Paradise (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant)

by O. L. Casper

  I smiled, reminiscing, “It already has. But it’s also come at a cost.”

  Something about my expression must have changed gravely for a look of deep concern was cast suddenly upon her features, and she leaned in with great attention.

  “I don’t know what I’m saying. Everything costs. I just didn’t expect all the cost this would entail.”

  I thought about Emma Green, Ava Madeiros, Madison Conway, and Emily Mordant. Strangely I imagined them all in successive flashes of their final moments on earth. Emma flatlining in the hospital on Nassau; Ava and Madison breathing their last, emaciated in darkened rooms; and Emily’s plane dipping and hitting the sea, water filling the cockpit, her bewildered expression as she helplessly sucked in a lungful of saltwater.

  “Whatever it is, whatever’s bothering you, it can’t be that bad. You’ll survive. Against all odds you’ll be fine. You’re the smartest person I know. You already have managed, in one way or another, to do better than anyone I know. You’ll come out on top. You always do, Sophia Durant. You always do.”

  Sophia Durant’s Diary

  January 2, Baku, Azerbaijan

  I’m convinced Azerbaijan is one of the secret wonders of the world. It’s not well known outside of those in the energy business or those with a knowledge of Soviet history. A small country on the west side of the Caspian Sea, it’s bordered to the north by Russia, to the west by Georgia and Armenia, and to the south by Iran. Much of the country wears lushly forested mountain ranges, among the most beautiful I have ever seen, while the capital city of Baku is steeped in old world architectural beauty of a sort of magnificent humility with the backdrop of the majestic Caspian Sea, which is rumored to have four trillion dollars of oil at bottom. There is much speculation that the oil of the Caspian Sea was the predominant driving factor in the 2001 invasion of Afghanistan by American and European military forces. The apparent intention was to stabilize Afghanistan to the point that a pipeline could be brought from the Caspian Sea, up through Turkmenistan and Afghanistan, and across Pakistan to the Indian Ocean. I find more credibility in this explanation for the invasion than in that of George W. Bush and his cronies.

  Special Agent Glenn Carter’s Notes

  January 3, Baku, Azerbaijan

  She couldn’t be trusted. Once again they had slipped out under our noses. But no matter—we tracked them to Baku, and followed them there. We were becoming familiar with one legal attaché after another around the globe. The one in Baku was one of the more humble ones I’d seen. But I didn’t care. So obsessed with the case was I—and Mr. Stafford—nothing else mattered. An arrest was imminent. We now believed we had enough evidence lined up against him to put him away for a very long time. Financial crimes, falsifying accounts, ties to drug lords and drug trafficking. We lacked the proverbial smoking gun. But doubtlessly it would come out of the interrogation process. My gut feeling was that this meeting in Baku was the end of the line for the case and for the man himself. STF was optimistic the smoking gun would make its appearance now, but it didn’t matter. One way or another, he would be placed under arrest and then we would dig it out. Our top interrogators had begun to arrive on the scene in Baku since we got there and there were more still to come.

  I tried to unwind as I sat smoking a cigar, looking out of our seventh floor hotel room windows at the vast gray of the Caspian Sea. Haverstock entered the room as I leaned back in my chair. He appeared tired and disheveled. We were all feeling the brunt of the case, especially him. He tired quickly with detective work. It made me wonder why he ever bothered becoming a detective in the first place.

  “This is shit. This is just shit—coming to a fuckhole like this on the opposite end of the globe from anything familiar. And for what? What the fuck, eh?”

  “I find it rather interesting,” I chimed in.

  “That’s because you’re bizarre.”

  “Don’t you look forward to getting home, having an ice cold beer and a pizza? Maybe some ice cream after that? Putting all this shit behind us.”

  “I do and I don’t. It will be nice, yes. But I’m enjoying this moment while I’m in it. We’re at the butt-end of the biggest case either of us has ever been on. The very fag-end. The biggest cat and mouse game ever. Now it’s just a matter of time. The heat is on high. We’re going to get him. But we don’t know how. We don’t know what he’ll do next. Anything could happen.”

