Chapter 11
Wear My Sunglasses at Night
The Embraer Legacy 650 business jet landed at the private air strip and taxied to a stop. Giselle sat across from him in a soft leather recliner, sipping champagne. She had complained that she had missed celebrating the New Year. Two days had passed since their harried escape from the Vector Energy headquarters in Los Angeles. Jake had enjoyed the rest, the food, the fresh, warm salt air, and the view.
He glanced again at Giselle’s alabaster skin, her slim legs crossed primly. He was glad he was about to hand her over to her employer’s security team. The longer he spent with her, the more difficult he found defending against her advances. His body demanded yes, and his mind devoutly said no. He had no idea where that second voice got its self-righteous fury. Jake simply obeyed it the same way he would ignore the sharp, blinding pain that came with the thought of VANITY.
“I dare say I thought I was rid of this blasted cold,” Giselle complained.
“I thought you were born in a frozen climate,” he jabbed. She smirked and ignored him.
She glanced out the window as they taxied through the ice and snow. It covered the surrounding hills and Jake could hear the slush and ice crunching under the Legacy 650’s landing gear. It was almost enough to depress him. He had to agree with Giselle. He would rather still be out on the Pacific.
“I wasn’t sure they would take me back,” she said, her voice quiet. She chewed on her lip and continued to stare out the passenger window.
“I am sure Sinegem believes the threat is behind them now. The board has voted to remove their sanctions, and re-assign you. Darius has agreed to call off the dogs. You get your life back.”
She turned to look at him, sadness weighing down her porcelain features.
“What about you?”
He shrugged.
“I guess I tweaked the nose of my boss, gave Violet more reason to hate me, and owe Gary a country club membership. What kind of assassin would I be if I didn’t manage to create a little chaos while rescuing someone for a change?”
Giselle sniffed.
“I think you are too confident. I am not retracting my offer, Mr. Monday.”
“I thought we were on first name basis again since I saved your bacon.”
Her smile was sad. Her voice sounded weary.
“As before, this is business, not pleasure. We need you more than Galbraith. Don’t make us force them to use you.”
“What do you mean?”
She sipped her champagne. The jet stopped abruptly and the attendant came forward and stood at the front of the cabin, smiling professionally.
“I have perhaps said too much. We must join our companions. We will speak more, I am sure.” She placed the champagne on the table beside her and allowed Jake to take her hand and escort her forward.
“I am glad you are safe,” he said. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
Jake could smell her skin. It was intoxicating.
“I will never be able to thank you for all you have done. I enjoyed our little adventure.”
“Me too,” he said. A dumb, thunder-struck smile edged its way across his face. She took both his hands in hers and gave them a little shake.
“Until later, Mr. Monday.”
“Yes. We must have another adventure someday,” he promised.
She turned and made her way toward the exit. Mixed emotions stirred in him again. Despite his compunction to follow her home and to hear more of this offer to work for Sinegem, Jake turned his mind to the business at hand.
Jake was curious about what she was hinting, but he had some small trepidation regarding his position at Galbraith. He did not figure that there would be a good exit strategy. This was not the first time it had occurred to him that he might not be able to leave Galbraith alive.
He wondered who would meet him on the icy tarmac outside. Lars had mentioned that he had passed some sort of “test.” Jake was sick of feeling like he was a puppet. He had jumped through every hoop Lars and Galbraith had put before him. He did not understand why he constantly had to prove himself. Evidently, they were more worried about his loyalty than his skills. This made Jake uneasy. At least he had passed. That was always a good feeling. Right?
As he ducked his head and moved toward the politely smiling attendant, he tried to catch a glimpse outside the windows. All he could see was a long field featuring a huge rock and a brick mansion with tall cedars standing a lonely, snow-covered guard against a north wind coming off Lake Cayuga. They were in upstate New York at the vacation home of one of the Sinegem America executives. Probably another one of Gary’s “friends.” It never ceased to amaze Jake the sheer volume and quality of Gary’s contacts. The small runway was newly paved and well maintained, but the snow was still falling in huge flakes like ashes from some great fire.
The cold wind whipped into the jet and the glare from the whiteness of the snow almost blinded him. He wished he had packed some winter gloves. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his meager jacket as the attendant wrapped Giselle in a long, fur-lined parka. He barely heard her stammer her gratitude over the sound of the engines and the howl of the wind.
