Stories by Kiera Dellacroix

by Dellacroix, Kiera

  "Pretty clever," she said. "Well, except for the keycard. Were you aware that after a certain hour a pin number has to be entered as well?"

  "Uhm… I am now," he admitted shamefaced and she surprised him by laughing.

  He risked a glance at her and it amazed him at what an attractive woman she actually was.

  "I'd almost figured you for a lucky fool, Mr. Satterfield. I see now that would've been a wrong assessment," she said amused.

  "Dare I ask why?" he asked not sure if he really wanted to know.

  "I figured anyone trying to avoid attention in a bright orange Gremlin, was either a complete idiot or was possessed with a touch of genius," she said with an amused smile.

  "It really is my mother's car," he said in his defense and then added. "My mother left it to me when she retired to Florida and it was still in her name. It had been in storage for several years. No one knew I had it so it seemed the perfect getaway car."

  "Well it got you here."

  "Do you know how they found me?" he asked suddenly curious.

  "They ran a incoming source trace on my contact line. The line didn't register tampering until I disconnected."

  "Really? So you knew they were coming after me?"

  "Yes."

  "Alright, is Terry a target?"

  "Mr. McKraken will not survive this ordeal."

  "You realize that he's probably locked down the building. It would be next to impossible to get to him."

  "I'm sure the building is locked down. I'm also sure that all pending Ops have been canceled and every available man is currently on the way to Atlanta, that is if they aren't here already. Terry also has several people planted as employees in my corporation and I'm already followed when I leave the building."

  "This doesn't seem to bother you. Why is that?"

  "Why should it?"

  "Because they're going to kill you."

  "Like I said, they're going to try, Mr. Satterfield. Besides, they won't move against me unless they're sure they can cover all the bases."

  "You say there are people working for the Organization in this building?"

  "Yes."

  "That's kinda of scary."

  "No one can access this floor but myself, you're perfectly safe here." She paused and considered. "Let me ask you a question or more accurately I would…uhm… like some advice on a …uh… personal matter," she said hesitantly.

  "Uhm… sure," Martin said surprised.

  "If you were to be asked over to…uhm… dinner for a … well, a date… is there anything that you would bring?"

  Martin gaped at her. He couldn't believe that she was concerned with such a trivial matter when there were potential assassins coming out of the woodwork.

  "Well?" she asked a little peevishly when he didn't answer immediately.

  "I'm sorry," he said bringing his full attention to the matter at hand. "Is the dinner at this person's home?"

  "Yes," she said and he noticed she leaned forward a little in her chair.

  "Is this a relatively new relationship?" he asked tentatively and more than a little curiously.

  "Yes."

  "Well, I'd probably bring a bottle of wine or flowers if I really liked the person. But I'm not sure what a guy would think if he got flowers," he speculated.

  "It's not a guy and what kind of wine would you bring?"

  "Uhm…I… uh…" he started trying to get past his initial surprise. "I would bring a zinfandel, that would pretty much go with anything that …uhm… she might feed you."

  "I see," she answered and sat back in her chair to consider the advice. "What kind of flowers?" she asked after a moment.

  "Well…uhm…I would get roses for a … well a date," he said feeling uncomfortable and not sure why.

  "Why roses?" she asked curiously.

  "Because they supposedly represent love."

  "Love?"

  "Yes. Roses convey a romantic interest beyond friendship or a passionate love," he answered and she grew quiet for several minutes before she reached into her pocket for the cell phone. She stopped before she dialed.

  "How many roses would be appropriate?"

  "How many dates have you had?"

  "This'll be the second."

  "Half a dozen would be fine I think."

  She dialed a number into the phone. "Tom? Yes, this is Bailey. I was wondering if you or one your guys would do me a favor?"

  "Yes, could you send someone out to purchase me a half dozen roses, please?" she asked and then frowned. "Yes, roses," she repeated.

  "Uhm… hold on." She muted the phone and looked at Martin.

  "Red roses?" she asked and he nodded.

  "In a vase or in paper?"

  "Paper," Martin answered.

  "Tom?" she said into the phone. "That would be red and in paper."

  "Just use a company draft, no wait." She considered. "Take it out of petty cash and I'll reimburse it later."

  "Alright, I'll pick them up at the security desk around 6:30. Thanks, Tom," she said and hung up.

  She sat quietly for several minutes after hanging up, eventually returning her attention to Martin. "Thanks for the advice, Mr. Satterfield."

  "You're welcome," he said sincerely.

  "I've some things to look into and will be out again tonight. Is there anything you need?" she asked.

  "I don't think so," he said and then added. "But I do have one more question if you don't mind?"

  "Alright."

  "What happens to me?"

  "You get to lay around here for a few weeks and then you get your life back, Mr. Satterfield," she said as if it were obvious.

  "Would you mind telling me how that's going to take place?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "Have you considered that things might not work out as planned?"

  "Sure, there's a lot of things that could go wrong," she said agreeably. "But I'll win anyways."

