"There's no fun in erectile dysfunction. I hope the shit you're selling works. If it doesn't, I'm gonna saddle up and come kick the — "
"All right," he said. "That's enough. Your voice is authenticated. Your caller ID's not showing up. You on a secure line?"
"Yes. I'm using VOIP through a satellite connection to a VPN."
"Okay. Good enough. I'm going to run through the details of your missions in order, starting back in 2001 and working toward the recent hit in Antigua. When you're satisfied that I'm legit, stop me. Questions?"
"Maybe. Let's see how you do first."
"Fine," he said. "In February, 2001…"
He recited a history of my jobs with enough detail to surprise me. He gave me more information than what I originally reported on two of them, causing me to wonder who was watching me back then. After the fifth one, I stopped him.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
"For now. What do I call you?"
"Boss will do. The woman you used to take orders from for the last 20 years? She still reports to me. Take your time and carefully parse what I just said. Then tell me how you interpret it." He paused.
Okay, so this is Nora's boss — an undersecretary in the Department of Defense, whose name's a closely guarded secret. I replayed his statement in my head. He said, "Boss will do." Then "… you used to take orders…" and "… she still reports…" The disconnect in tense was significant. He was telling me I no longer reported to Nora, but she continued to report to him.
"You're implying that I now report directly to you," I said.
"Good so far. Keep going."
"She still works for you; she's still there."
"Close enough. You're a good listener. She’s reporting to me, but she's been working for somebody on the outside on the sly for a while now. She doesn't know I found her out. You following me?"
"Yes. So far, but where is this going?"
"First, I have a question. I know she sent you a message a couple of days ago. Basically like the one from me you just responded to, but with her callback code." He gave me the four-digit callback code from Nora's message, and then said, "I know you haven't responded directly to that message; I'm monitoring her calls."
"That's correct," I said.
"Have you been in touch with her through an alternative means since you got rid of the sat phone she gave you in St. Martin?"
He knows something about my meeting with her in St. Martin. And that I ditched the sat phone. Does he know where I was when I last used it?
"No. How much do you know about what happened in St. Thomas?" I asked.
"We'll get there. Just bear with me. I'm feeling my way with you. Do you understand?"
He's not sure where my loyalty lies. Neither am I, but it certainly doesn't lie with Nora. Play along; see where he goes with this. Maybe I can trust him, maybe not.
"Sure. I understand."
"Are we okay on time? Can you spare several more minutes? Or do you need to call me back later?"
"I have plenty of time."
"Good. I'll play a recording for you. You'll recognize one voice. The other doesn't matter for the moment. I want your reaction, so listen carefully. You ready?"
"Ready," I said.
"Here goes."
I heard a click, followed by a few seconds of the hissing of a poor-quality recording. Then I heard Nora's voice over the hiss.
"I need your help with a little project," she said.
"Happy to help, Phyllis. What do you need?" I recognized Senator Jefferson Davis Lee's baritone southern drawl with no trouble.
"I've told you not to use names, damn it."
"Sorry. Don't sweat it, though. This line's swept every day. It's clean."
"With all due respect, you don't know shit about that kind of thing. Watch what you say. I've told you before; you should always assume someone's listening."
"Okay, sorry. You're right; I'm not used to this spook stuff. What do you need?" Lee asked.
"There's a girl at the University in Gainesville. Her name's Abigail Carroll." Nora spelled the last name. "Her address is 1701 Southwest 16th Street, Apartment 201. You got that?"
"Yes. Got it. What about her? Want me to get her an internship or something?"
"No. I want you to have someone kidnap her and hold her for leverage. She's the daughter of that guy who's helping the woman we're looking for. The one who has those files we want."
"That woman's the one who killed — "
"Shut up, dumbass." She cut him off. "No names."
"Right. Sorry again. So, you want me to have someone pick up the girl?"
"Yes. Make sure it can't come back to you; the guy and the woman are dangerous. You understand?"
"Yes, sure. Dangerous." He coughed. "What happens once we have the girl?"
"Okay, pay close attention. They're not to harm the girl without my explicit orders. They should take a photo of her and send a text to the following number with the picture and the message I'm about to dictate. You ready to write it down?"
"Yes."
She gave him the number of my iPhone and began to dictate. "She's a pretty girl. Don't worry. We won't do anything to spoil her looks. Wouldn't want to reduce her market value. In case our friend in St. Thomas forgot to tell you before he died, we want the girl who was calling herself Mary Elizabeth O'Brien. And we want to know who has copies of the files she stole from the Daileys. You have 48 hours to deliver. After that, we'll send you videos every six hours showing what we're doing to this sweet child until you give us what we want. Keep your phone close by."
"That's it? You want their names in there? You said — "
"I know what I said. Yes, I want the names in there. Have them send that text to him word for word. Make sure they use a burner phone and ditch it right away. He may come after them."
"Okay. I got it."
"Any questions?"
"Yes. What happens to the girl after we get the files and the woman?"
"You can give the girl to the people who snatch her, for all I care. In fact, that would be best. They need to make sure she doesn't surface afterward. Maybe send her on a long, long trip." Nora laughed.
