Vertigo

by Wesley Cross

  They stuck to their original plan to keep Andrew visible. He’d left their apartment at around seven thirty and was crisscrossing the town on foot, steadily moving southeast, the opposite of where Audrey would be.

  Audrey’s phone pinged as she received a text from her husband, informing her that he communicated her exact location to the contact. Now it was too late for second-guessing—the plan was in motion, and they had to play their parts perfectly. She dialed his number and waited for him to pick up.

  “How’s it going?” His voice sounded slightly out of breath, the wind stealing the last syllables of each word.

  “Nothing so far. The coffee is still terrible. Did they say anything about the location or the fact that I’m meeting them and not you?”

  “Haven’t heard back, but it doesn’t surprise me. We made it abundantly clear that this was their only chance for a meet. If they are unhappy, they are keeping it to themselves for now.”

  “Good.”

  “I could use a cup of coffee right now, even as bad as Sunshine’s.” Andrew added, “It didn’t seem that cold when I left the house, but the wind is terrible.”

  “You could join me here later. We could have breakfast together.”

  “I’d love that. But jokes aside—keep that text ready and if anything looks funny, send it right out.”

  “Will do.”

  She disconnected the call, opened a text message, and typed SOS in capital letters. This was their fail-safe in case something went awry—all she had to do was to press Send. Andrew would instantly know that she was in trouble and call the cavalry.

  The place that was bustling with activity earlier was emptying out, and Audrey now had an unobstructed view of the street in front of the diner. This was still a predominately blue-collar neighborhood, but it was a far cry from the rough-and-tumble area of the eighties and the nineties. High-rise residential buildings and new, glitzy restaurants slowly but surely were pushing places like Sunshine Diner out of the area.

  Audrey saw a young homeless woman stumble into the place. She was dressed unseasonably light in a dirty tracksuit, a pair of sneakers without socks and nothing else. Her dark hair was a mess and her face was smudged with black, as if she’d been camping near a fire last night.

  Audrey saw as the hostess tensed, as if deciding whether to let the woman enter the place or ask her to leave. The latter thought apparently prevailed, and she stepped out from behind her podium to block the woman’s path. As she did, Audrey saw an object in the homeless woman’s hands, that she couldn’t see before from where she sat—a laptop.

  “She’s with me,” she called out to the hostess and, ignoring her quizzical look, waved to the woman in a tracksuit. “That’s okay.”

  The woman walked around the hostess, marched through the diner, and took a seat opposite of Audrey. She was even more disheveled up close. She carried a strong odor of smoke, and her olive skin was covered in a layer of soot and dirt, but her surprisingly light-blue eyes were bright and animated.

  “My name’s Audrey, and you’re safe.” She offered the woman a hand.

  “Helen,” the woman said, ignoring her hand as she slid farther into the corner of the booth. “Neither of us is safe, and I’m hungry. And I’d like to talk to your boss.”

  “You’ll have to talk to me first, but go ahead and order something to eat.”

  “Why can’t I talk to your superior? Do I look like I’m gonna kill him, or kidnap you both?”

  “No, you don’t, but that’s the deal.”

  “Steak and eggs,” Helen said to the waitress, “and a large cup of hot coffee.”

  “Why do you say you’re not safe here?” Audrey asked when the waitress left.

  “I didn’t say here. As for the why? Let’s see.” The woman fixed Audrey with a cold stare. “First, my sister was murdered by some corporation. Thrown out the thirty-sixth-floor window. Well, no, first, her broker was killed, and his mistress, and after that my sister was thrown out the window. Then I saw a man tortured and killed. Skinned alive, as a matter of fact. Then me and my friend were kidnapped to be tortured and killed, but by some grace of God, we managed to flee. But last night the bastards caught up to us, and she still died, and another friend of mine died, and I almost burned to death, so yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not fucking safe.”

  “I’m sorry,” Audrey said. “I can’t even pretend to understand what you must be going through, but perhaps we can help each other. Believe it or not, we are in a position to do something about it.”

  The waitress brought a cup of coffee and a small saucer with a handful of plastic containers with cream. Audrey watched as the woman pushed the saucer away and took the cup with both hands, her fingers moving up and down the cup as if trying to make sure not a single joule of heat was used on anything but warming her up.

  “I’ve already told you a lot, but I can help you a whole lot more, but you’re going to have to be very convincing. Who in the agency is aware of this?”

  Audrey studied the young woman’s face. It was hard to imagine that her story wasn’t true, especially after showing up to the meeting in the state she was in. And, assuming the story was true, the woman was capable if she’d managed to find out so much information in such a short time and still be alive. They needed to recruit her, she realized. And yet, she was not at liberty to tell her about the existence of the Unit until she was absolutely certain the woman was telling the truth and was the right fit for the organization. It was going to have to be a delicate dance.

  “If we do this,” she finally said, “we need to establish some trust. I’ll answer your questions as much as I can, as long as you answer mine. Deal?”

  “Fine.”

