As she stood, Martin watched in horror as she strode over to him quickly with the bloody katana in her right hand and with her left hand reached out to grab his T-shirt by the collar and unceremoniously tear it from his body. He felt his bladder let loose and he sat there helplessly in his own piss as she tore the shirt into strips. She used one of the strips to clean the blade of the katana, tossing the others on the dresser next to him. Once clean, she lifted the back of her poncho and slid the sword into a cunningly designed sheath that held the sword diagonally against her back and held the hilt in place with a leather snap just below her waist. Once secured, she walked over to the bed and started stuffing his things back into his bag. She left out a pair of slacks and a sweater and taking his bag, walked into the bathroom where he could hear water running for a few seconds before she reappeared and dropped the bag at his feet.
"Here, clean your face," she said handing him the wet washcloth.
"Th... thank you," he stammered, reaching out with his good hand to take the offering.
"Let me see your hand."
Martin gingerly held out his injured hand while he finished wiping his face with the other. She reached out with a surprising gentleness and took his damaged hand in her own.
"This is going to hurt, don't scream. Bite on the washcloth if you have to," she stated.
At this stage, he had no dignity left to salvage and without hesitating, he stuffed the wet and dirty washcloth completely into his mouth. He chewed on the rag aggressively as she reached for one of the strips of his T-shirt and with her pinky finger forced the material through the hole in his hand and out the other side. She retrieved another strip and wound it tightly around his hand. She held the bandage in place with one hand while she reached up and removed the elastic band from her ponytail with the other. She took the band and slid it over his palm to hold the bandage in place. Once done, she reached down and pulled off his shoes.
"Get out of those pants and into the ones I left out for you," she said stepping back a few paces and presenting him with her back.
He stood shakily on wobbly legs and undid his slacks with his left hand. They fell to the floor around his ankles and he stepped out of them. With a second's hesitation and a quick glance at her back, he pulled his wet underwear off as well. He grabbed the slacks off the bed and sat his bare ass back on the chair, after a few seconds of struggle he had both his legs in the pants and upon standing managed to pull them up to his waist. That accomplished, he realized he was at a helpless stage.
"Uhm…" he started not sure of what to say.
She turned around at the sound and walked over and clasped his pants into place, prompting him to hurriedly reach down and pull the zipper up himself. She reached out to grab his sweater and without being told he held his hands above his head as she pulled it over him, taking care to avoid contact with his right hand. Next came his jacket, and after donning it, he sat back down in the chair and pulled his loafers back on with his left hand. Fully dressed and feeling somewhat more in control of himself he looked at her expectantly.
"You said you had my file, where is it?" she asked.
"In… in my car," he said still not in full control of his voice.
"Where are the keys?"
"Uh… there in my other pants," he said with an embarrassed glance at the urine saturated pants balled up close to his feet.
She stared at him through her sunglasses with a blank expression on her face.
"I'll get them," he said quickly as he bent down to fish them out and hand them to her.
She picked up his bag and held it open. "Put the soiled clothes and the rest of your shirt in here."
He complied and she zipped up the bag and shouldered it. Reaching into her own pants she produced a key which she handed to him.
"That's a key to get in my car. It's a black Barracuda, you walk straight out of the lobby and it's parked up two rows over to your right. Keep your injured hand in your jacket pocket. Get in on the passenger side and wait for me. Understand?"
He nodded.
"Good, I'll get your bag, what kind of car am I looking for and where do I find the file?"
"It's an orange Gremlin, the file is in a document bag under the passenger side seat."
She stared at him. "You're on the run in an orange Gremlin?" she asked unbelievingly.
He started to speak but she held up a hand. "Never mind, be on your way. I'll be along shortly."
Putting his right hand carefully into his jacket pocket he started for the exit but hesitated at the sight of the corpse leaning at an unnatural angle against the door.
"Use the door in the other suite, Mr. Satterfield."
He turned with a blush that faded quickly as he had to step over the body that was lying just inside the adjoining suite. Feeling a little sick, he made his way out of the suite.
Once he had left the room Bailey shook her head and policed the area to make sure nothing of importance was left behind. Once satisfied, she walked into the other suite to retrieve her bag and proceeded to the hall to hang the ‘Do Not Disturb' signs on the doorknobs of both suites. Instead of the elevator she chose the stairwell to give Martin a little more of a head start. Emerging into the lobby, she walked casually out the front doors and into the parking lot.
Unbelievably, the dreadful little car was parked almost directly in front.
"Jesus," she murmured as she walked around to the passenger side and unlocked the door. Leaning in, she reached under the seat and retrieved the case the file was in. She locked and closed the door and walked the four rows over to her own vehicle where she opened the door and casually tossed both bags and the file into the back seat. Sparing a quick glance around, she pulled the katana from under her poncho and placed it on the rear floorboard.
"Well, Mr. Satterfield. You're either extremely stupid or extremely clever," she said as she sat down behind the wheel and started the car.
