by D S Kane
She’d have to dig deeper on her own. Isn’t Ainsley loosely connected to a new consulting group? What is its name and where are they headquartered?
CHAPTER 16
October 20, 5:52 p.m.
409 Farallone Avenue,
Montara, California
The family sat in worn lawn chairs scattered along the deck in the back yard. Cassie watched the late afternoon clouds hovering above the beach less than a hundred yards downhill from the house. For the first time in months, she felt totally relaxed. Her long legs sprawled and she sipped from a glass.
Kiril had made them all “Caribbean Lemonades,” Planters Punch with Myers Dark Rum, lemon juice, and club soda. With Cassie’s permission, Ann had the same thing, sans rum.
The sheet of slow-moving gray pillow clouds, called “the marine layer,” was guided by the tidal winds. With luck, they wouldn’t obscure the sunset but rather act as a reflecting layer and cause the sky to glow orange and then red. Kiril waved a hand toward the ocean. “Such a day.” He pointed to Lee’s drink. “You need a refill?” Lee shook his head and gazed at the waves hitting the shore.
Natasha’s brow creased. “Cassie, you never tell us you work for intelligence agency. We thought you work for management consulting firm in Boston. Brewster, Jennings and Associates. Of course, Kiril wonders why you live in Washington when they are in Boston. Then Kiril does research and has one of his students help him hack into Brewster Jennings computer network. That’s advantage of being an associate professor in graduate school at Stanford; highly skilled help available for free. We find out about the agency.”
Cassie nodded and squeezed her mother’s shoulder. “Sorry. I thought it best for your safety not to know. Even though dad had worked with the KGB years ago, the intelligence agencies in Washington are more vicious than the KGB ever was. They eat their young. After they decided I was dead, it would have been dangerous to contact you.” She looked into the eyes of her uncle. “And, Misha, I hated you for what you did with the KGB. I’d never have contacted you. I should have realized you could help me. Sorry. But you might still be helpful someday. Would you consider moving to Washington?”
Misha just smiled back. “Nyet. One career working for secret police is enough. Being capitalist merchant in Russia is far less dangerous.”
Cassie examined the house. It obviously needed work. The roof was old, for starters. Moss grew on top and hung off the eves. As they sat with her on the deck of the house, watching the sun sink into the Pacific, Cassie faced Kiril and Tasha. “Listen. I’d like to give you a gift. Would you mind if I bought you a new roof?”
Kiril laughed. “Nyet, kitten. We have money for that. It’s just that with house in need of repairs, Natasha can walk into the city council meetings without appearing to have taken bribes from developers.”
Cassie recognized that using her money with family and Lee would present more difficulties than it would benefits.
Natasha asked, “Where are you all off to next?”
Lee placed his empty glass on the little table in front of them. “I’m going back to Washington tonight on the red eye. Cassie is off to Hawaii with Ann, then sending Ann back to Washington next Sunday. And Cassie will return home a week later.”
“We’ll be staying at the Wailea in Maui,” Cassie added. “It’s one of the best hotels on the planet. I’m going to enjoy myself and show Ann how sweet life can be. I’ll have my cell phone with me and turned on all the time, just in case you want to reach me.” She wrote down the number for her parents. “And, in case of emergency, you can reach me using this.” She handed her father one of her GNU Radios.
Ann watched and wondered what kind of emergency could happen during a vacation. She gazed at the ocean scene so close. The air was still warm since the fog hadn’t drifted over land yet.
As they sat together in the quiet of the sunset, Ann watched the marine layer—fog growing ever heavier now—moving slowly closer. She turned and saw Cassie watching her with a smile. She now had grandparents! Ann was enchanted by it all. She sighed, happy to her core.
* * *
Harry Aimes looked at the GrayNet website and frowned. There were so many “Contracts for Death” listed, but all were difficult. Too difficult for him. He knew that as an amateur, he didn’t have the skills to work them. Bloodweb and YouBet also had a few similar contracts, but they were all corporate CEOs and American politicians, including several senators, one state’s governor, and two congressmen. Especially difficult.
