by Seeley James
Weighed in philosophical terms, the Mercury-experience has been interesting. Sure, he saved my life a bunch of times. Not to mention the lives of people around me. Then there’s the Temple Ms. Sabel was planning to build in her backyard. She liked him even though she couldn’t see or hear him. If he didn’t exist—and I am a total whack-job like Dad says—my life was significantly better when I had faith in Mercury.
Minus the Sylvia part.
The decision came down to what’s more important: a personal relationship with god, or babe-a-licious Sylvia?
Don’t answer that until you hear me out, brutha. Mercury held up his hands. The right answer will get you a free pass on your next murder rap—which is due in about three minutes. The wrong answer will bring down a pox that’ll make you so ugly your own mother will say, ‘pull the plug!’.
I said, Let me think on that for four minutes.
Mercury said, You suck.
Behind me, the mansion’s massive walnut doors slammed so hard I looked over my shoulder. Two men in suits looked pissed off but decided there was nothing they could say to a six-inch-thick hardwood door that would get them back inside.
Resigned to their humiliation, they dropped down the steps. I recognized them: DC detective Eddie Harris and Montgomery County Detective Czajkowski. They had once stopped by my crib after some anonymous person had invaded the Russian Embassy.
They recognized me.
“Ms. Sabel’s attorneys are downright nasty people.” Harris took a seat three feet away on the same marble tread.
CJ trotted down a couple steps and gave me his best evil eye. I would’ve quaked in my boots, but I’m not that good an actor.
Harris opened his mouth to speak, but CJ jumped him. “Harris is investigating a suicide.”
Harris gave his local counterpart a long, cold stare.
“Just saying.” CJ turned away.
“Suicide?” I looked at Harris. “What’s the matter, can’t figure out who done it?”
“I’d like to ask your professional opinion on a case.” Harris opened his laptop. “You enlightened us once before.”
I stopped trimming the stick and inspected the blade of my Fairbairn-Sykes dagger. “I’d love to help.”
“You see, a top aide to President Roche committed suicide in DC last night. Had a long career with the FBI before joining Sabel Security. Man name of David Watson.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say.” He regarded me, tilting his head to one side.
I went back to whittling my stick.
“You don’t look bothered by it none,” Harris said.
“Just so you’re aware—” I tipped the knife at him to make a point “—that man tried to discredit me several times when he was with the FBI and tried to kill me after he joined Sabel. It doesn’t bother me in the least if he finally succumbed to his shame. Besides, working for Roche would make anyone suicidal.”
“Interesting.” Harris’s eyes narrowed. He drew a long, deep breath. “Consider your attitude duly noted. Just so you’re aware: President-Elect Roche has demanded that the FBI investigate his death as a murder.”
I twisted to look at him. “The FBI doesn’t investigate murder.”
“I didn’t say Roche has a handle on the rule of law or even a passing understanding of basic civics, for that matter. I’m just explaining why the FBI handed this case to me.”
“OK.” I returned to my stick. “What do you want from me?”
“We have some surveillance video.” He pointed to his laptop. “Watson had one of those kits from Costco with cameras all around his house. Seems there was an intruder at his place right around the time of death.”
“Coffee?” I asked.
“I’d love me some.” Harris grinned.
CJ shook his head. I texted Chef for some curbside service.
Harris started his video. Nighttime, suburban house. A large shadow crossed the driveway and slap-hammered the kitchen door. The stealthy figure opened it. Harris stopped it on the frame where the shadow was silhouetted against the light inside. The black-clad operative filled the doorframe. “Does this person look familiar to you?”
“Ninjas all look alike.”
“Looks pretty tall, ’round six feet, wouldn’t you say?”
“If you’re implying that figure is me, I was on duty here at Sabel Gardens until ten this morning. Plenty of witnesses can verify me doing rounds.”
Harris looked up at CJ. The man took a note to check my alibi. He looked back at me. “Roche says this here is Pia Sabel.”
