There's evil in the air and there's thunder in the sky,
And a killer's on the bloodshot streets- J. Steinman
Bailey emerged from her office in time to hear Piper inform the Operator that they would both be at lunch and she turned a smile in her direction as she hung up.
"Ya ready?"
She nodded and put on her sunglasses as Piper gathered up her purse and jacket and they walked together to the elevator. All the way down she sorted through dozens of hypothetical conversations. By the time the elevator doors opened to the lobby, she was already becoming frustrated, having really no idea how to conduct herself in a truly social situation. Over the course of her adult life she had carefully avoided forming any personal attachments, the axe that was her family dangling just above her head, was one axe too many. In addition, there was the shame that came with being who she was and the knowledge that no one in their right mind would want her once the truth was discovered. In fact, she had learned the hard way that friends were just not in the cards.
She had been nineteen at the time and on her third assignment. It was supposed to be a simple elimination job and she had been paired with a man ten years her senior. For three days they shared a hotel room in Athens while awaiting the arrival of the visiting dignitary that was their target.
As things turned out, it was the last time she would be partnered with another operative and forever afterward she would be known as The Wraith.
The man she had been teamed with was named Tony. She never shared her name with him and in a way she wished she had. The game plan was in place and they awaited only the arrival of the mark, the time schedule wasn't written in stone but it was known that he would arrive within seventy-two hours. So they spent many long hours in the confines of the hotel room with nothing but time on their hands. Tony babbled endlessly in a way that set her nerves on edge. He was his own favorite subject, loved to compliment himself and spent a lot of time in front of the mirror. She noted very quickly that his ramblings contained an undercurrent of flirting commentary that she guessed she was supposed to find charming. At first she found this slightly humorous, but by the end of the first day it became irritating and because their surroundings weren't all that spacious, she had little choice but to endure his presence. She tried her best to drone him out, but was forced to respond on too many occasions to ignore him completely. When she had to, she acknowledged him with the shortest possible response.
By late afternoon on the second day, Tony's apparently never ending chatter turned to the subject of sex. He seemed to have a wealth of experience in a subject where she had exactly none and despite of herself she began to listen. She had to admit that she was at least partially enthralled as his commentary grew more and more graphic. Eventually, he began to go over the most unusual locations in which he had engaged in the act, suddenly stopping and throwing a glance in her direction.
"So, tell me, where's the strangest place you've ever done it?"
With the question she became angry, although she didn't really know why.
"I haven't," she stated, abruptly rising from her seat and stalking into the bathroom.
An hour later, she found herself emerging from the bathroom and trying to ignore his presence as she plopped down on her bed. For the first time in two days he didn't start up the chatter and she was grateful. She rolled over on to her side and stared at the wall for close to half an hour before he finally spoke.
"You're not a volunteer are you?"
"No," she said, not bothering to turn around.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For everything you've missed. I forget sometimes that some of us don't have a choice," he said. "If you'd like to talk, I'd be happy to listen."
She had been somewhat surprised at his compassion but she knew that she couldn't talk to him. She had a hard enough time keeping her thoughts buried as it was, voicing them out loud would only make it harder to reign them back in.
"I'm not ready to do that."
"I understand, it's an open offer if you change your mind."
"Tell me about your family," she asked and listened wistfully until she fell asleep.
The next morning the mark arrived and security surrounding him was immense, much more than had been expected. The original plan consisted of a sniper round from whichever of the two could get a shot from their planned positions. This was now an impossibility considering the window of opportunity and the amount of bodies shielding the man. They informed operations and requested an alternate game plan. The response was predictable and infuriating.
Delay Unacceptable – Proceed Immediately.
She took it for what it was; they were expendable. All plans of finesse and an unnoticed escape had to be scrapped. She was well aware that she couldn't return without at least an attempt, to have done so would have meant early retirement.
Since the original plan was not an option, she expressed to Tony that the security would have to be eliminated to be able to reach the mark, and that a frontal assault offered the best chance of success. He vehemently disagreed but could not come up with a reasonably intelligent solution. With time running out, she had simply stated that there were really no alternatives. Squarely stuck between no hope and little hope, he had no choice but to consent. She would spearhead and he would provide fire support.
The next morning she spent two hours in a light rain as she waited for the mark to exit the hotel. Eventually, the man appeared surrounded by his security, and she wasted no time wading into the fray. Approaching rapidly, she engaged at point blank range, her pistols firing relentlessly as she used their numbers against them and utilized the close quarters and falling bodies as shielding.
She always knew she would win. She never had a doubt. Most never knew what hit them and as the last one fell, she ejected the empty magazines from her Brownings. She emerged without a scratch; surprised that it was over, and barely remembering it.
The approaching sirens brought her back to the moment. She inserted fresh magazines into her pistols and ran to Tony's position. She found him leaning heavily against a parked car and sitting in a widening pool of blood. A quick examination revealed three hits, twice in the right leg, once in the left hip. Her mind raced to find a solution, although she already knew it was pointless. He couldn't travel on his own and to escape she would have to move too fast to carry him. The rules were very clear; capture was unacceptable. Meeting his eyes, she knew that it was clear to him as well; he nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
She fired one more round.
She cried herself to sleep every night for almost a month after that. She wasn't sure that she even liked him, but she cried because he cared and because she knew that as long as she was who she was, she would be alone.
"Hey, did you fade out there?"
"Huh?" Bailey looked up, surprised to see Piper standing in front of her with her hands on her hips. She was even more shocked to find herself standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant they were supposed to be having lunch in. Apparently, she had dutifully followed Piper all the way here without saying a word while her mind took her down memory lane.
"I'm sorry, I guess I did fade away there," she said, the slight tinge of embarrassment coloring her face.
"Well," Piper said. "I'm going to assume from the blush that it was an amusing place you were visiting?"
"Not really," Bailey replied, starting to feel extremely uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," Piper said quickly, having noted how quickly the blush fled and an emotionless mask took its place. She decided to beam her best smile at her companion, whose body language was beginning to suggest that she might bolt.
"Uhm… I'm sorry I drifted away on you…" Bailey trailed off a little when her eyes caught the smile being shot at her.
"Don't be sorry, you're cute when you blush."
She couldn't remember ever having received such an honest compliment and it took her a few seconds to formulate a reply. She glanced shyly at Piper who just stood there with her smile still in place.
"Thank you, that has to be the nicest thing anyone has said to me in as long as I can remember."
"I would think you hear stuff like that all the time," Piper scoffed, a little startled at the admission but absorbing the bittersweet look on her face.
Bailey just shrugged, she couldn't think of an appropriate response.
Piper studied her new friend seriously. "Well, I meant it."
Bailey felt the beginnings of a real smile on her face. It was an odd feeling. "Thank you."
Sensing that she was about out of commentary for the moment, Piper again took control of the situation. "Well, as much as I would like to stand here and chit-chat all day, I find myself intrigued at the possibility of heading inside and having lunch," she grinned impishly. "What do ya say, shall we?"
"Uhm… Okay," came the spectacularly intelligent response.
