The Wallis Jones Series Box Set - Volume Two: Books Four thru Six

by Martha Carr

Charlie noticed the bushes stirring near the entrance and stood up to see if someone was hiding in them, watching him, gripping his phone. He tensed wondering what to do, if anything.

  Suddenly, a large man dressed up as Batman leaped out in front of one of the pedicabs, making the driver swear and veer to the left, shaking his fist. The man took no notice as he kept making large leaps in the air, pulling his faded blue cape around himself. Charlie felt himself relax and looked around, wanting to see if anyone else was watching the impromptu entertainment. “He even has the utility belt,” said Charlie, letting out a small laugh, as he turned his head.

  He felt a small chill go through him as the wind picked up and he saw a face buried like a dot in the crowd. It was one of the Watchers from the apartment.

  It was all just a test, he thought, a sense of disappointment washing over him, mixed with surprise. Of course it is, he thought, sitting back, willing himself to keep the smile on his face. A madman gave you the day off.

  He realized how close he had come to letting his guard down, maybe too much. He sat back and watched the homeless Batman leap in and out of the bushes, never saying anything, and made himself remember all over again, what had happened in Wyoming to all of his friends. Eventually, he got up and gathered his bags, heading for the train.

  He needed to get back and see what he could find out. The harder part would be trying to pass the information to the other side.

  His revenge would have to wait. It would be slow and calculating, he thought, but it will all unfold. Give it time, give it time.

  Chapter 6

  “Surveillance, infrastructure, logistics, planning, and practice,” said George Clemente, ticking them off on his fingers, puffing up his chest. Charlie Foyle looked around the room, taking in the sudden rise in their numbers. Something has changed, he thought as he took a sip of his coffee. The sun was just beginning to rise behind him.

  All the small muscles along his shoulders had their usual tight ache. He was getting used to it. Deep undercover left his entire body constantly tense. He slept curled up in a ball most nights, trying to stretch out his back before he fell into a deep sleep without dreams. It was one of the reasons he was chosen for the assignment. The Circle had tested every area of his life and knew he never talked in his sleep, even under stressful situations. He was kept awake for days on end, watching different images that rattled his senses, followed by hours of interrogation about every decision he ever made in his life.

  Their training had been just as thorough. Counter surveillance, escape and evasion, and endless case studies about what had happened to other people. None of it good.

  They ran through different scenarios in real time, practicing out in the real world, sometimes catching him in a lie, pointing out he was once again a dead man. Eventually, he became flawless but it took submerging any thoughts about some kind of future of his own. Instead, he took on the personality they had assigned him. It was safer.

  The morning had started slowly. The men slept on single mattresses lined up in the bedroom, except for George Clemente. He left every evening for a different location, escorted by a different Watcher who would stay up all night standing guard.

  By the time Charlie had returned home last night the rest of the men were asleep, and George was nowhere to be seen. Alphonso was snoring loudly, choking off a breath every now and then.

  It was an unforeseen opportunity.

  Charlie took a chance and went into the small bathroom to send a test message from his stolen phone. He pressed, five-eight-six, mirroring the message he had received, letting them know he had gotten the cypher. He ran the water, brushing his teeth, and splashed water on his face, before opening the door and waiting a moment to see if he heard anything.

  Only Alphonso’s rumbling could be heard as Charlie walked down the short hallway toward the main room. A small mouse ran across the floor, crossing through the moonlight, rustling an old candy wrapper it held firmly in its mouth. Charlie felt his hands shake as he watched the mouse easily fit itself under the old air conditioner vents that ran along the wall and disappear from view.

  He had stepped into the narrow galley kitchen that looked like a low-end renovation done as a do-it-yourself project. He accidentally leaned against a cabinet drawer as it slid open on its own, gently rattling the silverware in its plastic tray. He quickly pushed on a cheap ceiling square, his hands still shaking. He stopped for a moment, remembering his training, and made sure the phone’s wifi was on, making it easier to send and receive signals. Only a moment went by, but he could feel his heart pounding as the phone easily slide inside the small opening, and came to rest on one of the thin metal brackets as he replaced the panel.

  There was a chance someone would do a sweep of the room and pick up on the live phone but it couldn’t be traced back to him. Taking chances like that was part of the deal.

  The text would let his handlers know he had found a phone and as long as it stayed on, it could serve as a GPS and let someone on the other end turn on the mic, broadcasting any conversations that came close to the edge of the kitchen.

  This morning, George stood only a few feet away.

  “These are the different steps,” said George. “We have done the needed surveillance of the target and have established patterns of behavior, the travel routes, tendencies,” he said pacing the large, mostly empty front room of the apartment. “A place has been chosen that is predictable and we have a close approximation of time. We can reasonably expect to get our man alone without a lot of potential witnesses. It’s being covered by other operatives.”

  Charlie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They were talking about a plan to kidnap someone but it was the first he was hearing anything about it. That was typical of Clemente.

  Other operatives, thought Charlie. The usual vagueness.

  “Each team will practice their part till they could perform their part no matter what happens,” said George. Charlie made sure his eyes stayed on George, never straying toward the kitchen ceiling.

