Lethal Experiment

by John Locke

  Of course, Darwin wasn’t interested in punishing the Fathis. He’s all about destroying terror cells before they have a chance to mount attacks on domestic soil. Not that he’d shed a tear if I managed to kill either or both of the Fathis. At any rate, Darwin believed Alison and Afaya were having an affair, and that Afaya was planning to use Alison to infiltrate some of the Park ‘N Flys.

  “In three months it’ll be Thanksgiving,” Darwin said, “One of the busiest times of the year.”

  “So?”

  “If the terrorists get a driver into the Park ‘N Fly trucks, they can load them up with explosives and crash them right into baggage claim.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Get close to her, find out what she knows.”

  “You want me to sleep with her,” I said, trying to sound indignant.

  “Sleep with her, torture her, what do I care?”

  “What if she doesn’t know anything about it?”

  “That’s my guess, by the way,” Darwin said. “And if that’s the case, you can hang out with her and keep your eyes open, because sooner or later, someone’s going to make a move.”

  “I’m not going to be able to shadow her. Not after she’s met me.”

  “Creed, you’re missing the point. I believe she’s already being shadowed. If they see her getting close to you, they’re going to come after you.”

  “So I’m the bait.”

  “If Alison doesn’t know anything, then yes, you’re the bait.”

  “So who’s going to come to my rescue when the bad guys strike?”

  “That’s up to you. Maybe you can call your midget army, hide them under your bed.”

  “Little people,” I said.

  “Whatever. The bottom line is, if you need backup, make the phone calls.”

  “Fine,” I said. “What’s my cover story?”

  “Jewelry salesman.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not. So dress sharp and wear some expensive jewelry.”

  “I don’t own any.”

  Darwin paused a moment, trying to decide if what I’d said could possibly be true.

  “You’re hopeless,” he said. He sighed. “I’ll have something appropriate waiting for you in a box on the Lear jet. And Creed—”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want it back.”

  I said nothing, choosing to ignore the implication that I might steal his jewelry. A lesser man might feel compelled to point out specific examples to certify his unparalleled honesty. But I’m a bigger man than that. Plus, Darwin might think to remind me that I was still living off the millions of dollars I’d stolen from Joe DeMeo, after having killed most of his crew.

  “A jewelry salesman,” I said, again, trying to make my voice sound as skeptical as possible.

  Darwin jumped to defend his decision: “Pun notwithstanding, this jewelry salesman cover is pure gold. I’ve had a team on Alison two full days, which means I know more about her than her own mother. Trust me, Creed: you tell her you’ve got jewelry in your overnight bag and she’ll be all over you like Octo-Mom in a sperm bank.”

  “That’s a nice visual.”

  We hung up and I made a quick call before rejoining my slightly miffed girlfriend. I gave her my best stuff and managed to salvage the evening—until I explained I had to take her home and repack my bags and fly to Denver.

  I slept on the Learjet and got to Denver in plenty of time to catch Alison’s flight. We chatted all the way to Dallas, landed, got our luggage, and caught the shuttle to the Marriott.

  Inside the lobby, the guest registration line moved quickly between two velvet ropes. After Alison checked in she motioned me to join her at the front desk. I did so, trying to guess what she was hoping to learn by watching me check in. Did she want to see if my legal name was really Cosmo Burlap? Did she want to see what type of credit card I’d use to secure the bill? Could she possibly be waiting to find out my room number so she could call or visit me later? Maybe she was just being polite. I asked the clerk to give me the room adjoining Alison’s.

  She looked at Alison and said, “Is that okay with you, Miss?”

  “Oh, Gawd, yes!” Alison purred, displaying not the slightest trace of embarrassment. To me, she said: “This handsome jewelry salesman just made my day!”

  As we rode the elevator to our rooms I said, “I’ve got to make a few calls. You want to get together in an hour, have some dinner?”

  She said, “That sounds great. I’ll freshen up. Just knock on the door whenever you’re ready.”

  Dinner with Alison had to be someplace other than the Marriott because of the terrifying man in the lobby she thought was staring at her. We hustled past the scary man and caught a cab to I Fratelli’s.

  Though I like Italian food, I generally prefer a more upscale dining experience. Still, this family-friendly restaurant was good food at great prices. Their wine tasting highlighted a wide selection of Italian coastal varietals. That, along with flatbread and antipasto would have made a meal for me, but I kicked in for their specialty, a large, hand-made, thin-crust pepperoni pizza, which I shared with Alison.

  As often happens on a first date that’s going well, our conversation focused on a wide range of safe subjects, and only a couple of suggestive ones, such as the loneliness of road travel, which she mentioned several times. Since we were eating finger food, there wasn’t much physical contact during dinner. But there was no question where I stood: between her sultry facial expressions, winks and sensual lip licking, Alison was throwing more signals at me than a third base coach in the bottom of the ninth.

  In other words, Darwin had nailed her on the cover story.

  For a dedicated auditor, Alison possessed a surprising tolerance for liquor. In addition to three glasses of wine, she polished off one of her trademark cosmopolitans and was deep into her second when her face suddenly turned white.

