Does he really believe the senator committed suicide? He didn't give any sign that he thought otherwise. But he also said something like, "That's all been handled. Nothing's going to happen to Abigail." He was implying that the agency had something to do with preventing her from being kidnapped. But that didn't make sense, either, if Nora set up the whole thing.
I knew Abby was kidnapped. And the senator ordered it and knew it happened. He told me so himself when Mary and I questioned him. Further, he confessed that Nora, or "Phyllis," as he called her, had told him about Abby.
But in another universe, maybe Abby didn't get kidnapped, because the senator died before he gave the order. He could have killed himself, or been killed. That didn't matter. In that universe, I could see Nora giving the recording to the boss to justify executing the senator.
That would mean Nora played her boss. That could have happened. She could have even made him think the senator was killed on his orders, after she played the recording for him.
In that alternate universe, then the boss might be an innocent victim of the conniving woman I once worked for.
That made a nice story, but it conflicted with the boss's own story about catching Nora working for somebody on the outside. If he caught her out, he wouldn't have believed what she told him about the senator.
So where does that leave you, Finn?
Where it left me was confused. But that was okay. I wrote everything down on my imaginary legal pad.
When I went back to it later, it would make more sense. That's how my memory trick worked. After making sure there was nothing more to add, I opened my eyes and the legal pad vanished into the recesses of my mind.
When I raised the coffee mug to my lips, I found it was empty. I opened the thermos and poured myself another shot of coffee. Taking a swallow, I shifted my thoughts to my conversation with Aaron. I didn't need to use my memory tricks this time.
27
What Aaron told me about the cyberattack showed the scope of the criminal conspiracy that Mary and I were up against. The mob using virtual tripwires to protect their bank accounts took me by surprise.
Thinking about that for a few seconds, I realized it was no more surprising than their penetration of the agency. Few people, even high-level people in the government, knew of our existence. Ouch. Not sure I want to use "our" regarding the agency anymore. Not after that recent conversation. That's not the operation I signed up to work for — not now, anyhow. Maybe it used to be, but "used to be" doesn't cut it. Gotta get used to thinking of the agency and the mob as the same. Scary thought, but deal with your reaction later, Finn.
And then there was the mystery man, with potential ties to the Russian Mafia. That was just another name for Russia's government, these days. Was the mystery man pulling O'Hanlon's strings before Mary blew O'Hanlon away? Good chance, now that I thought about it.
The intricacy of the tripwire and the cyberattack argued that this conspiracy developed gradually. It wasn't put together overnight to seize the opportunity afforded by O'Hanlon's demise.
Mary might have some insight into that notion. I was disappointed that I couldn't kick it around with her. But right now, I wasn't sure where Mary and I stood. And that thought led me to Aaron's comments on Phorcys.
His information made me less comfortable about my relationship with Mary. Though I resisted it, I kept coming to the conclusion that Mary could be part of Phorcys if it were an organization.
I considered Phorcys might have just hired her for a hit on somebody. But when she let me listen in on that conversation with her contact there about freeing Abby, he implied that he was deeply in her debt.
That meant their relationship went beyond just a contract killing or two. Mary's price for the Dailey hit was $450,000, from what she told me. Unless she was lying, O'Hanlon — not Phorcys — hired her for that job.
Assuming she charged Phorcys that kind of money, I couldn't imagine how they would feel indebted to her. Unless whatever she did for them was more involved than her normal service, I couldn't account for the depth of their gratitude.
At her request, they tracked down the kidnappers and their bosses. "Contract intelligence operatives. Not your garden variety thugs at all," Phorcys had called them. Plus, they interrogated and dispatched them and set up the senator for us. That went way beyond a casual favor, and Phorcys told her he still owed her. I was missing something.
Weighing against that worrisome situation was Aaron's description of the goals of Phorcys. As he described them, they weren't bad people; they were committed to the same things I was.
