On The Black: (A CIA Thriller)

by Theo Cage

  Addie and her pilot were in the wind, but Sumner had a lead. A real company with a real address.

  Only one problem. If he called his boss to approve a flight to D.C., he would have to explain everything. It was a long drive, but sleep, as his mother used to say, was overrated.

  CHAPTER 53

  Bismarck, N.D.

  THE LIGHT ON STATE STREET had just flipped to green when Rice saw Addie standing on the other side of the highway. She was wearing new clothes - black tights and a grey skirt. The beige car coat was gone, replaced by a red leather jacket. She was carrying a new backpack.

  He was pleased to see she was OK, but the timing set off alarm bells. If it was this easy to find her, Special Ops agents could be just around the corner looking for him. And he could never completely ignore the possibility of a setup, although he couldn’t imagine Addie complicit with someone like Kreegar.

  Rice pulled over and zipped down his window. She was already jaywalking her way across the boulevard, watching the oncoming traffic.

  “Addie!” he yelled and she startled and tossed her head around searching for the source of the voice. She seemed especially jumpy. When her eyes landed on him, she squinted. He waved her over but she hesitated. Then he remembered the shave and haircut.

  “Like the new look? It’s Rice,” he shouted.

  “Hey, stranger,” she said, smiling now. Rice watched her cross his lane. No bruises, no limp. Obviously the crash hadn’t done any serious damage.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. She stepped up to his door, one hand on her new bag. She cocked her head.

  “You knew?” She meant her stowing away on the helicopter.

  “That bird flew like a pregnant elephant,” he said.

  She made a face. “Hey. I’m not that fat.”

  “Without you, I’d be in South America by now.” That was an exaggeration, but she had chopped several hundred miles off his actual destination.

  “You didn’t really want to leave me back there with that army of smelly gorillas, did you?”

  “We could both be dead,” said Rice.

  She looked down at the ground and kicked the gravel with her boot. “I missed you.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  She pushed her hair away from her face. She had it down today, the wind whipping the long bangs back. “I’m sorry. But that was an awesome getaway.” Rice gave her a long look. He didn’t believe anything she said, but maybe that was just him.

  He did believe that everything you see leaves a mark. And they both had scars they weren’t sharing. He unlocked the doors.

  “Get in.” he said. She did. “Do we need to pick up any personal effects?”

  “I have a change of clothes at a motel. But I can buy new clothes and a toothbrush at Wal-Mart. Where are we headed?”

  “Chicago,” Rice said. She nodded, looking satisfied. Rice guessed she was probably thinking a big city was a better place to hide. Because people who use assumed names were usually hiding from something. “And where did you go after the crash?”

  “When I saw that woman looking after you, I figured you were okay.” Rice smiled at the memory of Britt. What he didn’t tell Addie was he had to use a risky landing maneuver to protect her. Rice planted the plane nose first to protect the cargo hold in the back and ended up crunching the nose in the dirt and driving framing structure into his abdomen. Britt told him he was very lucky. He had missed puncturing a kidney by less than half an inch. Serendipity again.

  “So you hitchhiked into Bismarck. Why not move on?”

  “One place is as good as another. Bismarck seems like a friendly town.”

  “Who’s looking for you?” Rice asked, back on the highway and moving with the flow on route 94. Addie stared out the windshield. “If I knew, I might be able to help.”

  “Just cause Slugger’s banged up doesn’t mean he’ll stop looking for me.”

  “That gang won’t leave their drug business behind. You were in trouble before you even met Frank and started serving hash browns at his restaurant.”

  Addie shook her bangs at him. “I’m willing to bet your story is way more interesting than mine. Were you going to help me with another of your James Bond machines? I spent a lot of time thinking about that helicopter. Were you delivering it to someone? Are you some new age weapons broker?”

