John Locke - Lethal Experiment
The house at 2010 Dunvegan sat on the cul-de-sac of a new development called Rock Hill Gardens. Several homes in the neighborhood had already made it to closing, but none were inhabited yet. When seeking an attic to live in I prefer high income spec homes like these in new, protected neighborhoods. I cordon off a cubicle in a strategic gable of a house like this and use it as a safe house. I had a number of these safe houses scattered in major cities throughout the country, but this would be my first in Atlanta.
This particular lot was just under an acre, and featured a steep, wooded fall-away that afforded me access to the rear of the house while being sheltered from the view of future neighbors. It would be ready for occupancy in a month, but probably wouldn’t sell as quickly as the others because it didn’t overlook the Rock Hill Country Club golf course.
I had come to Atlanta because the leaders of a local terror cell had been identified and needed killing. Before I’d had a chance to get them, our informant learned that my old nemesis, Abdulazi Fathi, was coming to town in two weeks to give his people final instructions and a proper sendoff. Reasoning that killing Fathi along with the others would deal a severe blow to al Qaida, Darwin decided to put my mission on hold until Fathi arrived. With two weeks to kill (pardon the pun), I decided I might as well establish a safe house, so I checked out the neighborhoods until I found an upscale one in the final stages of construction. Then I called the number on the builder’s sign in front of the house and got myself hired on his construction crew.
For days I’d been hiding tools and wire and dry wall under rolls of insulation stacked in the attic above the garage. In a few minutes I’d start walling off the interior gable above the guest bedroom. I’d lay wire for electricity to run my computer and keep my cell phone charged. Then I’d tap into an HVAC vent for heat and air to keep me comfortable, and splice a line into the highspeed internet signal. Thirty days from now, give or take, I’d be living in a mini mansion with all the comforts of home.
Dry walling a gable is a simple way to steal part of a family’s home without paying rent. All I need is a few square feet and a couple hours of uninterrupted time to nail it up. If the builder were to notice the dry wall in the attic, he’d just think his guys made a dumb mistake. But that hasn’t happened yet, because in these late stages of new home construction, no one ever looks into the far ends of the attic. In older homes there’s always a risk of detection because when homeowners decide to renovate, my gable might need to be accessed to run phone or cable wires or TV antennas for better reception. But new construction at this price point always pre-wires. If the particular gable I want has been pre-wired, I simply re-route the wires around my living space.
My early years as an army sniper required me to remain perfectly still for hours at a time, useful training for my later years of living in the attics of occupied homes. To hedge my bet, I try to select an unused gable, located as far from the attic access doors as possible. I’m safest just off the far side of a rarely-used upstairs guest bedroom, in case an unexpected cough or snore might alert a family pet. Usually that isn’t an issue, since most of my construction time is spent sound-proofing my living space. I lay a top-quality, non-squeak floor. Then I mix sawdust and baby powder into the caulk I lay between and below the floor joists and in the nail holes to keep the floor from squeaking. My access door is always located on the far side, indented a couple of feet into my living area to avoid detection. Several times a day I don a blindfold and practice escaping. The blindfold forces me to memorize the location of the floor joists in case I have to escape in pitch darkness.
Once completed, I move in and try to adapt to the routines of my host family. When possible, I sleep when they sleep and remain quiet when they’re active. I monitor their personal computers, their phone calls, and watch family interactions through pinhole cameras I’ve hidden throughout the house. Within weeks I’ll know their habits and schedules better than they do, at which point living with them becomes more enjoyable. If they’re going to be away a few hours I’ll use their toilets, enjoy a hot bath or shower, nap in their beds, share their food and liquor, and use their computers instead of mine when sensitive work needs to be done without leaving an electronic trail.
The most fun I have is playing with their pets.
Dogs and most other pets are easy, but I can’t live with a cat. Once a cat discovers me, things are never the same. It never stops looking up at the ceiling and always tries to find a way to get to me. It moans and fusses all night every night and never seems to get over it. I’ve got a soft spot for all types of pets, but when one of my families brings a cat into the house I have to find it a new home ASAP. Otherwise, the owners keep sending exterminators into the attic to check for mice.
