Lady Death

by Brian Drake

  “I’m truly surprised, Ben. I didn’t expect to be your heir.”

  “Who else but my second-in-command should take over?” He lifted his glass. “A toast. To your new future, and mine.”

  She smiled. Her eyes lit up. They clinked glasses.

  Raven didn’t know who the woman was and didn’t care. Girlfriend, associate, whore, it didn’t matter. What mattered was he had Doyle in sight. He waited at a table, with his own martini, as they completed their conversation.

  To his surprise, the woman left after finishing her Manhattan. He didn’t watch her go. Instead, he signaled to the bartender for another drink.

  Raven left the table and started across the bar.

  A man stepped in front of him. About as tall as him, with blond hair. He shook his head.

  Raven said, “Excuse me,” and started to pass, but the man put out a heavy arm and blocked him.

  The man opened his sport jacket enough to show Raven the butt of an autoloader under his arm.

  A voice behind him said, “Not another step, Mr. Raven.”

  A woman. He turned. Then he smiled.

  “Well, Miss Watson. Is the game afoot?”

  “Don’t start.”

  Misty Watson folded her arms and locked an angry gaze on Raven’s face. She was shorter than him, with long red hair, and pale white skin.

  Raven laughed. Misty Watson worked for MI6.

  British Intelligence.

  Typical.

  “My dear Watson,” Raven said, “what a pleasure to see you. Shall we talk somewhere?”

  “Keep up the ‘Watson’ crap and we’ll be talking in a cemetery.”

  Raven’s smile vanished. From the look on her face, she appeared to mean every word.

  3

  Misty Watson walked ahead of Raven with the brute behind him. They exited the hotel to the parking lot. Misty clicked the key fob to a black Mercedes Sprinter Passenger Van.

  Raven whistled as Misty opened the rear doors and gestured for him to enter. He stepped into a plush cabin. Space was narrow. Plush bench seats waited on either side of the cabin with a small table in the center. The table was folded upright, creating a partial barrier.

  “Sit down.”

  Raven cleared his throat and sat. Misty climbed in and sat opposite. She folded the table into its flat position and pulled a laptop from a cargo bin below her seat. She placed the computer on the table.

  The brute shut the rear doors and assumed his position behind the wheel. A half barrier on Misty’s side blocked part of Raven’s view of the man.

  Misty typed commands into the laptop and used the mouse pad to make a selection. She tapped the pad twice.

  Raven watched her. The glow of the screen lit up her face. With the glare, some of her freckles showed through the light layer of makeup. Her white blouse and black slacks fit tight over her petite frame. Raven reflected she always felt fragile despite the hard muscle under her skin. Their past intimate moments had always been short but memorable.

  “It’s nice to see you, Misty,” Raven said.

  “I’m Misty now?”

  “You hate it when I call you Watson, my dear Watson.”

  She glared at him over the top of the screen.

  “Hey,” Raven said, “you know who you’re talking to, right?”

  “I’m talking to an embarrassment.”

  “Really?”

  “We know about Berlin,” she said. “We know about Operation Triangle and the boondoggle the CIA is in the middle of.”

  “Is there a leak?”

  “No,” she said. “Christopher Fisher called my boss and they had a long talk. Seems Fisher is touchy about you going off the reservation in Berlin. He doesn’t want similar bloodshed in Madrid. Ben Doyle is an MI6 asset. I’m here to make sure you don’t murder him.”

  “I have no intention of murdering dear old Ben.”

  She scoffed.

  “What do you want, Misty?”

  “Fisher and my boss decided on something. If Operation Triangle is an attack with three separate targets, the UK might be one of the targets.”

  “We were assuming three targets within the United States. The US is the country that killed Tanya’s husband, after all.”

  “The matter has been decided, Raven.”

  “So, we’re working together now?”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Why should it, considering we’ve worked so well together in the past.”

  This time she laughed.

  “Or are you my watchdog?”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Going to handcuff yourself to me, Misty?”