"Goody."
And to Bailey's complete and utter shock, Piper grabbed her hand and led her purposefully into the restaurant.
Terry swiped his keycard over the sensor and entered the code on the keypad that would allow him entrance into the Situation room. He walked briskly to his place at the head of the table where a dozen people were already seated and awaiting his arrival. Setting his briefcase on the table, he elected not to sit and immediately got to the point.
"Okay folks, we have a rogue operative," he said. "Everyone is probably wondering why the building is in a state of lockdown and all pending Ops have been canceled." He paused and looked around the room. "As you all know, a rogue is something that the Organization has dealt with before. Unfortunately, this is a rather unique situation and the potential of this problem, if not handled correctly, is rather devastating."
"Excuse me, Terry. But you're absolutely correct in saying that we've dealt with rogue situations before. If I recall accurately, all past occurrences were dealt with rather quickly and efficiently," Bob Spicher said. "Without the precautions that we all see in effect at the moment."
Terry looked at the man who was the Organization's third in command and would be his replacement if he fucked this up. "True. Like I said, this is a rather unique situation."
"How so?" Bob asked.
Terry reached down and powered on the laptop situated in front of him. A few seconds later and the projection screen on the wall behind him lit up with a photograph. "I seriously doubt that any of you would recognize this person." He gestured toward the picture, which was so large that no position in the room would offer an obstructed view. "However, I imagine that everyone here is familiar with her Identifier."
"She's very attractive, Terry. What's the catch?" Bob asked.
"The catch is, Bob, that very attractive woman is our rogue." He paused and finally sat down in his chair. "Gentleman, that woman also happens to be the operative known as The Wraith."
As Terry suspected, a long silence encompassed the room.
"Holy shit," Bob said finally breaking the silence.
"I take it everybody here is familiar with the name?" Terry asked and looked around the table to see nodding heads. "Good, then you all should know that while any rogue operative presents a very viable danger, this one in particular is one we cannot afford to make mistakes with. What I need is a realistic game plan to eliminate her without taking significant hits to Organization resources." He considered a second and continued. "In plain terms, I don't want to be putting our people into body bags in the attempt to eliminate her."
"Rumor had it that the Organization allowed The Wraith to retire a few years back," Bob said.
"You should be well aware, Bob, that for most people, a career with the Secondary is permanent. Almost no one retires from the Organization, especially one with her background and obvious skill." He shot an annoyed look at the man and continued.
"The Wraith was given inactive status in an attempt to avoid the kind of situation we find ourselves in at the moment. In the past, only the Director and myself have been privy to the particulars of this operative. Today, that information will be shared with everyone in this room. This information will not, I repeat, will not leave this room." He stopped and looked very carefully at each face in the room until he felt confident that he was understood. He stood from his chair and walked completely around the table, pausing at every station to hand each person a CD.
"Her file in its entirety is on the disks I just gave you. I'm expecting several field reports, so I will leave you to study this information for a few hours. None of those disks are to leave the room. I'll want opinions and scenarios upon my return. Any questions?"
Seeing that there were none, Terry made his way to the door and headed toward his office. He wondered idly what new horrors awaited him as he sat down behind his desk. He hadn't been seated for more than a minute when the intercom spoke.
"Mr. McKraken?"
"Yes, Miss Marshall?" he replied wearily.
"You have two messages. Ben Richards and Kevin Marland. Both request contact, sir."
"Thank you."
He put his head in his hands and let out a long breath. At the thought of Richards, the tip of his dick started to hurt. He had been hoping for an update, a request for contact only meant complications. Marland was his man in charge in Atlanta and wasn't due to report until tomorrow, a sign that meant he was destined for another mouthful of shit.
Reluctantly, he reached for the phone to make the calls.
Despite the close call, Martin had made some preparations in the hours before the flight from his home. His mother had left him with a mint condition 1973 AMC Gremlin. It was the very pinnacle of cool, boasting a sweet bright orange paint job with matching interior. He remembered standing stupefied on his front porch as his mother drove up in the butt ugly little car that he never knew she owned. She had explained to him that it was a family heirloom and that he was being entrusted to take care of it. A week later, she had departed to what he could only describe as a swinging retirement community in Florida. He privately felt that his mother was far too young for this sort of exile, but he had little say in the matter.
Fortunately, the car was still in her name and he had, out of a sense of duty, habitually tagged it in the two years following his mother's southern migration. Having been too embarrassed to keep it at home, he had ended up finding it a berth at a local mini-storage. Visiting the vehicle once every couple of months to start it and keep it maintained. He now thought it a stroke of genius that he never sold it or registered it in his name. He would be deliriously happy to drive the monstrosity all the way to Georgia. In fact, if it were a possibility, he would be happy to drive it all the way to Florida and spend the rest of his days playing shuffleboard and Canasta with his mother's swinging friends.
So it was a very tired and still very scared Martin Satterfield sporting a fresh head of bleached hair and wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt in existence, that proudly drove a bright orange eyesore down I-95 and out of the District of Columbia. He was so relieved at having escaped earlier in the day that he would have been blasting the stereo if he owned at least one 8-track tape.
Instead, he listened to the radio. But with just A/M at his disposal, his only choice was some god-awful country station. He endured the mind numbing music in an attempt to keep his thoughts occupied. Having watched the top of his neighbor's head disappear was something he was trying very hard not to think about. He listened to the bowel wrenching twang of the ever present steel guitar and tried to keep his mind on the much more immediate concerns of his own survival. He knew it was roughly a twelve-hour drive to Atlanta but he had decided, after much internal debate, to stop in South Carolina for the night. He needed some rest, and more importantly he needed to decide how to best approach the woman his former employers called The Wraith.
II
I'm learning to fly, But I ain't got wings,
Coming down is the hardest thing- T. Petty
For the past half an hour, Piper had watched Bailey play with the food on the plate in front of her. She could tell the woman was uncomfortable and it perplexed her. This was the same woman who seemed so dynamic and in charge at the office. It was usually her style just to come out and ask what was wrong, but she had the feeling that any conversation on Bailey's part would be forced. Insecurity began to rear its ugly head and she was beginning to feel that it was just her that Bailey had a problem with. Since entering, she had only spoken to request a booth far in the back and to order her meal. She decided to take the initiative.
"Bailey, are you uncomfortable with me?" she asked finally.
"Huh?" Bailey looked up from her plate confused and realized she hadn't said a word in quite some time. She did a quick replay of what Piper had just said and became a little disgusted with herself. If the truth be known, she found Piper to be a breath of fresh air.
"Not at all. I hope I haven't given you that impression." She saw Piper focus a rather intense concentration on her when she spoke. "I…am… uh…" Good God. "…Just not used to being out in public," she finished in a rush, feeling immensely stupid and finding her explanation lacking. She held up a hand and looked at Piper. "Let me try again."
Piper nodded at her slowly, fascinated.
