by Jake Devlin
Also in Detroit, a woman using the name Shandale, representing The Cobra, and a man representing two other American unions, who apparently had not coordinated with the one who'd hired The Adder.
In Tucson, a woman using the name Retha, representing The Subtractor, and a man representing a group supporting illegal immigration.
In Chicago, a woman using the name Dakota, representing The Decimator, and a man representing a group of ex-congressmen.
In Rome, a woman using the name Angie, representing The Hyena, and a man named Gaetano, whose clients he kept secret, but putting his own life on the line for the final payment.
In Boston, a woman using the name Azure, representing The Mongoose, and a man representing a group of health insurance companies.
In Mexico City, a woman using the name Robin, representing The Liquidator, and a man representing one of Mexico's drug cartels.
In Medellin, Colombia, a woman using the name Anna-Maria, representing The Separator, and a man representing two Colombian drug cartels.
In Buenos Aires, a woman using the name Charlie, representing The Gasser, and a man representing a group of aging ex-Nazis.
In Beijing, a woman using the name Peggy, representing The Gobbler, and a man representing the Chinese government.
In each case, a deposit of ten million euros was made into an account, and each of those deposits was transferred multiple times through multiple accounts, but all of them were finally consolidated and deposited into one account, which then held a total of 190 million euros. Another 190 million euros was due upon completion of the contract(s).
-71R-
Five Months Earlier
Sunday, August 14, 2011
2:05 p.m.
A seventh-floor condo
Bonita Beach, Florida
Pam's stomach quivered against Jake's, then shivered, then shook, and finally sent an almost volcanic eruption of uncontrollable laughter up and out through her quavering, creamy lips.
After a solid minute, when she was finally able to get it under some semblance of control, she used those creamy lips to give Jake the best kiss of the day, and said, “Thank you, Jake. I needed that.”
Delicately wiping some residual tears from Pam's cheek, Jake said, “Better?”
Pam rolled over, pulled some tissues from the nightstand and blew her nose several times. Sniffling, she said, “Better. I'm sorry.”
“Don't worry about it, okay? Take your time.”
After some final blowing and sniffling, Pam tossed the tissues back onto the nightstand and cuddled up to Jake again. He caressed her neck and back softly, but stayed silent.
“Sometimes ...” She choked and snuggled deeper into Jake's neck and said, “Just hold me, please.” He did, gently hugging her closer as she pulled herself even tighter to him, rolling her right leg over both of his.
A moment later, she giggled. “Feels like Stevie Bruce is ready to play again.”
“I think he really likes Ginny May.”
“And she likes him … a lot.”
Pam reached between the pillows and pressed a remote.
As Ravel's “Bolero” (the 17-minute version) began to play for the third time, Stevie Bruce and Ginny May began having a very deep and intimate conversation, which began slowly and gently, as many conversations do, then ebbed and flowed as they delved deeper and ever more intimately into each other's secret places and the hidden secrets to be found in them, gradually evolving into a more intense discussion, sliding in and out of many differing subjects, an assertion here, resistance there, an advance, a retreat, a moment of agreement, followed by a retrenchment, a further gentle assault, a quiet surrender, a re-engagement, a new discovery, an exploration leading to even more new discoveries, further and deeper exploration, a welcoming acceptance, a subtle shift of power and control, a slightly different angle of attack, an assertive envelopment of the argument, a brief pause to reflect on one's position, a slight adjustment, then a renewed depth of discussion, a momentary break in concentration, a sidetrack of introspection, a renewed focus on the main agenda, a slowly rising intensity, a shared moment of agreement again, a clever twist, a slightly increased acceleration, then building ever more rapidly and ever more intensely to a final volcanic eruption of complete, frenzied and simultaneous agreement, just as “Bolero” came to its crescendo.
“Oh, geez,” Jake gasped, looking weakly up at Pam's contorted face, surrounded and partially obscured by a halo of damp blonde hair, as Pam alternately quivered and writhed, and then cried, “Oh … my … GOD!!!!!” and collapsed onto his chest.
Three floors above, that cry was echoed, albeit with some small bit of self-control, by a raspy, choking voice.
On the beach, the Mimosa twins pulled their earbuds out and headed for the water for the fourth time that day. A few moments later, neck deep in the light chop, they each stifled similar cries.
Norm and Janet, who had each come to the same conclusion as to Jake and Pam's absence, smirked and nodded at each other.
Up on the seventh floor, Pam lifted her head and looked deeply into Jake's minimally open eyes.
“I don't think you faked it that time.”
“I don't think I have the energy to fake anything. I'm completely wiped out.” He exhaled and let his eyes close completely. “Geez.”
“Thank you again, Jake. I really really needed that.”
Jake mumbled, “Welcome.”
Pam inhaled deeply, an inward gasp. “I'm really going to miss this.”
Jake's eyes fluttered, but stayed closed, and he muttered, “Hm?”
“We just got to this point and I'm … I'm going to miss it.”
Jake's eyes fluttered again, finally opening. “Whadya mean?”
Pam rolled off of Jake and onto her back beside him. Ginny May and Stevie Bruce reluctantly shared a quick goodbye kiss.
