by Vivian Leigh
She walked toward the bathroom. Corwin watched her go, his eyes glued to her big, beautiful ass. The sashay of her hips and the wobble of her ass was nearly enough to make him hard again. He cleaned himself off and pulled on his boxers. A quick check of his jacket ensured that his pistol was still within easy reach.
He had another eight hours until he needed to leave for the airport, and it never hurt to be prepared, just in case someone came through the door later in the evening.
***
Three Weeks Later
Kris’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She slipped it out and checked the caller ID. Unknown. She swiped her thumb on the face and lifted it to her ear. “This is Kris.”
“It’s Control. We need to talk in person.”
“How soon?” It was barely 9:00 AM and she wanted to finish her jog before meeting Corwin for lunch.
“Yesterday.”
Kris sighed. “Alright. Where?”
“Stay where you are.” The phone went dead.
Stay where I am? She looked around the park. A pair of boys with Frisbees played in the distance. A middle-aged woman with a dog strolled closer. Control wasn’t a woman, and she doubted he was young enough to pass as college aged. She wiped her brow with the sweatband on her wrist.
The phone buzzed again. “Yes?” Kris said.
“Head north to Arnell Street.”
“Okay.” The stupid spy games pissed her off. Most of the time working for the Agency was a lot of sitting around and waiting. Jumping through stupid hoops when she was on home soil felt like something engineered just to irritate.
“Do you see the green cab across the street?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m in the car behind it.”
Kris laughed. “The smart car?”
“Yes.”
The latest iteration of her controller sat in a two seat car that wasn’t much bigger than a decent sofa. He looked younger than Corwin, and wore a suit that had to have come from a second hand shop. She dropped into the seat and pulled the door closed. Her knees bumped against the dash.
“What do you have for me?” she asked.
“Male, Mediterranean, operating on American soil.”
“Pictures?”
“Negative. Everything is SigInt at this point.”
“You want a termination on American soil based on SigInt?”
“We have corroboration for external sources.”
“But no pictures?”
“Right.”
Something didn’t add up. You couldn’t assassinate someone based on intercepted phone calls, and definitely not on American soil. Al-Assak was an exception. “I don’t want it.”
“What?”
“I don’t want the job.”
“That’s not an option.”
“Of course it’s an option. It’s always an option.”
“Not this time.” He passed her an envelope. “If you refuse to take this mission, your contract with will be terminated.”
She opened the envelope and looked through the pictures inside. Pictures of her. Pictures of her victims. In some cases, pictures of her in close proximity to the victims. Egypt wasn’t likely to forgive and forget. Israel definitely wouldn’t. The Mossad was funny like that.
She glared at Control. “Real cute.”
“This comes from above. I’m sorry.”
“Right.” She shoved the envelope back into his lap. “No way.”
He waited until she was out of the car. “We know about your son.”
Kris’s face went still. “I don’t have children.”
“He’s nine years old. Plays soccer. Likes to read Magic Treehouse books.”
She slammed the door shut and hurried away. Of course the Agency knew. Why wouldn’t it know the darkest secrets of a naïve eighteen year old girl? Why should those secrets go away just because she’d ignored them for nine years? She didn’t even know who his parents are. She didn’t want to know.
The smart car motored down the street beside her. The window rolled down. “His name is Alex.”
Her heart twisted in her chest. She stopped walking. “This is it. I’m out after this. No more jobs.”
Control nodded solemnly. “Information will be sent to your secure email.” The car pulled away and disappeared into traffic.
***
Kris slouched against the wall outside the pub. Corwin hadn’t sounded pleased when she’d cancelled their date, but he seemed to understand when she said it was Work. He recognized the capital letter without anything else needing to be said. An afternoon on the internet had revealed the pub to be a sham-Irish joint owned by a New Jersey businessman that had half a dozen similar pubs up and down the East Coast. The only things authentic in it were the drinks.
She fingered the pistol in one pocket and the cell phone in the other. The message from control said that she’d receive a text when the target left the restaurant. She was supposed to follow him half a block, confirm his identity and put a bullet in him. A cleanup team was standing by.
The phone buzzed. She peeked at the screen and saw that it was a multi-media message. It took a few seconds for the image to download. It took a few more seconds for her to register the target.
It was a picture of Corwin.
Her heart felt like it was going to explode. Sweat beaded on her hands. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not to him.
The door to the pub swung open; light and the babble of voices splashed out. A man in a trench coat emerged. He was too short to be Corwin.
She gripped the pistol, then relaxed when he ambled away without noticing her. The door closed behind him. She sucked in a breath, unsure what to do. Failure to finish the mission wouldn’t endear her to the Agency. It would be bad enough if she were declared persona non grata in the US, but she could cope. Five years working in the underbelly of the world had taught her a few tricks and given her a few sets of identification.
She couldn’t just leave Alex, though. If the Agency thought she was still alive… Some things were too much to consider.
The door opened again. It was Corwin. He looked directly at her—even in the shadows—took in her posture and the hand in her pocket.