“Was he on drugs?” I asked. “Doesn’t she get an ounce of credit for bringing in that sniper the other day?”
“Why not? She’s a husky girl. Her profile from the National Team says she’s six foot something. This person is definitely over six feet. How much does she weigh?”
“You think I’m dumb enough to guess a woman’s weight?” I gave him the stink-eye. “Do you have any idea how much misinformation about that touchy subject is floating around western society, turning every girl in the country nearly apoplectic every time she steps on the scales?”
“Moving on.” Harris rolled his hand. “Can you tell me if there is anything in this video that can prove it’s not her?”
Mercury whispered and I spoke his words out loud. “Whatever happened to ei incumbit probatio qui dicit, non qui negat?”
Harris and CJ shared a glance with their noses crinkled up. “Say what?”
“The burden of proof is on the one who declares, not on the one who denies, according to Justinian the Great, the last Roman and founder of the legal concept, innocent until proven guilty.”
“Just answer the question.”
I looked at the video still-frame. “Those are some shoulders. Ms. Sabel works out, but this person looks downright beastly.”
CJ leaned over as Harris spun the laptop back for a look.
“And the last time I checked, women have hips. That person—”
“Yeah. I get it.” Harris waved me off. “So, if you were going to disguise a woman, how would you do it?”
CJ leaned forward. “And let’s skip the part about stuffing the balaclava with tissues to throw off facial-mapping software. We heard about that from an expert.”
I flung my newly trimmed stick across the palace-sized turning circle in front of us and watched it sail into the manicured grass beyond. Anoshni watched it fall, then looked at me as if I were the most irresponsible stick-handler on the planet. He took off in a dead run to nab it.
“A woman might use shoulder pads.” I concentrated and nodded as I thought. “Taped up to look smooth, they’d push a jury from ‘reasonable doubt’ over to the ‘no-way-that’s-a-woman’ category. Later, she could disassemble the pads and toss the pieces into public trash cans from here to San Diego.”
CJ and Harris shared another sour glance.
A maid came out of the main house bearing a silver tray with cups and saucers and pitchers and sugars fit for a royal visit. She began her careful descent.
“One thing I don’t get, though.” I paused to watch Anoshni bring back the stick. Instead of responding to my entreaties, he returned to his spot three steps down from me and commenced chewing. I sighed. “Motive. Why does the Liar-in-Chief think she’d want to hurt a former employee?”
Harris squinted at me for a long time. “Word is, Watson killed her dad. The first one.”
The maid arrived and offered the coffee. Harris stood and bowed to her. He poured a cup and stirred in cream and sugar. She turned to CJ and offered the tray’s lone glass of chocolate milk. Chef keeps a profile on every visitor’s comfort-foods. CJ did a double-take and grinned like a kid. He grabbed the glass and chugged half.
I said, “Cock Roche is willing to testify to that?”
In unison, Harris, and CJ said, “No.”
“No motive, no evidence—good luck with that case.”
“We could offer you immunity for testimony.” Harris sipped
from his cup and hummed its goodness. He slipped a glance at the maid, who stood bearing the tray like a statue. “You believe in justice, don’t you Stearne?”
“According to what you’ve just told me, justice was served when Watson put a bullet in his brain.” I looked at them. “Tell me he took the manly way out and ate his pistol. Cause if he took pills—that’s just so wussy.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Where was she?”
“See for yourself.” I pointed to one of several video cameras on the property.
“Where can I view those?”
Mercury waved his hands. Whoa, dude. Never show the cops a video you haven’t personally edited. Jupiter only knows what might be on there.
“Get yourself a warrant, come back, I’ll give you a personal screening.”
Harris put his coffee cup on the tray and gave a polite bow to the maid. He looked at me and shook his head, then turned and took a step toward his car.
CJ pointed a finger at me. “You can’t cover for her forever.” Harris grabbed his associate by the arm and tried to turn him around. CJ kept talking, walking backward. “We’re going to find where you tripped up, Stearne. We’re going to find your Achilles heel, and we’re going to tear you apart. You hear me?”
