by Roger Weston
“It’s a private matter.” Meg got the feeling that it wasn’t every day a client walked in here. “I need to talk to Mr. Sikes right away.”
The woman nodded as if she’d expected this answer. “Tom is busy right now. Would you like to make an appointment?”
“It’s very urgent. Tell him Meg Coles is here.
“Tom isn’t taking appointments this week. He could give you a call on Monday.”
“Now,” Meg said. “I can’t wait.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Where’s his office?” Meg looked down a dim hall and started walking. “Down here?”
“Ma’am, that door’s locked.” The receptionist rose to her feet, but Meg was already moving down the dark hallway. She began banging on the door at the end of the dim tunnel.
“Mr. Sikes,” she called out, “it’s Meg Coles. I need to talk with you right away.”
Meg heard a voice then a phone clicking down on its receiver. She pounded on the door with her fist. “Mr. Sikes. It’s very important.”
The door came open, and a tall man stood in a white fog, cigar in hand. Tom Sikes looked Meg up and down with a serious expression.
“You’re Meg Coles?” he said in a gravelly voice.
“What did you expect?”
“I was told she was a young woman.”
“Trust me, I’m Meg.”
“Eric did say you were talented in the theatre arts. Very effective disguise. I’d like to see what you really look like. Come on in.”
Meg followed Sikes down another barely-lit hall. She matched her steps to his. The pace was set by the clicking of his boots on the hard floor.
His office was large, filled with only a few well chosen items. He sat on the edge of a heavy teak desk and motioned for Meg to sit in either of two brown leather couches, which were separated only by a matching teak table. A large warm-toned oil painting of a wild boar hunt decorated the otherwise bare walls. Meg moved through the haze of smoke and sank down into the over-stuffed cushions of the couch facing Sikes. She didn’t like that Sikes was looking down at her, so she started to get back up.
“No.” Sikes raised his hand. “I’ll sit across from you.” He eased onto the opposite couch and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on?”
“Eric …” Meg looked down at her hands and then back at Sikes. “He was killed.”
Sikes stared at her for a long time with dark eyes. He brought the cigar to his lips and shuddered. “Damn. I didn’t want to live long enough to see this day.”
Meg dropped her head and then looked straight at Sikes. “Eric wanted me to find out who his last employer was. He said you were working on it.”
Sikes nodded quickly and looked down at his cigar. The lines on his face tightened. When he finally looked at Meg, his black eyes locked on her. “I know why he sent you to me, but I never agreed with his plan. I can help you disappear, but that’s all I can do and believe me, that’s all you want to do.”
“Please. I need your help.”
Sikes put down his cigar, a ribbon of smoke trailing it to the black stone ashtray on the table. “I understand your desire to carry out his last wishes, but don’t. It’s suicidal. If you were my daughter, here’s what I’d tell you. Your husband was the best. He had many years of training and experience. If he couldn’t make it, then you have no hope to survive. Start a quiet new life someplace with a new identity. I plan on doing the same.”
“I agree,” Meg said. “But not until I finish the last job.”
“Not this one, Meg. I’ve learned to trust my sixth sense. You should too.”
“If I run, I won’t last a month and you know that. I need leverage on his last employer.”
Sikes looked at the boar painting on the wall.
“I have no choice,” Meg said.
“You do have a choice. Maybe they won’t find you.” He picked up his cigar and tapped the ashes off what was left of it.
“Tom, you know they will. Please help me. Please. I’ve got no place else to go.”
He watched her for a moment then took another cigar from his breast pocket and used the butt of his old one to light it. Once he got it lit, he smashed the old cigar in the stone ash tray with more force than was necessary.
“I met Eric when he was an intelligence liaison for Special Forces and I was with the CIA. One of the things I learned back then was that one person’s mistake can set off a chain reaction of tragedy. Eric would be the first one to tell you that. No, I’m not about to put my neck in your hands.”
“I don’t see why Eric ever trusted you.”
“Oh.” A sound of mock hurt filled his voice. Sikes looked down for a moment, his thumb and index fingers tracing his downcast brows. “Eric’s trust was well placed, I assure you. If it weren’t for me, he’d have never made it this long. I treated him like my own brother.”
“Then treat me like a sister-in-law. Help me.”
“Just because your husband lasted ten years in this game doesn’t mean you’ll last till dinner. You’re as green as they come. I’d be putting a minnow in a shark tank.”
“I’m already in it. Help me get out.”
“Damn it, Meg. That’s what I’m trying to do. You need to disappear. Spend a few weeks with me in another country. I’ll teach you how to live on the run. I’ll give you the tools you need to survive.”
“No. I don’t want to live in disguise the rest of my life. I won’t.”
“I can’t help you then.”
“You’re not a man of honor. I don’t know why Eric told me to come here.”
“I don’t either. This is a hazardous game, and it’s no place for the helpless.”
Meg stood up. “I’m begging you for help.”
“I’ve already told you what I’ll do. I’ll get you out of the country and give you the basics you need to survive.”
“You’re a coward,” Meg said. “You know very well that they’ll get me in time, but you’re more concerned about yourself than helping me.”
