We jogged back to the car.
No matter how you slice it, sneaking into an occupied city is a high-risk venture. Good news? The Allsops had around two hundred men to cover eighty square miles. Nobody could work twenty-four, seven, so at best Elliot Allsop had a hundred men patrolling the metropolitan area at any one time. Bad news? No matter how careful we were, at any moment we could run out of luck and chance across a black SUV.
We approached the city from the foothills northeast of town. Our luck held as we cautiously made our way into the city.
“Boise is lousy with empty houses,” I told Marcus. “We need to make our base camp in a spot that we know for sure is unoccupied. If the Allsops catch wind that we’re in town, it needs to be a place where they wouldn’t think to look for us.”
“Northumberland Heights is out of the question. Brody knows where we used to live,” Sunny said. “Mrs. B.’s house is out, too, because Jonesy’s been there.”
“You got some place in mind?” Marcus asked, swiveling his neck to scan the roads in every direction.
“Yeah, I do.” I directed him to an older residential neighborhood in west Boise. Following my instructions, he turned down a side street and parked in the driveway of a blue bungalow.
“Ever’s grandma’s house,” Sunny exclaimed.
“Yep. It’s an easy choice. We know for sure the house is vacant. Ever said her grandma sold her car years ago, so there’s room in her garage to hide our car. It’s centrally located, close to major roads if we have to book it out of town.”
I hopped out and rolled up the garage door. Marcus parked inside. We emptied the trunk and carried our backpacks and weapons into the house. Grandma had pulled down the Venetian blinds and drawn the curtains closed over every window before she left her home for the last time. Nobody from the outside could see us as we settled into the front room.
Marcus sprawled on a gold velvet couch, his large frame dwarfing the dainty furniture. He swung his feet up—as if to plant them on the glass-topped coffee table—then apparently thought better of it. Justin elbowed him. “Make room.” With a grunt of protest, Marcus tossed a brocade pillow onto the floor and wedged himself into a corner of the sofa. Sunny and I took the two floral chairs facing the sofa.
Justin spread a map of Boise across the coffee table. He pointed at a downtown location. “Allsop houses his men here. The hotel has two hundred guest rooms. Each soldier gets his own room. The hotel had an on-site restaurant, so the dining room is large enough for the men to be served meals together. It’s basically a fancy-ass barracks, although with limited electricity. They fire up the generators for only a few hours per day, to cook dinner and provide lights during the evening.”
“What’s the plan?” Sunny asked, clasping her hands together on her lap.
“The plan is for you to walk into the hotel tomorrow morning,” Marcus said. “Tell them you want a job. Tell them you heard that your old friend Georgia works there, and that she’ll vouch for you.”
“Georgia doesn’t know Sunny from Adam,” I pointed out. “How’s that going to work?”
“No problem,” Marcus lifted the lid of an antique glass candy dish. He briefly studied the piece of hard butterscotch candy, then tore open the wrapper and tossed it in his mouth. His jaw worked as he rolled the butterscotch on his tongue. If Ever’s grandma was anything like mine, the candy could’ve been sitting in that bowl for years. “Sunny will use a code phrase that will let Georgia know I sent her.”
He made a face and spat the candy across the room. It bounced with a ping off a crystal lamp base and landed on a lace doily.
“You got no couth, man,” Justin said, wrinkling his face in disgust.
Marcus shrugged.
“Seriously. You’re asking Sunny to march into the lion’s den,” I said. Sunny shot me a warning glance. “I’m not arguing against the plan,” I added quickly. That had backfired in a spectacular way, hadn’t it? “I just want to know if there’s a way to extract her if something goes wrong.”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Sunny said. “Have a little faith.”
Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I won’t lie to you. The operation is not without risk, but I promise that we won’t send Sunny in without a contingency plan.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Sunny said.
