by Dakota Banks
She took the cuffs off. “I’m no babe in the woods, Jake. I’ve used men for my own purposes for centuries. I should have caught on.”
“There’s a difference this time. You’re mostly human. You were blinded by friendship.”
He moved over to sit next to her and lifted her chin with his fingers. Tears flowed down her cheeks and her eyes were closed. She couldn’t face him. Jake kissed each eyelid gently and then kissed her on the lips. He picked her up in his arms and carried her toward the stairs.
“You owe me a new couch,” he said.
Chapter Twenty
Maliha came out of the shower. Jake brushed her hair as she sat naked on the edge of the bed, talking to him.
“I have to get back home. There’s a lot going on,” she said.
“Chess game with Yanmeng?”
“Yanmeng’s missing.”
She heard a sharp intake of breath from Jake, and he stopped brushing. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
“Because I thought there was a chance you might be involved in it.”
“Do you still think so?”
“No. Yanmeng’s in horrible trouble, Jake, and so am I, in a different way. He’s being held captive and his fingers are being returned to us. The last package was a strip of skin. I’m being blackmailed to kill people that someone else is choosing.”
“Oh no. Is Eliu safe?”
“She’s with us.”
The look he gave her let her know that if she didn’t tell him everything immediately, she’d be the one with a knife to her neck.
“Come back to my condo with me and we’ll fill you in.”
“I take it I’m on the shit list with the rest of the team.”
“Yes, but I’ll explain. I need to leave now.”
“Wait—Yanmeng is a remote viewer. Why hasn’t he been in touch with you or his wife?”
“Presumably he’s being kept sedated.”
“An induced coma.” He clasped her around the waist from the back, leaned forward, and kissed her neck tenderly. “I want to help. Let’s go.”
Maliha went through the door of her condo first. Both of her team members were armed, and Hound might shoot first and determine the merits of it later. All three in residence were at the kitchen table, eating pizza.
“Where have you been?” Amaro said. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
Jake stepped in from the hall.
“Oh.” Amaro lifted a large slice to his mouth, bit into it, and dragged cheese down over his chin.
Hound drew his weapon and aimed at Jake. “Over there, Maliha,” he said, nodding toward the opposite side of the room. She took the look on his face seriously and moved.
“Now, do we want this guy in here or not?” he asked her. He wasn’t acknowledging the fact that Jake could wipe all of them out in a few seconds and not be breathing hard.
“Yes,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows at her and she knew he was thinking of their conversation about being easily swayed.
“I said yes.”
“Okay, then.” He put the gun down on the table next to the pizza box. Jake and Maliha sat down.
“I have a lot of catching up to do,” Jake said. “Who wants to go first?”
An hour later, they were up to talking about that morning’s meeting in Mrs. Page’s Diner.
“Fingerprints?” Maliha said.
“The men at the counter ordered coffee but didn’t touch it. They wiped the countertops with their jacket sleeves as they left. The booth you were in got the same treatment from Green Jacket. They’ve done this kind of thing before.”
“I figured they were a step up from the first one I met in the abandoned house,” she said. “What about tailing them?”
“Took us all over the damn city and then they must have thought they lost us. All three ended up at the same place. A cemetery. They started digging a grave with a backhoe and a couple of shovels.”
Maliha nodded. “Low-profile cover jobs. So we know names and addresses?”
“Nope,” Amaro said. “We checked employment records later. They didn’t have any gravediggers working that day. When we went back out, they were gone.”
“Not my finest hour as a P.I.,” Hound said.
“We all have our share,” Maliha said.
“So now what?” Amaro said.
“Jake, I’d like you to do one of two things. Either stay here and patrol the hallways looking for another box delivery or start checking hospitals, clinics, and doctors’ offices in person. Both of them are weak links for us. We can’t cover as much ground as you can.”
“I’ll do hallway patrol. The most direct way to Yanmeng is to capture and question that messenger. I think he or she is more involved than just carrying around a box,” Jake said.
“Why?” said Hound.
“Maliha said that the severed parts were very fresh when they arrived here. They didn’t go through a long chain of custody and sit around in somebody’s living room before getting here. There’s no ice packed in the boxes. The messenger picks them up directly from the site. Or the messenger is the one doing the slice and dice.”
Eliu winced. Jake glanced at her. “Sorry.”
“They’re keeping him sedated for one of two reasons. One, they know about the remote viewing,” Hound said. “If he’s allowed to regain consciousness, he could contact you and somehow give you his location. Two, the person doing this is concerned about not causing him pain.”
“A compassionate kidnapper?” Amaro said.
“Someone comfortable in an operating room,” Jake said.
Maliha said, “Amaro, look for surgeons, anesthetists, doctors, even residents or interns with gambling problems, addictions, lawsuits, psychological problems . . . anything that might tip them over the edge.”
He frowned. “I can try, but that’s one hell of a fishing net. You’re probably talking about half the docs in this city,” Amaro said.
Amaro headed off to his computer to get started and Hound joined him. Maliha walked Jake to the door. He spoke to her in a whisper.