  “Infrastructure. The plane should arrive at the next location by this evening with our prize inside. The opportune moment is about to present itself, right on time. It’s a fortunate thing that human beings prefer a schedule. You checked on the place for the first transports?” asked George, stabbing a finger in the air at one of the Watchers still standing by the door.

  Charlie tried to remember his name. He was new, just arrived yesterday with two other men. Lee or Lester. He couldn’t remember. The man gave a quick nod. He looked bored. Charlie felt his heart racing despite his outward appearance.

  George had not trusted Charlie with any of the planning. It could be his standard paranoia or a warning sign. It was difficult to know which one it was and that made it impossible to know what to do next. George still wasn’t asking him to do anything.

  If he had been discovered he couldn’t leave the apartment with them.

  His sister suddenly came to mind. She had to be a little taller. He leaned back against the wall behind him and slowly took in the room, creating the best plan he could come up with to fight his way out, if necessary. He wasn’t going to give in easily.

  “There’s another team at work on the alternate location,” said George, lost in his plan. “We need to have the routes set up for any locations so we can move without any interference, no matter what happens. No one can even take notice of our movements.”

  Charlie knew better than to ask questions when George was in the middle of outlining one of his plans. It was more a stream of consciousness for his own benefit than anyone in the room and he had proven far too often he didn’t take well to interruptions.

  “We need to have people and equipment where we need them and when we need them,” said George.

  The men by the door were armed with at least a Glock, the most popular handgun among George’s mercenary Watchers. Charlie had his own 9 mm Glock 43 and a folding Spyderco honeybee knife in his pocket. His car keys had a small
pepper spray that could take out one, maybe two of them if they were close together, and help him get closer to the door.

  “The operation begins tomorrow. I need everyone ready to move. You are all going to be useful later.”

  Charlie waited to see if there were any actual instructions for him. It was critical for him to find out the name of the target. Come on, Alphonso, he thought, say something stupid. Throw Clemente a curveball. He thought of the phone again and hoped someone was listening on the other end.

  Alphonso cleared his throat like he wanted to say something, but as George paused to see if there was more, his eyes menacingly looking around the room, Alphonso seemed to change his mind and looked down at his shoes.

  “For now, we keep our heads down and let others do their job,” said George.

  Charlie resisted letting the names of people he cared about run through his head as possible targets. If he knew Charlie was the mole, George would just have them shot. He wouldn’t bother with an elaborate plan.

  He thought about Alphonso’s bragging in Home Depot. He was going on and on about the Keeper. That can’t be the target, thought Charlie. No one ever found out his real identity. Anyway, if they had, a new Keeper would have been chosen.

  There was no easy setup for him to let his handlers know that someone worth having teams in place and an elaborate plan was about to be taken by George Clemente. Besides, he didn’t have enough information yet for it to be useful. No one even knew where he was camped out. It was normally too risky and the instructions were not to signal unless the information was vital.

  “Clean this place up. We will be moving out of here tomorrow afternoon. By then, certain questions will be answered.”

  The door to the apartment opened and the Watcher that Charlie had seen in the crowd at Columbus Circle came into the room. He took a place by the wall, calmly crossing his arms in front as if he’d been a part of the conversation all along.

  Charlie realized he might be spending his last moments with the people in this room. He didn’t like the thought.

  “That’s enough for now,” said George, a sound of annoyance in his voice. He waved his arm in dismissal, frowning as he looked around the room. “Be ready. We will not wait for anyone and if you’re not in the car when we leave, find a hole to hide in,” he said.

  George walked over to the man who had been trailing Charlie.

  “Any concerns?” asked George.

  “None that I could see. No contact was made. He’s not our mole,” said the man.

  “Good. He’s one of the few on this team that can think on his feet and can listen without his mouth hanging open,” he said, glancing back in Alphonso’s direction. “But we still have a problem,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “Someone is feeding information to that devil in a cleric’s uniform, Father Michael. Three times now I had the chance to kill the old flea and three times all I did was come close. If he keeps coming at me,” snarled George, “maybe our plan will help us to sink a few stones.”

  George turned around and seemed to notice Charlie for the first time, leaning against the wall. “Charlie, Charlie, you come eat with me,” said George. “We’ll get a little breakfast. I feel like a little sweet potato stew. Maybe a little pupusa,” he said, putting his arm around Charlie’s shoulder.

  Charlie felt the bile rise in his throat and gave a small swallow. “Whatever you want, George,” he said.

  As they went out the door Charlie heard Alphonso mumble, “Mama’s Boy”, as George hesitated for just a moment. Alphonso smiled at Charlie like he meant no harm. Charlie doubted his sincerity.

  George scratched his chin with a dirty fingernail as they waited for the elevator. “Things are about to change, Charlie. Not everyone will survive. It’s a shame, it always is, but it’s also a necessity when you are attempting what no one has even dreamed to do. These two giants, always battling it out,” he said, knocking his fists together. “There is another way, you know,” as he opened his fists and brought his hands together in a strangle.

  “We get them to finally turn on their core, their center.”

  “Isn’t that what the civil war was all about?” asked Charlie, risking a question.

