The Assassin's Wife

by Roger Weston

  Her mouth began to move to tell him to leave her alone when the maid opened the door. The maid stared at the guns and the cash on the floor.

  She shot a look at Meg and her eyes showed confusion that changed to shock and recognition. “Lo Ciento,” she said, closing the door. “Sorry.” Meg heard the maid’s feet hurrying down the hallway.

  Meg gathered everything into the box and put on the blond wig that matched her false ID. She ran down the hall holding the box under one arm and lightly tapped three times on Neil’s door, her hand shaking. She leaned against the door and whispered, “Neil, Neil, let me in.” He was slow to respond, but finally the door came open.

  Her eyes darted around as she entered his room.

  “I see you’ve taken my advice,” he said. “You look very different.”

  “The maid saw my gun. She’s going to tell them.”

  “You have a gun?”

  “Yes, I found it in the box. Hurry. We need to leave. I need to get to Seattle.”

  “What else was in the box, Meg?”

  “Just some paper work. Can we just go now? I’m scared. The police will be here any minute. They think I killed my husband. Please, Neil, help me.” She turned to go, her hands shaking even more now.

  Neil grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Meg, get a hold of yourself. I’ll gather my stuff, and we will walk calmly out of here, okay? Don’t attract any attention.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Marcel parked the car at the Sundowner by the airport. He nodded at Glen, who was chewing on his lower lip while he studied a map.

  “Take a walk,” Marcel said. “Hang around behind the hotel. I’ll wait a couple of minutes for you to get in place. If they come that way, you know what to do, right?”

  Glen nodded and left.

  Marcel turned up the air conditioner. Not a bad way to live, he thought. The hunt was always exciting. Anything could happen at any time. It was sure as hell better than eating lunch on a slag heap in West Virginia, spitting up black phlegm and blood and knowing damn well that he was in a trap he could never find the will to get out of. Thank you, old man. Thank you for firing me because I didn’t have the guts to face the fear of uncertainty. I would have died of black lung, but you saved me, old man, saved me from my passive nature. You taught me that I must live by action. You gave me the courage I lacked and made a man out of me. Thank you for showing me a better way.

  Marcel turned down the air conditioner and looked at the hotel. No, this wasn’t a bad way to live at all. Better to be a hunter than a caged animal. His gaze drifted across the cars in the parking lot.

  He went into the hotel. The smell of window cleaner drifted in the air. The front desk clerk was a young girl, probably a high school drop-out. She glanced at him with bold eyes, as if she knew all about men like Marcel, what they wanted and how to handle them. He’d seen the look a hundred times before. He smiled at her in a way that spoke of the kind of possibilities she hoped for. He noticed that a maid was dusting an oak side table.

  “Lieutenant Jenkins, FBI,” Marcel said, flashing his fake badge. “Need to ask you a few questions.”

  The clerk smiled back, her expression showing approval. Marcel knew instantly that she was just another bored young person who was desperate to fill her life with a bit of excitement.

  Marcel held up photos of Neil and Meg.

  The girl studied them closely. “I don’t recognize them,” she said, “but I just came on duty.” She looked disappointed.

  “Got any Coles or Hagermans for guests?”

  She did a quick search of her ledger. “No. Sorry, sir. What did they do anyway?”

  “Haven’t you been watching the news? She’s wanted for murder and theft.”

  She sighed and her shoulders drooped. “Can I see the photos again?”

  Marcel showed her.

  “I’ll call you if they show up.”

  Marcel wasn’t paying attention to the front desk clerk anymore. He noticed the way the maid was looking over at the photos while she absently rubbed the table with a dusting cloth.

  “Have you seen them?” Marcel said.

  “No,” she said. “No vi nada.”

  “Don’t worry,” Marcel said. “You’re in no trouble. You have nothing to worry about.” Marcel pulled out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to her. “This is for you.” She hesitated, then took it.

