by Peter Parkin
"I never warned her about anything. She found out all by herself, the clever bitch. And I'm the one who killed James Layton. I told you a bunch of lies to earn your confidence.
"James was my assignment. Sure, I did fall in love with him—but the money was just too tempting. He was out of control and he endangered everything America believed in with his threats. So, you see, it won't be difficult for me to put a bullet in Fiona's head. Hand me the package and we can all go our separate ways."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dennis saw Melissa make her move. He should have known that she wouldn't be able to control her temper. She took off like a sprinter and rushed Barb like a linebacker.
She yelled as she ran. "You murderous bitch!"
Barb calmly turned the gun from Fiona and fired. Mel went down. Blood immediately started gushing out of her right thigh.
Dennis ran over to her and ripped off his shirt. He motioned to Fiona to help.
"Hold her leg up, Fiona, above her chest level." Dennis wrapped his shirt around the bullet wound, and tied it tightly. Mel's face was ashen and she was moaning in pain. He leaned over and kissed her lips. "Hold on, hon. Please, hold on."
Dennis turned his attention to Barb and snarled, "I'm going to kill you." Barb laughed. "Denny, if I wanted to kill you guys, I could have done it already. I just want the package. I'll make you a deal -you let me live and I'll let you live. Just give me what I want."
Dennis' eyes caught a sudden movement in the direction of the forest. He turned his head and saw the strangest sight. A man in an immaculately tailored suit was strolling out of the woods. A vision so out of place that it surpassed the surreal experience he was already going through.
Barb noticed it too. She turned her gun in the man's direction. "Stop where you are! I'm a Federal Agent! Identify yourself!"
The man kept coming. No fear, no hesitation. He raised his hands and held them high as he walked. When he got within about twenty feet of Barb, he stopped.
"Hello, Barb. My name's Brett Horton. I'm your silent partner. I'm sure you've heard of me before."
"Ah, I knew I had a double. And yes, I've heard of you. So, what is this? You pop out of the forest after I've done all the work? I'm not splitting any of my bonus with you, asshole!"
Dennis took in the scene. Could this get more bizarre? A long-time friend turns out to be a killer. And out of the woods walks James Bond? He stuffed the envelope into his back pocket. Dennis wasn't going to give it up without a fight.
Barb walked closer to them and lowered her gun towards Mel's head. Then she lowered her left hand to her waist and pressed a button on a beeper clipped to her belt. "I'm sorry, Brett, but I'm in control of this. You're on the outs."
Brett laughed. "Are you waiting for sniper shots, Barb? If so, you'll be waiting an awful long time. In fact, eternity. I've relieved your incompetent little assassins of their duties. They're already in hell."
Barb looked towards the woods. She frantically pressed the button again. And again. She glanced over at Brett just in time to see his hand whip a gun out of his holster with lightning speed.
Her head exploded. Pieces of her skull and brain matter splashed over Mel's anguished face. Then Barb's lifeless body fell to the ground, twitching as it lay.
He's going to kill us all—just over this stupid package. Dennis rushed him. Keeping low to the ground, he lunged at warp speed. While still in the air, his left hand flung outwards and knocked the gun out of Brett's hand with a vicious swipe.
They were on the ground now with Dennis on top. He brought his right hand up and rammed it downward, forefinger extended—aimed at Brett's forehead. With the same speed, Brett's left hand came up and deflected it, then continued upward without missing a beat. His hand caught Dennis in the throat, then his right hand slammed into the side of Dennis' head. Fiona screamed.
Dennis rolled off him and sprang to his feet. Brett was already up. They both went into their stances and began circling, eyeing each other warily.
Dennis made the first move and dove feet first into the air and swept Brett's legs out from under him. Then he was on him again. Before he could deliver a fatal blow, Brett's forearms came up and smashed into the sides of Dennis' head.
Dennis flipped to the side and saw Brett move to get on top of him. He swung his feet upwards in a violent move that sent Brett flying back several feet.
