by Dakota Banks
“We use the advantages we have, Doc,” Hound said. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m sorry I frightened you. . . .”
“You didn’t frighten me,” she said with her chin up. It would have made a good show, but the chin was trembling a little. “What do you want? I don’t keep drugs here.” She stared at him closely. “I know I saw you at the hospital today. Are you stalking me?”
“Stalking? No. Following? Yes. I already told you that I’m a private investigator.” He pulled out his pocket ID card with his photo and licensing information and held it up.
“Come closer, I can’t read that,” she said.
“Nice try.” He put away the ID. “My name’s Hound. We were talking about Xia Yanmeng and what you’ve been doing to him. I’ll show you mine, and then you can show me yours.” He gave her a brief description of what he knew about the malpractice suit. “Did a woman named Elizabeth approach you? Tall, blonde, never been in a tanning bed, red fingernails. You’d remember the fingernails.”
Like little vampire teeth, Maliha said.
Dr. Bakkum hesitated.
“I’d hate to have to shoot you,” Hound said. “Starting with those talented surgeon’s hands of yours.”
She looked down at her hands in alarm. Shattering them would end her career without even a trial.
“It wasn’t the woman you described. I’ve only dealt with a man. An attorney, he said, but he didn’t give me his name. He said he could make the lawsuit go away if I did some custom surgery. I thought he meant something like changing a person’s appearance so he could pass as someone else. You know, Mission Impossible stuff.”
“Could you identify this man?”
“Absolutely. It turned out that he wanted horrible things done. A man kept in a drug-induced coma and submitted to operations where I had to cut off . . . extremities. I did everything in an operating room. Amputation isn’t my specialty, but I use a Gigli saw on the skull at times, and it works well for cutting bone elsewhere.”
“Two handles with a wire band between them, pulled back and forth?”
She nodded. “Surgical-grade stainless steel. Blood transfusions. I was provided with whatever I asked for. Mr. Xia’s alive and pain-free, for now. If the drugs are discontinued, since he has no brain injury, he should recover consciousness with no problem.”
“No problem except for his missing pieces. Is his memory intact?” Hound said.
“Almost certainly.”
“Almost? Not what I want to hear.”
“There are no guarantees in medicine, Mr. Hound. To add to the horror, I had to make deliveries to a condo in this building. The attorney gave me a device he said would prevent the hall cameras from seeing me. If I’d known it was going to be so medically and morally repugnant, I would have said no and taken my lumps from the malpractice suit. At least I was told I wouldn’t have to kill the patient.”
“More like the victim, not the patient. Why didn’t you stop when you found out what you had to do?”
The doctor sighed. “I have a son.”
“Your son’s life was threatened?”
She squeezed her eyelids together, but that didn’t stop the tears from escaping. That was all the answer that Hound needed.
How the hell do I get this woman to help me without jeopardizing her son?
“Where is Yanmeng?”
“In a secure facility where I do research.”
“Cancer research needs a secure lab?” Hound said.
“I didn’t say it was cancer research.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
“Research in emergency techniques that can be programmed into battlefield robo-surgeons.”
Well, damn. I guess medics are gonna look a lot different.
“I can’t bring him out of there,” she said. “I can’t let you in, either.”
“What’s the name of this place?”
She hesitated.
“I’m not after your secret robot project. I just want to help my friend.”
“Qixotic Labs,” she said.
“Where is Yanmeng located inside the building?”
“I don’t know.”
“What the fuck? You’ve been chopping on him for days and you don’t know where he is? Try again.” Hound waved the gun as a reminder.
“I really don’t. When I go to see him, I’m seated in a wheelchair and a black hood is put over my head. Someone takes me all around the building, up and down in the elevator, and spins the wheelchair a few times. By the time I get inside the surgical suite, I have no idea where I am. Before I got involved in this, I had seen other people being wheeled through the halls and thought it was strange. Now I’m one of the hooded ones. And before you ask, there aren’t any windows in the room.”