  She tried to fight the grin, but her lips pulled back into a smile anyway. “Behave, Sam.”

  Raven grinned. Misty rotated the laptop to allow Raven to see the screen. A photo of Ben Doyle sat on the left side of the screen. A column of text information filled the right side.

  “Ben Doyle has been an informant for about six years,” she said. “Every now and then he passes along useful information we’ve been able to act on.”

  “You know what he’s doing right?”

  “Using us for protection.”

  “You aren’t bothered?”

  “No. Not when we get to round up bad guys now and then based on his information.”

  “He’s throwing you crumbs.”

  “Can you read?”

  “I’m not illiterate, no.”

  “You’re acting like it. See this list? These are the terrorist attacks Doyle helped us foil thanks to his information.”

  “He sold out his own clients?”

  “In a few cases, yes. Other time he heard information through the grapevine and passed it along. These aren’t crumbs, Sam.”

  “I don’t work for the CIA,” Raven said. “I don’t work for you, either.”

  “I have my orders, Sam. If you want to question Doyle, we are going to be there. If you refuse, we are taking you off the playing field. The CIA is ready to pick up where you left off.”

  “Fisher really is upset about Berlin, isn’t he?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Raven exhaled. There was no use in getting angry. He could have a talk with Christopher Fisher later. Clark Wilson had kept a lot from him during their last chat. He supposed it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Raven’s commitment to the mission wouldn’t waver. With or without official sanction, he’d shut down Tanya Jafari and Operation Triangle.

  “How can you help me, Misty?”

  “It’s to your benefit I’m here. You won’t have to break into Doyle’s penthouse or grab him off the street. All I have to do is snap my fingers.” She held up her right hand and snapped for emphasis. “He’ll do what we tell him. He may be scamming us, but he knows he needs to cooperate too.”

  “All right. When do you propose to snap your fingers and make him cooperate?”

  “Why not tonight?”

  “I don’t want a full crew.”

  “It will be you, me, and Sean.”

  “Who’s Sean?”

  The brute behind the wheel called back, “I’m Sean, mate,” in a Cockney accent. “Sean Mason.”

  “A pleasure,” Raven said. “I trust you know how to use the handgun under your jacket?”

  “I’m former SAS.”

  “Of course, you are.” Raven faced Misty again. “Okay, no more argument from me. We’re in this together.”

  “I’m glad you see it my way.”

  “Oh, my dear Watson,” Raven said, “you know if I refused, there wouldn’t be anything you could do about it.”

  “I wouldn’t,” she said. “Sean, however—”

  Raven laughed. He glanced at the former SAS man, who watched him in the rearview mirror. Sean was laughing too. But the doubt in his eye gave Raven the upper hand. The Brit might be tough, but he knew Raven’s reputation. He didn’t want to find out if he was up the task of taming the outlaw.

  Raven felt the same way. He wasn’
t in the business of beating on allied forces.

  Cooperation was the best course of action.

  “Is there anything else to talk about?” Raven said to Misty.

  “No.” She closed the laptop and returned the unit to the storage compartment.

  “I suggest we go back inside,” Raven said, “and let you do some snapping.”

  4

  Sean Mason, the former SAS man, shoved.

  Ben Doyle staggered from the doorway, his arms flailing as he protested. He stopped before tripping over a chair.

  “What the hell?”

  “I should be saying that to you, Ben,” Misty Watson said. She stepped around Mason and approached Doyle.

  Raven shut the door.

  Misty folded her arms. “Take a seat.”

  Ben Doyle’s furtive glance shot between Misty and Sean and settled on Raven. “Who is he?”

  “He’s a rookie in training,” Misty said. “Don’t worry about him.”

  Raven stayed by the door with his arms at either side. She’ll pay for that later.

  “I need a drink.”

  Doyle moved away from Misty to a corner bar and filled a glass. Raven glanced around. Doyle liked dark colors. None of the furniture, drapes, or paintings contained any brightness.

