by Josie Brown
Ben shifted his newspaper so that he could look down at Norm without being seen from passersby. “Where are they?”
Norm didn’t even look up. “The tall drink of water on your left, and the broad shouldered short guy, slightly to the right, who keeps looking at his watch. Don’t look up now, or they’ll know you’re onto them. More than likely CIA. Look hard and you’ll see the ear buds.”
Ben nodded slightly. “I’ve got to leave something behind. Can you hold onto it for me? I’ll make it worth your while.”
“For fifteen years I’ve been buffing your brogues. I’d say you’ve already paid off handsomely. That said, a five-star Yelp review wouldn’t hurt.”
“Consider it done.” Ben could have added If I survive this, but kept his mouth shut. “It’s a thumb drive. I’ll hand it over with a twenty. Put it somewhere safe, Norm. Many lives depend on it. I’m headed to the Post. Unless I, or a reporter with a specific codeword—‘waypoint’—shows up to collect it, hold onto it for dear life.”
Norm brushed the toe of Ben’s right shoe. “Then you better make the next Orange Line. It’ll be here in exactly fifteen seconds.”
“Thanks,” Ben muttered. Then, as he jumped out of his chair, he said in a normal voice, “Looks great, guy! Here, keep the change.”
Ben’s generous tip earned him a hardy handshake.
The ghosts were too busy hopping onto the same train car as Ben to notice the shoeshine man’s lightning speed sleight of hand as he slipped the thumb drive into the polish tin farthest from the right on the lowest shelf of his shoe shine stand. Although marked POLISH - WHITE PATENT LEATHER. The polish was long gone, and had been, for many years.
To Norm’s disappointment, go-go boots weren’t making a comeback anytime soon. At least his nostalgia paid off for Ben.
There were six stops between the South Capitol Metro and the McPherson Square stations. Ben saw the two men. Both were dressed in suits, like most of the other downtown commuters, but their earpieces were the giveaway.
Despite it being the week between Christmas and New Year’s, the platform was crowded. When the train stopped, everyone surged forward, including Ben.
Unfortunately, his stalkers were right behind him.
For that matter, they were too close for comfort—almost within arm’s length.
He went for the door farthest to the right in the hope of scrambling onto another car at the very last second, but the number of passengers hopping off made it an impossible feat. He had nowhere to go but into the car, with his stalkers on his heels.
The car was jammed so tightly that it seemed natural for the men to stand directly behind him. So close, that they could breathe on his neck.
So close that one of them easily injected him with some drug.
He seemed to freeze in place, unable to shout, to move, to warn the other passengers staring off into space that their placid lives would soon change forever unless they could read the fear in his eyes and help him escape from his captors. But avoiding eye contact in mass transit is a skill that has been honed by too many, Ben among them.
Had he been a crazy man, shouting about bombs and terrorists, would someone had come to his aid? No. The subway cops would have leaped on him.
And eventually, Smith and his men would have been summoned to take him away.
At the next stop, each of the men grabbed an arm and led him off the train.
He knew his next stop was Hell.
Chapter 51
By four o’clock that afternoon, Abby had paced the room so many times that she could have walked to Baltimore and back again. Where was Ben? Why hadn’t he called?
What if he were dead?
I can’t stay here forever, she reasoned. I have to get out of here…
But where can I go?
Deep down in her heart, she knew there was only one person who would understand, who could ensure their safety:
Uncle Preston.
She grabbed her purse, left the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside knob, and locked the door behind her.
“My dear, you’re hugging me so hard, I’m sure I can hear my bones crack.” Aunt Lavinia’s chiding was all in jest. In truth, it was the older woman who held onto her niece, as if she would never let go.
Abby didn’t mind at all. She too laughed, through a scrim of bittersweet tears.
“Speaking of bones, you are much too thin these days,” Aunt Lavinia muttered. “I know it’s because you’re upset. And your heart is broken. You’ve lost the dearest person in the world to you: your sister.” Lavinia squeezed her hand firmly. “And your husband.”
My God, she knows I’m Abigail.
Abby raised her head in order to look her aunt squarely in the eye. “How did you know?”
“You and Maddy may have looked like two peas in a pod, but to me, you’ve always been as different as night and day.” A thin smile lifted Lavinia’s lips slightly at their corners.
“Does Uncle Preston know, too?”
Lavinia’s eyes grew large. She was just about to speak when they heard the front door open.
The steps coming in their direction were slow, but strong. A moment later, Uncle Preston appeared in the living room entrance. Seeing his niece, he seemed genuinely relieved. “My dear girl! I’ve been so worried about you! Where have you been? Why haven’t you answered your cell phone?”
Before she could respond, he added, “Lavinia, if you don’t mind too terribly? I must have a private word with Maddy.”
Ah, so Lavinia never told him what she suspected, Abby realized.
Before Abby could say a word, Lavinia leaned in to kiss her. While doing so, she whispered, “No. Not yet. ”
But…why not?
Abby watched, perplexed, as her aunt made her way to the door, shutting it behind her.
