John Locke - Lethal Experiment
She laughed. “Yuk, no. I’m a cosmo girl all the way.”
I gave her a look. “Are you making fun of me?”
She put it together. “Oh, Gawd no!” she said, giggling. “But your name and my favorite drink: now there’s a coincidence!”
This had been no coincidence. Darwin hadn’t just saddled me with a ridiculous name out of spite or boredom. He’d been showing off , trying to impress me with the depth of his preparation. I wondered about the surname he’d given me: Burlap. I slipped my credit card into the slot and waited for an internet connection. It took me a couple tries to make it work, but when it did I plugged in my phone and typed “burlap” into the search engine. I learned that burlap is a breathable fabric made from jute and vegetable fibers. I learned that its resistance to condensation protects its contents from spoilage. I read a little further and discovered that burlap is sometimes used in a religious ceremony called “mortification of the flesh,” during which believers wear an abrasive shirt called a cilice.
As in Alison Cilice.
For the hundredth time I made a mental note never to fuck with Darwin.
Alison said, “You doing some research?”
“Part of the job,” I said.
“Which is?”
“I’m a jewelry salesman.”
“For Rolex?” she said, drawing out the word.
“Among other top brands,” I said.
I slid my watch off my wrist and handed it to her and wondered if she could tell it was the real thing. Judging by her eyes, my guess was she could.
“It’s really heavy,” she said.
“Much bulkier than the Piaget in my case,” I said. Her smile grew wider than I would have thought possible. Her eyes took on a dreamy glaze and she held the tip of her tongue against the bottom of her upper lip and tapped it in a way that seemed sexually suggestive.
“I wonder if we’ll run into each other in the bar one night this week,” she said.
Completely in love with Kathleen, I had no intention of bedding this plus-sized jewelry whore. Still, I had a part to play on behalf of national security.
“I’m positive we’ll not only meet, but share a drink as well,” I said.
“You’re that sure of yourself?” she said, holding that same wide-mouth smile.
“I am. Or my name isn’t Cosmo Burlap.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh Gawd!” she said. “You poor man! Tell me you’re lying.”
Chapter 27
Here’s the story on Alison Cilice:
Several days before I shared a flight with her to Dallas, Alison Cilice’s image was captured by a Denver Airport parking lot surveillance camera in the company of a suspected terrorist named Adnan Afaya. This, according to Darwin.
“And guess who Afaya has been linked to?” Darwin said.
At the time I was in a hurry to get back to my dinner with Kathleen at The Spotted Pig. I said, “Just tell me, okay?”
“Fathi.”
That got my attention. “Father or son?” I said. The father, being the UAE diplomat, was virtually untouchable. The son, on the other hand…”
“Abdulazi,” he said. “The son.”
“I’m on it.”
“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.”
“Maybe it was the lighting or a reflection off the glass.”
“Cosmo, I swear it was him.” She was visibly frightened. Shaking. She tightened her grip on my arm. “Thank God you’re here,” she said.
“What do you think he’s up to?”
“I think he’s following us.”
Chapter 28
I got the waiter’s attention, gave him a credit card and asked I him to call us a cab. I stood and said, “I’m going to check out front, make sure he’s gone.”
Alison said, “Please don’t go out there. You might get hurt.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll just have a quick look around.”
“Wait,” she said. “Log in my cell phone number. If something happens, just press send.”
She gave me her number and I punched it into my phone. Then I went out the front door and circled the restaurant, looking for darkened areas where a big guy might be able to hide. When I turned the second corner I found myself face to face with him. He pointed a finger at my face with his thumb up, as if it were a gun. He let the thumb fall. “Bang,” he said.
The horrifically deformed giant had indeed been following us, just as I’d asked him to do when I called him from The Spotted Pig after talking to Darwin.
His job was to meet us in Dallas, follow us around and scare the shit out of Alison. His name is Augustus Quinn, and, like Callie, he’s an integral part of my team, which is to say, he knows where most of the bodies are buried.
Literally.
“She hasn’t mentioned Afaya,” I said. “Then again, I wouldn’t expect her to.”
“Doesn’t matter. Darwin was right about her.”
“In what way?”
“She’s robbing you.”
“No shit?”
He chuckled. “After you guys left I used the key you put in the planter, got your suitcase like we planned. I took it down the hall to my room—I’m in three twenty-six by the way—and when I came out I saw two guys enter your room.”
“With a key?”
He nodded.
“Must have worked a deal with the girl at the front desk.”
“Bellman,” Quinn said.
“You sure?”
“Positive. I went back to the lobby and waited for them. They got off the elevator and went straight to the bell desk and had a loud argument with the bellman. There was enough arm waving for me to spot a prison tat on one of the guys trying to rob you.”
We were quiet a moment.
“You sure Alison’s in on it?” I said.
“Otherwise, why would the bellman think you had something in the suitcase worth stealing?”
“So she flirts me into a dinner date, calls the bellman, he calls the thugs.”
“That’s my guess,” Quinn said.
“Seems pretty risky for an auditor.”
“Auditors look at other people’s money all day long,” Quinn said.
“Good point.”
“Be interesting to see how she plays it tonight,” he said, “when she finds out the robbery was a bust.”
“You think she won’t be able to let it go?”
“Exactly what I’m thinking.”
“So you think the plan will work?”
Augustus Quinn nodded. “Only I think we’ll catch convicts instead of terrorists.”
“Maybe the convicts and terrorists are connected.”
“One way to find out.”
“I better get back,” I said. “Make sure you beat us back to the hotel.”
“Give me a five-minute head start,” he said.
Chapter 29
Back in the restaurant Alison seemed frantic.
“Thank God you’re okay!” she said. “I was so worried about you!”
I had to admit, she was a natural con artist. But I also had to agree with Quinn: the true test would come later that night, when she had to cobble together a Plan B. At the time I was thinking if she could pull it off convincingly, I’d probably offer her a job when this whole thing was over.
“Did you see him?” she said.
“I did. But he ran away.”
“You think he’ll come back to the hotel?”
