The Fifth Descent of Lexi Montaigne

by R. S. Darling

  Most men’s faces positively drip with unspoken words and emotions, but this agent refused to fit into Lexi’s idea of the prototypical male. And she was sure he knew she would not refuse to go with him, thus giving him the upper hand. “I’ll go with you. But I want this on the record: Linnux and I are not working for Mr. Dorl, nor have we ever met or even seen him.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm what?”

  “Interesting thing to say, considering the fact that you and Mr. Hansen appear to know more about the T . . . about Mr. Dorl and his colorful history than anyone outside the SCIA.”

  He stood up and, with a movement too quick for Lexi to follow, produced a folded five inch by nine inch manila folder. Dropped it on the table. By the time she retrieved it, read her name and looked up, Jeffries was gone.

  She rushed back up to Linnux’s room, clutching the folder.

  “Thank God,” he said as Lexi caught her breath at the foot of his bed. “I thought for sure they were throwing you in a white van and whisking you away to someplace with the word Black in its name.”

  The air was cooler without the brooding agent sucking up all the AC, and the room somehow seemed larger as Lexi recited the conversation in the cafeteria.

  “It’s a trap,” Linnux said when she was done. “You see that, right?” He had sat up as far as the leg hanger would allow. “Dorl wants to get the main players together so he can eliminate them in one fell swoop.”

  “First off, don’t say ‘fell’, and second, in all your research did you ever discover anything that suggested he was a threat?”

  “No. But what difference does that make? It just means he is cleverer than your typical cardboard villain. You can’t go. I’m not convinced that guy was from the SCIA.”

  A nurse entered. Once again Linnux displayed how single-minded most men are; after the nurse left Lexi had to remind him what he had been talking about. Once his focus returned Linnux went on to explain his theory that Jeffries was no more a government agent than is Brad Pitt and about the hidden camera in his dorm and the backup flash drive in his Caprice.

  “And the SCIA is a covert subdivision no one outside the CIA even knows about. Why would they go around introducing themselves? Oh hey, I’m Agent J of the SCIA. It’s stupid.”

  “Maybe he admitted to being SCIA because he knew we already knew about them.” She wasn’t sure if she was guessing or hoping.

  Linnux grunted. “It’s a good thing you’ve got your looks to get you through life. Okay, listen, I got a flash of the man who attacked me, and I think it was Jeffries. That’s why he was posted up here with me, to be sure I didn’t recognize him.”

  “I’m a little rusty on my conspiracy theory one-oh-one,” Lexi said as she circled the bed. “Perhaps you care to explain how you jumped to this conclusion?”

  “Did he flash a badge?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Did he interrogate you or did he give you a long-winded tirade?”

  Lexi considered his words, and now that she thought about it Jeffries hadn’t really seemed all that official. “But he did have a piece.” She said triumphantly.

  “Did you notice his patch? There’s no way an American Agency would wear such a hokey contrived sigil. Plus—”

  Sticky sweat appeared to ooze from the walls and Lexi thought she was seeing a heat mirage. The refreshing AC wavered under it. “All right Linnux, God! Thanks for destroying my glimmer of hope. Just when I think I know what’s going on.” She stared out the window at the sun glinting off the roof tops below. Sighed. “So who do you think this Jeffries guy is then?”

  “He works for Mr. Dorl of course,” Linnux pronounced with that cocky air of his.

  Too many theories and not enough answers. Her migraine was in full swing as Linnux scrawled something on a legal pad. Every turn of the scratching pen was a knife twisting in her head. The room seemed smaller, seemed to be closing in. Where were those damn AC controls?

  “Look,” she burst when the heat or the concept of heat became too much. “I’ll get your camera footage and the flash drive, but I’m not going to feed your obsession, okay? You are skirting the edge of paranoid delusions, just like Gramps. For all we know Mr. Dorl is the greatest philanthropist in the world . . . or possibly not even real.”

  She charged out the door before Linnux could argue. She had already lost two men in her life to this very same obsession and had no intention of watching it consume Linnux as well.