He twisted his hands together. After the assassination of Cragmore, all the CEO’s listed were now mobbed by bodyguards wearing body armor. There were more armed men for each CEO than had ever protected the president of a South American banana republic.
He wished someone would post a “Contract for Death” for a person—just a normal person who wasn’t the CEO of a major company or a politician.
He felt a sharp pain grip him at the bottom of his neck. He was feeling sicker by the day.
CHAPTER 17
October 21, 4:52 p.m.
Maui Airport, Kahului, Hawaii
As they exited the plane, Cassie felt hot, humid air descend on her before picking up the fruity aromas of pineapple and tropical flowers. The long black limo that Lester Dushov rented waited for them on the tarmac. Cassie and Ann got into the back with JD, facing the front. Ari, Lester, and Shimon got into the back, facing the rear. Michael drove them out and onto a road lined with sugar cane ready to be cut on one side and just cut on the other side of the road.
Even with the windows closed and the air conditioning on, she could smell the smoke from the burning cane at the processing plant a few miles away. The ride took them past Kihea and a bit further, to Wailea, which research told Cassie translates loosely from Hawaiian into “unremitting heat.” Most of the homes and hotels scattered throughout the area were as luxurious as any wealthy person would expect, including a shopping center filled with the exclusive stores and fabulous eateries.
They emerged from the limo and walked into a hotel lobby decorated lavishly with Hawaiian art and sculpture. Cassie realized she’d finally made it to lush Hawaii. She looked toward the front desk but before she could take another step, a willowy Hawaiian woman wearing a bikini top and grass skirt stopped her and said, “Welcome to the Wailea Spa and Hotel, Ms. Sashakovich.” The woman held a photograph of Cassie in one hand and offered her a fruity-looking drink with the other.
“Thank you.” Cassie loved first-class service. Then she saw the photo and gulped. Now, she thought, now everyone knows what I look like.
The woman smiled, bright white teeth in abundance. “Please.” She turned to another clerk right behind her, whispering, “Six more, Uiwielani.” Then she turned back to Cassie. “My name is Lanori. I’ll check you in. Please follow me.” The extra drinks arrived and the gorgeous female clerk took them to an elevator and pressed the fourth-floor button. When they entered another even more ornate lobby on that floor, she took them over to a single desk. “Please be seated.” She asked Ann, “How do you like the drink?”
Ann nodded with a smile. “Yum. Sweet and tart. What is it?”
“Guava, mango, and lime. We call it a Hawaiian Lemonade.” Then she turned back to Cassie. “We are in the Nippon Tower. Breakfast and lunch are complimentary, available on this floor, directly behind me, all day until 6 p.m. Only guests whose rooms are in the tower can operate the elevators coming here, using these key cards. She handed them their room keys. Your two presidential suites are ready—the two largest in the hotel, both on the tenth floor of the tower; the top floor. Your view is unparalleled. But before I show you to your rooms, please let me tell you about all the complimentary activities available to you.”
She watched as Ann’s paid careful attention while Lanori told them about free scuba lessons, the six designer swimming pools and four oversized outdoor Jacuzzi tubs, and the features of their suites, including jumbo jetted tubs. Ann kept whispering, “wow,” as Lanori describ
ed every new activity and feature.
Cassie sat, nodded and smiled at the woman. But she felt impatient nodding at the descriptions of every new attraction. She could see Ann’s curiosity was piqued. But Cassie was troubled. “Where’d you get my photo?”
“We found it on a website, called gawkerstalker.com. We research all guests in the exclusive high-rise rooms in order to create a perfect stay for you at Nippon Towers.”
Anxiety mixed with rage and suspicion in Cassie’s gut. And then she felt fear. She forced herself to look calm.
