
Godspeed.

  We are prepared to pay you for your services in untraceable bearer bonds, half in advance, and to provide baksheesh to any parties who can provide their magnificent services to our humble selves.

  You shall remain our sole source of prospective help for two weeks from today, or until you provide us with a message reply that determines a lack of interest. If so, or should you fail to reply, we shall seek help of another.

  With due regard, respect and thanks to Allah,

  —The Right Hand of Mohammad

  He’d heard rumors of the group’s existence. It consisted of students and merchants, dissatisfied with the constraints imposed by the authoritarian Ayatollah’s rule. And, to ensure that the group’s leaders stayed safe, there’d need to be plenty of baksheesh, sometimes called pishkesh, or bribery. The grease that propels commerce, promotes education, and enhances personal power and happiness. Money. It could buy a man’s or woman’s allegiance. It could convert someone from a barrier to a conduit.

  Shimmel smiled. He’d used baksheesh when he worked for Mossad. His mind drifted back to his current pressing problem. Mastoff and the Russian mafiya, and Greenfield. That’s when it hit him. To keep Mastoff’s purchases secret, there’d have to be a trail of payoffs. Baksheesh. And baksheesh could be backtraced.

  He hit redial on his landline. He needed to speak with Wing again.

  So, who received the baksheesh?

  CHAPTER 28

  June 8, 8:12 p.m.

  Reagan International Airport,

  Washington, DC

  April O’Toole’s cellphone used its GPS to locate her objective. She drove the highway from Reagan toward Chevy Chase, religiously listening to the GPS instructions. When she exited onto city streets, it suddenly became silent. “Shit, where do I go now?” Silence. Suddenly it made a loud pop. She froze.

  “Make right in 125 meters.” For some crazy reason, the cell was set to the metric system. She’d used the metric system extensively when working as an investigative journalist in Europe, but it still surprised her to hear it. She swung the wheel and made the indicated turn. “Make U-turn and then turn left in three meters.”

  She slammed on the brakes and pulled to the curb. “What the fuck?” April scratched her forehead. She pulled the map she’d brought with her. Staring at the GPS first, then the map, she was totally confused. The maps differed significantly. She rolled from the curb and slowly shifted her eyes left and right looking for the street both the GPS and the map indicated should be her next turn. But which way?

  Two blocks past either of the two directions of the indicated turns, she saw the green street sign for East Kirke Street. She turned right, moving down a street with huge homes behind high brick walls. The GPS claimed, “You have arrived at your destination.”

  But where? She scanned the houses, looking for anything to indicate her target location. She noticed one of the smaller houses behind the highest fence had heavily armed men and women patrolling the grounds. Jeez.

  Number 220 East Kirke Street. She exited the car carrying her attaché case and walked to one of the men. “William Wing asked me to meet him here. I’m O’Toole.”

  The man searched her attaché case, and a tall woman patted her down for weapons and searched her for a wire. Even ran a wand down her body to scan for bugs. When the woman nodded, the man pulled a cellphone from his jacket. “JD here. Please get Wing to the phone.”

  It took two minutes before the man who called himself JD escorted her through the front door. Wing was almost a foot shorter than she was. He took her to the kitchen, and told JD, “You can go. She’s harmless.” A man and a woman sat at the dining room table. She was tiny but had a huge nose, and one of her eyes was brown, the other green. The man was tall and gaunt, bearing a fearsome frown. Wink pointed to her. “April O’Toole.” Then to the tiny woman. “Betsy Brown. Her nickname is ‘the Butterfly.’” Then to the seated man. “And this here is Sam Tyler. Have a seat.”

  A teenage girl with dirty-blonde hair poked her head through the kitchen. “Anyone want something to drink?”

  Wing said, “This is Ann. I’m teaching her computers. She has the gift. Someday she’ll be the best.”

  The Butterfly’s mouth smirked. “Not for a while. Right now it’s either William or me.”

  Ann returned with several cans of soda. She sat at the table looking wary. “Can I stay?”

  Wing nodded and Ann made herself comfortable. He pointed to April. “So what have you got for us?”

  April noticed that they all had notebook computers at the table. “Well, I’ve been working the same story for months. No results until a few days ago. I’m afraid you know more than I do. But I can offer you something you need. Tell me what you know and I can get it into the newspapers.”

  The other three looked at each other, seeking consensus. April prayed they’d give her access.

  “Okay by me.” Wing looked at the Butterfly and she shrugged.