Optimism had always been Sunny’s default. Mine, too, once upon a time. Maybe she was deliberately minimizing the danger she faced. Maybe she needed to put on a brave face in order to see it through. Whatever the case, filling her head with self-doubt wouldn’t do a damned bit of good.
I reached over and took her hand. “You got this, Sunshine.” She offered me a small smile. I turned to Havoc. “Let’s hear the plan.”
THIRTY-ONE
Sunny
I crossed the street under the watchful eye of the two armed men who flanked the entry to the hotel. Hands on their guns, they scrutinized my approach. My nerves got the better of me. I stumbled and the strap on my pack slipped off my shoulder and slid down my arm. I paused and shifted the pack to my other shoulder, which must have looked as suspicious as hell to the two men. They went on high alert. One of them lifted a radio to his mouth.
Crap. The mission was off to a promising start, wasn’t it? I was marching up to the hotel with all the finesse of a jittery suicide bomber.
One of the men held up his hand. “Stop. Drop the backpack. Raise your arms.”
I did, resisting the urge to look back over my shoulder at the window a block away where Marcus waited with a rifle in his hands. Two men burst through the hotel doors and ran toward me. One of the men patted me down, dispassionately running his hands over my arms, torso, hips, and legs. The other dumped the contents of my pack onto the sidewalk. He sifted through my clothes, tossing aside tees, yoga pants, sleep shorts, panties, a hoodie. He unzipped my toiletry bag and tipped the contents onto the cement. A toothbrush and toothpaste fell out. Hairbrush. Deodorant. Lip balm. Hand lotion. Tampons.
Worst start to a job interview ever.
“You can pack up your things.”
I stuffed everything back into the bag, then clutched it to my chest. “I was hoping to see somebody about a job.”
“Captain Mataraci is in charge,” one of the men said. “We’ll escort you to his office.”
One led the way and the other trailed behind me as we walked into the hotel and past the former reception desk. We turned right and followed a hallway lined along one side with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked an interior courtyard. The leadman knocked at the door to the former manager’s office.
“Come in,” the captain barked.
I did, and my two escorts retreated.
Before the pandemic, a laptop probably would have sat on his desk. Now the surface was littered with piles of papers and manila file folders. Captain Mataraci kept his eyes fixed on the papers on his desk for a good thirty seconds after I entered the room. Instead of jacking up my anxiety—which was probably his intention with such a blatant power play—the lull gave me time to calm down.
“Yes?” He glanced up at me, his expression that of a man far too important to be bothered with piddling affairs.
“Hi.” I smiled my most winsome smile. “Thank you for seeing me, Captain Mataraci.”
He sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir.” I dropped my pack on the floor and sat down opposite him. “I’m afraid that I did something to alarm your men when I walked up to the hotel. And here I was trying so hard to make a good impression.” I rolled my eyes at my boneheaded move.
“Why do you want to make a good impression?” he asked.
“The truth is, I want a safe place to sleep at night and regular meals. I heard that one of my old friends works here in exchange for room and board. I’m hoping that you might have more openings.”
“You have any skills that might make me consider employing you
?”
“I’ve been working part-time since I was in high school. Let’s see. I’ve worked as a waitress at a pancake restaurant. I worked in the laundry at a swim center. Man, I must’ve washed and dried a mountain of towels. I’ve worked retail. One summer I worked at a bed and breakfast, cleaning up rooms after guests checked out and changing the sheets. I know you can’t exactly check references any more, but I promise that I’m a hard worker. My friend will vouch for me.”
“Who’s your friend?’
“Her name is Georgia Abbott. We went to high school together here in Boise. I was away at college in Pocatello when the pandemic hit. My parents were killed in a car accident two years ago, so I had no reason to rush back to Boise. Not at first.”
“Something happened to change your mind?” the captain asked.
“I kept waiting for somebody from the government to show up and take charge. You know, make sure everybody got food and water. Get the police up and running again so we could feel safe. Make life normal again. But nobody came, and scary things started happening around town. I decided to get out of Pocatello.”