  “There he is again!” she whispered.

  I started to turn, but she grabbed my arm. “Don’t look!” she said.

  “Who are we talking about?”

  “The big, creepy guy from the hotel lobby.”

  I took a minute to process. “The one that scared you? Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” she whispered. “I just saw him through the window.”

  “Maybe it was the lighting or a reflection off the glass.”

  “Cosmo, I swear it was him.” She was visibly frightened. Shaking. She tightened her grip on my arm. “Thank God you’re here,” she said.

  “What do you think he’s up to?”

  “I think he’s following us.”

  Chapter 28

  I got the waiter’s attention, gave him a credit card and asked I him to call us a cab. I stood and said, “I’m going to check out front, make sure he’s gone.”

  Alison said, “Please don’t go out there. You might get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll just have a quick look around.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Log in my cell phone number. If something happens, just press send.”

  She gave me her number and I punched it into my phone. Then I went out the front door and circled the restaurant, looking for darkened areas where a big guy might be able to hide. When I turned the second corner I found myself face to face with him. He pointed a finger at my face with his thumb up, as if it were a gun. He let the thumb fall. “Bang,” he said.

  The horrifically deformed giant had indeed been following us, just as I’d asked him to do when I called him from The Spotted Pig after talking to Darwin.

  His job was to meet us in Dallas, follow us around and scare the shit out of Alison. His name is Augustus Quinn, and, like Callie, he’s an integral part of my team, which is to say, he knows where most of the bodies are buried.

  Literally.

  “She hasn’t mentioned Afaya,” I said. “Then again, I wouldn’t expect her to.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Darwin was right about her.”

  “In what
way?”

  “She’s robbing you.”

  “No shit?”

  He chuckled. “After you guys left I used the key you put in the planter, got your suitcase like we planned. I took it down the hall to my room—I’m in three twenty-six by the way—and when I came out I saw two guys enter your room.”

  “With a key?”

  He nodded.

  “Must have worked a deal with the girl at the front desk.”

  “Bellman,” Quinn said.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. I went back to the lobby and waited for them. They got off the elevator and went straight to the bell desk and had a loud argument with the bellman. There was enough arm waving for me to spot a prison tat on one of the guys trying to rob you.”

  We were quiet a moment.

  “You sure Alison’s in on it?” I said.

  “Otherwise, why would the bellman think you had something in the suitcase worth stealing?”

  “So she flirts me into a dinner date, calls the bellman, he calls the thugs.”

  “That’s my guess,” Quinn said.

  “Seems pretty risky for an auditor.”

  “Auditors look at other people’s money all day long,” Quinn said.

  “Good point.”

  “Be interesting to see how she plays it tonight,” he said, “when she finds out the robbery was a bust.”

  “You think she won’t be able to let it go?”

  “Exactly what I’m thinking.”

  “So you think the plan will work?”

  Augustus Quinn nodded. “Only I think we’ll catch convicts instead of terrorists.”

  “Maybe the convicts and terrorists are connected.”

  “One way to find out.”

  “I better get back,” I said. “Make sure you beat us back to the hotel.”

  “Give me a five-minute head start,” he said.

  Chapter 29

  Back in the restaurant Alison seemed frantic.

  “Thank God you’re okay!” she said. “I was so worried about you!”

  I had to admit, she was a natural con artist. But I also had to agree with Quinn: the true test would come later that night, when she had to cobble together a Plan B. At the time I was thinking if she could pull it off convincingly, I’d probably offer her a job when this whole thing was over.

  “Did you see him?” she said.

  “I did. But he ran away.”

  “You think he’ll come back to the hotel?”

  I shook my head. “I doubt it.”

  The cab came and we got in and rode quietly to the hotel. I asked if she wanted to grab a coffee before going up to the room and she declined. As we walked through the lobby I watched her carefully to see if she made eye contact with the bellman. She did not. Again, I thought, very impressive. A natural.

  We got to the elevators and I pressed the button. “So,” I said, “you want to raid my mini bar, maybe have a glass of wine?”

  She smiled. “What a lovely offer,” she said. “But it’s been a long day. I think I’ll turn in early. Can I get a rain check on the nightcap?”

  “Any time,” I said.

  The elevator doors opened. She gave me her best little-girl-lost look and said, “Will you walk me to my room?”

  I bowed. “It would be an honor,” I said.

  “Cosmo Burlap—my knight in shining armor!”

  She let me kiss her on the cheek before retiring. I slid the key card into the lock on my room, entered, and went straight for the mini bar.

  “Already poured you a wine,” Quinn whispered, gesturing to the two glasses on the table.

  “Thanks,” I whispered back. “But you know the rules.” I opened the mini bar and rummaged around for another bottle of wine.

  “They only had the one bottle,” he said. Then he sighed and added, “How long have we known each other?”

  “Not the point,” I said.

  “Sooner or later you’re going to have to break down and trust someone.”

  “Maybe so,” I said, “but not today.”