  “So it must be one of the largest military manufacturers or some startup invention like Space-X. And it must be worth millions, but I don’t care how rich you are. You can’t just buy an experimental military plane on line using PayPal. So that would make you ex-military. That would give you the right contacts. It also explains the muscles and lack of flab for an old guy. And you’re handy around guns too.

  “So here’s my question. How does a soldier, even someone from one of the elite divisions, get so rich? Unless they stole it. And if you did, that would explain you looking like you’ve been a hermit for a long time. So how did I do?”

  CHAPTER 54

  Washington, D.C.

  TRENT RAZER HAD A TROUBLED FURROW running across his forehead as deep as a knife wound. He stared down at his smartphone, looking perplexed.

  He just received a text message. To his secure phone from an unknown source. The only people who had this kind of access were his brother and a handful of key clients. He didn’t recognize the name. Sumner. And he was puzzled why this individual had made no attempt to disguise his identity. The message was simple.

  I know where the pilot is.

  Trent's fingers froze above the Blackberry keyboard. Pilot? Did this Sumner mean Rice? And how the hell could he make a connection between the missing black ops agent and their company, Global Imperatives? He was tempted to not even respond - but his curiosity was stronger than his paranoia.

  I don’t know what you are talking about.

  Sure you do. The guy who piloted that weird copter out of Whiskey Gulch.

  Shit. This had to be somebody who was there. But all his brother had seen were bikers. And how could a biker possibly know about his company. Trent’s jaw was already sore from biting down so hard.

  Who are you?

  Good try buddy. Finding you wasn’t easy. Finding me will take you forever.

  Now what?

  We meet. We trade information.

  Before that happens we need to confirm your bona fides.

  Fuck that. Name a place and a time or I will take this up the line.

  Trent didn’t want to admit it but the threat had gravity. No one wanted to be out of the loop in Washington - that was like a kind of waking death. If someone went to Kreegar with knowledge of Rice’s whereabouts, the Razers would be out of the contract in a nanosecond.

  Where are you?

  Not important. Name a place and a time - a restaurant in Washington. Please nothing vegetarian. And you’re buying.

  CHAPTER 55

  Chicago

  RICE HAD NEVER BEEN AT EASE in a large shopping mall.

  How many times in his life had he run into someone he either didn't want to see? In a fashion mall near the Arc De Triomphe in Paris, shopping for shoes with his wife, he literally walked into a man he was responsible for sending to prison for ten years. An Afghani who trained death squads. Rice saw him instinctively reach for a knife that he carried under his arm. Then Rice saw his wife and two of his daughters. He gave Rice a forced smile, raised both hands and walked on. In Beverly Hills, Rice recognized a former member of the Russian KGB buying an over-priced pair of sunglasses. He was currently on the FBI's top ten most wanted list.

  Shopping malls were bad karma and the Fashion Outlet in Chicago was no different - like a train station for dangerous aliens - all of them feeling protected by their apparent anonymity, hiding behind odd T-shirts, ugly summer shoes and garish shorts they would never wear anywhere else.

  Rice had this feeling before. Like his luck was about to run out. Every assassin had a quota. His was on empty.

  Rice had his eyes on Addie, who was trying o
n jeans at the back of Jean Junction. She seemed so happy around people. Rice was fascinated by her charm, but at the same time slightly skeptical. He knew that any of these people here could turn on you in a second if the circumstances were right and you could never tell which ones they were without a program.

  You learn this first in the sandbox, when a smiling grandmother hands you a gift-wrapped box concealing C-4. Or a little girl tugs on your arm so she can move you into the sight of a local sniper, who pays the children in gumdrops.

  He’d seen hundreds of examples of carefully crafted duplicity. Can you trust anyone? Rice preferred the sociopaths. They were bad liars and they loved to watch the look on your face when they told you what they really thought about you. They felt it was their duty somehow. But at least you understood each other.

  Rice was hunting for sociopaths today. It was a kind of hobby for him. He was bored, waiting while Addie tried on dozens of different pairs of jeans, all of them looking exactly the same to him. He was leaning against a brick divider between a t-shirt store and a luggage shop - playing the psycho game.

