John Locke: Maybe

What you want to know about Sam Case, he’s one of the world’s most brilliant people. More than a year ago he had a thriving business and a hot wife, Rachel. His business involved moving billions of dollars electronically from bank to bank, all over the world, twenty-four hours a day, effectively hiding it for the world’s most ruthless dictators and criminals. The modest fees he charged earned him millions of dollars, and life was good.

Enter Donovan Creed.

Creed also parked a sum of money with Sam, but unlike the others, he saw an opportunity to cash in. He broke into Sam’s house, lived secretly in his attic, and eventually breached Sam’s security and stole billions of dollars from Sam’s clients.

He also stole Sam’s wife, Rachel, who’s certifiably insane.

She’s also one of only two people in the world known to possess a gene that’s resistant to the Spanish Flu.

Rachel also lives in the underground bunker in Area B.

But not by choice.

Government scientists are holding her captive, harvesting her eggs, and hoping to create a generation of children who will inherit the gene. Until Sam or some other scientist can create a synthetic response to the Spanish Flu, Rachel must remain there.

Sam considers Donovan Creed his arch enemy. Such is his hatred for Creed, he’d give ten years of his life to make Creed suffer a day.

Sam measures his life in terms of victories he’s won over Creed.

His first was separating Creed and Rachel. He orchestrated Rachel’s capture, and manipulated scientists into letting him live and work in Area B so he could be near her. Sam’s sperm is being used to create the new children from Rachel’s eggs. Having sole access to Rachel, and being the man responsible for creating children with her, Sam hoped, over time, to win back his wife’s affection.

Not that he wants the bitch. He only wants to sleep with her. And only because it would be another way to punish Creed.

Pretty sad when the victory you hope to claim over your arch enemy involves sleeping with your own wife.

But Rachel has no interest in sleeping with Sam, so that part-that one small part-is another victory for Creed.

Worse, Creed doesn’t seem overly broken up over the fact his girlfriend is stuck in Area B for what could be years.

Sam’s second victory involves Creed’s daughter, Kimberly.

Sam’s been fucking her.

What makes it particularly sweet, he’s manipulating her into loving him.

And Creed, the deadliest assassin on earth, hasn’t a clue.

The man who made this revenge possible is another of Creed’s enemies, Doc Howard. For all practical purposes, Kimberly is Sam’s car, and Doc Howard gave him the keys to her ignition.

Doc Howard expects to be compensated.

For starters, he demanded that Sam locate the Bin Laden death photos. These, like many of the world’s most sensitive documents, are stored in the underground vault at Area B.

Sam has no idea what Doc Howard plans to do with the photos, but it’s best to stay on Doc’s good side. He’s a very dangerous and powerful man in his own right.

Sam used his hacking skills to locate and copy the digital files.

He’s looking at them now, with mild interest. When he’s finished looking, he encrypts the photos, and types a code to bypass computer security for twelve seconds while he forwards them to Doc Howard’s email account.

Doc gets some stupid photos, Sam gets Kimberly Creed.

He presses a button on his cell phone.

Kimberly answers, using her alias.

“Maybe Taylor.”

Maybe Taylor (Kimberly Creed).

“HI MAYBE,” SAM says. “How’s tricks?”

“I can’t talk now,” she whispers. “I’m with my father.”

“In Vegas?”

She works her way out of the den, onto Callie’s balcony. “Okay, I can talk now. Yeah, I’m in Vegas.”

“I miss you,” Sam says.

Maybe smiles. “That’s ridiculous. It’s only been a day.”

“Seems like forever.”

She likes being the one with power in the relationship. It lets her be cool, lets her say things like, “Don’t fall in love, Sam.”

Which forces him to say, “Sorry. Too late.”

“Are you still planning to divorce your wife,” she says, “or was that something you said to get in my pants?”

“We’re definitely divorcing. The papers are being drawn up this week. She’s already agreed to sign them.”

“Don’t do it hoping to marry me,” she says.

“Why not?”

“We’re never going to be a couple.”

He changes the subject. “I’ve found a guy to do your boob job.”

She laughs. “I hope it’s a doctor and not just some guy.”

“Don’t worry. Your boobs will soon be in the hands of a highly-skilled surgeon.”

“Odd way to put it,” she says.

“It seems insane to pay another man to put his hands on your body. He should pay you for the privilege.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should charge you next time!”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll gladly pay.”

“Assuming there’s a next time,” she says, then smiles, noting his silence. Maybe loves being able to manipulate him for a change. For the past year he’s been a demanding, judgmental father figure. Now, after one night in the sack, she’s turned him into a lovesick puppy. Sam spent a year scrambling his voice, manipulating her over the telephone, and all that time he thought he was in charge. Now he’s met her, had sex, and his power has crashed and burned. He’s fallen head over heels for her, and she loves it.

He says, “There has to be a next time.”

Maybe can hardly contain her joy. In truth, she expected he’d probably never call after getting what he wanted. That’s happened more than once with boys in the past, so she assumed a grown man would be even more aloof.

Especially a married man like Sam.

But as it turns out, she has the power to make him happy or sad. It’s an amazing feeling, one she’s never experienced.

Sam says, “I have to have you again.”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s the big deal?”

He sighs.

She loves it when he sighs. He’s frustrated, working hard to win her affection.

“You’re the best I ever had,” he says.

“The best what?”

“Lover.”

She smiles and says, “That can’t be true.”

“I’d take a lie detector test on it.”

“You’re older, wealthy, and married. This is all about you getting a little strange on the side. You probably fucked me, thinking of your wife.”

“That’s not true, Kimberly.”

“Wrong name, Sam.”

“Sorry.”

“You expect me to believe I’m the best you ever had?”

“Absolutely.”

“Have you forgotten my sexual issues? You had to inject my vagina with Botox to get it open. I felt nothing. It can’t have been a pleasant experience for you.”

“It’s not just the act, it’s the whole experience. It’s being with you, holding you, touching you. Helping you achieve sexual comfort. I know it sounds absurd, but I’ve never felt this way in my life. If you don’t like me calling it love, I’ll call it passion, though it’s love, passion, and a hundred other things combined. I’m not trying to push you, honey. But I have to have you. And yes, you’re the best I ever had.”

“The best what?”

“I already told you.”

“Say it again. Be vulgar.”

“The best fuck.”

“Say it again, with feeling.”

“ You’re the best fuck I ever had! ”