Madness (8 page)

P
eacock hated solitude. The silence created mental issues. With no outward stimulus, her hyperactive id drove her emotions mad. She pulled her small, black purse off Loomis’s nightstand and opened it, hoping to keep her mind on her plans and not on the chaos inside her head. Her list of Herculean contacts lay neatly folded in the slot where they always had been.

She studied each name
, marking every foe in red. Then she asked herself whom to target first. Who was in charge? Who knew where each of her enemies was? Ursa Major knew. Secluded or not, she’d find Major and obtain the information she wanted.

Find the bastard. Pick his brains,
and then kill him.

Maybe Hercules hadn’t thought to change her system code. She typed it in and gained access. Quickly she searched for Major.

Code Required.

She didn’t have clearance to know his code.
Moreover, she only had two chances to guess. Ursa’s was
Number 2.
Magnus’ code was
Trainer 1
, simple codes, a mix of letters and numbers, signifying position. Her own code had been
Weapon 1
. She typed in
Number 1
.

Access Denied.

What was a six letter word followed by a one that meant the same thing?
Numero 1
? She couldn’t think of anything else. Actually, she’d heard him call himself,
Numero Uno
. She typed it in, and up popped his contact information.

“Predictable, egotistical bastard,” she said aloud.

She dialed his office number and got a voice mail saying, “I’m out of the office.”

She hit zero for his secretary.

“This is Mary. Can I help you?”

“Mary, Lilly Vaughn, Senator Ellis’s administrator, can the Senator speak to your boss?”

“He’s working from home today, waiting on an important call.”

“Senator Ellis will try him there. Thanks, Mary.”

Peacock dressed and counted the money she had in her purse. Five hundred dollars would keep her supplied for a few days at least. At eight thirty-five in the evening, she grabbed a cab, holding her purse in her hands and her black bag in her lap. “3303 Water Street, Northwest,” she said.

“Pricey neighborhood for a workout outfit,” the cabbie chuckled. “You a cleaning lady?”

“Something like that.”

The short ride across town seemed to take forever. For some reason the lights of oncoming cars looked orange instead of their normal color. A pressure seemed to be building in the center of her head, yet she felt no pain. Maybe she was going to die.

The cab pulled up at a gated complex labeled the Emerald Condominiums. Peacock’s irritation grew the closer she came to her target. Major, the mysterious masked leader of Hercules, was the man who ripped her son from her. He was the one who loosed his maniacal girlfriend to bury the insidious implant in her head.

After the cab drove off, Peacock jumped the wall surrounding the complex. Avoiding the check-in gate, she came out between two parked cars, hurrying as though she’d just parked one of the
vehicles. A quick check said, Building B, Number 12 was the far building on her left on the upper floor. Her steps turned into a trot as a spring shower burst overhead. She slipped into Building B and rode the elevator up to Number 12 on the sixth floor.

Her
online study of the builder’s floor plans said Major’s condo was 5,000 square feet with a wonderful view of the Potomac River. A quick scan of the entryway between Number 11 and Number 12 showed that, other than cleaning people, few visitors came here. The distinct fragrance of lemon polish indicated the cleaning people had come and gone. She could develop a scheme to lure Major out into the entryway. But, why not use the direct approach? She stepped up to Number 12 and rang the bell.

After a minute, Major said, “Who is it?”

“Oh for Pete’s sake, I’m drenched. I came to keep you company.”

The latched clicked and the door swung open. “Sorry, Bea, I. . .”

Peacock’s fist sent Major flying backward across the alcove. His head slammed into the bottom edge of the archway that opened into a den, knocking him out. She kicked him onto this belly and cuffed him. Then she proceeded to search his house.

His kitchen said Major was a first-class cook, a man with an interesting sense of taste and literally hundreds of spices neatly arranged in easy reach. His bedroom displayed pictures of seven children ranging from kindergarten age to young adult. Under each
, he’d engraved the child’s name, the mother’s name, and the date of birth. No other pictures were in the bedroom.

Major must be a first class rounder, as her Arthur might say. Peacock shivered. Her memory rang both sweet and bitter since her night with Loomis. That Kolb knew of
Major’s pictures made her all the more loathsome.

Peacock left his bedroom and
entered a large rectangular room, which in any other home would be a billiard room. This room contained weapons of every type and class. Guns of every make and model with bullets, star wheels, knives, and switchblades, some in glass cases, some displayed on desks.

My, my, my, the man is a collector.