Cassie took a single, deep breath. She remembered her training at The Farm, the spy school the agency had her attend. For her there must be no fear. She became impatient and wanted to get into a bathing suit and into one of the pools.
She looked around, and saw the worried expressions of her bodyguards. At first she wondered if they were also concerned about how public her life had become. Then she saw the issue that preoccupied them: huge windows and low fence-type walls. The hotel had amplified the ocean views from every location. As a result, she found no cover. Worse, the outdoor hallways and low walls were natural cover and choke points for anyone to use against all of them.
In the back of her head, that tiny voice shrieked, demanding she stay alert. Once again, though, she shook it off, thinking, this is my vacation.
Check-in took a few minutes, and in that time Ann drank another fruit concoction. Cassie handed one of the keycards to Lester. “Lanori, please get one of these for each of these men. Also, each of them needs to have a key to my suite as well.” She faced Lester and whispered into his ear. “We’ll discuss who stays where right after orientation is complete.”
Lanori took them up in the elevator to the tenth floor. The suites were huge. Each one had two enormous bedrooms and two full baths with huge jetted tubs. Cassie brushed her hand against the marble countertops and admired the aged-brass faucets. She smiled when she saw a large fully equipped kitchen that she had no intention of using. And there was an enormous living room with a grand piano.
The rooms were decorated with original native Hawaiian artwork. From each room she could see the turquoise ocean and sandy palm-filled beach, with the Big Island rising up across the strait.
Large terraces ran the length of each suite with glass walls enclosing them, enhancing the view. Cassie looked at the tall palms on the pristine beach below, and gulped. If a sniper climbed into one of those trees, they might get a clean shot into a target here. Another security concern.
Cassie put Ari, Lester, JD, and Shimon in the one suite, with herself, Ann, and Michael in the other. She told Michael to camp out in their living room on a leather-pillowed convertible couch. Ann walked over to the piano in the living room. Cassie watched the teen and was shocked at her attention to the instrument. She wondered if Ann had ever seen a piano.
Michael sat on its bench and played the theme from Exodus. Ann asked Cassie, “Do you know how to play this?”
Cassie shook her head. “No, Ann. Just guitar for me. Not piano.”
She tipped the hotel bellman when he delivered their suitcases. “Let’s change into bathing suits and head for the pool.” Ann nodded and went to the bedroom with Cassie. Michael remained playing the piano, waiting. She could hear him playing a Beethoven sonata.
In their bedroom, they opened their suitcases. Ann found the two-piece bathing suit that Cassie had bought her and stripped the clothing from her body. She pulled her top on and then walked to the other mirror in the bathroom. “Cassie, how’s this look on me?”
* * *
When Cassie and Ann finished dressing and returned to the suite’s living room, she noticed Michael standing at the door to the suite’s terrace. He wore a Hawaiian shirt with the image of Jimi Hendrix emblazoned on its front, burning his guitar at the Monterey Pop Festival. Cassie immediately recognized its pattern: it was one of the shirts that the Israeli Embassy had treated with liquid armor, STF, a shear thickening fluid invented by the US Army a few years back. The protection afforded by the shirt could stop a .50 caliber shell. Cassie shook her head. “Michael, I know you’re worried about the floor’s layout and are concerned for our safety. But, you don’t need body armor for this trip. It’s a vacation, not an assault.”
But all Michael said was, “Oh?”
He knocked on the door to the adjacent suite and they all walked the exterior hallway toward the elevator. The remaining four bodyguards left with Michael, Cassie and Ann, and all headed toward the elevator. Each of the bodyguards wore an identical Hawaiian shirt.
Cassie shook her head. Such overkill! But the little voice in her head told her she had the right guys along if anything did happen.
At the busy pool, the bodyguards stood as close to Cassie and Ann as they could. Ann practiced swimming while Cassie did fifty laps. She smirked to herself, driving her bodyguards crazy as she moved around in the pool. But when she was done, she called to Ann. “Let’s try out one of their hot tubs, Ann.” At least here the bodyguards could just stand and stew in the bright, hot, humid sunlight. They wouldn’t have to run.