  “If you help me, I’ll give you four more.”

  She nodded, and he followed.

  The maid stopped in front of Meg Coles’ hotel room. “Aqui,” she said.

  “Tell them you need to clean,” Marcel said. “Then open the door.”

  The lady knocked, but there was no answer. “Maid service,” she said, sliding the card key through the reader. As she pushed the door open, Marcel brought out his .45 and swung it over her shoulder. Not exactly standard FBI procedure, but he wasn’t exactly FBI, and he certainly wasn’t about to get blown away by Neil Hagerman.

  The room was vacated, but he kept his gun out until after he’d checked the bathroom.

  The maid pointed at the rug. “Money...guns…everywhere. She robbed a bank. I know it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Marcel said. “Here, take this and go.” He stuffed the bills into her apron, and she turned and walked down the hall. He shook his head and started for the car.

  A woman came out of the next room. “Are you a cop?”

  “Yes.”

  “I heard you talking through the door. I saw them. I recognized her from the news, but my boyfriend told me I was wrong.”

  “Nice guy,” Marcel said.

  “I was going to call, but Ron told me not to. Anyway, they were driving a blue Subaru. I saw them get on I-84 heading west. They just left.”

  “You know, I think you should get rid of that guy. Don’t let anyone tell you what you should do.” Marcel turned and started jogging toward his car.

  CHAPTER 11

  Just as Meg walked out of the bathroom at the highway rest stop, Neil approached her and slipped his arm under hers. “We’ve got a new ride,” he said.

  She stopped. “What?”

  “You said you wanted to go to Seattle. We won’t get far in your Subaru, especially with that broken window. Ah, hell, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who we are, even with the wig you have on.”

  “Where did you find a car? Where is it?”

  “A nice man with a motor-home agreed to take us.”

  “Really, he did? Let’s go.”

  A young guy with two little kids walked by. Neil nodded at him and said, “Hey.”

  The guy nodded back.

  After getting the wood box from her car, Meg walked with Neil toward a shiny motor-home with a Prius behind it on a tow rig.

  “Okay, just don’t say anything. Hop in.” Neil gently held her arm guiding her towards the door.

  “Where’s the owner?”

  “Don’t worry. He’s in the back. You’re an actress, right? It’s time to use those skills. Play along.”

  “Are you crazy? What are you doing?”

  “Keeping you alive.”

  Neil opened the passenger door and nudged her in.

  A moment later, Neil climbed into the driver’s seat and put the rig in gear.

  Meg looked back. A man with a pillow case over his head lay on the couch, evidently not conscious.

  Meg was about to say something, but Neil put his finger to his lips, indicating silence. He leaned over and whispered, “He’s fine. He just got knocked out. Remember, play along.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Marcel drove into the rest area along the freeway and parked several spaces down from the Subaru. He’d ditched Glen back at the hotel. He preferred to work alone. Worked better that way. Scanning the setting, he noticed a dozen other cars in the area. Travelers mulling around, stretching their legs and using the restroom. Cars whizzing by on the freeway. He couldn’t take them out here, but now that he had contact, they were his.
He would follow them and wait for the right time.

  Marcel got out and wandered over by the Subaru, dropping his keys as he walked by the rear bumper. When he kneeled down to pick up his keys, he slipped a transponder under the bumper. He smiled, drifted back to his car, got in, and waited.

  The bird-dog would allow him to follow from several miles back so that his surveillance would not be detected. He sunk down in his seat and pretended to read his magazine. Oh, how he loved this job. So easy.

  Five minutes …Ten minutes…Marcel began to sweat in the heat. What was taking them so long?

  Fifteen minutes…He got out of his car and jogged over to the restrooms. He unsnapped his shoulder holster and entered the men’s room. Neil was not in there. He ran to the ladies room. A woman’s eyes met his in the mirror as he entered with his gun drawn. It wasn’t Meg. He kicked open each stall door. She was gone. He returned to his car and slammed the door shut.