  Misty said, “Sit over there,” and gestured to a corner dining table. Doyle glared at her but obeyed. She joined him on the opposite side. Raven and Sean moved closer.

  Raven didn’t plan to interject unless Misty went sideways with her questions. Misty insisted—on the elevator ride up—she take the lead because Doyle was used to her. Raven didn’t see a reason to argue.

  “What do you want now?” Doyle said. “This isn’t how we usually do business.”

  “It’s an emergency, Ben.” Misty rested her arms on the table and folded her hands.

  Doyle swallowed a gulp of his Scotch. “Okay.”

  “You’ve been holding out on us, Ben.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Why the silence about the man in Berlin?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who, Ben.”

  “I haven’t done any business with anybody in Berlin.”

  “Hugo Schrader? The name means nothing to you?”

  Ben Doyle’s face blanched.

  “You are holding out.”

  “I’ve done business with Schrader in the past but not lately.”

  “Your reaction says otherwise, Ben. Come clean or we take this elsewhere.”

  Doyle said nothing.

  “I’ll plug you into a chemical cocktail,” Misty said, “and you’ll tell me everything I want to know. Then, our deal is over. I’ll throw you in a van and we will transport you to the UK where you’ll never see the sun again.”

  Doyle laughed. “How long have you been waiting to give me that speech?”

  “I’m not fooling, Ben.”

  Doyle sighed and set down his glass. “Yeah, I did a deal with Schrader.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Couple weeks.”

  “You didn’t think we needed to know?”

  “I didn’t have anything to tell you!” Doyle insisted. “It was a straight deal for small arms. Bunch of guns, ammo, and explosives. I had no idea what their intentions were.”

  “You could have said something anyway, Ben. Makes me wonder what else you haven’t told us.”

  Doyle left the table. Sean turned his body to track Doyle to the bar where he refilled his glass. Doyle leaned against the bar.

  “It’s in my files,” he said. “Schrader contacted me through his usual representative, a man named Speidel. I didn’t send the guns to Berlin. I sent them to Greece instead.”

  “Who was the contact in Greece?” Misty said.

  “I have to look at my files.”

  “Something wrong with your brain, Ben?”

  “No, Misty,” Doyle said. “I write things down so I don’t have to remember them. You should try it sometime.”

  “Get your files, Ben.”

  “This is rich,” he said, laughing. “I’m getting out of this business. Turning everything over to one of my associates. I’m going to relax and run this hotel.”

  “We saw you in the bar.”

  “Then you saw the demise of my involvement in the gun business.”

  “Well,” Misty Watson said, “you may be done with the gun business, but you aren’t done with us. We’ll still expect information from you on a regular basis.”

  “Going to be a bit difficult.”

  “You’ll find a way. Files, Ben?”

  Doyle set down his glass. He looked at Raven and Sean Mason. “You two want to come along?”

  Raven and Mason followed Doyle down a short hallway.

  Doyle provided a spiral notebook open to the appropriate pages. The names, dates, and shipping locations corresponded with the deliveries ordered by Sebastian Speidel.

  Misty took the notebook, said, “Toodles, love,” and led Raven and Mason out of the penthouse. As Raven pulled the door closed behind them, he looked back. Doyle stood fuming. The gun seller was getting off easier than had Raven questioned him alone. With MI6 hooks still in his hide, maybe he’d have preferred the rougher treatment.

  The elevator car descended. Raven pulled the notebook from where Misty had it tucked under her arm. She said, “Hey,” but he ignored her. He scanned the page.

  “We can go over this in my room,” he told her.

  “You buying dinner?”

  “The CIA is buying dinner.”

  Sean Mason cleared his throat.

  “Sorry, mate,” Raven said. “Go report to HQ or something.”

  “I see how it is,” Mason said.

  “Mind your own business,” Misty told him. To Raven: “If the CIA is buying, does that mean—”

  “I will buy the most expensive bottle of champagne on the menu.”