  Audrey studied the woman’s face and was met with an unflinching stare. There was a lot of pain at the bottom of the deep well of her unusually light eyes, but there was also cold fury. Whatever she had been through didn’t seem to break her, but only strengthened her resolve.

  “Great. For now, it’s just my boss and me. My turn—what made you decide to come to us?”

  “My friend convinced me that the police and possibly the feds were compromised. She thought by going to them we were putting ourselves at risk. We decided that the agency would be less likely penetrated, and more likely to be able to act on the tip.”

  “She sounds smart.”

  “She was,” Helen looked up at her from above the cup of steaming liquid, her face twisted in pain, “but we weren’t smart enough.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “My turn.” Helen paused as the waitress passed their table. “What can the agency do? Can you act on this information or are you going to punt it to the FBI?”

  “Normally, we would forward it,” Audrey paused, looking for a way to say more, without giving away truly sensitive info, “because we wouldn’t be handling domestic affairs. But not this time.”

  “What gives?”

  “Let’s just say you’re coming to me at the right time. But I’m afraid before I can tell you more, there would be some steps involved.”

  “Like hiring me?”

  Audrey said nothing, watching the young woman’s face. She was sharp as a tack and in some ways reminded her of her younger self—a cut-to-the-chase, don’t-waste-my-time, kind of girl.

  “Listen, lady,” Helen continued, “it’s actually easier for you to hire me than you might think. I’ve contracted for you guys not that long ago, and until recently moonlighted for the DOD. I’ve got clearance and have already been vetted.”

  “Is this what you’d want?”

  “To take those assholes down? I’ll do much more than to join the CIA. However, before that happens, I’d need a few things first.”

  “Like what?”

  “Look at me.” Helen opened her arms wide, as if inviting Audrey to take a closer look. “I can’t help you if I’m homeless, hungry, and penniless. I’d need a safe house, some clothes, and some money. I don’t even need your money—I just need
your help getting access to mine. After that—I’m all yours.”

  47

  November 2007

  New York

  Cooper watched as the man walked across the office to the half-moon glass table and poured himself a drink.

  “Can I offer you anything?”

  “No thanks. I prefer a clear head.”

  “Suit yourself.” He took the tumbler and joined her in the opposite corner of the sofa.

  “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Engel?”

  “Let me preface this by saying I’ve been an admirer of your talent for quite some time. It always fascinates me when somebody is a craftsman, regardless of their profession. But especially in your profession. There are a lot of people who could pull the trigger or swing a club and end somebody’s life, but you’re an artist of deception. That is not easy.”

  Cooper remained silent, watching the man’s face. She wasn’t used to talking about what she did for a living. Not like that—bluntly and in the open. He could be recording the conversation right that second.

  “Don’t worry,” Engel said, as if he read her mind, “this place is a giant Faraday cage packed with so much electronic suppression hardware it would make the Pentagon look like an open farmers’ market. That’s why I’m not even bothering to check if you’re wearing a wire—no signal can get in or out of this room during this meeting. You wouldn’t be able to record anything either. That’s why I have no trouble telling you the reason for your visit today. I have a job for you, Ms. Cooper. I want you to eliminate somebody for me.”

  “Before I do anything for you, Mr. Engel, I’d like to ask you something.”

  “And what would it be?”

  “Tell me what happened in the Dominican Republic.”

  The man gave her a tight smile, got up, and walked across the office to the window. He stayed there for some time, sipping from the glass and watching the street below.

  “Fair enough,” he finally said and turned to face her, “but that requires some backstory. Have you ever heard of Carroll Quigley?”

  “No.”

  “He was a historian, but it doesn’t matter. You see, each civilization goes through a few stages during its lifetime. Different historians and philosophers break down those stages differently, but the main idea is the same. First, the civilization is born; it gestates and matures. Then it expands. That spurs the age of conflict which, if you’re lucky, leads to the Universal Empire.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “The Golden Age. The time of peace and prosperity.”

  “You think we live in the Golden Age, is that it?” Cooper scoffed. The man had been living in his ivory tower ever since he was born, unaware of the sweat and blood that most of the Earth’s population had to endure.

  “No,” Engel said, “not anymore. We entered it briefly after the collapse of the Soviet Union. We’ve won. The world was at peace, and nothing was going to trouble it going forward. Alas, as Quigley would have said—The Golden Age is really the glow of over-ripeness. It’s followed by decay and then the fall of the civilization.”

  “End of times?” Cooper said. She was getting tired of the speech she hadn’t ask for. “Apocalypse?”

  “Don’t be so quick to dismiss it.” Engel returned to the sofa, sat down and crossed his legs. “My father had the brilliance to predict this, but even he was unable to see that this was going to happen so soon. Yes, Ms. Cooper, civilization as you know it is about to be over. We are entering the age of corporations. The world where private enterprise will become more powerful than governments. It’s been decades in the making. Politicians have been bribed. Law enforcement infiltrated. Rivals blackmailed or eliminated altogether. A war is coming, Ms. Cooper. Not in a traditional sense with the mandatory draft and invading armies, but the consequences will be the same. People will die, borders will be redrawn, and the world will be ushered into the new era.”

