Deadly Dossier

by Josie Brown

  He had a new lucky number.

  Jack took the key. As he suspected, when he got to his room, Dominic had one of his other guests waiting for him there.

  In a breathless whisper, she exclaimed,” Why, hello! My name is Delilah, and I’ve been very, very naughty!” She pointed to the whip at the foot of the bed.

  As ready, willing and able as she obviously was to assume the position of a chastened waif, he sent her down the hall, to Dominic’s room.

  He was glad he did not share a wall with his friend. Tonight, he needed his sleep.

  Tomorrow, the battle against the Quorum would begin in earnest.

  Chapter 23

  Disciplinary Actions

  Case File #415516-P, on the Extermination of Franz Stein, a.k.a., Frankie “The Monster” Stein, a.k.a, “Frankenstein” (the preferred nickname of those who are closest to him), and the titular head of California’s most active neo-Nazi terror cell, “Nazis for the Ultimate Terror of Society” (or NUTS for short, no pun intended):

  Filing Agent: Donna Stone

  The target entered the Lodi, California 24-Hour De-Lish Donut Shoppe at 02:14, a locale, which he openly frequented in the early morning hours, and in which I had secured an undercover position.

  At the time, I was the only one behind the counter. The other waitress who is usually on the overnight shift wasn’t feeling too well and went home early. (Okay, yeah, thanks to the few drops of Visine I’d put in her iced tea.)

  Frankenstein was always a big flirt with whoever was behind the counter, but that night, I made it extra easy for him to turn on the charm. In other words, I dimpled up, batted my eyelashes, and thrust Pixie and Dixie practically in his face.

  Needless to say, he was smitten.

  There was just enough hanky-panky for me to spike his dirty hippy. (Note to Ryan: Cross my heart and hope to die, this does not, repeat, does not refer to any pal he may have had along, but is in fact the nickname of his drink of choice, a Chai tea with a shot of espresso, and therefore no provocation for an unauthorized hit.) As hoped, the diuretic had him running to the little boy’s room, allowing me enough time to check the text messages on his iPhone, which he’d left on the counter. (His cell’s case is adorned with skull-and-crossbones. Why am I not surprised?)

  The location of the meet with the Russian arms dealer, Yuri Petrovich, was in fact verified.

  Unfortunately, the suspect reappeared just at this moment.

  Okay, I’ll admit it—all hell broke loose.

  Since you’re reading this, you can guess who drove away on a brand new Harley Street Bob.

  (Well, I had to make it look like he was killed for something, didn’t I? Can I keep it? Please? Pretty please, with sugar on top? JUST KIDDING.)

  Unfortunately, in my haste to leave the kill zone, I left Frankenstein’s iPhone on the counter. I left no prints, but I’m pretty certain the phone was open to the text about the meet-and-greet with Yuri.

  When his next-of-kin (cough! Fellow skinheads) collect his belongings, do you think they’ll have his cell’s security code? Hope not. I’d hate for that little party to be called off, since the mission directive is to be there for the arms exchange, and the sanctioned extermination of Yuri.

  –D. Stone

  [Agent Disciplinary Report, in reference to Case File #415516-P]

  Agent Stone was successful in the extermination, as well as in gathering intel about the upcoming rendezvous between NUTS and a known Russian arms dealer.

  Despite this, while her asides are quite colorful and entertaining in their nature, it has been strongly requested (yet again) that she forego any unnecessary declarations that may compromise Acme’s ability to protect itself and its clients from political and/or legal complications.

  As for the reference made to the potentially illegal confiscation of the target’s means of transportation, for the record, the property referenced above (“Harley Street Bob”) is now in the hands of local law enforcement.

  —Ryan Clancy, Director, Acme Corporation

  FILE NOTATION

  To: Ryan Clancy, Director, Acme Corporation

  From: Jack Craig, Mission Leader, Project Quorum

  Told you she’d be trouble! —Jack

  PS: You owe me that Benjamin.