She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "I have to admit I'm uncomfortable, but you've very little to do with that. I… uh… have lived a rather solitary life and… truthfully… feel principally out of place in most social situations and… uh... well…" She took another breath, "…well, I basically suck at small talk," she finished, feeling like she had just sprinted a mile. She risked another glance at Piper and was more than a little distressed to see a slow smile make its way across the woman's features.
"Why didn't you just say so? If you need me to hold up the conversation I can babble on for hours if need be," Piper said brightly, appeased.
It had been torturous watching Bailey struggle with herself over such a small matter. She had no doubt that the woman sitting across from her was a very interesting, complex woman and she had to admit to herself that she was more than a little intrigued. She smiled and launched into action.
For the next half an hour she gave her no less than a dissertation about nothing in particular. Some time later, she was relieved to see her actually start eating the food from her plate and swore to herself that she actually saw the beginnings of a smile on a couple of occasions.
Bailey was at first greatly relieved that she was no longer on the spot, but soon found herself becoming more and more at ease as Piper continued speaking. Granted, she knew she had very limited experience around people but she had never met anyone quite like the woman across from her. It seemed every emotion the woman had rose immediately to the surface, a trait which she had never encountered before and actually found endearing. She was surprised to have caught herself starting to smile at least twice and to her pleasure found that she was actually enjoying the company of another person for one of the few times in her adult life. Obviously, Piper hadn't been exaggerating and she maintained a steady stream of chatter about apparently any subject that crossed her mind. Conversationally, she had begun to suspect that she was going to be let off easy.
"So what part of Ireland are you from? You have a charming accent," Piper asked suddenly.
"Belfast," Bailey found herself answering easily. "And thank you."
"Really?" Piper asked interested. "How long did you live there?"
"I left when I was sixteen, I've not been back."
"Did you like it there?"
"Yes and no."
"Do you think you'll visit again?"
"Someday, perhaps," she said slowly, struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire questions.
"Have you lived in Atlanta long?"
"A little over three years."
"Where did you live before?"
"I traveled a lot, but I had a place near Portland, Oregon."
"See was that as hard as you thought?"
"Huh?" Bailey blinked.
"Well, it seems you can warm up to a conversation if you have to," Piper said mischievously.
Bailey felt a blush begin to creep up her neck and she was stunned to hear a genuine chuckle escape. She had had to hand it to her; she had drawn her out with impressive ease. It disturbed her a little that she had been so easily manipulated by the diminutive redhead but found that she had been eager to share as well and had easily and honestly answered her questions.
"Pretty tricky," Bailey said with a little grin and was astonished with the real laugh that bubbled to the surface when Piper blew on her nails and buffed them on her shirt.
"When ya got it, ya got it," she said with a chuckle, feeling tremendously pleased with herself and charmed in the extreme when she heard Bailey laugh.
In short order, the laughter stopped and Bailey noticed Piper staring at her rather unabashedly. Oddly, she didn't feel as uncomfortable as much as she was flattered by the regard. She saw the waiter approaching from the corner of her eye.
"Anything else, ladies?" he asked.
"Just the check I believe," Piper replied, looking at Bailey who nodded.
The waiter pulled their tab from his apron and placed it on the table. "Come again," he said pleasantly as he turned to leave.
As soon as his back was turned, Piper quickly snatched up the bill. "My treat," she said, digging in her purse for some bills that she laid on the table. "We ready to head back?" she asked Bailey who again nodded.
They walked all the way back and took the elevator in a companionable silence. When the doors opened on seventeen Bailey spoke up.
"Thank you for lunch, Piper," she said inserting her key in the control panel to hold the doors open. "I had a good time."
"Me too, thanks for going," Piper said. "Would you like to go again?"
"I think I'd like that."
"Great, me too."
"Uhm… I'm going to take the rest of the day off; I've some things to look into. You can reach me on my cell number if anything pops up," she said feeling kind of lame.
"Okay, have a good evening," Piper said a little disappointed as she stepped off the elevator.
"You too," she said as she started to close the doors.
"Bailey," Piper said before the doors closed all the way.
Bailey turned the key to let the doors open again. "Yes?"
Knowing she was taking a chance, she walked back onto the elevator and into Bailey's personal space. She saw her tense and she experienced a quick flash of fear that she was about to be flung away violently.
"Hang tight," Piper whispered in an attempt to put her more at ease as she stood on her tiptoes and planted a light kiss on Bailey's cheek. "I'm glad to have met you, finally," she said as she came back down on her heels and walked out of the elevator. "You're a fascinating woman, Bailey Cameron," she said without turning around and walking around the corner and out of sight.
Bailey stood motionless in the elevator for almost five full minutes, completely dumbfounded for the first time in her life. Eventually and robotically, she turned the key and rode one floor up to her residence. Upon entering her flat, she walked straight to the couch and sat down gingerly. Staring off into space, her hand came up to touch the spot where Piper had kissed her.
"Wow," she said aloud.
Several hours later, Terry made his way back to the Situation room and practically fell into his seat at the head of the table. He was aware that everyone was looking at him expectantly but he didn't care. As predicted, the news had not been pleasant and after finally hanging up the phone, he had sat behind his desk and indulged in a full hour of feeling sorry for himself. Knowing he had to assert some sort of control over a situation that was fast unraveling, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat.
"Okay, we have some complications," he started. "Firstly, I'll assume that you've read enough of the file to know that our rogue is in Atlanta and presides over a rather successful corporation." He paused. "I have people planted as employees inside C-Corp and two hours ago I received word that she is in negotiations for a buy out. Obviously, this could speed up the timetable."
He took another deep breath.
"Secondly, my assistant Martin Satterfield, sometime last night made off with her original file. This morning he eluded capture and is apparently on the run. I don't need to tell you how damaging this file could be to the Organization if the right people were to obtain it. However, Satterfield is smart enough to realize that if the file were to go public, it still wouldn't save his life. It is my opinion that he is headed for Atlanta to attempt to contact Cameron and look to her for protection." Terry looked around the table to see expressions that mirrored his own. "If Cameron were to go public, the Organization itself would be endangered." He paused again and looked around the table. "Opinions?"
"Do you think she would go public, Terry? The file would be damaging to her as well," Bob asked.
"It's a possibility, but not really her style. That and the fact that I've had her surviving family under manipulation and surveillance for the last fifteen years. Cameron is unaware of their location and I believe that the threat of harm to them has been the only thing keeping her from basically going under and vanishing."
"What? That information wasn't in the file," Bob said peevishly. "Why don't we just use the family to get her to come in?"
"That may be exactly what we have to do, Bob. But let me point out that her family has believed her dead for over fifteen years, and if she refuses, then what do we do? Eliminate them? I believe if we did that, we would escalate the existing problem a hundredfold and dramatically increase the chances of her exposing us." He stopped and waited for the information to sink in. "I believe that we should use the family only as a last resort."
"Any chance of intercepting Satterfield before he makes contact?" Bob asked. "If we could remove him from the picture it would simplify the situation."
