“I can’t hear you, Tommy. Speak—”
“Give me the damn gun!” Tommy roared.
Prisha smiled. Her big open smile. The full-octane one.
“That’s my man,” Prisha said, and handed the pistol to Boone.
Karlsson raised his weapon to Boone’s chest, watching him intently.
Boone put the muzzle of the Glock under his chin and pulled the trigger. The hollow-point round tumbled and expanded as it traveled through his head, blew most of the top of his head off upon exit. Brains spattered on both Prisha and Karlsson. Blood gushed from the top of Boone’s head like a fountain.
Prisha felt a mixture of adrenaline and arousal. She had never been so close to a killing before and had wondered how it would feel. Now she knew. She liked it.
“What if he’d shot you?” Karlsson said, shaking his head.
“That’s what you’re here for, Henrik,” Prisha said with a smile, picking bits of Boone’s brain from her hair. “Besides, I knew he wouldn’t shoot me.”
The ODYSSEUS bedtime app had worked. The beta test had been a complete success. And they had gotten rid of their Boone problem. Two birds, one stone.
“Let’s not make a habit of you handing people loaded weapons,” Karlsson said. He began to unstrap Boone, who had slumped to one side. He was a big man and would be hard to move. Plus, he had made a mess of the basement. It would be a long night.
Prisha came in next to Karlsson. She leaned over and looked into the gaping hole in Boone’s skull. It was still bleeding profusely. She poked at the gray matter with her finger. It felt spongy.
“So,” Prisha said as she flicked a piece of brain matter from her finger to the floor. “That didn’t take long. Granted, Tommy’s an imbecile, but it’ll work on others, don’t you think?”
Karlsson grunted.
“It’ll work,” Prisha declared.
Prisha poked at Boone’s skull some more, then began to help Karlsson with the straps.
“I got this,” Karlsson said. “Why don’t you get out of here. Go home and get cleaned up.”
“What, and let you have all the fun?”
Part II
All human laws are, properly speaking, only declaratory; they have no power over the substance of original justice.
― Edmund Burke
Chapter Seventeen
September 11, 2016
West Chevy Chase Neighborhood
Bethesda, MD
The mosquitoes had found me and were enjoying their feast. I dared not move, hidden in the tall bushes in some guy’s side lawn. As long as I stayed still and close to the ground, I might not be seen. My hiding spot was not perfect, but it was the best I could improvise. It was the only place that provided any concealment to watch my old supervisor’s house, located directly across the street in the swank Bethesda neighborhood of West Chevy Chase.
I had taken an early train to get here. Metro Red Line. I would stay here in the bushes as long as it took to catch him alone. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I had met my son for the first time. I was weaponized now. This guy would tell me what I needed to know.
About three hours and a hundred mosquito bites later, Doug Mitchell, my old supervisor at the CIA, emerged from his tidy two-story split ranch. Mitchell looked the same as he had when he’d fired me five years ago. A tall, light-skinned African American, still fit but graying a bit at the temples. Retirement on full government benefits had been good to him. He held a rambunctious chocolate Lab at the end of a six-foot leather lead. Time to walk the dog. Time to make my move.
Mitchell moved briskly down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. I gave him a four-house lead, then darted from the bushes and paralleled him from my side of the street. Luckily, the dog stopped him short to investigate something at the foot of a towering oak tree. I checked over my shoulder and, finding the street empty, crossed and closed distance. Both Mitchell and the Lab were preoccupied. I was not. I got to within grabbing distance.
“Hello, Doug,” I said.
He didn’t turn around. I said it louder. This time I got his attention. He casually turned around and looked me over. I expected shock, or even fear, but got neither. It almost seemed like he was expecting this day. The Lab jumped towards me, straining against her lead, panting and wagging her tail. Dogs loved me.
“Frank.”
“Been a long time, Doug. You look well.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mitchell scanned up and down the street.
“I came alone, Doug. Let’s walk and talk. Your dog here—what’s her name?”