  “To a degree. But there was no other option. One side had to win. Nature abhors a vacuum after all. This time, we let them kill each other off from the top down instead of killing off the middle and we offer the middle an alternative. My organization and everyone can live in peace and prosperity with a defined role that gives them the creature comforts. You looked surprised, Charlie. Good, that’s not easy to do with you. You see? I told you, the unthinkable. But it can be done strategically, like a surgeon’s blade.” His mood suddenly grew darker.

  “You know, it’s not easy trying to create order. Always someone in your way.” Clemente reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of crushed white rose petals.

  “I found this bullshit in my coat pocket. You know what it is, don’t you?” he spat out, angry. “Father Michael and his White Rose Order letting me know they can reach out and touch me whenever they want.” He spit on the ground as the elevator doors opened.

  Charlie felt a sense of relief as he stepped onto the elevator and held the door. The Circle was pushing back. There was a chance he could get out a message at one of the dead drops if they traveled back through Manhattan. They had been set up ahead of time in various places all over the major cities. Charlie knew them all by heart.

  George seemed to be thinking about dropping the petals but he stuffed them back inside his pants pocket.

  “Not a damn thing they’ll be able to figure out by following me. I’m just the distraction. By the time they realize what has happened, it will be too late. No one is looking in the right direction, I saw to that,” he said, sneering. “Forty years fighting the same goddamn bunch, you learn a few things. I will miss the Bronx, though. Did you know I grew up here? It’s true. It was a different place then. So elegant. Not now,” he said, making a face. “Ruined,” he said, curling his lip.

  “You never talk much about where you come from,” said Charlie.

  “Not useful,” said George, doing his familiar waving away of anything he didn’t like. He made the gesture all the time. “The past can do nothing for you. Too many people think it predicts their future. They drag it around like an extra appendage,” he said, leaning over as if he was weighed down. “The Circle, that’s their problem. They cannot forget the past and it gets in their way. Management, on the other hand, they are more creative. They came up with a past to suit their present day. I can get behind that. Never mind, never mind,” he said, as the doors opened. “You don’t ask too many questions, Charlie. That will serve you well,” he said.

  They walked through Kilmer Park as George kept pointing out different landmarks. “That’s Foxworth Catholic School. It was a boys’ school in my day run by Jesuits. Not all of these scars are from the White Rose,” he said, showing his twisted knuckles and the small white scars that dotted parts of his hand. “Some of them are courtesy of Brother Fontana. Early lessons about the value of swift discipline.”

  Charlie looked over at the large boulders that sat on the far side of the park, near the steps leading down toward the large courthouse across the street. The same homeless man he had seen yelling the day before was sitting there quietly, wearing a homemade Elizabethan collar made up of discarded plastic beer cups. An elaborate homemade crown of found objects was on his head at a tilt. For a moment, Charlie was distracted by the pop-up art display.

  “I want you there by my side tonight,” said George.

  “Of course,” said Charlie, not missing a beat in the conversation. “Let me know what I can do to help.” It was his way of asking questions. At the last moment before he turned back the homeless man had tilted his head down, displaying a tight circle of thirteen stars made out of trash, with two short red lines drawn on the top of his head. Charlie recognized the symbol at once. The man was his own moveable dead drop.
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  “Be ready for anything. Finally, I will have something Father Michael will want. Then we will at least attempt to negotiate.”

  The two men stood outside at the pupusa cart by the stairs to the subway. The homeless man approached the trash can behind Charlie. The crown was now missing from his head.

  “For the sake of art and fashion, can you please get out of the way?” he said, loud enough for the small crowd to hear, getting a few laughs. George looked annoyed and turned to pay the vendor. Charlie stepped aside and leaned in, whispering, “The negotiations will only be a distraction.” It was all he could say before George had turned back to see what was so valuable in the trash can.

  The Circle operative pulled out thin sheets of rolled up plastic that looked like they had come from the windows of subway cars. He tucked them inside of his torn coat and nodded to George and Charlie. “The world thanks you,” he said, smiling, showing a few missing teeth.

  “Wait a minute,” said George, stepping forward. Charlie kept his face from showing anything as he pushed down a small shudder.

  “Take this,” said George, handing the man a warm pupusa wrapped in a piece of wax paper. “Man’s trying to make something of himself without asking for handouts. I can respect that,” said George. “Even if he is bat shit crazy.”

  Chapter 7

  It was Friday and Norman was breathing heavy, trying to pick up his pace as he jogged around the lake. He glanced down at the app on his phone and saw he was doing a fourteen minute mile. “Not bad,” he said, waving at a woman walking in the other direction. He felt the sweat drop off of his chin despite the December chill in the air.

  He noticed a fair amount of people were ambling in and out of the park. Despite the small steady stream, he still felt like he was the only one on the trails. He made a point of not wearing earbuds to listen to music when he ran so that he could take in what was happening around him.

  The only sounds he could hear were the winter cardinals calling to each other. A blue heron flew low on the other side of the lake, landing with only a ripple. A small child ran toward the bird, a slice of bread clutched in his fist as the bird took off again, barely opening its wings as it alit just far enough away to discourage the interruption.