by Kris Calvert
I rang the bell and again, was greeted by Rory. I shook his hand, getting a good look at him when we made it into the main con room. He looked as if he’d had even less sleep than I had.
“How goes it?” I asked.
“Good timing, man. We just got a response to the offer. She’s all yours. We need to confirm the amount, make the transaction and they will give us a time and place to pick her up.”
I nodded, pulling up a chair and noticed Elias had all of Frankie’s photos from her social media accounts pulled up, as well as her text messages. “She’s a pretty girl, huh, Zeroman?”
Elias shrugged. “I mean. Yeah. I already said that.”
“If you help me pull this off, you’re going to be her hero.”
Elias got quiet and I saw him blush. One thing I knew for sure, this kid hadn’t been out of his dark and profitable warehouse in a very long time. He needed—no deserved—to have a little fun.
“That’d be cool,” Elias said softly as he stared at a photo of a smiling Frankie holding a daisy next to her cheek.
“Good, because I think I need your help with something else.”
“Jesus,” Elias moaned. “This was our deal Callahan. Nothing more. I’m about to deliver and you need more?”
“Look. Someone is already trying to kill me as it is. I don’t know who I’ve pissed off, but I have a feeling this human trafficking operation runs deep and I have proof.”
“What kind of proof?” Rory asked, joining the conversation.
“One of the kids was used by a senator and tossed out of the back of his limo. The boy has ID’d him for me. The senator has also threatened to end his life if he tells anyone.”
“Damn,” Rory hissed. “Why does the kid want to tell?”
“Because I convinced him it was the right thing to do—for the other young men and women who are being abused and used like chattel.”
“Are you’re trying to get us all killed?” Elias snapped. “Do you know what they do to people like us? How many digital trails we’ve made disappear for these assholes? If we’re found out, they won’t just come in and shut us down. They’ll kill us all and make it look like an accident. We’ll all be a part of some elaborate suicide pact that if one of us goes, we all go. But instead they’re just going to kill us off—one by one.”
“Shit,” Rory mumbled. The blood drained from his face listening to his friend.
“Look, we’re in too deep already. I have to figure this out with or without you, but one way or another I will take down this operation. Now, I have someone who should be here any moment. I made a call.”
Elias shook his head. “You shouldn’t have sold me out like this. Who is it? Who is coming to Tartarus?”
“An NSA Agent who just so happened to give me your business card,” I said laying it down on the desk. “Because I’ve known him for years, and because he apparently knows you, I’ve asked him to come here. We need him and according to you, we need Quantum or FoxAcid to hack the hackers.”
I’d barely finished my sentence when I heard the security system ring out through the bullpen and Lars’ face come up on the big screen. “He’s here.”
Rory squinted at the screen, waiting for Lars to turn around again to face the camera. “Who’s here?”
Lars showed his face and Rory uttered two words. “Fuck me.”
“Let’s go Elias,” I said. “Buzz him in. I promise, he’s one of us.”
Rory nodded and stood to smooth down his wrinkled t-shirt that read, 1F U C4N R34D TH1S U R34LLY N33D T0 G37 L41D.
Lars Iverson was a particularly non-descript man, but he’d always been the smartest guy I knew with a computer and he’d always been straight with me. He was one of the good guys at the NSA and if you were a Federal Agent, you needed one of them on your side.
“Lars,” I said shaking his hand. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
Lars looked around the room and then to Elias and Rory. “Boys,” he said.
“Mr. Iverson,” Elias said, shoving his hands in his pockets to look at his worn out sneakers. I couldn’t understand how these kids could be making so much money, but still look like they were homeless.
“Nice,” I said. “You know each other.”
“You could say that,” Rory said walking forward. “Hey, Dad.”
I stepped back, my jaw dropping. Slapping Rory on the back, I had to laugh. “I knew I liked you for a reason, kid.”
“Nice shirt,” Lars said, nodding to his son.
“I kinda like it.”
“Well, since we’re all family here, let’s get started. We don’t have much time. I need to have something concrete before we collect Frankie. Is there somewhere we can chat? Do you boys have a conference room?”
“Follow me,” Elias moaned.
The four of us walked with purpose down a long hallway and into a break room filled with old pinball and video machines, a pool table, a bar, karaoke machine, stage and even a disco ball in the center of the room. “Party much in here?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” Elias said.
Truth was, I didn’t think these boys were much into the party scene, still they tried to be normal twenty-somethings.
“Here’s the deal. I’ve got a young man—Brady Kurtz. He says Senator Jeremiah Storm was the man who paid for sex and tossed him out of a moving car. If he ID’s this son of a bitch officially, I need to get him the hell out of D.C. and into witness protection for his own sake. Storm has already threatened the kid.”
“For God’s sake, when?” Lars asked.
“Right after he was picked up and brought to the hospital. Brady said Storm was visiting the pediatric cancer ward, but swung by to issue his ultimatum.”
“That’s pretty ballsy of him,” Elias said. “What if he’d been seen in Brady’s room?”
