Agent of Influence: A Thriller (20 page)

Snapping Zachariah’s photo had proven even easier than she thought. Getting back with it alive would be a different matter. There were too many unknown variables to do anything but hand deliver the phone and its contents. She could not risk it falling
into anyone else’s hands. Zach had been easy to seduce. The weeks she spent studying his personality and reading about his antics gave her all the weaponry she needed. She was just his type, and all she had to do was play hard to get for ten minutes at the strip club, and he would not leave her alone. He was so used to pillaging at will that the slightest push back from a prospective conquest drove him crazy with lust. She led him around by the balls for a few weeks until she finagled an invitation to one of Aman’s famous parties at the top of his hotel. 

She treaded carefully that particular night. One misstep and she was certain Zachariah would bring down his Secret Service agents on her. The evening quickly went sour when the Secret Service agents confiscated all the belongings from her purse before the party, including her cell phone. She improvised by stealing one from someone else, only to discover later it was barely functional and the photo she took with it was marginal thanks to the dim lighting. The good news was that Zach got so ticked when she took the picture that he tossed her out. She would have slept with him if necessary, but she shuddered at the thought of it.

Alex interrupted her silent mission briefing. “How do you feel after you kill someone?” He asked.

             
“Why do you want to know?” The question caught her off guard.

“I spent the better part of a year studying these fanatics during the trial preparation. They all seem to have almost a blind, robotic belief that what they are doing is right. It scared the shit out of me; the callousness. I asked myself how a human being could get to that point. It’s what made me apply for the CIA. I felt it was the only way to really do something
about it,” Alex said as he placed the gun on the armrest and stared at her.

             
“I’ve seen the type all my life. They’re indoctrinated almost from birth. Most do not know any other way.  Still, they all chose their path freely. Most of the leaders have Western educations so I have no qualms about killing their type. If the roles were reversed they would not hesitate to slit my throat and rape me, probably in that order.”

“You never answered my question.”

Her back was turned to him while she continued to keep her vigilant watch on the ice covered parking lot. “It’s not something I enjoy by any means, but what I did was necessary. That is how I justify it. By killing, I have also saved a life.” She let the obvious inference hang in the air along with the ice shards just outside the window.

“You seemed like you enjoyed humiliating the guy in the cabin. I was surprised; it actually bothered me a little. When you hear about this crap from a distance it’s easy to forget that real people are involved.”

              “The only real people for those types are the true believers. There is a sick little part of me that enjoyed the act I put on, but that is all it was. Guys like Hussein have perverted their religion to such a point that anyone else is not worthy of anything but their utter contempt. When I have one in my control it drives them crazy. Every moment I spend dominating them drives them crazy. They would rather die than be subjected to a woman in that way. They surrender information quite rapidly to me so they can die sooner. It’s what makes me good at what I do, but if I ever truly enjoy it I will have become just like them. I can promise you that will never happen.”             

             
Alex fell silent, not sure what he should say. The last two days now seemed like two years ago.  He looked around at his surroundings, and realized that he was tired of spending time in hotel rooms. The last several had all ended with dead bodies in them. His mind returned to Michael and Cindy for the first time in several hours. The guilt over his friends’ almost certain death was slowly beginning to pile up. He had become so focused on his own survival that he almost completely forgot that they were massacred just a short time earlier. He hoped he would get the opportunity to apologize to their families.

             
“You’re going to have to stop thinking about your friends. At least for now.” Marilyn read his silence perfectly.

Alex glared at the slim curve of her back, “Is that how you deal with death? Just forget about them?” 

              “There is nothing you can do that will bring them back. I know it’s harsh, but you can grieve later. I would prefer you try to focus on the task at hand for now.  The hardest part of this line of work is learning to separate yourself from your emotions. Try to channel your anger into the moment. Otherwise, you may not get an opportunity for vengeance.”

             
“What is the task at hand? I could use some more information.”

“Sorry, that’s
not for me to decide. But we are leaving tonight. I’ve arranged for some transportation and we will be out of here by midnight at the latest. I need you to do something for me though. I need a few hours of sleep. If I don’t get it, I’ll get us killed. I already have made one stupid error and I can’t afford another one.” Marilyn moved to the window by the front door and pulled the shade to the side, showing him the room a few doors down where the college boys were staying.

“There are a few college guys in that room, drinking it up and having a good time. As soon as the ligh
ts go out wake me up and we’ll get out of here. I have the keys to their car. If the lights are not out by eleven wake me up. That will give me a couple hours of sleep, which should suffice. If you think we have unwelcome guests, just yell. I’m a light sleeper.” She closed the shades and disappeared into the small bedroom. 

Alex took in his surroundings; the small TV in front of him, the tiny kitchenette off to his right, and the love sofa all yawned back at him. What should have been typical surroundings seemed alien to him. He had never felt so alone in his life. He tightly gripped his pistol. He was beginning to understand why soldiers felt comfort with the care of their weapon. It was the only element in battle one has complete control over.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Malcolm Ray set the phone back in its cradle and propped his legs up on his desk in a relaxed fashion. The phone call from the FBI Director had been the second good piece of news in the last twenty-four hours. First, one of his
“cleaners” had found Marilyn’s sign at the airport indicating her escape route and now this. It seemed the head of Zach’s Secret Service detail, Vince James, had called his boss in Washington D.C. to let him know that Zach had a small scuffle with a woman two nights earlier. The woman appeared to be a stripper. Zach had told them to forget about it, that he knew her, and it was no cause for alarm. Vince had felt it best to report it just in case the woman eventually tried to extort him for money.  This sort of thing had been an ongoing problem over the years.