"I… I don't understand," Martin said confusedly.
"Your car is pretty impressive, it's a bloody wonder you made it a mile out of town," she said in amusement while navigating out of the parking lot and onto the street.
"It's my mother's car," he said lamely in his defense.
"Whatever," she said. "You've some information for me, I'd like to hear it now."
He shot a puzzled look at her, momentarily confused. "Oh yes," he started. "Your mother and your brother are in the UK in a town called Southampton under the last names of Bennigan."
"And how sure are you of this?"
"Fairly sure, I stumbled onto the information less than two months ago. I only recently made the connection with you."
The car pulled up to a light and she turned in her seat to look at him. "You'd better be sure, Mr. Satterfield. Or I'll bury you in that hideous little car of yours."
She kept up the stare and, even though he couldn't see her eyes behind the sunglasses, he had no doubt, no doubt at all, that she meant exactly what she said. Thankfully, the light turned green and she turned her attention back to the road.
"Holy shit," he thought to himself as he sank as far as he could into his seat and tried to disappear.
--------
Richards had made contact as soon as his team arrived at the hotel and his call came as a relief to everyone as the silence was beginning to add to the already high tension permeating the room. As soon as the call was routed to the overhead speakers, Terry came abruptly out of his chair and began to pace restlessly around the room.
"We're entering the lobby now and will maintain an active line," Richards informed the room.
For the next three minutes everyone was treated to the sounds of Richards and his team getting on the elevator and their footsteps as they made their way to room 416. The only other sounds were Richards's rather heavy breathing and a quiet rustle that Terry surmised was the drawing of weapons as they stood in front of the door to the room.
At the sound of the door opening, Terry stopped his pacing and glared a
t the ceiling where the speakers were situated. He heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy blow and a body falling to the floor. He held his breath.
"The file, Mr. Satterfield. Where is it?" Richards asked.
Terry expelled the breath from his lungs and allowed himself a little bit of a smile at Martin's expense; the little shit was caught and it was time to pay the fiddler.
"We're in a bit of a hurry, Mr. Satterfield. Where is the file?" Richards spoke again. "Huh," Satterfield said hazily and Terry's smile got a fraction larger.
Terry listened to the sounds of a quick scuffle and a silenced gunshot, which resulted in muffled screams of pain and the distinct thud of a body hitting the floor.
"Search the room, quickly," Richards said.
Terry knew the little bastard would break; he could feel it coming.
"The file, Mr. Satterfield. I promise I'll make it quick," Richards said.
Upon hearing the words, Terry knew it was almost over and despite himself the little grin that had been threatening to take over his face blossomed into a full-fledged one. He stopped his pacing and returned to his chair, as he seated himself he began harbor the small hope that they might pull this off. Richards and his team had indeed moved quickly, a few minutes more and it would be over.
"Oh shit," Richards whispered.
The words struck Terry in the chest like a sledgehammer as the little hope that he was nurturing disappeared like a fart in a tornado. His eyes shut tightly and he visibly winced while slightly doubling over in his chair. Opening his eyes, he reached out and gripped the edge of the table with both hands, focusing an intense concentration on any noise that the connection might produce. He only waited about twenty seconds to be rewarded with the sound of a door opening and another silenced round. An unpleasant splatter followed by the loud and heavy thump of a body hitting the ground made it quite obvious that Richards had just died.
No one at the table stirred in the slightest. A few seconds of quiet, undecipherable clatter were the only clues that the line was still active, and then abruptly, it was disconnected. Terry turned in his chair and closed his eyes; he felt like throwing a tantrum and only by the thinnest of margins restrained himself from doing so.
For a full quarter of an hour he sat with his back to everyone in the room and stewed in his own juices, his thoughts incoherent. No one disturbed him and eventually he turned around to face his colleagues.
"Bob, we need as many people as we can get in Atlanta, dispatch them as they become available. I want twenty-four hour surveillance on Cameron. If she leaves that building I want to know about it. Also, we need to have as many teams as we can standing by to move on her, but I want it made absolutely clear that no one, no one, is to engage her unless directly ordered to do so."
"Understood," Bob said.
"Any responses on your inquiries?" Terry asked.
"It's in progress, no word yet," Bob said.
"Keep me informed."
Bob nodded and Terry reached out and opened a line.
"Phillips," a voice answered instantly.
"Mr. Phillips, we have a situation for you in Atlanta," Terry said to the man in charge of internal security.
"I see, details?"
"Standard clean, Ramada Six Flags, room 416."
"Anything else?"
"Yes, I want a report sitting in front of me in no less than six hours."
"Understood," Phillips replied in parting.
Terry stood and walked around to the back of his chair.
"Our situation just became precarious people. If Cameron didn't have the upper hand to begin with, she certainly has it now. With Satterfield and the documentation that he has no doubt kindly provided her with, she could effectively destroy the Organization by going public." He stopped and let out a sigh that slumped his shoulders. "Do I need to remind everyone what would become of them if the Organization folded?"
