Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

The little man turned off the iPad and left without a word.

“Like I said, I keep my promises,” the bitch’s disembodied voice said.

“You mean you like to know you have something to blackmail me with.”

“That, too. How is your vision, Jack?”

“A bit blurry.” In reality, the lights, in combination with her migraine, had almost rendered her blind. Shutting her eyes didn’t help because the light penetrated her lids.

“Your eyes seem quite red—irritated, if you will. Most would be practically blind by now.”

“I’m special that way.”

“Pride is a dangerous quality.”

Jack shrugged. “I’m all about danger,” she said flippantly. If that crazy bitch was convinced she was still a killer, she’d do her best to keep her believing that. She’d let her think she was the Queen of England if that meant keeping Cass safe and getting her blind ass out of here.

“I like your perseverance, Jack. It shows character. The kind most don’t have, or fake.”

“Well, I have it, and sure as hell don’t need to fake it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you doubt me?”

“You haven’t soiled yourself, and you must be in dire need of water by now,” TQ said, “yet you haven’t given in to either need.”

“Can’t do much about water.”

“You can ask.”

“I was told to wait until it was brought to me.”

“You could have asked, anyway.”

“I don’t beg.”

“Not even if that meant saving Ms. Monroe’s life?”

“Then I’d beg,” Jack replied.

“So you see—”

“I wonder what it’s like to be so lonely, so alone, you have nothing and no one you love enough to beg for their safety. And no one in the whole wide world who loves or cares about you to do the same. Can you imagine how sad and empty life must…” Jack paused. “Oh. Oops, I’m sorry. I just described your life.”

“No need to apologize. My life is exactly the way I want it. Yours, on the other hand…”

“Mine, on the other hand, is the life of a paid killer. Don’t think for a moment I’ve deluded myself into thinking I’m worthy of anyone’s love or a normal life. I go through the moves and hope Cass doesn’t see me for what I really am.”

“No redemption in love, Jack?”

“Hardly,” Jack lied.

“Why not?” TQ almost purred.

“Because for the right price, I’d still take whoever out.”

“But you said you don’t do that anymore.”

“It’s easy to make proclamations when there are no temptations.”

“Are you claiming you’ve still got it?” the ice bitch asked. “That you’re capable of killing?”

Jack lifted her half-opened eyes to the camera. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” TQ stopped talking, and Jack was too exhausted to pursue any further conversation.

She had dozed off when she heard a clamor of scuffling just outside. The door opened, and two men dragged someone in. Jack blinked several times to clear her eyesight. The man in their custody struggled to break free but was pinned facedown on the floor next to her.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“A little gift to feed your appetite,” TQ’s voice answered over the loudspeaker.

Jack looked back at the man on the floor and did her best to focus her vision. He was naked except for his boxers, balding and middle-aged, with thick glasses and a familiar tattoo on his thigh. Leaning forward as far as her restraints would allow, Jack squinted to be sure she was seeing right and made out the image of a baby rattle and the initials BJC.

TQ’s two henchmen let go of the guy. One of them uncuffed her from the chair, and then both left the room.

The bald guy rolled over onto his back and then sat up, obviously too terrified to move any further. He trembled as he looked around the room.

Jack pushed off the arms of the chair and got up, but her legs were too numb to hold her weight so she sat back down and stomped them to restore circulation. “What’s he doing here?” she asked as a painful tingling returned to her limbs.

“Go to the door and slide the meal slot.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then I hope you find my offering irresistible.”

Jack got up. Her legs were a lot better, but she had a hard time getting to the door; her eyes were mere slits because everything was so damn blinding white. She eventually managed to find and slide the little panel, and she stuck her hand in. The feel of steel surprised her. “What are you up to?” Jack asked, and pulled the gun in: a SIG Sauer from the feel of it.

“I want you to kill that man.”

“No! Please, I haven’t done anything,” the man pleaded as his shaking intensified. “She’s crazy. Please, don’t—”

Jack turned to him. “Shut the fuck up.” She looked back at the camera. “What’s that going to prove?”

“That you still have a taste for it.”

“I don’t kill for free. What’s in it for me?”

“Better accommodations,” TQ replied, “and a meeting with me to talk about your future.”

Jack lifted the SIG Sauer and the man struggled to his feet, begging for his life. Her eyes still on the camera, Jack fired one shot, and he dropped to the floor and lay still.

Applause came over the loudspeaker. “Brava.” Then the room filled with TQ’s cold laughter. “For someone with compromised vision, you sure got him where it counts.”

“I always execute between the eyes.”

“And blindfolded?”

“On instinct.”

“How lovely.”

Jack looked in the direction of the man. The wall behind him was a blurry red. She walked up to him and fired one more time in the same spot.

“I’m sure he was dead the first time.”

“This one was for kicks.” Jack wanted to spit at his sorry ass but refrained.

“We’re going to get along swimmingly.”

“Now get me the fuck out of here,” she said, desperate to use the bathroom. “I don’t want to be around when he starts to stink.”

*

Bath, Maine

Once she’d signed off with Reno, Shield notified the Secret Service she was taking some time off, booked a flight, then caught a two-hour nap. She was dressed and en route to Dulles Airport to catch her plane by six, before the president even woke up. After a two-hour flight and fifteen-minute ride in her rental car, she arrived at the sprawling Bath Country Club, a public course busy with early morning golfers despite temperatures in the low twenties.

She noted the security camera mounted over the main entrance and others in the lobby. At the main sign-in desk, she asked to speak to the manager, and within a couple of minutes, an athletic-looking guy in his late thirties, wearing khakis and a V-neck sweater embroidered with the club logo, came out of a back office and asked how he could be of help.

Shield introduced herself and flashed him her White House credentials. She told him she was there to check out the area for a possible future visit from the president.

“We are delighted President Thomas would consider visiting us,” he said. “What happened with her husband here was most unfortunate.”

“Yes, it was. I’m sure you did everything in your power to accommodate the situation.”

“Of course.”

She glanced up at the lobby camera. “Do you have security cameras everywhere?”

“Of course,” he said again. “The entrance, bar, restaurant, here, and several on the course itself.”

“Good. Do you mind if I take a look at the feeds in your monitor room?”

“Not at all. Follow me, Ms. Kennedy.”

Shield was taken to a small office dominated by three rows of monitors mounted to the wall and spare CCTV cameras and related equipment stacked on a shelf. A young man was seated behind a desk, his glance darting from one monitor to the next.