Uncle Preston put his arm around her. “My dear, I realize these events have put you in such a delicate state.” He smiled broadly. “And I know Abby and Andy’s estates are merely the consolation prize. But I hope it gives you some comfort to know that, with their combined assets at your disposal, you’ll never want for anything.”
What the hell is he talking about?
“I’m sorry, Uncle Preston,” Abby stuttered, “I don’t understand...”
He held her hands, he drew her down on the settee with him. “Odd. I would have thought Andy had mentioned it to you. Of course he named you as his benefactor, should Abby predecease you.”
More proof that he had stayed in love with Maddy, even after his marrying me, Abby thought sadly.
“Buck up, darling. It’s the least you deserve, having kept him happy, all these years. Your discretion was truly the greatest part of valor.”
So, he knew of their affair—
And he approved of it.
She was so shocked at this revelation that she sunk back into the settee.
The next thing she knew, her uncle’s lips were on hers—
Disgusted, she shoved him away. “My God! What do you think you’re doing?”
Despite his obvious annoyance, Prescott laughed. “Don’t play coy, Maddy. I’m trying to comfort you.” His smile disappeared. “When Andrew was alive, you made it quite clear you weren’t going to be shared, and I honored your decision. But now that he’s gone, I presumed you’d want our relationship to pick up where we left off—”
“How…disgusting!” Abby stood up. “All these years…It was you! You’re the reason why she changed, why she was so sad, so jaded—why she resented me, all these years!”
“Calm down! Lavinia might hear you!” In a second he was beside her. He twisted her arm, then he jerked it up behind her back until the excruciating pain had her bending to his will, over the arm of the settee. “Who the hell are you talking about?” he hissed in her ear.
Her silence earned her another painful jerk. Finally she gasped, “Maddy, you deplorable sadist!”
The shock of her declaration caused him to loosen his grip for just a moment.
It was long enough for her to turn around and slap him.
Angrily he punched her in the gut. As she doubled over, he shoved her back down onto the settee. “Abigail?...Why, you silly little fool! Let me guess: it was Brinker’s idea that you transform yourself into the tart. Figures. He’s so obsessed with her.” Preston placed his hand between her legs. At the same time his fingers inched up on her thighs, the bile rose in her throat. “Has it been fun, playing the harlot? Has your grief so overwhelmed you that you let him have you?”
His hand found her panties. She felt his finger coil around and yank them down. “If you can be his Maddy, you can be mine, too—”
Her fist found its mark. The pain in his kidney weakened him enough that she could get out from under him.
Still aching from his punch, she stumbled to the door.
He threw out his foot and tripped her.
As she fell onto the parquet floor, she banged her head against the marble coffee table.
She was too groggy to understand all he was saying to her. But no, he was talking to someone else, on the phone. She heard him say something about having someone take her to Maddy’s loft…Ben’s DNA…Sordid sex play…and lovers found dead in a murder-suicide…
So they have Ben, too.
Poor, sweet, brave Ben.
She felt Preston’s lips upon hers again, and heard him whisper, “Once again, the wrong twin was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What a shame.”
Yes, what a damn shame.
Before she blacked out, her last thought was At least I’ll die in Ben’s arms.
This gave her some comfort.
Chapter 52
The only thing good about Ben being awake while Talbot’s Ghost Squad took him to their torture chamber was that he could at least identify where it was—some old millworks that squatted on the banks of the Potomac.
The worst thing about it was the amount of pain he had to endure as they punched him black and blue before taking a pair of pliers and ripping two nails from the fingers on his left hand.
Ben groaned, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of screaming.
Smith sat in a corner, reading a New Yorker. Every now and then he’d look up, but he was obviously disappointed that Ben wasn’t giving him more of a show. “Go ahead,” he nudged. “Yell all you want. No one can hear you here.”
“He’s a stubborn motherfucker, boss,” the short one said.
“We could always ’board him, boss, like his little Venezuelan buddy,” the taller of the two ghosts added. “Then we can drown him. Ooops!”
The Shorty one guffawed at that, but not Smith. He rose and walked over to Ben. From his pocket he pulled out a gun. It was small, and seemed to be made of sterling silver. The handle was covered with ornate embossing.
He held it in front of Ben’s face. “Beautiful scrollwork, isn’t it? Made in the 1930s, in Japan. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
Smith lowered the barrel until it was pointed at the bridge of Ben’s nose. When he pulled the trigger, Ben closed his eyes—
Only to hear a soft whoosh.
Ben opened one eye. A flame glowed and swayed on top of the gun’s barrel.
Smith laughed uproariously. His thugs joined in. When finally they quieted down, he took envelope containing the printed intel, and lit it on fire. “Ah, I love the smell of butane in the morning,” Smith murmured.
Ben winced as he watched it burn. The ashes wafted gently in a draft blowing in through a broken window pane before floating to the concrete floor.
Smith grabbed Ben’s hand and flipped it over, palm down. Then he yanked one of Ben’s bleeding fingers—the middle one—directly over the flame. When a droplet of blood hit the flame, it flared and sizzled.
The sound of it was as nauseating as the heat on the finger’s exposed nerve endings.
But not as painful. Smith nodded to his men. One slammed his wrist down on the table so that his hand hung over the edge. The other grabbed his fingers so that he couldn’t make a fist.
