by Jake Devlin
“Russian?”
“Oh; yeah, Russian, and – oh, Swedish; that's all I can remember. It's been over forty years.”
“So that's where your 'baby' got her talent.”
“Oh, Gordy, you're making me blush.”
“C'mon, Ro, you haven't blushed since last summer, even with all we've done since then. What?”
“That just reminded me of that night with Nor- – I mean Dallas.”
“Ah. Yeah, that was fun.”
“For me, too. Kinda surprised by that.”
“Well, it took you a while to come around, but once we got into the ice cream, you seemed to lose all your inhibitions.”
“I did, didn't I?”
“Oh, yeah, in more ways than” --
“Oh, Gordy, look!”
“What? Oh. Could you talk to her? I might be too intimidating.”
“Okay.”
“Be gentle; she looks fragi” –
“Wait; lemme – okay; I got this.
“Hey, throw those back in! They're alive.”
“What?”
“All those starfish you've got; they're alive and you can't take anything live.”
“Really? I deed not know.”
“Yeah; it's a rule. If a ranger sees you, you could be arrested.”
“A raynjair?”
“Cop, policeman.”
“Oh, merde. Sorree. I – zees eez my fairst day eer.”
“Well, just toss them back in the water. Yeah, right there. Good.”
“I am sorree.”
“It's fine; you're okay now. And now you know.”
“Merci – sank you.”
“No problem, now. Have a nice day.”
“Well, once again you surprise me, Ro.”
“Just wait'll you get that finger cot on your toe and we get back in the water.”
“Oh?”
“I'll give you another, bigger surprise.”
“I think I'll run to the drugstore right now.”
“Good idea. And hurry back.”
“I'll do that.”
“Oh, goodie.”
- 13 -
June 17, 2013
10:13 a.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“So when I talked with Gordy about splitting off and starting our own biz, he thought about that for a while, but finally came around and said yes. So that got me another step closer.”
“Think my seventh-floor guy was involved in his handler screwing him over?”
“Probably. His tentacles reached a long way, especially since his dad had a lot of political clout.”
“His father?”
“Didn't you know? His father was a lawyer, if I remember right, a lobbyist and a big donor, to both parties, but mostly to the Dems, corrupt as hell, and I think there might have been a concern that he was maybe a Soviet agent himself.”
“How do you know all that?”
“He was in Hoover's files, the ones I copied.”
“Shit, Jake, and you didn't tell me?”
“Didn't think about it; I thought you knew, with all the research you've been doing.”
“I was too focused on the guy, not his parents. Damn. Can I see that file?”
“Sure; I'll have Amber send it over when I talk to her later.”
“Good. Maybe that'll give us something more.”
“Could be; I don't remember all the details in it, and all those files have been buried for years. Hundreds of 'em, maybe thousands.”
“That many? Wow.”
“Yup. That ol' faggot was a total control freak.”
“And paranoid.”
“That, too. And big into blackmailing congressmen to get them to vote his way, mainly on his budget.”
“And on expanding his authority, from what I've heard and read.”
“That, too. A royal sonofabitch, he was.”
“Well, he sure thought he was royal.”
“And managed to keep his power until we got him.”
“You got him? I thought he died of a heart attack, natural causes.”
“One of the Company's best coverups; everybody thought that, even Tolson. That was my last hit before I quit.”
“No! You?”
“Yup. I can't tell you how nervous I was, so afraid I was gonna be scapegoated again. But I got the pot-chlor in in some bananas, which he loved, chomp-chomp-chomp, boom-boom-boom, heart stops, and it never showed up on autopsy. Never does.”
“Pot-chlor?”
“Sorry; potassium chloride.”
“Oh, right. Never heard the jargon before.”
“A very useful weapon, even though it's primitive. Used it a lot over the years.”
“Who ordered the hit?”
“I never knew for sure; the order just came from my handler. I did think about that a lot, went through all the files I'd copied, had a few possible suspects, never could pin it on anyone. But one of the guys I suspected the most was your seventh-floor guy.”
“Nicholas? Of course.”
“I thought we weren't going to mention his name.”
“Oh, who gives a shit at this point?”
“Okay. Yup, Nicholas. I knew him as Nick back at the Farm.”
“Either/or. Who cares? Sonofabitch. Double shit!”
- 14 -
June 17, 2013
2:43 p.m. local time
Washington, DC
“Aw, shit, JB.”
“What?”
“Look there, right under the corner cam.”
“Where – oh, got it.”
“Yup, a tiny camera aiming back along the wall, hidden right under the big obvious one.”
“Yeah, that woulda sucked anybody in but us. Double shit.”
“I'll see your double shit and raise you one shit.”
“Double your raise; quadruple shit.”
“Quad shit? Sextuple shit.”
“Octuple shit.”
“Decahedral shit.”
“Oh, now you're going geometric, CB?”
“Go for it, JB.”
“Okay. Um – twelve, um – ah-ha. Dodecahedral shit.”
“Ahm, double dodecahedral shit.”
“That would be duododecahedral shit, CB.”