  But Ann shook her head. “Not good enough. We have a secret that no one can ever know. If you agree, we have final say over publishing anything we tell you. If you agree, then it’s okay.”

  April thought about their offer. “What if I already know one of your secrets?”

  “No good. We control what goes public or you walk.” Ann wasn’t budging.

  April shrugged. “I guess I have no choice but if we disagree, I get to present my arguments before you decide. Okay?”

  Wing and the Butterfly look at Ann, who shrugged her shoulders. “Okay.”

  April wondered why Ann controlled them. “Ann, are you Cassandra’s daughter?”

  The look of panic on the young woman’s face was enough of an answer. April touched Ann’s hand. “I’m sorry for your loss. I spoke with Cassandra once. She was—”

  “She isn’t dead. That’s our secret.” Ann’s eyes squeezed shut. “But that was yesterday. She may be dead before tomorrow.” And like a dam that broke the young women began wailing, tears falling onto her notebook’s keyboard.

  “Where is she?”

  “You’ll see soon enough. Recently her mercs kept some federal agents from raping and murdering her. Then they tried to kill her, my dad Lee, and me. Why do they want my mom dead? Why do they want Lee dead? And me too?”

  “Because she dug around and found the ex-president’s dirty laundry.” April reached into her pocket and turned on the recorder. There was a beep from the fireplace mantel.

  Wing got up and reached behind a photo on the mantel. He clicked something there and sat back down. Held his hand out, palm open. “Please give me the recorder, Ms. O’Toole.”

  She’d been busted. She handed Wing the recorder, a sheepish look on her face. “I had to try.”

  “I told you we couldn’t trust her.” Ann’s hands shook. “Leave us. Go away.”

  Wing touched Ann’s hand. “Wait a second. We need O’Toole. He faced April. “If you want our help, tell us everything you know.” He turned on April’s recorder and dropped it onto the table in front of her. “We’ll keep it. How long will this thing run?”

  She bit her tongue. “Thirty minutes.”

  Wing nodded. “Then start now.”

  * * *

  O’Toole folded her arms. “I know at least one thing you won’t find on any computers.” Wing and the Butterfly showed intense glares but Ann looked as if she’d lost interest. “I know that those suitcase nukes Tobelov has, well, his brother told him to sell them to President Mastoff.”

  “Tobelov’s brother?” Ann had perked up.

  “Is Russia’s President. Has a different last name.” April had played one of her trump cards.

  “Holy shit. This rocks!” The Butterfly’s hands waved through the air as if she’d taken aim and shot down something flying over her. “And if that isn’t in any computer, then—”

  “I have a source nested deep. A former KGB covert who worked the mafiya after the Soviet empire fell. No longer active or available as a source.”

&
nbsp; Ann’s eyes popped wide. “My uncle Misha. It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “I never reveal sources. Why don’t you ask him?” April watched Ann pull her cellphone from her hoodie pouch and touched the young woman’s arm. “Wait. You can do that later. There’s more you need to hear.” She looked at each of them in turn. “I already knew your mother is alive. I have a contact at the FBI who helped me find that out. I knew about the NOCs the President hired to murder her. And I know something even more important. The sale price Tobelov demanded for selling the nukes to your President is your mother, dead or alive, delivered by Mastoff’s NOCs to the Vladivostok headquarters of the Russian mafiya’s eastern district.”

  Ann’s jaw fell. Wing and Brown stared at each other.

  Tyler shook his head. “That’s why he needed a new bank endpoint coded into Project SafePay. It’s in Vladivostok.”

  April faced him. “Tyler, what you know can make this story. I need you as a source.”

  He frowned. “And you’ll keep my identity a secret?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely.

  Wing interrupted. “What does the Russian government get out of all this?”

  “Dunno. When I figure out what Mastoff wants the nukes for, I may be able to offer some conjecture on that. But not yet.” April scanned them. “Now, tell me what you know, so I can fill in the blanks.”

  * * *

  They quit after dinner to recharge themselves. Ann found the bedroom empty. Charles left a note:

  A—

  I’ll be back before 9 p.m. Need to attend baseball practice after school, then do homework. I’ll make myself dinner at home. Then return to you.

  —C

  Ann lay on the bed and closed her eyes, trying to sleep. It might have been just a few minutes or a few hours later, but she couldn’t tell exactly. When she opened her eyes, he lay next to her in the bed, fully clothed. Somehow, her head had found its way onto his shoulder. She blinked the sleep away. “C, how long have you been here?”