Her attention turned to the one area of her training she’d never put to use, chemicals, like nitrous oxide, fentanyl, and knockout gases of varying ranges of potency. She might need these later. She broke the glass with a kitchen meat tenderizer and carefully removed three bottles. She placed them and three small empty spritz bottles in a leather shaving kit she found in his bathroom.

She came back to Major and sat down next to him. “Wake up, Asshole.”

She saw an eye open through the hole in his mask positioned toward her.

“What happened?” he groaned.

He attempted to roll over and found that impossible with his hands cuffed.

“I’m surprised my former bosses’ boss fell for a woman’s voice at the door.” She rolled him on his back and looked into his bloodshot eyes. “Forgot about me,
didn’t you. I bet you thought I was Kolb.”

“Don’t be a fool. Uncuff me and get to the
Center, so Bea can examine your implant.”

Peacock’s body flushed with heat
and rage. “Why did you keep me from my child?”

Major stiffened.

She smacked his elbow with the meat tenderizer, and he yowled.

“Again, why did you take my son away?”

“My brother was wrong and Bea was right. You fell in love with Pendleton and got yourself pregnant without permission. You’re intelligent. You schemed your way into getting pregnant right around all our built-in safeguards. You shouldn’t have a son. You can thank my brother that you’re even alive.”

Thank his brother
?

She yanked off Major’s mask revealing his face and hair.
Burn scars covered the whole left side of his head, including his ear and higher up into his scalp. However, that didn’t hide the fact. Major was Ursa’s twin—identical most probably.

He shot her a lopsided grin. “I wear the mask so people don’t mistake me for my ugly brother.”

“You’re quite glib for a dead man.”

Major scoffed. “
Remember your oath and your loyalty. Stop this ridiculous. . .”

She plunged her switchblade into his leg right above the knee, then yanked it out as he screamed and jerked.

“Sorry, but you weren’t loyal to me.” She couldn’t waste time. “Now, I’m taking care of myself.”

Her hands fingered through his pockets. She found his
cellphone, his car keys, and his wallet. “We were trained never to put all our passwords in our wallets, yet here you are with your list right here.”

“You’re not really going to kill me
. Are you mad?”

“Yes, I am.”

As much as she wanted to toy with him like a mouse caught on sticky paper, time was moving on. She had another stop to make before eleven o’clock. Peacock thrust the knife straight into Major’s heart and left the blade in down to the hilt. Grabbing a large kitchen knife, she sliced off Major’s thumb, wiped it clean, put the thumb in a baggie, and dropped it into her purse.

In the bathroom, she washed the blood off her hands and arms. When she looked in the mirror, Peacock didn’t recognize herself. But then, after all she’d been through, maybe there was nothing left of Laverna Smythe, Donna O’Conner, or whoever she’d been before. Maybe she didn’t’ exist.

I’m a deadly goddess.

Carrying
one of Major’s black cases repacked with interesting new weapons, she headed back down to the parking garage and pressed Major’s car key unlock button. A black Lincoln, only a few spaces from where she stood, flashed its lights.

One down and who knows how many more to go?

Try as he may, Alan Loomis couldn’t hide the bruise remaining on the left side of his jaw. As Vice President Edmonds left the President’s office, he commented, “I’d like to see how the other guy looks.”

“A workout accident,” Loomis said, for the sixth time since he’d arrived. He waved the Vice President over and whispered so his bodyguards couldn’t hear. “Pendleton’s plane will arrive in a half hour. I thought you were going to meet him.”

“Heading there now. Don’t be a worrywart.”

Loomis never considered himself a worrywart.
Still, as complicated as events were becoming, he felt the loss of control unnerving. Even with all his training, Laverna Smythe Pendleton distracted him. He respected her and enjoyed working with her as a partner. However, last night he’d experience emotions like never before in his life. If she’d killed him like a black widow female does to her mate, he would have died happy, sore jaw and all.

The door to the Oval Office opened. “Can I speak with you, Alan?”

John Sherman motioned him in as the president headed out to retire for the night. “The president just finished talking with Latovsky. The man’s pleading with Monroe to join Pendleton and fight alongside him.”

“Sir,” Loomis said, “Latovsky and Monroe have met several times. Could he be making a personal appeal, rather than a political one?”

“Whatever the motivation, the president left exhausted.” Sherman put his hand on Loomis’s shoulder. “Sorry about your partner. Believe me when I tell you, I personally sympathize with her. I’d hate to not be able to see my kids.”

Loomis nodded. He had mixed emotions. She was
certifiable, but his night with her spawned a craving he hadn’t experienced since he first met his ex-wife. With Sherman lingering around, Loomis had to decide what his course of action should be. “I’ll take the nine to midnight shift. You need your rest after such a busy schedule. Have Jerome replace me at the witching hour.”

