Deep Allegiance

by David Archer

  When he saw the assassin finally emerge from the airport, he had to consciously force the contempt off his face.

  He watched Dawson stroll to a telephone booth, ignoring Marco as he carelessly tore a page from the chained down telephone book. When Dawson dropped his head, Marco allowed himself one last vindictive smile in his direction. “You’re ours, Dawson,” he whispered, but by the time Dawson looked up from folding his torn phone page, all he saw was a muscled cabbie, desperate for a fare.

  Sure enough, Dawson walked toward him. Marco abandoned his casual lean, stepping out toward Dawson and then to the back door of his car. He yanked it open with a jaunty, “Cab, sir?”

  Dawson looked at him, giving Marco the impression of a spider staring down a fly. “No, thanks,” he answered. With a cold smile, he shifted directions, fluidly moving to the next cabbie down the line.

  “Hey!” Marco shouted, his Liverpool accent impeccable. “I’m the first cab in the bloody line. Yer got to ride with me!“

  Dawson gave him the spidery look again, peering at Marco as though he was not worth the spider’s effort, then turned away. Marco watched as Dawson stepped up to the window of the second cab. Though now some distance away, he distinctly heard him ask the driver, “Say, do you know where the St. Aloysius is?”

  Marco smiled sardonically as Gary popped his head up at Dawson’s question, the glasses on his nose, the pencil in his mouth, and the papers in his lap giving him the absolute appearance of distracted and aloof. “The St. Aloysius?” Gary said, taking the pencil out of his mouth and reaching for the ripped paper Dawson handed him, blinking his eyes as though trying to place where he’d heard the name before.

  Despite the morning’s unexpected disasters, Marco felt confident in their plan. A smile appeared on his face. Gary was good. Gary was very good.

  “Oh, the St. Aloysius Hotel in Kensington.” Gary nodded with a self-deprecating shrug, acting as though he should have recognized the name right off. He stepped out of the car with an easy smile. “Sure, mate, I know where it is.” Gary moved around the front of his own car. “As a matter of fact, I took this nice lady there last week.”

  Marco slipped around his car and into his cab’s driver’s seat, continuing to watch Gary and Dawson with a slight smirk on his face. It was going right according to plan.

  Dawson was already opening the back door. “Spare me the details. I’m in a hurry.”

  Gary stepped quickly in front of him, cutting off Dawson’s access to the door handle, opening it for him instead. “Ah, please,” he protested. “Let me get that for you, sir. Can I take your bags?”

  “I can manage,” Dawson intoned, annoyed and sounding like a man who annoyed easily. An attitude like that might make their job a little easier.

  “The St. Aloysius it is,” Gary said loudly, ensuring that Neil would pick up the transmission from his hidden radio. He shut the door for Dawson, and as he crossed back to the driver’s side, he threw Marco a small smile.

  Welcome to our parlor, said the spiders to the fly, Marco thought, grinning. Make no mistake, Dawson, we are the real spiders here.

  * * *

  “All right, you heard it, the St. Aloysius,” said Noah.

  Neil’s fingers flashed across the keyboard as Noah walked to look over his shoulder. In seconds, the information they wanted was splayed out before them. “The St. Aloysius Hotel,” read Neil, “226 Kensington Way.” He looked up at Jenny’s questioning glance. “S-T-A-L-O-Y-S-I-U-S,” he spelled.

  Jenny immediately set to work, applying the adhesive lettering she would need for the hotel’s sign and front desk.

  From Neil’s computer, they heard Dawson ask Gary, “How long will it take to get to the hotel?”

  “Depends on traffic,” Gary answered smoothly, epitomizing the voice of a tired cabbie who dealt with traffic all too often. “Twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes.”

  “The GPS says fifteen,” snarked Dawson. “Now, if you can’t do it in that, I’ve got to find a cabbie who can.”

  “Hey,” Gary protested indignantly, “if any cabbie can get you there in fifteen minutes, I can.” The car’s motor jumped as Gary started it and pulled into traffic. He knew Marco would already be pushing ahead of him, preparing to stall in any way he could.

