Desperate Ground

by L J Morris

  James Garrison had a penchant for younger blonde women. It was well known by other members of the political class and covered over effectively by his inner circle. Unfortunately for Garrison, his close friends weren’t as close as he’d thought, and it was only a matter of time before he went too far even for them. The event that had brought Garrison’s political ambitions, and his already crumbling marriage, crashing down around his ears, had involved an eighteen-year-old girl and a father who couldn’t be bought off.

  As part of his political campaign, his team had created a backstory showing him as a devoted family man, a pillar of the community and man of the people. He was shown attending charity dinners, supporting his local, minor league baseball team and going to church with his wife and grown-up daughters. He became a patron of several community projects and a passionate supporter of military veterans. He was everything that a budding politician needed to be.

  Hannah Danvers, on the other hand, was a rising star of the high school political society: a group of young men and women who wanted to be the leaders of the future. They were willing to help out in campaigns to build up their experience and understanding of the democratic process and give up their spare time to fill envelopes and volunteer at fundraisers. It was at one of the party fundraisers that Garrison’s true character was finally exposed to a wider section of the voting public.

  Hannah was impressed by Garrison. She saw him as a future president and she wanted to be on his team. She was ambitious and saw herself working in the Whitehouse one day. So, when Garrison had invited her to his room to help him sort out some files, she was all too keen to go. It had never entered her head that the admiral, already drunk, had something entirely different on his mind.

  When Hannah had entered his hotel room, she was a young woman who believed she was helping a good man trying to improve the lives of others. When she’d left, sobbing and with her clothes in disarray, she knew exactly what Admiral James D. Garrison was.

  She hadn’t told anyone at first, how could she? No one would have believed her anyway; he was rich, powerful – a member of the establishment. Her father hadn’t seen it that way. He’d known something was wrong, the spark she’d once had was missing, and he’d pushed her until he got to the truth.

  Garrison’s inner circle had closed ranks, to begin with, but Hannah’s father wasn’t going away and the rape story gained traction. As more and more details of the admiral’s life surfaced, a growing number of his friends had simply walked away, unwilling to tarnish their reputations by being associated with him. His family made an attempt to settle out of court, to pay off Danvers, but he was having none of it. He had wanted to see his daughter’s attacker sent to prison for a long time.

  Garrison’s highly paid lawyers, however, knew their way around the system. As part of a plea bargain, they entered a plea of guilty to the lesser charge of simple assault. Taking out the sexual element reduced the offence from a felony – with a potential sentence of twenty years – to a misdemeanour. Garrison was fined a few thousand dollars and served one year in the county jail.

  He’d managed to avoid serious jail time but his political career was over, as was his marriage. Without the powerful positions and influence that she’d used to her advantage, his wife, who had tired of his drinking and affairs, had no reason to put up with him any longer, and walked out.

  Although he was let off lightly by the justice system, the media had crucified him. They dug into his past. There were allegations of other assaults, fraud, and bribery when he was in office, but there was no real evidence. The admiral’s contacts weren’t saying anything and he had no conscience; he’d shown no remorse. After a while the story died away, and on his release, he went back to his privileged life as if nothing had happened.

  He now spent his time at cocktail and dinner parties, a new circle of friends gathered around him. Willing to forget his past and put up with his boorish behaviour, hoping to climb the social ladder.

  Hannah Danvers wasn’t interested in parties, she retreated into her shell. She rarely left the house for fear of someone recognising her, the ambitions she’d had were gone; her young life in tatters. After two suicide attempts she was now a resident in a clinic, a retreat, determined to rebuild her life.

  Garrison had his own retreat. Every couple of months he spent a few days at Lone Star, rubbing shoulders with the same people who had publicly shunned him during his fall from grace. They couldn’t cut him out for too long though, he was one of them after all. He would get in a few rounds of golf, play poker, drink bottle after bottle of vodka, and occasionally pay for an expensive escort to join him. Young and blonde of course.

  On this particular morning, Garrison, nursing his usual hangover, had a reserved tee time with a high court judge. He wasn’t really in the mood to play but it was useful to have a judge as a friend, as he’d already found out. He picked up his golf bag, took a deep breath of morning air, and whistled as he made his way across the car park to the first tee.

  Bazarov drove the SUV up to the security barrier of the golf resort and showed the guard his reservation. The guard looked at the two newcomers. ‘Is this your first time staying with us,’ he looked at the names on the booking form. ‘Doctor Belov?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Bazarov leant forwards, closer to the guard. ‘To be honest, I’m really rubbish at golf.’

  ‘That’s not a problem, sir. You can book lessons with our pro. He’ll get your handicap down. He’s quite popular with the ladies who come here. Maybe your wife would like to book a lesson too?’

  Bazarov looked at Sinclair then back to the guard. ‘Oh, we’re not married. Alison’s a nurse at my clinic. We’re checking out your facilities for a patient of mine who’s looking for somewhere to recuperate.’

  Sinclair smiled at the guard. ‘I’m just here for the spa.’