They were both on their feet again, up close and personal. Dennis rammed his right palm into Brett's face and could feel and hear the sickening crack of the bones in his nose. Then his left hand rammed into Brett's throat, slightly blocked by a hand that flew up at the last second.
Brett went down, and as Dennis pounced the man's feet came flying out of nowhere. Dennis felt himself airborne and before he had a chance to recover, Brett was on top this time. His right hand poised, index finger extended and ready to ram down into his forehead for the killing blow.
But it didn't come.
Brett seemed to be slightly out of breath, but he managed to say, "I'm going to let you up, Dennis. And I want you to walk over there into the woods and take a good look at the wounds of the two assassins who were ready to shoot you on Barb's command. Judging by what I've seen of your skills, I know you'll recognize the work. After that, come back here and we'll talk."
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Brett watched as the shirtless Dennis jogged back from the edge of the forest. The man didn't look shocked at what he'd just seen—more like he'd just returned from an invigorating hike.
He ran past Brett straight to his sister who was still lying on the ground, right leg held high by Fiona. Dennis' shirt, tied around her leg, was now soaked in blood—it was helping to stem the flow but she would need medical help soon.
And it was definitely on its way.
Dennis pulled his cellphone out of his side pocket and began to dial. "Put that away, Dennis."
Dennis glared at him. "I'm calling 911. Melissa needs an ambulance, badly."
"I've already called one. It should be here in about fifteen minutes." Dennis shoved his phone back in his pocket. "I'll ride with her to the hospital."
Brett shook his head. "She's not going to a hospital."
"What?"
"Trust me on this. She's going to a much better place—a private clinic.
No waiting, first class medical care."
"Why not a hospital?"
"Dennis, think about it. She has a gunshot wound. A hospital would have to report it to the authorities. Do you want to explain this mess here? All that happened?"
Dennis walked up to Brett until they were almost nose-to-nose. "We didn't kill these three people—you did."
"True. But you're involved in this up to your neck. You have an envelope in your back pocket that could get you killed. And if you think I'm going to confess to these killings, you have another think coming. I'm very good at disappearing—and I can do that right now if you want. I'll call off my people and I'll be gone."
Brett could tell that he had Dennis' attention. The facts spoke for themselves.
Dennis nodded. "Okay, you're right. But will Mel get the kind of care she needs?"
"Better than what she needs. This private clinic deals just with people like me. They're staffed with highly paid physicians and surgeons. And they work 'above the law.' The public has no idea places like this exist. But they do. And they are very discreet. Mel will be as good as new, I promise. I'll pay the fees."
"Where is this clinic?"
"In the country, on the outskirts of D.C. I can't give you the exact location, and unfortunately Melissa will have to be blindfolded on the way in and on the way out again. We'll make sure her family is contacted and she should be home in a couple of days."
"Christ! You know I'm a cop, don't you?"
"Of course, I do. But this is bigger than you, Dennis. You're very familiar with the 'underworld' in your job. Well, what I'm talking about is the 'overworld.' A world you'll never see. And trust me, you don't want t
o see it."
Dennis swatted at a bee that was buzzing around his head. "Okay, let's say I buy all this. What about these dead bodies? We can't just leave them here. The cops will be here in droves and I'm connected to Barb. They'll be all over me."
"Already taken care of. That was the second phone call I made. I have a 'cleanup' crew on the way. They'll be here around the same time as the ambulance."
Dennis shook his head. "Who the fuck are you, anyway?"
Brett held out his hand. "Let me formally introduce myself. Brett Horton, former Secret Service Agent, now self-employed. And whether you like it or not, I'm your new best friend."
Dennis hesitated for a second and then gave Brett's hand a firm shake. "We'll see about that."
Brett let his keen eyes wander around the area. "We are very lucky that this is a weekend getaway kind of place. It's deserted right now. We would have some serious problems on our hands if there were people living here."
Dennis nodded soberly. "Yeah, even on weekends it's kind of empty here. A lot of older people own these homes and they can't make the trip from the city anymore. And their kids are grown and don't care to come. Kids like me and Mel."