  “We’ve got nothing,” Arnie declared as he tossed Pinky Ring’s dossier in front of Jack and Ryan. “His IDs are all fake. I broke the security code on his cell phone, but a lot of good that did us. It had a kill button, on a timer. When he didn’t respond with the right code within an hour, that damn thing fried its memory card.”

  Jack shook his head. “Bullshit. There’s got to be something.”

  Arnie shrugged. “Okay, yeah, there’s something. But nothing legit. The room key belongs to a suite in Claridge’s. He checked in under an assumed name. He was careful to leave no prints in the room, not even on the toilet seat. I found a couple of pubic hairs and sent them over to Interpol to see if they can do a DNA trace.”

  “Good luck with that,” Jack muttered. “They may not have even been his.”

  Ryan raised a brow. “Is that a knock against the hotel’s cleaning staff?”

  Without thinking, Jack tossed the dead man’s ring with one hand, only to catch it in the fist of his other one. “Pinky Ring could have made up for the fact that he wasn’t a lady’s man by buying a playmate or two. If you found three strands of hair, they could well belong to three different women.”

  “Too much information,” Emma muttered as she clicked away furiously on her computer. Suddenly she gave a long, low whistle. “Hello, Kitty! I have a facial recognition match on his morgue picture with an old photo from East Germany. He was a Stasi colonel who disappeared after the country’s reunification with West Germany.”

  “Way to go, new girl.” Jack winked at Emma. She ducked her head, but not before he saw her whole face go red.

  Seeing Arnie frown, Jack coughed through a chuckle. The dude needs to grow a pair and ask her out, he thought to himself.

  “One more ghost the War Crimes Commission can put to rest,” Ryan muttered.

  “Tap into London’s Ring of Steel,” Jack suggested. “Scan the surveillance feed at Claridge’s, for his check-in date. That way, we’ll be able to trace his path since he arrived in London, and from where.” He tossed the ring up in the air again. “We can also see where else he’s been since his arrival in London. Maybe it will lead us to information on the stolen microdot.”

  “Jeez, Jack! You were right! The hairs came from three different women!”

  Jack was joking when he made the assumption. Hearing he’d been right was reason to pause. He forgot about the ring to stare at what Arnie had pulled up on his computer screen.

  When the ring came down, it hit the table with a loud clack—

  Then landed on the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

  The crest popped off, revealing a tiny cell phone memory card.

  Everyone stared down at it.

  “Bingo,” Jack murmured. He scooped up the memory card and handed it to Arnie. “Care to do the honors?”

  Arnie popped it into Pinky Ring’s phone, replacing the fried memory card. While he crossed the fingers of one hand, he entered the security code with the other.

  He hooted when the phone’s security wall disappeared.

  Quickly, he downloaded the phone’s contact directory, and its text messages.

  Arnie clicked onto the phone’s photo scroll. A digital photo appeared. “He has a picture of the Hollywood sign, here in LA.” Despite swiping the screen a few times, the photo stayed put. Arnie frowned. “Seems it’s the only picture he’s taken.”

  “Let me see.” Jack stood over his shoulder to scrutinize the screen. “It’s stock photography. I’ve seen that same shot in a million ads.”

  Arnie’s eyes got big. “It is, but it isn’t. See this?” He pointed to the second O on the Hollywood sign. “If you look closely, you’ll see that it looks a bit wavy, somewhat out of focus. The
re’s a message buried within this image.”

  Emma rolled her chair close to Arnie’s so she could see the screen, too. “Wow! You mean, some sort of steganography?”

  Arnie nodded and turned to Ryan. “I’ll need to decode it. If cipher text is involved, it’ll go faster with Emma’s help.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Get on it, you two.” He noticed Jack stifling a yawn. “You came straight over from London, so I presume you’ve been up more than twenty-four hours. This may take an hour or so. If you need to grab some shut-eye, feel free to go back to your apartment.”

  Jack shook his head. “The moment I do, you’ll call me back here. Arnie’s pretty quick. I’ll just grab an empty cubicle or something.”

  He spoke too soon. Acme’s offices were buzzing, a veritable hive of nervous activity. Every cubicle held a desk operative, furtively murmuring into a headset to some agent out in the field, perhaps in peril.

