Vegas Moon dc-7 Page 11

  Gwen touches the area between my legs and says, “I think we’re getting close here.”

  “I agree.”

  “I bet if I lick your lollipop I can make you big and strong. Would you like that?”

  Would I like that?

  Why not ask if I’d like world peace. An end to hunger. A cure for cancer. Yes, absolutely! But I’m struggling to say something cool. Finally, master of bedroom dialogue that I am, I come up with this pearl: “Sure!”

  It ain’t Hemmingway, but it gets her to slide down the bed.

  Gwen isn’t as skilled as Miranda, but she’s working hard, and I’m responding in kind. We go from oral to something my former Commander in Chief would be forced to call sex. What Gwen lacks in experience, she makes up for with enthusiasm. I’m not getting every last ounce she’s got to give, but I’m getting plenty. And just when she gets me to the very edge of ecstasy…

  My cell phone rings.

  It’s a specific ring. I have four caller-specific ring tones, and I haven’t heard this one in months.

  “Damn it!” I say.

  “Let it go, baby,” Gwen says. “Tune it out. Keep riding the ride.”

  “I can’t. It’s my boss.”

  “Lucky?”

  “It’s my real boss.”

  “Make him wait. Call him back.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. I guess you’d better take the fucking call. It’s not like you’re doing anything important.”

  I stretch to reach for the phone, an act that disengages me from my lover faster than I’d like to admit.

  “Asshole!” she says.

  29.

  “Creed, it’s Darwin.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I got a job for you.”

  I jump to my feet.

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Is it—”

  “Important? Very.”

  Here’s the thing about Darwin. He lets me do whatever I want, ninety-nine percent of the time. Even helps me by providing resources like body doubles, cleanup crews for people I kill, government airstrips, highest government clearance…you name it, I get it. But when he says something’s important, it means one thing: the country’s in danger.

  “What do you need?”

  By the time he tells me, Gwen is not only boiling mad, but completely dressed. I’m standing here naked, with the same handsome face she adored a few minutes ago, but I’m getting a vibe that our time here is done.

  When I hang up she says, “Maybe I should be fucking him.”

  If what I suspect is true, that Gwen gets off on fucking men she perceives as powerful, then Darwin probably is the man for her. Then again, I’ve never laid eyes on him, so he could be totally wrong for her. He could be anyone I run into on the street. Could be a woman, for all I know, since he uses voice altering equipment on the phone. In fact, Gwen is the only person I know who can’t be Darwin, since I was with her just now while talking to him. Then again, you never know with Darwin.

  “I need to take you home,” I say, getting dressed.

  “No. I’m going to buy an outfit. For tonight. I’ve decided I’ll be in the mood when Maddie comes. And no, you can’t watch. You’ll have to listen from outside the locked door.”

  “I won’t be there.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I have to leave town. It’s urgent.”

  “You’re supposed to be guarding me. I mean, us. What about Connor Payne?”

  “That’s what the phone call was about,” I say, lying through my teeth.

  “Connor Payne is your boss?”

  “No, of course not. But my boss tracked him down. He’s in San Francisco. I’m going there tonight. To kill him.”

  Her eyes widen. “No shit?”

  I look into those wide, mud brown eyes, and say, “I’m doing it for you, Gwen. I’m going to murder one of the most powerful men on earth. But first I’m going to punish him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he frightened you.”

  “Oh, Oh, wow!”

  “I’m going to reduce him to tears.”

  “Oh, Oh, Oh, my God!”

  “I’m going to make him shit his pants like a frightened child!”

  “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh my God! Oh, Oh my GOD!”

  “And when he’s on his knees, begging for his life, the last words he’s going to hear before I snap his neck like a dead twig is, ‘This is for Gwen.’”

  “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh my God!” she screams. “Oh! Oh! Oh my God! I’m getting wet!”

  It’s true. She’s as worked up as anyone I’ve ever seen.