“You waiting for me?” he asked.
She pulled the pistol free, but didn’t point it at him. “Yeah.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” The gun was up now.
He flashed his empty hands at her and held them away from his jacket. “What’s going on, Kris? What have I done?”
“You tell me. Control wouldn’t even tell me the target. Then they sent me a message with your picture.”
He walked past her, down the sidewalk. She fell into step behind him. “I’ve had more than one employer in the last few years. I take it Langley found out.”
“What?”
“I’m not in this for patriotism, Kris. I’m in it for the money.”
“So I’m supposed to feel better about that?”
“The Mossad isn’t so bad. Not when you’re on the inside.”
“The who?” She knew who they were. The Israeli intelligence service. She just couldn’t believe that Corwin worked for them. There hadn’t even been rumors.
He stopped in the shadow of a building and eyed her pistol. “Are you going to do this now, or is there a script?”
“You said you work for the Mossad?”
“Once in a while. You’d be surprised how often their interests coincide with Langley’s.”
“Then why am I here?”
He shrugged. “Beats me.”
“I’m not doing this.” She lowered the gun. “This is insane. They don’t own me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He slid his hands into his pockets.
A bullet cracked into the bricks, inches from Kris’s head. She dropped to a crouch and scuttled away into the alley, past Corwin. A faint rep
ort echoed from down the street.
“What the hell?” she asked. Panic fought for her control, but she pushed it down. The hot rush of adrenaline coursed through her.
“Silenced rifle. Control sent backup.” He sounded short, terse.
“He said there was a cleanup crew…”
“How wonderful. You shoot me. They shoot you.” He pulled a pistol from his jacket. “We have to go. Now.”
Kris followed him down the alley. “I have a son. Control told me his name. I can’t just run.”
“The nine year old?” He didn’t even pause.
“How do you know?”
“Friends in high places.”
They reached the end of the alley and Corwin stopped. He dropped to a crouch and peered around the corner at knee height.
“We’re clear,” he said, before strolling briskly out onto the sidewalk.
Kris hurried to stay up with him. “You aren’t worried? Won’t they do something?”
“Not if they think you’re dead.”
“But…”
He stopped at a parked delivery truck and fumbled at the lock. “They only have to think you’re dead. It would be useful if they thought I was dead, too, obviously.”
“So we disappear?”
He opened the truck and beckoned her to follow him up the steps and inside. “That won’t work without some convincing.” He buckled his seatbelt, then fiddled with the ignition. “We need a drug store.”
The truck growled to a start. The transmission sounded like it was on its last legs as he ground it into the gear, but the truck lurched from the curb and into the street.
Wrenches clanked behind her. She looked back and saw haphazard stacks of boxes with white pipes sticking out.
“A plumber’s truck?” she asked.
Corwin shrugged while giving her a wink.
She wasn’t sure what he had planned, but she had a feeling it wasn’t something he’d come up with on the spur of the moment. Any man that had survived as long as him had to have some tricks up his sleeve. And any man that already knew that much about her past had to be awfully well informed. That was enough worry to almost overcome her relief at not having to shoot him. Almost.
***
It was just like the Agency. The first time he started to get close to a woman since Katerina, and they had to go and yank her away. He wasn’t sure if that sadistic bastard Wallis had given the order, but he couldn’t think of anyone else at Langley that would have had the brass to send Kris after him. Langley had to know about their relationship—they hadn’t been hiding it.
He parked the truck in a Walgreens lot. Kris hadn’t realized it was borrowed, so he left it running.
“Stay here. I’ll be back.”
“Should I go with you?”
“Negative. For all Langley knows, you’re my hostage.”
She perched on the edge of her seat, her pistol squeezed between both hands. “Okay.”
Corwin went inside and grabbed one of the red baskets stacked by the door. He moved quickly to the medical accessories and tossed a couple bags of saline, some syringes and some stoppered vials into his basket. Alcohol swabs, cotton balls and bandages went on top.
He took the basket to the front of the store and set it on the register. The clerk didn’t even blink as she started swiping the items across the scanner. As long as he wasn’t trying to buy ephedrine by the case, the pharmacy didn’t much care.
“That all for you?” the clerk asked. She popped her gum at him.
“That’s it.” He paid cash and collected his bags.
“You have a nice night,” she said, as he left.
He climbed back into the truck and passed the bags to Kris.
“So what’s the plan?” Kris asked, as she looked through the supplies.
“We both need to draw a quart of blood. The saline is in case you get woozy.”
“Blood?”
“Langley won’t believe anything without DNA evidence. I still have a few friends at the Agency. If we leave them some crumbs, they’ll make the right assumptions.”
“Really? That’s your plan? Hope that the people you betrayed cover for you?”
He sighed. “I haven’t betrayed anyone. We just have to leave them something to work with.” He put the truck in gear and headed out toward the highway.
They rode in silence for a few minutes. “Do you have any alternate passports?” Corwin asked.
“Several.”
“Any that the Agency doesn’t know about?”
