John Locke - Lethal People

“What sort of butter��y is it?” she asked. “Is it stupid looking? A tattoo is a permanent fixture, Donovan. It sounds creepy.”

“Think of it as a shrine to Jenine’s memory,” I said. “And try to show some respect, will you? She’s putting her life on the line for you.”

“Not knowingly,” Callie said. “Not willingly.”

“A technicality,” I said.

“If we ever terminate her,” Callie said, “I’m going to be stuck with a tattoo and birthmark that my next body double won’t have.”

I let that comment hang in the air unanswered, and soon we were back to exchanging theories about the Monica hit. I wasn’t ready to completely dismiss the terrorist angle, so Callie asked if it were possible Sal Bonadello was involved with terrorists. After all, he’s the one who gave Victor my cell phone number. I told her Sal was many things, all unsavory, but a terrorist sympathizer, no. I told Callie to keep watching the news and let me know if anything interesting developed.

“This isn’t interesting enough for you?” she asked.

CHAPTER 24

Iwas about to turn off the TV and take a shower when I got sidetracked by Courtney Armbrister’s live update on CNN.

FBI Special Agent Courtney Armbrister was a media dream. Playing to full advantage her shoulder-length auburn hair, perpetually pouting lips, and killer body, she managed to appear beguiling despite the seriousness of the occasion. Courtney sported the obligatory dark suit favored by the bureau, though hers was obviously tailored. Her jacket framed a white blouse that appeared more silk than cotton. Her eyes glared fiercely into the camera, and when she spoke, it was with such conviction you knew she had to be telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Although in this case, she was lying like hell through those perfect, dazzling teeth.

I knew the cover-up was in full swing when S. A. Armbrister informed the CNN audience that FBI computers had identified the kidnappers as former Soviet agents with confirmed ties to terrorist leaders. On the screen behind her, the bureau displayed phony names and doctored images of Callie and me. In these photos, I was younger, smaller, and had no facial scar. Callie had been aged at least ten years, and they’d done something to her nose and eyes she wasn’t going to like. They also displayed fake profiles obtained through “classified sources” to show they were on top of things. She said the bureau was sharing these photos and documents with the public so we could be part of the process. It was a total load of crap, but as far as the Joe and Mrs. Lunchbox crowd were concerned, any words coming from that face would seem credible.

“Until we have proof to the contrary,” Courtney said, “we have every reason to believe Monica Childers is alive and being held captive. So we’re asking for your help. We want you to be our eyes and ears on this one. If you see anything, if you hear anything, please, call our hotline. There is no clue too small when it comes to saving an innocent life.”

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 tell: 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.