"Agreed. I've dispatched Ben Richards and his team to Atlanta and have them standing by. Kevin Marland, who is onsite at C-Corp, has instructions to eliminate Satterfield on sight. In addition, Mr. Phillips has executed the standard media package, in the hopes that a civilian or local police department can be of aid in ascertaining his location." Terry leaned back in his chair. "However, I don't believe Satterfield so stupid as to walk into C-Corp and ask to see her. He has her file so I believe he will attempt to contact her the way I would."
"How's that, Terry?" Bob asked.
"Cameron has in her residence a private line that forwards to her cell phone if she's not there to answer it. The line was installed specifically as a means for the Organization to establish contact with her. I seriously doubt that it's used for any other purpose. I believe Satterfield will use this line to contact her. He may have more information than we suspect and could be aware that we have people inside C-Corp, so I doubt he would attempt to contact her through the company phone system." He stopped and looked at Spicher.
"Bob, we need to speak to your best Tech."
"That would be Toby." Bob punched a number into the phone in front of him. "I'm gonna put him on the overhead."
"Yes?"
"We need a tap," Terry said.
"Alright, what number?"
Terry gave it to him.
"Hold on," Toby said with the rustle of a keyboard in the background. "That line codes as secure. Placing a tap on it would be immediately detected if the line was actively monitored."
"We can be sure of that," Bob spoke up. "But do we really need a tap? Is there any way to detect when it is being used?"
"Sure, I can flag it for use."
"Good idea, Bob. Would it be possible to trace an incoming call on that number to its source?" Terry asked.
"Yes, but again, it would be detectable."
"Would it be detected immediately?"
"Yes and no. An incoming source trace could be masked since it's passive and not intrusive. However, depending on the sophistication of the equipment monitoring the line, it would probably register tampering immediately after disconnect."
"How long to trace an incoming call?"
"It would register here almost as fast as caller ID, so a matter of seconds."
"Hold on, Toby," Bob said as he muted the line.
Terry sat back in his chair. "What do you think people?"
"It's risky," Keith DeSilva spoke up. "Cameron would detect foul play. The team dispatched to intercept Satterfield would run the very real risk of encountering her."
"I agree," Bob said. "It's a question of whether or not our team could close on the location, recover or destroy the file, and deal with Satterfield before she arrived."
"I don't see that we have any choice," Keith said. "Unless Satterfield makes a mistake, we should count on him contacting Cameron. I say we gamble, and if there is an encounter, there's a chance that Cameron herself could be eliminated." He paused. "I would say that the last is very unlikely, but it is possible."
Terry looked at Bob. "How many people do we have readily available? I'd like to give Richards a little help."
"Richards and his team are it for the moment. I have everyone coming in but it will be a few days before we'll have the resources we want."
"How many people are we looking at in the field?"
"Seventy six, a little more if we include Richards' team and the people you have inside C-Corp. But like I said, it'll be a few days."
Terry took a deep breath and considered. "Bob, how many Free Agents would you consider stand a face to face chance with Cameron?"
"Whoa," Bob said, leaning back in his chair. "I hadn't considered that. I'd have to look into it, but I can safely say that probably less than a dozen would stand a chance toe to toe." He paused. "Additionally, The Wraith is one of the elite and has an exceptionally fearsome reputation, I'd imagine that most would refuse a contract once informed of the target."
"I'd suspected as much," Terry said. "Put the word out anyway, let's see what happens."
Terry got up from his chair and started a slow circle of the table. "Okay, Bob, tell Toby to flag the line. I don't see any other alternative at the moment. If Satterfield is indeed on his way to Atlanta, I'd guess he should arrive either tonight or tomorrow," Terry said.
Bob reached out and tapped the phone. "Toby?"
"Yeah?"
"Flag it, priority notification upon use," Bob said.
"Will do," Toby said in departure.
Bob drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table and watched Terry cease his pacing and reseat himself.
"What are the chances of a kill shot if she leaves the building to meet up with Satterfield?" Keith asked.
"Far too risky," Terry said. "Her movements are unpredictable to begin with and if it didn't succeed, we would have a much bigger problem."
"Alright, what about infiltrating her residence?" Keith said.
"She lives on the top floor with only one access point and the place is probably wired to the rafters. I'd imagine the only way we could successfully eliminate her at home would be to call in an air strike."
"What if she was approached on the street?" Bob asked.
"I'd say that would be suicide unless we put an army on the street," Terry said impatiently. "Look, everyone has read the file, it's not fiction. Let's not forget who we're dealing with here. She's well aware of our capabilities and our limitations. We can assume she's prepared for any move we might make and has taken steps to counter it." He realized he was almost yelling and calmed himself with a sigh.
"As much as I'd like an immediate solution to our problem, we aren't going to solve this one with the usual tactics," he started again at normal volume. "Any attempt on Cameron could be disastrous if it failed and not only in terms of lost assets, but to the Organization itself. Neither Cameron nor ourselves can afford entanglements with any civil or federal authorities." He paused. "Consider this scenario; an attempt is made and doesn't succeed. However, with or without casualties, the incident gets the attention of local law enforcement and Cameron is investigated. Now granted she is rather reclusive, but her name is known in the local business community and that would more than likely gain the attention of the media as well." He stopped and looked around the room. "What do you think the likelihood of her going public would be then?"
He let that sink in a moment before continuing.
"Now, if an attempt was made and was successful it would leave no fingers to point in our direction, but a living witness, trapped between the law and the media, especially one with her background, could expose the Organization from the foundation up."
"So let me lay it on the table here. We have a rogue that not only could pose an enormous security risk but is also skilled to the point of being almost untouchable by conventional means. What we need here is a feasible plan to eliminate her quietly without foolishly endangering our people or the Organization itself. Let me also point out that Cameron is well aware that she's a security risk that we can't afford and she knows we have little choice but to remove her. However, she isn't running and that tells me she is fully prepared to deal with the situation." He paused. "Honestly, that fact scares me. She has a game plan and whatever it is, we can rest assured it'll be one that we won't be happy with. So, let's all keep these facts in mind and come up with not only an offense but a defense as well."
Terry turned away from the table in his chair and sighed.
"Terry, how did Cameron become The Wraith?" Bob asked. "That information wasn't in her file and I'm also curious as to how she became classified within the Organization itself?"
Terry turned back to the table. "On her third assignment she was teamed with an operative who was on the retirement short list. The target was legitimate but intelligence was purposefully misleading so I could prove her worth to the Director who as you know, has never been fond of involuntary operatives. The short list operative was intentionally wounded by a third operative who Cameron was unaware of. She not only killed the target, she eliminated a security staff which consisted of thirteen, all at point blank range and out in the open with no support. In addition, she killed the operative she was teamed with upon discovering he was wounded and couldn't escape if she attempted to save him. Needless to say, the Director was beyond impressed and immediately segregated her from the rest of the Organization."
"As for her identifier, it came from a news report in the country where the incident had taken place. An elderly woman was witness to the hit and told both the authorities and the local media that the attack had been carried out by a singular entity. A lone female, a wraith. Which by definition is an apparition that one sees just before death," he shrugged. "The name seemed fitting."
Bob nodded. "I see."
