by Wolf Wootan
• • •
Jensen dropped Syd off at Hatch’s plantation at 6:45 P.M. She was greeted by the caretakers, Mr. and Mrs. Carter. They were a middle-aged black couple: Roosevelt was a thin man aged 55, and his wife Abigail was 52. They had been the caretakers for Hatch since he acquired the farm in 1990. Except for the horse trainer, who had his own cabin not far from the stables, the Carters were the only ones in residence at the moment.
After introductions, Jensen left in the limo. Roosevelt Carter carried Syd’s bag to the master bedroom—the one Hatch used when he was there. The place was a real farm house, and could not compare to Klaus Haus in size or elegance, but it was very well laid out and very cozy. Tears came to Syd’s eyes as she looked around Hatch’s bedroom. Would she ever get to share it with him?
She found Marty and Sara in the large country kitchen. They were sitting on tall wooden stools at a large breakfast bar sipping drinks and munching on Cajun sausages, which they were dipping in hot mustard. Marty was laughing and chatting with Sara like they were old friends.
My God! thought Syd. She’s screwed him already! That’s what that silly look on her face means!
“Hi, Syd!” giggled Sara. “Pull up a stool. How about a drink?”
“Love one! Do we have Stoli?” smiled Syd, feeling tired to her core.
“Sure. Hey, Abby, how about a Stoli on the rocks for Syd?” replied Sara.
“I can wait on myself. Just point me to the bar.”
Abby said, “It would be my pleasure, ma’am. It’s nice to have someone to do for, for a change.”
Abby Carter went to the wet bar that was right outside the kitchen in the den and fixed Syd a drink.
“Well,” said Sara, “are you going to tell us anything?”
“Only that Soup plays a computer keyboard like Hatch plays the piano. He is a veritable musician on those keys! I want to keep Marty’s deniability in place, so I’ll talk to you later, Sara. You’re already corrupted!”
“Now, now, Syd! I don’t want Marty to think badly of me!”
“No chance of that!” he laughed.
Sara elbowed him playfully and said, “At least we get a home-cooked meal tonight. Abby’s doing a southern-fried chicken dinner for us. How’s that sound?”
“With cornbread?” asked Syd.
“And biscuits!” answered Abby. “You get a choice.”
Syd asked, “Did anyone check on Hatch?”
“I did,” answered Marty. “Twenty minutes ago. He’s still in the coma as expected, but vitals are getting stronger.”
“Thanks, Marty.”
• • •
The dinner was served family style on the large, well-worn, wooden kitchen table. Syd insisted that the Carters join them, so the five of them got their fingers greasy eating fried chicken and corn on the cob. At Syd’s request, the Carters told stories about the farm and Hatch’s love of it. They talked about listening to him play the piano and sing. There was a piano in the den. They said winter was his favorite time here, when the snow was on the ground, but he also came around in the spring to ride his horses. Syd got teary-eyed as she listened to them.
After dinner, Syd helped Abby clear the table and load the dishwasher, while Sara saw Marty outside to his sports car. Sara let him cop a few feels before he kissed her goodnight and drove off into the night.
• • •
Syd briefed Sara on what Soup had found out, and told her he would probably have more data tomorrow. Then, maybe they could form a plan of action. She didn’t ask Sara about her afternoon with Marty.
• • •
The next morning, Syd met Sara at 7:30 A.M. and they went for a run down to the horse stables. Syd met Ben Cord, the horse trainer, and checked out some of the horses.
Ben told them, “This is Black Angel. Hatch always rides him when he shows up here. I hope he’ll be ridin’ him again soon.”
“Me, too, Ben,” murmured Syd. “Well, nice meeting you, Ben. I have work to do.”
They ran the mile back to the farm house, then showered and dressed. Abby fed them a country breakfast of eggs, bacon, ham, fried potatoes, and biscuits and gravy. They both ate heartily after their brief run. Syd’s blood was flowing again, but after the heavy breakfast, she made a mental note to run again later in the day.
