by D A Buckley
“I also have an appointment…at the spa. Chao!” Aideen was up and gone in the opposite direction as Sergei.
Dr. Agoston opened her tablet and typed one word into the message box, “Today” and transmitted to Director, Project Luna-TICC, Propulsion Systems Division.
*****
It was Jared’s first time in Los Angeles. The LA traffic was horrible. The 101 Freeway to the 110 Freeway to South Figueroa Street was a congested mess. Still, he managed to arrive at the Westin Bonaventure Towers with a few minutes to spare. His instructions were simple and yet quizzical. Acquire a bag of fresh, mixed bagels from the Bagel Factory on Sepulveda. Ask for Millicent. Tell her you’re there to pick up the order for Madame Bavishni. Be sure to pick up some cream cheese with chives and a bottle of Martinelli's Sparkling Cider. Go to the Bonaventure. Take the elevator to the 12th-floor lobby. Be there at exactly eight o’clock. He had to admit that the ride up the external elevator provided a rather stunning view of the City of Angels. It was just getting seriously dark and there was an endless stream of red taillights, flowing like a stream of lava from some unseen volcano, on the westbound side of the freeway. As well there were the glistening white headlights of the eastbound side which seemed to him to be like a river of luminous diamonds pouring out of some diamond El Dorado. He also noticed a long string of luminous pearls in the sky stretching off to the east as a long line of passenger planes lit their landing lights in a very long approach to LAX. It was mesmerizing. He wondered if anyone else took the time to notice the beauty all around them.
Jared’s attention was brought back to focus when the elevator bell dinged announcing arrival at the 12th floor. He turned to exit the elevator at precisely eight o’clock holding the bag of bagels and extras like some sort of delivery boy when a very beautiful woman, he guessed to be Indian, blocked his exit.
“Please, remain on the elevator with me Mr. Jared,” the woman’s exotic accent commanded. Jared took a step backward as the stunning woman entered and selected the eighteenth floor. When the doors of the elevator closed she turned about and reached out her hand to retrieve the delivery from Jared.
“I’m sorry to make you a delivery boy for me, well, actually for my daughter and her girlfriends, but I simply did not have time to get these. They love them and she is having a slumber party while you and I have a reception to attend. You are a larger man than I expected. I don’t like to stand out in a crowd.”
Jared took another long look at her and thought, “I doubt that very much.” “That’s quite alright,” Jared lied. “Anything for a woman of your astonishing beauty, Mrs…”
“It’s Ms. actually. But you must call me Madame Bavishni,” she said while opening her Fuchsia Diamond-Studded Hermes Birkin purse with her free hand. “You are my escort and bodyguard for the evening. I am sorry but you must act as my bodyguard. You know, the strong silent type always brooding from a distance, a close distance you understand, but a distance. If anyone approaches me you will move closer as if to intercept. Our contact will approach me within half an hour of arriving at the reception. He will deliver a package to me. A small package that you must deliver according to instructions downloaded to your bicuspid. You Americans are so clever. A bicuspid,” she lightly snorted out of character. “After I deliver the package to you a replacement bodyguard will take your place and you must be off.”
“What a shame,” Jared answered with a smile. “It’s not often that I have the opportunity to spend an evening out with a woman of your eminence.”
“I think that you have been involved in this business long enough, Mr. Jared to never trust appearances. But thank you for the lovely compliment. I do, as you Americans say, wash up well.”
The elevator dinged once again. Jared made a move for the door.
“We are not getting off on this floor, Mr. Jared.”
A rather severe-looking woman was standing in the lobby as the doors opened. She too looked Indian but dressed rather more plainly and built considerably more roundly. There was a large man with a noticeable bulge under his suit jacket behind her. Madame Bavishni handed her the groceries and they exchanged a quick conversation in Hindi. Madame Bavishni stepped back into the elevator and inserted a keycard into an almost unnoticeable receptacle in the control panel. A short chime sounded three times and the elevator descended, without stopping at any intermediate floor, past the garage level. When it opened the sounds of classical music and the vocal sounds of many people enjoying a rather jovial party instantly produced a momentary sensory overload for Jared. He could sense everyone’s bioelectric signatures all at once. He could also discern stress in some voices, boredom in some, elation in others. It was the silent vocal chord conversations that were an amusement as well as a distraction for him.
“Harold quit picking your nose,” came one woman’s voice as she spoke to her husband on the other side of the room. Another woman’s vocal cords were more stressfully saying, “Why did I wear a thong? I hate this thing.” And the man in the corner near the window, “This itching is driving me up a wall.”
One woman to his left seemed quite distraught though smiling happily. Under her breath, she was saying, “Connie, if your husband looks at my boobs one more time, I swear I’m gonna shove a pencil in both of his eyes.”
A man just behind him kept looking at his watch. “Why does she do this to me. I’m always on time for her events. Why doesn’t she have enough respect for what I do, for how much I bring home, to show up on time - just once.”