"Alright, the Satterfield situation should be our priority at the moment. Let's deal with it first." Terry reached for the phone and opened a line.
"Richards."
"Ben, we have you on speaker here, what's your location?" Terry asked.
"Hyatt Regency, Atlanta."
"Good, here's the situation. We've got a possible way of locating Satterfield. You'll need to be ready to move on it immediately if it pans out."
"Is there a window?"
"I'd say if it doesn't pay off in the next thirty-six hours it's not going to happen."
"Very well."
"Furthermore, we've got a hostile involved. In the event that you have to move, an encounter with the hostile is a probability. You'll have to close on Satterfield as quickly as possible."
"I understand. What exactly am I dealing with as far as the hostile is concerned?"
"A rogue."
"One of ours?"
"Yes."
"Identity?"
"The Wraith."
The conversation came to a complete standstill for a long moment.
"Fuckin'A, do I get back up?" Richards finally asked.
"You're it at the moment, all others have been recalled and will be dispatched as they become available."
"What exactly are the chances of an encounter?"
"Unless you can close on Satterfield quickly and deal with the situation an encounter is almost guaranteed. The Wraith will be moving on Satterfield at the same time you are."
"So it's a race."
"Yes."
Another long silence.
"Do you understand the situation, Mr. Richards?" Terry asked finally.
"We'll be ready."
"Good luck, Mr. Rich…" Terry started but the line was already dead.
Terry closed his eyes. "Goddamn it," he whispered. "Alright, lets break this up. Bob, I need you to make those inquiries. The rest of you study the file; we still need a game plan. Unless we get movement on Satterfield, I'll see all of you in this room at 6:00 tomorrow morning."
Terry collected his briefcase and made his way out of the room and back to his office. Upon entering, he walked straight to his chair and put his head on the desk in front of him.
Martin entered his motel room and threw himself face first onto the bed, lying there until the aroma of a Big Mac and fries overwhelmed him. Rolling over, he put both pillows up against the headboard, sat up and leaned into them. Grabbing the remote off the nightstand he clicked on the TV and reached for the bag of food he had brought in with him.
Happily munching on his burger and fries, he coughed spasmodically when he heard his name come from the television.
"… Martin Satterfield, a high-ranking State Department employee wanted on charges of high treason. Earlier in the day, authorities attempted to arrest Satterfield at his residence and met resistance as he fled on foot and ruthlessly gunned downed Ted Dillon, Satterfield's next door neighbor who had stepped outside his home at the sound of gunfire…"
The sound of the television faded out as he stared thunderstruck at the screen displaying his government identification photo, a completely forgotten mouthful of half eaten food dribbling out of his mouth and down his chin. His eyes began to tear as it dawned on him that he had never stopped to think his situation all the way through. High treason and murder was not something that would be forgotten in a month or two. I'm fucked! If the story was being broadcast on the local news in Greenville, South Carolina, it was a pretty good bet that it was being broadcast nationally. Everyone in the country now had the potential to recognize him.
He berated himself. Did he really believe that this would be a problem solved in a few days and he could happily go about his life again? And just what the fuck did he think he was doing anyway? The Cameron woman would probably kill him on sight. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
He got up from the bed, walked to the bathroom and closed the door. He sat down on the toilet and put his head in his hands, slowly gathering his composure and exploring his options. If he was to remain on his own it was only a matter of time before he was caught. He didn't have the money or the resources to long elude capture. Would Cameron help him or would she dispose of him as soon as she had what she needed? Her file indicated that she was very efficient at tying up loose ends and isn't that exactly what he would become, a loose end?
As far as he could see, he really had very few alternatives. Bailey Cameron was his only option and his only hope of survival. He knew he was out his league, but Cameron had survived over a decade in an occupation that left no room for mistakes. The decision was pretty simple; he would have to place his trust in her.
He got up and left the bathroom to collapse in bed. It was around a two-hour drive to Atlanta and he wanted to be there by 10:00am. God, what if my mother watched the news tonight? He thought as he drifted off to sleep.
III
They were all in love with dyin',
They were drinkin' from a fountain,
That was pourin' like an avalanche,
Comin' down the mountain- G. Haynes
Bailey took her time getting up and about; being more than a little nervous about facing Piper. In fact, she had gotten very little sleep the night before. No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept returning to the time she had spent yesterday in her company. She was a little unnerved that the woman had invaded her personal space so easily, as at no time in her adult life had she let anyone that close to her person. Knowing she would have to make an appearance, she walked into the other room and got a cigarette from the pack on her desk in an attempt to shake the nervousness. Upon lighting it, she realized that she hadn't had a cigarette in the morning for as far back as she could remember and she took a moment to examine that fact from all angles. It wasn't just nervousness. She was a little stunned to realize that she was anxious and looking forward to being around the woman again. Puzzled, she shook her head and walked out the door to the elevator, telling herself that she was making a big a deal out of nothing.
She exited the elevator and traveled the short distance to the turn that led to her office. Rounding the corner, she found herself immensely disappointed to see that Piper wasn't there. Scowling, and dragging her feet a little, she walked past Piper's desk and opened the door to her office, coming to an abrupt halt as her eyes tracked to the foreign object. There was a single red rose in a vase sitting squarely in the middle of her desk. Shutting the door and making sure that no one was hiding in the corners, she let a ridiculously wide smile take control of her features. She walked over to her desk, dropped into her chair, and for a long time just sat there studying the rose as she tried to analyze what she was feeling. It took her a while, but to her surprise she found that she was happy. After wondering what happiness felt like for the last fifteen years, it was a bit of an epiphany to realize that all it took was a petite redhead to give her a flower. It was a feeling she decided she didn't want to lose.
She booted her computer and opened up her mail program, chewing on her lower lip nervously while she typed for a few minutes and sent out the first dinner invitation of her life. Once the mail was on its way, she leaned back with a little grin and stared at her flower. Torn from her musings thirty minutes later by the ringing of her cell phone, she glanced at the ID before she answered and scowled; not liking what she saw at all.
"Wraith."
"Uhm… Is this Bailey Ann Cameron?"
"Who's speaking please?"
"M… Miss Cameron, this is Martin Satterfield…"
"How did you get this number?"
"It…it was the number on your file, I… I really need to talk to you. I am…I mean I was…Terry McKraken's assistant."
"I see, and what can I do for you, Mr. Satterfield?"
"They tried to kill me yesterday, I… I have your file…the original… and I know…"
"You know what, Mr. Satterfield?" she asked, hearing a deep breath being taken on the other end.
"I know where your family is, Miss Cameron," he said in a rush. "But I need your help."
"Run that by me again."
"I need your help."
"No, the other part," she said with controlled patience.
"Uhm... I know where your family is," Martin repeated, feeling stupid. "They're going to kill me, Miss Cameron. They've already tried once."
"Where are you?"
"In Atlanta, uhm… at the Ramada Inn Six Flags, Room 416."
"Stay put, I'll be there shortly."
"I will, thank you, Miss Cameron," Martin said relieved. "I…"
She pressed end before he could finish and had stood up from her chair when the cell phone rang again. She looked at the ID and broke into a run for the elevator.