“He’d simply say he was coming in to give the young man his best wishes after learning that the poor homeless boy was tossed from a car,” Lars said. “Then he’d probably shed a tear and talk about how we needed better laws for human trafficking.”
Everyone shook their heads in near unison. Hiding in plain sight was a powerful politician who could make just about anything disappear. Including all of us. The thought sent a chill down my spine.
“Now what? Rory asked.
“Now that we know who he is, I set you three loose on the asshole. Hack into everything he has and now that you have the NSA software you need to get into the trafficking site, make the connection. Make all the connections you can. If we go down, we go down big.”
I stood up after my instructions. “I need to get out of here. After this morning—”
“What happened this morning?” Lars asked.
“Someone tried to kill me. Damn near did, too,” I said rubbing the marks on my neck. “I managed to tag the asshole with Elias’s GPS locating system but…”
“Listen, Mac. When I gave that to you, it wasn’t for you to tag a hit man. I would need the serial number on the tracker to trace the guy. So…”
“Not if he comes near you,” Rory said, pointing to Elias.
“Near me? I asked. “Or near Elias?”
“Me,” Elias droned, rolling his eyes at Rory.
“What?”
“He was working out the bugs in the tracking software around the same time he tagged his ex,” volunteered Rory.
“So?”
“In the beginning I couldn’t track a single source. It was a glitch. But I fixed it,” Elias sheepishly explained.
“Still….” Rory said with a smile. “Any of the first fifty trackers are set to ping in if the tracker—or Eli’s ex comes within ten yards of him.”
“What?” I asked.
“Look, I just wanted to know when she was around so I could be gone. That’s all.”
“Whatever,” Rory added. “The point is Mac, if your would-be killer comes within ten yards of Eli, we’ll know. That’s not much help to you, but…”
“Well, at the very least, you�
��ve got some time to plan if the same asshole comes after you,” I said with a smile. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I need to tell Dan…something. And I need to check in on Micah.”
“Be sure to tell her Eli thinks her little sister is hot.”
Lars dropped his head, showing his displeasure in his son.
“Lars, I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and Rory, I knew you were a good kid. Now that I know where you came from, I think you’re a great kid.”
“Gee thanks, Mac.”
“Everyone get to work. The clock is ticking.”
16
SAMANTHA
Packing up the basket with Celia’s barbeque, potato salad and a couple of water bottles, I met Boone behind the house where the old truck was running.
When he stepped onto the veranda, I gave him a wave and motioned for him to join me. In each hand he held a bottle of wine.
In my t-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, I waited on him to get in the cab. “I know this isn’t the limo you’re used to but us southern girls call this the farm truck.”
“It’s lovely,” Boone drawled, giving me his Hollywood smile. “You, are lovely.
“I thought we’d stop to check on the tent,” I replied, ignoring his comment.
“Sounds like a good idea.”
I drove through the grass slowly, taking each bump in stride as the old suspension creaked, bobbing us along as I drove. Pushing the gear shift into park on the steering column, I turned off the truck and slid out of the cab before Boone had a chance to say anything.
I hustled into the tent, the sides now down to protect the tables and chairs from any wind or rain damage that could occur in the next forty-eight hours.
“Wow,” Boone said, staring up at the four large chandeliers that had been brought into the tent for the occasion. The tables and chairs were in their correct spots based on the plans and the flooring, including the dance floor, had been laid. A stage was up and the band’s music stands and chairs were already in place.
“Tomorrow will be flowers, and the catering and bar stations will be set up in preparation for the party in t-minus—” I paused to look at my watch. “forty-six hours.”
Walking through the seating arrangement, I headed for the section that was not roped off, but certainly gave more space between the five or so tables. It was the VIP area, and there was ample room for the President, as well as the hordes of Secret Service that would be standing guard the entire night. It was wonderful that he was coming, but because of his attendance, we couldn’t add more people to the guest list in order to raise extra money. I only hoped that having him here would cause people to dig deeper into their wallets.
“I can’t believe this is a tent,” Boone said looking around.
Buckets of white flowers were in the center of the dance floor, no doubt waiting to be turned into masterpieces over the next couple of days.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It looks wonderful. They’ve done a great job.”
Two dark-suited men walked into the tent to check on us and gave Boone a single nod of affirmation.
It bothered me there were so many men with guns on the property. So much so, I’d sent Katy and Dax home with Celia for the night. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the men, it was just my own preference. It had taken Mimi talking me down over Mac to be okay with my husband carrying his own gun again. The kids were another story.
“We should eat before it gets too dark,” I said, walking back to the truck.
“I agree. It would be ungentlemanly of me to keep you out late. I know you’re a busy girl. Especially with everything going on here in the next couple of days.”
We drove about a half mile into the woods where the valley separated on the west end and the wildflowers bloomed over a steep hollow—something everyone in Alabama deemed a holler. Just inside the clearing sat an old table. The area was one of Mac’s favorite spots. He set up a permanent picnic table here to have a place to eat lunch with the kids when they went on their adventures in the woods. Sometimes it was to pick wild blackberries, sometimes it was just to walk and check out the beautiful gifts of Mother Nature. Mac was a wonderful father that way. He always wanted the kids to know what it was like to get their hands dirty.