  “Fifteen minutes, Noah,” lamented Neil, standing up from his desk and pulling his jacket from the back of his chair in one smooth movement. “It’s just not enough time.” He moved hastily to the door.

  “We don’t have a choice.” Noah gestured, Neil’s concern echoing in his own voice. “We have to make it work.”

  * * *

  While Gary made his way toward the hotel with an irritated Dawson in the back seat, Neil was busy hanging Jenny’s hastily made St. Aloysius Hotel sign above the front door. Marco was breaking speed limits and changing into a cop’s uniform while he drove. Albert Corey was tracking Gary’s progress on the large computerized map linked to Neil’s main computer, and Noah was completing the replacement names for the streets outside. All of them were doing what they could to ensure that they’d be ready in time.

  When Neil finished hanging the hotel sign, he checked Jenny’s progress in the lobby, then moved back into the command center to check on Noah. As he entered, the bleeping spot on his computerized map confirmed what he had suspected. “We’ll never be ready at the pace he’s going,” he told Noah. It wasn’t a complaint, just the truth.

  Noah glanced back at the map. “Marco will do what he can, but Dawson’s insistence he be here in fifteen minutes probably means he has to make the phone call to get his assignment. If we slow him down too much, it could be a problem.”

  Neil accepted Noah’s statement as truth also. They’d just have to do the best they could and hope that Dawson didn’t get spooked by the glitches in their matrix.

  Noah handed him the completed street signs. Neil took them carefully, double checking for errors while nearly running to put them in place. From the corner of his eye, he saw Albert Corey open the glass burner, pulling out an elegant goblet with an elaborate “SA” now cresting its side.

  In all, it took Neil less than five minutes to get outside, set up the step ladder, and place the new street signs. When he got back inside, Jenny had finished much of the lobby and had moved on to Dawson’s bedroom, apparently having to reset the bugs, only just realizing that they had also been affected by the morning’s blown wires.

  Noah wasn’t going to think about backup plans just yet. He had great confidence in this team. If it could be done, they would do it, and maybe even make it with time to spare.

  * * *

  Jenny moved rapidly around the room they’d selected for Dawson. She set new towels in the bathroom, arranging the newly embroidered SA monograms ornately on the towel racks, adding other finishing touches as she slipped from area to area, her mind all business. She was almost finished when she realized that morning’s camera problems had included the hidden scope in the bedroom mirror. Alerting the others to the problem, she quickly set to work.

  Abandoning her current decorating endeavors, she retrieved a repaired camera from Corey and set about placing it behind the two-way mirror. Tilting it to face her, she spoke aloud to test the audio. “All set, Noah.”

  She stepped back, waiting.

  “Jenny, give me a level.” Noah’s voice came through the subcom behind her ear.

  She smiled in relief as she stared into the mirror, picturing Noah’s serious face looking back at her. She felt unable to resist. “Magic Mirror on the wall,” she teasingly misquoted.

  “All right, you’d better finish up in there,” Noah instructed.

  She could hear in his voice that he had caught the humor, even if it was lost on him. “Just another minute,” she said, completely back to business.

  * * *

  Noah watched Jenny a moment longer to ensure the video and audio feed were indeed working. When both were confirmed and seemed unlikely to blow out on them again, he turned back to the m
ap, checking Gary and Dawson’s progress. They were getting much too close; the team still needed more time.

  He wasn’t concerned yet, however. Marco was still out there, ready to get in Gary’s way.

  Noah turned up the audio on the communication speaker and sat down to hear how Marco and Gary handled themselves. He believed that both could cope with the situation, but couldn’t quite extinguish the thought that his friends would be in close proximity to a killer they’d be purposely annoying, a killer who was known best for his unpredictable actions and his fondness for violence.

  * * *

  Gary drove fast, going just enough over the speed limit to convince Dawson that he’d picked the right cabbie for a hasty trip. So far, Dawson seemed relatively content, which was good, but Gary was gritting his teeth because he knew he wasn’t giving his teammates the time they needed for Dawson’s arrival.