  How do you find sociopaths in the mall? Or anywhere for that matter? It's really a process of elimination.

  First, if they're not well dressed you can immediately scratch them off the list. Sociopaths, by their very nature, feel they are above everyone else. That awareness drives certain behaviors. For example, they tend to dress the part. That doesn't have to mean a suit and tie. It could mean pressed Dockers, a branded golf shirt and in Rice’s experience, always expensive shoes. Rockport’s were a dead giveaway. Rice didn’t believe that all people who wear Rockport’s were Machiavellian. But if they’re a sociopath in the public, they always look like their mother dressed them. And maybe did.

  Sociopaths had told Rice that they feel other people can recognize their lack of human feeling just by looking into their eyes. This has been proven false. But the stigma remains. So designer shades are a requirement as well.

  Rice also had a theory that sociopaths moved a certain way, because they remained alert to others at all times and often felt like predators walking among prey. They seldom slouched. Sometimes they would move quickly through a crowd if they had a deadline to meet. If they did, notice how they don't apologize when they nudge people aside or step on their feet. They'll smile sometimes - like a chimpanzee caught stealing somebody’s coconut - but typically they just barge through like they own the place.

  In crowds, they have another problem. They don't like to be touched. If they are passing by someone close, Rice had seen them lean back, hiding a grimace or a look of disgust, like a butcher plying his way through a stockyard of dirty and smelly cows. Once you've seen that guarded look, you will never forget it.

  The first psycho of the day was a tall, statuesque blond in her early forties wearing what Rice guessed was a very expensive dress, fashionable pumps and a $400 pair of sunglasses. She had a look of true purpose etched across a beautiful face. But anyone watching her couldn't help but feel like something was missing, like she had a frontal lobotomy thrown in with the skilled nose job and the tummy tuck. She cruised past him, her sculpted nose in the air, leaving a wake of high priced cologne.

  Rice didn’t hate her. He actually quite liked psychopaths. If he had a chance to lunch with Barack Obama or Hannibal Lector – he’d go with the fava bean guy. The lunch would be far from boring - as long as Rice wasn't on the menu.

  Then Rice spotted the second sociopath of the day. He was a medium-height spark plug, wearing a shiny sharkskin suit with long black hair slicked back, a barely discernible bulge under his left arm pit. A socio who's packing! How interesting. Rice was fascinated by the way he moved, like a shark patrolling for food. Rice felt a tingle slide across his back. This guy was dangerous. He couldn't take his eyes off him.

  At the very moment he passed in front of Rice, Addie came bouncing out of the jean store, clipping his arm with her bag of purchases. He gave her a look of surprise. His do you know who I am look? How dare you disturb my stroll? Then he stopped and lowered his glasses with one stubby finger. Rice thought at first that he was stuck by her beauty and wanted a better look. But that didn't seem to fit based on his expression. He was taking a picture with his eyes. He reached under his coat and slid out his cell phone. Speed dial. One press. Then he was talking to someone, his eyes never leaving Addie.

  Rice had turned sideways to him as Addie stepped up to show him her haul, not wanting to get his attention. Then the thug took a picture of her with his phone as surreptitiously as possible, his head down now, working the buttons to email this to someone.

  “Don't look up. Someone has his eye on you. Just talk to me and casually turn your head and point back to the store.” She did a perfect turn, like she was participating in a casting call. Then she turned to Rice and frowned.

  “He looks like a goon. A mobster.”

  “Do you know him?” Rice asked.

  “I hope not,” she said. Rice thought that was an interesting response. Not a no or never seen him before or nice suit, just I hope not. “And he’s zooming me,” she said.

  “What?”

  “He took a picture and now he’s zooming in with his fingers on the screen. He’s getting a close up. Asshole” She looked strained, the energy leaking out of her body.

  “Why would he do that?” asked Rice, still turned away from Sharkskin.

