Marked for Murder

by Donna Raider

  Martin stepped back into the hall and closed the door. He was certain he was not intended to overhear the conversation taking place in Mika’s office.

  “I want someone with him at all times,” Carlie continued her instructions to the undercover officers. “I don’t want him to know we’re protecting him. He is a total ass and would cause a commotion if he thought we were observing him. He is in the coffee shop now. You can’t miss him. He scares the hell out of four hundred pounds.”

  The officers nodded and headed for the coffee shop.

  “His driver has asked to be relieved of his duties,” Mika informed the detective. “We could put one of your men in his place in the morning.”

  “That would be perfect.” Carlie grinned.

  ##

  Watcher had taken his time engaging his next victim. One couldn’t be too careful when killing an archbishop. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to approach Pelosi. He wanted it to look like natural causes. He knew Detective Carlyle was trying to tie the deaths in the diocese to Mika. He had to be certain Mika’s name remained unsullied.

  Sitting in the dark corner of the restaurant, Watcher observed the archbishop as he stuffed another handful of fresh-baked bread into his mouth. He watched the waiter bring him another small loaf of the bread and was surprised when Pelosi slipped it into his satchel. Greedy bastard must take it home for a snack later, he thought.

  Watcher saw the two men in the restaurant bar. They were sipping non-alcoholic drinks and observing the archbishop. When the archbishop gave the waitress his credit card, the two men left the restaurant. Watcher could see them waiting outside the door.

  Pelosi signed the check and looked around the restaurant for his driver. He never let the man eat with him. He didn’t want to waste money picking up his check. He spotted Martin and waved him over impatiently.

  “I’m ready to go back to the hotel.” He puffed as he made the effort to stand. “Here, you carry my satchel.”

  Martin nodded. “The limo is out front, Your Excellency.” Martin saw the two men loitering in front of the restaurant. They certainly weren’t very good undercover agents. Anyone with half a brain would spot them. They had been tailing the archbishop all day. The archbishop hadn’t noticed them.

  On his way home, Martin’s phone rang. He was surprised to see the number for Mika Cross come up.

  “Martin, I hope I am not calling too late,” Mika apologized. “I just wanted to let you know that I have found another driver for the archbishop. Again, I apologize for the rudeness to which you have been exposed.”

  “Thank you so much.” Martin was amazed at how quickly the priest had moved to take care of his problem. Being relieved of driver duty would allow him to observe the security team and Pelosi.

  ##

  Watcher sat in the bar of Pelosi’s hotel. He easily identified two men who were providing security for the archbishop. He frowned. Apparently Detective Carlyle had figured out Pelosi was his next victim. She was very sharp. He hoped she wouldn’t get in his way. He really admired her and didn’t want to kill her.

  Watcher observed the security detail on Pelosi for over a week. He decided he was in no hurry to kill the archbishop and looked at the next name on his list. He would just take care of him and get back to Pelosi when he was more vulnerable.

  Watcher returned to his apartment and quickly got on the Catholic Church website. He was looking for the names of any two of the clergymen on his list. He would like to find two together. If he had to leave the country, he wanted to make it worth his while. Yes, there: Bishop Armand Baptiste and Bishop Luis Fernando Vargas. Perfect.

  He called the parish of each man. He learned they were on a goodwill tour of Iran. A little dangerous, but he could kill three birds with one stone: scratch two names from his list and cause another international uproar over two priests being murdered in the godforsaken country. Tehran, the capital of Iran, was the perfect city to stage such an operation.

  He made several phone calls and set up everything he needed. He would fly into Tehran with a group of manufacturers who were supposedly checking out the city to facilitate the location of several manufacturing plants.

  He dug out two of his passports. One identified him as Aldon Ruso of Dallas, Texas. The other identified him as Robert Cancelli of Mississauga, Canada. He looked at the Texas passport. He would need to dye his hair black. He would not shave for a week so he could shave to a chinstrap thin beard just before departing New York for Tehran. Personally, he thought this was his most sensual look. Women loved it. He would depart Tehran for Toronto, clean-shaven and wearing wire-rimmed glasses. He would re-enter the US from Canada on foot.

