I needed to have a private chat with the Tripplethorns, but it needed to be in a place that I picked, that gave me an advantage. Never let the enemy choose the battlefield. That was one of our problems in the Middle East. We were always in a hurry. We could have simply blockaded towns and made them come to us, but no. We had to go in and root out the bad guys.
It changed the dynamic. Increased the danger.
I laced my fingers behind my head as I leaned back in the uncomfortable hotel chair.
I was just a grunt, savvy with the net and possessing common sense that helped me get answers to hard questions, but this job called for more.
The Peace Archive. There was no one to call for help. The beauty of their system was in the independence and disconnection. No one was linked to anyone else as far as I knew. I had two private bank accounts in the Cayman Islands. They transferred money into one, I moved it to the second. I let it build up.
I used Western Union to send myself cash, or rather, send cash to Ian Bragg.
So how was I to make this happen? I shut the laptop and reclined on the bed, propped up on pillows while I stared at a spot on the wall, working through scenario after scenario where I talked to Jimmy about his wife. Why would he come clean with me? What would it take to have a candid conversation with the Wonderbeast?
Put her on her heels. Force her to remedy the error of her ways. What authority did she respect?
I needed to peruse her other emails and see what she let slip. I closed my eyes as I tried to think.
Next thing I know, someone kissed my neck. I nearly jumped through the wall.
“Whoa!” Jenny thrust her hands in front of her to hold me back.
I worked to catch my breath and slow my heart. I had lived alone for too long to be comfortable with pleasant surprises like that.
“You looked so adorable sound asleep, I couldn’t help myself. Note to me. Don’t wake Ian out of a sound sleep.”
I shook my head. “I don’t remember falling asleep.” I took her hands in mine and held them. “I was thinking about my client. I’ll need to meet with them tomorrow, but I have Sunday off. What do you say we do something nice together? A hike if the weather cooperates, or a movie in a theater? Anything where I can be with you?”
“You can count me in.” Jenny climbed under my arm to lounge on the bed next to me. “I was thinking about this morning…”
I waited until I realized this was the part where I was supposed to say something. “Why did we meet?” I dodged with a question.
“Because you came to the bar for a Shirley Temple, and I was with people who could not have cared less if I was there or not.”
“That’s pretty harsh. I have a different take. We were meant to meet. We are meant to be together. I know your parents are gone, but I am asking your father in heaven for permission to court you.”
“He would have liked you. He respected the military but never served. And he loved my mother to the moon and back.”
“Is that what you’re looking for, Miss Jenny? Someone to love you like that?”
“Is it too much to ask?”
“Ask? No. Demand ? Yes. That’s why your new favorite drink is grenadine and orange juice.”
“I don’t think that’s my new favorite drink, but I’m okay with it being yours.”
I thrust out my hand. “It’s a deal.”
She laughed and contorted her body to shake hands with me. “Does this make us partners?”
“I think it does. What’s for dinner, dear?”
She rocked back.
“You are not pulling that on me!” she declared. “You bought dinner last night, so it’s my turn to treat. I know a place that’s not too far. I’ll drive. Are you good with steak?”
“I’m good with a good steak, but the best burgers are usually in steak houses that are only okay with steak.”
“What I hear you saying is that if I don’t like my steak, I can have your burger.” Another test. I was ready.
“Of course, as long as you don’t mind waiting while I order another burger.”
“I remember something about a goat’s asshole.” Jenny put a hand on her hip and gave me the side-eye.
“Just because I’ll eat it, it doesn’t mean I like it. I prefer the finer things in life.” I wrapped my hands through the crooks of her arms and hugged her to me, holding her tightly.
Jenny nibbled on my earlobe before whispering, “I love you, Ian Bragg.”
I knew it was coming, but that didn’t change the surprise or my mumbled reply. “Me, too.”
The saga of Kicker and the Wonderbeast melted away for the moment. Tomorrow they’d be back with a vengeance. Tomorrow, Jimmy’s schedule said family time with Grandpa. That meant I would go to the private berth of the Barrows’ yacht to see how the Tripplethorn family interacted. Learn what I could.
Insight would give me the edge I needed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“One cannot separate the spider web's form from the way in which it originated.” Neri Oxman
After an evening of excellent steak, ice cream, a stroll under the stars, and intense one-on-one entertainment, I slept for a solid six hours. Jenny remained asleep, as content as I had been. I took the opportunity in the early dawn to watch her sleep for a few moments and appreciate what life was offering me.
Karma? A reward for doing the right things or enticement to save me from going too far down the wrong path? Either one was good. No matter the reason, we would live for today to make life worth living.
I had work to do before heading out.
I accessed the web on both the public-facing side and from the dark side. I checked the Wonderbeast’s emails and found the alert for my attempted login of her bank account. I deleted it and then went into the deletions directory to remove it from there, too. She wasn’t as savvy as she might have thought. Having seen her arrogance, I suspected she didn’t listen to people, if she bothered to ask for help in the first place.
What I found was most enlightening. I opened a new window with her private email. In the deleted directory were her replies that I had missed the first time through.