Sherman shook his head. “The department issued a
Code Red security warning. Both of us will be doing double-duty. I’m here until two a.m. when Jerome replaces me. You’re here until six a.m.”

Loomis pursed his lips. No use arguing, he would have to lure Sherman away on a rabbit chase or kill him. Now he understood Peacock’s dilemma more clearly. Peacock performed the hardest of duties, living a married life with an enemy and stealing his secrets. Loomis wondered if he could do the same if asked.

“All right,” Loomis said. “Where will you be positioned?”

“I’ll stay at the foot of the main staircase in the Center Hall.”

“Fine, I’ll be down the corridor by the Secret Service Room.” Loomis took a couple of steps toward his station, then asked, “How about a game of computer chess?”

“Not tonight, I’m going to watch
Nightline
on my I-pad. I want to see what the Russians are doing.”

Loomis took his station. He checked his weapons, both the gun in his holster and the knife in its sheath next to the gun.

I hope Sherman is called away.

#

The rain stopped as Pendleton’s jet landed at Andrews Air Force Base. Vice President Edmunds and Air Force General Marco Giamo, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, waited on the tarmac to meet him. Pendleton peered out his window. The official welcome committee consisted only of the two leaders and select staff.

President Monroe had no idea Pendleton was on American soil, and that fact encouraged him. Latovsky’s troops were at the border of Jordan en route to Israel. Despite heavy missile launchings from Israel against that advancing army, the Russians pushed forward. Air raid sirens went off hourly in Tel Aviv, Haifa, and Amman. So
far, incoming strikes caused light damage, meant to terrorize the people, not to destroy them.

Pendleton hurried down the plane’s steps and reached out his hand to Edmunds, “Good to see you again, Carter.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Nonsense, the dawning of a new world is at hand. And the human race will have a future.”

General Giamo shook Pendleton’s hand as well. “Please understand. The Armed Forces of the United States serves the Commander-in-Chief. We are sympathetic to your position.” He looked over to Edmunds. “But as of right now, President Monroe’s orders are being followed.”

“As I would expect,” Pendleton answered. “I
’ll hold you to that standard of loyalty when you report to me. Will the military come to me when Carter becomes President?”

“If the then President Edmunds says s
o, we will.” Giamo brushed the lapels on his shoulders. “The Global Realm uniforms are stored and ready for wear.”

“Hans Van Meer is at Reagan International,” Edmunds
interjected. “Two of my staff members are picking him up. Once he’s with us, we’ll call Cline with the go ahead.”

“I’ll call Professor Cline,” Pendleton said. “Van Meer will escort him out of the United States and harm’s way once the missiles have been fired.”

“Come to my home,” Edmunds said. “We can talk there with General Giamo, until we’re summoned to the White House for my swearing in.”

“Fine,” Pendleton said, “Van Meer will be heading to Huntsville, so Cline won’t succumb to the jitters. But I might be called away in the midst. Loomis has found Lovey. I’m hoping to send her up to Boston General. Ruben Levi will operate to remove that implant.”

“My God, Arthur,” Edmunds yelped. “How do you manage all the personal headaches you’ve got on your plate?”

“Quite well, actually,” Pendleton said and hunched his way into Edmunds limousine. “We’d best spend our time working
on our speeches for the United Nations.”

Edmunds couldn’t be trusted.
Pendleton received that word from Loomis and from Van Meer. Yes, he’d deliver the military, but he’d expect far too much in return.

Pendleton placed a call to his merchant fleet
commander. His ships were already moving into their pre-selected positions. They’d access land and distribute food when the missile launches ended. “Tell me we’re in place,” he said.

“All but the
South China Sea grouping, Sir,” the Fleet Commander answered. “Heavy seas near Borneo delayed half the supply ships, but we’ll only be off by a few hours.”

“That’s all the delays?”

“Yes Sir, we’re in place worldwide and ready at your command.”

#

“We’re spread far too thin, Mister President,” General Sakharov pleaded, slamming the table and jarring Serge Latovsky’s coffee. “Why aren’t you listening?”

Latovsky smiled. His comrades seated at the table in Cavierterra’s private dining area awaited his response.

“In a few hours American missiles will put an end to our struggles.” He picked his coffee cup up and took a sip. “Besides, you worry too much.”

“al-Sistani and
Jafarzadeh aren’t fools. Their disappearance doesn’t mean they’ve run away. Think man. Syrian forces are heading toward Jordan. Pakistanis have left their homes and are joining the Iranians in harassing our troops regardless of their government’s position. And we’re getting farther and farther from our supply lines.”