Chapter 60
It took four evenings to complete my living space on Dunvegan, and wouldn’t you know it, Fathi never made it to Atlanta. That’s the problem working with informants: they’re usually worker bees who have access to little more than rumors. But I was content to kill the two local leaders, and did so with ease.
I’d followed them to a lively nightspot in downtown Atlanta. The place was so jammed it took me ten minutes just to find them. They were part of a crowd that was watching two hard-bodied women dancing to the loudest music I’d ever heard. Every thirty seconds the cavernous room went dark, and strobes and laser lights flashed from all directions.
It was a perfect killing field.
I positioned myself behind the terrorists, put a syringe in each hand, and waited for the strobes. When they flashed, I plunged the needles into their lower backs and stepped aside as they fell to the floor. A couple of people shouted, but the dancers kept dancing, the music kept blaring and I was out of there before anyone figured out what happened.
My new living quarters were complete, but because the construction crew was still on site, it would be weeks before I could move in. The two weeks I planned to spend training Alison were still in the future. My dinner with Callie and Eva had been postponed twice due to Eva’s tireless rehearsal and performance schedules, but I had a firm commitment from them for Sunday night.
Finding myself with three days of free time, I decided to meet Dr. Nadine Crouch in Jacksonville, Florida. For five thousand dollars and a beach vacation, Nadine agreed to help prepare my daughter Kimberly for the news that I was alive.
I could have contacted Kimberly sooner, of course, but I wanted to wait until I was certain I wouldn’t have a relapse. Now I’d killed a dying man and two terrorists without incident, so I figured to be okay from this point on. Since I’d missed a big part of Kimberly’s life, I planned to make up for it, starting now. But first I had to pave the way. I couldn’t just walk up to her with this new face and say, “Hey, Kim, it’s me, your dead Daddy!”
Kimberly had inherited my entire estate—or to be more precise, the entire estate identified in my will and supporting documents. Naturally I had secret stashes of money tucked away in case I needed to fake my own death.
Lou Kelly had spoken to Kimberly a few times over the years, but my funeral was their first face-to-face meeting. Since then, he’d called every month to see how she was doing. It was Lou who presented my “Last Will and Testament” to the attorneys settling the estate, so it seemed natural to have Lou phone Kimberly about this. He taped the exchange and emailed it to me in an audio file.
“I want you to meet someone,” Lou said. “Her name is Dr. Nadine Crouch. She was your father’s therapist.”
“There must be some mistake, Mr. Kelly,” Kimberly said. “There’s no way my father would ever see a therapist.”
“She only saw your dad a few times that last year. But she has some information you’ll want to hear.”
She went silent a moment, then sighed. “I’m not so sure I want to hear it, Mr. Kelly.”
“Kimberly, you’re just going to have to trust me on this.”
“You obviously know what it is,” she said. “Just tell me now.”
“Nadine’s going to be in Jacksonville this week anyway. Plus, the type of news she’s got for you—well, let’s just say she’s better trained to deliver it.”
Kimberly agreed to meet Nadine in the lobby of the hotel where Nadine was staying. Kimberly showed up, the two exchanged pleasantries. After a while Nadine said, “It’s a beautiful day. Can we walk on the beach while we talk?”
I’d never been to Jacksonville Beach, but I was mildly surprised to find it as nice as it was. Located on a barrier island east of the city, Jax Beach had plenty of sand, decent but not overwhelming surf, and was relatively un-crowded. Nadine, Kimberly and I walked north along the beach, though I remained fifty yards back. If you saw the big guy in the Penn State ball cap, sunglasses and earbuds, that was me. The earbuds allowed me to listen to their conversation.
Nadine said, “Your father and I spoke about you many times.”
Kimberly said, “Can we just skip to the part where you tell me he’s alive?”
“Excuse me?”
“My father. Donovan Creed. He’s alive. You know it and I know it. So where is he and why hasn’t he contacted me before this?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Kimberly knew?
Nadine was speechless as well. Kimberly started looking around the beach. It took her all of five seconds to spot me. “What a ridiculous disguise,” she said, laughing. She and I ran toward each other like actors in the worst forties movie ever made. When we got close, she leapt up in the air and I caught her in my arms. I spun her in circles as I’d done when she was four, and she hugged me like a long-lost teddy bear she’d rediscovered.