  “And that’s the danger of it. That’s what I hate the most. The uncertainty of it all. Just get it the fuck over with already.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure? Where’s your will to dominate? To crush this case? To break it wide open—to put that arrogant bastard down for good. To break him. And to free Sophia.”

  “You old dog. That’s all you’ve ever cared about. That gorgeous woman. She probably won’t go down for anything. At the very least because she has spousal immunity. But be careful with that old heart of yours—”

  “Shut up, you dumb prick. I don’t harbor any feelings for the girl—other than the same feelings everyone else does; because she’s easy on the eyes, as they say. I just want her to be free. Though something about her isn’t right, she was not a bad person before she came into Stafford’s orbit. She was no criminal. Now, regardless of what she’s done—which probably isn’t much—she deserves to be free of it all.”

  “Not as much as you and I deserve to be free of it all.”

  “And we will be. But not till it all gets wrapped up. As I’m sure it will, neatly, here in Baku.”

  I puffed nervously at my cigar. It was an odd mixture of nerves and adrenaline—the sort a runner gets as he’s about to cross the finish line.

  “Did you just come here to complain, Haverstock?”

  “No, actually. I’ve got orders from above.”

  He was inflated with self-importance.

  “And what do these ‘orders from above’ tell you about the case?”

  “Stafford’s having a meeting at a seaside resort here.”

  “Another Seychelles sort of meeting, eh?”

  “Something like that. Our orders are to arrest him after the meeting.”

  “That’s all well and good. But who specifically is doing the arresting according to the orders?”

  “No one specifically. The whole task force will be there. Whoever gets in first, I suppose.”

  “Is it necessary for me to meet with Sophia before the engagement?”

  “No. You’re under strict orders not to. I forgot about that.”

  “They’re afraid I’ll give it away, huh? Ruin the whole gig?”

  “I don’t presume to know what they’re thinking, but I’d imagine something along those lines. Yes.”

  “Annoying when you’re the only one who has even a vague concept of what you’re doing and you get treated like this.”

  “It must be. Regardless, those are the orders.”

  Sophia Durant’s Diary

  January 4, Baku, Azerbaijan

  I read Carter’s last entry with some astonishment. I began to panic about the imminent arrest. I took a walk from the quaint, 19 century hotel Stafford and I were staying in down to the beach. The Caspian Sea was indeed gray as Carter had described it. Certain phrases from his diary repeated themselves in my mind. Especially phrases like “spousal immunity” and “the will to dominate” and “crush that arrogant bastard.” I was terrified for Stafford and I was terrified for myself. Unexpected in my desperation, a string of ideas came to me and I took a backseat and watched as my mind formulated them into a plan.

  Returning to our luxuriant hotel room on the second floor of what’s called the Tbilisi Inn, I took out my MacBook, decrypted the file my diary was in—this diary—and made a copy of it on my phone. It was a sanitized version, minus anything criminal—but the sex was left in—combined with a piece of code I had written on the fly the previous evening. The code was embedded by an encryption technique called steganography. Steganography involves hiding code in an image file (
in this case, within the diary) to avoid any unwanted detection. The image was that of a cat I had photographed on Eleuthera. The code was designed to attack a certain type of computer system, erasing targeted files on all connected devices.

  I opened the messaging app and messaged Carter. I had to get this over and done with before I lost the nerve.

  SOPHIA: Glenn, meet me at nearest convenience. I have information that is vital to the case. You were right all along. It’s very urgent. Please.

  I waited tensely for a half-an-hour without a reply, then:

  GLENN: Let’s meet at the Egoist Hotel on Casimi in half an hour. It’s a five minute walk for each of us.

  The street was actually called Nasimi, but it was a five minute walk like he said. The Egoist is a pleasant hotel, several stories high. A feat of modern Azeri architecture. In front a sign reads, “Otel Egoist.” The atmosphere was bustling. A pianist played a baby grand in the corner next to a lavish bar. I spotted Carter perched nobly at a window facing the sea at the opposite end of the vast dining room. I walked past a host saying something to me in Russian and sat at the table Carter was standing by at the window.