“I know that this is tearing you up inside and you’re thinking about going through with the assassination to buy time. Say the word and I’ll do it,” Jake said.
“I’m not your demon master. I don’t give you assignments.”
“I know that. Just keep it in mind if you can’t pull the trigger. I’ll carry this burden for you.”
He vanished, and she knew he was running the hallways at top speed, something he could keep up for days.
“Eliu,” Maliha said, “I’m heading for Washington, D.C., again. Let the others know, will you?” She had a strong feeling that the dossier was correct, and that it came down to the journalist or Yanmeng. She had her assignment. Her jet was waiting at the airport. She packed hurriedly and left, before her team could try to talk her out of it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Camila Reyes lived in a small apartment in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of Washington, D.C. During the day, there was a doorman, but at night there was controlled access with a video cam to each apartment so the occupant could see who was buzzing them.
A little research was all it took to locate a single man in his thirties living in an efficiency on the eighth floor. At midnight, Maliha went into the lobby and stepped in front of the video cam. She was wearing a blonde wig, heavy makeup, and a top and skirt that barely covered her body’s erogenous zones. A skimpy jacket, not warm enough for the weather, hung around her shoulders. She pressed the buzzer.
A sleepy voice came on. “Yeah?”
“Mr. Hernandez, I’m here for you.”
“Uh . . . what?”
“You will have the best night of your life, Mr. Hernandez. Ring me up.”
“Just a minute.” She pictured him shuffling to the door to get a look at the video screen. She smiled into the camera and waved, making sure that plenty of cleavage showed.
“I . . . I’m not Mr. Hernandez
,” he stammered.
“You are not?” She pouted and read him the address from a slip of paper. “Room 821?”
“No, you’re at least ten miles away.”
“I’m new in town. I guess Mr. Hernandez will be disappointed tonight.” Her face brightened. “Who are you?”
“I’m Gil Ceja.”
“Hi Gil, I’m . . . Trixy. I’m here already. Would you like some company, Gil? I’ll give you a special deal. I promise you’ll have fun.”
There was a brief hesitation, and then the iron-barred doorway blocking access to the elevators clicked open.
“Oh, Gil,” she said. “Get naked and wait for me by the door. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Maliha headed for Room 408, where the journalist lived. Using a torque and pick set, she opened the standard lock on the door. Easing into the room, she slipped off her heels and left them by the entrance. After letting her eyes adjust to the dark, she could see that there was a desk with a computer on it in the combination kitchen-living room. Checking it out, she could see that the computer was on, with a bouncing-ball screen saver.
Later.
She moved on to the bedroom, drawing a knife from a sheath that rested on her back, attached to the skirt’s low-rise waistband. Maliha moved like the Black Ghost she once was. Soundless, a shadow, something glimpsed from the corner of the eye, followed by a rush of darkness and death.
She turned the doorknob and cracked open the bedroom door. In this room there was a night-light, a yellow starfish shape with a smile. Camila was asleep, her blanket slipped to one side and one leg exposed from the knee down. Maliha had an urge to cover the woman’s leg. The heat was turned down for the night, and it was cold in the apartment.
She pushed the door open a little wider, revealing a dresser and mirror, a brush, makeup kit, and a tottering stack of books—the ordinary things of this woman’s life that were about to become mute witnesses to her death. Camila was snoring softly. The double bed she slept in was shared with no lover, just a cat. The cat’s eyes opened and looked at Maliha through narrow slits. Satisfied, it adjusted its position and went back to sleep.
Maliha could go in, slash Camila’s throat, and be out in a few seconds without causing any noise.
Then what? Another body part, another target? I’m trapped. Give up on Yanmeng or go against what I believe in and deal with the fallout afterward?
Maliha pushed the door open further and stepped into the room.
She froze.
There was a crib against the wall that had been blocked from her view by the door. Maliha was drawn to it. She walked over, her knife still at the ready. In the crib was a baby boy, about six months old, wearing pajamas with feet. As she watched in the pale yellow light of the starfish, a bubble formed between his lips and gently popped. She put her hand on the baby’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his small rib cage as he breathed.
Maliha couldn’t control the urge to push. With her back against the cold stone wall and her legs drawn up, she bore down. Her screams echoed in the room, again and again, as she strained and rested. One last mighty push and the infant slipped out onto the earthen floor.
She lay down next to the small body. In darkness as deep as a cave’s, she could see nothing, but she could feel that her baby was flaccid, unmoving. Hope dying in her heart, she did what a midwife would do for a baby who appeared dead—try to share her own life with it. She placed her mouth over the baby’s mouth and nose and breathed out in small puffs. Each time she lifted her head, she willed the baby to draw breath and begin crying.
After a while she stopped trying. The heat left the small body and the soft, perfect arms and legs locked into the stiffness of death.
Maliha closed her eyes at the painful memory. Constanta, my daughter.
She put away her knife. There has to be another way.
Back at the desk, she copied files from Camila’s computer. She saw that there were physical files, too, folders of research color-coded and neatly stacked. She assumed there were backup files, too.
Destroy all this? Not yet. Too much to think about.