The view is spectacular this time of year. You should see for yourself. Drive like you are the only one on the road. Her reply to the first email was abrupt. For this, I prefer someone else drive.
Not the view you thought. It gets better. Climb the highest peak and keep climbing. Her reply was A million steps to the top.
Had the Wonderbeast paid a million dollars to do her husband in? I was getting three-quarters of that and never expected that I was getting more than half. The Peace Archive had more risk than me. They had to find the clients, which put them far more into the open than me.
The cryptic reply from the unidentified email address. A chair. The deck. A cloud. Margarita.
She responded in kind. Ocean. Heat. Yellow. Napkin.
She never answered the last email. End.
It came across as a substitution code—a word meant something specific. There was no repetition, nothing to analyze. A physical codebook would be required to link this series of emails to a negotiation for a murder for hire. A cipher, encryption at the letter level, could be decrypted through cryptanalysis. Too bad it wasn’t a cipher, like a cheesy letter replacement. But I had more faith in The Peace Archive. They never came across as cheesy.
I went to her other emails and searched for three things: any mentions of “Margarita,” the alpha-numeric email, and all attachments. That was no small task since she had a mountain of emails with attachments, but most were from so-called friends sharing recipes and memes.
I wondered if she cooked. I had to fight my immediate judgment that she didn’t. Collect the data and see where it led. How much of her life was a façade? That was what I needed to unmask. Where was the real Tricia Tripplethorn hiding?
She had a friend named Margarita. There were no attachments with that word contained inside or any of the other codewords. Nothing to indicate that
she had received a code sheet by email. How did one start a conversation about hiring a hitman?
And the other email address was not referenced in her regular emails. A lot of research right into a dead end. I checked the time. According to Jimmy’s schedule, he was to be at the yacht by nine in the morning. Allowing for traffic. I needed to leave in thirty minutes to be in place well ahead of the Tripplethorn arrival at Grandpa’s place.
I took a quick shower and dressed in my skinny jeans, a button-down, and my suit jacket. I figured being dressed well would stand out less in that area.
Jenny’s eyes were open and she was sitting up when I reappeared from the bathroom. I sat down on the bed next to her.
“Dress for success, Mister Bragg?” she said softly.
“Something like that. What are you going to do today?”
“Check out, take my stuff home, and bring a few things back just in case. Maybe you can come home with me for the rest of the weekend after you get back from your day.”
“A road trip. Do you have Yahtzee?”
“Of course. And chess.”
“Chess. A game that’s more than a game. I also like Snakes and Ladders.”
“I would have guessed Twister,” Jenny countered.
“We don’t need Twister to get excited.”
She laughed. “You got that right. We can talk about the future of mankind, maybe fix all the world’s problems with enough time and enough whiskey.”
“Are you suggesting that you want to get me drunk?”
“No sense in just one of us getting lit.”
Touché .
“If I must, for King and country, of course.” My hand wandered freely across her bare chest. She leaned back and closed her eyes. I leaned over her for a kiss. “I have to go, but I’ll be back, and then we have until Monday morning, when I have a ridiculous day. But let’s focus on what we have now, starting when I get home to you tonight.”
“Home,” she repeated softly.
“If I’m not careful, this job will be the death of me, just when things are looking perfect.”
Jenny had no idea how much truth there was in that statement.
“I’ll do my best to balance you. We are partners, after all. What can I do to relieve some of your burden?”
“When I don’t have to think about the job, you can keep me distracted. That is all I can ask for.”
“I’m here for you. You need only ask.” She let me go, watching me as if studying.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Your place, dinner, relax with a movie, stimulating conversation, and whatever else strikes us.”
“Until tonight.” She didn’t wave or smile. Just looked at me, respecting that I had to go to work while committing to wait for me.
I returned to her, sitting on the side of the bed where I could whisper into her ear, “I love you, too, Jenny Lawless.” I willingly took the step from which there was no turning back.
I stood and hurried from the room. Once in the hall, I walked slowly, trying to close the Jenny compartment and focus on the job I had to do.
Anger flooded my mind. Why did The Peace Archive take a contract on someone who wasn’t a scumbag? And why did Tricia Tripplethorn want her husband dead?
If she hadn’t taken out the contract, I would have never been here, never met Jenny. The good came with the bad. I had ten days total to fix it.
I stopped by the hotel’s restaurant, which was already open. I didn’t need to work the serving lady for a meal, but it was Saturday. Someone else was working. I helped myself to a sausage biscuit and hash browns, both being kept warm under a heat lamp. Not the best, but better than nothing. I took a seat in the restaurant and ate quickly before doctoring a coffee with too much foofy creamer.
In the car, I set up my 1980s Rush Playlist. It started with Permanent Waves ’ The Spirit of Radio and would roll through the next three albums, Moving Pictures , Signals , and Grace Under Pressure . I should be near the marina well before the music ended. I’d listen to whatever was left, along with Power Windows and Hold Your Fire for the trip back.
I needed to catch the Seattle ferry to Bainbridge. It would drop me off in Eagle Harbor, where Barrows’ Euripides’ Ion was docked.