Smith held the flame of the lighter under his palm.
Instinctively Ben tried to yank his hand away from the heat, but the men held on tight.
“You know what they say,” Smith said, “You play with fire, you get burned. Now, tell me: where’s the thumb drive you showed those chicken shit DNC yutzes?”
“I…I left it with them.” Ben gagged at the smell of his own burning flesh.
“Don’t bullshit me. We’ve had their conference room bugged for over a year now. We know they were too stupid to take it. So, where is it?”
“When I saw your goons here were trailing me, I dropped it on the floor of the train when I jumped onto the Orange Line. I swear!” Ben’s words came out in pained gasps. “I thought they were just going to roll me. You know, lift the papers and run off at the next stop. I was going to grab it off the floor after they took off—”
Smith held the flame steady.
The tears rolled down Ben’s face as the heat seared his palm.
Finally Smith lowered the flame. “If what you say is true, you’re even stupider than you look. But unlike your Spic pal, I’ve got no reason to take you along on our little Vegas junket.”
Digits was still alive after all…
For now, anyway.
“I guess this is the end of the line for you.” He snapped has finger at the other men. “Make it look like he went in for a swim but forgot how to dog paddle.”
Shorty slapped electrical tape over Ben’s mouth and his wrists while Too Tall yanked Ben to his feet. They were both dragging him, kicking, toward the door when Smith’s cell phone rang.
The conversation was short and sweet—nothing Ben could hear, even if he had tried to listen instead of struggling to get out of their grip.
“Change of plan, boys,” Smith called out. “We’ve got the woman, too. Al’s holding her at her place.”
Ben groaned. Why hadn’t Abby stayed put?
“Make it look like they had too much fun. You know, like he choked her to death or something, then felt guilty about it and blew his brains out.” The thought of it made Smith’s lips widen into a blissful smirk.
Too Tall furrowed his brow. “Is she into kink?”
Smith sighed. “How the hell would I know? Okay, from the looks of her, maybe. But don’t presume anything. Stop off at the Pleasure Palace on Wisconsin. If they don’t have what you need, improvise. There’s a Home Depot down the block.” He started out the door. “I’ve got a plane to catch. Text me after the extermination. ”
He looks like the skull on the poison bottle, Ben thought as the door slammed shut behind him.
Shorty shouldn’t have bent down to tie his shoe.
The metal bat came down so fast and so hard on his skull that he didn’t have time to scream.
Like Ben, Too Tall heard what sounded like a sack of potatoes hitting the asphalt. Instinctively he turned around to assess the situation. When he did, the bat cracked his nose like glass. But before he could scream, it slammed into his gut.
As he collapsed to the ground, the air went out of him, like a balloon with a slow leak.
Ben tried to scramble away, but was jerked back onto his feet—
By Fred.
“They told me your car went into the Potomac,” Ben gasped.
“It did. Unfortunately, it can’t swim, but I can.” Fred smiled broadly. “Here, help me put these guys in the trunk in case Smith comes back before we have a chance to get the hell out of here.”
“Smith? That’s his name? Not so original.” Ben grabbed Too Tall by the chest and dragged him to the back of the car. But before shoving him into the trunk, he scooped the man’s cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Fred. “Smith told him to text after the ‘extermination’.” The word sent a shiver up Ben’s spine.
Fred trotted over to Shorty, heaved him over his shoulder, then walked back to the trunk and tossed him in as well.
Ben jumped into the passe
nger seat. Despite the throbbing pain in his hand, he felt elated. He would have hugged Fred if he wasn’t afraid his friend would drive into a pole.
Or punch him.
Then he remembered Abby.
“Fred, they’ve got Abby! They’re holding her at Maddy’s place—”
Fred stared at him. “You mean, that wasn’t Maddy at the funeral?”
Ben shook his head. “It was Maddy who….who died with Andy. They were having an affair.”
Fred didn’t say a word.
Ben slumped down. “You knew, then.”
“Not exactly. I knew they were an item, years before his marriage.” He shrugged. “Just before I met Abby, Andy swore me to secrecy. He told me that what was in the past was just that: old news, history. He didn’t want to cause a rift between the sisters. He told me Maddy wanted it that way, too. She tried not to show it, but anyone who’d known them before could see it.” Fred hesitated. “I presume Abby knows, too?”
“Yes. She took it pretty hard. She loved both of them, so of course it was quite a shock.” Ben frowned. “They’re holding her, at Maddy’s place. These goons were supposed to take me there, so that they could stage a murder-suicide.”
“If we had time, we could do the same to them. They’d make quite a tableau.”
“We don’t. At least, not according to the plans you downloaded into the thumb drive. Operation Flamingo is set to go off in Las Vegas, New Year’s Eve, just as the clock strikes midnight.”
“So, Digits was able to decipher the damn thing?”
“Yes—and just in time, too. Abby and I escaped with it, but unfortunately they got him. Smith mentioned they’ll be planting Digits right in the middle of Operation Flamingo.”
“Not if I can help it.” Fred turned onto Dupont Circle. “So where is it now?”