  The life changes ran through her mind as she drove in the rusty Dakota to GCC. What could it mean, what was the reason behind these recent events? Simon seemed like her best hope for answers. She would spread the net of questions and hope to pull in a small quarry of answers, or at least a bite to sate an insatiable hunger for answers.

  She parked in the Willow House lot and found Linnux’s white Caprice. The flash drive was snug in the CD holder on the sunshade, just like his note said. She pocketed it and crossed the hot asphalt to the dorm. The behemoth was entering his room next door to Linnux’s when she approached.

  “You again? How’s Linnux doing?”

  “He’s still an arrogant dick,” Lexi said. “Thank you for helping him.”

  Finding the digital camera was harder than locating the flash drive, even with Linnux’s instructions. But eventually she found the patch of removable drywall concealed by a clever little mural of eyes that extended a foot around the patch of plaster. She fished out the camera.

  When she climbed back into the cab Lexi started the truck. Ode to Joy from A Clockwork Orange filled the cab with the thrill of electronic Beethoven. She eyed the manila envelope Jeffries had given her. Grabbed it. Peeled it open. Inside was a slip of ripped legal paper decorated with three words, three simple words that answered her question and posed a dozen more in its place.

  Don’t trust anyone.

  It had been torn off of the note from Gramps’ oak box. Lexi inhaled and something flashed in the corner of her eye. As she turned left the crimson flash morphed into a sleek Camaro with a broken taillight. At the same moment the screech of tires called her attention to the right. A black Avalanche roared into position behind the Camaro.

  In this single surreal moment, Lexi thought: Damn, I’m screwed.

  She had always wondered how she would react in a moment of sheer terror, whether she would seize up like a stubborn old bolt or race into bold and beautiful action like her fictional idols Ellen Ripley and Clarice Starling.

  The Dakota showed what it was made of when Lexi threw it into gear: an old and very tired 3.9 V6 with bald tires and a transmission unmoved by her plight. The Camaro veered left, following her out of the lot in half the time it had taken her. The SUV was another hundred yards behind the Camaro, catching up just as quickly. The Camaro consumed the distance between them at breakneck speed and was about to slam into her bumper. (She was strangely curious to see how her thirteen year old Dodge bumper would hold up against a spanking new Camaro.)

  But she was to be disappointed: two quick shots rang out, followed by two explosions. The rear rims of the Camaro rode the asphalt, sparks flying over the roof in a pyrotechnic display. Another shot echoed just as electronic Beethoven barked Sied unschlungen, Millionen!

  Lexi swallowed a scream as she saw the silhouette of the Camaro driver slump in his seat.

  The Camaro swerved in a dead turn and flipped over. It was nothing like the movies; the car flipped almost impossibly swiftly, turning side over side without so much as a single moment of slow motion for dramatic effect. It was far more impressive than the movies for its terrifying briskness and abrupt finality.

  The SUV slammed to a halt, narrowly avoiding a pile of Camaro entrails.

  Lexi’s hands were still shaking an hour later when she sat on her Gramps’ ancient wing back chair to wait for Simon to show up.

  Chapter 12

  Despite the heat that had seasoned the day, the night was chill; a typical New York weather shift. Lexi was still too shaken
to get up and turn the furnace on.

  The first knock on the door was a foghorn trying to break the fog from miles away. The second was louder, dispersing the mental mist. The third knock caused Lexi to shift on the couch before it struck her that the knock meant Simon was asking to come in.

  “You’ve been doing what?” Simon exhaled. “What were you thinking? That kid had a bright future ahead of him. Now—”

  “But he doesn’t think it was the government that attacked him.” Lexi explained.

  Make something up, get him to leave. You could be cutting in two minutes.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Simon said, running fingers through his hair. “You know the government’s been watching. That was probably them in that SUV, coming to arrest you.” He sat down beside her, massaged her legs as a look of concern crimped his features. “Why didn’t you tell me about your theories on this Dorl character?”

  Even through the fog of shock and a myriad of emotions, Lexi felt that old inexplicable tickle at the back of her mind. Am I being played? But she had felt it so often lately who could say if it was legitimate?