“What made you come back to Boise?” he asked.
“Two things. First, I heard that Mr. Allsop was in town and that he was working really hard to make Boise a safe place to live. And second, I wanted to see if anybody I knew had survived the flu. That was a big fat no, until one of Georgia’s neighbors saw me knocking on her door and told me she was alive and working here at the hotel taking care of Mr. Allsop’s soldiers. So I thought I’d come here and see if you’re hiring.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bonnie. Bonnie Bernard. Pleased to meet you, sir.” I hopped to my feet and extended my hand across his desk. After a moment, he stood and shook my hand.
“Trask,” he bellowed.
A young man stuck his head in the door. “Yes, sir?”
“Find Georgia Abbott. Tell her that her old friend Bonnie Bernard is here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain gestured for me to sit again. I did, wriggling with fake excitement.
“Does this mean you’re considering offering me a job?”
“Perhaps. Don’t you want to hear what you’d be expected to do?” he asked.
“I assume that it would be housekeeping or laundry or helping out in the kitchen or serving food,” I said. “Any of those are fine with me.” I paused, a frown crossing my face. “Although, if the job requires me to—um, entertain the troops, so to speak—I’m not down with that.”
“No, no.” He waved his hand. “Mr. Allsop is a man of old-fashioned virtues. He would never require a young woman to do anything sordid or unseemly. In fact, he has strict rules about fraternization. And rape is a crime that is punishable by death. You’d have absolutely no reason to fear for your safety if you work for the Allsop organization.”
I pressed my hands to my chest. “That is such a relief, sir. A woman can’t take her safety for granted anymore. Thank God that Mr. Allsop is working so hard to restore order and protect us all.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
My jeans didn’t spontaneously burst into flames, and Captain Mataraci actually smiled at me. I must have sounded more sincere than I felt.
So rape was punishable by death in the Allsop organization? Somebody needed to tell that to Brody because no way could he believe I’d bear “a passel of Brody juniors” willingly. In fact, my horror at the prospect had seemed to excite him. What would Elliot Allsop make of his son and heir’s predilection for rape? Would Brody get a pass because he was family? Were the rules just for the common folk, or would Mr. Allsop truly disapprove?
Somebody rapped on the door. I turned around in my chair, then leaped to my feet, squealing with excitement when a blond young woman entered the room.
“Georgia,” I cried, rushing toward the stranger with arms outstretched.
“Bonnie,” she sobbed, throwing herself at me. We hugged and shrieked, hopping up and down as if we could barely contain our joy.
I clasped her cheeks between my hands. “It’s so good to see you. I can’t believe somebody from the old days is still alive.”
“I know.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Me, too.”
Marcus picked the right woman for the job. Georgia was a natural actress, or maybe she was genuinely happy to see what must be a friendly face in the enemy camp. We turned toward the captain, our arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Georgia sniffed back tears and wiped her nose on her arm.
“I take it you’ll vouch for Miss Bernard?” he asked dryly.
She nodded enthusiastically. “I will, sir. I promise that Bonnie will work just as hard for you all as I do.”
“All right. Bonnie can start right away. She can share your room. Take an hour to tell her how things work around here. Put her things away, then show her around.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s 9:30. I’ll send word to your supervisor that you’ll be back at work at 10:30.”
“Thank you so much, Captain Mataraci,” I said. “I’ll work my butt off. You won’t be sorry.”
He made a shooing gesture with his hands.
I grabbed my pack and slung it over a shoulder. Hand in hand, Georgia and I walked from the room. Shoot, we actually skipped for a good ten seconds, as if we couldn’t believe our luck. Nobody watching us behave like giddy fools would believe that we were spies for the dreaded Marcus Havoc.
Smiling broadly at everybody we came across, Georgia and I crossed the lobby. We passed elevators that had been out of commission since the power grid collapsed and pushed open a swinging door leading to a dark stairwell.