  “Fuck me, Donovan! Fuck me! Fuck me right now!”

  “There’s no time.”

  From somewhere deep in Gwen’s throat a moaning sound is born. By the time it escapes her lips, it is unlike any sound I’ve ever heard. Her eyes are half-closed, her head is lolling back and forth. Her hands are shaking.

  “Donovan. Please!” Oh God, I’m not kidding!”

  She slaps my face as hard as I’ve ever been slapped.

  “Fuck me!”

  “I can’t.”

  She slaps me again.

  “Fuck me!

  “Sorry.”

  “Fuck me! Now!”

  She slaps me again.

  “Right Now!”

  And again.

  I look at my watch. “I don’t know…”

  “Please!” She starts tearing her clothes off.

  I’m bluffing about the time. I’ve got hours before I have to go save the world. This is all about coming at her the way I finally decided she wants to be fucked. And this time I guarantee I’m going to get every last ounce she has to give.

  30.

  “After you kill Conner Payne,” she says.

  “Yes?”

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “Of course.”

  We’re in my car, heading back to her place.

  “When?”

  “I’ll be back before sunup.”

  “Swear to God?”

  “Swear to God.”

  “Because Lucky owes you money?”

  “No. You already told me he can’t pay.”

  “I lied. He’s got a million dollars in his safe.”

  I pause. “Why tell me that now?”

  “Because I’m yours now. If you want me. And if we take Lucky’s money, you won’t have to support me.”

  “You’d leave him?”

  “For you? Are you kidding me? Guy’s a loser.” She pauses a minute. “You do want me, right?” As if it never dawned on her I wouldn’t.

  The correct response in this situation is, Of course I want you! You’re very important to me!—And I am going to say that.

  In a minute.

  But first I say, “You’re a bit moody.”

  “I know, honey,” she says. “But I don’t have to be. I mean, I wouldn’t be moody if I were with you.”

  “I’ll require a lot of sex.”

  “Good thing I’m so young,” she says. “By the time I stop liking sex, you’ll be an old man.”

  “In that case, of course I want to be with you! You’re very important to me.”

  “Really?”

  “I swear.”

  I’m not lying. Gwen has become very important to me. Especially her titties. Because behind one of them, pressing against the edge of her rib cage, is the device. Phyllis implanted it during Gwen’s boob job. I didn’t see it, didn’t feel it while making love just now, but I know it’s there. Since its ceramic, she’s probably walked through a dozen airport scanners and no one ever knew. For Phyllis, it was the perfect place to hide the device, and the perfect way to get back at Lucky. Not to mention Gwen.

  So yes, I want to be with Gwen. Want to protect her, keep her close at all times. At least till I recover the device. And maybe afterward, too, because Gwen has potential. She’s smart, wild, and, once you know the combination,
she’s great in bed.

  31.

  After dropping Gwen off I grab my gear and head to the private airstrip where I’ll catch my flight. While driving there, I call Callie to invite her to come with me. She’s been bored lately, and I know she’ll jump at the chance to help me kill one of the FBI’s highest ranking terrorists. Unfortunately, Callie’s cell phone has been turned off. Fortunately, it probably means she’s having one of those incredible sexual gymnastic experiences with her life partner, Eva LeSage. Eva’s a star in the most popular stage production in Las Vegas history. I’ve seen it twice, and paid money to see it the second time.

  But I’d pay a fortune to see the show she and Callie put on behind closed doors!

  Should I wait for Callie?

  I know she’d love to come. And she’s such a valuable asset, I’d be nuts not to wait for her. But the more I think about Darwin’s plan, the less I like it. So I decide to go to San Francisco alone, and leave Callie behind to enjoy her evening with Eva.