“It’s breathtaking,” Boone said, lifting the picnic basket out of the truck bed.
I nodded and motioned toward the table, grabbing the wine from the front seat. “Did we really need two bottles?” I asked with a laugh.
“Well, I didn’t know how much I was going to need to drink tonight to talk with you for longer than fifteen minutes.”
I rolled my eyes at him, pulling the tablecloth from the basket. Opening it with a loud snap, I shook it out in the gentle breeze. Placing two plates and glasses on the table, I sat before digging out the next few items.
Boone watched my every move. “I guess I can at least open the wine.”
“I hope you brought a corkscrew, because all I have is a fork.”
Procuring a pocket knife from his tight jeans, he quickly removed the foil label before winding the corkscrew tool in. With each twist, I watched the muscles in his arm flex. Suddenly intrigued by the idea he may drink too much and let me in on his escapades in D.C. as a young, handsome man, I felt as if I was about to hear the latest dirt from my dear friend, Polly—who always had a story for me.
Serving the barbeque onto each of our plates, I added potato salad as well, without asking. “Sorry, it’s the south, you know. We just expect people to eat everything.”
“It’s one of the many things I love about my home state,” he said, pouring the wine into plastic cups.
Holding his in the air, he waited for me to join him. “To the success of the North Star gala, and to making new and trustworthy friends.”
I tapped his plastic cup with my own and took a drink. I’d not had a chance to eat all day, and the wine was warm going down. It took the edge off my anxious mind quickly.
“So tell me what it’s like being you? Do women throw themselves at you all the time?” I asked, getting to the meat of the subject I wanted to explore.
Boone took another swig of his wine and stared at me. “I guess. I mean, I either get the crazy women who think they know me, want to marry me and have my babies, or I get the weird women who are more into being with someone with political pull. The problem is,” he said taking a bite of his barbeque. “None of them really know me. They know the manufactured me—the one that’s on C-SPAN and Face the Nation. But they don’t know me.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because who I am is complicated.”
I cocked my head. “I don’t understand. Complicated how?”
“So much of my life isn’t true. And the funny thing is, most of it happened without me even knowing it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
Boone leaned into the table as if someone was listening to our conversation. “You want to know something crazy about me?”
“Sure.”
“My mom isn’t really my mom. I mean, she is—she raised me—but my real mother was one of my father’s many girlfriends in Iraq. The great senator from Alabama, Robert Henry was an adulterer.”
I choked and then tried to hide it with a nonchalant cough.
“My life is based on lies told to hide other lies.”
When I finally caught my breath from the wine going down my windpipe, I managed to say, “How did you—?”
“I discovered everything when I was in college. My real mother was my dad’s lover when he worked on OPEC deals in the eighties. When he found out she was pregnant with his child, he waited until I was born and brought me to the United States. Officially, I’m adopted, but the reality is I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, so to speak, and he took me from my biological mother. I found her letters to him after he died. I went to Iraq—against my mom’s wishes—to find her. When I got there, she was already dead.”
I brought my hand to my mouth to conceal my shock. It didn’t work. “Dead?”
“She’d been murdered. He didn’t want anyone to know I was his biological son, or that he had a lover in Iraq. How would it look? Not only was he cheating, but he’d fathered a child.”
“Did your adopted mother know the truth?”
“I don’t think so. But she died soon after he did. I know my older brother, who wasn’t adopted, has no idea. Anyway,” he said taking another sip of his wine. “I have a lot of baggage—stuff that I’d want to share with the woman I love. The problem is I never get far enough into a relationship to trust anyone—at least not like this.”
“Wow, Boone,” I breathed, unable to find my voice. “Well, your secret is safe with me.”
He sighed. “I knew it would be. So you can see how I don’t want to let anyone in far enough to know the real me. You know what I mean?”
“Ha,” I scoffed. “You’re talking to a woman who was once the queen of not letting anyone in,” I said, taking another sip of my wine. “Still, Boone. I don’t understand why you wanted to share all of this with me?”
“I don’t really know, Samantha. It’s just a feeling I have about you. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t tell him not only had I shot a man but that my intention was to kill him. I didn’t tell him I’d fiercely protect my family and the people I loved until I drew my last breath. It was clear my new friend, Boone Henry, thought he knew me. He didn’t know me at all.
“Like I said, I could share that info with my wife, but when you’re trying to date, it’s not like you have a lot to talk about. I can’t talk shop and usually that’s all they want to talk, which then makes me completely suspicious of their intentions.”
“Sounds like a vicious cycle,” I said, finishing my plastic cup of wine.
“More wine?”
I nodded. “It’s really good.”
“Thanks. I picked it especially for you.”
“If you don’t want to talk about your personal life and you can’t talk about your political one, what do you talk about with these women?”