“This hotel doesn’t have penthouse suites, so staff stays on the top floor,” Georgia said, pulling a flashlight from her pocket. “Hope you don’t mind the climb.” By the time we arrived at the sixth floor, I was breathing hard. She led me down a long hallway to a room overlooking the inner courtyard. She pointed at the single queen-sized bed. “We’ll have to share.”
“With any luck, it should just be for a night or two,” I said. “My mission is time critical.”
We sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. “When they told me my old friend Bonnie Bernard was in the office, I almost laughed,” she said in a low voice.
“Why?” I asked.
“Didn’t Marcus tell you why you had to use that name?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
Georgia smiled. “When I was a little girl, I had a St. Bernard dog named Bonnie. If somebody struck up a conversation with me and asked about pets, I was supposed to say that I had a St. Bernard when I was a kid. Anybody Marcus sent to contact me would say, ‘What a coincidence. I had a St. Bernard, too. Her name was Bonnie.’ When they told me that my friend Bonnie Bernard was here, I was startled. Luckily, I recovered fast.”
I smiled, then sobered, clutching her hand. “Listen, have you heard anything about the Allsops capturing one of the major’s spies? A man named Finn Rasmussen?”
“No.” Her eyes widened. “I had no idea that Marcus had sent a second spy into Boise. And I haven’t heard a word about anybody being taken into custody.”
“Damn.” I sighed. “I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be that easy.” I shoved my hair behind my ears—an old nervous habit. My fingers tangled through unfamiliar hair. Afraid that I’d knocked the wig askew, I tugged it into place.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“It’s a wig. A disguise,” I explained. “I know Brody and Elliot Allsop, and I’ve met the men stationed at the Allsop house. I don’t want them to recognize me.”
“I haven’t seen the Allsops at the hotel,” Georgia said. “But their head of security, Jonesy, has popped in a few times. You’ll need to be careful.”
“I will. Are you friendly with any of the soldiers? Anybody you could casually chat up for information?”
“No way. Captain Mataraci forbids any socializing between the soldiers and the staff. When I first got here, I acte
d all friendly and sweet as pie. Couldn’t even get the men to smile back at me. Mataraci must’ve put the fear of God into them.”
“Okay, that’s out.” I tapped my chin, deep in thought. “How about the men who guard the prisoners? Do they live at the hotel?”
“They do,” Georgia said.
“Crap,” I muttered. Georgia lifted her brows in a silent question. “I was held prisoner at the Women’s Ward. The guards might recognize me.” She opened her mouth to say something, and I waved a hand. “That’s a story for another time.”
Nobody in their right mind would escape from prison—evading capture by the skin of their teeth—then turn right around and come back to town. And I was wearing a disguise. Still, I’d need to keep my distance.
“The guards stick together,” she said. “During meals, they always sit at the big round table closest to the windows. I’ll offer to take that table during lunch today and try to get you stationed across the room. And I’ll listen for any mention of Finn.”
“If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to try something else,” I said. “Finn is a good guy, and Marcus is counting on us.”
“I’m supposed to be showing you around the place,” Georgia said. “You should know how things work, in case a supervisor asks.”
“Yeah. We should get moving,” I agreed.
“Most of the men have their own rooms,” she said as we descended the stairs. “Once a week we wipe down their rooms and run a carpet sweeper over the rug. To cut down on laundry, the sheets are changed every two weeks. Laundry is a major pain in the ass. We load grocery shopping carts with dirty clothes and sheets, then roll the carts down to the greenbelt to wash everything in the river. Then comes the fun part, hauling baskets of wet laundry to the roof to hang it all out on clotheslines.”
“I hope I dodge that bullet,” I said.
“We also help prepare and serve food, then clean up after meals.”
“Sanitation?” I asked, making a face.
“There’re a dozen porta-potties next to the hotel. Somebody else deals with them, thank the lord. Somebody takes away the trash and burns it, too.”
Bedlam Page 25