Hound whistled. “There’s some weird shit going on in there, Dr. Bakkum.”
She nodded. “Please, call me Jill. When I go to my usual work area for robotics, I know where that is and I walk there by myself. I only have an escort when I go to visit Yanmeng. My research is challenging, pays very well, and has the chance to save injured soldiers. When this malpractice suit came up, I thought that if it all goes bad for me, I’d disappear into my research and not do clinical work. Even if I lose my license, I don’t think it would matter to them. But God only knows what goes on in the rest of the building.”
“Jill, has it occurred to you that you were told you wouldn’t have to kill Yanmeng because someone else was going to do it? When they don’t need any more parts from him.”
“I didn’t want to think about that.”
“Here’s something else to think about. When they’re done with him, they’re done with you, and you know too much to live,” Hound said.
Jill lapsed into deep thought. Finally she said, “It makes sense. It’s hopeless for both of us. I can only hope my son survives. I’ve done something terrible and others are paying for it.”
“I have an idea, but it’s going to take your cooperation.”
“Tell me what to do. If I can do it without killing my son, I will.”
Chapter Thirty
Maliha went about the home invasion the easy way. She was invited in.
She rented a car for the drive—the Zonda would stand out too much in a back-to-nature area. Victoria’s credit-card records showed regular purchases of a premium dog food. Maliha wore a business suit with a jacket and skirt, carried a briefcase, and bought a bag of the food on her way to Carefree. The homes weren’t what she expected. There were large, expensive homes on acreage, many of them built into a hillside with a great view of Phoenix in the distance. True, they were made of adobe and had natural landscaping, but Maliha had already formed an image of earth homes with cacti growing on the roof. It was a tough image to shake, even when she pulled up in front of the Blakes’ three- or four-million-dollar home at the end of a long private driveway.
I didn’t have to rent a car. The Zonda would feel at home here.
She rang the bell. Looking up at the security camera, she put a big grin on her face and said, “Congratulations, Mrs. Blake! You’ve won a year’s supply of Tail Waggin’ Supreme Balance Kibble!”
When the woman opened the door, Maliha stepped inside, holding out the bag of dog food. When Victoria reached to take it from her, Maliha calmly shut the door behind her. Victoria’s hand reached out for a security alarm button on the wall, but Maliha caught it and twisted, then brought the woman’s arm up high behind her back. Painfully high.
“Anyone else in the house?” Maliha said.
“My husband, three of his friends and my vicious dog.”
Maliha shoved the arm higher.
“Ow! You’re hurting me!”
“Anyone in the house?”
“Just me and Barlett, but he’s a wimp.”
Bartlett chose that moment to wander in, demonstrating his tail-waggin’ outlook on life. He was a young golden retriever with a smile on his face and love in his heart for all.
“Stupid dog,” V
ictoria said. “We should have gotten a pit bull like I wanted.”
Maliha reached down and patted Bartlett on the head. He licked her bare ankle, after rejecting the leather glove on her outstretched hand.
Just the kind of guard dog I like.
“Good doggie.” The tail went wild. Victoria rolled her eyes. “Listen, Victoria, I need to borrow a couple of things from you. All you have to do is go along and you won’t get hurt. When I leave I’m going to give you an injection to make you sleep for eight hours or more. You’ll wake up feeling fine.”
“I’m supposed to go to a fund-raiser tonight. When I don’t show up, the police will come here.”
“Are you meeting anyone?”
“Yes . . .” Maliha wrenched Victoria’s arm. “No. Bugger off!”
Victoria struggled and Maliha waited her out. Bartlett danced at their feet, excited by the play. Finally, Maliha pulled a pair of handcuffs from her pocket, yanked Victoria’s other arm back, and fastened the cuffs. Tugging on the cuffs, she walked Victoria over to the security control panel. Without too much persuasion, Victoria told her the correct password and Maliha disabled the alarm.
“Okay. Let’s go up to the bedroom,” Maliha said.