  Then he remembered the rooftop garden.

  It was a smart move on Ryan’s part, setting up a quiet space where an Acme employee could go—if only for a few minutes, to take a breath of fresh air under the perennially turquoise sky as they gazed down onto the broad boulevard below, where normal people strolled by, going about their average, uneventful days—before crashing back into the reality of a very dangerous world.

  He slipped out the fire exit, taking the steps two at a time.

  The bench he chose was flanked by a box hedge on three sides, and faced the ocean.

  He stared out at it for maybe a moment, before he fell fast asleep.

  Jack awoke to the sound of her laugh.

  He opened one eye and glanced around, just to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming—about her, in fact, as was sometimes the case, more often than he liked to admit.

  “Yeah, Ryan, I get it. When I rode off on the bike, I went too far.” Her tone was anything but contrite. In fact, it was downright playful.

  “Donna, you need to take this seriously! It could have blown the mission wide open.” Jack could hear Ryan pacing across the rooftop’s flagstone patio. “The skinheads are out for blood. The Lodi police are dragging the river, searching for the body of one ‘Doreen Sugarbaker,’ a.k.a, your alias, and the doughnut shop was left in a shambles!” He stopped to catch his breath. “To top it off, you stole the target’s Harley—for a goddamn joyride!”

  “Sure, why not? It’s one sweet Harley—twin cam 96, six-speed cruise drive. Can you imagine popping a wheelie on that thing? I couldn’t do it. I’m just a slip of a girl.” She paused then added with a seductive drawl, “Come on, admit it—when you saw me pull up on it at the rendezvous site, weren’t you tempted to give it a try? I mean, after those couple of years you spent undercover with the Aryan Nation—”

  “How the hell did you know about that?” Jack had never heard Ryan lose his cool until just that moment.

  She snickered. “Whoa, don’t get your tighty-whities in a wad! You know what they say: ‘Dossiers are meant to be read.’”

  “I don’t have a dossier!”

  “Of course you don’t,” she agreed sweetly. “At least, not here at Acme. But the one the CIA has on you is, oh my gawd, humongous! Remember last summer, when you introduced me to your buddy who runs the CIA’s National Clandestine Service? Well, let me put it this way—the dude can’t hold his tequila. All it took was a little Truth or Dare, and presto! Your file miraculously appeared on his computer screen.”

  “Donna Stone, whenever you pull stunts like these, I regret the day I hired you.” Jack could only imagine Ryan seething through clenched teeth.

  “If it’s any consolation, my dare was a lot worse. I had to swallow the worm at the bottom of the bottle.” She giggled. “Ryan, seriously, if you keep frowning like that, no amount of Botox will get rid of those creases on your forehead.”

  Dead silence.

  “I’m sorry, boss. Truly I am.” Her words were weighted with sadness. “Not just for snooping into your file, but for breaking protocol with Frankenstein, too. I guess I felt so…oh, I don’t know—alive after that encounter! One moment he’s got his hands around my throat and I could feel the air leaving my body. All I could think about was how many people he’s killed or hurt, and how many more would die, if I didn’t stop him. Then the next thing I know, I’m stabbing him in the jugular with a steak knife.” She paused. “Hey don’t give me that look. It’s not as if he didn’t deserve it.”

  “I have half a mind to take you off this mission, Donna. You’re a loose cannon, and I can’t afford that.”

  “But you won’t, because the arms purchase between Yuri and the skinheads goes down tomorrow, and you don’t have time to bring in another assassin, let alone one who looks as great as me in a tight skirt and a push-up bra.”

  There was a long pause as Ryan faced the reality she’d just laid out.

  Suddenly, she laughed, “But hey, it’s not like I pulled a Jack Craig, or anything.”

  What the hell does that mean? Jack wondered. Is she saying I’m some sort of a lone wolf—a wild card? My God, I’m not an emotional train wreck! She is!

  All of a sudden, he regretted not making a stronger case against Ryan hiring her.

  He certainly regretted he’d ever felt sorry for her.

  Most of all, he hated the fact he’d fallen in love with her.