“Violet.”
“Violet wants a walk. So do I. As far as the neighbors know, we’re just two old friends walking a dog.” I gestured forward at the sidewalk with my hand. Mitchell frowned but accepted my invitation.
Mitchell was an experienced CIA man, a mediocre case officer but an effective manager at Langley. Still, he had been trained like all the rest of them at the farm and was skilled in the subtle art of interview and interrogation. He played along now and hid any concerns he may have had. I was certain he didn’t have a weapon, he left to wonder if I did. We both understood I had the upper hand if he tried to get physical.
I started slow. We swapped stories, took each other’s temperature. Mitchell had been retired less than one year. He had two kids in college, out-of-state and non-scholarship, and their tuitions were more than his mortgage. He retired on Cialis and high blood pressure medication. Said his old football knee was bothering him again. I told him I had less than five years to live. It stunned him to silence and altered the posture of our conversation. As I had intended it would.
“You love your kids, right, Doug?”
“What do you mean?” Mitchell’s eyes widened, his first tell of emotion.
“I just found out I have a son. Can you believe that? And I’m new at this, but I’d do anything for that little guy. Just like you would do anything for your kids. You’ve got two daughters, right? Where’d you say they went to school again?”
“What the hell do you want, Frank?” Mitchell flexed, jerking the leash back and causing Violet to turn and look.
I smiled.
“How’d you know I walked my dog every Sunday morning? Or even that I had a damn dog?”
“I didn’t.”
Mitchell’s face twisted into a snarl. “You been watching my house, Frank? My family?”
“This is a real nice neighborhood, Doug,” I said. “How’d you get in here on a GS-15 salary? Your neighbors must all be millionaires. High-speed consultants and corporate VP types. I’ll bet you’re the only government wonk on your block. Am I right?”
“I got lucky. Saved my money. Invested it,” Mitchell responded. “Unlike you.”
“You see,” I said, turning to him and wagging a finger. “That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.” We both stopped walking and stood facing each other.
“They fired me, Doug. Stripped me of all my government benefits. My pension. You were their messenger, but I don’t begrudge you that. I didn’t do a goddammed thing wrong. We both know it. All I need to know is who did it, and why.”
Mitchell swallowed hard; his prominent Adam’s apple rose and fell. He started to speak, then stopped. I could see the gears grinding in his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frank. And I don’t appreciate you stalking me and my family.”
“You have a family, Doug. I don’t! I’m trying to get them back, before it’s too late.” I lowered my tone. “But I need your help.”
“I can’t help you.”
“I just need a name.”
The chocolate Lab smelled her owner’s fear and came closer. She sat alert at Mitchell’s feet.
“That was a long time ago, Frank. I just did what I was told to do. I always liked you, Frank. It was nothing personal.”
“And evil triumphs when good men do nothing.”
“Fuck you, Frank,” Mitchell said.
“I can’t help you. I’m not going to get involved in any of this.” His eyes narrowed. “Look. You don’t realize what you’re asking.” Mitchell glanced around, then leaned towards me. “There are powerful forces at play here. Best to leave this alone. Trust me. Walk away.”
“Best for who, Doug?” I shouted. “I gotta make this right—right now—while I still can. And you’re gonna help me. You owe me that, Doug.”
“I don’t owe you shit, Frank,” Mitchell shouted back.
Violet started barking. The yelling and barking brought the neighbor out of his house. He was an old white guy, mid-seventies, with a bald head and big-frame eyeglasses. He stepped to us; we were standing on the sidewalk in front of his house. The old man greeted Mitchell by name and eyed me suspiciously. He asked Mitchell if everything was all right, while keeping his eyes on me. Mitchell paused, then told the old man everything was fine. Told his neighbor I was an old friend, that we were just happy to see each other. He apologized for the noise. The old man said okay, then studied me again, closely enough to describe me to a police sketch artist. He petted Violet, then walked back into his house.
“You got to get out of here, Frank. You don’t belong. Somebody’s gonna call the cops.”