“You don’t know what you’re involved in. I’m giving you the best advice I can.”
“Either you help me, or I’ll reveal your identity and your part in Eric’s blackmail operation.”
He laughed at her. “You’re naïve, which is exactly the point. The person you think I am won’t exist in forty-eight hours. I’m sorry. I have important business and I’m late. Eric was wrong to ask you to carry out this scheme. You’re as good as dead, and I will be too if I stick around here any longer.”
Sikes started to walk away, but Meg pulled out a gun with a silencer on it. He stopped and looked at her with surprise.
“I admire your determination,” he said. “But you should never pull a gun unless you’re prepared to use it. I know that you’re a drama professor. Well, darling, this is no stage play. This is real life, and I live in a world where civilized tendencies lead to death. Domesticated animals simply can’t survive in the wild.” Sikes turned for the door.
Meg fired the gun two inches from his face. Two holes appeared on the canvas of the wild boar painting.
Sikes’ black eyes narrowed, and Meg felt his gaze boring holes in her.
“You make one move for that door, and I’ll put a bullet in your ass. If you think I’m just some domesticated drama professor, think again. In the last two days, I’ve survived three assassination attempts and watched half a dozen men die. Go ahead. Try to walk out of here. Betray Eric. I can hardly wait to put a bullet in your back side. We’ll see how arrogant you are then.”
Sikes’ expression softened, and the lines around his mouth disappeared. “Alright, I’ll help, but I warned you, so I’ve washed the blood off my hands if you get yourself killed.”
“That’s my problem.” Meg lowered the gun.
“Yes it is. Okay, here’s what you need to know. Eric’s last employer was the Harding Corporation. Harding is a ghost corporation. I’ve been working to link it up with someo
ne or some other organization.” Sikes got a file out of his desk. “You hole up for a few days and lay low. Go somewhere quiet and away from here. I’ll continue with my investigation on Harding.”
He scribbled on the back of a business card and handed it to her. “Here’s an email address and password that is encrypted and safe. I will send you an email in two days with more information. If you don’t hear from me, then I wasn’t able to find anything or they caught up with me, and then you’re truly on your own.”
CHAPTER 25
Sitting in his car on the main deck of the ferry, Marcel yelled into his phone. “An address, Kurt, I need an address. Get it to me!” Marcel threw his phone on the passenger seat, got out of his car, and walked up to the ferry’s observation deck. His long, baggy shorts and graphic t-shirt blended in with the summer crowd. He grabbed a handful of brochures from a rack, which he skimmed while scanning the passengers as they walked by. After an hour went by, the captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker requesting all passengers to return to their cars. Marcel watched as everyone headed for the stairs. He was the last one down. Upon arrival he disembarked, then turned his car around and drove back on. He climbed the observation deck again and walked to the bow of the ship and peered down at the arriving cars. Meg Coles may have gotten on the island, but she wasn’t going to get off it.
CHAPTER 26
Orcas Island
Meg left Sikes’ dreary office building and got in to the orange death trap. She would get off the island and head back over the mountains again. The thought of leaving this dreary climate and going to a different one lifted her spirits somewhat. More importantly, Eric had said to keep moving and don’t be predictable. Once in Eastern Washington, she would wait until Sikes delivered some dirt on the Harding Corporation.
She drove onto the departing ferry and pulled into the mass of cars five rows wide and at least thirty cars deep. Following the directions of the ferry employees, she drove down column six until another employee held up his flat palm indicating for her to stop. In her rear view mirror, she saw a truck coming up fast behind her. Too fast. If he rear ended her, the gas tank on the Pinto would explode. She jumped out of her car and ran, sprinting several car lengths before she heard tires screech. She turned around and saw that his bumper had just tapped hers gently. Meg took a deep breath of relief and looked up at the sky. When she brought her eyes back down, she saw a man standing up above on the passenger deck watching her, a man with baggy shorts, a graphic t-shirt and bulging arms. Their eyes met for a moment before he went back to reading his brochure. Eric’s words came to her: “They always blend in—always.”
Thankful for her disguise, she got back in the car and waited for the ferry to pull into the pilings on the far shore. When the crew finally opened up the gate, she was one of the first to drive off. She drove for an hour without stopping. Once she was over Snoqualmie Pass and had left Seattle far behind, she pulled off the highway. Already the landscape was so different from Seattle. The little town of Cle Elum looked like it was still in the 1950s. How that was possible she couldn’t understand. If only she could go back in time and stay there. Back when she trusted everyone except her father.
She pulled into a gas station where the pumps only had one grade of fuel and white numbers still turned on black drums showing how much fuel her car ingested. Mechanics fixed cars in the bay, and Meg had to go to the office to get a key for the restroom. She drove her car to the side of the station and parked in front of the bathrooms. She went into the ladies room, turned on the hot water, and looked at the old lady in the mirror. No, she couldn’t stay in the past.