  In the air now, flying by private jet, I think about the job at hand. According to Darwin’s intelligence, Rasool bin Muhaymin is due to land at San Francisco International Airport tonight at 10:19. Muhaymin, known to us as M, has been on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Terrorists List for years. He was indicted in the Southern District of New York for his role in the 2008 hijacking of a commercial airliner which resulted in the assault of twenty-four passengers and crew members, and the murder of three United States citizens. The Rewards for Justice Program has offered $5 million for information leading to M’s apprehension or conviction in any country.

  For apprehension or conviction, they say. Not for death.

  Death makes more sense. Not just to me, but to Uncle Sam, as well. “Sam” knows our legal system is tiresome, cumbersome, expensive, and overly accommodating to high profile defendants. So “Sam” (off the record) wants to handle M outside the courtroom. While the current charges against him are serious, M is far more dangerous than his indictment indicates. Simply put, Uncle Sam feels the world is better off without M, and when these things are decided from on high, I’m the one who gets the call.

  Usually, I get to do things my way. This time, Darwin wants it done his way. Problem is, Darwin’s plan sucks. He wants me to find the limousine that matches the license plate number he’s provided. Then I’m to use whatever means necessary to take the limo driver’s place. Once that’s done, I’m to stand at baggage claim holding a sign that reads, Diego Santosch. M will get his bags and introduce himself to me as Diego, and I’ll escort him to the limo. I’ll put his bags in the trunk and open the door for him. When he crouches down to get in the car, I’m supposed to shoot him in the back of the head. I’ll have the silencer attached, to reduce the sound. M will crumple into the rear seat, and I’ll drive him to the pass-off person a few miles away.

  It’s so simple a hit man could do it.

  And that’s what bothers me.

  Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: I’m a hit man. Well, to the mob, maybe. But to Uncle Sam, I’m an assassin.

  Big difference.

  32.

  There are lots of holes in Darwin’s plan.

  I like Darwin, enjoy working for him, but it’s hard to trust a guy who would graft a kill chip to your brain. I mean, call me a bad sport, but it’s not the sort of team-building exercise that inspires confidence.

  For me, anyway.

  So, in addition to worrying about a deadly terrorist, I have to worry that my own boss could be setting me up. I don’t think he is, but isn’t that when you’re at the highest risk? When you think you’re not?

  It would be nice if:

  1. Sensory could contact the limo company and tell them not to come. I could get my own limo, and wouldn’t have to deal with the current driver. Except we can’t contact the limo company because you never know who knows who. One of their employees could tip off M when he lands, and we could blow the opportunity to snuff him.

  2. I could use my security clearance to wait for M at the gate, follow him to the bathroom, and kill him there. Except that M is too smart to use airport bathrooms.

  3. I could wait on the jet way ramp. When M gets off the plane, I could hold him there and force him back on the plane after the passengers disembark. Then kill him and wait for a cleanup crew to remove the body. Except that M will certainly be disguised, and it would be easy for him to slip past me on the jet way. Plus, he could be on a different flight.

  4. I could board the plane before the passengers disembark, and ask the flight attendant where Diego Santosch is sitting. Except that M won’t be flying under that name, and it won’t appear on the passenger manifest. And again, he could be on a different flight.

  There are other problems.

  One is that the intelligence could be wrong, or at least faulty. I’m betting Darwin knows it’s faulty. I mean, if you knew for certain M was on this particular flight, wouldn’t you just isolate the plane on the tarmac and send a team out there to determine which passengers are not M and his followers? It wouldn’t be hard to eliminate ninety percent of the passengers. Then you could arrest the other ten percent, and cull out the innocent with dental records and other manners of proof. What you’re left with, over time, is M. Since the FBI is not doing that, I can safely assume they only think they know that M is on the 10:19 flight, that he’s ordered a limo, and the driver will be waiting for him at the airport, holding a sign.

  Or maybe Homeland knows about M being on the plane and hasn’t shared the data with the FBI because they want him dead, not captured.

  So many issues to consider. Want some more?

