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THE MIDDLE SIN

Page 29

by Merline Lovelace


  The car­ved Af­ri­can masks still de­co­ra­ted the walls of the den, tho­ugh. Right abo­ve the worn le­at­her so­fa, whe­re Pat­rick North sat stiff and un-mo­ving. Wan­da hud­dled be­si­de him. Her fa­ce was red and splotchy from we­eping. His was clo­sed and tight.

  Cleo's he­art drop­ped li­ke a sto­ne.

  "Pop! What's wrong?"

  She rus­hed in­to the den. And pul­led up short. Hard on her he­els, Jack al­most col­li­ded with her. His vi­ci­o­us cur­se rang in her ears as she sta­red at the squ­at fi­gu­re se­ated be­hind her fat­her's desk.

  He held a si­len­ced se­mi­a­uto­ma­tic in one hand. The two men flan­king him on eit­her si­de we­re si­mi­larly ar­med. Gi­ven that let­hal fi­re­po­wer, the gun­man's high-pit­c­hed gig­gle scra­ped li­ke fin­ger­na­ils on a chal­k­bo­ard.

  "Two for one. I didn't an­ti­ci­pa­te it wo­uld be this easy."

  "What are you do­ing he­re?"

  Jack had to growl the qu­es­ti­on. Cleo was sha­king too hard with ra­ge to do mo­re than hiss.

  "You two cost me a gre­at de­al of mo­ney. A very gre­at de­al. I had two po­ten­ti­al pur­c­ha­sers in a bid­ding war for the Rods from God."

  Cleo his­sed aga­in, mo­re audibly this ti­me. "So you're Do­mi­no?"

  "I am."

  Ra­dio Man gig­gled on­ce mo­re, cle­arly de­lig­h­ted to ha­ve his ge­ni­us re­cog­ni­zed.

  "I know, I know. I hardly lo­ok li­ke the mas­ter­mind of an in­ter­na­ti­onal-cri­me syndi­ca­te. I truly be­li­eve that's part of the re­ason I've be­en so suc­ces­sful. But only part. I'm very tho­ro­ugh, as I sus­pect you've al­re­ady de­ter­mi­ned. I can al­so be very rut­h­less when ne­ces­sary. I'm af­ra­id this is one of tho­se ti­mes when it's ne­ces­sary."

  His sigh was as dra­ma­tic as it was fal­se.

  "I knew when you ca­me abo­ard I'd ha­ve to de­al with you. You and Slo­an and that Mar­s­ton wo­man. I'd in­ten­ded to ar­ran­ge a he­li­cop­ter crash af­ter you de­par­ted the ship, all so­uls lost at sea. So tra­gic, to ha­ve you all just di­sap­pe­ar off the ra­dar li­ke that. You must tell me how that fo­ol, Wes­ter­beck, tip­ped our hand."

  "Ye­ah, right," Jack grow­led. "Li­ke that's go­ing to hap­pen."

  Abo­ve his lim­pid smi­le, Ra­dio Man's eyes nar­ro­wed to slits.

  "Oh, it'll hap­pen. As so­on as I put a bul­let thro­ugh Ms. North's sho­ul­der, as she did mi­ne. Or per­haps you'd rat­her I start with yo­ur fat­her, Ms. North. The da­ta I col­lec­ted on you told me he wo­uld be yo­ur only vul­ne­rab­le spot. I was right, wasn't I? You cer­ta­inly ca­me run­ning fast eno­ugh."

  Cleo wo­uld be a long ti­me for­gi­ving her­self for that. She saw her mis­ta­kes now with the sharp bril­li­an­ce of a lig­h­t­ning bolt. If Wan­da's call hadn't sha­ken her so badly, she wo­uld ha­ve con­tac­ted Mae or Go­ose or even Do­re­en and had them strong-arm her fat­her in­to his car­di­olo­gist's of­fi­ce. She wo­uld al­so ha­ve in­sis­ted on tal­king to Pat­rick her­self, may­be pic­ked up on the nu­an­ces in his vo­ice she mis­sed com­p­le­tely in Wa­ve­ring Wan­da's.

  Cur­sing her­self for the fe­ar that had sent her run­ning blindly in­to a trap, she dug the keys de­eper in­to her palm, using the pa­in as a spur to cle­ar her mind. She ne­eded to think. Ne­eded to pick up the si­lent sig­nals she was su­re Do­no­van was sen­ding her.

  Ne­eded to shi­eld her fat­her and Wan­da.

