1 Manic Monday Page 6

  Her target had been designated VMUNIT. As usual, the cryptonym meant nothing to her. It was probably generated by a computer, anyway. As a rookie, she had expected more creativity from The Company in regards to naming conventions for mission designations. She had soon been disabused of that notion.

  Her task was to plant seeds that would counter this puppet’s programming. A team of psychiatrists and doctors specializing in these procedures had developed two techniques that they were confident would act as a Trojan worm for his programming. One was tactile. One was focused on a previous program plant and was auditory.

  She held the locket in her hand. She glanced at it, turning it over. It had no inscriptions. It was a simple silver locket with a thin silver chain. Camilla shrugged. The idea was to hand VMUNIT the locket and then repeat the key word three times.

  Although this seemed simple enough, she understood the danger she faced. She also knew the stakes.

  The plane had reached altitude and she swallowed hard to pop her ears. She hated flying. This was the most controlled environment for this particular encounter, so the journey was necessary.

  Agent Cross got up from her seat, glancing ahead to the air marshal she had identified earlier. He saw her and nodded. He got up and went to first class. Camilla put on her best smile and smoothed her business suit. She was off wire, no cameras. She was taking a big risk, but VMUNIT would be able to smell her coming a mile away if she were hooked up like an agent.

  She made her way back, avoiding the feet in the aisle until she reached the big guy in 12b. She tripped headlong, giving up her body for the fall. As she fell, she could see her target already reacting. With the quickness of predator, he saved her. He had her by the shoulders, his hands strong but gentle. His eyes were a deep blue. An ocean to bask in if she were tempted.

  “Whoa there, lady. You alright?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

  Camilla was breathless. The ploy was working. It was so simple she had hardly believed it would succeed.

  She gathered herself, shaking her head.

  “I mean, yes. Yes. I am fine. Thank you.” She tried to stand, and found that she had truly wrenched an ankle. “Ow.” She did not have to act. The pain was immediate and bright.

  “Let me take a look at that.”

  He lowered her into the empty seat opposite of him. She fought embarrassment. She almost forgot her mission as she bit her lip from the pain and from the sensation of her target’s gentle hands carefully grasping her lower leg.

  “Looks like you sprained it. It is gonna swell.” He stared at her a second. Camilla’s leg was extended into the aisle, her target crouching there with his back to the seat behind him. His eyes were so focused, so deep, yet revealed nothing.

  “Can I help?” The stewardess interrupted.

  “Yes. Ice please. In a plastic bag if you have it.”

  “We have ice wraps.”

  “Excellent. I will need some pillows, too. I need to prop her leg and her head.”

  Wordlessly, she turned and walked carefully back toward the forward bulkhead.

  “Are you a doctor?” asked a small boy in the seat in front of them. His round face was smudged with jelly and he had a Star Wars action toy.

  VMUNIT smiled at him.

  “You can say that. I know my way around the human body, certainly.”

  “You don’t look like a doctor.” He commented.

  VMUNIT nodded and then shared a smile with her.

  “You’re in good hands, Miss. Don’t worry.”

  “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “Call me Jake. What’s your name?”

  Camilla swallowed. She did not expect him to engage her this much. It was totally against mission protocols. But she was here now. There was no room for retreat. She was vulnerable. She hated that feeling, but suddenly it felt right to her. She gave into the sensation and then made yet another mistake. She told the truth.

  “My name is Camilla.”

  “That is a beautiful name. What do you do, Camilla?”

  “I work for an international agency.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Me too. Well, we will get you walking straight before we hit the ground. You based out of Los Angeles usually?”

  “Uh. No. I hate white Christmas. I would rather be at a beach.”

  “The Pacific is pretty cold in the winter. Hawaii would be nicer.”

  “I agree.” An awkward silence prevailed until the stewardess returned.

  She handed Camilla some pillows, a knowing look in her eye. Camilla returned her smug attitude with a disarming smile.

  “Thank you, Mary. You’re a big help,” Jake told the stewardess as he pressed the cold compress on her ankle and lower leg.

  He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  “That cold?”

  “Not as cold as the Pacific in winter.”

  He chuckled softly.

  “You have nice feet, Camilla.”

  She was embarrassed again. She had not blushed since high school.

  Gathering her nerve, she scooted back so her back was against the outside wall of the plane and her foot was no longer in the aisle.

  Their little friend was still watching, sucking his thumb, his eyes bright.

  She was aware that several people were watching them.

  “It was so nice of you to provide some in-flight entertainment, Camilla.” Jake quipped.

  She wished that he would quit using her name. She had been foolish to make that slip. Had she said her last name, too? She tried to smile through the panic.

  “I was going to do some karaoke, but the pilot said he would need the speakers for announcements.”

  Jake finished wrapping her ankle and put some pillows under the heel of her foot. The pain subsided some but the embarrassment and sense of failure remained.

  She was running out of time and here she was getting emotionally wrapped up with her target. Wasn’t he the one that was supposed to get humiliated?

  She leaned forward and took his hand, her eyes searching his.

  “Thank you again. You didn’t need to do all this. You are so kind.”

  He shrugged.