Victoria’s eyes grew wide. “No you don’t. Not with me, you . . . you pervert.”
Maliha sighed and knocked her unconscious. Throwing the limp body over her shoulder, she went upstairs to the master bedroom, briefcase in one hand. She put Victoria on the bed. Barlett followed the two up the steps and jumped up on the bed. He circled a couple of times and settled down, his head resting on Victoria’s leg, happily watching Maliha poke through his owner’s possessions.
There were his and hers closets, so Maliha opened up hers. She was here to pick something to wear that belonged to Victoria in case someone who’d seen her before was at the speech or dinner.
Maliha chose a long black dress with a low neckline and a slit skirt, but one that covered her back completely. It was unlikely that Victoria had a hawk tattoo spanning her shoulders. There were sparkling crystals at the waistline of the dress, and a short jacket and matching high heels with the same crystals. She added a black silk scarf from a drawer in the closet. The jewelry box yielded a pair of diamond drop earrings. Maliha loved them, but set them aside.
Too expensive. These studs will do, since they’re not going to make their way back into the jewelry box.
Maliha set everything out on a dressing table in the corner of the bedroom. Then she went looking for Victoria’s admission ticket, and spent the next hour taking a photo of herself in the same outfit Victoria wore, same makeup, and delicately substituting her photo on the ticket. The photo was a good match, but her substitution job wasn’t perfect using just the items she brought in her briefcase. She put the ticket on the bed and sat on it. The slight curve and wrinkle distracted the eye and made the ticket seem more authentic.
Victoria was coming around. Maliha waited with her and helped her sit up on the bed.
“You didn’t . . .” Victoria said.
“No.” Maliha thought about the last time she’d been with Jake, the exquisite and gentle union of bodies and hearts.
He’s the man who broke through the barrier to my heart, but it was Lucius who created the cracks in that barrier.
“I did lie earlier, though. I’m not borrowing a few of your things. I won’t be able to return them.” She pointed at the outfit on the dressing table.
Victoria glanced over at it, then looked Maliha up and down. “You’re going in my place. Are you sure that dress fits? It looks like it would be a little tight through the waist. I don’t want to look bad.”
“Of course it will fit. My waist’s no bigger than yours.”
“Hmm. Prove it.”
Mumbling under her breath, Maliha stripped to her underwear, keeping her back to Victoria. The dress slipped on easily. “There. In fact, it’s a bit too big.” She pinched the material out at the waistline, illustrating.
“Good. If anyone notices, they’ll think I lost weight.”
I pity Norman. I’m not sure this woman has grasped the situation.
“You’re not going to do anything that will hurt my reputation, will you? Norman wouldn’t like that.”
“No.” Assuming you have a reputation as an assassin.
“Would you mind turning on the telly? I watch some shows about this time.”
Maliha searched the room and Victoria for cell phones, confiscating two from atop a dresser. She unplugged the landline phone and set it out in the hall, along with the cell phones and a laptop. There were no weapons in the room Maliha was worried about except a straight razor, which went out into the hall. She propped Victoria up with a couple of pillows and turned on the TV for her. Pushing a chair in front of the bedroom door, Maliha sat in it so the woman couldn’t get to any of the items in the hall without going through her.
Maliha spent the next couple of hours going over the plans of the Comerica Theater that Amaro had provided and studying the map of its location in Phoenix. The theater wasn’t ideal for her purpose. It was primarily a venue for band appearances and was a large open space with a stage. No fancy seating, just chairs on a concrete floor. If she had a seat on the main floor, as Victoria’s ticket specified, Maliha wouldn’t have any height to provide a good view for a shot. For a clear line of sight, she’d have to be up in the catwalks of the theater, where the stage lighting was. Checking the plans, she saw that the stairs to the catwalks were behind doors backstage, as is typical for such places. With high security backstage for the president’s appearance, access might be tough, especially if she had to pick the lock. A digital lock would be worse, slowing her down too much.