Lee chuckled. "She pretty?"
"I have no idea. What difference does that make?"
"The people I'll use have a market for — "
"Shut up, you dumb bastard. I told you I don't care what happens to her afterward. That's up to you and your people. But make sure they don't touch her until I say different. This guy's no amateur. He'll want to talk to her, probably want a video call with her. Understand?"
"Yes. And is that allowed?"
"Yes. We want him hooked solidly. He has to know she's okay, but that's it. If he thinks they're abusing her, there's no telling what he might do. She needs to be unharmed so she can talk with him, but no drawn-out conversations. If he doesn't follow instructions, then we'll mess her up and make a video of it, but nothing too permanent. We don't want to lessen his incentive to cooperate, okay?"
"I got it. When do you want this done?"
"Yesterday. Don't screw it up, or you'll pay dearly."
"Yes, ma'am."
There was a click, and my new boss came on the line again. "You get all that?"
"Yes." I decided to test him a little. "Who was the man she was talking with?"
"Look, I'm not sure how your dealings with your former boss worked, but you're playing in a different league now. Don't ask irrelevant questions. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Just so you don't wonder, I know who Abigail Carroll is, and what she means to you. Okay?"
"Yes."
"That never happened, what they were talking about. That's all been handled. There's no further threat to Abigail, and they never touched her. Don't worry about it. I played the recording to let you know what your former boss was trying to do to you and yours. You pissed off at her?"
"Yes." What does he think happened with Abby? He recorded Nora's conversation with Lee. Do
es he not know they went through with the kidnapping?
"Good. Just FYI, the person she was talking to killed himself before they snatched the girl. Hold onto that anger for a while, though."
Okay, he's got the timing screwed up, somehow. Thinks the senator killed himself before he went through with the kidnapping. So he doesn't know it wasn't a suicide. I'm disappointed in these people. I've invested 20 years with them. Now I find out Nora's a crook, and her boss is a dimwit.
"What you were going to ask about St. Thomas — did it have to do with your boss supposedly getting killed in your presence?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I thought so. I know about that. The other business, the Abigail thing, they were planning to use that for extra leverage, but we took care of it without your boss knowing exactly what happened."
Nice try, asshole. You just blew your credibility, for sure. "I see. That's a relief."
"We're looking out for you. It's the least we can do, in view of your service to the country. Back to St. Thomas — afterward, she was planning to go to you and feed you a story about trying to set up the man who supposedly killed her. Did she get to you with that story?"
"Yes."
"How did she reach you?"
"We were using a pair of off-the-books encrypted satellite phones." You mentioned that earlier in this conversation.
"Right. I just wanted to be sure. We've got her phone under surveillance, but we think you destroyed the mate, the one she gave you in St. Martin after you took care of the ISIS bastard. That right? Did you ditch it in the Miami airport?"
He's trying to show that they know all about me. Fool.
"No. Right after she called me, some locals in the BVI stole it." Might as well confuse things for them. "I confess that I left it on the table in a bar where it would be easy pickings for the local druggies. Practically begged 'em to steal it. I figured she was working for the wrong side when I got the call from her after what happened in St. Thomas. I didn't want her to track me through that phone. You say it was found in Miami?"
"She told me her people tracked it to the airport there. Found it in the trash, minus the SIM and the battery. You weren't in Miami?"
"No. Be interesting to know who had it and how it got there."
She told me in St. Martin that tracking wasn't enabled on that phone, but I didn't believe her. I was right.
"Yeah. She couldn't figure out what you were doing in Miami. Stolen, huh? That explains it."
"Guess whoever stole it sold it or traded it to somebody for dope," I said. "Stolen sat phones are in demand on the black market down here. Smugglers buy them, figuring it's that much harder to track than a cell phone. Wonder why they pulled the SIM? They usually just use them until whoever lost it gets the service turned off." Never mind that a thief wouldn't have been able to get past the lock screen on that phone.
"No idea. Okay. I'm feeling better about you; glad we got to talk through this. You ready to take it to the next level?"
"Maybe. What's the next level?" I asked.
"I like you; I like your track record. Your old boss, she's got to go. You understand?"
"Yes."
"I thought you would. But I have two problems. Interested in helping me out?"
"What are the problems?"
"The first one is that we need to debrief her — fully. I need everything she knows. Names, places, motivations — everything about the people she betrayed us to. You know the drill, right?"
"Yes. And after she's been wrung dry?"
"She's of no further use. In fact, she'll be a huge liability. You know what that means."
"Sure."
"You willing to take that on? The whole thing, from interrogation to termination?"
"It's what I do. Why not?"
"Good. Any questions before we get into the mission briefing?"
"You mentioned two problems. She's one; what's the other?"
He chuckled. "She's actually both problems. After she's gone, I need somebody to take her place. You interested?"
"I'm interested. But let's deal with one problem at a time, if it's okay with you."
"Sure. Here's my idea, but I'm open to your suggestions. You're the pro at operations. I think you should call her in response to that email and let her lead you. I want you to give me until tomorrow before you call her. Okay so far?"
