by Tom Hron
Right away, she was sorry she’d said it. The CIA was the ultimate “old boy’s club,” the numero uno in back scratching, lice picking, and incestuous ways, so much so the White House had taken away their autonomy back in the 1990s when the FBI had discovered the in-house communist spy, Aldrich Ames, had been selling secrets to the Russians for years. Now the Agency had to share almost everything it wanted to do with the FBI, by dictate of the national intelligence director. For a lowly library worker to throw this in the deputy director’s face … well, there was no greater humiliation. She had hit him far below the belt.
Nonetheless, all three just sat there in absolute silence. Why? she wondered. Whatever the reason, it seemed they hadn’t expected to find the blond bimbo had balls, and she could tell by their eyes they had decided to back off. Reechi had finally blinked.
Phillip Scirpo scrunched his chair forward, at last adding a little sound to the room. “Miss Mundy, that won’t be necessary, and I’m now convinced that you knew nothing of Dewey Chamber’s death. We will, of course, talk to your friends, but I’m sure we’ll find what you say is true.
“I hope you’ll overlook our insensitivity. This has been a great shock to us all, and since we haven’t lost many people through the years, you know, Damon, understandably, has taken this hard. Anyway, I hope you can forgive his contentiousness. Remember, he’s only doing his job, and, I might add, under some very trying circumstances. So, accordingly, will you work with us in capturing the murderer?”
The old good cop, bad cop crap, she thought to herself. Beat her with a big stick, then tie a yummy carrot on the end of it. Coming in, they must have thought that she had the IQ of a road sign, and now they were planning to dazzle her with double-speak and six-syllable words. Nevertheless, it was important that she carefully plan her next move, since she’d sort of boxed herself in. Not for a nanosecond did she believe that her FBI gambit had scared them. Chances were they had already talked to the people who had oversight over them, because any time there was reason to believe classified information had been given to an outside source, the law said the FBI must be notified. Dewey being found dead in New York … well, that was a no-brainer. Everyone in Washington would be on high alert, and she’d better play it cool.
For a moment she let her silence last, then focused on Magruder’s eyes, which now seemed a bit sorry. Why was he playing games with her? This was really serious stuff, and she could go to jail for a long, long time.
“Mr. Magruder, I’ll be glad to help in any way I can, and I meant it when I said Dewey was my friend. Maybe I can remember something he said or did last week that will be helpful to you. Meanwhile … could I … would you mind if I took the rest of the day off? I’m really upset, and … well, maybe I’ll feel better about everything tomorrow. This has been so shocking I can’t think straight.”
“Yes, of course.” Magruder cut his eyes this way and that way and squirmed in his chair.
“And I apologize as well … there was no excuse for me being uncivil. I’ll have you work with Mr. Reechi when you come back in the morning, since he’ll be filling in for Dewey for the time being.”
Alexis felt her heart sink. Of all the people she’d rather not work with, despite the fact she’d only spent a few minutes around him, Reechi was number one. He left her absolutely cold, and she couldn’t believe that he knew a damn thing about the library, besides. She took her purse and left the room, heading for the exterior hallway as fast as she could. The same security officers were waiting for her, and they led her back downstairs, leaving her feeling like a felon again. When she reached the parking lot, she almost ran to her car she was so terrified.
She drove to her apartment, repeatedly letting the morning’s events run through her mind. The truth of the matter was she had held out on them, and chances were they knew it. There were video cameras, listening devises, lip readers, psychics, and Lord knew what else all over “the campus,” as the headquarters was so often called by its employees. You couldn’t even be sure of your privacy in the bathrooms the place was so scary. She cursed her loyalty to Dewey Chambers and wondered why he’d left her in such a bind. For some reason, he’d been worried about his well-being and had left her some sort of a clue why. Could she be on someone’s hit list as well?
