Amy Lynn, The Lady Of Castle Dunn

by Jack July

  Smith knew it would be easy to know where he went just by checking the stamps. Meyer looked at the wall expressionless. Smith craned his head around trying to look Meyer in the face. He said louder and with more force, “Meyer Braddock, your passport?”

  Meyer turned up his drink and drained it, looked at the agents and said, “Excuse me gentleman. I need to contact my attorney.”

  Claire sat on the back of the old truck, swinging her feet and watching Micky finish brushing Mr. Z’s horse, Renaldo, and put him back in his stall. Bogus appeared from the inner courtyard walking toward the stalls. When he was bored, he would come pet his horses, and he was definitely bored. Micky saw him, looked at Claire, and had an idea. “Mr. Z,” He called out.

  Bogus perked up, “Yes, Micky?”

  “Can I take one of the horses, and take Claire for a ride around the grounds?”

  Bogus put his arm around his shoulders and said, “Micky, the people who work for me at Zielinski International have complete discretion over their responsibilities and all things that reside within. What this does is sets up a sense of ownership over their day-to-day endeavors. So you see, it’s not really a job, but an extension of them personally. That’s why I opt to run things that way.”

  Micky looked at him with a blank stare, his head tilted slightly like a dog that heard a strange noise. Bogus laughed out loud and said, “You didn’t get a word of that, did you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Go ask Miss Constance.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He turned and jogged toward the office next to the stables and made his request. Constance said, “Sure, take Greta, She hasn’t been out since the Lady was home. Oh, and if you run her, you’ll be washing her down.”

  Grinning hugely, he got Greta from the stall and walked her to the tack barn. Constance oversaw him cinching up the saddle and was impressed. He learned fast. Micky mounted up and walked Greta next to Claire, “You want to go for a ride?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going for a ride, come on.” He motioned for her to climb up.

  “Do they know you took a horse?”

  “Well, yeah, I asked.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. I don’t steal anymore. I promised the Lady I wouldn’t.”

  She hopped off the back of the truck, smiled broadly and said, “Okay, help me up.”

  Claire put her foot in the stirrup and Micky pulled her up. He gave Greta a slight rub on her side with his heel, and she turned and trotted toward the drawbridge.

  Moments later Greta was walking along the Shannon. The air was cool, and Claire was glad she had Micky to shield her from the wind. Close to the end of the trail along the river, Micky stopped the horse and jumped down. He reached up for Claire to help her down and said, “Let’s walk for a while.”

  “Okay.” She looked at Micky and didn’t see the street rat. His hair was groomed and his clothes, slightly dirty from work, were new and fit well. He looked a little like an American cowboy.

  He smiled at her and said, “Did you ever think we could live like this? I mean, a few months ago, compared to now.”

  “I thought I would be dead by now.”

  “Don’t say that! Please, don’t say that,” Micky begged.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Not anymore, not as long as I’m around.” Claire smiled shyly. Micky asked, “Did you ask Mr. Z when he wanted you to leave?”

  She nodded.

  “Well?”

  “He said I didn’t. I didn’t have to leave.”

  Micky’s smile was ear to ear. They walked quietly for a few minutes.

  “Claire?” Micky asked

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like me?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I mean, do you really like me?”

  She had to think a moment and then said, “I like you, but I’m not sure what that is. I’m trying to figure it out.”

  He gave her a little nod then looked away.

  “Micky?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is no one in the world I like more than you.”

  That made him smile yet again. He put out his hand, and she took it.

  Chapter 39

  Fenian turned to look at her back in the mirror. The bruise had grown and was discolored in a rainbow of blues, greens and yellows. Just when I thought it couldn’t look any worse she thought. She checked the black and blue marks from the stick, running down the left side of her body from shoulder to ankle. I should have shot ’em all. I don’t know what I was thinking. She stepped into the shower, blasting ice-cold then hot water on her muscles, trying to get loose for what could be an exciting day. It was time to meet another asset. Oh, goody.

  She sat on the couch for thirty minutes cleaning weapons, glancing up occasionally at the photos of the Akhtar sisters, Farzin and Yusef. Today is the day, child-killing creeps. Today is the day. I don’t know how, when or where but I promise, today is the day. She walked to the garage behind the safe house. Inside was the car she’d abandoned when she took out Dawud. Wouldn’t it be something if they figured out it was mine and stuck a bomb in there? They swept it though, right Fenian? You trust em, right? Dang it.

  The big metal spoon smacked against the bottom corner of the bathroom mirror, breaking it and giving her a good size piece. She found a broom handle in the garage, broke it in half, and taped the mirror on the end. She took a flashlight, lay on her back and looked in every crack and crevice on the underside of the car. Beneath the driver’s side floor board, between the frame and floor pan, she saw a wire. She eased her fingers in a little farther and felt the unmistakable texture of C-4 explosives. She called Mona on the emergency line. “Did you have that car swept before you brought it?”

  “We sure did.”

  “It’s wired now.”

  “It’s been done since we dropped it off. Get out of that house, now.”

