Enemies Within

by J. S. Chapman

  It was her way of getting around to the subject of interest to them both. “Such as the money in my account,” Jack said.

  She didn’t show the least embarrassment. “Yes and no. Yours was handled efficiently. Hertford’s, CapTrust, and Cayman BWI are all associated with one another. It keeps everything in the family, so to speak. As Americans like to say, No harm, no foul.” She lifted timid eyes. “I find that speaking about money, large sums of money that is, works up an appetite. And a thirst.” Her meaning was direct and unmistakably suggestive.

  He signaled for refills. Having gotten past the preliminaries, they finished eating over business of a more direct kind. He admired her obvious assets and her evasive talents. It was clear she was picking his brain without being direct. He reciprocated.

  “Where do you suggest my client invest his assets.”

  “Once you relocate them, you mean?” She gave him a secretive smile. After swiping the linen napkin across her lips, she set it carefully aside and leaned forward, hands folded beneath her chin, eyes amused. “Shall we pretend I’m your financial adviser ... interim, if you will ... presuming, of course, you find your missing ninety-five thousand, which I trust you will.”

  “I’m all for pretending.”

  Her smirk exposed the crooked tooth. “You may wish to consider investing in gold, diamonds, or palladium. Metals are very hot these days, an ideal way of hiding whatever you wish to hide.” She looked down at her drained glass.

  He signaled the hostess for the check and said, “We can get one to go.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Sightseeing.”

  “Really?” she said with a little laugh. “Sightseeing? Sure. Let us see the sights.”

  They strolled along the shoreline, sniffing in the tropical perfumes, inhaling the sea spray coming off the water, exchanging casual love pats and brisk kisses beneath the stars while testing the willingness of the other’s desires against the hunger cries of sea birds.

  “Why don’t we go to your hotel room?” she suggested. He was tempted to take her up on the offer, but there was something too eager about her dazzling smiles and her oblique glances. And her directness.

  To her dismay, he saw her to her car, giving her a polite kiss through the rolled-down window. He didn’t trust her. Nowadays, he trusted few. Perhaps he was being too cautious. Most probably he wasn’t being cautious enough. When she drove off, he gave her a friendly wave. Her parting expression hadn’t been at all friendly.

  Pushing hands into pockets, he threw his head upward and washed his face in moonlight. The crescent moon was positioned high in the sky, reminding Jack of his aloneness in a vast universe. He turned and made his way back inside. The hotel bar was filled to near capacity, catering to vacationers wearing island clothing, flipflops, and newly minted tans, business professionals unwinding at the end of a tedious workday, romantic couples exchanging superficial conversation, and singles searching for hookups. Because he didn’t fit into any of these categories, he ventured onto the terrace and chose an isolated table where an outcast searching for hidden truths and elusive justice could be alone in his thoughts.

  He noticed a woman inside the bar, laughing with a bevy of other twentyish women, most blonde and blue-eyed, and one or two brunette and brown-eyed. This one was stood out. Asian from the looks of her. And exotic, from her nearly black hair to the supple way she held her body, to her glowing almond skin, rounded sun-kissed shoulders rising above a snug-fitting top, short swing skirt occasionally ruffling like a parachute and exposing red-laced panties beneath, and finally to the sneaking glances she sent his way. Her laughter was affected and her coquettishness, sublime. Her every movement was a pose, and her every pose a triangulated experiment to see what effect it would have on this or that man, but especially on the man sitting by himself.