“Thank you for flying with us,” the attendant said with more charm and enthusiasm than was necessary. Giselle smiled at her and carefully stepped down. Jake thought he should help her, but before he could get to the door, she was almost at the bottom.
Two men in trench coats, dark gloves, and mirrored sunglasses moved to flank her. One man took her by the elbow and the other by the hand, talking to her with a slight smile on his face. Giselle nodded. She turned and waved at Jake. He stood stupidly at the exit of the Legacy 650 with his satchel under his arm and his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket.
The man beside her looked up at him then. Jake thought for one second that he recognized him. But the blinding whiteness of the snow and the cold air blowing on the surface of his eyes made him blink and squint.
Jake looked out farther from them to the dark Cadillac Escalade, another guard holding open the back passenger door and rubbing his hands together. A cloud plumed into the air from the exhaust. Jake could not make out anything in the vehicle due to the tinting, but he saw a pant leg through the open door. Four guards? Maybe Sinegem was serious about protecting their asset better this time.
Another vehicle pulled into the driveway of the house. It was a dark green Yukon Denali with Virginia plates. Lars and Violet got out as soon as the vehicle came to a stop about twenty yards from the jet. Jake was surprised to see them there. And where is Gary? he wondered.
Violet stood at the bottom of the steps, her arms crossed and a satisfied smile on her face. Her cheeks were beet red from the cold. Lars was shaking the hand of the man who had held Giselle’s hand. He nodded, smiling and they parted.
What is happening here? Jake fought the urge to panic.
The attendant was standing patiently behind him the whole time.
“Watch your step, sir. The snow is accumulating quickly,” she said loudly to be heard above the roar of the engine.
He nodded and descended to his fate.
Violet stood back from him. Lars came up and extended a hand. His lips were a firm line across his face. His eyes gave nothing away.
Jake shook his hand, the leather gloves warm to the touch. Lars had driven, he realized.
“Welcome back, Jake. Good job.”
“Thanks. I think.” He cocked his head and looked again at Violet who shook her head and seemed to be chuckling.
“Come on. We have a long trip back to New York and a lot to talk about,” Violet said, turning and trudging through the north wind back to the warm sanctum of the SUV.
“It would seem so,” Jake said. “Like, where is Gary?”
Jake followed, adjusting the satchel in case he needed to get his gear.
“Gary is waiting in New York. We will fill you in as we travel,” Violet said over her back into the wind.
; Jake took in Lars with a curious stare. He walked abreast of Jake, his breath pluming in the wind and trailing behind his ear like a freight train.
“Don’t worry, Jake. You are not in trouble,” Lars said. His voice was gruff, like sandpaper on an antique.
“Thanks for not saying ‘just trust us,’” Jake quipped.
“I don’t expect you would anyway,” Lars said without humor. He stared ahead, only glancing toward the Cadillac as Giselle was escorted in.
“You know them?” Jake asked.
Lars shrugged. He grabbed the door handle and opened the door, looking at Jake. He took a deep breath. His eyes were watery but hard. They were grey, Jake realized.
“My son Calvin works for them,” he said.
Jake prepared himself to lie. The longer he did this, the easier it became. Not just to others. It was easy to lie to himself as well.
“I didn’t know you had a son, Lars,” Jake said, trying to sound gregarious.
“Yes you did,” Lars said. He got into the SUV without another word.
Jake followed suit. He swallowed hard. He was not exactly scared, but he hated being caught in a lie. Lars was a hard man to work for, but he was not cruel. He was more clever and shrewd than he had a right to be. Jake supposed that was why he was a Galbraith Alliance Director and he was merely the trigger, the knife in the dark, the operator. So where did that leave Violet?
The inside of the vehicle was blessedly warm. The seats had warmers and he had the luxury of separate controls for the heat in the back seat. Violet sat in the front passenger seat. She reached around and handed him a laptop.
“Your passcode is your agent identification. I suggest changing the code immediately. This is a long trip. You can start there,” she pointed at the laptop “and if you have any questions, we can get you up to speed.”