  “I have no interest in having a philosophical discussion with the man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. No offense. But for argument’s sake—that’s the way the world’s been working for the last ten thousand years. You’re not the first, and you’re most definitely not the last.”

  Cooper stood up. Coming here was a waste of time. A dangerous lapse in her judgment. The man had delusions of grandeur, and in Cooper’s experience, people like that didn’t fare well at the end. But she could still get out. Disappear. And sometime later, when the dust settled, start digging for the things she had come here for.

  “I’m afraid I’m not interested in whatever you have to offer,” she said. “I’ll transfer the money back if you give me the instructions on where to send it. I’ll show myself out.”

  She started to walk toward the door, half-expecting for him to try to stop her, but he remained silent.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Engel,” she said, putting her hand on a bronze door handle shaped like a head of a wolf.

  “You too,” he answered. “Keep the money. I’ll make sure to send your regards to Elizabeth.”

  It was just a name. A word. Four syllables that formed a soundwave that traveled from Engel’s lips through the distance between them, reached her ear, and vibrated the eardrum. But it felt as if she were struck with a branding iron—hot, inescapable pain that burned through skin, muscle, and bone. Before she could control herself, he was on the ground, and she was on top of his back, crushing his throat in a rear naked choke.

  He wheezed as he struggled free, his hands slapping about, trying and failing to get a hold of her. She pressed on, wanting to end the life of a man who dared to say that name so nonchalantly, so cavalier.

  But she couldn’t. A moment’s satisfaction would mean consequences she wouldn’t be able to live with. Cooper let Engel go and stood up as she watched him come up to his knees, clasping at his throat and trying to catch his breath. Finally, he stood up as well, fixing his suit and tie.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. His voice was raspy and gruff, but to Cooper’s surprise, there were no overtones of anger in it. “I didn’t put you in this position, Miss Cooper.”

  “It’s a lie.”

  “It’s the truth.” He walked to the table, poured himself a glass of water, and downed it in a few long, greedy gulps. “In fact, until a few weeks ago, I wasn’t even aware of your little situation. While I admit, I used it to make a point when you started to poke around my business, I didn’t create it. I’m afraid it’s my father’s doing. But I’d like to make some amends.”

  Cooper walked back to the sofa and sat down. She despised the man, but he was telling the truth; she was sure of it now.

  “The reason I was telling you all this is I don’t need another cleaner,” he said. “Over the years, my father has developed a small army of those, and I could have most of them at my disposal at the snap of my fingers.”

  “What do you need then?”

  “As I was trying to tell you before you almost snapped my neck,” Engel pulled on the collar of his shirt, trying to loosen it, “we’re entering a new era. Soon people like me will wield more power than the president. But we’re not there yet. We’re in a weird place where we need to move quickly and decisively. Something, unfortunately, my father no longer understands. But we don’t want to attract too much attention yet. That’s why I need you—a trickster, a magician. Someone who can make my enemies disappear without bringing the attention of the police, the feds, or anyone else for that matter. I need a lot of results—fast, but I can’t afford any heat.”

  “And if I say yes?”

  “Well, Ms. Cooper,” he walked closer and looked her straight in the eye, “if you do what I’m asking you here to do, and do it well…I’ll look into your Elizabeth problem. I have the information, and you have the skills. Together, we can solve it. That’s all I want.”

  Cooper studied Engel’s face. She could loathe the man and everything he stood for, but one thing was clear—he was a killer. He had something that separated him from the
rest of the rich boys she had seen and she had seen plenty. It was something intangible and yet so powerful that it made those who possessed it into more than mere mortals with high aspirations. It turned them into a force of nature. People like Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, and Napoleon. She’d made her decision.

  “What would be my first assignment?”

  Engel walked back to his desk and pulled a manila envelope from the drawer.

  “Ms. Cooper,” he said, handing it to her, “this is going to be your biggest test yet.”

  48

  November 2007

  New York

  Mike Connelly watched the familiar skyline as the taxi sped on the highway with mixed feelings. It was nice to be back to the city that never slept, but he always felt like an impostor every time he returned. For someone who had been born and raised in Brooklyn, he spent little time in his hometown after enlisting. Part of it, of course, was the reality of the life of a soldier—the brass sent you places, and you didn’t ask questions.

  But another part was intentional—coming back to the fuhgeddaboudit land meant visiting the family. Grandparents, nephews, nieces, cousins, aunts, uncles. Connelly’s parents had moved to the better world before he entered high school and he was passed between a few homes of uncles and aunts for a few years like a hot potato.

  Those years weren’t half bad, he had to admit to himself, and the extended family did their best to take care of the scrawny kid with a rebellious streak. But he never felt like he belonged and coming back was always awkward.

  “Broome Street,” the driver announced, pulling up to the curb, and coming to a stop. “Is it good here?”

  “It’s perfect,” Connelly said, stepping out of the car and into the cold November rain. “Thank you.”