Stories by Kiera Dellacroix Page 6

  VII

  Then I see the edge I look I fall, And I get deeper and deeper

  - C. Curnin, J. Oram

  Bailey pondered the question he had asked her and took several moments to go over her next response. She noted that Josh was waiting quietly with an expectant look on his face. She was pretty sure she had already won him over.

  "As of this morning, Josh," she began. "I'm quite sure that my former employers wish me eliminated."

  "I don't understand."

  "My former employers wish me eliminated. Just like they wished several people eliminated on the day we met."

  "Are you saying they intend to kill you?"

  "Yes."

  He stared at her carefully. His mind scrambling to order the thoughts spiraling around in his head. If people were going to try and kill this woman he was pretty certain that he didn't want to be anywhere in the vicinity, much less the state, or for that matter even the country.

  "Would you just let me walk out of here right now if I refused?"

  "Yes."

  He studied her hard. She had just offered him a chance at a new life. In fact, she had six years ago let him keep his old one. Evidently, she wasn't shaking in her boots at the prospect of becoming a potential corpse. He looked at her sitting patiently behind her desk awaiting his response and believed her. He owed it to her and himself to at least hear her out before making a decision.

  "Who are your former employers?"

  "An agency of the United States government."

  "Why do they you want you dead?"

  "Because I don't want to work for them anymore."

  "I don't get it."

  "I think the less you know on this subject, the better off you would be."

  "Okay, but you seem to have plenty of money, why don't you just assume an identity and disappear, like the one you've offered me?" he asked. "Or you could go to a big newspaper like in the movies for sanctuary or amnesty, something like that?"

  "That isn't an option."

  "Why?"

  "I've people who depend on me."

  He considered that silently for a second. "Alright. Where do I come into this mess?"

  "Unless I make a mistake, it will be a month, perhaps more, before they attempt to remove me. During that time I'll need someone to do things for me, both inside this building and out. I'd like that person to be you."

  "What sort of things would you need me to do?"

  "I need you to find the bad guys."

  "Say what?"

  "Let me be more specific. I own this building and the business that operates here. This building also happens to be my home. I've known for some time that my former employers have had people placed within the corporation as employees, planted for the express purpose of monitoring my actions and movements. Starting on Monday, the company has been informed that a private consultant is going to be in the building evaluating the company for parties interested in a buyout. A fictional buyout, for I've no intention of selling the company. However, I need you to pretend to be that consultant and attempt to locate those within that have a secret agenda."

  "You mean you want me to snoop around and identify these people?"

  "Exactly, you'll be given access to the entire building, with the exception of the 18th floor. I've prepared an outline to help you, a duty list, personnel information, and responses to any questions that the employees might ask you. False identity one has been set up for this purpose. I've made reservations at the Hilton for this identity, and reserved a car in his name. A generous bank account and credit cards are provided for any expenses that you might need. Do you think you can do this for me?"

  "Sounds easy enough for the rewards involved."

  "Well, there's a catch of course."

  "I figured."

  "On the rare times that I might leave the building I'll need a shadow, again you come into play."

  "How so?"

  "I'll need you to potentially identify those who might be following me."

  "Gee, that sounds safe."

  "Of course, I'll never be far away in the event of an emergency."

  "Is that it?"

  "With the exception of one more thing, yes."

  "And that would be?"

  "I'll need another package before you assume identity one.

  "I see, and what would this package contain?"

  "A PSG1, three 10 round magazines and a case of .308."

  "A serious piece of hardware, very expensive."

  "Price is no object and you have a little under a week."

  "It's doable. But I need to know a few more things?"

  "If I can answer, I will."

  "First, why me?"

  "I've kept an eye on you over the years, Josh. I know you can blend in and pretend to be who you're not. I know you're smart but you've made mistakes that you can't take back. I also know that you're not happy with the way your life has turned out. I think you want another chance, and I can give it to you."

  "Fair enough, but if I was to disappear what happens to my wife? Miserable bitch that she is, she depends on me."

  "She'll be exceptionally well taken care of."

  "Alright, what happens to me if you don't survive?"

  "That's unlikely, but preparations have been made for you to assume identity two without me around to give it to you."

  "You seem to be very confident that you'll win."

  "That's because I've never lost."

  Looking at her, he was willing to bet that was an entirely true statement. The woman in front of him seemed to sweat confidence and despite the fear that he still had of her in impressively large amounts, she had a dark sort of charisma that was very appealing.

  "Alright, I'm in. Give me the particulars."

  "First, you'll need to cut your hair and buy some suits. I suggest you do this in Augusta. Your hotel and car reservations are for Sunday. You need to be here starting Monday."

  She picked up the other manila envelope on her desk and tossed it to him. He opened it up and began looking through it.

  "Inside you'll find a CD with the personnel information, the outline, duty list and responses. Study them. Also, you'll find my business card and the business card of a dentist in Augusta, I suggest you make an appointment for this week and show him my card. You might have to visit him a few times, so allow that into your schedule. Any questions?"