A glance at his watch told him it was 11:36am. Terry had been listening to his staff throw the problem of his current crisis around for the last five and half hours. He squirmed a little in his seat. He had spent the entire night bent over in his chair with his head on his desk and as a result his lower back and shoulders were cheerfully providing him discomfort. He was considering the menu choices in the cafeteria when a short alarm tone and a voice coming from the overhead speakers brought him violently out of his seat.
"Gentleman, your line just went active," Toby said.
"Do you have a location?" Bob asked.
"Stand by."
Terry glared at the table surface with his breath coming in short staccato bursts for what seemed like an hour but was actually about ten seconds.
"I have a number and extension, one moment," Toby said.
Terry's hand flew out for the phone in front of him and rapidly punched in a series of numbers. It was answered immediately.
"Richards."
"Stand by, Ben," Terry said.
"Ramada Inn Six Flags. Room 416. Fulton Industrial Blvd. Atlanta, Georgia," Toby said.
"You get that, Ben?" Terry asked.
"Yeah, we're on it."
"Hurry, Ben. Keep an open line on arrival," Terry said.
"Understood," Richards said obviously running as the line cut off.
Terry sat down hard in his chair and started praying.
"Good work, Toby," Bob said.
"Yep," Toby said in departure.
The room went deathly quiet as all thirteen people sat in their chairs and waited to hear from Richards.
Martin had been pacing restlessly around the confines of his hotel room since the conversation with Bailey had ended. Although the room temperature was pleasant, he was sweating profusely. He looked at his watch for the thousandth time in the last ten minutes, feeling trapped and not quite sure why. His stomach was cramping in the most uncomfortable of ways; giving him the impression that he could simultaneously vomit and shit his pants. A theory he came close to proving when the door suddenly opened and three men entered his room. He stood rooted in place while a harried looking bald man wearing a telephone headset behind one ear strode up to him and without preamble struck him painfully across the face with a pistol. He fell to the floor only to be picked up by the hair and sat down forcefully in one of the wooden chairs that graced his hotel room.
"The file, Mr. Satterfield. Where is it?" Ben Richards asked.
Slowly regaining his focus and trying to ignore the pain radiating from the blow he had been dealt, he scanned the room in an attempt to ascertain his current situation. It only took a second for him to realize that he was up to his neck in the really bad smelling kind of shit, the kind of shit that an ulcerous leper would leave in the bowl after being on a weeklong diet of boiled eggs and vinegar.
One man stood in front of the door with his eye to the peephole and another stood behind him holding him in his chair by the shoulders. To his dismay and a rather severe loosening of his bowels, he noted the silenced handgun, unscathed from its recent collision with the side of his face, in the hand of the bald man standing menacingly in front of him.
"We're in a bit of a hurry, Mr. Satterfield. Where is the file?"
"Huh?" Martin said fuzzily.
Richards nodded to the man holding Martin in his chair and he reached down to pry Martin's right arm away from his body and forced the hand down flat against the nearby dresser. The man's left hand snaking over his shoulder and down to squeeze Martin's crotch painfully, causing him to reflexively open his jaws. Wasting no time, Richards stuffed a racquetball in his mouth and placed the muzzle of his pistol on top of Martin's hand and pulled the trigger.
The man holding Martin let go of him and stepped back, leaving him to fall out the chair and writhe around painfully on the floor.
"Search the room, quickly," Richards ordered.
Richards again reached down to pick Martin up by the hair and slammed him back into the chair. He put his pistol in the waistband of his pants and grabbed Martin by the neck with one hand while the other brutally dug the racquetball out his mouth. Squatting down on his haunches, he reached around to the small of his back and produced a military style knife that he waved briefly in front of Martin's eyes.
"The file, Mr. Satterfield. I promise I'll make it quick."
Blinking the tears out of his eyes, Martin took in the expression on the man's face. He believed him. He had never thought of himself as a coward but he had already passed the limit of his endurance. Just the thought of the man carving into him with the knife was enough to make him to want go to sleep and not wake up. He tried vainly to muster up some hope or some courage but none was forthcoming. His eyes traveled around the room, taking in the man dumping the contents of his bag all over the bed, to the man who hadn't moved from his position at the door. Finally, his eyes came to rest on the man squatting in front of him who seemed anxious to start cutting on him with the knife. He took a deep, surrendering breath and was about to speak when, over the bald man's shoulder, he saw the man at the door jerk violently. With widening eyes, he observed what appeared to be a sword blade protruding through the closed door and out the back of the man's neck. Suddenly, the blade was gone and a tremendous gush of blood bathed the surface of the door as the man slid face first to the floor.
Richards didn't have to follow Martin's gaze or turn around to know what was happening. The widening of Satterfield's eyes told him all he needed to know.
"Oh shit," he whispered.
They had run out of time. The Wraith had arrived.
Knowing the knife was useless Richards tossed it to the floor and rising from his haunches, withdrew the gun from the waistband of his pants. He looked to the door and immediately dismissed it as option for escape. The door opened inwardly and the corpse of his man was leaning heavily against it. He would be far too vulnerable if he attempted to move the body aside. His mind scrambling for options, he made a quick hand gesture to get the attention of his surviving associate, who had his gun in his hands and pointed steadily at the front door.
The man caught the hand signal and saw Richards point to the door that led to the adjoining suite. As soon as he moved, Richards dropped to one knee and pointed his own weapon at the front door.
The second his man opened the door Richards knew his mistake and he knew it was over. In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a woman waiting just inside the adjoining suite. She made two blindingly fast sword strokes. The first sent his colleague's gun, and the hand that it was in, to the floor and the second came up and down across his throat. He was moving to train his gun on her the second the door had opened but he knew with an almost calm certainty that he was going to be too late. He watched in a sort of hopeless detachment as she stepped to the side to avoid the arterial spray of his dying colleague while raising in her left hand the gun that he knew was going to kill him. He was three quarters of the way around when the silenced bullet entered his right eye.
The whole affair had lasted maybe thirty seconds and had produced very little noise. Martin had taken in the whole scene with eyes roughly the size of volleyballs, his asshole firmly gripping the chair below him as The Wraith walked all the way into the room and turned a look in his direction. The photos in her file had not even remotely prepared him for the presence she projected. Her raven bangs were tied back in a tail while the rest of her waist length hair fell loosely around her shoulders. A pair of Wayfarers covered her eyes and she wore casual slacks and flat soled boots, in addition to a baggy sweater that was almost concealed by a gothic appearing poncho that hung to her knees. The entire ensemble was black, giving him the eerie impression of a female grim reaper. He watched as she cradled the katana in the crook of an arm while she removed the silencer from her weapon and both disappeared under the poncho. He opened his mouth intending to profusely shower her with gratitude but stopped when she raised a gloved finger to her lips. Taking the blade in her hand again she walked over to the bald mans body and knelt to remove the headset from behind his ear. She traced the wires to a cell phone, which she looked at for a moment before she slowly powered it off and tossed it aside.