She chewed her lip. “I think so.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Probably not.”
“Okay. I have a contact in Baltimore.” He took the exit for 95 North. The truck rattled and groaned as they sped down the interstate.
“Should I get the blood drawn now?” Kris asked.
“Might as well.” Held out an arm. “Get me first.”
She made quick work of drawing it and capping the vials. He couldn’t fault her competence. He couldn’t fault her at all, really. She had no idea what kinds of things the Agency did in the name of freedom. Poisoning an Egyptian diplomat with ties to al Qaeda was a Sunday stroll in the park. Not that those turned out perfectly all the time, either.
“All done,” she said, as she applied a bandage to his arm.
He glanced over, confirming the two bags of vials. She had them wrapped in gauze, sitting on her lap.
“You realize we have to get out of the country, right? And that there’s no coming back.”
“Yeah.” She sounded wistful. “But Alex?”
“He’ll be fine. They won’t use him as leverage if they don’t have anyone to lever.”
She nodded, clearly not convinced. There wasn’t much else he could say to help her. According the report he’d seen, the boy didn’t even know he was adopted. Wallis was bluffing. He had to be.
“We can go practically anywhere. The Agency won’t look too hard for us.”
“What do you have planned?”
“A boating accident.”
They exited the interstate and wound through a residential neighborhood. Darkened cars dotted the streets. Cookie cutter houses dotted the lawns. He pulled into the driveway of one of the houses and killed the engine.
“Should I wait again?” Kris asked.
“No. Just stay behind me.”
He led her down the sidewalk to a different house entirely, then around to the back. The lawn crunched under their feet. The only light in the back was from the neighbors’ porches. He pushed a doorbell on the frame of the backdoor.
“A bell back here?” Kris asked.
“Frankie maintains strange hours.”
A speaker hissed. “Who is it?”
“Call me Ishmael,” Corwin said.
“Who’s the girl?”
“An associate.”
The door buzzed. “Come on in.”
Corwin used a handkerchief to open the door. He ushered Kris in before him. The house looked the same as last time. Neat. Clean. Lifeless. Frankie mostly lived in the basement. Corwin headed downstairs.
“Ishmael, huh?” Frankie asked. He had the wrinkled skin and liver spots of a man far older than Corwin ever expected to be.
“Frank, a pleasure as always.” Frankie met his hand and shook. “This is a friend.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Starbuck,” Kris supplied.
Frankie snorted. “Right. You need papers, I assume?”
“She does.”
“Sit down over here, miss.” He pointed to a stool in front of a blue shade.
Kris sat and waited while Frankie took a few pictures with a camera the size of his head.
“We’re a bit pressed for time tonight,” Corwin said. They still had to get to the harbor, wire the boat, destroy the boat, and get to the airport. The Agency would be looking for them. He could count on that.
“You want a blue book or a black book?” Frankie asked.
“Make her English. Blue book.” A diplomatic passport would be more trouble than it was worth without time to get her name on the right lists in Tel Aviv.
Frankie’s printer whirred to life and he set to work with a razor blade and a passport book. It didn’t take long before he handed it to Kris.
“Alicia Usamov?”Kris asked. “I don’t know much Russian.”
“You don’t have much of an English accent, either,” Frankie said. “You said fast, not perfect.”
“Thanks, Frankie,” Corwin said. “I appreciate it.”
“Lock the door on your way out.”
Corwin let Kris go out to the patio first, and locked the door behind them. They jogged around the house and back to the van. A police car cruised past, making his heart rate soar, but it didn’t stop. He sweated all the way to the harbor.
***
Kris fit the pieces together as they drove. A bomb blast in a car or a fire in an apartment would leave too much evidence. Too little evidence, really. In a real blast there would be body parts, bits of bone, pieces of flesh. She didn’t fancy leaving a foot behind. An explosion on a boat wouldn’t have to leave any of those things, though. The bodies would disappear into the harbor. Maybe they’d float ashore, or maybe they’d get dredged up by the state cops. If the tides were right, they might even be swept out to sea. The blood would just seal the deal.
“How much cash do you have on you?” Corwin asked.
“Maybe $200. Why?”
“You’re going to die in about an hour. Anything after that has to be cash or on a card the Agency—and the NSA—don’t know exists.”
“Can we stop at an ATM? If we’re pretending to flee by boat, it wouldn’t seem strange for me to take out as much cash as the ATM would allow. I can even leave my purse and some cash in the boat before you blow it.”
“Good idea.” He actually seemed impressed for once.
“So why do you have this truck? Did you have it stashed on the street in case something went wrong?”
He laughed. “It’s not mine.”
“It’s stolen?”
“It’s borrowed. I’ll leave it at the marina.”
The city streets weren’t busy, but there was still enough traffic and enough red lights that it took the better part of an hour to reach a marina. Stopping at an ATM didn’t improve their speed, either. Corwin parked the truck in an empty lot outside a tall chain link fence. A gentle splash of waves carried in the night air.