  ##

  Carlie Carlyle was going crazy. Two things were wrestling for space in her mind. The vision of Leah Redman dressed as a dark queen and the Catholic Murders.

  Her men had been undercover for almost two weeks and no one had even so much as looked sideways at the archbishop. She had been certain the murders were tied to Mika Cross. Pelosi had been incredibly cruel and insulting to the young priest during the conference. He had even insinuated vile things about Mika’s wife, calling Leah a witch. Carlie had considered shooting the disgusting man herself. So far, no vigilante intent on protecting the church or Mika had appeared.

  Tomorrow was the final argument on the matter of celibacy. Thus far, Mika had won on five points and Pelosi had won on four. If Mika garnered the votes tomorrow, the conference would be closed and the movement to do away with celibacy for priests would be approved by the conference attendees.

  Of course, if Mika lost, there would be a tie and the church would be right back where it started.

  The detective pulled her car into her reserved space on the studio parking lot. She had to consult with Stiles and Leah on a technical issue.

  The talented actress was completing the last scene of the day, so Carlie slid into a chair beside Stiles to watch. “Isn’t she something?” Stiles whispered.

  Carlie knew he meant Leah’s talent. The man didn’t even know women, as sex objects, existed. That was probably why he was such a great director. He wasn’t distracted by anything. He truly was married to his work.

  Carlie nodded. She was something all right. She was the most sensuous human Carlie had ever met. The woman unconsciously exuded sex in everything she did.

  Leah Redman should have a warning label right in the middle of her forehead. CAUTION! Too Hot to Handle, Carlie thought. Of course, her wife seemed to have no trouble keeping the raven-haired beauty under control.

  Extremely cognizant that her children never missed an episode of her show, Leah always insisted on keeping everything rated for children. In an age of TV nudity and sex, it had been amazing that Marked for Murder had consistently garnered the top ratings in every age bracket. The show’s writers were excellent, and Carlie had to admit she had handled some bizarre cases.

  Other networks had spent fortunes introducing copycat series to compete with Marked for Murder, but all had been forced to cancel early in the season due to lack of viewers and advertising sponsors. It was no secret, in their world, that Leah Redman carried the series. Ad agencies wanted to put their client’s dollars where they knew they would get results. They always selected Marked for Murder.

  The scene ended and Leah reached for her cell phone. She pushed the button that would bring her wife into her world. “Darling,” she almost whispered, “I miss you desperately.”

  She laughed at whatever her wife had replied and continued walking toward Carlie and Stiles. “I would love that,” she said, her voice deep and sensuous. “Um. I would love that too.”

  Her dark eyes danced as Mika responded. “An hour. I have a quick meeting with Stiles and Carlie. Yes. I will be home in an hour. Of course, darling.”

  ##

  Watcher reclined his seat and let the faint sound of the plane’s circulation system lull him into a relaxed state. His mind wandered a bit then settled on Detective Carlyle. From bits and pieces he�
�d picked up from the filing clerk at the precinct, he knew Carlyle wasn’t buying the suicides and accident. She was smart. Possibly the smartest he had ever encountered. He wondered how she had figured out Pelosi was his next target.

  He smiled as he thought about her frustration when no attempt had been made on the man’s life. By the time he finished his assignment in Tehran, a month would have passed. He doubted the NY Police Department would continue to waste four undercover cops on the decorated detective’s gut feeling.

  Of course, as soon as they forced her to lift the security, he would vindicate her. It was fun, this cat-and-mouse game with Carlyle. He wondered if his case would make its way into the TV series. There was no doubt Archbishop Pelosi was marked for murder.

  He didn’t really care one way or the other. The main reason Watcher was so successful was he had no ego. He had no need to taunt the police with his brilliance. If he had, he probably would have been caught in New York thirty deaths ago. No, it was better to let those cold cases remain unrelated and unsolved.