Brett reached out and squeezed Dennis's shoulder. "Don't worry about your sister. I've seen wounds like that before and I'm sure you have too. She'll be fine. When you were in the woods, I looked at the wound. The bullet hit her on an angle so it's not in too deep."
"I'll still worry until I know she's finally home safe and sound."
"She will be before you know it. In the meantime, me, you and your friend Fiona have to disappear for a while and have a chat. A serious chat. And we have to take a look at that microfilm."
Dennis frowned at him. "I'm puzzled. Whose side are you on? You told Barb you were her 'silent partner.' I'm supposed to trust you?"
"Yes. I don't think you have much of a choice."
Suddenly Dennis' expression changed. He was looking past Brett now, through the trees to the main road.
"Shit! Look!"
Brett whirled around and saw them.
A frail old couple, holding onto each other for dear life, were shuffling along the side of the road clearly enjoying a nice evening walk. Brett figured they had to be in their mid-eighties at the very least.
His quick brain arrived at the only solution that was possible. Crazy, but possible. It might just work.
"Dennis, this is what we're going to do. We're filming a scene for a movie. We can't show any signs of trying to hide anything. I'll talk to them. And the ambulance and cleanup crew will be here any minute. They'll fit right into the movie scene perfectly."
Dennis laughed. "With what? Where's the camera?"
Brett whipped the laser transmitter gun out of his pocket. "Right here.
These old folks won't have a clue about the latest technology. They'll be convinced this is the newest miniaturized version of a video camera. I'll just point and pretend."
Dennis winced.
"Look, it's all I have. Do you have a better idea? It might buy us time to get cleanly out of here. They may report it later after they've talked to a neighbor or relative, but at least we'll be long gone by then."
Dennis nodded. "Okay, you're right. It's all we've got. What do you want us to do?"
"Get over there beside Fiona and wait for the ambulance. Tell her and Mel what we're doing. Then just follow my lead and my instructions." Brett smiled. "I'm not only the cameraman, I'm also the director. You don't want to fuck with me."
With that, Brett began a calm stroll over to the old couple, who by now had stopped by the edge of the road. He could tell they were considering walking across to the clearing to see what all the action was. Brett had his laser transmitter in hand, walking purposefully toward them, like a man on a mission.
"Hello, folks. Lovely evening for a walk, isn't it?"
The old man looked at him suspiciously. "We heard what sounded like gunshots, so thought we'd check er out. Who are you?"
Brett held out his hand and the old man shook it.
"My name's Manny Tomlinson, from Universal Pictures. We're filming a couple of scenes for an upcoming movie."
The old lady gushed. "Oh, my gosh. I think I've heard of you. Didn't you make that movie about snakes on a plane?"
"Yep, that was me. Did you like that one?"
"I loved it! I love all the scary, gory movies. Will this movie be gory?" "Oh, yes, I can guarantee that for you!"
Brett could hear the sirens in the distance—the ambulance was getting close.
The old man seemed to be catching some of his wife's enthusiasm. "What'll this movie be called?"
"Forest Primeval."
The old lady put her hand up to her mouth. "Oooh, I love that. Sounds scary."
"Watch for it. Should be out by Christmas. May even be an Oscar contender."
"I'm so excited!"
Brett pointed up the road. "Well, I have to get busy." He waved his laser gun. "This little devil is the latest in video cameras. Compact, but the cinematography is fabulous. I'll have to ask you to just stay right here where you're standing. We have a pretend ambulance pulling up to take away a pretend injured woman. And then we have a large van coming which will haul away three pretend dead bodies—one from the clearing there, and two more from the forest over there."
The old lady started to tremble. Brett could have sworn she was having an orgasm. "Oh, my God. We can watch?"
"Oh, absolutely. I'd love for you to watch. Just stay where you are though. The script doesn't call for a beautiful woman like you being in the scene."
She smiled coyly, then her face turned a crimson red as she flashed Brett a wink. The old man frowned.