  Who’s to say M hasn’t already landed? He could in fact already be at the airport, enjoying a drink, or having a leisurely dinner. He could be sitting in chairs at one gate after another, all afternoon, pretending to wait for various flights to board, and at ten tonight, he’ll head to baggage claim to catch his ride.

  He might not have any baggage to claim.

  Another problem is the limo driver, who might not be a driver at all. What if he’s an assassin? If he is, he could be working for them, us, or both. His job might be to kill me while I’m trying to find the limo. If I’m out in the limo parking lot looking for a license plate, and he’s waiting for me, I’m a sitting duck.

  Another problem is accomplices. What if M is traveling with others on the same flight? If someone sees me holding the sign at baggage claim and approaches me, how will I know for sure it’s M?

  Beyond all that, I don’t like the idea of standing in baggage claim holding a sign that shows any possible double-crossers who to shoot.

  There’s only one way to sort these possibilities out. One way to successfully identify and kill the bad guy: I’ve got to put myself in M’s shoes. If I’m M, I know the airport is my greatest point of vulnerability. If I’m M, I also know if I can get out of the airport, onto an interstate, it’s game over. I win.

  If I were M, how would I do it?

  I think about it a few minutes, and come up with a foolproof plan for M.

  Now all I have to do is come up with a plan to defeat it.

  By the time I land, I’ve got one.

  33.

  If I’m M, I’m already at the airport. I landed an hour ago, and I’ve got several hours to kill before my driver shows up. Instead of going to the main terminal, I surround myself with people by going from gate to gate, and sit among the crowds waiting to board the various planes. I sit at gate A12 for a half hour, then go to A27 and read a book or check my emails. Then I go somewhere else. I’m not worried about my unclaimed luggage because I didn’t check any. I’ve got a single bag that contains my laptop, a modest amount of cash, and a few articles of clothing. My cell phone is not only turned off, but the battery has been removed.

  My three accomplices will be arriving, or have already arrived, on three separate flights. They also randomly move from gate to gate until we’re all sitting at the same gate, waiting for a particular flight to land,
probably around 9:45. We don’t make eye contact or acknowledge each other in any way, but when the passengers exit the plane at this gate, the four of us merge with them and head to baggage claim.

  The driver and limo company I’ve reserved are people I trust. Which means I have a way of knowing if the guy holding the sign is the right guy. He’ll signal us that everything is okay, or if there’s a problem. Something we’ve predetermined, such as which hand he holds the sign in, or if his other hand is in his pocket, if he puts on a hat, or whatever. Which means Darwin’s plan to use me as the limo driver wouldn’t have worked.

  But I already knew that.

  If I’m M I have one of my accomplices approach the limo driver. The rest of us are at three different locations, with line of sight to the driver. If all goes well, Accomplice #1 and the driver get in the car and make a circle around the airport, and end up at passenger drop off upstairs, where Accomplice #2 is waiting. He walks out the door and climbs into the limo. They drive away, get on the interstate, go a few miles, turn around and come back. I’m downstairs again, at baggage claim. When the limo driver comes in the door with a different sign, I walk past him and get in his car. While Accomplice #3 meets him at baggage claim, I drive the limo away, leaving the real driver and Accomplice #3 at the airport.

  It’s foolproof, because if at any point there’s a problem, M can just walk out the door and catch a cab. He’d prefer not to, because the cab driver might be able to identify him later. Not a big deal, but still a loose end.

  Now all I have to do is figure out which of the four is M.

  Assuming I’m right about there being four.

  Good thing I’ve got a plan for that. And for getting away after I shoot him.

  34.

  When I land at the private airstrip in San Francisco, I assemble my gun, load it, and put it in my shoulder holster. I tape a strip of Velcro to the silencer, and tape two companion pieces to my left calf, under my pants leg. Then I attach the silencer to the strips. Later, I’ll bring another strip of Velcro material to tape to my left arm, because if all goes right, this silencer will spend time in at least three different places over the next two hours.