Kristin took a deep gulp of air. “There’s someone out there, on the ridge.”
“You sure?” Tabitha said as she walked over and relieved her sister of some of the wood.
“Yeah, well, pretty sure,” Kristin replied. She recounted what she’d seen.
“Could you tell how many there were?”
"I only saw one, but there could be more."
“Okay, go ahead and start the fire. We don’t want to alert them that we know they’re there. You didn’t...”
“Of course not. I just walked calmly back here. I’m not as big an idiot as you must think I am.”
"No, of course, you're not," Tabitha replied. "No one could be that stupid."
There she goes with her back-handed compliments that were really insulting. Kristin was about to retaliate, but before she could think of a good comeback, Tabitha was on to something else.
“Start cooking the breakfast. I’ll wake Mel. He’ll know what to do.”
Tabitha started towards the door to the one other room of the small cabin, then stopped, her hand on the knob. "Good job, Kristin. I don't think you're stupid. You may have just saved our bacon."
Mimi turned over on her back so she could take an inventory of the pockets of her cargo pants. She preferred the darker green pants over the beige. They showed dirt and stains less, making it possible to get an extra couple days of wear out of each pair. They were her working uniform because the extra pockets allowed her to carry the tools of her trade without the need for a pocketbook. She hated pocketbooks. They were the scourge of the female gender in her estimation.
From one of the front pockets, she removed her digital recorder and checked to be sure it was working and well charged. Early in her career, dating back to her days as editor of her high school newspaper, she found it valuable to have a dependable recording device that could be turned on at any time without anyone else being aware. Sure, such recorders were unethical and technically not permitted in a court of law, but then again, she was a journalist, not a lawyer. Once again, her Uncle Bo had come through, purchasing a top of the line recorder and helping her build a belt buckle with a Bluetooth microphone. A tap on the side of the buckle and she was instantly capturing the sounds of her surroundings.
So, why hadn’t she used it that first night in the bar? She could only blame it on the shots of tequila. But she’d learned her lesson. Even though she felt underdressed at the Polaris restaurant that night, she still wore the belt with the mic and kept the recorder in the side pocket of her black slacks.
She’d listened to that conversation several times on her trip to West Virginia. She still remembered the long pregnant pause that had come after Rachael had asked her to find her missing daughter.
"Well, huh, that's not what I do," Mimi finally replied. "I'm a reporter, not a private investigator; but I can put you in touch with a couple of good P.I.s. I'm sure they'll be happy..."
“I don’t want a P.I.” Rachael interrupted. “I want you.”
Mimi took a long swallow of champagne before replying. “Why me?”
“Because I think I can trust you to be discreet and well, I think you might relate to my daughter better than some private dick.”
“But I investigate stories, not people,” Mimi replied.
"And that's the other reason," retorted Rachael. "I want those bastards at Bio Vita Tech to pay for what they've done. I can't come right out and blow the whistle on them, but you can. I'm offering you an exclusive on the story of the year, maybe of the decade. Breaking this story could make your career."
Mimi felt her reporter’s salivary glands turn on. She knew Rachael was right. If even twenty percent of what Rachael had told her turned out to be true, it would be a story worth telling. It would at least get her a promotion and a raise at Global Inquiry, maybe even a job at one of the more prestigious rags.
“Oh, and one last thing,” Rachael added as she emptied the first bottle of champagne into Mimi’s half empty glass and motioned for the waiter to open the second one. “I’ll cover all your expenses during the investigation and ten thousand dollars to find the girl who made the call and bring her to me. I’ll sort out whether she’s my daughter or not.”
That pretty much sealed the deal, Mimi thought as she remembered the late notice that her landlord had slid under her door over the weekend.
“Well, I might need an advance to cover some expenses in prep for such an assignment,” Mimi finally said.
"No problem," Rachael replied as she pulled a leather checkbook with her initials monogrammed in the gold thread out of her purse. "How about half of your payment and another thousand for expenses? Will that handle it?"
AND NOW, HERE SHE WAS lying on her back on a hillside in West Virginia spying on a young girl who might be Rachael's missing daughter. Of course, it hadn't been a straight shot here. All Rachael had to go on was the phone number from where her daughter had called. Mimi had done a reverse lookup to find the call had been placed from the ski resort in Snowshoe West Virginia, but she needed more to go on than that. On the way north she decided to stop at the Research Triangle Park near Raleigh, North Carolina to see what she could learn from the folks at Bio Vita Tech.
She knew better than to present her Global Inquiry reporter credentials there, but she figured she still looked young enough to pass herself off as a student at one of the local universities doing a research paper on the newest innovations in genetic engineering. After all, most scientists loved to talk about themselves and what they always considered cutting-edge research. Unfortunately, that was not the case at Bio-Vita, where she'd been stonewalled. She couldn't even get any of the lay staff to open up. The entire team had been well-schooled on what not to say, at least to the public at large, but how about others in the area? Mimi found her stool pigeon in one of the secretaries in the building next to Bio Vita Tech who regularly had lunch with a Mrs. Petty, the executive secretary of the head of Bio Vita Tech.