  Where are you, Marco? Not for the first time, Gary wished he had been given one of the subcoms that allowed the rest of the team to be in constant communication with one another.

  As he rounded the next corner, his question was answered. Marco had made it to the exact spot where he was supposed to meet them. Gary felt a wave of gratitude. Once confirming that it really was Marco he saw, he punched his gas pedal a little harder, zooming the cab past the cars building themselves into a traffic jam on the other side of the street.

  A siren sprang to life behind him. He glanced into the rearview mirror, watching Dawson’s annoyed realization that the siren was meant for them. Gary dropped his foot off the pedal, turning his eyes to Dawson with a repentant shrug. “Oh, bloody now what?” he said aloud, making himself sound as antsy and anxious as Dawson looked. “I guess I put me foot in it a bit,” he apologized, working his London accent overtime. It was one of his favorites. “But don’t worry, I’ll bluff me way out of it.”

  Dawson said nothing.

  Gary pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped, watching in his rearview mirror as Marco slowly stepped off his commandeered police motorcycle. In the patrolman’s uniform he wore, complete with helmet and dark glasses, he looked nothing like the taxi driver Dawson had dismissed earlier.

  He swaggered unhurriedly to the cab window, slowly pulling off his gloves. Gary almost couldn’t hold back his grin, because Marco was actually doing pretty good. The agent had to have really hurried in order to get changed and get in place, but he was managing to look like the poster boy of habitually slow, unhurried traffic cops.

  “Might I see your license, sir?” he asked, sounding bored.

  “O’ course, mate,” answered Gary, digging in his wallet for the appropriate document. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Marco leaned down in the window. “You were going more than twenty over the speed limit.”

  “Twenty?” Gary blurted indignantly. “Why, I never…”

  Marco responded with a slow nod.

  Glancing again at Dawson in the rearview mirror, Gary pretended to change his tactics. He slumped closer to the window and spoke to Marco in a soft, supplicating voice. “Listen, mate, this fare of mine is in a bit of a hurry. You see, I picked him up at Heathrow—”

  “Could I just see your license, please, sir?” Marco cut him off flatly.

  “Would you have a heart, mate?” Gary returned, exasperated.

  “Just get it over with,” ordered Dawson from the back. “I’ll pay you what the ticket costs.”

  Gary nodded, defeated, pulling out his license and handing it to Marco with a bitter shrug. “Lousy coppers,” he muttered, unaware that back in the command center, Albert Corey was trying not to smile at their antics. “I mean, ’ow’s a bloke supposed to make a living these days?”

  Marco took the license and then looked at him closely, as if comparing his face to the photo on the document. “Thank you, sir,” Marco stated.

  Gary gave him a yeah, whatever look in return.

  As Marco ambled back to his bike with the license and clipboard, at an achingly slow pace, Gary shrugged helplessly at Dawson. The assassin glared at him, but said nothing.

  * * *

  In the command center, Noah waited for Marco to report in with his take on the situation.

  “Dawson looks nervous,” reported Marco over his radio. “I’ll hold him as long as I can.” Noah glanced at his watch and then up at Neil, who, aided by Corey, was busy making St. Aloysius labels for the lobby’s desktop magazines and reference books.

  Sensing Noah’s gaze, Neil looked up from what he was doing and focused on the speaker to hear what was going on with his fellow agents.

  “I know you’re in a hurry,” Gary was saying to Dawson. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “Yeah, keep it going, Gary,” Neil encouraged aloud, as though Gary could hear him. “We need the minutes, buddy.” Noah nodded at Neil’s words, still listening to the speaker intently, hoping Neil’s encouragement, as well as his own, was somehow carried through.

  “What’s the holdup?” they heard Dawson complain. “Why is he taking so long?”

  FIVE

  Gary grimaced. He was starting to get a bit nervous. They could only push this for so long before they lost the bird they were trying to cage. He hoped Noah was picking up on it. “I don’t know,” he said in response to Dawson’s irritated query. “Your guess is as good as mine, mate.”

  “I’m going to find myself another cab,” Dawson stated.