• • •
Syd had called Marty and asked to be picked up at nine o’clock. Jensen and his limo were waiting when Syd and Sara walked out into the bright, cloudless day. It was hot already.
Jensen took them up the private elevator again and ushered them into Marty’s office. Syd left Sara in his office and made her way down to Soup’s office. There were people in all of the cubicles today, and there was hushed whispering as they watched the statuesque woman walk down the hall. They had all heard the rumors about who she was, and about what had happened to Hatch. They all wondered what the future would bring.
• • •
Soup greeted Syd cheerfully, though he was obviously tired. He needed a shave, shower, and change of clothes. Empty pizza boxes were stacked in one corner.
“Good morning, Syd! Have a good night?” he asked with a grin.
“Yes, thank you, Soup. As good as possible. Why don’t you get out of here and get some rest yourself.”
“I will, as soon as I brief you. How about some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
“Sure, that would be nice,” said Syd, wondering why this man who did not even know her would stay up all night working for her.
As Soup poured her some steaming coffee, he remarked, “Jane was here looking for you earlier. I told her that I didn’t know when you would show up.”
“I guess I should check in with her. I was so focused that I forgot my manners. I’m not fucking things up for you, am I?”
“Heavens no! When it comes to this system, I report to no man—or woman,” laughed Soup. “You can catch her later. I’ve got some things to go over with you now.”
Soup explained some of the searches he had performed during the night, and others that were still underway.
“What I can tell you is this: James Gramble is definitely a possible player in this. He is the one who accessed the Vlastok file last Monday. Then, that same day, he made a call to St. Petersburg, Russia. That’s where Vlastok hangs out. Then, Vlastok arrives in Miami on Friday, August 31. Hatch was shot the next day—on Saturday morning,” he told Syd.
“So, considering that Gramble personally told his agent—Lady Morley—in Monterra to put surveillance on Hatch, and the CIA guy tailing us in Greece, I would say Gramble is behind this. Especially, when you add in the factor that Hatch has hated him for years for ordering the hit on Kat,” replied an excited Syd as she blew across the top of her mug of hot coffee.
Soup continued, “Remember, Syd, this is just one possibility. It’s all circumstantial. Giuseppe Silva, the Mafia hit man was also in Miami on Saturday. He was scheduled on a flight to Chicago on Sunday, but I haven’t established for sure yet whether he actually arrived there. Still working on it. And I’m still working off the list of other arrivees.”
“I sure appreciate this, Soup! I still think it’s Vlastok!”
“Maybe you’re right. However, it could be someone who lives here, in the U.S. We may be chasing smoke,” shrugged Soup.
“I realize this is nearly an impossible task I’ve given you, Soup. But you’ve uncovered so much in just a short time!”
“I’ll keep at it.”
“I know you will. Were you able to locate this Vlastok?” asked Syd.
“I thought you would never ask,” he laughed. “Yes. If he’s still there. Here’s the address of a motel in south Miami where he registered on Friday. Also, he has a reservation on United Airlines to go back to Russia tomorrow afternoon. Here’s a picture of him from his CIA file. It’s old, but it’s all I could find.”
“You’re a doll, Soup!” exclaimed Syd as she jumped up and began pacing, a plan formulating in her mind. “You showed me yesterda
y that you can access files without leaving so-called footprints. Can you also create false footprints?”
“What do you mean exactly?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Make it look like someone accessed a file when they didn’t,” she explained.
“Sure. Easy on our system. Harder on someone else’s.”
“Ours will do for what I have in mind.”
Then she explained what she wanted him to do. His grin got wider as she talked.
She finished by saying, “Even though Gramble needs killing for what he did to Kat—and his possible involvement in this attack on Hatch—killing him would be a mistake. I’ve seen how the CIA bands together when one of their own is attacked. So my plan should disgrace him in the eyes of the CIA, the President, and the world. And, hopefully, put him behind bars for a very long time.”
“You’re a sneaky bitch! It should work!” smiled Soup. “A perfect ending for that asshole.”