  Well, now that he knew what she thought of him, he’d certainly stay far away from the lovely, but lethal, Mrs. Stone.

  “In fact, Donna, what you did is exactly something Jack would do—and I did exactly to you what I’d do to him under the same circumstances. I’ve put a disciplinary report in the mission file.”

  “But—but I’ve got two of those already this year! A third one means I’ll be docked my year-end bonus!”

  “You should have thought about that before you took your little joyride,” Ryan growled. “You’re lucky you’re so good at what you do. And by that, I don’t mean baking pies.”

  “Speaking of which, I’ll be baking some, right after the mission. I’ll be sure to save one for you.”

  “Yeah, okay, whatever—but the disciplinary report stays in the file.”

  She laughed. “We’ll see. It’s your favorite—cherry.” From the click of her heels on the flagstone, Jack could tell she was walking away.

  She’s got him wrapped around her finger, Jack thought. He shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes as he contemplated the real Donna Stone, as opposed to the one who existed in his fantasies.

  The real Donna was so obviously angry. And damaged. And still in mourning for Carl.

  He opened his eyes to find Ryan scowling down at him. “Enjoy the entertainment?”

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Jack explained. “I came up here to catch a few rays along with some shut-eye.”

  Ryan waved away the excuse. “She’s a pistol, that one.”

  Jack snorted. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Speaking of which, if my memory serves me right, it’s your turn to pay up. ”

  Ryan acknowledged the declaration with a nod. “What can I say? She’s fearless. Twenty-eight executive actions in four years, and most were in hostile environments. She’s motivated—”

  “For all the wrong reasons,” Jack broke in. “Admit it, Ryan.”

  “You’re right. But the reasons don’t really matter, as long as she does the job.” He glanced up as a plane droned above them, arching out over the Pacific as it ascended from LAX. “Great news! Arnie cracked the cipher in the photo. From all indications, the Quorum is planning something big—here, in LA. As you know, we’ve been expecting some kind of domestic disturbance for at least a few months, what with all the chatter we’ve been picking up. Now that we know where, we’ll need all hands on deck. By the way, I think it’s time you formally meet Donna.”

  Jack’s heart leaped in his chest. As nonchalantly as he could, he muttered, “Sure, whatever works.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. Because I’d like you to go deep cover.”
r />   “Where?”

  “I just told you—here, in LA—”

  Jack let that sink in. It would be difficult, being based in the same town as her. But if he played his cards right, he could keep out of her way.

  “—As Carl Stone. You’re the right height and build. And the right coloring. In any event, there are no known photos of him.”

  Jack’s eyes went wide. He shook his head. “Wait…what? No, Ryan! Bad idea. Very, very bad idea. She’s…she’s not ready for that!”

  “She’ll have to be, if we’re to smoke out the Quorum. In the meantime, we’ll keep her on a need-to-know basis. Whatever they think she has, they want it badly enough to plant a cell or two, specifically in Hilldale.”

  “I’ve combed through that place on my hands and knees. Whatever it is, it ain’t there, trust me.”

  “Even if it’s not, if it looks as if Carl is back, they’ll come calling. That’s reason enough for you to take on his identity.”

  “And all the more reason why she won’t want me around. She’s got children, remember?”

  “I say you’re wrong. More than anyone else, she wants the Quorum dead and buried—despite what she learns because of it.”

  “She doesn’t want it any more than I do.”

  “Yes, with good reason.” Ryan didn’t have to say it:

  Because of Jack, the Quorum knew too much already.

  All the more reason they had to find the microdot before it fell into the wrong hands.

  If Kiril’s murder proved anything, the Quorum was the strongest and the smartest adversary Acme had faced to date.

  Jack sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it—but only if you’re ordering me to do so.”

  “I am.” Ryan rewarded him with a faint grimace that always passed for a smile. “Not that I look forward to breaking the news to her. I’ll hold off a day or two until after the arms sales mission. In the meantime, you can close up shop in Paris.”

  “Sure.” Jack couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all. “I’ll stick with my bet that she’ll refuse to go along with it.”