  "There's a key in here, what's is it for?"

  "It's a key for a locker at the Greyhound station in Augusta. Inside you'll find all the equipment you're going to need. Pick it up when you visit the dentist."

  He nodded as he browsed through the contents of the envelope. "I see here my new name will be Joshua Anderson, I like the name on this one better."

  "I can imagine."

  "Any other questions before you return on Monday?"

  "No, I mean yes, how do you want to take delivery on the other package?"

  "Just hold on to it, my cell phone number is in the envelope as well. If there's anything else you need in the next few days, call that number."

  "Will do."

  "Alright, I'll have Tom come back up and escort you down.

  She hit the intercom. "Piper?"

  "Yes?"

  "Would you buzz Tom with security and have him come up and escort my guest back down?"

  "Of course."

  "Give me a ring when he arrives please."

  "Alright, Bailey."

  "Thank you, Piper."

  She disconnected, sipped her coffee and watched Josh study the items that comprised his new identity for the next few weeks. She had no doubts that he would do exceptionally well. Everything was working out according to plan, with her family being the one exception. That one was out of her hands for the moment. It was the key to everything; she couldn't complete her plan without it.

  "Bailey, Tom is here."

  "Okay, thanks."

  She looked at Josh who had already replaced everything in the envelope and had apparent
ly been quietly studying her while she had been thinking.

  "You ready, Josh?"

  "I hope you know what you're doing."

  "I wouldn't play, if I couldn't win." She paused. "See you on Monday, Mr. Anderson?"

  "I'll see you then, Bailey," he said and turned to leave the room.

  She leaned back in her chair and thought about nothing until interrupted by a knock on the door and Piper poked her head in.

  "It's almost lunchtime, Bailey."

  "Uh… Yes, it is," she said with a glance at the clock.

  "What do ya say I buy you lunch? There's a great Italian place around the corner?"

  Bailey gaped at her. She didn't quite know how to react to such an informal invitation.

  "Uhm…"

  "Gosh, its not like I'm not asking you to an embalming," Piper said, putting on one of her best smiles.

  To her vast confusion, she started blushing again in reaction to the smile being directed at her and she dropped her eyes to the surface of her desk in an attempt to ignore it. The woman would no doubt want to chat over the meal, and she knew she was horribly lacking in non-business conversational skills, not to mention that her small talk skill hovered just below zero on the talent chart. She opened her mouth to decline.

  "Sure," she said, shocking herself.

  "Great! I'll get my purse."

  Mechanically, and with a bewildered expression, she lifted herself out of her seat and put on her jacket.

  --------

  "Apparently, Mr. Satterfield was unaware of the cameras and obviously, he didn't realize that after 8:00pm the keycards to the executive offices don't work without an additional pin entered on the keypad," Mr. Phillips said.

  Phillips was a tall, lanky man that wore his dark brown hair greased down on his scalp. His shining hazel eyes were perpetually lidded and as a result, he was in constant possession of an expression that made him appear to be on the verge of falling asleep.

  Terry didn't respond. He sat in his chair with his back to Phillips, having turned away and leveled his gaze out the window as soon as Martin's image had appeared on the video. Not only had he been betrayed, but it couldn't have come at worse possible time.

  What really ate at him was that he really did like Martin; not so much that it would have kept him from ordering the man's retirement, but the Ivy League shit had beaten him to the punch. The feeling of self-pity and betrayal was beginning to wear off in favor of the anger that was demanding reparations. Unfortunately, Martin would have to be taken alive, the file saw to that, at least for the time being. Once the file was returned to the Organization, he was willing to go to great lengths to make sure that Martin's end was a particularly unpleasant one. The more he thought about the current situation the angrier he became. His watch told him it was 11:45am. He had a little over an hour before the staff meeting; it was time to act. He turned in his chair to face the patiently waiting Phillips.

  "Mr. Phillips, I'll need you to tag Satterfield's file as Eyes Only and see to any belongings he might have left behind. Also, I'll need the standard preparations for media breech and/or manipulation made on Satterfield's behalf. See to it immediately."

  "Of course, anything else?"

  "No, that'll be all, Mr. Phillips.

  Terry leveled an impatient look on the man until he got up and walked from the office. As soon as the door closed behind him, his hand flew out and hit the intercom.

  "Miss Marshall, have Ben Richards report to me immediately."

  "Right away, sir."

  Terry knew that Ben was in the building and standing by so he didn't expect a long wait. He got up and walked over to the small refrigerator he kept in the corner and selected a soda at random, popping the top and draining the contents in five swallows, ignoring the burning in his throat. Wincing, he crushed the can and threw it violently into the trashcan. He retrieved a second beverage and sat back down at his desk, sipping gingerly at the contents until he heard the intercom.

  "Sir, Mr. Richards is here."

  "Send him in."