"Yes. I'll call her tomorrow. Then what?"
"She's put out the word that you've gone rogue. Surprised?"
"No. Not after what happened with the setup in St. Thomas. I didn't buy her bullshit."
"Of course not. Based on her saying you've gone rogue, I will give her a warrant for your execution. Because of your sensitive background, I'm ordering her to supervise your interrogation and termination. She'll have an assassin with her; you're a hard target, and she knows it better than anybody. But the assassin will have orders directly from me to turn your old boss over to you and leave you alone, unless you ask for help from her."
"Ask for help from her, who?"
"The assassin will be a woman. What do you think?"
"Sounds good to me. I think that's all I need. Unless you say otherwise, I'll call my old boss in the morning and set this in motion."
"Good. Let me know if you need anything, but call me in the morning before you call her, just to make sure I've set her up. Let's continue to use this contact scheme for now."
"Okay."
"Pleasure talking with you. Look forward to working with you." He disconnected the call.
My coffee was cold. I dumped it over the side and refilled the mug from the thermos. There was still no sign that Mary would return soon, which suited me. There were loose threads in the story Nora's boss tried to weave. I wanted to pick through them while our conversation was fresh in my mind.
26
Sipping my fresh mug of coffee, I sorted through all the information from Nora's boss. Over the years, I developed my own mental filing techniques. In my college days, I found that doodling on a letter-sized pad was a good way to organize my thoughts. Once I finished drawing circles and arrows and scribbling comments about what they meant, I didn't need to refer to my notes again.
My work required solid memory skills, but writing notes was dangerous. Nevertheless, I knew that writing things out helped embed facts in my memory. Early in my work, I weaned myself from using paper notes.
I learned to close my eyes and visualize a yellow legal pad. With an imaginary fountain pen — don't ask me why; it works, so I stick to it — I doodle to my heart's content. When I finish mapping out whatever problem I'm struggling with, I open my eyes and my notes vanish. But the information doesn't. It's all nicely catalogued in my mind; ready for recall any time I need it.
The strangest part is what happens when I recall it. In my mind's eye, I see everything I need, all organized and written out neatly on the pages of a yellow legal pad.
That's not how I visualize the information when I'm processing it into my memory. It's jumbled and illegible, then. But when I call it up, the notes are presented in flawless script. The mind is a marvelous puzzle.
I dealt with the phone call to Nora's boss first. Aaron's information would keep. Besides, Aaron presented it in a logically connected fashion, which made it easier to remember. Nora's boss — I'm going to think of him as just plain "The Boss," from now on.
The information I gleaned from my phone call with the boss was a mess. His delivery was disorganized, maybe by design, and when I tried to put the pieces together, there were inconsistencies.
Inconsistencies are part of the real world. Things rarely fit together without gaps and conflicts, and when they do, it sets off warning bells. Fabricated stories don't have conflicts; the truth is a ragged piece of work, full of holes and contradictions.
On a macro level, I didn't trust the boss. I put that at the top of my first imaginary yellow page. The boss is full of shit. I went on from there, listing my thoughts and recollections as they popped into my mind, brain
storming as opposed to trying to impose order.
He was definitely who he said he was. He knew too many insignificant details to be an impostor. All that stuff about my early missions — he was reading from the files. After he mentioned things, I remembered them. But it was stuff I did, and even I couldn't have called up that kind of detail off the top of my head. So he read the files, or excerpts from the files.
Nora told him about meeting me in St. Martin. He knew she gave me the satellite phone when we were there. Then later he asked about the phone like he wondered where I got it and pretended he did that on purpose. Why? Did he forget? Was he a clumsy liar, or was he trying to trip me up somehow?
He claimed he caught Nora working for "somebody on the outside." But he didn't say who, or how long she'd been under suspicion. Or how he caught her. Nora was a consummate professional. She wouldn't have left an easy trail to follow.
And she would never have let that call with the senator get recorded. That was an amateur's error. So she probably recorded it herself. Maybe for leverage over the senator.
But then how did the boss get the recording? Did she give it to him? Why would she do that?
The boss acted like he thought I never got the text about Abby. Did he really think the kidnapping was planned but not executed? He said as much.
The text with Abby's picture was supposed to go to my phone. How would he think I didn't know? Unless he really believes the senator killed himself before it was sent, before the kidnapping took place.
And the text Nora dictated was a verbatim match for the one I got. That nails Nora without a doubt. Not that I questioned her guilt, but that really ices it.
The kidnapping, the rescue, and the "suicide" — all that happened in a short period. If the boss wasn't in on it before it happened, Nora could have told him the senator freaked out and overdosed. Maybe because he couldn't cope with the demands Nora made on him, or something like that.
But that means Nora was briefing the boss on this whole plan, doesn't it? Or is there some way the boss could be an innocent dupe? If he had the recording, though, she couldn't have fooled him, could she?
Maybe she could have. She might have spun him a yarn about trying to set the senator up. Then she could have given the boss the recording. She might have claimed the senator's suicide proved his guilt.
Vigilantes and Lovers Page 9