She washed away all the heavy make-up and started her work. She opened the stage makeup kit and once again applied base color to her face. Gently working the cream into her skin gave her complexion a reddish-brown hue. She dabbed spots of rogue over the base color and rubbed it in to deepen the shade. She then applied blush above her cheek bones and smoothed it again. Satisfied with her facial coloring, she shaded her neck to match and then added makeup powder all over. Next she penciled in her eyebrows and painted her mouth heavily. After making sure that everything was blended, she put on a black wig and her sunglasses. She now looked like a classic Greek woman. She kind of liked it. Powerful. Sexy. Strong. She left the key in the restroom, got in her car, and drove away.
Down the road, she pulled into a drive-through that still used car hops on roller skates to deliver food. As she was ordering, she noticed a shirtless young man that looked like he spent a lot of time in the gym. He was sitting in an old truck from the ‘50s. Adjusting her sunglasses, she walked over to him.
“I love old cars,” Meg said. “Did you fix it up yourself?”
His peck muscles flinched. “My old man did. He gave it to me. He loves classic cars. He’s got four that he puts in shows.”
“It’s really nice,” Meg said. “How much would you sell it for?”
He shook his head. “Are you serious? It’s not for sale. Come on.”
“I bet it is for the right price.”
“I don’t think so. Come on, my dad gave it to me.”
“Name your price.”
He hesitated. “We’re talking thousands lady.”
“How does $20,000 sound,” Meg said, reaching into her purse. “I’ll pay cash right now.”
“Twenty-thousand? Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. I’ll give you the money now, and I’ll be back in a couple of weeks to transfer title officially. For now I just need a hand-written receipt made out to Becky White.” She handed him a scrap of paper and pen.
CHAPTER 27
Two hours later, Meg got off the freeway again and pulled over at a truck stop. She parked the truck and went into the mini-mart to get some food. As she stepped out of the store, she stopped in her tracks.
Three cars had pulled up around the truck. Seven teenaged boys were checking it out. One of them was running his fingers along its sleek hood. Two were kneeled down and inspecting the wheels closely. The other four were back a few feet admiring the ride with philosophic distance.
The boy who was touching the hood looked over at Meg and walked towards her. “Is this yours?”
Meg nodded. “I’m in a hurry. Could you move your cars, please?”
“What’s the big rush?” the boy said. “I was hoping for a ride. This is sweet.” He ran his hand along the shiny yellow paint of the vehicle again. “And I’m not just talking about the truck.”
“Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”
Meg’s heart squeezed tight as a police cruiser eased into the parking lot. She wasn’t sure who to fear most, the cop or the kid.
The policeman parked a few spaces down from Meg and walked over. He was a heavy man with a thin mustache.
“Hi.” Meg said to him as he stopped to size up the scene.
“Whose is this?” he said, indicating the truck.
“Hers.” A skinny kid in ripped jeans pointed at Meg.
The cop looked Meg up and down with more than professional scrutiny. “Is that right?”
“I’m just leaving, officer. They were checking out my car and I’m blocked in.”
The cop looked at the teens. “You boys move those cars out of the way before I cite you for disturbing the peace.”
The boys nodded and moved quickly for their cars. Engines turned and purred. Their cars scattered like yellow-jackets from a disturbed hive.
The cop looked back at Meg. “Well, they do have good taste.” Once again, he violated her with his eyes.
Meg put on her best stage smile. “Thank you, sir.” She stepped toward the truck and unlocked the door.
“It’s not often you see a nicely restored ‘57 Chevy,” he said.
“There seem to be a lot of Chevy fans around here.” Meg eased into the driver’s seat. Her wet hands grasped the large steering wheel of the beast.
The cop nodded. “Good day, ma’am.”
Back on the freeway, Meg berated herself for he
r foolishness in buying a car that attracted so much attention.
Blend in, Eric had said.
She hadn’t been thinking. The car was too flashy and her Greek disguise was too sexy. She wasn’t going to survive long unless she got smart fast. The last thing she needed to do was attract the attention of young men or grown assassins.
CHAPTER 28
Seattle
Marcel squeezed through a narrow maze of a walkway that weaved high above Ballard Locks. Families on sailboats waved up at the crowd that gathered around him. Fisherman worked on deck preparing for their voyage to sea. Marcel frowned at both from his mighty perch above. Meg had slipped by him again. Kurt had finally called with an address on Orcas Island for Tom Sikes but when he got there all that was left was an empty office with cigar stubs and bullet holes. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to find a drama professor. She was making him look like a fool. He wouldn’t let her get away with this. His phone rang.
“I’ve got another lead,” Kurt said.
“Where is she?” Marcel snaked his way out of the crowd and headed to the parking lot.
“A Washington State Patrolman reported a broad driving a ’57 Chevy. She attracted a lot of attention.”
“You call that a lead?”
“At the next truck stop the same cop came across a kid who was bragging that a lady bought his truck for $20K….cash.”
Marcel smiled. “Get a helicopter in the air. Follow the interstate east until you find the Chevy. Put watchers on the highway from Vantage to Spokane.”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER 29
Meg was driving on a back road in Eastern Washington when she saw the car. The large white suburban was keeping a consistent distance, had made two of the same turns she had, and was still behind her. She made another turn and the car swung into her mirror again.
Her heart leaped like a frightened fawn. She took deep breaths.