  A Templar Knight, he’d had the privilege of destroying King Philip IV of France in November 1314. It had taken him seven years to exact his vengeance. A backstabber, a liar, and a thief, Philip had expelled the Jews from France in 1306 and, in 1307, he annihilated the order of the Knights Templar. Philip was in debt to both groups and had destroyed them to avoid paying his debt. He had taken their assets and quickly squandered them with his frivolous lifestyle.

  Watcher had been devastated when King Philip had Jacques de Molay, the last Grand Master of the Knights Templar and Geoffroi de Charney, Preceptor of Normandy, burned at the stake, successfully destroying the remnants of the Knights Templar and any influence of the Catholic Church.

  Watcher had slowly embedded himself in the circle of moochers who scraped and bowed to Philip, constantly stroking his ego. Often feeling like the court jester, Watcher had endeared himself to Philip with his ability to make the king laugh.

  Watcher had been included in the hunt with Philip and his sons. A moment alone with the king had been all he’d needed to drive the sharp, slender needle deep into the man’s temple. Although he lived a few weeks, he never regained his power of speech or motor skills.

  Since no one had time for a paralyzed and dying king, Watcher was allowed to sit with him on his deathwatch. He had been delighted to learn Philip could hear and see. Philip spent his last days listening to Watcher detail his crimes and evil deeds. Instead of receiving last rites, Philip received Watcher’s condemnation of his soul to eternal hell.

  Philip’s death, at forty-six, had been ruled a stroke. Thus began Watcher’s vindication of his order of the Templar Knights and reconstruction of the Catholic Church.

  Fortunately, God had taken his vengeance on Pope Clement V before Watcher had to act. The Pope was nothing but a puppet for King Philip. Templars were supposedly answerable to only the Pope, but Philip had used his influence over Clement V to disband the organization. Clement died eight months prior to Philip of a dreadful skin disease—probably syphilis. Watcher was thankful that God had spared him the duty of killing a Pope. Killing a Pope almost seemed wrong.

  On his fiftieth birthday, Watcher had stared into a mirror and seen his thirty-something face staring back at him. On his one hundredth birthday, he still saw his thirty-something face in the mirror. He decided God was going to let him live as long as he was needed to protect the church. That had been over seven hundred years ago.

  Watcher had no idea if he was immortal. He simply knew that he had fought valiantly beside his brothers when King Philip and Pope Clement turned on the Knights’ military order. When members of the Knights Templar were annihilated by Philip’s command, Watcher, and a few of his fellow knights, had escaped capture. He’d been badly injured, and a nun had nursed him back to health. He had been devoted to her until the day she died. Watcher did know he could be injured, so he could probably be killed. Although he healed quickly, he always made a point to be very careful. He wasn’t certain how many of his kind existed.

  ##

  Watcher had entered the lock’s combination and found the articles he had ordered in the locker at the airport. He checked into the hotel then scouted his planned location for the kills.

  The rooftop was perfect. On the outskirts of the city, it was far enough away from the mosque that he would have plenty of time to escape before anyone discovered his sniper’s nest. He smiled as he considered the chaos he was about to bring to the world. Tomorrow would be a big day in the religious world of Muslims and Catholics.

  ##

  Watcher drank a beer before going back to his hotel. It was early morning and most of the city’s residents were sleeping. He cleaned and reassembled the sniper rifle one last time. From past experiences he knew he’d be able to drop two men in seconds. Then instant bedlam would result in confusion over the direction from which the shots were fired.

  During the darkest hours just before dawn, Watcher hefted the duffel bag onto his shoulder and disappeared out the employees’ entrance of the hotel avoiding the security cameras. By daybreak he was safely ensconced in his sniper nest waiting for his targets.

  Increased activity around the mosque reflected the excitement of visitors arriving. Watcher could see the limos moving toward the religious building. The cars stopped in front of the mosque as men came out to meet them. The two priests had their backs to Watcher. It took less than thirty seconds to spray the faces of the priests onto the welcoming imams and slide down the rope to the ground.