  "What makes you so certain of that?" he asked hoping she could convince him and he waited several seconds for a response. He looked up at her and noted with a mixture of awe and dread that her entire bearing had changed rather suddenly. Gone was the pretty young woman and in her place was a predator with inhumanly cold and merciless eyes.

  "Because unfortunately, Mr. Satterfield, I am The Wraith," she said ominously and left the room without another word.

  II

  And I don't want the world to see me,

  Cause I don't think that they'd understand.

  - J. Rzeznik

  "Andrew, I want two men at the door at all times," Jeremy Watts said to his man as he surveyed the small two-story flat in which the Cameron's resided.

  "Right, sir," Andrew responded quickly.

  "I'll speak with them alone," he said with a careful look at Andrew, who was a slight and pale man with dark features.

  "While I'm in there, please inform the movers and the rest of the men that the Cameron's and their belongings are to be treated with the utmost respect."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Stay alert," he said as he got out of the car and walked up a short flight of steps that led to the door. He rang the bell and waited patiently until a well-built, handsome young man answered the door. He stood over six feet tall and had dark brown eyes with almost black hair.

  "Can I help you?" he asked with an Irish accent eyeing Jeremy warily.

  "Yes, I'm Jeremy Watts with MI6, and I would like to speak privately with you and your mother, please," he said politely.

  "Your identification," the man demanded in a suddenly hostile tone.

  "Of course," Jeremy said and produced his credentials. "May I come in?"

  The man opened the door all the way and stepped aside for him. "I'll get my mother, but I'm afraid you're going to be in for a fight," he said peevishly as he left Jeremy standing at the entrance to the living room.

  Jeremy waited patiently, his eyes taking in his surroundings and his attention landing on several family photographs that sat upon a d
resser. He crossed the room and studied them intently while he waited. With a twinge of sadness, he noted that several pictures included a smiling raven-haired girl with happy black eyes that were a far cry from the eyes of the woman he knew. He had done some investigating on his own and learned that Bailey Cameron was officially listed as dead from the same gunfire that killed her father and brother. He wondered if he would ever get the whole story.

  "Mr. Watts, is it?" a female voice startled him.

  "Yes, it is," he said as he turned to find a woman with graying black hair and sparkling green eyes staring at him from across the room.

  "I won't move again, Mr. Watts," she said.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "My son said you were from MI6. I'll not move again."

  "Do you mind if I sit down, Mrs. Cameron?" he asked and saw the surprise in her face with the use of her real name.

  She gestured to the chair in front of him and he took a seat. He looked at her carefully and could see many similarities between the mother and her daughter.

  "How did you come to have the name Bennigan, Mrs. Cameron?" he asked.

  "You should know, MI6 has changed our names and moved us around for last fifteen years," she said testily.

  "You only very recently came to the attention of MI6, Mrs. Cameron. We have at no time been involved in your affairs."

  "What kind of shit are you shoveling?" she asked with narrowed eyes. "You've been stinking up our lives for the better part of two decades."

  "Mrs. Cameron, you have been manipulated by an American agency. I'm here to put a stop to it."

  "You're gonna have to do better than that, Mr. Watts," she said as she took a seat in the chair across from him.

  "Would you tell me the reason behind your original name change and relocation, please?" he asked politely.

  She stared at him without speaking for almost a minute.

  "About a year after most of my family was murdered, Mr. Watts. We were approached by MI6, who informed us that we were in danger from the British and through misunderstanding, faced retaliation from the IRA itself," she said frostily. "Having only my fourteen year old son left I agreed to their offer of safe haven and because I did, my son and I have lost our names and have been uprooted too many times to count."

  "Mrs. Cameron, before today, at no time has a member of any branch of British Intelligence approached you. The only danger that you've ever been in is from the people who have manipulated you."

  "And who might these people be, Mr. Watts?" she asked sarcastically.

  "A branch of the American Central Intelligence Agency, Mrs. Cameron."

  "Why would the Americans care about an Irish family?"

  "That's not a question I can answer at this time," he said regretfully.

  "Why not?"

  "I cannot answer as a request to a friend; a friend that is aware of your situation and knows you are in danger."

  "A friend to you or to me, Mr. Watts?"

  "Both, Mrs. Cameron."

  "What do you want of us?"

  "I'm here at the request of my friend and with the permission of the Prime Minister to transport you to the British Embassy in the United States where you have been granted asylum."

  "If what you say is true, why would I want to go to the United States, if we're supposedly in danger from them to begin with?"

  "It is at the request of your benefactor, Mrs. Cameron."

  "And who exactly would my benefactor be?" she asked curiously.

  "A person who has much to risk and wishes fervently that you comply with their request. This person has also empowered me to inform you that soon you can live wherever you want, for as long as you want. But it is imperative that you comply with their request," he said as earnestly as possible.

  Doreen was quiet for sometime as she considered his words, inspecting him closely for any hint of deceit. She was more than a little disturbed that she could find no trace of falsehood about the man and she had to admit to a raging curiosity about her mysterious benefactor.

  "And if I refuse?" she asked finally.

  "If you refuse, I will personally take up residence here and will have a security detachment surrounding you around the clock, until you either comply with the wishes of your benefactor or I am informed that you are no longer in danger," he said seriously.