  Gary cringed. Hurry, Marco, hurry. Aloud, he begged, “Would you have a heart, guv? I need the fare.” He implored Dawson with his eyes, hoping the books stacked on the front passenger seat had successfully given him the look of a struggling night student. Not that he expected a man like Dawson to have actual sympathy for anyone.

  After a moment, Dawson sat back with a forced nod, but Gary had a feeling his consent had more to do with the lack of other cabs on the street than from any sympathy he might feel for his own supposed need of money.

  * * *

  Noah nodded when he didn’t hear Dawson getting out of the car. Mentally, he applauded Gary for his skills.

  “The room is set, Noah,” called Jenny, coming down the back stairway on the far side of the command center.

  “Good job, Jenny,” he acknowledged.

  Over the speaker, he heard Dawson say, “I’m not going to wait much longer, you know.”

  Noah knew it was true. He spoke, knowing Marco would hear him via subcom. “Better move, Marco.”

  “Right,” came the instant reply. He could imagine Marco just waiting for permission to bail Gary out of the tense situation. He had a sudden mental image of Marco as a barely controlled attack dog, waiting only for the word to lunge.

  Pushing the visual from his mind, Noah refocused on the activity in the cab.

  * * *

  Gary sighed in relief when Marco started back toward him. His face was grim as Marco handed him the clipboard with a silent nod. “You think you’d be out catching criminals, ’stead of bothering honest working people,” Gary complained as Marco pointed to where Gary’s signature was needed.

  He ripped the fake ticket free and handed it through the window. Gary seized it crossly out of his hands.

  “Drive a bit more carefully next time, sir,” Marco advised in a droll voice.

  Gary simply nodded, reaching out for the return of his license as Marco started to walk away. After three steps, Marco turned and handed the license back to him. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “Almost forgot.”

  Gary snatched it out of his hands briskly, starting the car with a frustrated fervor that didn’t feel entirely pretend.

  As the car bolted away, Marco walked back to the motorcycle, muttering to Noah, “I tried to hold him as long as I could.”

  “We need more time, Marco,” Noah confirmed, “seven minutes.” Groaning, Marco swung onto the motorcycle and shot off toward the next stopping point.

  “All the cameras are set, and the microphone is under the front desk,” reported Neil from the doorway.


  “Gary is doing what he can. Let’s just hope Marco can get to the next point before they do.” Neil nodded.

  Corey stepped up to pass Neil the new sign-in book for their hotel guests. “Only the best for the St. Aloysius,” he quipped.

  “Talk about how to impress,” bantered Neil, carrying the book promptly out front.

  Marco pushed the police bike as fast as it could go, feeling adrenaline feed his system as he swerved in and out of traffic. He cut through two side streets and rode the sidewalk down another before finally pulling into an underground parking garage. There was no way Gary would beat him to the next point, he was sure of it. Even so, he yanked the sunglasses off his face and ran all out for his waiting truck.

  Jenny pulled open Neil’s laser engraver. It was the same machine they’d used to print the front desk book covers. She pulled several dark wood St. Aloysius labeled key chains out of it carefully. Clipping room keys to the wood as fast as possible, she checked Gary’s progress on the map anxiously. He was almost to the second point.

  “Noah,” she called, pulling him back from the front desk, knowing he’d want to monitor what was happening in the cab.

  Gary was driving fast, but not as fast as he’d been driving before. He almost hit another traffic jam, but cut across a side street, telling Dawson he knew a shortcut while complaining that traffic was getting worse all over the city. In the back seat, Dawson said nothing, simply sat looking both snide and petulant.

  Turning down another side street, Gary hoped again that Marco had made it to position in time. Sure enough, just in front of them, a large truck backed across the street, cutting off their exit. Gary pulled the cab up to the truck just in time to hear Marco choke out the engine. “Looks like they’ve stalled,” he commented.

  Dawson said nothing, but the frustrated look he gave Gary evidenced his murderous nature.

  “Oh, come on, come on!” Gary groaned aloud. He leaned out the window, shouting, “Come on, would you move it!” He could barely see Marco’s silhouette in the truck’s cab. “Move the bloody thing, will yer?” he shouted again.