“Say that three times fast, JB.”
“That, that, that.”
“Nice try, JB, but no.”
“Oh, you mean you want to me to say this three times fast, CB? Duododecahedral shit, duododecahedral shit, duododecahedral shit.”
“Not bad, JB, not bad at all. But back to work. Floor plans come in yet?”
“Let me check. Yup, right there in the inbox.”
“Good. Print 'em out and let's get at 'em.”
- 15 -
June 17, 2013
10:24 a.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“Then in late '71 – '71? Right – Gordy and I were working our last job together in Athens and we bumped into Amber in a sidewalk cafe. We were just working our cover as Canadian tourists, having a quiet midafternoon snack, some mezedes and ouzo” –
“God, I hate that stuff; tastes like paint thinner.”
“Oh, no, Pam; more like licorice, but smoother. Maybe you had an off brand, or maybe it wasn't served right.”
“Could be.”
“Gotta be very cold and diluted with water. And you've got to be sure to eat something with it; it sneaks up on you.”
“It sure does. The one time I had it, our target downed three shots of it in a row, no water, no food, and half an hour later, he passed out. JJ and I had an easy time stripping him and posing him with us for the cameras, and when he came to a couple hours later, Richie and the team showed him the photos and we turned him; good for three years of intel. While they were working on him, I tasted that stuff, and it was like sipping paint thinner; really. JJ sorta liked it.”
“It's okay, not my favorite aperitif, though.”
“Sorry. You were in a cafe in Athens?”
“Oh, right. So we're sitting there, just nibbling and sipping, and suddenly Amber was sitting between us, smiling at me.
“'Hallo, Yank. How's it going?'
“Surprised the hell outa me. She'd ninjaed up on us just like I'd done to her in SanTrope. I noticed that she was breathing heavily, but controlling it pretty well.
“'Do I know you, ma'am?' I asked her.
“'Oh, I know ya, Yank, St. Tropez, and I know you can't confirm or deny it,' she said quietly, chuckling.
“'Ah; SanTrope. Yeah, that I can confirm, but only that I remember you. Forgotten your name, though.'
“'We never exchanged them. You can call me Jasmine.'
“'And you can call me' – took me a second to remember my cover name – 'Sam.'
“'Sam. A good Yankee name. And your compadre here?'
“'Dave. Nice to meetcha … Jasmine.'
“'Sam and Dave. And would ya be in the same, ah, business?'
“'Yup, security systems,' I said, maybe a little too quickly.
“'Ah, that's a good business these days. Very dangerous world out there,' she said, glancing unobtrusively around the cafe and out to the street.
“'Yes, it is,' Gordy replied.
“Then she leaned in close and whispered, 'Sam, Dave, I need a bit of help here. My cover's blown and the target's turned the tables, got three of his blokes looking for me. I'm hoping you guys are both as good as I'd think you are, and I need a wee bit of a diversion. Can you do that for me without blowing your own covers? Cuz?'
“Gordy looked to me for guidance, and I had to pause, but only for a second before I nodded.
“'What do you need?'
“'You have weapons on you?' she asked.
“'Yup, with silencers, in our briefcases.'
“'Good. You don't mind using them?'
“'Nope,' I said, and Gordy nodded.
“'Good. Here's my idea.' And as soon as she told us her plan, we agreed, with one modification. And it was just in time.”
- 16 -
August 19, 2013
10:27 a.m. local time
Bonita Beach, Florida
“How's the toe doing?”
“Much better, Ro; that finger cot works great, keeps it dry even here in the water.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“Only when I step on it the wrong way, and I've got to be careful with the accelerator pedal. And if I put the” --
“Hey, Gordy! Gordy!”
“What is it, Joe?”
“Did you hear what the governor is doing?”
“He does a lot of stuff. Which?”
“The commercial zones every county and city has to allow on all their beaches.”
“What?”
“Starting October 1st, they're lifting all the no-business regs for designated areas in all of the parks and beaches in the whole state.”
“You're kidding, right?”
“Nope, it's true; saw it on the news this morning. They said it was part of his new pro-small- and micro-business policy.”
“You could sell your book there, Gordy.”
“Could be, Ro, could be, but I think I'd wait until the second one is done. I'll have to check it out. Thanks, Joe; that's good news.”
“No problem, Gordy. Thought you'd like to know.”
“And maybe Sharon could sell some of her pottery, too.”
“And Carie could maybe sell her jewelry.”
“Good idea, Ro. But let me check it out before everybody gets too excited. Remember, every silver lining has a cloud.”
“Oh, c'mon, Gordy, don't be such a pessimist.”
“I'm not, Joe; I'm a realist. I've just got to check it out before I do anything.”
“Ah, okay; got it.”
“I mean, it is very surprising. Most governments, at all levels, are anti-business, especially small business; so much red tape and bureaucracy and piddling little rules that some pissant little clown put in place just because he or she had the power to do it. And they all fret publicly about unemployment; hypocrites – oops; sorry for the soapboxing. Got my blood pressure up to almost normal there.”