As she stood, Martin watched in horror as she strode over to him quickly with the bloody katana in her right hand and with her left hand reached out to grab his T-shirt by the collar and unceremoniously tear it from his body. He felt his bladder let loose and he sat there helplessly in his own piss as she tore the shirt into strips. She used one of the strips to clean the blade of the katana, tossing the others on the dresser next to him. Once clean, she lifted the back of her poncho and slid the sword into a cunningly designed sheath that held the sword diagonally against her back and held the hilt in place with a leather snap just below her waist. Once secured, she walked over to the bed and started stuffing his things back into his bag. She left out a pair of slacks and a sweater and taking his bag, walked into the bathroom where he could hear water running for a few seconds before she reappeared and dropped the bag at his feet.
"Here, clean your face," she said handing him the wet washcloth.
"Th... thank you," he stammered, reaching out with his good hand to take the offering.
"Let me see your hand."
Martin gingerly held out his injured hand while he finished wiping his face with the other. She reached out with a surprising gentleness and took his damaged hand in her own.
"This is going to hurt, don't scream. Bite on the washcloth if you have to."
At this stage, he had no dignity left to salvage and without hesitating, he stuffed the wet and dirty washcloth completely into his mouth. He chewed on the rag aggressively as she reached for one of the strips of his T-shirt and wound it tightly around his hand. She held the bandage in place with one hand while she reached up and removed the elastic band from her ponytail with the other. She took the band and slid it over his palm to hold the bandage in place. Once done, she reached down and pulled off his shoes.
"Get out of those pants and into the ones I left out for you," she said stepping back a few paces and presenting him with her back.
He stood shakily on wobbly legs and undid his slacks with his left hand. They fell to the floor around his ankles and he stepped out of them. With a second's hesitation and a quick glance at her back, he pulled his wet underwear off as well. He grabbed the slacks off the bed and sat his bare ass back on the chair, after a few seconds of struggle he had both his legs in the pants and upon standing managed to pull them up to his waist. That accomplished, he realized he was at a helpless stage.
"Uhm…"
She turned around at the sound and walked over and clasped his pants into place, prompting him to hurriedly reach down and pull the zipper up himself. She reached out to grab his sweater and without being told he held his hands above his head as she pulled it over him, taking care to avoid contact with his right hand. Next came his jacket, and after donning it, he sat back down in the chair and pulled his loafers back on with his left hand. Fully dressed and feeling somewhat more in control of himself he looked at her expectantly.
"You said you had my file, where is it?" she asked.
"In… in my car," he said still not in full control of his voice.
"Where are the keys?"
"Uh… there in my other pants," he said with an embarrassed glance at the urine saturated pants balled up close to his feet.
She stared at him through her sunglasses with a blank expression on her face.
"I'll get them," he said quickly as he bent down to fish them out and hand them to her.
She picked up his bag and held it open. "Put the soiled clothes and the rest of your shirt in here."
He complied and she zipped up the bag and shouldered it. Reaching into her own pants she produced a key which she handed to him.
"That's a key to get in my car. It's a black Barracuda, you walk straight out of the lobby and it's parked up two rows over to your right. Keep your injured hand in your jacket pocket. Get in on the passenger side and wait for me. Understand?"
He nodded.
"Good, I'll get your bag, what kind of car am I looking for and where do I find the file?"
"It's an orange Gremlin, the file is in a document bag under the passenger side seat."
She stared at him. "You're on the run in an orange Gremlin?"
He started to speak but she held up a hand. "Never mind, be on your way. I'll be along shortly."
Putting his right hand carefully into his jacket pocket he started for the exit but hesitated at the sight of the corpse leaning at an unnatural angle against the door.
"Use the door in the other suite, Mr. Satterfield."
He turned with a blush that faded quickly as he had to step over the body that was lying just inside the adjoining suite. Feeling a little sick, he made his way out of the suite.
Once he had left the room Bailey shook her head and policed the area to make sure nothing of importance was left behind. Once satisfied, she walked into the other suite to retrieve her bag and proceeded to the hall to hang the 'Do Not Disturb' signs on the doorknobs of both suites. Instead of the elevator she chose the stairwell to give Martin a little more of a head start. Emerging into the lobby, she walked casually out the front doors and into the parking lot.
Unbelievably, the dreadful little car was parked almost directly in front.
"Jesus," she murmured as she walked around to the passenger side and unlocked the door. Leaning in, she reached under the seat and retrieved the case the file was in. She locked and closed the door and walked the four rows over to her own vehicle where she opened the door and casually tossed both bags and the file into the back seat. Sparing a quick glance around, she pulled the katana from under her poncho and placed it on the rear floorboard.
"Well, Mr. Satterfield. You're either extremely stupid or extremely clever," she said as she sat down behind the wheel and started the car.
"I… I don't understand."
"Your car is pretty impressive, it's a bloody wonder you made it a mile out of town," she said in amusement while navigating out of the parking lot and onto the street.
"It's my mother's car," he said in his defense.
"Whatever," she said. "You've some information for me, I'd like to hear it now."
He shot a puzzled look at her, momentarily confused. "Oh yes," he started. "Your mother and your brother are in the UK in a town called Southampton under the last names of Bennigan."
"And how sure are you of this?"
"Fairly sure, I stumbled onto the information less than two months ago. I only recently made the connection with you."
The car pulled up to a light and she turned in her seat to look at him. "You'd better be sure, Mr. Satterfield. Or I'll bury you in that hideous little car of yours."
She kept up the stare and, even though he couldn't see her eyes behind the sunglasses, he had no doubt, no doubt at all, that she meant exactly what she said. Thankfully, the light turned green and she turned her attention back to the road.
Holy shit. He sank as far as he could into his seat and tried to disappear.
Richards had made contact as soon as his team arrived at the hotel and his call came as a relief to everyone as the silence was beginning to add to the already high tension permeating the room. As soon as the call was routed to the overhead speakers, Terry came abruptly out of his chair and began to pace restlessly around the room.
"We're entering the lobby now and will maintain an active line," Richards informed the room.
For the next three minutes everyone was treated to the sounds of Richards and his team getting on the elevator and their footsteps as they made their way to room 416. The only other sounds were Richards's rather heavy breathing and a quiet rustle that Terry surmised was the drawing of weapons as they stood in front of the door to the room.
At the sound of the door opening, Terry stopped his pacing and glared at the ceiling where the speakers were situated. He heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy blow and a body falling to the floor. He held his breath.
"The file, Mr. Satterfield. Where is it?"
Terry expelled the breath from his lungs and allowed himself a little bit of a smile at Martin's expense; the little shit was caught and it was time to pay the fiddler.
"We're in a bit of a hurry, Mr. Satterfield. Where is the file?"
"Huh," Satterfield said hazily and Terry's smile got a fraction larger.
Terry listened to the sounds of a quick scuffle and a silenced gunshot, which resulted in muffled screams of pain and the distinct thud of a body hitting the floor.
"Search the room, quickly."
Terry knew the little bastard would break; he could feel it coming.