Traffic was heavier than I expected, almost like a workday. Good that I had given myself plenty of time. I sat in traffic and jammed, trying to think through scenarios where this contract ended without me being on the receiving end of a Peace Archive bullet.
What if I ended the Wonderbeast?
It wouldn’t cancel the contract, but there would be no one to complain. I chalked that up as my last resort.
I turned up the music to clear my head. The soothing slow-roll intro of Natural Science wafted through the car before the pace picked up, almost frenetic as it called to me. Triumphant. Tragic. Such power.
Next up on the list was Tom Sawyer , followed by Red Barchetta . I wondered what she called her Porsche. I decided to refer to it as Barchetta. I suspected it would come into play at some point during this operation.
Once into the downtown area, north of the football stadium, the signs led me to where I wanted to go. A tollbooth funneled paid vehicles onto the Wenatchee , a two-hundred car ferry at the Colman dock. A special ferry left early on Saturday morning. During workdays, all the departures were after noon until nearly eight in the evening. A different way to commute.
They were already loading vehicles. I drove in and squeezed up front with the other eight early arrivals. I hopped out and locked the doors. I familiarized myself with the big boat. One never knew when that kind of knowledge would come in handy. It was easier early because very few people were on board. It was less obvious.
I strolled around the deck, watching people going about their daily lives. A young couple going for a picnic. A couple with children riding the big boat for cheap entertainment. The children wanted hot dogs, but the machine wasn’t running this early. A bagged Otis Spunkmeyer muffin wasn’t satisfying their craving. They both started to cry. I moved away because I could. The parents did an admirable job of ignoring the bawlers, much to everyone else’s dismay.
At the aft rail, I could see other cars in the staging area. I should not have been surprised to see a red Escape Hybrid waiting there. I shook my head slowly at my misfortune.
I had shaken hands with Jimmy. He would recognize me. I hurried back to the car and pulled my floppy hat out of the trunk. I wedged it onto my head before taking it off. I was dressed in business casual, and any of my hats made me stand out.
I tossed them back into the trunk. What to do to avoid being seen?
Disappear. It was a tight squeeze in the lower of the two vehicle bays. I headed topside to see where the Tripplethorns were going to park.
The red Escape was one of the first on the upper parking deck. I dodged toward the aft end of the ship and stayed in the shadows. The family did not climb topside but headed straight for the galley. I meandered that way, staying behind a tall man in case Jimmy appeared, but he was inside with the others, waiting patiently in line for whatever they were serving for breakfast.
People stopped to shake his hand before begging his pardon for interrupting Jimmy’s family time. The Wonderbeast maintained a plastic smile. Her eyes told the full story.
Not amused.
Limelight came to mind. Mrs. Tripplethorn didn’t like the limelight. Why not a divorce like normal people? But you’re not a normal person, are you?
Jimmy gave his full attention to the kids as they sat at a table for four. The children ate, while the adults settled for coffee. Like a normal family. Jimmy ended up eating what his daughter left behind of her muffin. The older boy devoured his microwaved egg and meat surprise on a croissant. The children had foil-topped plastic orange juices. Jimmy opened one, and Tricia opened the other.
The family started chatting, laughing at the occasional jibe from one of the kids. Just like normal people. The Wonderbeast occasionally glanced around the galley. I could only gues
s she was looking for me.
I ducked away twice before the risk became too great. I worked my way to the aft end of the ship in time to see it cast off. We maneuvered away from the dock, the start of a journey across Puget Sound. I descended into the bowels of the ship, the lower vehicle deck to find four young men of various colors strolling through, checking vehicle windows before moving on. They didn’t care when I walked past them to get to my car. They continued with what they were doing. I leaned against the trunk and waited. Two came up on me from my left side, while the other two were three cars back on my right.
“Got anything good you can share?” one of the men asked.
“Nothing. Take a look.” I didn’t unlock the car. The second tried the door handle, scowling at me when he found it didn’t open for him. The first kept me company.
The other looked through the window. “Looks like a sweet music player. What you got on it?”
“Rush, man. All the albums.”
“Never heard of them, but I’m sure they can be erased. We can put some good stuff on there. Unlock the door.”
My close friend leaned toward me to reinforce the command. “He said, unlock the door.”
I took half a step back to see if he would continue his looming routine. He followed. I lunged forward with a knee to the mid-section. As he started to double over, I guided his face into the corner of my trunk. I jumped over him and continued toward the second man. He fumbled getting a knife out of his pocket, pulling it up as I arrived, too late to stop my fist from catching him across the nose. I followed with a second punch to the temple to take him out.
Their two other friends rushed to their aid, but they had been too far back to do anything about it.
I crossed my arms and waited.
“I’m going to cut you bad,” the bigger of the two claimed.
“Come on over here so I can pile you with this one. My money says lucky number four runs like a scared girl when it’s just him while his three tough buddies are crying in their Cheerios. Come on, Big and Dumb, I don’t have all day to teach you the meaning of life.” Nothing like taunting a bully to unhinge them.
He hesitated as he passed the one whose face had had an untimely meeting with my trunk. Maybe not so stupid.
The Operator Page 7