  The guard laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ll both have a great time and your patient will be more than welcome here.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  The guard handed the reservation back through the car window and pressed the button to raise the barrier. ‘Welcome to the Lone Star Resort.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Bazarov smiled and waved as he drove under the barrier and towards the hotel. He put his hand on Sinclair’s knee. ‘Thank you for your help, Miss Sinclair. We make a good team.’

  Sinclair grabbed his wrist and twisted. Her other hand pushed against his elbow, putting maximum pressure on his joints. Bazarov was forced against the steering wheel and the car slowed to a halt. Sinclair looked straight into his eyes. ‘Let’s get this straight. I’m not here to help you, I’m here to help my friends. If I even think that you’ve hurt them, all deals are off and I’ll enjoy watching you suffer.’

  The guard at the gate watched as the car stopped, something looked wrong. He opened the door of his hut and took a step towards the SUV.

  Bazarov was in pain. From this position Sinclair could pop his shoulder joint right out of the socket; it wasn’t something he wanted to experience. He gritted his teeth. ‘Okay, you’ve made your point. You need to let me go now. The guard back there will be wondering what’s going on. If our cover gets blown and I don’t make it to the island, all your friends are dead.’

  Sinclair looked in the wing mirror. The guard was watching and slowly walking towards them. She released the Russian’s arm and he sat back in his seat, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Thank you. Now, let’s get on, shall we?’ He put his foot on the gas and the car continued up the track.

  The guard watched for a moment and returned to the gatehouse shaking his head. It looked like they were arguing – a lovers’ tiff. He chuckled to himself. Lots of people brought their mistresses here and he’d heard some wild excuses over the years, but checking out the resort on behalf of a patient was a new one.

  Bazarov parked the car and they each pulled out a suitcase, wheeling them noisily across to reception. Bazarov held open one of the doors. ‘Ladies first.’

  ‘Fuck you.’
Sinclair opened the adjacent door and walked up to the desk.

  Bazarov checked for anyone watching, he didn’t like being made to look a fool. If he hadn’t needed Sinclair for this part of the operation he would have killed her back at the ranch.

  His original plan was to grab Garrison from his room and bundle him into a car; it wasn’t the best plan but it was all he’d been able to come up with at the time. The first problem with it was that a group of men arriving here would stand out. Most guests were single men or couples, not groups. Most of his men wouldn’t easily blend in with the sophisticated guests at the resort. Then there was the potential problem of someone raising the alarm during the kidnap. He and his men could face the possibility of having to shoot their way past security. The police would be tipped off and the whole operation would be at risk. Once they were on the island any police involvement wouldn’t matter, but he had to get Garrison there or it was over.

  Sinclair arriving on the scene had given him a flash of inspiration, a new plan. An older man with a younger woman wouldn’t raise any eyebrows here. The plan to get Garrison out of the hotel depended on Sinclair’s cooperation. He would have to put up with her shit a little bit longer.

  At the desk the receptionist smiled and asked them for some photo ID. ‘It’s hotel policy for guests who are here for the first time.’

  ‘No problem.’ Bazarov handed over a driving licence in the name of Doctor Uri Belov – consultant cardiologist at a private clinic in Houston.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  Sinclair handed over the fake credentials she’d been given at the motel. Today she was posing as a senior staff nurse at Belov’s clinic.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Sutherland. Welcome to Lone Star. You’ll find information on all of our facilities in the pack in your room. Your rooms are adjoining, as requested, and if you need anything just give me a call.’ The receptionist slid two key cards across the desk and flashed another sincere looking smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bazarov looked at the receptionist’s name tag, ‘Christine.’ He picked up both key cards and handed one to Sinclair. ‘Shall we?’

  They rode the lift up to their rooms in silence. Bazarov took the key card from Sinclair and opened her door. ‘I’ll keep this for now.’ He walked into her room and unplugged the telephone from its socket. ‘Don’t want you getting any ideas. I’ll put it back later tonight.’ He unlocked the door that connected their rooms and went around to his, taking the phone with him.

  Sinclair checked for anything that might help her contact Carter to let him know what had happened. There wasn’t anything. It was a typical hotel room: bed, bathroom, free shampoo, and minibar. The connecting door opened and Bazarov walked through it.

  ‘I think we’ll keep this open. Make sure you don’t go missing.’ He locked the main door to Sinclair’s room. ‘And don’t answer the door.’

  He wasn’t going to let Sinclair out of his sight. She was going to have to go through with this and look for an opportunity to get away once they were on the island. She picked up the remote and turned on the TV. The news was still focussing on the explosion at Quinn’s ranch; it was the first time either of them had seen it. She pointed at the screen. ‘What the fuck is that?’

  ‘Just a little diversion, keep them busy while we take care of Garrison.’

  Sinclair looked back at the screen, shaking her head. ‘Somebody’s going to take you down, Bazarov. I just hope it’s me.’

  He switched off the TV. ‘That’s enough entertainment, we’ve got plans to go through before tonight.’

  ‘We don’t need to go through the plan again, I get it. We’re drugging and kidnapping this guy so you can do whatever with him.’

  Bazarov sat in the chair opposite Sinclair. ‘Garrison isn’t a nice guy, he’s no innocent. You’re wasting your time feeling any compassion for him.’