  She co­uldn't ma­ke a mo­ve, co­uldn't let Jack ma­ke a mo­ve, un­til she got bet­we­en them and the men by the desk.

  "Let's talk abo­ut this, Walls. Or wha­te­ver yo­ur na­me is."

  "Walls will do."

  She mo­ved far­t­her in­to the den. One step. Two.

  With each step, her mind ra­ced.

  Ne­it­her she nor Jack was ar­med. They hadn't had ti­me to cle­ar the­ir we­apons thro­ugh Se­cu­rity and catch the flight. All Jack car­ri­ed was the soft-si­ded bri­ef­ca­se with his com­pu­ter. All she had we­re her keys.

  "This is bet­we­en us, Walls. You. Me. Do­no­van. My fat­her and step­mot­her don't know an­y­t­hing. They co­uldn't tell the aut­ho­ri­ti­es who you we­re if they wan­ted to."

  "Per­haps not," Ra­dio Man sa­id, "but the­ir only use­ful­ness to me was as ba­it to lu­re you he­re. They'll ha­ve to be dis­po­sed of, I'm af­ra­id."

  He sig­hed aga­in, ma­king Cleo ac­he to go­uge out his eyes with her keys. That was when she felt the pen­light thump aga­inst the he­el of her hand.

  Her pul­se spi­ked. Do­re­en's fo­re­ver light had lit up an en­ti­re car­go com­par­t­ment on bo­ard the Pits. Mo­re to the po­int, it had dam­ned ne­ar blin­ded Cleo the first ti­me her tec­h­no-ge­ek co­usin had de­mon­s­t­ra­ted its po­tency.

  Ra­dio Man and his two go­ons we­re wit­hin a few fe­et of each ot­her. May­be, just may­be, the be­am wo­uld throw eno­ugh wat­ta­ge to catch all three.

  Her he­art thum­ping, she pal­med the pen­light. Swe­at dam­pe­ned her hand. Her thumb was slick on the cylin­der. So slick, she wor­ri­ed she'd miss the switch. Or ta­ke two or three tri­es to ac­ti­va­te it.

  Pa­nic tur­ned her blo­od to wa­ter. She co­uld fa­ce down ar­med do­pers or ta­ke out the kni­fe-wi­el­ding hus­band of a bat­te­red cli­ent with icy ner­ves and swift mo­ves. But her pop's li­fe was ri­ding on this one. And Jack's. And Wan­da's.

  Sur­rep­ti­ti­o­usly swi­ping her thumb aga­inst her si­de, Cleo scre­wed her fa­ce in­to a plea.

  "Ple­ase. Just think abo­ut this, Walls. You can't be­li­eve you'll get away with a qu­ad­rup­le mur­der in a north Dal­las su­burb."

  "I sold an en­ti­re car­go of te­ena­ge Sri Lan­kan girls. This pre­sents far fe­wer dif­fi­cul­ti­es."

  "Ye­ah? Well, I ha­ve only one thing to say to that, you sick bas­tard. Tac­hi dao."

  The gig­gle ca­me aga­in, so­un­ding so much li­ke a te­ena­ge Sri Lan­kan girl that Cleo al­most gag­ged.

  "Tac­hi dao? What's that sup­po­sed to me­an?"

  Cleo sli­ced a lo­ok at her dad. At his im­per­cep­tib­le nod, she tur­ned a smi­le on Ra­dio Man.

  "It me­ans, as­sho­le, that you're a de­ad man." The high-in­ten­sity be­am stab­bed ac­ross the den, se­aring in its in­ten­sity. Ra­dio Man shri­eked and threw up his gun arm to shi­eld his eyes. The man to his left spun away from the light, then drop­ped li­ke a lum­be­rj­ack when Do­no­van's bri­ef­ca­se smas­hed in­to his he­ad.

  The go­on to his right squ­e­ezed his eyes shut at the sa­me in­s­tant as he pum­ped off se­ve­ral ro­unds. Cleo co­uldn't stop to see whe­re they hit. She'd al­re­ady la­un­c­hed her­self thro­ugh the air.

  When the red ha­ze cle­ared, Cleo had drop­ped go­on num­ber three, Jack's bri­ef­ca­se had put a cre­ase in go­on num­ber two's skull, and Ra­dio Man was lying in a crum­p­led he­ap on the flo­or. The fist Jack had plo­wed in­to his fa­ce whi­le he was still blin­ded by the fo­re­ver be­am had sent him so­uth.