When she walked into her living room, she saw her Siamese tomcat, Tungsten, was “up the wall,” her catch phrase for describing that he was scared out of his mind. Sitting on the sofa with his blue eyes as big as coat buttons, he was all set to run for his life. Both, for all practical purposes, had grown up together, and each knew the other down to the deepest recesses of their hearts because they had been together so long. He was telling her something, and it wasn’t good.
CHAPTER 5
LAS VEGAS
Harry saw that David Skeleter wasn’t alone when he walked inside—a younger man wearing sunglasses, even though it was dark out, was waiting for him as well.
“I didn’t know the FBI was into breaking and entering.” He stopped in the middle of the living room. “Let’s see your search warrant.”
All at once the young agent looked worried. Skeleter simply grinned, showing his fine white teeth, perfect enough for a movie star. “Harryeeeeee … are we going to have trouble with you,” he asked, “because you shouldn’t blame him? It’s not often the White House gives someone a big boost in their career, besides he’s only doing what he’s been told to do.”
“Then let me see your search warrant.” Harry knew that he had to force the initiative and keep the young agent off balance. He hadn’t been that surprised to see Skeleter waiting for him, inasmuch as the man was a presidential advisor, but he hadn’t expected to find the FBI, too. More than likely there were a few more across the street in an unmarked car, in case of trouble. Facing the agent again, he added, “I see you tossed the place. Your boss isn’t going to be one bit happy when he finds out you were playing patty-cake with someone who hasn’t any arrest warrant. My guess is you will be looking for work as a janitor in North Dakota in a day or two.”
He stepped closer to the agent, straightening furniture and picking up things that had been thrown on the floor.
“Harry, calm down. Good God, I had no idea you were such a neat-freak.” Skeleter grinned once again. “You’ve probably done something really bad, so I was forced to come. Sorry for the mess. I had to make sure you hadn’t taken anything that didn’t belong to you. You know how it is.”
Bent almost double, Harry shuffled within five feet of the agent, picking up mail that had been thrown on the floor. “For God’s sake, you even stepped on my—”
With every bit of his quickness, he came up from the floor and punched the agent on the chin, knocking him flat. In the next instant he was on him like a cat, rolling him over, yanking up his suit coat, searching for his gun. He felt Skeleter hit him from behind, but he’d expected that and guessed he could withstand the first blows. His hands found the pistol and he flipped over on his back with both legs up against his chest. Kicking as hard as he could, he smashed Skeleter against the wall, stunning him. A split-second later he was strattling him, shoving the pistol in his face.
“Why in hell are you here?” He only had a minute or two, because the other agents would start wondering what was taking so long. “Tell me or I’ll make you wish you were dead, you slimy bastard.”
Skeleter eyes cleared a little. “You’ve just did me the biggest favor in the world, Sharp. Striking a federal officer, assault with a deadly weapon, no one will believe a damn thing you say now. You should have just let us taken you away, since we might have worked something out. Now I’ll make sure you’re screwed no matter what you do.”
“What are you up to? I swear to God I’ll find out. My FDS failed. Why?”
“Did it really?” Skeleter laughed, his eyes now like a predator’s. “Stupid people always ask why, don’t they? You’re good as dead, Harry. Go ahead and run, but you can’t hide.” He laughed once more.
Har
ry hit him with the pistol, cold cocking him alongside the head. He had maybe sixty seconds, then the others would be coming up the stairs. Racing to the kitchen, he opened the bottom drawer of the stove, wiggled his hand along its side, and pulled out a roll of bills that he’d hidden there, seven thousand dollars he’d won playing tournament poker several weeks before, thankfully when things had been going his way.
He ran into the bedroom, found his passport, then grabbed slacks and a shirt from his Air Force days. It was time to get out of town, and he knew just how he might do it, despite the manhunt that would go down. Racing across the room, he wrapped the clothing he’d just taken from the closet around his hand and broke out the window. It was 15 feet down, not enough to break his legs, so long as he was careful. He climbed out, twisted around, and dropped into the alley below. Someone yelled. Running for his life, he dodged into all the shadows along the way. As fast as he was, he doubted that anyone could catch him, especially as well as he knew the neighborhood. He only needed to reach Las Vegas Boulevard and lose himself among the thousands along the Strip to be safe.