“I didn't know how to tell you, but now I have to. I accepted the offer from the private security firm.”
“Um … congratulations?”
“Thanks. I start a month of orientation and screening a week from tomorrow. I really wasn't sure I wanted to take it, but I looked at my pension and everything, figured I'd have to do something sooner or later. So sooner it is.”
“Not the forensic accounting place?”
“Nope; boring. And the same for going for my master's.”
“So it's a good offer?”
“Oh, yeah. Bodyguard work, some investigation, surveillance and undercover stuff. And they pay well.”
“Really?”
“Yup; fifty thou a year draw just to be on call, then between a thousand and five thousand a day, plus expenses, when I take an assignment.”
“Wow; fifty K just to be on call?”
“Yup.”
“Wow. Definitely congratulations.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Any more openings there?”
“You want to apply?”
“Hey, fifty K is fifty K.”
“Oh, Jake, I don't know.”
“My age?”
“Maybe; I don't know if they have an age limit. You could check their web site.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“Um … Optimum dash Protection dot com, I think.”
Jake smiled. “Really? Maybe I'll check that out sometime.”
“I'm still ambivalent. But I had to go with the numbers.”
“Well, I hope it works out for you. Really.”
“But I will miss this town … and you … and … this.”
“That wasn't what got to you before, was it?”
“Oh, no, no. That was --” She paused and gazed up at the ceiling. “That was some old memories that just popped up. I'm sorry.”
“Hey, Pam, no apology needed. Most people have memories that pop up from time to time.”
“Most people haven't seen – I'm sorry.” Her eyes welled up again.
“It's okay, Pam.” Jake watched her, but stayed silent.
After another moment,
still staring at the ceiling, Pam said, “This is just between us, Jake, okay?”
“Sure.”
“I mean it, Jake. Just between us.”
“Okay; absolutely. I promise.”
“Okay. How can I --”
“I find just blurting it out works sometimes.”
“Okay. I saw my husband get shot and die, right in front of me.”
“Oh, geez.”
“It was twenty years ago, but it still haunts me and pops up at all the wrong times. I'm sorry.”
“Oh, Pam; I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I thought it was about that guy with Alzheimer's and your – oops; sorry. Sometimes blurting ain't the best idea. I'm sorry.”
“No problem, Jake, really. That's something I love about you … how you just say what's on your mind.”
“Some of the time.”
“Most, I think.”
Jake shrugged. “Okay.”
“And in a way, you're right. But it was mostly about that image of Zach getting --”
“Zach?”
“My husband. He was shot in the head, right in front of me; awful thing to see. Same op where I got this.” She pointed to the scar on her left shoulder.
“Oh, geez. I'm sorry, Pam.” He rolled onto his side and kissed her scar. She reached over and caressed his cheek.
“Thinking back about Dooley and all the locals I've had to – well, that triggered the memory again, and the loss was – was – and it was sort of the same with George and Marion, how she's lost him already.”
“That was the couple at the … um … Seafood Shack?”
“Yup; and he looked a lot like my dad. So all the loss stuff just popped up and sort of overwhelmed me back then. Guess I was feeling pretty vulnerable. And just now … well, obviously I was pretty emotional, and it overwhelmed me again.” She turned her head and looked at Jake. “I'm sorry.”
“Hey, Pam, it's okay. I've got some demons, too. I can relate, even if I can't totally get inside your head.”
Pam glanced at Jake and then giggled.
“What? C'mon, Pam, what?”
“Stevie Bruce got pretty close a few minutes ago.”
“Well, Ginny May sure helped. Where did you ever learn to do that?”
“Do what?” Pam asked, smiling innocently.
“You know. That thing you did right near the end.”
“Now, now, Mr. Devlin, a girl has to have a few secrets.”
“Okay, okay. But I'd bet you could make a fortune giving classes on that, never have to work again. Maybe sell franchises.”
“But then it wouldn't be a secret. Naw, I think I'll keep that to myself – well, just between us.”
“I like that. The world will never know what it's missing.”
Pam put her finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
Jake ran his thumb and index finger across his lips. “Zipped.”
“Oh,” Pam said, “what time is it?”
Jake looked over her to the clock on the oven. “I think that says 2:42.”
“God, we've been here a long time. We probably should get back before people start to talk.”
“I'm sure they already are. But who cares?”
“You know, you're right. Who cares?” She lifted her head a little, looked down and said, “Think he's ready for another round?”
“Oh, god, Pam, again? You ARE insatiable.”
“I've got a lot more tricks up my … sleeve, Jake.”
“An-ti-ci-pa-ay-tion,” Jake sang quietly, knowing it was gratingly off-key, then smiled and said, “So does Stevie Bruce. But next time.”
“Mmmmm. Okay, okay. I'll wait. But if we're gonna head back over there, I've gotta take a quick shower. Can you scrub my back?”
“Sure; I'll give you a minute first.”
He watched her exotic … um … shoulder blades as she rolled out of the bed and headed for the bathroom.
After the commode flushed, he joined her in the shower. A minute after that, he joined her in the shower.