He referred to "their stated mission." His choice of words puzzled me. It almost sounded like he was reading from a brochure, or a website. Given the shadowy nature of such organizations, that wasn't likely.
He was tapping a source; maybe someone inside Phorcys. It was tough to know where Aaron got his information. Given our relationship, if I asked, he would tell me, but I wouldn't put him in that position.
I could, however, lean on him to see how much credence he gave the source. Making a mental note to press him on that, I moved on to think about his other intelligence on Phorcys.
There was a part of their organization called "Special Projects Guidance, or SPG." Or, he said, "maybe the 'projects executive.'" From what he said, SPG/PE dealt with enforcement. He made it sound like an in-house special operations team that handled dirty work, up to and including assassination. With access to resources like that, why would Phorcys call on Mary?
Aaron even mentioned the smear job that was carried out to lend credibility to the senator's "suicide." That reminded me again of the phone call with Phorcys that Mary let me listen to. Back then, I thought she was talking to a man called Phorcys. Now, I wasn't sure. But his identity didn't matter as much as what he said. I couldn't recall his exact words, but he referred to the smear material, and then offered to take care of the senator for her.
Mary declined his offer. She told him dealing with the senator was a personal matter. She was right; it definitely was personal. But that exchange confirmed what Aaron said about Phorcys referring "the problem to SPG, and the traitors end up dead."
The other piece of information I took away from Aaron's references to the senator was that Phorcys fumbled the smear campaign. Whether that was evidence of sloppy work on their part or just plain bad luck, it meant they were forced to clean up after themselves. And the cleaning up involved making three witnesses disappear.
I wondered again if that's how Mary spent her three days in Florida. If so, was she paid by Phorcys? Or was that another favor she did for them? A favor like that would put them even further in her debt.
Aaron also mentioned that someone high in the government stopped the investigation into the senator's death. From the context, Aaron thought it was someone who was part of the O'Hanlon/Russian Mafia conspiracy. I wondered if it could be someone working for Phorcys instead. We would probably never know. And I wasn't sure it mattered.
I had a more immediate problem. What was going to happen between me and Mary?
Sitting in the cockpit facing aft, I noticed the sun was getting low in the sky. I missed lunch, not that it mattered. But Mary would be back soon.
Maybe I'm psychic, or maybe the breeze carried a sound that triggered my thought of Mary. Either way, seconds after the thought, I heard the outboard sputter to life 50 yards off Island Girl's bow. Mary was coming.
Before I could get my feet under me, I felt the gentle nudge of the inflatable against Island Girl's side. The outboard went silent as I turned to look over my shoulder.
"Hey, sailor," Mary said, as she clambered over the lifelines and bent to tie off the dinghy. "Buy a girl a drink? We need to talk."
28
"Rum punch?" I asked, getting to my feet.
Mary settled herself in the cockpit. She shook her head, a somber look on her face.
"Maybe later. For now, I need a clear head. Orange juice for me, but help yourself to some punch."<
br />
I went below and poured two glasses of cold orange juice. Back up in the cockpit, I handed her one and sat down on the bench seat across the footwell from her. I waited, watching as she took a sip of juice. Swallowing and licking her lips, she looked me in the eye. She took a deep breath and sighed.
"There's no way to do this except to just do it," she said.
I nodded, waiting.
"I've told you before, you're the best thing that ever happened to me, Finn. I know you think I'm just a kid, but I've lived hard and fast. I haven't been a kid since my early teens. I've known a lot of men along the way, but you're the first one I've ever fallen in love with. I'm not sure I like it, this being in love stuff. But I can't shake it. I've tried."
She paused and took a sip of juice. I held her eye and kept my mouth shut, giving her another little nod.
"I've wanted to tell you the truth, but I was scared. Not much scares me, at this stage of my life. Just about every bad thing you can imagine has already happened to me, and I've survived. But losing you terrifies me. I've been trying to come to grips with that; I couldn't admit it to myself at first, but there it is."