Brett walked off toward the ambulance and directed them to where Dennis was waiting with Fiona and Mel. Then he held the laser gun up and pointed it at the vehicle as it drove across the grass to the clearing.
He heard another engine coming down the road. The panel van was here. He directed it over to the woods first and followed it, holding the laser gun aloft. After they finished loading the bodies of Barb's hired assassins into the van, he directed them over to Barb's body. He held the laser gun in the air again, pointing it at the van and the scene that awaited them.
Within minutes the ambulance and van disappeared off down the road, and Brett walked over to the old couple again. "Did you enjoy that?"
The old man spoke this time, apparently trying to assert his manhood. "I held her back. She wanted to run over to where that body was in the field. I know you folks don't need distractions when you film these scenes. I used to be in the entertainment business myself."
"Oh, what did you do?"
"I was a puppeteer. Very popular in my day, if I do say so myself." "I'm sure you were, sir. I'm sure you were."
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
"You can't go home—you both know that, don't you?"
Fiona leaned against the fender of Dennis' Mercedes, clearly weary from the events of the day. "Where on earth are we going to go, Brett? This is out of control!" Dennis wrapped his arm around Fiona and jangled his keys in his hand. "It's okay, Fiona. He's right. But I have the same question, Brett. What do we do now?"
Brett strode confidently around to the driver's side of the car and threw Dennis a shirt. "Here, put this on. I always keep extra clothes in my truck. You just never know..."
Dennis buttoned up the shirt and repeated his question. "Again, what do we do now?"
"Well, that's the main reason I wanted you to put the shirt on. That bare chest of yours will drive the women crazy down in Norfolk."
"Norfolk, Virginia? Why are we going there?"
Brett smiled. "Because I have a house there. A 'safe house'—you know what those are. You probably have at least a dozen or so that the Washington Police Department uses. It's well equipped. We can hide out there and discuss things. I have a couple of old microfiche readers as well as a bank of computers. We can do anything from there.
"I keep the micro
fiche readers around even though they're ancient. A lot of the work I do involves recovering information from the past, before data went on CDs and flash drives. What you've just recovered is a perfect example of sensitive information from the past that's stored on an old medium. We'll look at that data together."
Dennis studied the handsome man—he was clearly the most confident and charming person he had ever met in his life. Brett was a hard person to hate, despite the fact that he had just killed three people as easily as sipping a milkshake—and fought Dennis almost to the death.
He found himself warming to the killer, and couldn't help but be impressed with how he had handled the old couple. For a few minutes, he was worried that Brett would just kill them for being an inconvenience. But he had handled them with charm and brilliance. The man was clearly capable. Probably of anything.
Brett reached into one of his inside pockets and pulled out a card. "This is the address in Norfolk. It's in a neighborhood called 'Ghent.' Old and established. The house sits on a large lot, so plenty of privacy.
"The garage is beneath the house, and you'll see a sloping driveway down to it. It's a large garage—holds six full-size cars. The opener is programmed to respond to honks from any car horn. Hold the horn down for two three-second blasts, and three one-second blasts. Then— 'Open Sesame!' Pull in and we'll toast our survival with a glass of wine."
Fiona smiled. "I don't know who you really are, Brett Horton, but I'm sure glad we met you today. You were our knight in shining armor."
Dennis slapped him on the back. "Fiona's right. You waltzed out of those woods at just the right time. And you gave me a good workout, that's for sure!"
Brett smiled back. "I like your style, Dennis. We're gonna get along just fine. And I do like the way you fight too. It's vaguely familiar." He chuckled.
Dennis rubbed his chin. "Did you spend some time in China?" Brett grinned. "Yes. How did you know?"
*****
The GPS in the Mercedes was faithfully guiding the way to 702 Brambleton Avenue in the Ghent district of Norfolk, Virginia. Dennis had just taken the 28A exit and was merging onto I-64 E, which would take them right to Norfolk. They had already been on the road for three hours and had about two hours to go.