From the Bartender at the bar, “I get one more request for a Singapore Sling and I quit. Whatever happened to American masculinity? The government is doing this to us with far too much soybean extracts in our food…”
“What a far cry from selling insurance,” Jared thought to himself and then he thought, “Why in the world would I think such a thing?” A picture flooded his imagination of Jackie standing on a rather plain looking desk and then vanished just as quickly as it appeared.
“Mr. Jared,” Madame Bavishni’s voice was adamant. “You’re my security…remember?”
“Yes, Madame, my apologies,” he offered as he followed her across the expansive ballroom floor. She was a stunning sight to behold. Her Jean Tschumi chiffon gown shimmered beneath jewel-studded Van Cleef earrings, necklace and morganite gem wrapped bracelet all supported by Jimmy Choo crystal suede point-toe pumps. She was a dream on two of the finest bronzed legs he had ever seen. Her physical balance and sense of place and purpose were so distant from the concerned mother making certain her daughter had bagels and sparkling grape juice just a few minutes before. She was enchanting in her seamless transformation to some sort of Mata Hari. But who was it that she was here to tempt into some sort of clandestine tete-a-tete?
*****
Jackie had unpacked and assembled the electronics left for her at the hotel room. She had activated the camera which masqueraded as a button on Jared’s tuxedo jacket. Another button was, in fact, a microphone. Wherever Jared wandered tonite Jackie would be the everpresent fly on the wall.
“Hey double-o-seven,” Jackie yelled into her microphone causing Jared to jerk noticeably from the surprise.
“How the hell did you get into my head?” Jared whispered shocked out of his romantic musings? “I was quite enjoying myself with Madame Bavishni.”
“You didn’t really think that I bought you that watch, did you?” Jackie laughed cynically. “What a dufus. You’re so gullible. It’s loaded with more electronic gizmos than you could possibly imagine”
“Gullible I may be,” Jared glanced angrily at his watch and continued to speak below his breath while trailing two steps behind his mesmerizing lead, “but, at least, I’m not spending the evening with Holly Strawberry, or whoever your room is decorated with. By the way, the shrimp cocktail and champagne here are wonderful.”
“I’m watching everything you’re doing there stud. And I might advise you to alter your staring eyes from Madame Bavishni’s buns and start scanni
ng the room. She actually does require security.”
“Please get your mind out of the gutter. The camera button may be focused wherever it is focused but I can assure you that I am doing my job…” Jared’s voice had become less discrete earning him a backward glare from Madame Bavishni. “Do I really need your squeaky little voice in my head for the entire evening?” he practically hissed.
“Apparently so. Man approaching from Madame Bun’s two o’clock. Face recognition has him as Alban Diehl. He’s hired muscle for an organized crime syndicate in the EU. German. Real badass. Now, get to work.”
Immediately Jared stepped forward and placed himself between Diehl and Madame Bavishni. This caused Diehl to stop his approach and lean sideways to his right just enough to catch Madame Bavishni’s eyes.
“Step back please, Mr. Jared. He is the reason we are here.”
Obediently, Jared stepped back two steps and clasped his hands in front, as he imagined a real bodyguard would do.
Jackie’s childlike voice tore through his concentration. “Just ask yourself, ‘What would Chuck Norris do?’ Maybe you'll fool him. Probably not though. You always look so pale…and giant.”
“Shut up,” Jared commanded under his breath.
“Alban, my dear friend,” Madame Bavishni beamed as she reached out to take his hand.” Air kisses followed as they both smiled broadly. Unseen to the crowd Alban’s left hand surreptitiously passed a small USB drive into Madame Bavishni’s right hand. “How are our friends in Frankfurt?”
Jared caught a glimpse of Madame Bibishni’s glare at Mr. Diehl. He was certain that the stare held no love for the man. Quite the opposite in fact.
“Productive, as usual, Maya. Not always willingly, you understand, but productive nonetheless. Trina sends her love, as usual.”
That name brought a dark cloud across Maya’s face. “Someday, my dear friend,” Maya forced a smile, “your line of work will get you killed.” She leaned backward laughing a very insincere laugh. “I promise you.”
“Not tonite, my dear Madame Bavishni, not tonite. This is neutral territory, is it not? As much as I love your adoring company I’m afraid I must be running along to my next appointment. I am meeting some delightful people here in America from a delightful organization. You may know them, the Crips. Delightful people, really. We have so much in common. Beautiful women, pharmaceuticals, hunting gear, pyrotechnics. Wonderful people…really. Where do they get their money from? Oh yes, the insatiable American hunger for things that only bring suffering in the end. The American dream, is it not?”
“Thank you for the package, my friend,” Maya released her grip. “Have a safe journey. I hear the sights in Compton are to die for.” The cryptic threat produced no visible reaction from Alban, but then he always did have a world-class poker face. She was comforted in knowing that he would not see the sun rise over LA, or anywhere else, ever again. His days as a wholesaler of international vice were ending tonight. Across the ocean, a team of free-lance muscle was picking up her oldest daughter, Trina, from a Spanish brothel. She would do what she could to redeem whatever was redeemable after she was returned to the US in a matter of days.
