CL Hart -From A Distance (13 page)

It had been a long, stressful day, filled with questions for which Winston Palmer had no answers, and that irritated him. With his power and position, he was used to asking the questions. He was beyond having to answer to anyone.

He unsnapped his leather briefcase and pulled out a thick envelope with, MAQUINAR - PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL, boldly written in red. He flipped it over and unwound the string that fastened the envelope. Several color photos slid into his lap. He picked one up and studied the face staring back at him. It was obvious the woman in the photo had no idea the picture was being taken. He turned the photograph over and glanced at the name, date, and location printed neatly on the back. With a slight grunt, he gathered up the pictures and thrust them back into the file. Picking up one of the file folders, he flipped his way through the papers, but there was nothing new for him to see. Winston Palmer knew her file, and he knew her story. Slapping the file folder shut, he glared out at the passing rain-soaked scenery. His irritation simmered to the surface when the phone built into the birds-eye maple console interrupted his thoughts. He shoved the file into the envelope, then threw it into his open briefcase and slammed it shut.

"What?" He made no attempt to curtail his anger and frustration.

"We have a problem," the voice said.

Derek, the young Asian driver of the Bentley, glanced in the rearview mirror at his employer's pursed lips. Their eyes locked, and Derek quickly turned his attention back to the road.

Palmer pushed a button and a soundproof privacy window began to slide upward, separating him from his driver. He waited for the window to be in place before he spoke again. "I'm aware we have a problem. What I don't understand is why we still have a problem!" He reached for his pipe.

"Vasquez is dead, Senator."

His hand stopped in midair as he listened to the silence on the, phone. "I'm sorry," Palmer said, voice dripping with disdain. "That is my problem because... Oh wait, it's not. I really don't give a damn." He wearily rubbed a hand over his face. It had been a long night and an even worse day. "What you're really telling me is that the job is not done. Correct?"

"Correct."

"So now she knows we're after her...and that changes things." Palmer thought for a moment as he looked out the window.
Not necessarily.
"Has she contacted anyone?"

"As far as I know, no one."

"What do you mean, 'as far as you know'?"

"As far as I know." The voice on the phone faltered. "We have to be careful here, Senator. We can't just go in guns blazing. There would be too many people, too many witnesses. Every moron has a digital camera these days, and I don't care to see our faces sprawled across CNN."

"Then eliminate the witnesses."

"It's not that easy."

"Make it that easy. Just put a fucking bullet in her head!" Palmer ordered.

The voice on the other end of the phone was silent for a moment. He had more information to convey, but was reluctant to be forthcoming with it. He never backed down from a confrontation or shirked from his responsibilities, but this situation was different. "That's the other problem. We're not exactly sure where she is."

"What the hell? What do you mean, not exactly?"

"She's somewhere in the Gulf of California, on a boat."

"Jesus Christ, Colonel! What kind of operation are you running?" Palmer dropped the phone to his chest and shook his head. It was supposed to have been such a simple job. He sighed loudly and counted to ten before returning the phone to his ear. "What kind of boat?" he asked deliberately, trying to control his anger.

"We think she might be on the ferry that runs between Mazatlan and La Paz, or maybe even a private boat or something."

"Something?" Palmer rubbed at his chin and then ran the edge of his pipe over his teeth, making an irritating clicking sound. Counting to ten silently in his head was not curtailing his temper.

"A private boat or something? You're kidding, right?" His sarcasm didn't require an answer. "With all of the resources you have at your disposal, I cannot fathom your response. You think... Maybe... Something. I would expect more from you, Colonel. Where exactly," he enunciated clearly and concisely, "is she now?" Palmer listened to the computer keys clicking distantly over the phone.

"Latitude twenty-four point one three..."

"If you know the location that precisely, Colonel," the senator interrupted, "why can't you get someone there? Or is there something additional you need to tell me?"

"It's not that easy. According to these numbers, that puts her-"

"Do I sound like I care, Manuck? Because I don't. And I don't need to remind you that this job needs to be done. There is no leeway here for mistakes, and believe me, she is a mistake, one that we can ill afford to have walking around. Maquinar is too important."

"Too important, or too profitable, Senator?"

The senator ignored the comment. "Get it done, and get it done right. Make the problem go away, Colonel."

The
Pichilingue
left a broad wake on its sluggish journey through the Gulf of California to La Paz. Something woke Kenzie from her light slumber. She wouldn't sleep soundly until she felt safe, and right now, she didn't feel safe. However, she did feel the warm body next to her. Cori had inadvertently curled up to her in her sleep, her head resting comfortably against Kenzie's side. For a moment Kenzie felt a little envious of her soft snore. She wished she could sleep so easily, but there were too many things on her mind and too much blood on her hands.

What happened? What went wrong?
She reviewed Manuck's orders, point by point, but none of it made sense. Killing Cori did not make any sense. She was supposed to be protecting the innocent, not killing them, and Cori was innocent, she was sure of it.
Innocent and gorgeous.
Closing her eyes, Kenzie rested her head against the wall of the plywood box and took a deep breath. Another place and another time, sleeping with this woman would have been the first thing on her mind -
Get your head on straight, girl. You're on the run, not on the make.