  “I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

  She smiled and grabbed his wrist. He looked at her, puzzled.

  Camilla turned his palm over and placed the chain in his hand, folding his fingers over the locket.

  “Vanity. Vanity. Vanity,” she breathed. She said the word with force, their eyes connected. His look of confusion turned to concern. She watched for a reaction. His eyes remained flat, but his brow scrunched.

  “Are you alright, Camilla?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes. Please take this as a gift for your kindness.”

  He smirked. He let the locket fall out of the palm of his hand and caught the silver chain. The locket spun in the air.

  “Pretty. Thank you. But, this looks like an heirloom. I cannot take this, I was just playing doctor with a pretty girl. That is a reward of itself.”

  She fought the urge to blush again.

  “It is yours. Please take it,” she said firmly.

  He nodded.

  “I will remember you by it, then, Camilla.” He patted her knee and rose to return to his seat.

  Camilla bit her lip. She was not sure what she had expected. She had almost failed her assignment. Now she was unsure she had accomplished anything at all. She watched him gather into his seat, the locket spinning from his hand as he put the magazine back in the pouch in front of him.

  “Your ankle looks like a balloon,” her young friend noted. He had given up sucking on his thumb.

  Camilla looked down. He was right. She could see a blue tint beginning to show near her arch. She knew she would not be wearing a shoe when she exited the plane.

  She glanced back at VMUNIT—it was difficult to continue to think of him as a target anymore, but she tried. He was holding the locket up to the light from the plane’s window, the sun glinting off of the silver as it spun. His eyes seemed distant and his face serious. Camilla hoped it worked. It made her sad to realize that she may never know.

  Chapter 10

  A Time to Throw Away Stones

  The traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard was mild. It was a relief to get away from the airport. The holiday crowd was brisk.

  Jake drove the Maserati Convertible Sport with the top up. The California winter wind was uncharacteristically brisk. This disappointed him; he had looked forward to driving with the top down around Beverly Hills and through Hollywood before flying back to the frozen northeast.

  Jake was pleased to listen to the deep bass baffle of the sport car, though. The low rumble was soothing and therapeutic—very male, and satisfying to his ego. Jake downshifted and whipped the convertible into an underground parking garage near the Los Angeles Country Club. He placed his aviator glasses in his front pocket as he steered into a guest parking slot.

  He removed the leather driving gloves and placed them in a small satchel on the passenger seat.

  Galbraith had no qualms providing him with the perks of a six-figure vehicle, an expensive suite at the Four Seasons of Beverly Hills, and a wardrobe purchased from the priciest shops on Sunset Strip.

  He felt ready. Something about the velvet and gold trappings of this profession prepared him for the grittiness of the act he committed. Murder was such a mess. However, in an Alexandre Plokhov blazer, Armani high-waist slacks, and Damir Doma derbies, he felt as though it added a class, a purity, to the untidiness that came with taking another’s life.

  He exited the vehicle, not bothering with the alarm system. He had his satchel. It was all he would need. No prints on the car. He would just leave it here. Such a waste, he thought. There was some sense of freedom in the act of leaving behind expensive breadcrumbs.

  Jake extracted the disposable cell phone he had purchased with a pre-paid credit card in the airport. He dialed Gary’s number.

  “Hello, pal.”

  “You there?”

  “Yes. I parked next door, underground.”

  “I have the feed for your glasses on tap here.”

  “And Galbraith Central won’t know you are tapped in?”

  “It isn’t that type of frequency. Anyone with a Bluetooth cell phone or laptop could pick up your feed if they knew the password.”

  Jake kept walking, noting a couple ahead of him getting out of their SUV.

  “Isn’t that a security risk?”

  “Yeah. A big one. Unlikely, but a risk all the same. Violet is a fool.”

  “Let’s hope that is true. Just remember I will hit the button in mid-sentence so it seems legitimate. I will go live once I get in the building. I will approach the elevator and then be talking as the elevator closes. You have the elevator controls, too, right?”

  “Got it yesterday. Stay frosty.”

  “Stop it. Out.” He switched off and pocketed the phone. He would need to dispose of it later. He got out the glasses and put them on.

  He wondered blithely if maybe they were engineered by Apple. The pair he was given had only one button. It was discreetly hidden on the inside of the dark frame and was concave. He waited while the tiny processor went through its initiation programming.

  The elevators opened and he watched from inside its light at the couple making their way towards the elevators. He was older, his hair peppered grey and she was likely the same age but looked a decade younger. They were dressed in Beverly Hills chic and holding hands.

  Jake held the doors for them. Something about them seemed familiar. He could not place it.

  “Thank you,” the blonde offered, her smile genuine.

  “No problem.”

  The man smiled at him. They were strangers, but why did he feel like this scene was so familiar? He felt a brief flash of pain and a sense of dizziness. A thought came unbidden to his mind: VANITY. It was as if the word was written in red stencil across his eyesight. Jake blinked away the image and almost took off the glasses. He had learned long ago to ignore such oddities. If he pursued them, an enormous migraine followed. It was easier and less dangerous to just ignore them and keep focused on the task at hand.