  Damn. They’d made a switch.

  CHAPTER 13

  With the motor-home cruising down the highway at seventy-five, Meg did not talk to Neil or even look at him.

  She wasn’t going to just play along. What was Neil getting her into? Maybe she should have just gone to the police. The truth would prevail, right? This was madness. Oh, how she hated Eric. Because of him she was living this nightmare. She tried to sleep but couldn’t. Assassins kept invading her dreams and murdering her again and again.

  The man in back began to come around after twenty minutes. At first he just moved a little bit. Then he groaned and tried to free his hands. Evidently realizing that they were bound, he began to move frantically.

  “Don’t panic,” Neil said. “Don’t try to free yourself.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “You gonna make trouble? Is that it?”

  The man was quiet for a moment. “No, I won’t.”

  “We just need a short ride. That’s all. Shut your mouth and don’t try to free your hands.”

  The man obeyed.

  Meg sunk down in her seat, her heart thumping madly. What was she going to do? Eric did tell her to find Lomax. He will help you, he said. Yes, that’s what he told her, but why should she trust Eric? He lied to her for so long. Meg did not want to trust him now, but what else could she do? She would also have to trust Neil and Lomax. They were all she had. They would help her. She glanced at the man in back and then at Neil. Then she looked out the huge motor-home window at the Blue Mountains and settled back into her seat. At least she had Neil.

  Forty minutes later, Neil pulled off the freeway at another rest stop. He parked as far away from the other cars as possible. The bound owner held up his hands to be untied.

  Neil rose from the driver’s seat and walked to the back of the motor-home and delivered a sharp blow to the base of the traveler’s neck instead. The body went limp.

  Neil looked at Meg. “He’ll be fine. Get your box.”

  Outside, Meg watched Neil as he unhitched the car from the tow set-up on the back of the motor-home. She stood behind the big rig so that nobody could see her. When Neil was ready, they got in the car and drove away. The irony didn’t escape Meg when they passed Massacre State Park. She glanced out the window of the Prius at the patchwork of the valley floor thousands of feet below them. As the road descended into the fertile farmland, all she could think of was that Eric was dead, he was a liar, and she, drama professor Meg Coles, was now an accessory to kidnapping, assault, grand theft auto, and murder. She was on the run, a fugitive. She closed her eyes and wished it would all go away.

  CHAPTER 14

  After five hours of driving through the wine country of Eastern Washington, they again gained elevation as they drove across the Cascades through Snoqualmie Pass and then down again towards the sea. When they arrived in Seattle, they parked under the grimy Alaskan Way Viaduct that ran parallel to Elliot Bay. Neil grabbed Meg’s hand and pulled her quickly through the mass of parked cars, the traffic pounding above them like a herd of elephants. He pushed Meg behind the battered bed of an old flatbed truck that was parked at the edge of the lot which overlooked Puget Sound. Fifty yards below, boats chaffed against their moorings. A rusty tramp ship with peeling blue paint and the letters H.O.W painted on the bow rose and fell alongside a pier. Longshoremen worked steadily on its deck. A crane whined as it transferred pallets of supplies from the dock to the open hold. Piles of crates dominated the front end of the ship.

  Meg started walking towards the old tramp ship. She felt Neil’s hand take hold of her arm as he caught up with her.

  “Slow down. You don’t want to go down there without me. You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

  “Lomax is a friend of my husband’s. Eric sent me here. It’s okay.”

  “That means nothing to the people your husband was involved with.”

  Meg picked up the pace walking down a wooden ramp that went below street level to the dock. Neil stayed at her side. Meg noticed that as the longshoremen worked, they were looking over at her and Neil.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Neil said.

  The longshoremen continued to watch them as they moved down the gangplank. A couple of men moved towards them. One of them was a tall, gangly-looking body with fierce eyes. The other had anybody’s face and hid his extra weight under a loose-fitting jogging suit.