It was from that secretary that she’d learned that much of Rachael’s story was true. There had been some professional women that had been housed at the Bio Vita Tech facilities for months a few years ago. It had all come to a head a few weeks ago when a fire broke out in the building across from Bio Vita. Despite a comprehensive investigation, the cause of the fire had yet to be released. When Mimi asked her source about West Virginia, the woman had paused for a moment to think about the question. She thought she remembered hearing that one of the scientists had accompanied the FDA agent assigned to the case on a trip to West Virginia to find a Madame Sarrah who was reportedly involved in the case in some way.
That gave Mimi two crucial points to connect: Snowshoe, West Virginia and Madame Sarrah who was also from West Virginia. It didn’t take long after arriving in Snowshoe to find out where the former Madame Sarrah had lived. Mimi had heard a variety of different stories about how Madame Sarrah had died. The only consistent points were that it probably had something to do with fire and it had been a gruesome death.
That news probably should have had her reconsidering this whole crazy assignment, but it only served to intrigue her that much more. Mimi was no stranger to unusual and often gruesome murders. For example, there was the brutal killing of the founder of Biogentrix near her home in the neighboring town of Waynesboro. ** [Footnote: As chronicled in FreeForm.] And how about those mummified corpses discovered in the dining room of the Grace House Bed and Breakfast on the outskirts of Foster Flat. ** [Footnote: As chronicled in Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat.] No, gruesome and unusual murders were right in Global Inquiry's wheelhouse of stories that increased circulation. And as her boss always said, increasing circulation is the name of the game in the rag business.
Still, she’d have to tread lightly on this assignment. No one seemed to know, for sure, who had murdered the old lady, though many of the local folks she talked to seemed to think it was one of her children that had done it to her. That was just one more juicy detail for her story if she could verify that fact, or even if
she couldn't. Her boss wasn't nearly as picky about the difference between facts and speculation as her superior had been at the Journal.
"So, I'll tread lightly," she said softly, as she gathered herself to return to her VW bug, parked down the hill.
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” another voice answered, making Mimi almost jump out of her skin. As she turned around, she came face-to-face with a teenage boy standing a few yards away with one of the largest shotguns Mimi had ever seen. She was no stranger to such guns. Her Uncle Bo was an avid hunter back in Waynesboro, and she’d accompanied him many times. But this gun was different. Guns pointed at your heart tended to grow in size and significance.
Rendezvous
THADDEUS CHICKOWSKI sat in the corner booth of Nick's Bar & Grill watching the front door. The fake mustache made his upper lip itch, and the dark glasses made the already dark interior that much darker. The front door opened for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. Nick's was never known to be the hottest place in town, which was why Chickowski used it for such meetings. A woman walked through the door and started towards the rear of the bar without a moment’s hesitation.
Was that her, Chickowski wondered? He glanced over the sunglasses to get a better look, as a woman with a slender figure wearing a tight-fitting black dress strolled confidently in his direction. She still looks pretty good for an old broad, Chickowski thought, then wondered if it might not be his failing eyesight fooling him once again. As Miriam Petty approached, he began to pick up more details; the graying roots of her hair, the crow's feet around her eyes, the slightly sagging breasts too large and heavy to be entirely supported by the bra.
That’s okay. She’s still good in bed. Besides, he wasn’t looking all that good these days. Like his mom often said, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Oh, how cute,” Petty said as she stood looking down at him. “Who you pretending to be, Groucho Marx?”
“Sit down Miriam,” Chickowski whispered as he glanced around. “I’m a wanted man, remember?”
Miriam snickered as she slid into the booth across from him, placing the matching black purse in the seat beside her. "Well, I've wanted you for the past couple weeks, but it didn't seem to make any difference as far as I can tell. Why didn't you call me sooner?"
“Sorry, I just had to lay low for a while to let things cool off a bit. You want anything?” he asked as the waitress approached their table.
Miriam pointed to the drink in front of him. “Gin and tonic? Any good?”
Chickowski nodded twice.
“Okay, I’ll have one too.”
“Give us two more of these,” Chickowski told the waitress who turned back to the bar.
Miriam reached over and pulled the mustache off Chickowki’s lip before he could stop her. "Take that silly thing off," she said. "It makes you look twenty years older, and believe me; you don't need to be adding any age to your looks. I might lose interest."
The two of them sat in silence for a couple of minutes as they waited for their drinks. After they arrived and the waitress had retreated to her corner of the bar, Chickowski smiled and tipped his glass at his companion.
“Here’s mud in your eye,” he said as he took a long swallow, draining half the glass.
"Never did understand that toast," Miriam said as she took a sip from her glass.
“What did you want to see me about, other than wanting to climb my bones?” Chickowski asked.
“Don’t be gross, Thaddeus,” Miriam answered but the gleam in her eyes that let him know she wasn’t all that grossed out by the comment.
"There is another reason I wanted to see you besides the obvious. I want to propose a partnership."
Chickowski played with the ice in his drink, twirling it around with the swizzle stick. “That’s a little hard to believe,” he finally answered. “My luck hasn’t been going all that well lately, as you well know; so why in the world would you be interested in such an arrangement?”