  Carter said something in stilted Russian to the now angry host. The host bowed and walked away. The layout of the place was very clean, like a well maintained hospital, with large windows, heavy drapes, and pristine tablecloths.

  “Aren’t you impressed at my fluency in Russian?” Carter asked, sitting down.

  He stared at me. I looked out the window.

  “Not really.”

  I heard the creaking chair as he adjusted himself in his seat.

  “You picked a place with an appropriate name,” I said.

  “For me or for you?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “For us both, I suppose.”

  I still didn’t look at him. I’d smoked a joint at the hotel and didn’t want him to see my glassy eyes.

  “You seem very relaxed,” he said after a long silence.

  “Everything’s been brought into perspective for me. So indeed it’s relaxing.”

  “Will you bring things into perspective for me now, Sophia? I had to get a special clearance to come see you this time so I hope what you have to say isn’t going to be a waste of my time.”

  I looked at him now for the first time, penetratingly.

  He made a start. He was shaken and taken aback by a glance. I wondered for a moment what set him so on edge.

  “You’re jumpy…for a man who thinks, along with his team, and probably anyone who knows about the case at the Bureau—that they’ve got it all on lock.”

  “How would you know what anyone thinks?”

  “You give away everything in your manner, in your expression and in your phrases, whenever we meet. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. Something big is about to happen. A milestone in the case, perhaps. Everyone’s nervous. No one wants things to get fucked up.”

  I lowered my voice and he leaned in to hear every syllable. I felt a tremendous sense of power—tremendous for someone who felt more and more like a caged bird, anyway.

  “That’s just it. I’m exactly right, aren’t I? No one wants things to get fucked up. They’re so damn arrogant, they think nothing can go wrong. Or they almost do. But…for what. What is it that stops them? That makes them take a second glance? That makes them look over their shoulder and think, ‘Could this really be it?’ What is it that makes them so damn nervous?”

  “Indeed, Sophia, what is it? You tell me. I don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s past experience. That’s what it is. The best laid plans of mice and men…”

  “You’re too fucking smart, Sophia. Damned genius.”

  “Yeah? Well this damn genius is about to throw you for a loop. Think twice before you go arresting anyone.”

  He flinched as I said it, and, looking at me with slanted eyes, he said, “You think you’re so damned smart, don’t you?”

  “You just said I was.”

  “Yes, but it’s all gone to your head.”

  “We’ll find out whether or not it’s true. It’s not too far off now. It’s so close I can reach out and touch it.”

  I grabbed at the air in a silly, dramatic gesture. He smiled.

  “Sophia, you’re pulling my leg. What have you got?”

  “The meeting’s tonight. Something’s not right. He’s very nervous about this one. I’ve figured out that you’re right. He’s in deep.”

  “Possibly deeper than he knows. He’s a smart man, but this can only go on so long…”

  “I’m scared…I’m scared of what he might do to me. There’s a possibility he’ll eventually find out about all this…”

  “The meetings? This?”

  He waved a finger back and forth indicating both of us.

  “Yes. And I don’t know how I’ll be protected.”

  “We’ll work out something. You have spousal immunity, you know. If you were somehow involved in anything—he’s the fish we want to fry. Not you. He’s the big kahuna, the big enchilada. If and when charges are made, you’ll be left out of it.”

  “I know. I want you to have access to my phone.”

  “Is this your big thing for us?”

  “I know for reasons I can’t now discuss, but tonight you’ll know why—you need to trust me on this—I know tonight’s going to be a game changer and I want you to be able to wiretap my phone to get all the evidence you need.”

  “That is big. It shows trust, Sophia. I’m happy you’ve come around.”

  He looked at me, as though he was testing me.

  I put my phone on the table.

  “Do you need to take it to wiretap it?” I asked, pretending innocence.

  “Yes. I think that would be helpful. We can return it to you in an hour or two.”

  “That would be fine. Can you have it dropped off in the lobby of the Tbilisi Inn?”