  "You seem to have a personal stake here, Mr. Watts," she said quietly.

  "It's more a matter of honor, Mrs. Cameron."

  "How so?"

  "Some years back your benefactor was mine as well and went through a considerable effort to save my life when it would have been prudent not to do so."

  "Do I get to meet this mysterious person?"

  "Eventually, I believe so, yes," he said honestly.

  "You say this person is at risk, why?"

  "Your benefactor is currently a target of the agency that poses a potential threat to you."

  "Are you telling me that the American government is going to kill this person."

  "Not the American government as a whole, but an agency that operates outside of governmental restrictions. And I think they will try, I doubt they will succeed."

  "Why don't you think they'll succeed?"

  "Your benefactor is tremendously formidable, Mrs. Cameron," he said seriously. "It would be my guess that within a month the situation will be resolved."

  "Why a month?"

  "Because that is when I was informed that your benefactor would again be in contact with me."

  She got up from her chair and paced slowly around the room. "Mr. Watts, I'm a little out of sorts that I can't find any hint of a lie upon you," she said honestly.

  "I know this must all seem very cloak and dagger, Mrs. Cameron. And I know a lot of what I've told you is vague, and I've offered very little information to convince you that what I say is true. But I ask you to believe me and to place trust in your benefactor who has only your safety in mind."

  "It would help a great deal if you told me who this person is and why they seem to care about our safety."

  "It would indeed simplify matters. However, I was asked not to reveal that information."

  "Mr. Watts, I'm afraid that I can't uproot my son, who is engaged, on the basis of what you've told me."

  "His fiance may come with us, Mrs. Cameron."

  "That wouldn't be fair to either of them," she said. "I'm afraid I can't comply with your wishes or those of my so called benefactor, Mr. Watts."

  Jeremy sat in his chair and thought long and hard. Studying the woman intently, he was convinced from the stubborn set of her jaw that any further attempts at persuasion would be ultimately rejected. Deciding to give a little and hoping that he was making the right decision, he walked over to the dresser and picked up a picture that portrayed the entire Cameron family.

  "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Cameron," he said sincerely looking at the picture. "Your daughter is very lovely."

  "Yes, she was," Doreen corrected sadly.

  "Mrs. Cameron, I cannot and will not elaborate further, so please do not ask me to," he began with conviction.

  Doreen stopped her pacing at the man's words and stood behind her chair. From his tone she had the sudden and overwhelming feeling that he was about to drop a bomb in her lap. She moved around to the front of her chair and sat down gingerly, locking eyes with the man and nodding slowly.

  "I don't know all the details, Mrs. Cameron. But your benefactor has evidently been looking for you for a very long time. Your safety is of great concern to her. Please reconsider your decision." He put the picture down and walked briskly to the door without looking at her. "I'm stepping outside for a puff, I'll be back shortly," he said as he opened the door and proceeded outside.

  Doreen sat in her chair and circulated the words he had spoken through her mind for several minutes, a startled gasp escaping as she considered the ramifications of his statement. She sprang from her chair, closing the distance between her and the photograph that he had handled in a bounding
leap. Her eyes focused in on the image of her long dead but beautiful daughter, managing to trace the outline of her face with the tip of a finger before her knees refused to support her and she collapsed to the floor with the photograph clutched to her chest. Was it possible? She had seen the body, but had she really looked? It had been an unspeakably grievous time and one glance at the mangled form that had been her exquisite daughter was all that she could stand. Was she out there right now?

  "Ryan!" she screamed.

  A crash came from above followed by rapidly pounding footsteps as her son came flying down the stairs seconds later, coming to a sputtering halt as soon as he spotted his mother on the floor.

  "Are you alright, Mum?" he asked anxiously.

  "Get your floozy over here right now. We're going to America."

  --------

  "We currently have thirty assets in Atlanta now, the rest will arrive within the next two days. Surveillance has already begun; Mike Donnelly is coordinating and has them based at the Hyatt Regency. The rest of our assets are spread out among the area hotels as you requested," Bob said.

  "Good," Terry said. "Who would you say is the best candidate to take charge of our confrontation people?"

  "Dwight Robards, he's the most experienced," Bob answered.

  "Is he on location yet?" Terry asked.

  "No, his ETA is the day after tomorrow."

  "Very well, unless anyone objects, we'll go with him," Terry said. "Mr. Phillips has looked into finding a base of operations and has located a two-story office building for lease. It's a good deal more isolated from the business district than I would've liked, but it suits our purposes very well. We should be able to base everyone out of there by Wednesday. What's the story on her movement, Bob?"

  "She apparently left the building last night at 6:10pm and picked up a female later identified as Piper Tate. From the Tate residence, they proceeded to a restaurant and apparently had dinner. After which, Cameron drove her home and arrived back at C-Corp at 11:47pm. No movement outside the building since then," Bob reported. "Do we know who Piper Tate is?" he asked.

  "According to Marland, she's Cameron's choice to eventually oversee Operations at C-Corp. Tate is apparently already in charge on an interim basis." Terry said.