I placed her gently back on her feet and looked at her. She was older, more mature, but she was still Kimberly. She slapped my face.
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” she said. “You don’t trust me enough to call or send a message? What the hell kind of father are you?”
“The kind who was in a coma for more than three years,” Nadine said, catching up to us, out of breath.
Kimberly looked into my eyes. “I believe it.”
“You do?” I said.
“Yes. If you’d been conscious, you wouldn’t have chosen that face!”
I laughed. “It’s so great to see you!”
“You too,” she said. “But you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
“I’ll tell you everything. But first, you’ve got to tell me how you knew I was alive.”
She reached into my pants pocket and pulled out my silver dollar, the one my grandfather gave me all those years ago. “This was not among the personal effects they gave me.”
I grinned proudly. Nadine said, “Well, you are certainly your father’s daughter.” To me she said, “Just so we’re clear, I still get to keep the money, and the vacation.”
“You’re the most mercenary shrink I’ve ever known,” I said.
“It’s always nice to be number one,” she said.
I gave her a hug.
“Unacceptable,” she said, pulling away.
“Thanks for trying to help,” I said. “I think I can take it from here. Have a great vacation.”
“I plan to.” She headed back toward her hotel.
The next three days were the best Kimberly and I ever spent together. Hours into the reunion, when the subject of Kathleen and Addie came up, I told her everything and she said, “If Kathleen made you that happy you need to tell her you’re alive. More importantly, she deserves the right to choose what makes her happy.”
“I’m afraid she might choose me out of guilt.”
“And that bothers you because?”
“Tom’s a good man, much better husband material than me.”
“How can you say that?”
“I checked him out.”
She shook her head. “Can you really know so little about women?”
“I can, and you know it.”
“Dad, listen to me,” she said, assuming the role of parent, a role that suited her better than me. “You need to tell her four things: you’re alive, what happened, why it happened, and how you feel.”
Sure, I could tell Kathleen those things, but I felt she’d have a better chance at happiness with a steady, normal guy like Tom. Addie was also a major part of the equation. Addie had lost her first family, then, three years ago, she’d lost me. Then Tom came into her life, and I had no doubt that she loved him and accepted him as a father figure. If I came back into Kathleen’s life Addie would be forced to lose either me or Tom. The poor kid had been through enough, she didn’t deserve to lose a third father figure. To further complicate things, I still wasn’t certain that life in the suburbs would suit me. Last but not least, if Kathleen chose me, she’d always wonder if I was the right choice. If she rejected me, she’d always wonder if Tom was the right choice. It wasn’t fair to put her in that situation.
But I did love Kathleen, and wished things had turned out differently.
“Dad?” Kimberly said, bringing me back to the present. “Will you tell her the four things?”
I sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
“Is it simpler than losing her?”
Chapter 61
Eva LeSage was a doll.
Maybe five feet tall, she weighed about the same as my left arm. Her face and everything else about her was delicate to the point of seeming fragile. She had almond, cat-like eyes, frosted hair, and a young girl’s voice that still retained the slightest hint of a Russian accent. Looking at her up close, it was hard to find any similarity between her and Tara Siegel, other than height and general facial resemblance. If Darwin had truly intended to cover Tara’s death with Eva’s body, our people would have had an uphill battle convincing anyone they were even related. All I could think was that Eva must have changed dramatically over the past few years, and no one told Darwin.
I wondered if Callie had done something to alter Eva’s weight or features. A half drop of arsenic taken once a week might keep the weight off and produce a complexion similar to Eva’s.
Callie, watching me like a hawk, caught me staring, probably understood what I was thinking. She shook her head at me, a subtle reminder that I was on her turf, and therefore my life was in her hands. I nodded back, hoping to send the signal: okay, none of my business, everything’s cool.
We were in Callie and Eva’s luxury high rise condo, overlooking the Vegas strip. These types of units start above two million dollars, and from the looks of the upgrades, the furniture and wall coverings, I’d say this one was somewhere north of three.
Eva turned out to be a gourmet cook. She prepared a wonderful four-course dinner, one that partnered different wines with each course. Whenever I complimented Eva, Callie beamed. It was clear that Eva was her treasure.