  She lowered herself from the barstool and sauntered across the room, sputtering candles lighting her circuitous route. She stepped out onto the terrace, her slender figure silhouetted against the darkness. Her eyes briefly landed on Jack before searching for someone else. She approached a twittering group of likeminded young ladies as if she were one of them, though it seemed she was not, only a pretender who didn’t want to appear as though she were trawling the club alone. Just a working girl just trying to get by. Or a member of the lonely-hearts club, although with her stunning good-looks, it seemed unlikely she was hardly ever lonely. After introductions, they welcomed her into their clique, probably because she was one of their ilk though clearly a notch above, and added a touch of style to their middling group. Sitting amongst them beneath the thatched roof of the outdoor bar, giggly, flashy, and on the make, she was a fine specimen of a woman, probably in her late twenties. She was flirtatious and bare-armed and long-legged and a delicious morsel for any man with roving eyes. Her own eyes took an inventory of all the available men. That one was too tall. This one, too ordinary. The one over there, too boring. And the one sitting next to him, too staid. She ordered a second drink even though she barely touched the first. Her gaggle of newfound friends laughed at her ribald remarks and pithy jokes. She crossed her legs, one sandal propped on a crossbar and the other crossed at her knee, the posture emphasizing the muscled tone of her thighs. She planted her chin in the palm of an upraised hand and glanced vaguely around. A balding guy sat beside her. She twisted around and spoke to him, licking her drink rather than drinking it. Her eyes were moony and her eyelashes constantly batting. The balding guy chortled a trifle too loudly, joking with buddies gathered at a nearby table. It was a game guys played until the bets were placed, the cards drawn, and the hand exposed, even while the queen of hearts acted as if she were above it all, when clearly she was entirely engaged, though not with this lackluster gent. Oh no, she was coming onto Jack.

  She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place her, probably just saw her around the hotel.

  She held up a spiked fingernail and ordered a third drink. When it arrived, she twirled off the barstool, her eyes focused on a single man. She sidled across the deck, bringing along her drink, acting tipsy. She sat on the chair opposite Jack and leaned forward, placing the angle of her jaw against her fist and staring into his eyes. “My name is Dani. Dani Nguyen. What’s yours?”

  “I’ve seen you before,” Jack said. His comment wasn’t just an ice breaker. He had seen her, he was sure of it now.

  “On the beach?” she said.

  “Dani what?”

  “Want to have a little fun?”

  “Bet you have lots of fun games.”

  “You’d be surprised how many.” Her nose was small, her lips thin, her eyes blackest black, her cheekbones lovely, her skin lovelier, and her stare unsettling. Overall, a delectable beauty accessorized with dimples and audaciousness.

  “How much have you had?”

  “Only a little drunk,” she said, smiling wickedly.

  “I don’t think so. I think you’re sober.” He’d been watching her closely: what she drank and most especially what she didn’t drink. She might have been on her third wine but she barely touched any of them.

  She set down the wine glass, slipped out a billed cap from her waistband, and slapped it onto her head at a playful angle, making her look like a young boy up to no good. She smiled with her cheeks but her eyes were lackluster. “Only a little drunk,” she repeated.

  “You’re very lovely, but I’m going to pass.”

  She pouted. “You don’t want to have a good time?”

  “I’ve had enough good times to last a lifetime.”

  The smile disappeared. “You need someone to talk to, don’t you?”

  “Need more than that.”

  “I’m a good listener.”

  “I’m still going to pass.”

  “Have it your way.” She slid off the chair and ambled away, her bottom grinding as if to say he was missing out on a good thing, even though both knew she was trouble.

  18

  Georgeto
wn, Washington D. C.

  Monday, August 11

  LIZ HAD PROSTITUTED herself with two men. She couldn’t wash off the filth from her last encounter with Brandon. But now he had pimped her to the man she was seeing on a regular basis. Oddly, it came as payment due. It had been her destiny, and she accepted it as a child accepts carrots, disliking the taste or the texture, but licking the last chunks from the spoon because Daddy ordered her to.

  In many ways, it had been preordained that she and Senator Wallace Reed should become an item. Surely not as a couple, since he was already married. Or an affair of the heart, even if she was attracted to him, and he to her, though to a lesser degree. More than once, he expressed an abiding love for his wife and family, implying he would never do anything to jeopardize his marriage. Theirs was a business arrangement with appointments to keep and discretion to observe. At least, she thought, he wasn’t gross or kinky or mean or sadistic. When he came into her bed, he did it with lovingness. Not with the sweating, grunting, fumbling insistence of Brandon, but with a slow rise to perfection, a magnificence in the joining, and a caring in the aftermath.