  “Since Linnux found out about your father working for the government, watching Gramps, I guess I thought—”

  “What? That I must be some kind of agent as well? God Lexi, you know who you sound like, don’t you?” He got up and paced the room, crinkling something in his hands. When he looked back he handed her the slip of paper. It was the piece from the envelope. “I found it in the truck. Did you read the other side?”

  The obverse side of the ‘Trust no one’ note read: “Meet me tomorrow at eight a.m. and everything will fit.”

  She stood up. “He really was going to take me to Dorl!” Then, to herself, “They’ll probably send another agent, I should be there.”

  “You can’t be serious?” Simon grasped her face between warm hands. They smelled of his cologne, Hush. “It was obviously this Jeffries guy that tried to run you off the road. Linnux was right; it’s a trap.”

  Lexi sat back down, the path ahead clear now. I have to vindicate daddy and Gramps and discover the truth about Dorl, she thought, but said, “You’re right. It’s crazy, I won’t go.”

  Simon exhaled and smiled. “Good. And I’ll send a few units out there tomorrow just in case someone does show up. And then we’ll know who these people are.” He seemed to consider something as Lexi walked to the kitchen. Satan, skulking past Simon, stared, his hackles raised.

  “So, where were you supposed to meet him?”

  Back to Simon, Lexi pretended to inspect the warning label on the Sominex bottle. Secrets destroy relationships—something she’d told to more than one of her patients. But living what you preach is not always easy. “Don Johnsons Hot Dog Stand on Main in Buffalo,” she said, back still to Simon; it’s easier lying to Sominex than to a man.

  He stayed the night. When suspiciously black government SUV’s failed to show up, Simon left at six A.M. “Stay here and try not to get into any trouble until I get back, okay?”

  She smiled and permitted a kiss. When he was gone she looked at Plato 5 who glared at her with simmering accusation. “I know, kitty, I’m getting quite good at lying.”

  Plato 5 mewed quietly and galloped off like a tiny horse. Hisses and low growls escaped from the mud room moments later.

  “Satan! Stop picking on Plato!”

  The ‘kit’ in the bathroom beckoned and Natalie waited to sing her tune, but it would take a half hour at least to grimace through traffic to the ass-end of Batavia, and she wanted to check on Linnux first. She could always cut later, or beat on her leg again on the way over—it wasn’t quite the same euphoria, but it would do in a pinch if the dungeon decided to get restless.

  As she stepped outside, ready to run at the first blip of sirens, Lexi was surprised to find an eerie calm. Fat gray clouds hung overhead, looking ‘ready to release their bladders onto the world below’, as Gramps used to say.

  On the way around the truck, something odd caught her eye. There was a rust hole at the bottom of the tailgate, large enough to shove her pinky into. It was different though; instead of the usual bubbling up of iron oxide, the hole was indented and the hole was perfect, a sphere of mathematical precision. She lowered the tailgate and there at the end of the bed was a dull-copper slug protruding a quarter of an inch. Her breath caught as she saw how close it had come.

  With the aid of one of gramps’ pliers and some elbow grease she managed to pry the bullet loose, careful not to desecrate it any further, and finished up by placing it in a baggy.

  At the hospital twenty minutes later. Linnux was in good spirits—his friend the behemoth had brought him his lap top. He tried once again to dissuade Lexi from going to meet the mystery man, but in the end all he got for his troubles was the name of the place where she was supposed to meet Jeffries.

  “Promise you won’t contact Simon about it until I’ve had the chance to see if someone actually meets me there.”

  “Jeez alouise. All right, I promise.”

  The air was heavy when she left the hospital; heat lightning danced in the clouds. Minutes later they exploded, instantly drenching Batavia. Lightning darted two miles ahead, followed by a booming thunderclap. Despite fear Lexi mused on the irony that every time she came out here, it was under miserable conditions.

  Cabbage fields, passing by her outside her window, though harvested, still reeked.