Latovsky called to the waiter in this restaurant for the elite. “Bring us dessert.”

“We have a great Sohaan-e Asali, a Persian delicacy.”

Latovsky chuckled. “Since I’m eating their lunch on the battlefield, I might as well have them for dessert. Bring us all some.”

He peered at Sakharov. A good friend and a great general, but he lacked the foresight to see past today. “I understand your concern, but trust my judgment here. I can predict what government leaders will do.”

“You were right about our former States returning to us,” Sakharov said. “But wrong about Turkmenistan. And they’ve caused us pain.”

“I’ll make you a deal. If by two p.m. tomorrow, American missiles fail to provide the firepower we need, I’ll pull to a stop and consolidate our forces before proceeding. Okay?

“Yes, that’s reasonable.”

After his guests left, Latovsky pondered his situation. What if Pendleton failed, or worse, what if Pendleton had lied to him? Everything the two discussed up to now had occurred as agreed. Still an uncomfortable feeling gnawed at him. He’d feel much better after two p.m. tomorrow.

#

Alan Loomis fingered the knife in its sheath. Sherman hadn’t moved since he’d taken his position by the stairway. Time was passing quickly. In fifteen minutes, he must murder Monroe. He watched as Sherman made his ten minute check-in call. The closest agent on the lower floor was in the hall on the other side of the Oval Office in the West Wing. Loomis sucked in a breath. He made his decision.

Sherman fought with the best in his time, ultimate combat, no-retreat cage battles. Killing him would be impossible without the trust Loomis had built carefully over time. He supposed he could fain an illness, but Sherman would probably call for help, rather than leave his post at the stairwell.

Loomis made his ten minute check-in call as well and stood up. “Be vigilant. I’m headed to the men’s room.”

“Roger that. I’ll time you.”

Good working for you, John. Forgive me.

Sherman didn’t look up from his chair as Loomis passed.
Loomis unsheathed his blade swiveled and plunged the knife into Sherman’s neck between his collarbone and spine. Sherman grabbed Loomis, stood to his feet, and flung him across the hallway. He took two steps toward Loomis, eyes flaring red. Then he dropped to his knees. As Loomis regained his composure, he heard Sherman say, “Why, Allan?”

For a moment, Loomis cradled his mentor in his arms, and answered, “To save the world.”

Sherman breathed in his last breath and Loomis kissed his forehead. He had little time to lose. He headed up the main staircase and crossed the Center Hallway into the Yellow Oval Room without making a sound. Once there, he stopped to catch his breath and listen. To his right was a sitting room the president and his wife seldom used, but that room led directly into the president’s bedroom. He glanced at his watch, six minutes until his next check-in call.

Loomis fixed his
Speedloader
silencer onto the muzzle of his .38 caliber Smith & Wesson. He grabbed a yellow throw pillow that smelled of lavender. Normally, he didn’t use silencers with revolvers. However, tonight with at least four other agents in various parts of the White House, a silencer and a pillow gave him an extra feeling of security.

For the greater good.

One deep breath and he burst through the sitting room and into the Presidential bedroom. Mrs. Monroe was pulling on her nightgown. The president was asleep sitting up with a speech in his hand and his glasses slightly askew on his face. Loomis fired three shots, two in the chest and one in the head, per his training.

Mrs. Monroe attacked him.

Fingers clawing at his face, she wasn’t dying without a fight. He hit her in the nose with the gun butt and heard it crack. But she kept coming, kneeing him in the balls as she defended herself. She grabbed his gun arm and attempted to wrestle the gun away from him. With his free arm, he pushed her back a few inches. He fired the gun at her head at close range. Like a melon, her head splattered and she dropped to the floor.

One minute to his check-in call.

Loomis, covered with blood and brain matter, placed his call. “Hey, Jerome, John’s in the men’s room. This call is for the both of us.”

“Roger that. He still has to report back himself when he returns.”

“I’d say ten minutes tops,” Loomis answered, trying not to breathe too heavily to arouse suspicion.

Ten minutes didn’t give him much time, not blood soaked as he was. He put on a pair of the president’s golf pants and a white cotton shirt, a little large but they would have to do. He washed his face and headed to the kitchen. There was a service elevator leading down to ground level.

Once there, he rode down to the service entrance and strolled out into the damp night, hardly noticing the light sprinkle that still fell. He stepped calmly into his car, flashed his badge, and exchanged a pleasantry with Harry at the gate. Loomis left the grounds. Two miles away, he switched cars and headed to a parking lot two blocks from The Klingerman Institute. There he parked and called Pendleton.