“You don’t have to do this, Soup. It is very, very illegal, you know!”
Soup laughed, “I broke several laws last night. You glibly tossed off killing this asshole as an option. That’s even more illegal! He needs punishing for things we can never prove. We’re just going to set some things up that can be proved.”
“My thoughts exactly. How do we tip off the FBI?” asked Syd.
“I’ll take care of that. I’ll send some untraceable email to the agent-in-charge in Richmond.”
“Fine. OK, I have to get to Miami quickly. I want to see if I can talk to this Russian assassin before he leaves the country. You go home and get some sleep. You can do more of your magic tonight,” said Syd as she took Soup’s hand. “Remember, I’m only a call away. Keep me posted.”
“I will, Syd. Take a couple of Liberators with you when you look for the Russian. He’s obviously very dangerous. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Syd. Hatch sure made a great choice when he picked you!”
• • •
After getting instructions from Soup, Syd made her way to Jane Forbeson’s office and was ushered in immediately by the Administrative Assistant in the outer office. Jane stood behind her large desk as Syd entered the seat of Triple Eye power. Syd was struck by her overwhelming beauty.
Before Syd could say anything, Jane strode from behind her desk and hugged her. “Thanks for stopping in to see me, Syd! I can call you Syd, can’t I?”
“Of course, Jane. I hope I’m not screwing up all of your protocols, but I have Soup doing some things for me,” replied Syd as she broke the embrace.
“Soup? You got him to do something for you?” laughed Jane. “I have to fill out Work Orders in triplicate and get in line!”
“I’m trying to find out who shot Hatch. I have a lead, so I have to leave immediately. I just thought I should meet you while I was on your turf.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Just keep doing your job, and pray for Hatch,” Syd said softly. “I’ll call you if something comes up that you can expedite for me. For now, goodbye.”
“Take care, Syd!” Jane whispered as Syd left her office.
• • •
When Syd entered the reception area to Marty’s office, the secretary looked up and became flustered.
“Mr. Winsocki is in a meeting,” she stuttered.
“I know,” said Syd as she marched past her into Marty’s office.
She went to the door that led to Marty’s private apartment and rapped on it.
“Sara! Get your friggin’ clothes on! We have to leave—now!”
• • •
The GS-V touched down in Miami at 1:03 P.M. Sara and Syd had lunch on the plane during the flight. Syd had explained her plans to Sara, and Sara had liked them. Syd called the hospital from the plane. No change.
Packy was waiting for them with his Lincoln Town car and took them to Syd’s new condo. Syd went to her bedroom and opened a dresser drawer. In the back, under her underwear, was a teak box. She removed it and took it to her bed and opened it. It contained a leather holster with her well-used Beretta 9mm. A flap of Velcro held a silencer snugly on the holster. Four fully-loaded ammo clips were also in the box.
“Nice weapon,” remarked Sara as she took the gun out of its holster and looked it over. “Good for hunting assholes!”
Sara’s gun was still in her large handbag.
Syd stripped off her clothes and pulled on a pair of black pantyhose. She put on a black bra and then a black body shirt. Finally, she put on her black leather miniskirt and a pair of low-heeled black shoes. She changed her earrings to a pair of black plastic loops. The finishing touch was her dark sunglasses.
“Viola!” she said. “Dr. Z. is ready for work! How do I look?”
Sara laughed, “That’s similar to my hooker outfit! All legs and tits!”
“That’s how anyone will describe me if they happen to see me, and are asked later to describe what I look like. It’s almost like being invisible.”
Syd took her holstered gun and the ammo clips and put them in a large, black leather bag with a shoulder strap. Then she emptied her purse into it, adjusting the gun to the top of the stuff.
“Now all I need is the lock pick gun I asked Packy to bring,” said Syd. “Let’s go find a Russian hit man!”