The shooter in the desert hadn't carried any ID, but she knew one of her own when she saw one. The rifle he had was high powered and very expensive, which bothered her almost as much as the thought of how he had come to be there. And why had her extraction team not shown up?

When she rummaged through his clothes, she had not been looking for ID. What she had been looking for was a contract or a photograph, something that told her who he'd been aiming at. There had been nothing - no note, no picture, not a scrap of paper telling her who he was working for. For a moment, she regretted not searching his car but there was no point in agonizing over it. The chance that there would have been anything there was now a moot point.
Move on soldier
- that brought her mind onto another subject. Colonel Manuck. Had he not trusted her to do the job? Then again, she hadn't done the job he had ordered her to do. She had gotten too close to her target, and fear and paranoia had begun to consume her. Maybe it was time to get out, finally have a life away from the military.

She could feel the warmth of the sleeping woman beside her, and Kenzie knew she could never go back. But what could she move forward to? She was exactly what they had trained her to be - an assassin without connections. They had taken the emotion out of her, drilled her to become a killer without a conscience, with no moral guidelines other than loyalty to the people who gave her orders. She was a killing machine who did not feel like killing anymore.

What could anyone do with someone who possessed her lethal skills, someone who had witnessed things that in the public's mind had never happened? Maybe it wasn't possible. She couldn't recall having heard of a retirement home for morally bankrupt assassins. Financially, the military had looked after most of her needs, so she had managed to save a small nest egg. She wasn't rich, but she could survive on what she had put away, at least for a while. Then what?

Her moral compass was spinning out of control. She knew she was walking on the edge of a knife and if she didn't make a move soon the results could be lethal. She had never trusted anyone, and for very good reason. She was not willing to take a risk with anyone's life but her own. It was only then she fully understood that she had not killed Cori because it went against the very core of who she was. For reasons she could not comprehend, she was finding herself drawn to the woman. "Chatty Cathy" Cori was constantly on her mind and Kenzie knew that this time she was disobeying orders for entirely different reasons.

Kenzie finally fell back to sleep, but she didn't sleep well. In the shadows of her mind, caught in the twilight of dreams, the war between right and wrong continued. Faces of those she had killed haunted her, whispering to her conscience. With vivid clarity, she recalled the locations she had visited, places where she had taken the lives of strangers without ever a question - in the heat and humidity of the jungles of South America, or the hot stinging sands of the Kuwait desert, or even the quiet of Paris' Luxembourg Park. The jobs were over, but they continued to play in her mind. There were so many, too many, and she wanted out.

Voices in the distance woke Kenzie from her nightmares. Her first thought was for the woman who had been sleeping beside her. "Cori," she said in a whisper.

"What's going on?"

Kenzie could hear the fear in her voice and the rustling of hay as Cori moved about inside the box.

"Shhh," Kenzie brought her finger to her lips and then reached into her bag. She felt amongst her belongings for her silencer. Finding the cold metal cylinder, she screwed it into place. "Stay here and stay quiet," she said as she pushed the plywood top off the box.

Kenzie peered out from the protection of their camouflage box, but there was nothing for her to see except cows. Not wanting to spook the cattle, she slowly and carefully climbed from their hiding place. It took her a few moments to squeeze past the cows' beefy bellies, but finally she made it to the outer wall of the cattle trailer. She peered cautiously between the slats, looking for the source of the voices she could hear. Night had fallen and the deck of the ferry was dimly lit, making her task all that much harder.

"What's going on?" Cori asked in a hushed whisper.

Kenzie quickly turned and brought her finger to her lips, then tapped her ear.

Moving away from the side of the cattle trailer, Kenzie leaned over the back of one of the cows. "I heard something."

"I figured that," Cori said with a hint of sarcasm as Kenzie turned her attention back outside. Cori scrambled from the box. Pushing her way through the press of cows, she made her way to where Kenzie was standing.

"Voices," Kenzie said, "but I don't know from where. What are you doing?" Kenzie whispered angrily.

Cori was peering through the wooden slats. "The same thing you're doing - looking for whoever is talking." All she could see were the vehicles parked around them. A five-ton truck with a canvas tarp, a white panel van, and a red Freightliner...the line of trucks and trailers went on and on. A movement on the far side of the open ferry deck caught her eye. She rested her forehead against the wooden slat to get a better look. Before she could say anything, Kenzie tapped on Cori's shoulder and pointed in that direction. Cori nodded.

The two women watched and waited, but there was no explanation for what they had heard or seen. Cori changed her position, looking through several different slats, but still could not see where the voices were coming from. Just as she stepped away from the trailer wall, Kenzie raised her hand and pointed to the rear of the trailer. Ducking and dodging, Cori did her best to see beyond the cattle, but was unsuccessful.

Kenzie saw the look of frustration on her face. Holding up two fingers, she indicted to Cori that she had seen two men. Walking her fingers, she indicated that they had moved just beyond the rear of the cattle trailer.

Moving up beside Kenzie, Cori finally saw the two men moving slowly in and out between the vehicles just beyond their trailer. One was dressed in dark blue work overalls, while the other was dressed more casually in khaki pants and a white t-shirt. The men were speaking too softly for her to make out what they were saying. They appeared to be searching the vehicles - looking in windows and peering into the back of truck beds. Cori whispered to Kenzie, "They're looking for something."