  “Fine,” Quinn said. He took a sip from each glass and waited for me to select one. Quinn watched with amusement as I waited a full five minutes before picking up one of the glasses. Finally, I took a sip.

  “Marriott stocks a good house wine,” I said.

  Quinn picked up the remaining glass of wine and held it up in a silent toast. I did the same. We sat and sipped quietly until we heard the light tap on the connecting door to Alison’s room.

  “Showtime,” Quinn said, silently mouthing the word.

  He took his wine with him to the bathroom and closed the door. I waited for him to get settled, and she tapped again. I crossed the room and opened the connecting door.

  “I can’t sleep,” Alison said. “I’m scared that guy might have followed us back to the hotel.”

  She had freshened up and put on a red flannel nightshirt that had pink Vicky Secret hearts all over it. She showed as much leg as she could without revealing her own secrets. Normally I’d have made it easy on her and let her lure me into her bedroom so her goons could try to make good on the robbery. But I wanted to test her improv skills, since I was still considering her as a possible employee.

  “You want to spend the night with me?” I said.

  “No,” she said. “I want you to spend the night with me.”

  “What’s the difference?” I said.

  “I’ve already got all my girly stuff laid out in my bathroom,” she said. “Plus, I’ve got my iPod hooked up to some speakers. To set the mood.”

  “I thought you were tired.”

  “I am,” she said. “But not that tired.”

  “And you’re scared,” I said.

  “Without my knight in shining armor I’d be terrified,” she said.

  “I should probably bring my jewelry cases,” I said, “just to be safe.”

  She raised her arms over her head and clasped her hands together, arched her back, and pretended to yawn. Which of course caused her nightshirt to rise exactly ten inches—I know because I’m a trained observer, and have developed an eye for detail.

  “I have to compliment you on your grooming,” I said.

  “Oh, Gawd,” she said. And, bless her heart, she managed to blush without pinching her cheeks.

  Alison tilted her face and put some huskiness in her voice and said, “Come here, Cosmo.”

  I followed her into her room. She closed the door behind me and turned the lock. Then she stepped to the nightstand, dimmed the lights, and turned on her iPod to mask the sounds of the robbery that would soon take place in my room.

  She swayed to the music a bit and peeled off her nightshirt. “Cosmo, you know what I’d like to do right now?” she purred.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to give you a blow job.”

  “Of course you would,” I said. “But what’s in it for me?”

  Chapter 30

  To borrow a phrase from my former Commander In Chief, I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Alison Cilice.

  In fact, I didn’t even engage in the type of relations that would cause a stain or force me to define the word “is.” I thought about it, wondering if I could find a way to justify it in the name of national security. After all, the mission started out as a national security issue, right? Unfortunately, it quickly made a left turn into this hotel robbery ring. Alison was certainly a thief. But was she a terrorist sympathizer as well? I didn’t think so. If the guy from Denver—Adnan Afaya—was trying to infiltrate the Park ‘N Fly’s, as Darwin believed, I didn’t think he’d made the pitch to Alison yet. My guess was the cameras caught them on a first or second date. I also didn’t think Afaya was tied to the hotel robberies, so I didn’t see any way to justify making stains with Alison. But I was in a spot: I didn’t feel comfortable having sex with her, but I also couldn’t leave yet, since I had to let things run their course next door.

  Which is why, after initial
ly rebuking Alison’s advances, I agreed to lie in her bed awhile, fully clothed. I routinely test weapons and torture devices for the military, so I wasn’t worried about succumbing to her advances. But she came at me from a different place than the military. Where the weapons relied on pain, Alison nibbled my ear and gently blew warm air into it. This part wasn’t cheating, I told myself. But it wasn’t torture, either, and she was making progress. I knew I had to put a stop to it. But before I could make that announcement, Alison started moving her hands in a practiced manner all over my body. This still wasn’t cheating, but it had some of the earmarks of torture. She quickly got to the area of my body that would constitute cheating, and it was finally time to draw the line. I managed to find my voice.

  “Sometime later tonight I’m going to regret that I said this now—but you need to stop doing that,” I said.

  “Can’t hear you,” she said, playfully. She grabbed my hand and thrust it between her legs and held it there while she bucked her hips. Thinking back on it now, I probably could have muscled my hand out of there a few seconds quicker than I did.

  “You’re hired!” I said.

  “What?”

  “What I meant to say was, I can’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s that time of the month.”

  “Not funny,” she said.

  “I have a headache. I’m tired. The kids might come in.”

  “Is it me? Is it because I’m fat?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “You’re beautiful.”

  “What, I’m not sexy enough for you?”

  “You’re definitely sexy enough.”

  “Then really,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sort of involved with someone.”

  “Unless she’s here, I don’t see a problem.”

  “The problem is—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—I’d be using you. And that would be—what’s the word I’m searching for? –Oh yeah: wrong.”

  I may have heard the slightest sound next door. Alison definitely heard it. She moved closer and whispered, “Cosmo, what you just said—it’s so respectful. Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you’ve gotten me all worked up tonight. Can you just lay here with me a few minutes while I sort of solve my own problem?”