“No, it hasn’t,” Miriam agreed, “but it’s about to change.”
“How so?”
“I want you to get back in touch with your overseas contact. I believe his name is Mr. Brown.”
“Why in hell would I want to talk to that double-crossing S.O.B.? He tried to kill me.”
"Oh really, Thaddeus, holding a grudge is so unbecoming to you, especially considering how important Mr. Brown is to our future partnership."
Miriam reached into her purse and pulled out a small vial about half full with a light blue liquid, placing it on the table between them.
Willow glanced around the spacious bedroom suite that had become her home away from home since joining the Sheik's payroll. Her space had all the amenities of a luxury suite one might find in the finest hotels, even though this one was in a wing of the Sheik's reproduction of Falcon Lair. The original Falcon Lair had been purchased by the silent movie star, Rudolph Valentino, in 1925 and was located on four acres of the prime real estate in Beverly Hills, California.
The Sheik’s Falcon Lair was also on four acres of even more prime real estate as part of the Falconcity of Wonders on the outskirts of Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. The Sheik had used the sizable influence he'd acquired, by marrying the daughter of one of the ruling families of Dubai, to get permission to build his reproduction of Falcon Lair. Of course, it was far from the only or even the most prestigious reproduction. Others that were in the process of being built included the Eiffel Tower, the pyramids, and the Tower of Pisa, as well as the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. So, Falcon Lair was a reasonably modest home and Willow’s abode a drop in the bucket of opulence that surrounded her.
Willow walked over to the full-size refrigerator to get a glass of water. It was time to take another dose of her medication the Sheik’s physician had placed her on after she returned from her last mission. It seemed to be slowly working. It had been at least twenty-four hours since she’d coughed up blood, and though it was still painful to take a deep breath, the doctor assured her there’d be no permanent injury.
Besides, the painful breathing helped to hone her hatred for the young boy who’d somehow caused her so much pain. It kept reminding her that she had a debt to pay and a mission to complete. She was just downing the last pill and finishing off the glass of cold water when she heard a light rapping on her door.
“Come in, but only if you have good news to report,” Willow said as she walked back over to her desk.
There was a momentary pause before Widget entered the room, a broad smile on his face. “Just so happens I do have good news for you on this fine morning.”
“Please, not so much exuberance. It’s too early in the morning for that.”
“Okay, sorry,” Widget replied, more subdued but still with a smile on his face. “We’ve found him...I mean, them.”
“That is good news,” Willow said turning around to meet his gaze. “So, you were able to track him down through the rental car?”
"That's right, just like you suggested," Widget replied. "They drove to West Virginia, near a ski resort where they turned in the car. I've had a couple of guys asking around town. It appears the boy returned to his old home where he's been hiding out since we last saw him."
"Excellent, get the rest of the team together. I want to be in West Virginia by this time tomorrow. We have a few loose ends to tie up."
Chickowski stared at the vial with the blue liquid for several seconds before finally locking eyes with Miriam Petty.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes,” Miriam answered simply. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”
“But how?” Chickowski started then stopped and stared back down at the vial. “How did you ever come into its possession?”
Miriam smiled. “Oh, you men are all alike. You think just because a woman is a secretary, even if she’s the executive secretary of a highly influential man like Franklin Pruitt, that we don’t have a brain of our own when in fact, such a pos
ition gives a perfect cover.”
She picked up her drink and took a couple of sips before continuing. "I've kept my eyes and ears open for years while being virtually invisible to most of the people at Bio Vita. After all, I'm just a secretary. What does a secretary know? Well, I'll tell you what this secretary knows. I know a highly valuable piece of research when I hear about it, and it's right there in front of you."
Chickowski picked up the vial and held it up to take a closer look. “So this is what all the fuss is about? Lionel told me someone stole it.”
“I told you that your luck was about to change. That’s my part interest in the partnership.”
“I see,” Chickowski replied as he continued to study the blue liquid. “And my part is to negotiate the sell to Mr. Brown’s boss. But why should I put you in touch with him when I’ve got what he wants right here in my hand?” Chickowski asked as he closed his hand around the vial, smiling smugly at her.
“Because, you idiot, that vial in your hand isn’t the real thing. Do you think I’d be foolish enough to bring it with me to this public place and to let you put your grubby hands on it? No, I have the real template in a secure location.”
Miriam picked up her gin and tonic and finished it off.
“Listen to me, Thaddeus, dear. I’m not going to double-cross you, nor will I allow you to do the same to me. Is that understood?”
Chickowski nodded, a sheepish look on his face.
“Now, order us another round of drinks while I go powder my nose, and then later I’ll let you take me out to dinner.”
"And afterward?" Chickowski asked.
“Let’s just see how the evening unfolds.”
Strategy Meeting
DAMBA REACHED INTO the plexiglass container to retrieve the change from the taxicab driver.
“Leave it,” Alp said. “It’s customary to leave a tip.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Damba replied. “I forgot about that.” He removed his hand and placed it instead on Alp’s hand on the seat between them.
New Earth Page 2