Malcolm smiled to himself. Politicians liked to press the flesh in more ways than one, and their inflated opinions of themselves often convinced them that they could avoid any problem with some smooth talking. They felt they were invulnerable, and there were plenty of women at the fundraisers or campaign stops willing to jump into bed with the power brokers of the country. While most of the women were party loyalists to whomever they were sleeping with, there were always a few who were simply looking for cash or fifteen minutes of fame. 

Malcolm studied the notes he had jotted down during his conversation with Bret. Vince was convinced the woman was a stripper. She ran out of the party later that night in a fit of rage. Vince did not want the President-Elect to start off his term defending himself from rape accusations. He relayed his concerns to his boss in D.C., who in turn called Bret to apprise him of Vince’s concerns.  Since the FBI handled federal kidnapping and extortion cases, they wanted Bret to know the basics in case the woman suddenly appeared in the press a few weeks later claiming she was raped or even pregnant. 

Malcolm could only guess how the Secret Service would react if they knew the stripper was actually a CIA agent. It would not be pretty. She was good at her job though. Her performance was so convincing that she had Zach’s security detail concerned about what she may do. It was the statement about her being from
Reno that brought a smile to his face. He knew how she operated in the field. Every piece of information she offered to the adversary meant something. This little nugget matched with the special sign she had planted for him at the Las Vegas airport.  He grabbed the phone and dialed the number from memory.

             
“Lance here, what can I do for you, sir?” His personal pilot’s southern accent always gave Malcolm the impression that he was in a jovial mood.

“Have the plane
ready to go in one hour. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

             
“Okay. The destination, sir?” The ex-Navy pilot asked.

“
Reno, Nevada. Don’t call ahead though. We can alert air traffic control once we are approaching. I need to keep this quiet. I don’t want anyone in Reno to know I’m coming in,” Malcolm told him.

             
“Yes, sir.  I just want to warn you they will be pissed. A night landing with no forewarning tends to make people nervous,” his personal pilot replied. Intrigued by the sudden request, Lance tried to guess what the problem could be. His years in the Navy taught him to not ask questions on certain matters. Ignorance was normally bliss when it came to requests from his boss.

“It can’t be helped. I’ll
deal with them myself. You just get the plane ready to go. I want a skeleton crew, Lance. No one on the flight unless they are absolutely necessary to our safety. Understood?”

             
“Loud and clear, sir.” The line clicked off, Lance had a lot to arrange in a short amount of time.

Malcolm grabbed his cell phone and sport coat and strode out of his office in a controlled rush. The bodyguards standing in the waiting room just outside his office scurried to catch up with their boss.

Chapter 24

Lake Tahoe, Nevada 

              Gregor made a left hand turn off of Highway 50 and onto the dead-end street. He immediately doused the lights of his BMW X-5. The two-lane stretch of road sloped downward for approximately a half-mile before ending in a thicket of trees, with the edges of Lake Tahoe just beyond. The small strip of road was lined on both sides with cheap motels that catered to the skier or snowboarder on a budget. They were a few blocks away from the casino hotels including Harvey’s, Caesars, and Harrah’s which dominated Highway 50 on the lakeside. The mountainside of the road consisted of a long strip mall constructed entirely out of cedar wood.

Gregor eased off the brake, and let the vehicle’s momentum carry him down the small incline. The private investigator who tracked the two people here told Gregor they were staying at the Blue Lake Resort, which should be two more blocks up and on the right side of the street. The night was unusually bright due to the large snowfall that continued unabated. It would soon be unsafe to drive
unless one had 4-wheel drive or chains on one’s tires.  A few seconds later the mammoth sign for the Blue Lake Resort came into view. A giant St. Bernard with a barrel around its neck announced that there were vacancies. 

“Get your gear ready. This is the place.” Gregor issued the instructions as he whipped the vehicle over to the side of the road.  The plan was for his two men to enter from the front, and Gregor would approach from the backside. The motel sat perpendicular to the road, and from their parking spot he could see all the way down the backside of the cheap resort. Each room on the first floor had its own small deck on the back, providing the perfect entry point for him. He counted the sliding glass doors on the back of the building. According to the private investigator, hers should be the seventh one down the row.  He yanked the black ski mask over his head, tucked the gun into his waistband, and casually stepped out onto the dark street.

“Everything looks as advertised, boys. Head around front. Set your watches and begin exactly when we discussed. Then let’s get this offending lady and get out of here,”Gregor said. They nodded affirmatives, got out of the car, and made their way to the parking lot at the front of the motel. They were dressed in flannel shirts and jeans. The un-tucked shirts hid the Heckler & Koch 23 pistols. The safeties on the weapons were turned off. The mission was officially hot.

***

              William Gardner Johnson IV was intoxicated. He did not realize it until he tried to stand up for the first time since they started playing their drinking games forty-five minutes earlier. He nearly fell flat on his face before making it to the bathroom to take a leak. I am going to have to stop if I plan on getting up at eight to hit the slopes, he realized as his glazed eyes stared at the bathroom mirror. He felt like he was going to throw up. The half-liter of Gray Goose vodka he opened an hour earlier was already empty. One of his buddies had suggested a bonehead drinking game where they roll the dice and then drink the difference in shots. The game obviously did not last long. The sweat forming on his temple told him he was losing the struggle.

             
“Hey, Prince William! You okay in there?” Jeff yelled out his nickname because he knew it would aggravate his friend. The question was more an attempt to have fun at his expense as opposed to being concerned for his welfare.