As she left the building, she wondered if Gil was still standing naked at his door waiting for his surprise.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maliha had a video conference call from her hotel in D.C. to catch up on her team’s activities.
“What the fuck got into you sneaking out like that?” Hound said. “We’re supposed to be a team. Is Camila dead?”
“No. I got into her place and found out she has a baby, something conveniently left out of the dossier.”
“I found that out when I was doing background work,” Amaro said. “Too bad you weren’t here to learn that. Or answering your phone. That’s what these things are for”—he held up a cell phone—“to keep in touch when you’re away.”
“My cell was off. Does Jake have anything to report?”
“Jake? What Jake? We haven’t seen him, either, since you left. We thought maybe the two of you eloped or something,” Amaro said.
“Hey, that’s uncalled for. Maliha would never run out on Yanmeng. You watch your tongue or I’ll hand it to you in a pickle jar,” Hound said.
“Pickle jar?” Amaro said.
“First thing I could think of. Sorry, Boss, you can see things are a bit tense here.”
“Here too,” Maliha said. “I have a copy of Camila’s hard disk. Amaro, you can get it from my computer. I’d like to run an idea past you and see what you think.”
“Downloading now.”
“I’d hate like hell to kill Camila. The purpose of the assignment is to keep her from publishing her exposé about Senator Plait’s philandering and the pay-to-play scheme. We should focus on that goal. My first approach is to offer her money. Lots of it. She’s living small, and she has a son to support and put through college. My second idea is to destroy every bit of her research. The story will evaporate. If she tries to go to her sources again, I’ll scare them off.”
“I like Door Number One,” Amaro said, “with one modification. By taking away this story, we might be derailing her career at an important point. What makes her career less valuable than the senator’s? I say give her another story. A big scandal, even bigger than this one. Make her work for it. Give her some facts and some sources who’ll talk to her and let her do her job.”
“I like it,” Maliha said. “One thing—where does this big scandal come from?”
“I might be helpful in that regard,” Hound said. In his work as a private investigator, Hound worked for both the private sector and the public, including classified government projects.
“Remember we want scandal material, not government secret stuff,” Amaro said.
At that moment, Jake appeared and sat down within camera range. “Am I missing anything?”
There was a brief recap. Jake liked the idea of the scandal approach.
“How fast can you put something together, Hound?” Maliha said.
“Two days?”
“Do it in one. I don’t think Mr. X is very patient. Amaro, I could use your help here getting back into Camila’s building. I’ll send the jet for you.”
“Wait! How do we get this across to Mr. X so he knows you satisfied the assignment?” Hound said.
“I think Mr. X is watching her closely. He’ll know when she drops Senator Plait and begins working on an unrelated story. So we’re going with Door Number One?”
They all nodded.
Maliha had some misgivings, but she kept them to herself. When she was still Ageless, she’d once tried what she was attempting now: satisfying the intent but not the literal order of the assignment, in order to save a man’s life. It worked, but she suffered horribly at Rabishu’s hands afterward for her creative defiance.
“What about looking for doctors who might be vulnerable to being forced to cooperate by working on Yanmeng?” Maliha asked.
“I decided to start close to home,” Amaro said. “A person living i
n this building would have good access to your entrance door. All that would be needed is a jamming device for the cameras, and I think that’s a given. There are one hundred and fifty-eight doctors living in all three wings of Harbor Point Towers.”
Hound whistled. “I would never have guessed. I guess it’s because these condos are so expensive.”
“That’s why most of them are surgeons or specialists, especially oncologists, cardiologists, and radiologists,” Amaro said.
“Find any compromising situations?” Maliha said.
“Quite a few. This is not a group of people who live ho-hum lives.”
“Pass the names along to Hound to check out,” Maliha said, “but not until he comes up with a good scandal. That’s top priority.”
It was two in the morning. Wearing gloves, Amaro pressed the button for Gil Ceja’s apartment, Number 821. There was no answer. Amaro leaned on the button. After several minutes of pressing, a gruff voice came on.
“Yeah, what do you want?”
Amaro held a badge up to the camera. “Detective Jeremy Weeks, Metro PD Homicide. I’d like to talk to you about Ms. Trixy Fox.”
“Don’t know her.”
“Ms. Fox took a cab to this building and her fingerprint was on your call button. Open the door, Mr. Ceja. I need to ask you some questions.”
“Is she . . . missing?”
“She’s dead. Open the damn door.”
“Shit.”
The access door clicked open and Maliha, who’d been keeping out of camera range, walked through. She picked the lock on Room 408. Everything was the same as the last time she’d been there. She went to the bedroom and woke Camila up, first putting a gloved hand over the woman’s mouth.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Maliha said. “Don’t scream. I need to talk to you. Come out into the other room.”
The woman cooperated. It was clear that she was anxious to get the intruder out of the room where her son was sleeping. In the kitchen, they sat opposite each other at a two-person table. With the high chair in the corner, there was barely room to move. Maliha put a gun on the table to impress Camila with the seriousness of her visit, keeping her hand on the pistol’s grip. She wasn’t worried about having the gun taken away from her.