• • •
Packy had no trouble finding the motel. It was a fairly nice one on the beach, and had housekeeping suites for weekly or monthly rental rates. The room Vlastok had rented was one of those facing the ocean. They watched for an hour, and no one of Vlastok’s description came or went.
“OK, Sara, I’m going to go take a look. He may be gone already. I’ve got my silent pager on my belt. Here’s Hatch’s watch. I’ve programmed the system to page me when the SOS button is pushed. This one here,” instructed Syd. “Packy, you watch from here. Sara will go around to the beach side. Call her pager if you see anything. She’ll warn me. Let’s go, Sara.”
Chapter 42
Crystal Beach Motel, Miami, Florida
Monday, September 3, 2001
3:30 P.M.
Sara wore shorts, sandals, and a tight green tee shirt. The strap of her bag was over her right shoulder so her weapon was quickly accessible. From her post on a wooden bench, she looked at her watch through her sunglasses. If she did not hear from Syd—or see her come out of the building—in 30 minutes, she and Packy would go in and find her.
Syd entered the motel and took the stairs to the second floor without being seen. At least, she had not seen anyone yet. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated and looked down the long hallway and decided that room 240 was about four doors down on the left. She reached into her purse and removed her Beretta and screwed the silencer on it, then slipped it back into the bag. Then she put on a pair of latex gloves and walked down the hall to room 240. She put her ear to the door, but could not hear anything. Not conclusive, one way or another.
OK. Here goes! I hope I’m doing the right friggin’ thing! Maybe I should have had Sara come with me and watch my back! Oh, well. Too late, now!
She tried the door and it was locked, of course. She took out her lock pick gun and inserted it into the lock. In a few seconds the door was unlocked. She put away the pick gun and took out her pistol after looking up and down the hall again. Now was the moment of truth. If the chain was latched when she opened the door, what should she do? That would mean that he was in there—or somebody was. With her left hand, she slowly turned the knob and opened the door a crack. The chain was not engaged. That was good news!
He wouldn’t be in there with the chain off, would he? I don’t want to shoot the bastard until I’ve talked to him. Shit! Here goes nothing!
She pushed the door open and slowly entered the room, leading with her pistol.
• • •
Sara looked at her watch nervously. It had been only five minutes since Syd had entered the building.
Why in the fuck did I let her go in there alone? I should be up there covering her back! Ev
en fucking Dr. Z. can get her tit in a wringer! I’ll give her a few more minutes, then I’m going up there!
She stood up, then sat back down and looked at her watch again. Less than a minute had passed.
I hope I haven’t screwed the pooch on this one! This goes against all my training! Maybe I should call Packy over here and go up there anyway!
But she didn’t.
• • •
Syd pushed the door open another foot and entered the room. She saw the sliding glass doors across the room were open and the ocean breeze was flapping the drapes. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood up. Too late!
The man behind the door snatched the pistol out of her hand as he slammed the door shut. He shoved her into the middle of the room and pointed his own silenced weapon at her. She looked at him with surprise on her face. It was Boris Vlastok! He was still here!
Shit! Now I’ve done it! I should have worn Hatch’s watch so I could signal Sara, instead of the other way around! How do I get my ass out of this?
“Who the fuck are you, bitch? A second story whore?” snarled Vlastok. “I don’t think so! Not with this baby.”
He looked at the silenced Beretta he had taken from her, then laid it on a lamp table. He kept his gun pointed between her breasts.
“Who are you, I asked?” he spat, wondering who was after him.
She knew he could find out her name by searching her purse, so she knew it was no use to lie about that. She had to stall for time—until Sara came looking for her.
“My name is Sydney Steppe. What’s yours?” she said.
“Brash bitch, aren’t you?” he growled. The silenced gun she had been carrying still worried him. What if she had backup out there somewhere?
Syd noticed that Vlastok did not have a Russian accent. He must have been good in the Cold War years.
He continued, “You a cop?”
“Cop? Heavens no!”
“Maybe CIA? They love silenced weapons like yours. I think before we say anything else, I’ll check you for a wire. Are you wired?”