After running almost a mile, he slowed, then followed the side streets with the least traffic. He crossed Sahara Avenue and then Sands Avenue, heading for Caesar’s Palace. He doubted the FBI would search for him there, yet it was close to where he finally wanted to go. Turning along Las Vegas Boulevard and joining its sea of people, he stayed on the inside of the sidewalk and passed the pirate ships of Treasure Island, then minutes later passed the gleaming Mirage. At Caesar’s fountains, he joined a smaller crowd and walked into its entrance. There was no better place to lose oneself than in a busy casino, and now all he had to do was switch clothing.
The oldest part of Caesar’s had always been one of his favorite places, for whatever reason. Its lobby had a special elegance—white, gold, and black with crystal chandeliers hanging down in all their yellow glory. The baccarat tables were just around the corner, where he had won and lost thousands of dollars, beautiful women by his side, feeling the envy of the billionaires who regularly played there. A favorite of the pit bosses, his good looks and smart play had been a big draw, and the railing in front of the tables had often filled with people watching him. Caesar’s never minded losing when there was a show to be had, and they could always get their money back another day.
He knew of a small bathroom nearby, one that had little traffic. After buying some toiletries at the gift shop, he went in and changed to the slacks and shirt he’d carried along, dressing like an executive-jet pilot. With his hand around the money in his pocket, he walked back into the lobby.
Standing by the ropes at the registration desk, he searched for a young woman without a wedding ring. After a minute, he spotted one and walked over to her.
“Mr. Lewis said I should come right away, and I’m supposed to take this up to his room.” He pulled out the seven thousand dollars and dropped it in front of her. Her eyes got big.
“Lewis? …” She smiled nervously. “May I have his first name?”
“Edward Lewis and Company of Delaware. I flew him in a little while ago and he said that he had booked a room here. You must have heard of him.”
“Yes, of course … let me check.” A frown settled over her face as she looked at her computer screen. “I’m not showing … Are you sure he’s staying with us?”
“Good God, what am I going to do?” Harry spun back and forth on his heels and wrinkled his face with as much worry as possible. “Are you sure he’s not registered yet? He’ll kill me if I don’t give him this money.”
Cocking her head, she shrugged. “I’m really sorry.”
Leaning across the registration desk, he put on his best smile. “I wanted to get this done so I could take a couple of days off. I’ve got a great expense account and thought I’d find someone who’d like to have dinner with me and maybe see a show, you know, have a good time. Would you like to have dinner with me? We could go any place you want.”
Her face brightened almost to the color of the pink suit she wore. “My boyfriend would kill me.”
“Hey, he doesn’t have to know. Listen, I’ll kill time for a couple of hours and wait for old man Lewis. When I finally know where we’re staying, I’ll talk to you again.”
“… maybe I could get you a room.”
Once again, he put on his best smile. “Really?”
“Let me talk to the manager.” She returned his smile. “I’ll be back in a second.”
He watched her walk through a door behind the registration desk, then return with a man about his age, dressed in the archetypical black suit of Caesar’s. The man’s eyes instantly focused on the roll of bills on the countertop.
“Miss Penfield tells me that you’re waiting for someone who supposedly had reservations here?…”
“Yes. He called me at the airport and said I should meet him. But … guess he must have stopped at the Mirage or Bellagio.” Harry reached for the seven thousand. “I suppose I’d better find him and see if he wants to stay someplace else.”
The manager’s face paled. “Please, that won’t be necessary. No, not at all. Mr. Lewis and you are more than welcome here. Would a suite with two bedrooms work for you? Do you think Mr. Lewis would like that?”
“Hey, that would be great.” This time Harry felt his face break into a genuine smile. “But I have to warn you, he will rip up this place, and, knowing him, this money won’t last him fifteen minutes.”