“Hey, Gordy, on the pessimist/optimist thing” –
“Yeah, Joe?”
“You know how optimists say a glass is half-full and pessimists say it's half-empty?”
“Yeah.”
“You know what an engineer says about it?”
“Uh … ah, nope; what?”
“He says you've got a glass twice as big as you need.”
“Oh, good one, Joe.”
“Yeah; kewl.”
“Geez, Rosemary, you sound like a teenager with that.”
“Gordy helped me practice it.”
“Cool.”
“Hey, Joe?”
“Yeah, Gordy?”
“What if the glass was half-full of ouzo?”
“Eww; ick.”
- 17 -
June 17, 2013
10:33 a.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“As soon as we agreed, Amber pointed to four men on the street, two on each sidewalk, heading our way. Three big guys with bushy eyebrows, angry and on full alert, and one smaller guy, glasses and a trenchcoat; looked like a CPA. The Greeks on the sidewalks all got out of their way fast; they could tell something was up, I was sure.
“'See 'em?' she whispered.
“'Yup; nasty-looking, lousy tradecraft, standing out like sore thumbs.'
“'KGB; the short one is my target. Ready?'”
“We nodded, and she got up from the table and walked casually out onto the sidewalk, away from the thugs, ignoring them. When the four guys picked up their pace and passed the cafe, Gordy and I slid out onto the sidewalk and followed them, Gordy crossing the street while I stayed on our side.
“It looked to me like they didn't care if they shot her right out on the street; arrogant, cocky bulldogs. I could see Amber still walking casually, but at a decently quick pace. For a squat little woman, she knew how to duck between the oncoming tourists and locals and still move fast, but not looking like she was in a hurry. And not once looking behind her.
“A few minutes later, she came to the corner we'd all agreed on and turned right. The goons followed, picking up their pace even more, oblivious to the two of us tailing them. The two on my side of the street slowed up, while the two on the other side went ahead to where they could see down the street Amber was on and waved to my two, who then ducked around the corner. I walked on past while the two on Gordy's side crossed, with Gordy maybe fifteen feet behind them. When he crossed over, I joined him and we headed down the cross street, another busy one.
“All four of the KGB guys stayed on the right side, and Gordy and I did, as well, moving up to about ten feet behind them. About half a block down, Amber turned into an alley, and if she was following our plan, began running as fast as she could toward the other end.
“When our guys reached the corner, one of them moved ahead and glanced around the corner, then started running, with the other three behind him. Gordy and I ducked around the corner and ran after them down the empty alley, pulling the weapons out of our briefcases and screwing the silencers on.
“When Amber stopped suddenly and turned back, aiming her silenced pistol directly at the four men, they were caught by surprise and clumsily reached for their weapons.
“As they were fumbling, Gordy shot the two on the left in the spine, pfft, pfft, and I took out the taller one on the right with a similar shot, pfft, but as for the shorter one, Amber's target, I hit him only in the shoulder. Then we ran up to them, head-bulleted the other three and held the fourth man at gunpoint until Amber got back and finished him off with a double tap to his forehead, pfft, pfft. Then she pulled out a camera and took photos of each of the corpses. None of them was our target.
“'Proof of death; KGB'll probably clean this all up and keep it out of the Greek papers and away from the police,' she said as she slid her pistol
and the camera into her purse and searched the men's pockets, pulling out anything she could find.
“Gordy and I resecured our weapons, and we all left separately, leaving the bodies where they lay. We met up two hours later for dinner at a hotel in downtown Athens, after we'd taken care of our own hit.”
- 18 -
June 17, 2013
5:57 p.m. local time
Washington, DC
“Italian, CB?”
“Naw. How about Indian, some curry?”
“Yuck. Chinese?”
“Naw. How about Mexican?”
“Greek? Mousaka, stuffed grape leaves?”
“Naw. Maybe “ –
“Hey, I got one. Did you see that place on the corner a couple blocks up?”
“Which one?”
“That Chinese-Mexican one.”
“What? Chinese-Mexican? Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. It's – oh, what's the name? Pancho Khan? Genghis Villa? Juan Chong's? Something like that.”
“Oh, Jillybean, that's” –
“We could get some pork fried tacos, maybe Peking duck tortillas, General Tso's burritos” –
“What?”
“Moo shu fajitas” –
“Oh, JB, stop, stop.”
“Sweet-and-sour quesadillas.”
“Oh, God, JB, that hurts.”
“Gotcha laughing, Carie Berry.”
“Oh, geez, JB. Guess I needed that.”
“Yeah; three hours on the floor plans and no luck. How about” –
“How about what?”
“Peanut butter-and-turkey sandwiches?”
- 19 -
June 17, 2013
10:41 a.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“'Thank you, Yank. And you, Second Yank. Sam, Dave. I dare say, you both have soul, men. And on behalf of the entire British government, may I present you with this?'
“'A bottle of ouzo, Jasmine?' I asked her, laughing.
“'Well, without you two, if I were still alive to drink this, it'd pour out of the many holes I'd have in me belly.'
“'What, no medals?' Gordy asked, smiling.