  “What can I do for you?” the tall, gangly-looking one said.

  “I’m looking for John Lomax,” Meg said, cutting Neil off as he was about to speak.

  “Can’t help you. Look, you can’t be in this area without clearance.”

  “Where is he?” Meg said. She noticed Neil shaking his head.

  “Never heard of him,” the tall one said. “Now you better leave the way you came.”

  Meg started around him and up the gangplank, but he grabbed her arm.

  “What the hell are you doing, lady?” he said. “You ain’t going nowhere.”

  A man appeared at the rail above. “It’s alright, Ken. Let her go. Bring them up here.”

  Meg gained the main deck and Neil followed. “I need to talk to the captain,” she said.

  For a moment, the man gazed at her then motioned for her and Neil to follow.

  He led them into a Spartan galley. The man sat down and smiled at her. “I’m Phil, and you are?”

  Meg sat down across the table from him. “Please, I need to talk to John Lomax.” She looked up at Neil who remained standing next to her.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Why do you think this—what’s his name?”

  “Lomax.”

  “Right. Why do you think you’ll find him here?”

  “I was told this is his ship.”

  “The H.O.W.? Where’d you get that idea?”

  “My husband told me it was. This is urgent. I need to talk to him now.”

  “And who’s your husband?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Meg noticed Neil lower his arm and reach toward the small of his back. Neil said, “Until you answer the woman’s question, her husband’s name is none of your business.”

  Phil studied Neil carefully. His smile disappeared. “Get something straight. You came on our boat. Your reason for being here is clearly my business.”

  “Eric Coles,” Meg said. “That’s my husband’s name.” She watched Phil carefully as his eyes made a quick movement. He glanced at Meg for a moment, then Neil.

  “So you’re looking for a guy named Lomax.” Phil shrugged. “Why do you want to see him?”

  Meg shook her head. “It’s private.”

  Phil made a dramatic gesture with his hands. “You come barging on my boat looking for a guy and you won’t say why? Do you want to talk to him or not?”

  Meg thought about how Phil had reacted to Eric’s name. She’d seen better acting before. “My husband has a message for him—a private message.”

  Phil nodded. “So you are Mrs. Coles? I don’t think so. The Eric Coles I know wouldn’t send his wife here
without him.”

  Meg grit her teeth. “My husband is dead. I need to see Lomax.”

  Phil narrowed his eyes. “Dead?”

  Meg began to sob. “Please, help me.” She lowered her head on the table and buried it in her arms.

  Phil frowned. “If you’re Eric Coles’ wife, who’s he?” Phil nodded at Neil.

  Meg talked into her folded arms. “My neighbor’s brother. He’s helping me.”

  Phil tapped his fingers on the table. “What’s your favorite play?”

  Meg looked up. “What?”

  “Your favorite play?”

  “Enemy of the People by Henrick Ibsen.”

  Phil smiled. “So you’re Meg?”

  She sat up straight and dried her tears with her fingers. “Yes.”

  “I’m Dave Lomax, John’s brother.”

  “Why did you lie to me?” Meg glared at him.

  “Sorry. Your husband recently warned me that he may have drawn some unwanted attention to my brother’s organization. My brother runs a humanitarian organization called Help on the Way.” Dave gestured to the two men who’d harassed them on the dock. “Your husband is the one who hired them.”

  Meg crossed her arms across her chest. “I don’t care who hired them. I need to talk to John.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s impossible. John left in our sister ship.”

  Meg gasped. “What? Left where?”

  “He was docked in Lake Union just a few hours ago. He’s probably already through Ballard Locks. By now he’s out in the open ocean on his way to Central America to deliver food and medical supplies.”

  Meg was quiet for a moment. “I’ll leave a number where he can reach me.”

  Phil nodded. “Wait a minute.” When he returned, he had an envelope and handed it to her. “He left this for you.”