  He heard the buzzing that signaled that the audio was connected. A blue flash arced across his vision as the video technology and HUD came online.

  “What floor?” The man was almost as tall as him, his shoulders broad. His blazer was long and stylish. His hair was cut close on the sides. Jake guessed that he was ex-military.

  “Ground, please,” Jake responded. “Thanks.”

  The man punched the buttons for “Ground” and for “Parking Level Three” with thick, calloused fingers.

  Those are not hands of a businessman, Jake noted. He glanced again at the woman who clutched a small purse to her abdomen and stared ahead. He could tell she had caught his glance.

  Who were these people?

  He could hear the team in New York confirming video and audio connections. He was told to look right and then left, up then down. Nod his head. Cough. Again. He felt like he was submitting to a physical. Turn your head. Bend over. Uncomfortable stuff. Especially with Mr. and Mrs. Beverly Hills standing awkwardly next to him.

  It was a good test of whether the audio and the HUD were detectable, though. Someone made some adjustments and the HUD became fainter, its yellow lines and scrolling information bar fading enough for it to not make his eyes water.

  The elevator ride ended. Without a word or a backward glance, Jake stepped out into the breezeway between the Century Plaza and the parking garage. He heard the doors close. He looked up and confirmed security cameras. Red lights were off. He smiled. Holidays were the easiest time to pull off assignments like this. Lower staff levels, less witnesses. Which made him think of Mr. and Mrs. Beverly Hills.

  Were they his back up? A counter assassination team? An internal investigation team? Or did they work for Sinegem? Regardless, he saw no one else and they were gone now. Besides, he needed to check in.

  “Monday requesting audio confirmation. Vector New Year 7114E.” Who made up this stuff, anyway?

  “Confirmed. Base clear. Audio and visual confirmation, Vector New Year,” Violet’s voice always sounded like a robot over transmission. Jake smirked. Ironically, he would rather be talking to Lars. Maybe he had been bumped by the Darius Group.

  Galbraith Alliance normal protocol was being supplanted, but that was what he expected for a rogue operation. He wondered how much of the operational expenses and personnel, digital and financial cookie crumbs of this foolishness was being reported higher up the chain. He pushed it to the back of his mind for now. Nothing could stay a secret forever.

  “A/V confirmed, check. Entering in 5, 4, 3....” Jake walked briskly to the elevator, ignoring the security cameras. They were on a loop, anyway. He glanced right and left as he entered the building. “No lookers.”

  “No witnesses. Confirmed. Heat signatures show negative activity on first three floors. Happy New Year.”

  Violet was not usually jovial during assignments. Jake took it for what it was worth. She was showing off for the Darius Group. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Too dangerous. Maybe it would show up on his heat signature.

  “You too. Elevator operational,” Jake said as the door opened. He stared straight ahead as he walked into the elevator and turned, focusing his vision on his right hand entering the building code to the fourteenth floor. With his left hand he extracted a small plastic device with three buttons. He held it behind his back.

  “Confirmation. Elevator uninterrupted to target floor. Security code eng-“ As soon as the doors closed, he pushed the red button on the device in his hand. His glasses made a sharp whine and the audio from the other end cut out.

  “Hello? Monday to Vector New Year. Hello?” Satisfied, he removed the glasses and placed them in his pocket for now, remembering at the last moment to hit the button to disconnect. He knew that he was safe from here on out unless the team chose to turn on the security cameras. He was relying on Gary to keep that from happening.

  The loop that was running on the cameras now was internal. That meant that the programming was done locally. However, some of the technical folks could figure out that they could remotely override the internal loop. He only had five minutes. His only other worry was the infernal heat signatures.

  As he rode the elevator, he extracted the wet suit and the ice packs.

  The door opened. Jake turned right and saw the Vector Energy suite ahead of him. This was one of Sinegem’s first American acquisitions when it went public. He entered through the glass door. He was surprised to see it was already open. Giselle was in one of the glass offices speaking to someone on video conference. She was shaking her head. She seemed nervous or upset.

  Jake knocked on the glass. She turned, startled. She turned back to the screen, flustered and he watched her make a hurried excuse and then turned her screen to the side so he could not see.

  What is she trying to hide from me?

  She got up, and came around to the door. She had locked it.

  “What are you doing here?” She asked, incredulously. She stared at the wet suit he held in his hand.

  “I wanted to invite you to go parasailing with me. I thought we could head on down to Santa Monica and get wet,” Jake managed, smiling.

  “You are crazy,” she replied. Her eyes were wide with fear. Her nostrils flared. “You are here to kill me! Aren’t you?”

  “No,” he said calmly. He held out the wet suit to her. “Put this on. I will get you out of here. We need to work some things out where it is safe.”

  “Safe? Where do you think in this whole wide world I am safe? My security attachment has been pulled. I know what this is about, Mr. Monday.”

  It hurt him a little that she used his family name.

  “You are right. You are not safe. Darius wants to make you an example. Sinegem seems to not care. I assume this has something to do with your failure to recruit me. Is that right?”

  She shook her head. She was crying now. Jake hated it when women cried. It made him feel so vulnerable. So responsible. So guilty.