“Give it your best shot, boys.” I smiled up into the sunshine. “I have god on my side.”
CHAPTER 74
Pia waited in the service alley behind the Cincinnati Hilton. After ten minutes, a white-haired Secret Service agent stuck his head out the fire exit. He was an older guy with a youthful countenance. He waved her into a concrete stairwell.
“I’m Dan.” He led the way upstairs at a strong pace. “Catherine will meet you on the landing. Kevin and Tony paused the video feeds but the shift changes soon. You need to be out of there in under five minutes.”
“That’s all I need,” Pia said.
“I’m sick of his victory tours,” Dan said. “So your visit is a welcome distraction. What’s your business with the President-Elect?”
“I’m going to ask him to resign.”
“Great idea. Do you have some leverage to encourage him?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Pia didn’t want to elaborate, but he waited for her, and she felt obliged. “Dad had some incriminating records, but the corroborating evidence was scooped up by the Feds and locked away. Starting today, getting rid of him is my top priority.”
“How do you expect to do that?”
“You don’t want to know.” The truth was, Pia didn’t know. But she owed it to her dad and her country. She would find a way.
“Fine.” Dan stopped on a landing and regarded her a moment. “This is an incredibly risky visit. Good thing my former co-workers vouched for you.” He resumed the climb. “There’s an agent doing rounds who would blow the whistle if she saw you. Her name’s Ellen—blonde, middle-aged, nice lady, but a big Roche fan and a stickler for the rules.”
“Understood.”
When they reached the forty-ninth floor, Dan was breathing as if they’d taken a stroll in the park. He checked with his partner over their comm link. “Catherine, how about pizza and beer after our shift?”
Pia heard his earbud squawk.
“Code.” He turned to Pia. “We need a minute. Ellen is still on the floor.”
A few seconds later, he opened the stairwell door and waved her through. An attractive, dark-haired woman waved to her from halfway down the hall.
The woman led her to the double door in front of a large suite. The agent whispered, “I’m Catherine, nice to meet you and all that. I’ll give you a 30-second warning. If you aren’t out of there in time…” Catherine gave her a once over. “Just get out of there when I say.”
Catherine waved a keycard over the latch. It clacked open. Catherine stayed at the door, her gaze swiveling from the hall to the suite.
Pia went in.
When she turned the corner from the foyer into the sitting room, she found President Hunter sitting in President-Elect Roche’s lap. Hunter’s finger was in the middle of stroking the man’s chin when they both turned to face Pia.
Hunter stumbled to her feet and smoothed her skirt. Roche stood with clenched fists.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Roche roared. “Guard!”
Catherine ignored his call.
“Good to see you two are still … active.” Pia approached the pair.
“Security!” Roche’s face flared red.
Hunter backhanded his chest. “She owns them.”
“Impossible. They’re the best in the world. They’d never take a bribe.” Roche looked past Pia’s unmoving shoulders. “Security!”
Hunter smacked him again. “When Alan Sabel decided to protect his daughter from your men, he staffed Sabel Security entirely with retired Secret Service agents. They’re incorruptible. But every single one of them knows, in the back of his mind, that if he gets sick of this job, he’s welcome at Sabel.”
“Done whining?” Pia put her foot on a chair.
“You owe me $100 million.” Hunter scowled. “I released Sabel Industries from the exclusive government contracts. You’re going open-market now. You stand to make billions. Time to pay up. I have campaign debts I need to retire.”
“Four years ago, you burned Dad.” Pia frowned back. “Sucks, huh.”
“What do you want?” Roche snarled at Pia.
“A truce. Leave Stefan Devoor and his children out of our disagreement.”
Hunter’s mouth fell open. “Chuck’s people would never hurt—”
“I offered you a chance to get in on this.” Roche picked up his cane. “You chose to play with fire. Whatever nonsense you’re talking about, you can only blame yourself.”
Pia pulled her phone and played a video. A man held in police custody identified himself as Brad from Roche Security. “He was shooting at Stefan’s front door.”