  ‘He might be an arsehole, but I’ll bet he hasn’t killed seventeen people already this morning and I don’t imagine he’s planning to nuke anyone.’

  ‘I’m only doing what’s necessary to get what I want.’

  ‘And what is that? What do you want?’

  ‘I want things to return to the way they were. I fought for the Red Army during the great days of the Soviet Empire. We were the most powerful country on Earth. Since the end of the Cold War, no one fears or respects us. I belong to a group who want to see those days return. We want to show the world that we are still powerful, we want to bring NATO and the Americans to their knees.’

  ‘You know they won’t negotiate with terrorists.’

  ‘So we will level their cities, and then they will dance to our tune. This isn’t going to be a quick hit. We are not going to strike them and run away. We are going to hold this over the West until they bow to us.’

  Sinclair watched Bazarov as he began to get worked up, pounding his fist on the arm of the chair to drive his point home. The guy really believed this shit. ‘And what if they nuke you first?’

  ‘They won’t have time to react to this. The missiles are too close. It’ll be worse than having them in Cuba. The mushroom clouds will be hanging over them before they realise what’s happened.’

  Sinclair knew she had to stop this. Bazarov was acting like a bad Bond villain. She could kill him right here but she had no way of knowing what he had ordered his men to do if that happened. How much damage could they do without him – without Garrison? ‘If you’re so powerful, why do you need a burned-out politician with you?’

  ‘Let’s just say he’ll make things a whole lot easier.’ He stood up and turned towards the door. ‘Get some rest. It’s going to be a long night.’ He walked through to his own room and left the door open behind him.

  Sinclair lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.

  Garrison sat in his room. His round of golf with the judge had turned into a long day of networking, but he’d made some valuable new contacts and you can never have too many of those. Now he needed to lie down and have an hour’s sleep to recharge his batteries. One of his favourite parts of a stay at the resort was eating in the restaurant and then moving on to the bar. It was an opportunity to flirt with some of the female guests who were here alone. Sometimes he got lucky, and he wasn’t going to pass up the chance of that.

  * * *

  Sinclair applied the finishing touches to her makeup and checked herself in the mirror. She was wearing red, high heeled shoes and a short, tight fitting red dress that accentuated her figure. Her scarlet lipstick stood out in contrast against her pale skin, and her blonde hair rested lightly on her shoulders. A pair of fake diamond earrings and a bracelet completed the look. It was a long time since she had dressed up to go anywhere and she had to admit that she looked good.

  During her time on the run she’d put on the weight that she’d lost in prison, and the cage fighting had kept her toned. At any other time she’d be pleased with the way she looked, but this was different. She was only dressed like this to attract a particular man so he could be kidnapped. Even though Garrison was a nasty piece of work, that fact didn’t sit well with her. In this situation he was an innocent.

  Bazarov came into the room and looked her up and down. ‘He’s going to think he’s hit the jackpot when you start coming on to him.’

  Sinclair sprayed some perfume on her wrists and neck. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’

  ‘You remember the plan?’

  ‘I’ll get him up here and drug him. The rest is your problem.’ She picked up a small handbag and gestured towards the door. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

  Sinclair opened the door and set off down the corridor towards the lift. Bazarov followed her. They were posing as co-workers who were having an affair, but when they got to the bar they wanted it to look like there was a problem between them. That would give Garrison the chance to step in and chat-up Sinclair. She would start flirting with him just to make sure he got the message.

  The lift doors opened
on the ground floor and the two of them entered the restaurant. Garrison was already there, showered and dressed up to the nines in his best ladykiller outfit. Cream trousers and a white polo shirt underneath a dark blue blazer that bore the US Navy crest on the pocket. He wore a large gold championship ring, from his football days in college, to show potential conquests he was athletic and strong, or at least used to be. A chunky gold watch studded with diamonds, and the pre-requisite medallion around his neck advertised his financial credentials. He thought it made him look irresistible. Sinclair thought he looked like a sad old man trying to recapture his youth. Flirting with him wasn’t going to be easy for her but luring him upstairs wouldn’t be a problem.

  They picked a table that was in Garrison’s line of sight but far enough away that he couldn’t hear their conversation. Bazarov pulled out a chair for Sinclair and they set about portraying an image of a romantically involved couple. To begin with their conversation appeared to be normal. They ordered their meal and some wine. She touched his hand now and again. Everything looked fine.

  Garrison couldn’t take his eyes off Sinclair from the minute she walked in. She was exactly his type. It was a pity she was with someone. Although she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so maybe he was still in with a chance. Lots of young mistresses were brought here by older men and some of them were into a bit of extra fun. Especially with men who had money.

  As the evening wore on, Bazarov appeared to be getting annoyed by something, and occasionally raised his voice before looking around the restaurant and dropping back to a whisper. Sinclair looked upset and, after a while, dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

  Garrison watched discretely, it was beginning to look like a full-blown fallout. That would give him the chance he was looking for, the chance to put his predatory skills into practice. What he didn’t know, what he couldn’t know, was that he was being played. He was being pulled into a trap that his contacts and his money couldn’t get him out of.