  His head lay between her breasts while his hand idly traced the slopes of her body. “Know where Coyote is?”

  He arrived at her apartment gripping a bouquet of flowers, almost shy at what they had embarked on. It was both an apology and a thank you note wrapped in plastic. As they had on previous occasions, they got down to business without any of the usual small talk, merely removed their clothes like a tedious exercise and hopped into bed.

  “We think he’s in the Cayman Islands.”

  “Why? What’s there?”

  “The embezzled money.”

  It seemed to solidify something in his mind. “Right. The money.”

  She had no idea what Jack was up to, and didn’t care, that’s what she told herself. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’d like to talk to him.”

  There was only one reason a man in Reed’s position wanted to connect with Jack Coyote. Or maybe two. “And you think I can arrange it.”

  “You cared for him once.” Reed lifted his head, his eyes piercing hers with jealousy. “Maybe still do.”

  She could lie to him, but she couldn’t lie to herself. What existed between her and Jack would never be over.

  “If he gets in touch with you, tell him. He knows something. More than this Spinnaker thing. I want to know what it is.” His eyes were flinty, his jaw tense. The request wasn’t trifling. He was serious.

  She knew what he was after. He was looking for a political cudgel he could hold over others, and believed Jack could give it to him.

  “I met him, you know. The night you stood me up. That’s why you stood me up. You knew he’d be there.”

  She turned her head away. She didn’t want to look into his eyes. Or let him look into hers.

  “We talked. Guy to guy. Saying nothing. Confessing nothing. I don’t think he’s any more of a murderer than I am.”

  “Oh really? Like the insurgency in Venezuela. And the carpet bombing over Pakistan. Both on your watch.”

  “That’s different.” She had touched a nerve. She didn’t think men like him capable of embarrassment or shame or whatever they called it. Introspection? Possibly. Scruples? Maybe. Having a conscience? Hopefully. Fear of getting called out? Assuredly.

  “Somebody has to do these things. Stand for freedom.”

  “You want to be commander-in-chief. You want it so badly, you can taste it.” This, she decided, was the other reason he was interested in Jack. What better way to ingratiate himself with public sentiment than by cornering the notorious Jack Coyote, bringing him in to face trial, and making himself look like a tough guy on the side of law and order. It would be a win-win all around.

  “Sessions didn’t jump. He was pushed. He’s already become the literal and figurative fall guy. Just you watch. Everyone’s going to think him and Coyote were in it together. A win-win all around.” His voice trailed off. He was thinking. He was always thinking. Scheming. Strategizing. Picking allies. Targeting enemies. Angling for power. “Fifty million, they say. A lot of cabbage.”

  “Jack’s a hacker, not a bank robber. He was set up.”

  “Ah, lady, you’re a woman to admire. Loyal. True blue.”

  “Not as loyal as you think. There’s only so far he can run. Only so many places he can hide. Eventually we’ll catch him. And that’s where you come in. Isn’t it?”

  “Jesus. If this is your good side, I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” He leaned on an elbow. Delivered a kiss to her frowning lips. Smiled in the aftermath.

  The man never broke a sweat. Never got angry. And never picked a fight he couldn’t win. He was the kind of man who knew who he was and brushed aside everything else. He was also a man who could be manipulated in the talented hands of a lady who understood men just like him, men with ambition.

  “Do you know the reason I enjoy being with you?”

  “Sex?”

  “Don’t be stupid. The sex is good. And the body, lovely. But that’s not everything. Not by a hundred-yard pass. It’s the brains inside the body I admire most. It chugs along with beeps and clicks, sometimes letting me know what it thinks, other times holding back. I do believe I got my money’s worth.” He left a kiss on her mouth.