  She grabbed her gear and descended to the basement, where she threw a corner curio cabinet to the floor revealing a door with a map taped to it. A map, that’s handy she thought. She crawled through the 2’x3’ tunnel that emptied out at a 6’ city sewer line. She grabbed her backpack and duffle bag and began to jog away. A quick pressure change in the tunnel got her attention followed by a whoooosh, then a BOOM. The tunnel momentarily lit up as a small ball of flame began to chase her, then stopped and dissipated. Fenian stopped, leaned up against the wall and shook her head. After taking a couple of deep breaths she said quietly, “Now I know why Tatiana uses the word ‘fuck’ a lot.”

  After walking for what seemed like miles, she found the manhole cover where she was supposed to climb out. She looked up and thought, Oh great, 110 pound military press to get that cast iron thing up, and I’m out of painkiller. She climbed the 15’ ladder, braced herself and pushed. She took a quick look to see where she was. It appeared to be a dead end alley. No traffic, no people. She went back down for her gear, made her way up and through the hole, and slid the cover back on. Five steps out of the alley, she was looking at the rear of the American Consulate. Five minutes later, she was sitting in front of Mona.

  “Well, young lady, you certainly know how to kick the cage. Every goddamn Jihadi in Ontario is hunting your ass. They don’t have any good pictures of you. They don’t know much other than you’re a woman, which really pisses them off. They get killed by a woman, no 72 virgins. They have managed to take a few shots at you that you don’t know about.”

  “Like what?”

  Mona took a file folder, laid it out in front of her, opened it and spread four 8x10 photos in front of her. She looked stoic for about ten seconds, then she balled her fists and she began to rage. Ben, Todd, Howard and Edith, all dead, all tortured and murdered. “You bring a civilian into your shit, expect this.”

  Fenian had to get co
ld and get cold fast. “Do you have any other information for me?”

  “No, other than at some point there comes a time when you back away. Let everything calm down and try again.”

  Mona caught the change in the face, the darkness, the flashing eyes, the voice that wasn’t the same and the crooked little smile. “Is there a car out there I can use?”

  “Yep, blue Mercedes, keys are in it. Sooo, what should I prepare for?”

  “Bodies. Lots of ’em. I’m gonna kill ’em all. Thank you, Mona. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

  Mona had a little flash of fear. She thought, There’s a possibility that this woman has lost all control. I better call Adele.

  “Harold, I need you to get my plane off that island. Take it to Niagara or Buffalo. Then I need you to take your second set of IDs and license and get a small cargo plane. Cessna 182, Caravan I don’t care, just make sure it has a door that opens from bottom to top, got me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Ah, how did you know I kept a separate set?”

  “Really? Do you know who I’m married to? Get goin’, I want you back by tonight.”

  She drove to an eighteen-story office building on the corner of Clock Tower Road and The Donway West. There she took an elevator to the 12th floor and found a jewelry store called Weck’s. The thick doors required visitors to be identified and buzzed in. She pressed a button and held out her ID to the camera. When the door buzzed, she entered and noted that the shop looked decidedly upscale. The floor was covered in fine carpet and beautiful displays under new high tech lighting revealed a dazzling assortment of beautiful things. An old man who looked a little like Albert Einstein with a better hair cut walked from the back, smiled and said, “You must be Elle. I’m Saul Weck.”

  He held out his arms for a hug. Fenian wasn’t really feeling it, but she went through the motions. The old man even took the time to give her ass a nice squeeze. Oh, well...Tatiana had warned her. “Come, let’s go in my office and talk.”

  They went to a back office where he sat on a big leather couch and motioned for her to sit next to him. She chose the chair on the other side. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “My friend T said you were good at helping people.”

  “T? Oh, what a beautiful woman. She let me see her breasts, you know. They are perfect.”

  “Yes, I suppose they are.”

  “Come, sit next to me while I tell you things you know, and things you don’t.”

  She got up, sat about six inches from him and turned so her left leg was on the couch with her foot tucked under the right thigh providing a perfect view of her crotch. He was taking it all in. “Saul,” she whispered with a smile, “what’s up.”

  He placed his hand on her left knee and began to softly stroke it. “Oh, I like you already. What a body.”

  “Thanks, it takes a lot of work. Anytime now.”

  “Well, things started happening with the murder of the Imam Dawud. I would guess that was you?”

  Elle shrugged and Saul’s hand began to rub a few inches higher. “I thought so. You almost got caught. Then came your little foray into the Jihadi Hilton where you displayed spectacularly bad planning. You could not have done worse. However, once again, you escaped. Win some and learn some, as I always say. We are not allowed to lose, are we? I digress. You left a dozen dead jihadis and a few dead citizens in your wake.”

  Elle bowed her head and turned away. Saul saw it and said, “Is that shame I see over the citizens?” She turned back to look at him and he said, “Yes it is. Good, you’re not a monster.”

  He moved his hand up on her leg a little farther, gently rubbing about three inches from the promised land. “How much farther are you going to let me go?”