  Bul­lets had stit­c­hed a se­am ac­ross the den wall. One Af­ri­can mask hung at a crazy tilt. Anot­her had splin­te­red. Wan­da was crus­hed un­der Pat­rick's shel­te­ring body, scre­aming hyste­ri­cal­ly.

  "It's okay," Pat­rick huf­fed, trying to calm his bri­de. "Wan­da. Baby. It's okay."

  She wo­uldn't be­li­eve him. Eit­her that or she co­uldn't he­ar him over her own scre­ams.

  "Pop! For God's sa­ke, you're crus­hing her."

  Whi­le Jack col­lec­ted the scat­te­red we­apons and mo­un­ted gu­ard over Walls and his ac­com­p­li­ces, Cleo hel­ped her fat­her and step­mom up, then di­aled 911. She had to put the pho­ne to one ear and a hand to the ot­her to shut out Wan­da's hyste­rics, but ma­na­ged to get her mes­sa­ge ac­ross.

 
Less than ten mi­nu­tes la­ter, three squ­ad cars ca­me te­aring up the stre­et, si­rens wa­iling. When Jack let the po­li­ce in and Pat­rick led his wi­fe up­s­ta­irs, Wan­da was still gul­ping back sobs.

  28

  It was la­te, al­most mid­night, when Cleo mum­b­led in­to the spe­aker be­si­de her front do­or.

  "Lit­tle Miss Muf­fett sat on a tuf­fet."

  She wo­uld just as so­on Jack hadn't he­ard that. Short of di­rec­ting him to stand on the si­de­walk whi­le she mut­te­red in­to the spe­aker, the­re was no way to avo­id it.

  Su­re eno­ugh, his eyes held a wic­ked glint when the do­or of her ho­me-slash-of­fi­ce clic­ked open. "Re­al sop­his­ti­ca­ted co­de you use the­re, North."

  "Sop­his­ti­ca­ted eno­ugh. The system only re­cog­ni­zes se­lec­ted vo­ice prints."

  Jack ga­ve the box anot­her on­ce-over. "I didn't re­ali­ze they we­re put­ting out re­li­ab­le vo­ice-re­cog­ni­ti­on systems for ho­me-se­cu­rity systems."

  "They're not. My step­co­usin-in-law rig­ged this one. I ga­ve her a hefty bo­nus for it. It won't co­me an­y­w­he­re ne­ar the one I plan to gi­ve her for this lit­tle baby, tho­ugh."

  Jig­gling the pen­light on her key cha­in, Cleo led Jack in­si­de.

  "I ha­ve to me­et this wo­man," he com­men­ted.

  "You pro­bably will. If you plan to stay mo­re than a night or two, that is. She usu­al­ly parks on my li­ving ro­om co­uch du­ring wor­king ho­urs." Cleo drop­ped the keys on the co­un­ter and tur­ned to fa­ce him. "Do you, by the way? Plan to stay mo­re than a day or two?"

  "Am I in­vi­ted?"

  Oh, yes, he was in­vi­ted. In­to her ho­me. In­to her he­art. She owed him for drop­ping ever­y­t­hing to co­me with her. Big ti­me.

  "Well, I can't see any re­ason for eit­her of us to rush back to Was­hin­g­ton. We've bag­ged Do­mi­no. We won't ha­ve to ap­pe­ar be­fo­re any bo­ards of in­qu­iry for at le­ast anot­her we­ek or so. And we ha­ve at le­ast one mo­re ro­und to de­ci­de yet. We we­re go­ing for two out of three, re­mem­ber?"

  "I re­mem­ber."

  Grin­ning, he ho­oked a hand in the wa­is­t­band of her je­ans and yan­ked her for­ward.

  Cleo's he­art did a joy­ful lit­tle dan­ce aga­inst her ribs. She ca­ught his hands, tho­ugh, and held them still be­fo­re he co­uld work the snap.

  "Thanks, Jack," she sa­id softly, "for be­ing the­re when I ne­eded you."

  "You're wel­co­me."

  As sin­g­le-min­ded as most ma­les, he had only one thing in his he­ad at the mo­ment. The snap pop­ped. Her zip­per ca­me down.

  "This ti­me, we go the full co­unt, ba­be. We don't an­s­wer any pho­nes. We don't an­s­wer do­or­bel­ls. No cli­ents. No bos­ses. As long as it ta­kes."

  It to­ok a long ti­me.

  All that night.

  Most of the next day.