  Ben Richards entered the room and without being asked, took a seat in front of his desk. Terry ran a gaze over the man. Ben was a tall, predatory looking man. He had dull blue eyes that could only be described as vindictive and boasted a completely shaved head. Ben was a team leader that he respected but didn't especially like. However, the man had a reputation for being needlessly cruel and that was exactly what he wanted at the moment.

  "Ben, I have a situation that I need you to move on immediately."

  "I see, foreign or domestic?"

  "Domestic and probably local."

  "Alright, I have two men available, will that be enough?"

  "Yes, this is a rush job with conditions."

  "Give me the particulars."

  "We have an employee with a stolen file. He knows it will be missed and did not come in today, probably a runner. He needs to remain upright until the file has been recovered or destroyed. After that, it wouldn't upset me if he hurt for a while before expiring. His residence is local; you can get the name and details from Mr. Phillips. In the event that you recover the file, you alone will be cleared to handle it and I suggest you refrain from indulging in any curiosity. Additionally, we have an ongoing situation at the moment, so it would be in the Organization's best interest to handle this as quickly and as smoothly as possible. That's all, Mr. Richards, any questions?"

  "None, I'll coordinate now with Mr. Phillips and will keep you updated."

  "Very good."

  Ben gave Terry a slight nod and exited the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Terry slammed down the rest of his soda, gathered his things and headed for the conference room.

  VIII

  I never wanted trouble, But I sure got enough

  - Jett, Laguna, Kihn

  Martin grabbed an overnight bag from the depths of his closet and threw it on the bed. Reaching back into the closet, he grabbed a small box from the far corner of the top shelf, opened it and withdrew the handgun that he had purchased on a whim the year before. He stared at the weapon for a few minutes, ejecting the magazine to find it loaded and realizing that he had never taken the time to learn to fire it. He grabbed the spare magazine and a box of ammunition he had bought with the gun and stuffed them into his bag. He threw the box back into the closet and grabbed a couple of shirts. As he stuffed the shirts and other assorted articles of clothing into the leather bag, he tried to squash the rising feeling of dread that had plagued him since he had overslept this morning.

  Powerless to deny the urge, he walked to the window and peeked through the blinds, unable to lose the queasy feeling that he was running out of time. He scanned the streets for anything out of place, although he was pretty sure that if anything were out of place he wouldn't see it. He was dealing with people that routinely got around and through the best security in the world. He had no doubt that they could put several bullets in him and be on to their next victim before the final breath left his body. He fought down a shiver and forced himself to get moving, his nerves were beginning to get the best of him and the sooner he was on his way, the better.

  He ran to the bathroom and collected everything he thought he might need. As he walked back to the bedroom and deposited the toiletries into his bag the phone rang, startling him. He had to call on all his power to keep from pissing himself.

  He looked at the phone as it rang a second time and wondered who would be calling him at this time of the day. Everyone he knew would expect him to be at work like the rest of the respectable urban masses. It rang a third time and he decided that it was Terry or one of his henchmen calling to confirm that he was at home so he could be shot to death in the comfort of his La-Z-Boy.

  As he stood mesmerized by the ringing of the phone, he heard his own voice on the answering machine instructing the caller to leave a message. The next sound was the nasal whine of the receptionist from his dentist's office calling to confirm the appointment that he had scheduled
for later in the week.

  ".... Please give us a call as soon as you can, Mr. Satterfield. In case you forgot, the number has been changed. The...."

  He let the voice drift away as he grabbed his bag and headed for the kitchen, laughing at his body's reaction to the phone call. He had prepared a small cooler of foodstuffs to take with him and it was the last thing he needed before saying goodbye to his home. The future being too uncertain to know if he would ever return.

  He threw his bag on the kitchen counter and had opened the refrigerator to retrieve the cooler when the phone rang again. He froze bent over at the waist with his face in the refrigerator, his imagination racing again as he pictured himself a bloody mess on the kitchen floor while faceless men riddled his lifeless body with round after round. With no small effort, he put a lid on his thoughts and ran to the phone to pick it up before the answering machine caught it.

  "Hello."

  A dial tone greeted him. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but he now had the distinct impression that he had fucked up. The sweat beaded instantly on his forehead and his bowels turned to water. He had dawdled too long it was time to go. He dropped the phone back into the cradle and made a beeline for the door. His hand was two feet away from the knob when the doorbell rang. He froze, praying to God that his mind was playing tricks on him. The bell rang again and his mind jumped to images of men in dark suits with silenced weapons waiting on the other side of the door. He smothered his imagination with a violent shake of his head and quickly retreated to the kitchen, reaching into his bag to withdraw the gun. Oddly, he felt instantly braver with the weight of the weapon in his hand.

  Shouldering his bag and leaving the cooler in the kitchen, he approached the door with the intention of ripping it open and confronting the presence outside. Pausing a few feet from his destination and an arms length from the sofa, it struck him that his present course of action was no doubt monumentally stupid. He reached out and grabbed a cushion off the sofa.