  She had already opened her combat folding knife without his noticing. She gently placed her hand holding the knife on top of her right leg and said, “About another two inches. Then I cut off your hand.”

  He smiled and said, “That’s good to know. Now, are you still hunting the Akhtars?” She nodded her head yes. “And will that finish your mission?” She shook her head. “Really? What further plans do you have?”

  She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her jacket, opened it and said, “Here’s a list of things I need.”

  “I’ll look at that in a minute. Now I want you to listen. You are worse than T. Why, oh why, do you feel a need to kick in doors like John Wayne? You have the body of a goddess. A little seduction or just be nice and people will beg you to kill them. Stop trying to be a man, because you are not. I know you think you use your femininity now and then to get what you want, but you could do so much more. Stop thinking like a man when you plan. Women think differently, better, smarter, far more deceitful. Isn’t it deceit that makes the greatest assassins?”

  Elle looked at him, amazed. He’s right, I do everything like a man. That’s why sometimes it feels unnatural and clumsy. “Tatiana said I would learn from you, but I had no idea.”

  “You only learn if you listen. Now, you need the Akhtars?”

  “Yes,”

  “Okay, I need something from you.”

  She gave him her first smile of the day and said, “Sure, what do you need?”

  With the calm tone and eye contact one would use to ask to pass the salt during dinner, he said, “I want your underwear.”

  She wasn’t sure she heard it correctly, “You want what?”

  “Your panties,” he said with a smile.

  Her brow scrunched and her lips pursed while letting that sink in. After a few more seconds she said, “Okay, sure. I’ll get you a pair out of the car.”

  “Mmm, no. I want the ones you are wearing right now.” He pointed across the room and said, “The bathroom is over there.”

  She took a deep breath and said, “Sure, why not?” The things I do for my country, she thought. She walked to the bathroom, put her hand on the doorknob, looked at him and said, “Turn off the camera.”

  A big grin crossed his face and he said, “See? Thinking like a woman.” He opened the cabinet so she could see and shut down the camera. She nodded and walked through the door; the other two cameras were still running.

  Elle took her shoes off, pulled down her jeans and slipped off her panties. The thought began running through her mind, Don’t think about what he’s going to do with them, don’t think about what he’s going to do with them, don’t think about what he’s going to do with them, don’t think about wh…. Ohh, EEWWW, dammit, why did you think that?

  A few moments later, she walked out of the bathroom. He put out his hand and she dropped them into it. “Mmm, still warm,” he said with a pervert’s leer. “Now, let’s talk about the Akhtars.”

  Chapter 40

  Yusef Akhtar sat alone in the terminal waiting for his flight to Germany after which he would take a connecting flight to Egypt. He heard her before he saw her. The sound of clicking heels, the muffled phone conversation punctuated by angry body language. She sat down across from him about two chairs away. She seemed upset, although how could anyone that beautiful be upset? The world should give her whatever she wants. She crossed her legs and the slit of the red skirt revealed the garter attached to the top of a black stocking. Her chest was heaving a bit and though she wasn’t crying, she soon would be.

  Yusef leaned over a bit and asked in a soft voice asked, “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head and said under her breath, “No.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No.”

  “When I see a lovely woman upset, I think there must be a careless man involved.”

  She looked up, gave him a sarcastic grin and said, “Careless doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  “You know, I am a good listener, if, that is, you wish to talk.”

  She glanced at him and thought, He’s relatively smooth for an Al Queda
thug.

  “Nothing to talk about. I’m good to f…well, you know, but not good enough to marry.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, no...that usually just makes things worse.”

  He watched her as she was contemplating something, then she said, “Know what? I still have his credit cards, why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

  He smiled, stood up and reached for her hand. They strolled together until they reached a sports bar. It was crowded around the bar so she asked if they could sit at a booth in the corner, to which he agreed. Service was slow so he started off to the bar and she stopped him, put her hand on his arm and said, “Why don’t you sit and let me get it for you.”

  He nodded, sat back down and thought, The man’s a fool. The woman even knows her place. She strolled up to the waitress station where the bartender saw her and forgot everyone else existed. He took her order, two vodka gimlets. It always made her laugh how these tough Jihadi men ordered feminine drinks. He placed them in front of her, and she handed him a fifty-dollar bill. Now for the sleight of hand as practiced at Langley. First, two different colored straws, red and green, or if they were all the same color, you put a kink in one. It’s important to know which drink you have. She picked up a lemon wedge with her right hand and squeezed the juice into her drink while pulling out the tiny ziplock baggie with her left. Between her thumb and index finger she popped the seal and, while appearing to use both hands on the lemon, dumped the synthetic concentrated venom into his drink. The packet was pinched inside the lemon wedge and tossed into the garbage. After stirring the drinks, she picked them up and walked back to the booth.

  She set the drink in front of him, sat down and said, “How about a toast, to a couple of nice people.”

  He nodded, raised his glass and took a big drink.

  “So, Yusef, where are you going?”

  “Home...Alexandria, Egypt.”

  “What do you do there?” she asked with feigned interest.