  “That won’t be a problem. Thank you for finally trusting us.”

  I nodded and stood up. The room seemed to twirl in slow motion as I turned around. Either I’d just performed a coup, or I’d made the most horrible mistake of my entire life. Only time would tell. A sensation of butterflies surged in my stomach and I felt sick. It was all I could do not to collapse on the floor. But somehow I made it to the door. As I pushed open the large glass door, I glanced back conspiratorially at Carter. He winked. That was overdoing it a bit, I thought.

  In Tbilisi Inn I sat at the desk before a large window overlooking the Caspian. I tried to imagine the reaction at the legal attaché when they went through the contents of the phone. I was insane for what I’d done with those women, I was insane for my ambition to be with someone like Mark Stafford, but, as I reasoned it, I’d never actually lost my logical facility when it came to planning my actions and successfully carrying them out. Now I felt perhaps I’d lost my sanity in that respect too. Whatever happens, whether I live a long time or a short time from now, I’ve achieved all I ever set out to achieve. I’ve lived through a hell of a lot of intense experiences. I’ve been around the world. I’ve seen things that most of the billions of people on this earth never have and never will. It all came from risking it all, from taking a chance, putting it all on the line.

  Chapter 23

  Special Agent Glenn Carter’s Notes

  January 4, Baku, Azerbaijan

  I received a call from Quantico about twenty minutes after I’d handed the phone over to forensics in the legal attaché. I couldn’t believe the news. They’d found a diary in the files on the phone that had apparently been overlooked on previous scans of its contents. Maybe the spyware they’d used on previous attempts wasn’t as good as they thought it was. The contents of the diary, which had apparently been read by a room full of monkeys in as much time as it took them to find it, were not explosive, but gave a much closer look at things. They sent the entire diary to our computers at the attaché. Then they sent certain excerpts they wanted us to read right away in a separate file. Sitting ne
xt to Haverstock, I read the excerpts as he did. Then I began to comb over the rest of the diary, searching out specific dates and reading the contents therefrom.

  “Well,” said Haverstock with a grave finality he rarely used, “I guess she came through after all. There’s probably enough information in these excerpts about Stafford’s meetings that we can pinpoint the key players in his dealings. Forensics at Quantico should be able to take care of that, shouldn’t they?”

  “If it’s all true,” I said.

  “I don’t see why she’d have any reason to lie about any of this. This is the smoking gun we’ve been waiting for. We have outlines of the figures involved; now we just have to fill in the blanks. With the phone records and the diary combined—shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Somehow I felt the case wasn’t really as simple as he made it out to be, but his attitude reflected the official line. Our superiors breathed a sigh of relief and were more confident about making the arrest tonight. But then for some reason that confidence was shaken. Haverstock received a call from the bosses in Virginia.

  “Yes, sir. What’s the next move, sir?”

  He hung up the phone.

  “We’re making the arrest tonight.”

  Sophia Durant’s Diary

  January 4, Baku, Azerbaijan

  Fireworks exploded over the sea just after sunset. I was barely keeping the panic at bay as I watched the fireworks and sipped a glass of cognac, waiting for Stafford to return from his afternoon on the town and take me for an evening meeting at a beachfront nightclub. I got a call from the lobby informing me I’d received a package. I went down to retrieve the package, half-expecting to be arrested at any moment. I eyed everyone entering or exiting the lobby with extreme suspicion. I slipped the package into my overcoat and headed for the elevator. Relieved I hadn’t been arrested in the lobby, I opened the package to find my phone. I turned it on. Everything was intact. I went into the saved docs and found the copy of the diary. I half-wondered if I knew what I was doing. The results of this adventure were entirely unpredictable. Either side thought they had the upper hand. The only one whom I was unsure of was Mark Stafford. I didn’t know his position on anything or how he felt or saw things. And I was afraid to ask. He’d left no personal notes in his phone since the last ones I copied into this diary, nor had he given any other clues to where he stood on matters. He always seems a little naïve and a little too willing to leave things to chance, but I believe this masks the greater reality—the fact that he has, or thinks he has, everything under control.