“I just need a name. Who and why, and I’m gone.”
“I can’t… You just don’t understand, Frank.”
“Then tell me, Doug! For my son.”
“What about my family, Frank? My daughters? We both saw what they did to you. Don’t you think they’d do the same to me? I just retired, for Christ’s sake.”
Mitchell blew out a breath. Violet whimpered and jumped up, put her front paws on my chest. I grabbed them and eased her back down to the ground. She barked once, then again.
“I considered you a friend once, Doug. I need you to do the right thing here.” I locked eyes with him. He squirmed. “I don’t want to have to come back here and make things difficult for you. But I will. You know I will. Just a name, Doug. Give me a name.”
Violet began barking again. I saw the old man finger open his curtain and knew the cops would be here soon. Neither Mitchell nor I wanted that.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “Monday night. Seven p.m. Sharp. Where can we meet? Someplace good, near the Metro stop. I don’t want to be walking all over downtown Bethesda.”
Mitchell just stared at me.
“Doug,” I said evenly. “Your neighbor just called the cops. Believe me when I tell you that it is in your best interest to leave now and meet with me tomorrow. Where, Doug? Quick. I need a location.”
Mitchell turned and looked at the old neighbor’s house. I followed his eyes. The front curtain fluttered.
“Now, Doug.”
“Parking garage. On Waverly and Montgomery. Fifth floor, on the west end, near the Hyatt,” Mitchell grunted.
“Okay. I’ll be there. Seven o’clock tomorrow night. Come alone.”
“Shit, Frank,” Mitchell growled. “I’m retired. I don’t need any of this bullshit.” He spun around and strode away, pulling Violet with him. He hurried back down the sidewalk of his beautiful neighborhood, back to his beautiful house and his beautiful wife.
Mitchell did not look back at me as I stood on the sidewalk, watching them leave.
I turned and waved to the old man behind the curtain.
Then I got the hell out of there.
Chapter Eighteen
September 12, 2016
CIAHQ Guard Shack
Langley, VA
Prisha pulled her Lexus into a spot under the shade of a magnificent American beech tree. She climbed out, hit the key fob and got the chirp. The morning was overcast, with an early fall nip in the air. A breeze kicked up and under her skirt, causing her to twitch. She had taken off her panties in her office and smiled at her little secret.
She had just endured an insufferable executive staff meeting that she’d thought would never end. Every Monday morning at nine a.m. She hated it. Prisha could not think of a worse way to start her week.
She had had quite the weekend. Boone’s death had been less than forty-eight hours ago. She kept replaying it in her mind. His moronic face, all the pathetic whining. The suppressed zip sound of the bullet leaving the gun and entering Boone’s head. The top of his head exploding all over the wall—and her. She was anxious, but not about the killing. She had no qualms about that. Prisha was thrilled that the ODYSSEUS bedtime app had worked, and relieved to be rid of Boone. He was a loose thread that needed to be pulled.
No, Prisha was on edge this morning for another reason entirely. She was aroused. The killing had turned her on, thrown a switch that needed to be addressed. For the past month, Prisha had been grooming the stud security guard for a moment such as this. Today would be his day.
Prisha walked towards the guard shack at the side of the rear executive entrance, just outside the swinging metal gate. The guard, Joel Zabel, was leaning into the window of a stopped car, checking the bona fides of the occupants. Prisha caught Zabel’s eye and gave him a smoldering look. His look of confusion faded as his nostrils flared with the smell of her intentions. Zabel was young and strong, thick as a Clydesdale. Prisha’s hot spot moaned. She walked right past Zabel and into the guard shack, nodding to the carful of executives as Zabel waved them through.
“Uh, ma’am—you’re not supposed to be in here,” Zabel stuttered. His eyes flicked down to Prisha’s chest; her large breasts stretched the silk of her pink buttoned-down blouse. A blouse she’d had custom tailored for just such an occasion.