  Lexi slowed a half mile before the turn into Everything Fits—and paid for her crime with a horn blare in her ears. The blarer passed, tooting all the way. Ah, New York drivers. She drove through the slick alleys between the units, holding her breath, not sure what she wanted more: to find someone waiting for her, or to be alone.

  The final turn revealed a parked Lincoln. A man stood inside the open unit beside the huge car, smoking. The red dot of his cigarette pierced the gloom. Lucifer winking at her.

  Lexi parked in front of the Lincoln and got out. The man returned her stare before letting his eyes roam over her drenched body. He snubbed the butt.

  “You looking for something?”

  Through the downpour she could see the slight upturn at the corners of his mouth; the narrowing of his eyes and the confident manner in which he stood. They were alone and he had about eighty pounds on her. Lexi slunk back into the cab and backed out of the alley.

  Half of a mile west out of the facility on a desolate stretch of rain-slicked Bank Street a red flashing light lit up her rear view mirror. It was a single bubble. ‘Detective’ flashed through her mind. Calm down, it’s probably just one of the guys from the station. Lexi pulled over.

  A man exited the vehicle and sauntered over to her window. Water dripped over the narrow brim of his felt, teardrop black fedora, cascading into his mouth as he spoke.

  “Alexis Montaigne?”

  She nodded and apprehension welled inside as the man failed to produce a shield or a badge. “Come with me.” His voice was smooth and deep and saturated with weariness.

  “What about my truck?” she asked as water splashed her face.

  The man under the fedora opened her door. “Let’s go.” He managed to offer his hand without a hint of gallantry. She took her keys and a beep reminded her to kill the lights.

  As the man under the fedora ‘escorted’ her to the white van, Lexi eyed the plates, committing the digits to memory. The man readjusted his hat, genuine frustration peppering his expression. There were two more people in the van; the driver, and a woman, about Lexi’s age. She wore a tawny skirt that hugged her generous thighs and a blue-striped white blouse set off by a necklace inspiring nods to the Rich and the Famous.

  On closer inspection, it seemed a façade; the woman’s shoes looked like a $19.99 Wal-Mart special and her hair was a faint gray, like the brushed stainless steel capsule of a DeLorean. No one spoke and the group seemed ignorant of the use of a radio. The steady beat of the rain was Lexi’s only companion on the trip west out of Batavia.

  “So his factory
is in Buffalo, is it?” she surmised, as Buffalo is the only place of importance due west of Batavia before Lake Erie. Like all the other questions she had put to them, no one answered. She turned her head to stare at the woman to the right, inwardly rejoicing when she noticed the woman’s eyes darting about, the barely perceptible rise and fall of her bosom.

  “So tell me about Jeffries.”

  The DeLorean-haired woman’s rouged cheeks lifted. She crimped her eyes when Lexi spoke the name. “He was with you, wasn’t he?” The tell tale silence. “You guys aren’t government.”

  The rain eased as they drove west. By the time the van got off at exit 51 near the Kensington Expressway, the roads were mostly dry with only a few vacant puddles. They were heading south now, to Orchard Park, a village in southern Erie County. And this was all they told her until another twenty minutes had passed.

  The DeLorean-haired woman spoke. “Mr. Dorl has taken a sleepy little town of thirty thousand and transformed it into a leading provider of pharmaceuticals. He employs two-thousand, none of whom claim to have ever seen him. What do you think about that?”

  “Why did he call us here and why does he want me?”

  “Your dossier says you are a research psychologist with training in facial coding, graphology, kinesics. Plus, you already know about the Tower, so there was really no one else suited to the task.”

  Lexi gawked at the DeLorean-haired woman. “Wait, I thought Jeffries said Dorl requested me?”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  Lexi sighed. “Why do you have a file on me?”

  “We have files on everyone of interest.” The woman continued speaking in a monotone. It not only made her words harder to translate, but it grated on Lexi’s nerves.

  Twenty-eight minutes later the van entered a narrow road snaking through a dark wood. Pale sunlight pierced sporadic pines. They came on an old railroad station at the end of the road, the roof boasting new burgundy shingles. There was no one else around and for a single terrifying moment Lexi thought they had taken her to this secluded place to ‘off’ her.