  Watcher casually walked into an alley and placed the black robe he was wearing into a dumpster. He was now dressed like an American business executive exploring the sights of the city. Breakfast was in full swing when he ordered coffee at his hotel restaurant.

  At ten, he checked out and caught a limo to the airport. By the time the authorities discovered his gun and the duffle bag, he was flying into Toronto.

  The next day he blended into a large group of tourists crossing the bridge into the US side of Niagara Falls. That night he was back in his apartment.

  He opened a beer and turned on the news. Some clown from the US State Department was droning on about how no determination had been made about the circumstances surrounding the assassination of two Catholic bishops, Armand Baptiste and Luis Fernando Vargas, who were on a goodwill tour of Iran. He knew he had provided fodder for the talking heads for a week. He switched to another station. He knew it would be just a matter of time before they would be interviewing the cousin of the sister of the housekeeper of one of the bishops. They would give airtime to anyone who even vaguely knew the men, no matter how ignorant they were.

  Time to check on the archbishop.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Watcher was surprised to see the number for Mika Cross pop up on his Martin Tate cell phone. “Hello.”

  “Martin, how are you?” Mika’s voice exuded her usual cheerfulness.

  “I’m good, Priest Mika, and you?” Watcher smiled into the phone. He liked Mika.

  “That depends on you.” Mika chuckled. “I need your help.”

  “Name it.” Martin was flattered that the priest would call on him for anything.

  “It’s the archbishop,” Mika said. “I’m having trouble getting anyone to drive him. You know how difficult he is. I know you don’t—”

  “I’ll drive him for you.” Martin put the young priest out of her misery. “For you, I will drive him. When do you need me?”

  “This evening?” Mika’s answer was almost a question.

  “Sure, just give me a couple of hours to shower and dress. I can be there by three.”

  “That would be great.” Mika exhaled thankfully. “I owe you big time, Martin.”

  ##

  The high cheek bones, the full red lips, the long ebony hair, the perfect teeth, the body for which to die, brown eyes that could see into one’s soul—Mika was certain God had made Leah just for her. Add the incredible intelligence, wonderful personality,
easy laughter, and powerful magnetism, no doubt about it. She was God’s most perfect creation. Leah was her wife, and she thanked God for Leah every moment of every day.

  Mika watched her as she walked into the lounge and took a seat at the bar. Joe placed her usual glass of wine in front of her.

  She sipped the wine as her eyes located the reflection of her wife in the mirror. Her lips curved slightly as she suppressed a smile at the sight of Mika. Leah hoped she wouldn’t take long to approach her. She desperately needed to touch her.

  As Mika studied her, a tall, attractive woman slid onto the stool beside her. “Hi, I’m Jane Andrews.” The blonde smiled.

  Leah nodded her head but didn’t turn to look at her.

  “You just revving down or looking for some action?” the blonde asked.

  “I am waiting for my wife,” the brunette answered without moving her head.

  “Hum, okay, just conversation then.” Jane shrugged. “How long have you been married?”

  “Since before you were born, dear,” Leah snorted.

  “Now you’re pulling my leg.” Jane grinned. “Anyway, if you’ve been married that long, maybe you would like something a little different instead of the same old stuff.”

  Leah laughed out loud, bringing a smile to the blonde woman’s face. She turned to stare at the cheeky young woman beside her. “I’ve been married to the same woman for over twenty-five years. She has never made love to me the same way twice. I’m willing to bet you couldn’t go a week without repeating your moves.”

  Jane’s mouth dropped open. There were only so many ways to do it. Although she had to admit, the dark-eyed beauty could make one innovative.

  Mika decided she had better save her wife from Jane’s inquisition. “Hello, darling.” Mika leaned down and kissed her. Oh, God, I have missed that, she thought. “I believe they’re playing our song.”

  As the couple moved toward the dance floor, Jane paid for her drink and left. She was certain she couldn’t compete with the blonde goddess that obviously belonged to the brunette.