“Is that so?” Prisha responded. She raised her hand to her neck, maintaining eye contact, and undid one button. Then another. She stepped over to Zabel. He stood frozen in place. The remainder of the buttons yielded to her hand.
“What are you doing?” Zabel’s voice trailed off to a whisper.
The silk shirt, untucked at the waist, fell open to reveal a black lace bra that barely contained her. Prisha grabbed his hand and pressed it against her right breast, then kissed Zabel deeply, her tongue probing his. He didn’t push her away. She grabbed his crotch, rubbing up and down, slowly, then faster. Zabel rose to the occasion. Prisha kissed him again, with more force. Zabel grabbed her other breast. They came together like magnets. Got him.
It didn’t take long. Prisha pushed Zabel against the desk in the corner of the shack, unbuckled his pants and slid them down to his ankles in one fluid motion. Her fellatio skills were legendary, and she finished Zabel quickly.
Prisha stood, wiping her mouth. “My turn.” She slid Zabel out of the way, cleared the desk with an arm sweep, then hopped up.
Zabel buried his head under Prisha’s skirt and got to work. She was ready for him.
They both heard the car pull up to the gate. Zabel’s shoulders flinched. He started to withdraw. Prisha grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of his head and pushed him in deeper. Prisha moaned as she finished, then shrieked. She shrieked again, louder this time.
Zabel jumped to his feet and clasped a large hand over her mouth. His rough skin scratched her lips. Prisha bit down hard. His blood was coppery and slick in her mouth. She rubbed it over her teeth with her tongue.
Zabel snapped his hand back. He examined the bleeding wound. “Crazy bitch!”
The toot of a car horn spun Zabel’s head around.
“Shit!” He grabbed his pants up from around his ankles, struggling to get them buckled back up.
Prisha watched Zabel’s full panic with a sense of bemusement. She casually wiped his blood from her lips with the tip of her finger, inserted the bloody finger into her mouth, then sucked it dry with a slurp as she withdrew it.
Zabel watched the show as he stuffed his shirt into his pants. He shook his head and grunted as he fled out of the guard shack to attend to the waiting visitor.
Prisha straightened herself up and followed Zabel out of the shack. He was addressing a carload of visitors at the driver’s side of the government sedan. Prisha recognized the group as West Wing White House staf
fers. She glided to the front passenger’s window.
“Is this guy giving you a hard time?” Prisha said, in her playful, charming voice. The vehicle’s occupants laughed. Zabel’s face turned sheet white. Prisha worked the vehicle, told the occupants how good it was to see them again. She wished them a good day. Anger flushed Zabel’s face as he watched Prisha’s performance. He looked about to speak, but Prisha beat him to it.
“Good to see you again, Officer Zabel. Take care,” she said with her big, open smile.
Zabel looked as if he might come around the vehicle at her. Prisha slapped the roof of the car and walked away. Two more vehicles had arrived at the gate and were now stacked behind the West Wingers.
Prisha ambled back to her car. The wind tugged at her skirt. It felt warm and wet. Rain was coming. She patted her skirt down with both hands. The itch was gone, her homeostasis restored. Today would be a good day.
She sank into the driver’s seat of the Lexus and rooted around in her bag for her government phone, as she saw yet another car queue up at the gate. Good. She searched through her contacts and hit the button.
“Human Resources. This is Yvonne speaking. How can I help you?”
“Good morning, Yvonne. This is Deputy Director Baari. We’ve got a problem here at the back gate. There’s a long line of visitors queued up waiting to get in, and the guard out here now is completely incompetent. We can’t have visiting executives treated with such discourtesy. I want him gone by the end of the day.”
“Do you mean switched to the front gate, ma’am?” Yvonne asked.
“No,” Prisha replied as she watched Zabel hustle from one car to the next. “I want him fired and off campus by close of business today.”
Another one bites the dust.
Chapter Nineteen
September 12, 2016
Bethesda, MD
I pulled out my phone from my cargo pants side pocket and pecked out a text message:
Talion Justice Page 11