The manager’s eyes beamed. “Well, I hope he has the best of luck. Now Miss Penfield will take care of everything, and you go up to your suite and make yourself comfortable. If there’s anything that Mr. Lewis and you need, anything at all, just let us know. We want you both to feel at home.”
Smiling still, Harry shook the manager’s hand, then turned back to Miss Penfield. His petty larceny wouldn’t hurt the company that owned Caesar’s one bit, and with the suite in another person’s name, the FBI could check all the computers they wanted and they would never find him. Not in a thousand years. He had guessed there wasn’t a hotel-casino in Las Vegas that would risk losing a big-time gambler and fat roll of bills to a competing property along the Strip. Gambling was a cutthroat as it got.
After a few minutes he was on his way up to his suite. Someday he’d square things with Miss Penfield and Caesar’s, but now he needed to get as much sleep as possible and get as clear-eyed as he could for the next day, and even then it would take phenomenal luck to save himself. He would set the alarm for five in the morning and that would give him just enough time … The next day would be a lot more dangerous than the silly game he’d just played.
When he reached the suite, he saw that it was a lot nicer than he’d expected. He undressed and lay awake for a few minutes, thinking of all the things that had happened to him in the past two days. His life looked like it could be over.
CHAPTER 6
THE LAS VEGAS AIRPORT
In the morning, Harry woke at the alarm and dressed in his pilot’s shirt and slacks, then went down and hailed a cab in front of the hotel. The sunrise had come up the mountains surrounding the city and brightened them with yellow light. Thinking that he’d have an hour or two at most, he got into the cab.
“Take me to AvAmerica Jet behind the Tropicana. It’s the general aviation facility.”
The cabby took off, clearly liking the early fare and absence of traffic. Speeding along the Strip, he passed the Bellagio, the Paris, and the Monte Carlo, then turned left at the MGM Grand. A little further down, he wheeled into the AvAmerica Jet terminal, a brown, wing-like structure guarded by chain-link fence. Security was tight here, since this was where every VIP in the world parked his or her executive jet when he or she flew into town. Instantly, Harry spotted the Gulfstream that belonged to the White House. He read its tail number, stepped into the terminal, and found the pilot briefing desk inside a small alcove just down from the entryway. He picked up the telephone and hit the line that automatically rang the central flight service s
tation for Nevada. The number picked up, played its prerecorded message, then a briefer came on.
“Reno Flight Service, good morning,” said the briefer.
“Yes. What time did we flight plan eight-eight Sierra Tango’s departure out of McCarren this morning?”
“Let me check the computer … Okay, you’re out at eight o’clock, direct Washington National at thirty-three thousand.”
“Thank you.” Harry felt himself smile.
“Do you need weather?”
“Not right now. Let me do the preflight first.”
He hung up the phone and walked into the lounge fronting AvAmerica’s business counter. As he’d guessed, there was no one at the desk except for a sleepy line attendant waiting for the next shift change. The young man nodded hello.
“Do you have eight Sierra Tango topped off and ready to go?” asked Harry, keeping a straight face.
Yawning, the attendant glanced at a clipboard. “Did it last night. Dumped the potty and cleaned the galley as well. Want me to get it pulled up front?”
“No, just buzz me through and I’ll get the APU started and make sure the brakes are off. Do you have the key or did you leave it open?”
“I’ve got the key here.” The attendant yawned again, then reached under the counter and handed him the key. “Let me know when you want it up front.”
Nodding, Harry walked to the door leading to the parking ramp and listened to the attendant buzz open its lock, then walked out onto the airport. The FBI had been so busy watching the airline terminal on the other side of the airport, it hadn’t occurred to them that he might steal the White House’s Gulfstream, one of several the Air Force always used to ferry around senior staff members. He smiled again as he marched toward the shiny blue and white jet, winglets on its wingtips and engines high on its fuselage. It looked almost like the speed of sound just sitting there. His revenge tasted sweet, despite all the dangers that still lay ahead of him.