-72-
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
8:47 a.m. EST
A network morning talk show
Back from commercial, the camera showed a single head shot of a lovely blonde anchor, looking about 27 years old and expertly coiffed and made up, but natural-looking. She smiled with expertly capped and very white teeth directly into the camera.
“Welcome back. I'm pleased to welcome our next guest, Wesley T. Farley, the new CEO of Donne Enterprises International, formerly COO under Gordon Donne.
“Thank you for being here, Mr. Farley.”
The director cut to a two-shot, showing a handsome, tall, slim, forty-five-ish ebony-skinned male, casually dressed in stylish jeans and a short-sleeved knit shirt, seated on the couch with her.
“Call me Wes, Lindsey, and thanks for the invitation.”
“Now, tell me, Wes, what was it like to work for Gordon Donne?”
“Well, Lindsey, it was never like working FOR him; it was always like working WITH him. We all knew he was the boss, the owner, and he could be very tough, but he had a way of making all of us feel like we were partners with him.”
“Do you stay in touch now that he's bought the country?”
“Occasionally, maybe three times since December 9th.”
“Can you tell us what you've talked about?”
“Sure, Lindsey. He's given me carte blanche to speak my mind with anybody. It's been a lot different with him not running the day-to-day operation of the company, so it's been mostly general stuff, like 'How's it going over there at the White House,' or 'Is Emily still trying to fix your diet,' or – I remember he asked 'How's Jean-Claude doing in Paris?'”
“And who is Jean-Claude?”
“He was the White House chef for the Obamas, and Gordy figured he'd be bored cooking for him, what with his simple diet, so he asked me to offer him the head chef job at one of our restaurants, and he accepted the one in Paris, his hometown, and so far he's very happy. Gordy kept the option to invite him back for any state dinners he might have to have … and if I can, I'll say Gordy positively hates those kinds of things, all the diplomatic BS, as he calls it … not using the initials, though.”
Lindsey laughed politely. “Ah. We've heard he speaks his mind.”
“That he does, Lindsey, that he does.” He laughed, too.
“Do you have enough influence with him to get him to come on and talk to us?”
“Nope.”
Lindsey, unprepared for such a short answer, stumbled on her own words, “Well, do – is there – do you know anybody who does?”
“Nope.” Seeing her discomfort, Farley added, “If he wants to come on, he will; if not, he won't. He's the most independent … and most ethical … person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting anywhere in the world.”
“Okay. Now, Wes, just how big is day?”
“We don't pronounce it like that, Lindsay; we just use the letters, D-E-I. But to answer your question, all told, worldwide we have about 1.4 million people working in our businesses, and we have about 2800 businesses within DEI. Those numbers fluctuate, since we are buying, building and selling businesses on almost a daily basis.
“Once we've done the turnaround and gotten a business on its feet and profitable, our goal changes to building the profit pool to the point where the employees of that business can buy it from us and run it themselves, with occasional consulting, if they want it.”
“DEI is a private company, right?”
“Yes, it is. And the main reason we've remained private is so we don't have to focus as much on the short term to satisfy Wall Street each and every quarter, but can plan long-term strategies with and for each business in our portfolio, build a solid foundation for its growth and success.
“And what is Opus?”
“Again, we don't pronounce it that way. You're talking about the US division of Optimum Protection, the largest of our businesses and one that we'll never be looking to sell. We usually call it by
its initials, just O-P-U-S, or sometimes 'Ahp-U-S.' O-P is our worldwide private security service, providing everything from light surveillance to home and business security installs, to bodyguards, undercover ops, analysis and recommendations, threat assessments, preemptive threat containment or removal and general security consulting.
“O-P has about 5,000 full-time employees, 107,000 part-time, and thousands of independent contractors we can use from time to time. The only place on earth we don't operate … yet … is Antarctica.”
“That's a lot of people, Wes.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Can you stick around? We have to go to commercial.”
“Sure, Lindsey, as long as you've got questions.”
“Great. Folks, my interview with Wes Farley will continue after this short break. Stick around.”
The screen went to a commercial for a prescription anxiety medication, followed by one for a prescription shortness-of-breath medication, another for car insurance, one for a scooter/wheelchair, one for an arthritis pill (prescription, of course) and one moderately entertaining one for a double-miles credit card.
-73-
Five Months Earlier
Sunday, August 14, 2011
3:15 p.m.
Bonita Beach, Florida
”They're coming,” Sharon rasped over the twins' earbuds.
“What, again?” Jill said, giggling.
“No, they're coming our way,” Carie said sharply.
“How is our way any different?” Jill shot back. Carie rolled her eyes, then put a finger to her lips. “Here they are.”
“Nobody touched your stuff, Jake,” Carie said as he and Pam walked out onto the sand. Jill snickered to herself and very quietly whispered, “Well, someone did.” Up on the tenth floor, Sharon rasped out a laugh.
“Thanks, kids; appreciate it,” Jake replied.
“Hey, guys. How was Marco?” Norm asked, while Janet focused on her sudoku, trying hard to hide her giggle.
“Marco?” Jake asked.
“We thought maybe you'd driven down to the island. You were gone long enough.”