She paused. Taking another deep breath, she held my gaze for several seconds. Nodding, careful to keep a neutral expression on my face, I would let her say what she needed to say without my giving her any cues.
"I've been a shitty person, Finn. Sorry there's not a more refined way to put it, but there's not. Shitty is the best adjective to describe my behavior. I'm not talking about the hand I was dealt. No excuses. I'm talking about how I played it."
She paused, squinting a little as she looked into my eyes. "I need to hear your voice, please. Say something, anything?"
I looked back at her, trying to think of what to say. Her anxiety was palpable. "I know this must be hard for you. But I can tell it's important to you. Keep going."
She nodded. "Thanks, Finn. Plenty of people have bad childhoods. Maybe worse than mine, some of them. I don't know. But that's not an excuse. I liked a lot of the shitty things I had to do to get by. I pretended to myself that I didn't have choices, and at first, maybe I didn't. But later on, I did, and I kept doing shitty things because I enjoyed them. I never stopped to think about what I was becoming until I met you. But now I'm ashamed of the things I did, a lot of them. Not the killing; you know about that. I told you I never killed anybody that wouldn't have done the same to me if the tables were turned. I know you understand that. You following me?"
"I think so, yes."
"I don't know if you can, really. I won't put you through a graphic description of the life I led before I met you. Not that I'm trying to hide all that; it happened. If you need to hear me talk about what it was like to — "
"No, Mary," I said. "This is about what you need, not what I need. Tell me what you need for me to know."
She took another sip of her juice and nodded, looking into the distance and swallowing with difficulty. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She blinked and wiped them away with the back of her hand, looking me in the eye again.
"Someday I may need to tell you all that stuff — the stuff I did when I was… before I…" She stopped and shook her head. "The part that troubles me most… That's what I need to tell you. And that all has to do with you, with us, really. Okay?"
"Yes." I waited. What's with all the tears? This woman's a cold-blooded killer.
She sniffled for a few seconds and said, "It wasn't an accident that I met you in Puerto Real."
I was stunned. I suspected as much, early on. But somehow, I suppressed my suspicion to the point of forgetting it. Once I collected myself, I saw that she was watching me. She cried quietly, waiting.
"I'm so sorry to do that to you, Finn. But that's the worst part. At least for me it is."
29
This time, it was my turn to swallow hard and take a deep breath. I sighed and caught Mary's eye again. "Okay. I'm all right, just disappointed. Tell me whatever else you need to tell me."
"I know you have questions. I'd rather you let me talk, but if you have to stop me and ask questions, that's okay. I've spent the day trying to figure out how to tell you this without tangling it up with my own emotions. The lie I've been living since that day on the dinghy dock is the worst thing I've ever done. I've tried to anticipate your questions by putting myself in your position. Tell me how you want me to do this."
"Just go ahead. I'm too dazed to come up with coherent questions at this point. Better if you take the lead, I think. But take it in small steps, okay?"
"Okay, but stop me if you need to ask something. All right?"
"Yes."
"Phorcys sent me. They knew about your mission to kill Dimitrovsky in St. Vincent. They wanted him dead, too. You were ordered to kill him, but they said Nora fed you misinformation. It was O'Hanlon who wanted him killed, not the government. At least that's what I was told. Maybe the government… that doesn't matter. O'Hanlon was pissed because Dimitrovsky was bypassing him, somehow, working with someone who was trying to cut O'Hanlon out. O'Hanlon knew about your mission; he and Nora were using you to settle an internal squabble in the mob. The three people who attacked me in Bequia were looking for you. They were sent by Frankie Dailey, but they missed you and got me. Frankie was double-crossing O'Hanlon, working for whoever Dimitrovsky was in cahoots with. But O'Hanlon didn't know that. With me so far?"
"Yes."
"The three men in Puerto Real," she said. "I think they were after you, too — not me. That's the only thing that makes sense to me. Frankie probably sent them, and when they struck out, he sent the team that hit us in Bequia. I know you have questions; I see it on your face."