“Oh, my god, no.” Hunter fell back into a chair. “That couldn’t be. Chuck, tell me—”
“My people are contracted out.” Roche glared up at Pia. “She probably hired my people and did this as a publicity stunt.”
“Montgomery County will subpoena Roche Security records,” Pia poked him in the chest. “Think up a better lie.”
“What did you mean about a truce?” Hunter asked.
“You can come after me all you want, but things will get worse for you if you involve innocent children.”
“You’re just like Popov and Yeschenko, you know that?” Roche shouted as he swept a lamp off the side table. “You guys think I’m stupid and impotent. Well, news flash, I’m not. I’m the President of the United States.”
“President-Elect,” Hunter said.
“Who cares?” Roche’s voice rattled the windows. He faced Pia and tipped up as tall as he could. “You came after me. So. Right back atcha, bitch.”
Catherine poked her head around the corner from the foyer. “Sixty seconds, ma’am.”
“Hey, wait a minute. You threatened me.” Roche grabbed Pia’s arm and turned her to face him. “You said things would get worse. What do you mean?”
“We have Strangelove’s notes about Flight 1028.”
“Big deal. We tracked down the Puerto Ricans who did it. On my Inauguration Day, they’re going to get droned.”
“We have the router logs, actual proof of who—”
“Forget it, Pia,” Hunter said. “We can’t escalate anything with the Russians without risking nuclear war. The public wants revenge. We’ll give them some. They’ll feel better.”
Roche snarled, “Is that all you’ve got? Powder logs?”
“No.” Pia pulled up her phone again and played the recording of Roche, Hunter, and Watson planning to throw the election. When it stopped, no one spoke for a few seconds.
“Oh, my god,” Hunter said.
“It’s nothing.” Roche paced the room. “It’s illegal. She can bring us down with that, but only by ruining her precious reputation. We’d drown her in the
press: Big Brother is alive and well and running Sabel Industries. No one is safe. She’d never get another dollar of business after she gets out of jail. Go ahead, put it on YouTube. I’ll call it a hoax.”
“Take the truce,” Hunter said.
“Yeah. Sure, why not? Truce on Devoor.” Roche stuck out his bottom lip. “But I’m getting even with you for killing Watson. Tell that goon of yours, Jacob, to watch his back. Or maybe I’ll send someone after that half-breed girl.”
“Chuck!” Hunter screeched. “She could be recording this.”
“I didn’t kill David Watson.” Pia displayed a photo on her phone. “I watched him die.”
“He would never commit—” Roche stopped when he came close enough to the picture to see what it was. A smug-looking Watson held his undated pardon next to his face.
Roche turned away, and Hunter stepped in. She said, “That idiot. Why did he show you that?”
Catherine peeked around the corner. “Thirty seconds, ma’am.”
“He got cocky on Attu Island,” Pia said. “Told me everything. The night he died, I paid him a visit. I tried to trick him into repeating his confession. He bragged about the pardon, then figured out what I was recording him. He said he’d rather die than implicate you.”
“Good man.” Roche paced back. “That’s loyalty.”
Hunter covered her mouth as she inhaled in shock. “How did he die?”
“He pulled a pistol out of his desk and put it in his mouth.” Pia stared hard at Hunter. “I tried to talk him down. I told him you two weren’t worth it. But he knew.”
“Knew what?” Hunter asked.
“If he wouldn’t talk, I’d put him down.”
“Oh my god” Hunter backed up a step. “Why?”
Pia stepped forward, towering over the President. “Someone paid him to kill Lloyd Aston.”
“What did he tell you?” Roche shouldered Hunter aside. “Some lie about us being involved?”
“Pozdeeva detailed your meeting in the park. Watson confirmed it.”
Hunter and Roche looked at each other, then back at Pia.
“Look, Pia, I’m sorry I ever got involved in that.” Hunter’s hands trembled as she reached out. “It’s one of the biggest regrets—”