They ate lunch in their bathing suits on the 4th floor of the tower. Ann sampled the food and said, “Wow. This stuff is mag.” She dug out handfuls of the homemade kettle potato chips and placed them on a large plate, along with cold-smoked salmon, mahi-mahi, ono and yellowtail sashimi, macadamia cookies with white chocolate chips, exotic fruit slices, and Kona coffee. “Yummy sushi.”
“When it’s not on top of rice, raw fish is called sashimi, Ann.”
And after that, Cassie took Ann surfing at the beach. The bodyguards sat on the shore, waiting and helpless. Cassie looked over at them and realized it was better to have them here, protecting Ann. Cassie still didn’t believe she needed them, but her daughter might.
* * *
Maru returned from a meeting with one of his lieutenants, entering his office as his computer beeped indicating the arrival of an email.
He clicked the mouse and the screen changed:
Esteemed Omasu-san,
Cassandra Sashakovich has arrived at the hotel and I am on my way out. Her meeting with me has not been scheduled, per you orders. She and a young girl are in the two suites on the tenth floor, along with five civilians I assume are her consultants for the Security Audit.
All the other guests have vacated the premises.
Should you need to reach me, call my cell.
Sincerely,
Sanji Morikono
Maru chuckled. He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and coughed. He flexed his palms, thinking, as he reviewed the bet he’d crafted for GrayNet. It took him a few hours until he got it absolutely correct, in words that had obvious meaning to anyone reading them in English, the foreign language he used for the message post:
BET—No one can send the severed head of Cassandra Sashakovich to the address at the bottom of this bet, for payment equal to the bet amount at market odds, plus a bounty of $3 million USD. Proof of her death will be her severed head, packed in dry ice, sealed in a wooden box. To earn the bounty, mail MP4 proof of Sashakovich‘s death, along with hitter’s contact information to address below via overnight delivery. Others may bet on the outcome, but will only receive computed odds as they would at any sporting event. Her current whereabouts are at the Wailea Spa and Hotel in Maui, Hawaii, and her location can easily be tracked at www.gawkerstalker.com.
The physical address for reply upon success was a postal box in Tajikistan.
He smiled as the GrayNet web page of “Active Bets” updated the “Contracts for Death” sub-page.
He walked to the lunch room and poured himself a cup of coffee. Wearing a Cheshire-cat smile, he sat and waited. Within two hours, the bet was number one in popularity, as indicated by the number of views and also its position on the list. The odds were now 2:1 in favor of her death, there was almost $5 million betting that she could be assassinated.
Maru laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
* * *
Back into the taxi, he called out, “Take me to the airport.” While the driver pulled onto the highway, he reached into the suitcase and removed a credit card that had almost ten thousand dollars on its available line. That ought to be enough to get him to Hawaii first class, and before the throng of wannabes he was sure would follow.
It took less than two hours from the time he’d seen the “Contract for Death” for a woman named Cassandra Sashakovich to the time he boarded and took his seat on the aircraft going to Hawaii.
* * *
Harry Aimes finished his dinner and helped Nancy with the dishes. Not a word was said by either of them. He knew she was afraid to ask what was bothering him. He was aware of the reasons for her skittishness. The pain in his throat was so bad it hurt to speak. Besides, he knew she was just plain tired of hearing his tirades.
He walked into the den and sat at the computer. He pulled up each betting site in turn, desperate to find a “Contract for Death” easy enough for him to execute. One by one, he read the web pages of each site. The GrayNet site had what he’d been seeking for over a month. Some ditsy woman had annoyed the world so totally it had decided she no longer deserved to live. Not a CEO. Not a politician. He snapped his fingers and, in a voice that sounded more like a cough, said, “Yes!”