Turning, Maya motioned at a man standing at the bar in the center of the room. As he made his way through the crowd Maya walked past Jared and smoothly transferred the USB drive into his right hand. “Get yourself a drink. Take no more than ten minutes and then leave,” she ordered. “You look like an Art Deco kind of man, Mr. Jared. James Dean is expecting you within the hour.”
“Ok, Rambo,” Jackie’s voice rang in his ears. “Go get yourself a Bahama Mama, shaken not stirred, and then head up to the second sublevel of the parking garage. There’s a maintenance room there. It’ll be unlocked for another twenty minutes. Your change of clothes is there. You’ll find a silver DB-11 in space 17. Your watch will get you on your way. You’re dropping the package at…”
“I know where I’m dropping the package. Not really a difficult cipher, Mini Mata Hari.”
“Don’t break the Aston, jolly white giant. It’s a rental.”
*****
“Dr. Mathis, you need to come and see this,” Ramos’s voice was worried enough to cause Dr. Mathis to be concerned.
“What is it.”
“Well, it seemed tertiary to me at first but now I think it’s a bit more serious. Look at this data set.”
“Ramos, you know me no sabe that gibberish. Just tell me what it means.”
“Right, Doc. Look at this string. It is an error transmission from J1. Even I can’t write entirely flawless programs forever. A memory from his cover self, Ken Yano, kind of poked a hole through the firewall. It wasn’t much but it is a thread of memory that he may follow. If he pulls that string long enough, and he will, his separate identities will merge. We’ll lose him. If that happens do you want me to go nuclear here, or what?”
“Absolutely not,” Dr. Mathis practically yelled. We have over two billion dollars of taxpayer money invested in these two. MELTDOWN protocol is the last resort to prevent others from discovering them, not to keep them from discovering themselves. However, if it happens you will immediately activate the GOHOME sub-protocol. Override whatever systems you have to but get them both here. Has he communicated his little discovery with J2”?
“As far as I can tell she has received nothing from him. However, I am concerned about what will happen when they join back up. Once he is within a couple hundred meters of her their systems will sink as part of the data redundancy sub-routine. That may cause her to experience a memory recall of her own.”
“Which she, in turn, shares with him and that instigates further memory discoveries that he shares with her and this whole thing cascades out of our control.” Dr. Mathis stood motionless for just a few seconds to contemplate her options. “I’ll be in my office.”
“It’s come to that?” Ramos inquired.
“Just precautionary at this point. But you be ready Mr. Guzman. We may have to act very, very rapidly.”
“Copy that, Doc.”
*****
The well-dressed man spoke into his jacket sleeve and then approached the Vice President whispering into his left ear. “Sir, J-Squared Lead requests secure call-back as soon as you can.”
“Okay, Jimmy, as soon as we’re back in the car.”
“Yes, sir.”
Speaking into his sleeve again, “Sojourner requires secure sat-com during RTB.”
In his ear-piece a woman’s voice confirms. “Roger. It’ll be ready when he is.”
*****
Traffic having thinned substantially Jared’s drive to the Griffith Observatory, whose Art Deco style and monument to James Dean were favorite social gathering points for astronomical enthusiasts, was actually decompressing to his mind and his imagination. What a stunning beauty she had been. If only he could meet her again someday. She was much more to his liking than Mini-Mao, he thought.
Cruising along I-5 he kept reading freeway signs for Los Feliz. He had not been here before but somehow he knew where he was. The data downloads were amazing in their capacity to include quite trivial information that often turned out to be essential to their missions. But something else was happening this time. He was certain that he was, for the first time, recalling experiences from his other self. It was very curious indeed. The knowledge of both realities was curious. And what about that picture of Jackie on that desk? She looked very unpleasant like she was angry at someone.
“You come over here and I’ll kick your keister…” he heard Jackie threaten someone. He turned his head to the left and saw a reflection of himself in the car window. Then an image appeared in his mind. He was there in the room with Jackie. He saw himself in a reflection in the office windows. But Jackie was different. She didn’t dress like that. Jackie was speaking to him…maybe. Who was the other man? Who indeed? Perhaps Jackie was threatened by him and was trying to defend herself. “Why wasn’t I helping her?” he thought to himself indignantly. When did this happ
en?
“Oh crap,” Jared yelled to no one. “That was my off-ramp.” He didn’t mind so much really. He loved driving the Aston Martin. He was certain that he could get used to this clandestine lifestyle. He took the next crossover and reversed his direction of travel and exited this time at the proper exit. Crossing over the freeway he drove up Los Feliz Boulevard. He somehow knew to pass Vermont Canyon Road and take instead Fern Dell Drive which had many more curves. He really loved driving the Aston around those curves. He was very disappointed when he arrived at the observatory and had to actually park the car and get out. But he had to meet his mark in just three minutes.