Jake opened the laptop and typed in his passcode. Security protocols flashed and the obligatory hourglass turned and then he was looking at a set of files titled “Operation Aždaja.”
Jake looked up. Violet was staring at him, a slim smile on her glistening lips. They were driving down a narrow two-lane road lined by farms, small, white houses, and stark metal-sided buildings. He glanced at the instrument panel and saw they were heading south, putting the wind and the snow to their backs.
“Aždaja? What is that?” Jake asked, curious.
“A multi-headed ancient dragon of Russian lore. St. George slayed one in a famous painting,” Violet answered. Her gaze was as smug as ever. Jake felt like she was challenging him even in this.
“I see. That is who we work for, isn’t it?” He said, realizing the significance. His head was beginning to hurt.
Violet smirked.
“You know nothing, Monday,” she said, turning back to face the windshield.
“The dragon is you,” Lars said, his voice a low grumble, barely distinguishable from the sound of the icy gravel under the tires of the big SUV.
Confused, Jake looked down at the screen again and opened up the file. It contained several other folders and some media files. He double clicked on one and watched as the media player came to life.
It was a video of a trial.
Jake watched Eilif testify before a judge. There was no jury. Eilif’s lawyer was pacing, asking questions Jake could barely hear. The sound was terrible, but the video was clear. Jake was about to exit the program and check out another file—he knew how this ended, so why watch it all?—when he recognized one of the people in the audience. It was Giselle. He paused the player and looked for the tool to zoom the camera.
It was her. She wore a brown suit jacket and her hair was tied in a tight knot atop her head. She looked scared. She looked pissed.
He realized he was being watched. He looked up at Violet in the front seat. She was smiling that familiar smug, self-satisfied smile.
“You know nothing, Monday,” She said.
“Giselle works for Eilif?”
She shook her head.
“His daughter,” she explained.
Jake could feel the headache come back. He saw the red capital letters burning into the back of his eyes. VANITY.
“And Calvin—“
“Really works for us,” Violet finished. Lars was silent, but Jake watched as his jaw clenched and his fingers curled and flexed on the steering wheel.
Jake stared out the window at the lines of trees along the road. The bucolic setting around him was strange after spending the last few days surrounded by the choppy deep blue waters west of the Channel Islands. The wiper blades beat a rhythm, and emitted a high-pitched squeal. Jake lost himself in the noise and the movement of the vehicle. The pain in his temples and at the back of his head pushed cognitive and analytical thought from his brain.
“That whole thing was a setup?” He didn’t know if he was angry or just scared.
He watched Violet open a small black case in the front seat.
“Think of it as more of a test,” she said.
“A test? Of what? My abilities? You called it a test before. What are you testing? Who are you, really? Answer me, Lars.” Jake put his hand on his shoulder. Lars didn’t flinch.
Violet shook her head. She lunged, a syringe in her hand. Before he could pull his exposed hand back, she had plunged the needle in between his thumb and finger at a shallow angle. He felt a warm sensation there as she pressed the plunger. He yanked his hand, staring at her with wild eyes.
“Not your abilities, Monday. A test of your programming,” Lars said.
“I don’t understand,” he said. He watched as Violet put the syringe in a packet and put it back in her purse. She turned back to the front, with a glimpse at Lars.
“Keep going through the files on the laptop, Monday. Go in order this time. It will all fit together soon,” Lars instructed. Jake ignored him.
“Why did you do that?” Jake asked Violet. She did not look at him.
“Aždaja. Aždaja. Aždaja,” Violet said. Her voice was firm. She said the words slowly. Then, she turned and held out her fist to him, palm down.
He looked at her quizzically, nursing the sting of his hand.
“Take it,” she ordered.
He held out his hand and she dropped a heavy coin in it. It was silver with deep etchings. It looked ancient. One side held old Slavic writings. He turned it over in his hand, lazily. On the opposite side was an engraving of a dragon, awful and terrible with three heads. He looked up at Violet gazing at him as if she expected something.
The world around him narrowed to the interior of the vehicle, the heat blowing on his face from the vent above his head, the glow of the laptop as the daylight outside waned, and Violet’s eyes. They seemed black, her face like a harpy or a medusa.
Lars was right. It was a long trip.
Manic Monday (The Jake Monday Chronicles #1) Page 12