Terry left them to consider the question, striding silently to the door and leaving the room.
IV
She takes care of business,
Keeps a cool head.
- D. Iyall
Bailey drove all the way back afraid to even let herself hope that the information from Satterfield was correct. It would simplify matters tremendously; her family was the one thing that the Secondary had complete control over. Although she tried not to, her thoughts turned to family until eventually her mind became dominated with the questions she had never dared asked herself. Would a reunion be possible? Would her mother be appalled at what she had become? Could she forgive? How would she react to seeing a daughter assumed dead for over fifteen years? In that regard, how would she react to seeing them? Her mind kept running in circles until she realized that she had arrived at her destination completely on autopilot and she wondered idly how long she had been parked in the garage with the motor running. She turned a look on her passenger to see Satterfield looking at her confusedly and probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her.
"Come along, Mr. Satterfield," she said as she got out of the car and pulled the seat up to recover her sword and the bags.
Martin got out of the car and watched as she put the bags on the hood and sheathed her sword under the poncho.
"We have to walk through the lobby to get to the elevator, keep your hand in your pocket and I'll dress it properly when we get upstairs."
Martin just nodded as she picked up the bags and he followed her up the stairs and into the lobby, which he saw had a few people milling about. The only person who really noticed them was the guard behind the security desk, and he only looked for a second before returning his attention to elsewhere. Once inside the elevator, she produced a key that she inserted into the control panel and turned. Feeling the elevator start its ascent, he studied her covertly, having been too intimidated on the car trip over to even glance in her direction. He was six feet tall and she appeared to be almost half a foot shorter but he felt oddly insignificant even standing behind her. She had an especially feminine figure and was very trim; he imagined that someone without his knowledge would be astonished to find her capable of the strength he knew she possessed. Her hair, which was so black it seemed to disappear into her clothing, smelled slightly of lavender.
"Don't stare, Mr. Satterfield," she said quietly.
Caught and wondering how, he immediately averted his eyes and was relieved when the elevator came to a stop and opened up on a short hallway that led to another door. She exited the elevator and stopped at the door to enter a series of numbers on a keypad. Upon entering, she led him through a sparsely furnished living area to the kitchen and clicked on the lights above a dining table.
"Take off your jacket and have a seat, Mr. Satterfield. I'll be back in a moment," she said with a nod at one of the chairs surrounding the table.
He pulled off his jacket, taking care to avoid any unnecessary contact with his hand, and took a seat as she disappeared down a hallway. He took in his surroundings and noticed that everything he could see was elegant but impersonal, with the possible exception of a grand piano that sat in front of the windows that overlooked the city. It occurred to him that although the atmosphere was functional, one really didn't live within its confines. It reminded him of a hotel room, existing only to provide shelter until it was time to go home.
"Push up your sleeve, Mr. Satterfield," she said, suddenly reappearing and surprising him.
He did as she asked and watched in trepidation as she smoothed out a towel on the table surface in front of him. She sat down and he noticed that she had tied her hair up in a lopsided ponytail and had changed into a black T-shirt that was obviously several sizes too large for her. Having disposed of her sunglasses, he was able to see her eyes for the first time and he noticed with a touch of wonder that she possessed exceptionally commanding black eyes.
"Let me see that hand now, Mr. Satterfield."
He hesitantly put his hand on the towel in front of him and noticed with no small amount of unease th
at she had placed several items on the table, giving him the unnerving impression that she was preparing for surgery.
"Relax, Mr. Satterfield. The worst part is already over."
With the words, she reached out and began to remove the makeshift bandage she had placed on his hand earlier. He bit his lip when she quickly pulled the cloth strip from his wound and was distressed to see blood start to flow from the opening. She doused a cloth with alcohol and wiped the area around the wound clean, tearing open a disposable syringe when she was done and inserting it into a vial.
"This will deaden the area while I work, it shouldn't be too painful."
He flinched only a little when she injected the hand at several points and watched with disquiet as she picked up what appeared to be a small scalpel. Fortunately, her cell phone rang providing him with a slight reprieve as she reached into her slacks to answer it.
"Cameron."
He forgot his anxiety upon seeing a bright smile and a slight blush steal across her features, it was the most human she had appeared to him and it was a startling transformation. Gone was the aura of potential menace and in its place was a very attractive and smiling young woman. Trying to be sly, he leaned forward slightly in his chair, attempting to shamelessly eavesdrop.
"Hi," she said demurely and Martin watched fascinated as she began to fidget nervously with the end of a gauze bandage.
"Yes, I did, thank you," she said with a deepening blush completely unaware of his rapt attention on her.
"Well, I was hoping you would have somewhere in mind I… I'm not…familiar with a lot of places to go," she said with some difficulty.
Stories by Kiera Dellacroix Page 10
