Almost brought a tear to my eye, she did.
Then she talked about the white van and showed her national audience a picture of it. She said police around the country were working on that lead but they could use the public’s help on this, also. Finally, on behalf of FBI agents and law enforcement officers everywhere, Courtney promised to hunt the kidnappers down and bring them to justice. She ended by issuing a special alert: “If anyone has any information regarding these two former Soviet agents, please call the FBI hotline at…”
The phone vibrated again, and I answered it.
“Creed, you son of a jailhouse bitch! What did you do with the body?” The man I knew only as Darwin had only just begun yelling at me. He told me how much trouble they had to go to in order to doctor the photographs and plant the phony Russian suspects. Darwin called me stupid, careless, and a bunch of other names that would have hurt my feelings had I not been keenly aware of his indelicate nature. So he unloaded, and I sipped my bourbon and took my lumps and waited for him to get on topic, which he eventually managed to do.
“I want to know who hired you, because whoever it was, he managed to throw a monkey wrench into our national defense system. And don’t tell me Sal Bonadello, a guy who thinks software means sweaters.”
Darwin fell silent, but only for a moment. Then he said, “I’m waiting.”
“I can’t give you a name,” I said.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. But on the bright side, I know how to get it”
“Creed, listen to me. You’ve done a lot of stupid things over the years, things I’ve turned a blind eye to because up to now, you’ve been more valuable than the shit storms you’ve created. But this is too much. We can’t let someone hack into our national defense systems, and we can’t let the government find out that you and your people are running around taking contracts from criminals to kill people,” he said. “They’re funny about shit like that. How the fuck did you let this happen? No, don’t bother telling me. Just tell me this: what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to talk to an angry midget,” I said.
“What? Are you insane? You trying to tell me some midget hired you to kill the doctor’s wife?”
“Little person,” I said. “They prefer the term little people.”
“I prefer Viagra and a nice set of tits, but right now you and Callie are the only boobs in my life.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’m saying a midget hired me to kill Monica Childers, but I’m not sure she’s dead.”
“I know how to telclass="underline" did you kill her or not?”
“We killed her, but we left her body. Now it’s gone.”
“Wait,” Darwin said. “Maybe I should get some Roman soldiers to move the stone away from the tomb.”
“Look, I gave her a syringe full of BT. I think someone got to her in time to administer an antidote. I think that’s why Victor monitored the satellite, so he could get a chase team to pick her up as soon as we left.”
“Victor? Who’s Victor? The midget?”
“Little person.”
“Let me get this straight.” Darwin paused on the other end of the line. “You took a contract from an angry midget to kill a prominent surgeon’s wife, but she was rescued and then kidnapped by other people working for the very same midget. That what you’re telling me?”
“It sounds stupid when you say it out loud like that.”
Then, in a tight voice, he said, “Kill her again, Creed.”
“Okay.”
“Because otherwise she’ll be able to identify you.”
“Okay.”
“And kill the midget, too.”
“That I can’t do.”
“Why the hell not?”
“First, I don’t know for certain he’s the hacker. Second, if he isn’t the hacker and I kill him, I’ll never be able to find the real hacker. Third, I’ve entered into an agreement with him.”
“You’ll be entering a pine box if you don’t put a stop to this hacking business.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget to kill Monica Childers.”
“Assuming she’s still alive.”
“Don’t assume anything. Just kill her.”
“Will do.”
“Keep me in the loop. I don’t want to have to keep calling you after the fact.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, shut up.” He hung up on me.
CHAPTER 25
I’m a Time Saver.
Time Savers are people who commit special moments to memory. A skilled Time Saver can freeze all the components of an event-the date, mood, time, temperature, lighting, sights, sounds, scents, the breeze-everything. Then we park this information in a corner of our brains and relive it whenever we wish. It’s like opening a time capsule years after an event and having all the wonderful memories spill out.
Some guys like baseball, some ballet. Maybe they’re content to grow old with memories of sweeping the Yankees or reliving the Dance of the Cygnets from Swan Lake. But me, I’d rather Time Save the memory of trysts with beautiful young ladies like Jenine.
Fully dressed now, sitting on the balcony again, I closed my eyes and began experiencing all the facets of our encounter, committing them to a permanent file in my mind. Just as I’d indoctrinated my body to survive torture and function at a high level by testing weapons and sleeping in a prison cell, I’d structured my mind to compartmentalize the significant experiences of my life. These I can relive as if they’re happening in the moment-a wonderful skill to be able to call upon the next time I’m stuck in a real prison for any length of time.
Some people plan for their retirement. I plan for my imprisonment, for I am certain to end up dead or in prison, and if it’s to be the latter, I want my body and mind to be prepared.
I began by concentrating on her voice. Then I relived the heightened awareness, the anticipation-the entire range of feelings and emotions that raced through my mental synapses and physical receptors just after she called from the lobby phone. I marked these things in my mind until I knew I could call upon them at will.
Then I re-experienced Jenine’s arrival in the doorway, my first view of her, and the immediate impressions I formed, and how I felt the moment I encountered her beauty, newness, and youth. I smiled, thinking how none of this mattered in the least to Jenine and the other beauties I’d met in my life, although I’m sure they have fond memories of the money I spent.
I focused on the way she entered the room while listening to music, just as you’d expect a college kid to do, with the ear buds, the oversized MP3 player, and…
And suddenly I realized she didn’t have the MP3 player with her when she left the room!
A cold chill rushed through me. Could Jenine have put the MP3 player in her purse while I was on the balcony, signaling Quinn? I didn’t think so. If she ever kept it in her purse, she’d have done so before meeting me. I had to assume the worst. As a trained assassin for many years, I survived the deadliest ambushes, the most terrifying physical encounters imaginable, by always assuming the worst.
I jumped to my feet and dialed the operator. A young lady answered. “Front desk. This is Jodie; how may I help you?”
“Jody,” I said in my most commanding voice, “this is Donovan Creed in room 214. I’m a federal agent. I need you to listen very carefully.”
“Is this a joke?” she asked. “If it is, it’s not funny.”
Maybe I should have told her that after spending twelve years as the CIA’s top international assassin, I ought to know a bomb threat when I saw one. Then again, the word assassin conjures up such diverse feelings. I decided to stick with the federal agent story and gave her another go.
“Jody, I repeat, I’m a federal agent and there’s a bomb in my room. I want you to activate the fire alarm, contact hotel security, and immediately begin evacuating the building.”