"Yes. I'm trying to take all this in, but there's a big disconnect already. When we got to Ste. Anne, they — "
"Snatched me off the street," she interrupted. "Right? That's your disconnect?"
"Yes."
"They wanted you. They planned to use me for bait."
"So they knew you had the files all along, then?"
"They knew a woman had the files, but they didn't know I was the woman. They thought I was just some girl you picked up. Not until you copied the files onto that microSD card and gave it to Nora. Then they knew, but that was later."
"But O'Hanlon hired you to kill the Daileys and retrieve the files."
"I won't blame you if you never trust me again, Finn. But I have to come clean with you. Whatever happens between us is just going to have to happen."
"I don't understand."
"I know. The other big lie I told was that O'Hanlon hired me. He didn't. I was working for Phorcys all along."
But Frankie told me you were a hired killer working for O'Hanlon.
"But wait. You're saying Phorcys hired you to kill the Daileys, then?"
"Phorcys hired me to get the files from the Daileys. Killing them was an option, but the plan was for me to copy the files without the Daileys knowing. I really did work for them for a little while, sort of. Not long enough to find out where the files were, though. The Daileys… well, let's just say they invited me to their house one night for… reasons I'd rather not talk about. I told you, I've done things I'm — "
"Okay," I said, holding up my hand, palm toward her. "Never mind why they invited you there. What happened?"
"I was in their bedroom, waiting for them to join me, when I heard this commotion out in the main living area. Frankie burst in on them. I heard Mrs. Dailey call him by name, and then there were gunshots, and screams from the Daileys.
"He kneecapped them right at the start. His own parents. Then he demanded to know where the files were. They tried not to tell him, but he tortured both of them, taking turns. I don't know what he did to them, but it went on for a long time, the screaming did. Then his mother told him about the safe, and the combination.
"I overheard that. The safe was in their bedroom; I cleaned it out and left through a door that opened onto a patio before Frankie came into the bedroom. While he was occupied with them, I got a
way. Sick bastard. And they told me he left them alive while he went to get the files, in case they lied to him."
"They told you?"
"I wasn't lying about his muscle catching up with me. They told me all about it, all the gory details. They thought they were going to have their way with me, and they started out by telling me all that, thinking it would soften me up."
"But how did Frankie and O'Hanlon know you took the files?"
"When Frankie went into their bedroom and found the safe open, he went back to work on his parents. He said they told him I was in their room, and that I must have taken the files."
"He said? When did you talk with him?"
"Right after his thugs caught me. He told them to take me to his place in Atlanta and start working on me. He had something else to do in Florida before he could join in the fun, as he put it."
"And you escaped."
"Yes. Before he got to Atlanta. That part of my tale was true. But they didn't know who I really was. Not at that point. I was disguised. They thought I was just a high-priced escort the Daileys found somewhere."
"But they snatched you in Ste. Anne. They must have known who you were by then. You said they didn't know until I gave Nora copies of the files."
She shook her head. "They thought I was just some girl you picked up, like I said. Nobody there recognized me."
"Frankie told me that O'Hanlon hired you — the girl they snatched in Ste. Anne — to kill the Daileys and steal the files. He said you were supposed to give them to O'Hanlon, but you took off."
"He told you that? In Ste. Anne?"
"Yes."
"I know what you're thinking, Finn. I don't blame you; I've told you so many lies…"
"But?" I asked.
"But I'm telling you the truth, at least as I know it. I don't know how Frankie made that connection. He was the only one who would have recognized me as the escort, and he never saw me in Ste. Anne. He was waiting for you on Island Girl when they caught me. That's what O'Hanlon told me right before I got the drop on him. All along, I thought they didn't know I was the escort who stole the files. The people in Bequia didn't mention the files to me. They wanted you, to stop you from getting to Dimitrovsky. How could…" She shook her head.
Vigilantes and Lovers Page 10
