John Locke - Lethal Experiment
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- Название:Lethal Experiment
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“Thought you might be.”
Last Valentine’s Day, Callie and I thought we’d killed a woman named Monica Childers by giving her a lethal dose of botulinam toxin. This was a contract hit ordered by Victor. As it turned out, Victor had two reasons for killing Monica: first, he wanted to test his army’s ability to divert a spy satellite, which he used to view the hit, and second, he wanted to see if his antidote for botulinam toxin would work. His people found Monica’s body and managed to resuscitate her. Then, having no further use for Monica, Victor sold her to the Fathis, to be, as he put it—their sex slave. I asked Victor if Monica was still in country and he basically said that the Fathis had fucked her to death.
And that has stuck in my craw ever since.
I can just imagine my psychiatrist, Ms. Nadine Crouch, asking, “Since you tried to kill her, why do you care how she died?”
It would be a good question, and I’m not sure I’d be able to supply a credible answer. But for whatever reason, it pisses me off . Maybe it’s because I’m a counter-terrorist and I don’t like the idea of terrorists raping American women to death. Maybe it’s because I felt used by Victor, or because Monica turned out to be a decent person who didn’t deserve to die that way. In the final analysis my subconscious reasons aren’t important. What’s important is that I made a decision to punish the Fathis, father and son, for what they did to Monica. And maybe this link to Alison Cilice could put me in a position to do just that.
Of course, Darwin wasn’t interested in punishing the Fathis. He’s all about destroying terror cells before they have a chance to mount attacks on domestic soil. Not that he’d shed a tear if I managed to kill either or both of the Fathis. At any rate, Darwin believed Alison and Afaya were having an affair, and that Afaya was planning to use Alison to infiltrate some of the Park ‘N Flys.
“In three months it’ll be Thanksgiving,” Darwin said, “One of the busiest times of the year.”
“So?”
“If the terrorists get a driver into the Park ‘N Fly trucks, they can load them up with explosives and crash them right into baggage claim.”
“What can I do?”
“Get close to her, find out what she knows.”
“You want me to sleep with her,” I said, trying to sound indignant.
“Sleep with her, torture her, what do I care?”
“What if she doesn’t know anything about it?”
“That’s my guess, by the way,” Darwin said. “And if that’s the case, you can hang out with her and keep your eyes open, because sooner or later, someone’s going to make a move.”
“I’m not going to be able to shadow her. Not after she’s met me.”
“Creed, you’re missing the point. I believe she’s already being shadowed. If they see her getting close to you, they’re going to come after you.”
“So I’m the bait.”
“If Alison doesn’t know anything, then yes, you’re the bait.”
“So who’s going to come to my rescue when the bad guys strike?”
“That’s up to you. Maybe you can call your midget army, hide them under your bed.”
“Little people,” I said.
“Whatever. The bottom line is, if you need backup, make the phone calls.”
“Fine,” I said. “What’s my cover story?”
“Jewelry salesman.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. So dress sharp and wear some expensive jewelry.”
“I don’t own any.”
Darwin paused a moment, trying to decide if what I’d said could possibly be true.
“You’re hopeless,” he said. He sighed. “I’ll have something appropriate waiting for you in a box on the Lear jet. And Creed—”
“Yeah?”
“I want it back.”
I said nothing, choosing to ignore the implication that I might steal his jewelry. A lesser man might feel compelled to point out specific examples to certify his unparalleled honesty. But I’m a bigger man than that. Plus, Darwin might think to remind me that I was still living off the millions of dollars I’d stolen from Joe DeMeo, after having killed most of his crew.
“A jewelry salesman,” I said, again, trying to make my voice sound as skeptical as possible.
Darwin jumped to defend his decision: “Pun notwithstanding, this jewelry salesman cover is pure gold. I’ve had a team on Alison two full days, which means I know more about her than her own mother. Trust me, Creed: you tell her you’ve got jewelry in your overnight bag and she’ll be all over you like Octo-Mom in a sperm bank.”
“That’s a nice visual.”
We hung up and I made a quick call before rejoining my slightly miffed girlfriend. I gave her my best stuff and managed to salvage the evening—until I explained I had to take her home and repack my bags and fly to Denver.
I slept on the Learjet and got to Denver in plenty of time to catch Alison’s flight. We chatted all the way to Dallas, landed, got our luggage, and caught the shuttle to the Marriott.
Inside the lobby, the guest registration line moved quickly between two velvet ropes. After Alison checked in she motioned me to join her at the front desk. I did so, trying to guess what she was hoping to learn by watching me check in. Did she want to see if my legal name was really Cosmo Burlap? Did she want to see what type of credit card I’d use to secure the bill? Could she possibly be waiting to find out my room number so she could call or visit me later? Maybe she was just being polite. I asked the clerk to give me the room adjoining Alison’s.
She looked at Alison and said, “Is that okay with you, Miss?”
“Oh, Gawd, yes!” Alison purred, displaying not the slightest trace of embarrassment. To me, she said: “This handsome jewelry salesman just made my day!”
As we rode the elevator to our rooms I said, “I’ve got to make a few calls. You want to get together in an hour, have some dinner?”
She said, “That sounds great. I’ll freshen up. Just knock on the door whenever you’re ready.”
Dinner with Alison had to be someplace other than the Marriott because of the terrifying man in the lobby she thought was staring at her. We hustled past the scary man and caught a cab to I Fratelli’s.
Though I like Italian food, I generally prefer a more upscale dining experience. Still, this family-friendly restaurant was good food at great prices. Their wine tasting highlighted a wide selection of Italian coastal varietals. That, along with flatbread and antipasto would have made a meal for me, but I kicked in for their specialty, a large, hand-made, thin-crust pepperoni pizza, which I shared with Alison.
As often happens on a first date that’s going well, our conversation focused on a wide range of safe subjects, and only a couple of suggestive ones, such as the loneliness of road travel, which she mentioned several times. Since we were eating finger food, there wasn’t much physical contact during dinner. But there was no question where I stood: between her sultry facial expressions, winks and sensual lip licking, Alison was throwing more signals at me than a third base coach in the bottom of the ninth.
In other words, Darwin had nailed her on the cover story.
For a dedicated auditor, Alison possessed a surprising tolerance for liquor. In addition to three glasses of wine, she polished off one of her trademark cosmopolitans and was deep into her second when her face suddenly turned white.
“There he is again!” she whispered.
I started to turn, but she grabbed my arm. “Don’t look!” she said.
“Who are we talking about?”
“The big, creepy guy from the hotel lobby.”
I took a minute to process. “The one that scared you? Are you sure?”
“Yes!” she whispered. “I just saw him through the window.”
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