  Well in­to the third day, when Jack had to fly back to Was­hin­g­ton.

  Cleo fol­lo­wed two we­eks la­ter. As she'd fe­ared, she had to tes­tify at so many dif­fe­rent he­arings and bo­ards of in­qu­iry she so­on lost co­unt. Every agency with an in­te­rest in the Pit­sen­bar­ger wan­ted the de­ta­ils on how and why she went down. The air for­ce. The army. The navy. The Co­ast Gu­ard. The U.S. Ma­ri­ti­me Aut­ho­rity. The De­par­t­ment of Ho­me­land Se­cu­rity.

  The Pit­sen­bar­ger in­ci­dent tur­ned out to be me­rely the tip of the ice­berg. Jack's qu­eri­es abo­ut Ra­dio Man had re­ope­ned do­zens of ca­ses the In­ter­na­ti­onal Com­mer­ci­al Cri­mes Ser­vi­ce ma­ri­ti­me di­vi­si­on had put in the cold fi­le. He was so­on up to his ass un­ra­ve­ling a string of hi­j­ac­kings and il­le­gal ship­ments that stret­c­hed back for ye­ars and in­vol­ved every co­untry from Aus­t­ra­lia to Zim­bab­we.

  Cleo re­tur­ned to Dal­las, whe­re her step­mot­her was still trying to re­co­up her shat­te­red ner­ves and Do­re­en was enj­oying the flat-sc­re­en TV she'd pur­c­ha­sed with her hefty bo­nus. She'd mo­un­ted the scre­en high on the wall in Cleo's li­ving ro­om. She co­uld now stretch out all two hun­d­red plus po­unds and cac­k­le away in to­tal com­fort.

  Gi­ven all Jack had to do, Cleo fi­gu­red she'd he­ar from him in a month or so. She was sur­p­ri­sed to get a call from OSI he­ad­qu­ar­ters less than two we­eks la­ter. Even mo­re sur­p­ri­sed that it wasn't Jack on the ot­her end of the li­ne. It was a har­ri­ed-so­un­ding of­fi­cer who iden­ti­fi­ed him­self as Ge­ne­ral Bar­nes's exec.

  "Wo­uld you hold for the ge­ne­ral, ple­ase? I'll put him on the li­ne."

  Des­pi­te her­self, Cleo went in­to a men­tal bra­ce.

  "North?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Are you ava­ilab­le to work a ca­se for us?"

  "That de­pends. What is it?"

  "So­me­one pum­ped two bul­lets in­to a Uni­ted Sta­tes Air For­ce cap­ta­in sta­ti­oned at RAF La­ken-he­ath last night. We ha­ve re­ason to be­li­eve the­re may be in­ter­na­ti­onal im­p­li­ca­ti­ons. At the re­qu­est of the Bri­tish go­ver­n­ment, I'm pul­ling Do­no­van off the Walls in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on and sen­ding him over."

  "And you want me to as­sist?"

  A warm glow spre­ad thro­ugh Cleo. It felt go­od to be con­si­de­red part of the te­am aga­in. Bet­ter than she wo­uld ever ha­ve ima­gi­ned.

  "No," Bar­nes bar­ked in­to the pho­ne, bur­s­ting her bright bub­ble. "The Bri­tish In­tel­li­gen­ce Ser­vi­ce, in the form of Lady Mar­s­ton, wants you to as­sist. She se­ems to think you and Do­no­van ma­ke a hel­lu­va te­am."

  He pa­used. Cle­ared his thro­at. Rat­tled his pi­pe stem aga­inst his te­eth.

  "So do I. When can you jump a pla­ne for D.C.? I want to bri­ef you be­fo­re you le­ave for Lon­don."

  Jack. Lon­don. Mur­der. What mo­re co­uld a girl ask for? Cleo's he­art was al­re­ady hal­f­way ac­ross the At­lan­tic. Her fe­et sta­yed firmly ro­oted in her bu­si­ness.

  "The­re's the slight mat­ter of pay­ment for ser­vi­ces to be ren­de­red to be dis­cus­sed first."

  Bar­nes ma­de a no­ise hal­f­way bet­we­en a sigh and a snort. "Yo­ur stan­dard fee, plus ex­pen­ses."

  "Co­lor me go­ne, Chi­ef."