  Addie shrugged. Then she pointed at her eyes.

  Rice frowned at her. Complicated girl, he thought. Did people sneak shots of her in public because of her unique eyes? Or was this more than that.

  Rice turned to face Sharkskin who was moving on. “Stay here. Don't move. I'm going to follow the guy once he leaves. If I'm not back in 30 minutes, go back to the hotel. I'm serious. This guy is trouble.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Chicago

  WHERE ARE YA?” asked Sergio Falco, abrupt as always.

  “Near Land’s End. That yuppie place,” said Sergio’s foot soldier, Nello.

  “I need you back at the Gap. Now.”

  “Okay. Okay. Gimme like five.”

  “I ain't got five. I got a chick here you need to keep your eye on for me. I sent you a pic.”

  Nello checked the photo on his phone as he walked. “Hey. Very juicy. What's up?”

  “Enzo's been looking for this girl for months. She's worth serious money. She's standin' across from Jean Junction, next to AT&T. Don't let her out of your sight.”

  “I'm almost there.”

  Nello had started with Sergio just after he got out of high school. His uncle had suggested he get into shylocking: loan sharking. The money was pretty good and the cops didn't have as much of a hard-on for the money guys as they did for the drug families and prostitution rings. Sergio controlled all of the lending in the area of the Fashion mall. If anyone else tried to work his territory or the surrounding district, they would get beat soundly. What they called mock executions. And Nello would be one of the guys doing the beating. They weren't killers. You didn't have to risk twenty years in maximum security to protect your lending racket. Just rough the guy up good, loosen some teeth, swell up his nose and eyes - he would become a walking advertisement for not fucking around in Sergio's territory - or being slow to pay.

  Nello was beefy, but he worked at being fast. He spent 90 minutes every day in Gold's Gym down the block. Sergio was kind of soft in the middle - his gut was starting to go like a lot of older guys. Nello would never say anything, but that's what he never wanted to be. One of those soft guys who eventually gets sloppy and has to watch someone else step in and take over his corner. Unless it was Nello of course. Nello had plans. Big plans. But he had to be patient and not screw up.

  He ran down the middle of the mall spoke that centered on the GAP. Then he slowed down and smoothed his hair. He saw her right away. She was tall for a woman, especially the broads he knew. She looked like a cheerleader - long muscular legs, a sweet body, blond hair in a ponytail. She wasn't avoiding eye con
tact with people around her. She wasn't one of those shy girls with her head down and her shoulders slumped. She was chewing gum and leaning back against a brick wall, looking like she owned the place.

  Nello sauntered past her, conflicted. He was told to keep an eye on her, but he also wanted to catch her attention. He couldn't help it. She was attractive and he figured he was a good catch. He had a ripped stomach and a strong chin. What else could a woman want? He had a dragon tattooed across his shoulders and down his back that girls loved to touch. Wait till she sees the dragon, he thought. She’ll melt like a snow cone.

  Nello slid up to within a few feet of Sergio, still talking on the phone, his eyes on the girl.

  “I’ve got to go pick up seven G's plus the juice from the Benson brothers,” said Sergio. Then I'm going to lock it up in the safe in my car and come back, so we can watch her together.”

  “How do you know this is the girl he's looking for?”

  “What are ya' doing? Staring at her tits? Look at her eyes.” Nello lowered the phone and squinted down the hall.

  “She's got great eyes... but...”

  “You're too far away. Don't move though, I don't want you to fuckin’ spook her. She has one green eye and one blue eye. It's very rare. Enzo called it something. Hetero … heterochromia or something.”

  “No shit!”

  “So Enzo is hot to find this chick. Early twenties. Blond hair. Five feet seven - slim build. With two different colored eyes. How many of those are around, do ya’ think?”

  “I got it, Sergio. What did she do to piss him off?”

  “She's a witness. And the Feds are looking for her too. So don't screw up,” snarled Sergio.