  “You might annoy me, Sam, but you sure know how to make up for it.”

  Raven grinned and handed back the notebook.

  It would have killed the mood to point out buying dinner from the hotel put money in Doyle’s pocket. Raven decided not to mention it. He’d handed over the notebook, hadn’t he?

  Raven’s room didn’t have a dining table. Instead, he and Misty sat next to each other at the work desk jammed against the wall. The house special of the night was salmon, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh vegetables with a lemon butter sauce. Misty thought there was too much lemon; Raven found it perfect.

  Champagne with salmon might make most foodies cringe in terror. Misty didn’t mind breaking such rules. Raven accommodated as promised with a 2006 bottle of Krug Brut costing $300 US.

  Misty attacked both food and champagne. After downing her first glass in nearly two swallows, she took her time with glasses two and three as she ate.

  Doyle’s notes displayed minute details. Schrader’s rep, Speidel, ordered eight assault weapons, and eight sets of C-4 explosives. Doyle had shipped the contraband to Greece two weeks earlier.

  Doyle listed an import company called Stathoti Logistics as the receiver. He’d addressed the shipment to the attention of one Stavros Stathoti.

  “His name ring any bells?” Raven said. He scooped up some mashed potato, added a piece of salmon, and ate.

  Misty mumbled “no” through a full mouth.

  Raven set his fork down and called Clark Wilson.

  Wilson did not answer.

  “This is Paul Heinrich, Clark’s number two,” the man on the other end of the line said. “Clark is out for the day.”

  “He deserves the rest,” Raven said. “I need a check on a name.”

  “Okay.”

  “Check out Stavros Stathoti of Stathoti Logistics in Greece.”

  “Where in Greece?”

  Raven consulted the notebook. “Piraeus. Port city five miles southwest of Athens.”

  “Stand by.”

  Raven glanced at Misty. She finished the last of her meal and emptied he
r third glass of Krug into her belly. She smiled at him with glassy eyes before her grin turned to terror. She covered her mouth as she burped. Then she laughed.

  Raven rotated his chair away from her. She left the table laughing.

  Paul Heinrich returned to the line. “Ready?”

  “Listening.”

  “He’s not a choir boy but we don’t have much on him. Interpol suspects Stathoti is involved in drug and arms smuggling.”

  “No proof?”

  “No. He’s not on anybody’s radar, either. He must work hard at not being noticed.”

  “His life is about to change. Thanks, Paul.”

  “Anytime.”

  Raven ended the call. Misty was still laughing. Raven turned. She was half on, half off the bed.

  “Are you done letting the air out of your head?”

  She sat up. “What did your contact say?”

  “To Greece, Watson!”

  “Oh my god!” She bounced off the bed and came at him. She leaned over and stabbed at his chest with alternating jabs of her index fingers. “Why. Do. You. Always. Call. Me. Watson!?”

  He blocked most of the jabs, laughing when she scored, and grabbed both her wrists.

  “Rookie in training?”

  She laughed. “It was funny, and you couldn’t say anything to stop me.”

  She struggled against his grasp. He didn’t budge.

  “Let go of me.”

  “No.”

  “Let go of me.”

  “Make me.”

  She pulled harder, her mouth open in a smile, her lips wet, eyes locked on his. He let her pull him out of the chair but held tight. He let go, spun her around, and gave her a swat on the behind before shoving her onto the bed. She bounced on the mattress, rolling out of the way before he landed on top of her. She laughed as she tackled him and forced him onto his back. She swung her legs over either side of his body, pinning his own wrists against the bedspread.

  “How do you like it?” Her hot breath touched his face.

  “I can smell your dinner.”

  He didn’t struggle against the toned arms and legs holding him down. Her petite body wasn’t heavy. When she lowered her lips to his he didn’t resist either. It had been a long time since they’d been together, and he had to admit she hadn’t crossed his mind much. She was a casual fling, and he’d decided it was better to keep it as such.