  Jo­in Cleo North for anot­her ac­ti­on-pac­ked ad­ven­tu­re in

  THE LAST BULLET

  by Merline Lovelace

  “I’ve got to jump a pla­ne to D.C. in a few ho­urs, then I'm off to Lon­don," for­mer USAF in­ves­ti­ga­ti­ve agent tur­ned pri­va­te se­cu­rity con­sul­tant Cleo North an­no­un­ced as she bre­ezed out of her of­fi­ce. "The air for­ce wants me to work a mur­der ca­se."

  Mae, her part-ti­me of­fi­ce ma­na­ger, lo­oked up from the la­test is­sue of Golf Di­gest and ga­ve an ab­sent smi­le. "Yo­ur pas­sport is in the sa­fe. I'll go get it."

  "And I'll go pack."

  The call had co­me from her old boss, Ge­ne­ral Sam Bar­nes, com­man­der of the USAF Of­fi­ce of Spe­ci­al In­ves­ti­ga­ti­ons. Cleo and the OSI chi­ef had par­ted on so­mew­hat less than ami­cab­le terms six ye­ars ago. Bar­nes had ac­cep­ted her re­sig­na­ti­on with grud­ging words of pra­ise for her abi­lity to bust ca­ses. He'd then tac­ked on rat­her scat­hing and, Cleo had tho­ught, com­p­le­tely un­ne­ces­sary com­ments abo­ut her har­d­he­aded in­de­pen­den­ce and ten­dency to bend the ru­les.

  Her re­la­ti­on­s­hip with the Old Man hadn't im­p­ro­ved over ti­me. And mat­ters had ta­ken a de­fi­ni­te turn for the wor­se when the ship-hi­j­ac­king Cleo had re­cently hel­ped fo­il had en­ded in an ex­p­lo­si­on that des­t­ro­yed tons of air for­ce mu­ni­ti­ons.

  As if it was her fa­ult the bul­let she'd put in­to one of the hi­j­ac­kers had spun him aro­und at the pre­ci­se mo­ment he'd de­ci­ded to la­unch a
sho­ul­der-held mis­si­le? At le­ast she'd sa­ved the Navy Se­ahawk he­li­cop­ter the bas­tard had be­en aiming at, along with its crew…and the Bri­tish ope­ra­ti­ve who'd just clim­bed out of the chop­per.

  Now that ope­ra­ti­ve wan­ted Cleo to in­ves­ti­ga­te the mur­der of an Ame­ri­can of­fi­cer sta­ti­oned in En­g­land.

  Cleo's flight lan­ded at Re­agan Na­ti­onal just past 2:00 p.m. Was­hin­g­ton, D.C., was dec­ked out in its best spring fi­nery. The cherry tre­es sur­ro­un­ding the ti­dal ba­sin had shed the­ir blos­soms, but still wo­re the fe­at­hery gre­en le­aves of May. The whi­te mar­b­le co­lumns of the Jef­fer­son Me­mo­ri­al spar­k­led in the sun, as did the cle­an li­nes of the fe­de­ral bu­il­dings in L'Enfant Pla­za. Con­s­t­ruc­ti­on aro­und the pla­za slo­wed things to a crawl un­til the exit for the Ca­pi­tol Stre­et Brid­ge. Cros­sing the Po­to­mac on­ce mo­re, they zip­ped along the Su­it­land Par­k­way.

  Se­cu­rity was ex­t­re­mely tight at An­d­rews. Un­der­s­tan­dab­le, as the ba­se was ho­me to the 89th Air­lift Wing, which flew Air For­ce One and ot­her VIP sup­port air­c­raft. The dri­ver did a ca­re­ful zig­zag aro­und stra­te­gi­cal­ly pla­ced con­c­re­te bar­ri­ers. At the san­d­bag­ged ga­te, Cleo was as­ked to pro­vi­de two so­ur­ces of iden­ti­fi­ca­ti­on. Even with a mi­li­tary dri­ver, she had to wa­it whi­le the se­cu­rity for­ce spe­ci­alist cal­led OSI vi­si­tor con­t­rol to ve­rify her ap­po­in­t­ment.

  Once cle­ared, the dri­ver an­g­led right and fol­lo­wed the pe­ri­me­ter ro­ad to the bo­ule­vard of flags le­ading to the 89th wing he­ad­qu­ar­ters. The se­mi­cir­cu­lar bu­il­ding al­so ho­used a num­ber of te­nant units, in­c­lu­ding the he­ad­qu­ar­ters for the Uni­ted Sta­tes Air For­ce Of­fi­ce of Spe­ci­al In­ves­ti­ga­ti­ons.

 

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