  He wasn’t sleeping with her just for the sex but because of what she did and who she knew, and more importantly, what she knew. “If you think I can get a handle on him, or anybody can get a handle on him by following the money, think again.”

  He tilted his head, his face skeptical, thinking she was having him on.

  “The offshore banking world makes it difficult, almost impossible for prosecutors to get enough evidence to bring a solid case.”

  “I can hardly believe―”

  “For three reasons,” she said, cutting him off. “Because most offshore jurisdictions refuse to recognize subpoenas issued by the United States. Because they hire only the best of lawyers. And because account information is hidden under layers of corporate shells.”

  He blinked once, his mood lifting, and his frown turning into joyful grin. “And so, my dear heart, you have proven the premise of why I need to learn what’s inside that pretty head of yours. You will be my link to Coyote.”

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Don’t have to. You only have to keep your ear to the ground.”

  “So Brandon keeps telling me.”

  “Except you’ll tell me things you’d never tell Brandon.”

  “Looks like we have one more thing in common.”

  “More than one.” The grin widened. It was a boyish grin, full of mirth and completely unguarded. “Brandon wants Coyote for his own underhanded reasons. I have nobler ones. I know what you think. What everybody thinks. That I’m just a handsome face with nothing behind it. Far from it, lady. We can make a deal, Coyote and me. He greases my palm by telling all. I’ll save him from the noose. Your agency wants him very much dead. You, dear Liz, want him very much alive. Because you still love him, don’t you?”

  She bristled. And started to get up. He grabbed her wrist and brought her unwilling hand to his mouth, unfurling her clenched fingers and leaving a kiss at the center of her palm. “I can live with that, Ms. Langdon. Really, I can. It’s nice to know you’re not as cold-blooded as you make yourself out. Your heat runs deep. Your morals, too, I suspect. You don’t have to deny your undying affection for him just like I don’t have to declare my undying love for you. We want the same things, you and me, but for different reasons.”

  “Such as ...?” Now she was angling for leverage.

  “Such as ... I can’t help wondering about President Lowell. How she rose so fast in the party. Who put their money behind her. What they expect to get from her in return. And who’s behind Spinnaker. If it’s Lowell ... or anybody else ... I’m going after them. Hearings, subpoenas, whatever it takes.”

  He made love to her again, stroking her in all
the right places with just the right amount of ardor. She wanted to tell him—and herself—that she felt nothing, absolutely nothing. Except she did.

  Between kisses, he said, “You pretend you don’t care about Coyote. And I’ll pretend you’re infatuated with me.”

  A frightening number of people in government couldn’t care less about the lives of everyday people. It was these sociopathic tendencies that drew them into public service. If the person sitting across from you is an object and not a human being, you can say and do anything to get what you want. Liz, much to her dismay, had joined the club.

  19

  Seven Mile Beach, Grand Cayman

  Monday, August 11

  AFTER TAKING IN a Vegas-style show featuring a second-rate comedian and half-naked dance girls, and getting slightly buzzed at the hotel bar, Jack took a swim in the hotel pool and returned to his room.

  Following a cold shower, he called Rupert Miller on a phreaked cell phone number. He had been trying all day, but knowing the kid never came up for air until the wee hours, wasn’t surprised. The friendly placid face met his eyes over the video connection. Most people looked fatter over video. Rupert looked skinnier. His breast bone was more defined above the rounded neckline of his t-shirt and his sinewy arms hung lankly at his side. Even though he appeared slim and wiry, he was all muscle. Jack would never want to get in a fight with the kid. In a brawl at close quarters, the dreadlocks alone could be punishing.

  “What’s happening, man?” A good guy at heart and a hacker by nature, he had helped Jack track down the fifty million. Depending on his mood, he spoke in the cadence of his Scarsdale upbringing, the Southern twang of his Alabama roots, or the hip-hop slang of his youth. They first met in a Severn County courthouse while both awaited arraignment on different charges, Rupert’s for hacking and Jack’s for murder.

  Jack filled the kid in on the missing hundred thousand.