Elizabeth’s sniper will likely have a government pass. Can’t rule out anything.
The dinner after the speech was in a hotel banquet room, the same situation—everyone on one level—minus the catwalks. For a sniper to get a high, unobstructed view in the banquet room, he’d have to swing from a chandelier.
Shooting isn’t the way to go for my attempt. Keep it simple. Elizabeth will probably have someone in the audience watching me, who will report to her—I would. Goal one: try but don’t succeed to kill the president. Goal two: eliminate the backup.
It was nearly time to leave. Maliha turned off the television and removed the prepared syringe from her briefcase. As she approached, Victoria eyed the needle.
“My arms hurt and I’m hungry,” she said. “I have to pee. You can’t leave me like this.”
Maliha considered. Victoria wouldn’t like to be found in a wet bed. Norman wouldn’t like it.
And I should care?
She looked at Victoria, who had a pleading look on her face. Bartlett was flapping his tail against the bed.
I’ll do it for Bartlett. He wouldn’t like a wet bed either—might get blamed for it. I can’t believe I’m doing this. If anybody ever finds out, I swear I will die of embarrassment.
“Stand up,” Maliha said. Victoria, who’d been lying down for several hours, stumbled to her feet. “Hold still. I’m going to put the cuffs on in front.”
Victoria swayed a bit but offered no resistance. With her hands cuffed in front, she could manage in the bathroom.
“Potty break,” Maliha said, walking her over to the door. She pushed Victoria into the room and politely turned her back near the door. She could see the woman in a mirror, so she’d have plenty of warning if Victoria decided to attack her. “Hurry up.”
“You’re making me nervous.”
“Five seconds.”
Ah. Success.
With Victoria back on the bed, Maliha injected her.
“Am I going to get high?”
“No. Just relax.”
When Victoria was sound asleep, Maliha uncuffed her and went downstairs. Bartlett padded along with her.
“Hey, you’re supposed to stay upstairs.”
He sat down and looked at her expectantly.
“You too?” she
said. There was a leash hanging up by the back door. She took Bartlett outside, and when they came in, she opened the bag of dog food she’d brought and filled his bowl.
“Can I leave now?” In answer, the dog went back to the stairs. He was heading up to the bedroom to keep Victoria company.
Out in the car, Maliha slipped off the high heels for more comfortable driving and went to the theater. She didn’t use the theater’s parking lot. Instead, she parked several blocks away. She took a zirconia knife from her briefcase and fastened it high on her left thigh, where the dress wasn’t split, in a slim matching sheath. Zirconia, or ceramic, knives were usually detectable by security metal detectors because the manufacturers of the knives voluntarily put in a percentage of metal. Hers was custom-made, black, light in weight, and invisible to regular walk-through detectors. The knife was a superb weapon made for one thing only—killing.
If she were to go through the type of airport scanner that produced a full-body image, the knife would be visible under her clothing just like her breasts and butt. She didn’t expect to encounter airport scanners at the theater. She put the heels back on and wrapped the scarf around her neck, pulling it up over her chin. With her hair in loose curls that tumbled down to her shoulders, she pulled the curls forward, partially blocking the view of her face and eyes.
Who is that mysterious woman in black?
Maliha walked to the theater and breezed through the metal detector. She was escorted to her front-row seat. Mickey planned to arrive at the last minute, right before the entrances closed. Once the speech started, people were supposed to remain in their seats and not leave the theater.
Like a high-school lock-in, except run by the Secret Service.
There were two speakers before the president, local politicians basking in the glow. The audience listened politely and applauded at the right spots, but curbed their enthusiasm. They were there to see and hear Randall Millhouse. When he appeared on stage, the crowd gave him a long and vigorous standing ovation. Few probably noticed the increased presence of agents on the stage and in front of it. Maliha noticed that an agent was posted at each of the fire exits. Although locked from the outside, the doors were considered weak spots because they led straight into the theater, bypassing the metal detectors.