"The file, Mr. Satterfield. I promise I'll make it quick."
With the words, Terry knew it was almost over and despite himself the little grin that had been threatening to take over his face blossomed into a full-fledged one. He stopped his pacing and returned to his chair, as he seated himself he began harbor the small hope that they might pull this off. Richards and his team had indeed moved quickly, a few minutes more and it would be over.
"Oh shit."
The words struck Terry in the chest like a sledgehammer as the little hope that he was nurturing disappeared like a fart in a tornado. His eyes shut tightly and he visibly winced while slightly doubling over in his chair. Opening his eyes, he reached out and gripped the edge of the table with both hands, focusing an intense concentration on any noise that the connection might produce. He only waited about twenty seconds to be rewarded with the sound of a door opening and another silenced round. An unpleasant splatter followed by the loud and heavy thump of a body hitting the ground made it quite obvious that Richards had just died.
No one at the table stirred in the slightest. A few seconds of quiet, indecipherable clatter were the only clues that the line was still active, and then abruptly, it was disconnected. Terry turned in his chair and closed his eyes; he felt like throwing a tantrum and only by the thinnest of margins restrained himself from doing so.
For a full quarter of an hour he sat with his back to everyone in the room and stewed in his own juices, his thoughts incoherent. No one disturbed him and eventually he turned around to face his colleagues.
"Bob, we need as many people as we can get in Atlanta, dispatch them as they become available. I want twenty-four hour surveillance on Cameron. If she leaves that building I want to know about it. Also, we need to have as many teams as we can standing by to move on her, but I want it made absolutely clear that no one, no one, is to engage her unless directly ordered to do so."
"Understood," Bob said.
"Any responses on your inquiries?" Terry asked.
"It's in progress, no word yet," Bob said.
"Keep me informed."
Bob nodded and Terry reached out and opened a line.
"Phillips."
"Mr. Phillips, we have a situation for you in Atlanta," Terry said to the man in charge of internal security.
"I see, details?"
"Standard clean, Ramada Six Flags, room 416."
"Anything else?"
"Yes, I want a report sitting in front of me in no less than six hours."
"Understood."
Terry stood and walked around to the back of his chair.
"Our situation just became precarious people. If Cameron didn't have the upper hand to begin with, she certainly has it now. With Satterfield and the documentation that he has no doubt kindly provided her with, she could effectively destroy the Organization by going public." He stopped and let out a sigh that slumped his shoulders. "Do I need to remind everyone what would become of them if the Organization folded?"
Terry left them to consider the question, striding silently to the door and leaving the room.
IV
She takes care of business,
Keeps a cool head- D. Iyall
Bailey drove all the way back afraid to even let herself hope that the information from Satterfield was correct. It would simplify matters tremendously; her family was the one thing that the Secondary had complete control over. Although she tried not to, her thoughts turned to family until eventually her mind became dominated with the questions she had never dared asked herself. Would a reunion be possible? Would her mother be appalled at what she had become? Could she forgive? How would she react to seeing a daughter assumed dead for over fifteen years? In that regard, how would she react to seeing them? Her mind kept running in circles until she realized that she had arrived at her destination completely on autopilot and she wondered idly how long she had been parked in the garage with the motor running. She turned a look on her passenger to see Satterfield looking at her confusedly and probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her.
"Come along, Mr. Satterfield," she said as she got out of the car and pulled the seat up to recover her sword and the bags.
Martin got out of the car and watched as she put the bags on the hood and sheathed her sword under the poncho.
"We have to walk through the lobby to get to the elevator, keep your hand in your pocket and I'll dress it properly when we get upstairs."
Martin just nodded as she picked up the bags and he followed her up the stairs and into the lobby, which he saw had a few people milling about. The only person who really noticed them was the guard behind the security desk, and he only looked for a second before returning his attention to elsewhere. Once inside the elevator, she produced a key that she inserted into the control panel and turned. Feeling the elevator start its ascent, he studied her covertly, having been too intimidated on the car trip over to even glance in her direction. He was six feet tall and she appeared to be almost half a foot shorter but he felt oddly insignificant even standing behind her. She had an especially feminine figure and was very trim; he imagined that someone without his knowledge would be astonished to find her capable of the strength he knew she possessed. Her hair, which was so black it seemed to disappear into her clothing, smelled slightly of lavender.
"Don't stare, Mr. Satterfield."
Caught and wondering how, he immediately averted his eyes and was relieved when the elevator came to a stop and opened up on a short hallway that led to another door. She exited the elevator and stopped at the door to enter a series of numbers on a keypad. Upon entering, she led him through a sparsely furnished living area to the kitchen and clicked on the lights above a dining table.
"Take off your jacket and have a seat, Mr. Satterfield. I'll be back in a moment," she said with a nod at one of the chairs surrounding the table.
He pulled off his jacket, taking care to avoid any unnecessary contact with his hand, and took a seat as she disappeared down a hallway. He took in his surroundings and noticed that everything he could see was elegant but impersonal, with the possible exception of a grand piano that sat in front of the windows that overlooked the city. It occurred to him that although the atmosphere was functional, one really didn't live within its confines. It reminded him of a hotel room, existing only to provide shelter until it was time to go home.
"Push up your sleeve, Mr. Satterfield," she said, suddenly reappearing and surprising him.
He did as she asked and watched in trepidation as she smoothed out a towel on the table surface in front of him. She sat down and he noticed that she had tied her hair up in a lopsided ponytail and had changed into a black T-shirt that was obviously several sizes too large for her. Having disposed of her sunglasses, he was able to see her eyes for the first time and he noticed with a touch of wonder that she possessed exceptionally commanding black eyes.
"Let me see that hand now, Mr. Satterfield."
He hesitantly put his hand on the towel in front of him and noticed with no small amount of unease that she had placed several items on the table, giving him the unnerving impression that she was preparing for surgery.
"Relax, Mr. Satterfield. The worst part is already over."
With the words, she reached out and began to remove the makeshift bandage she had placed on his hand earlier. He bit his lip when she quickly pulled the cloth strip from his wound and was distressed to see blood start to flow from the opening. She doused a cloth with alcohol and wiped the area around the wound clean, tearing open a disposable syringe when she was done and inserting it into a vial.
"This will deaden the area while I work, it shouldn't be too painful."
He flinched only a little when she injected the hand at several points and watched with disquiet as she picked up what appeared to be a small scalpel. Fortunately, her cell phone rang providing him with a slight reprieve as she reached into her slacks to answer it.
"Cameron."
He forgot his anxiety upon seeing a bright smile and a slight blush steal across her features, it was the most human she had appeared to him and it was a startling transformation. Gone was the aura of potential menace and in its place was a very attractive and smiling young woman. Trying to be sly, he leaned forward slightly in his chair, attempting to shamelessly eavesdrop.
"Hi," she said demurely and Martin watched fascinated as she began to fidget nervously with the end of a gauze bandage.
"Yes, I did, thank you," she said with a deepening blush completely unaware of his rapt attention on her.
"Well, I was hoping you would have somewhere in mind I… I'm not…familiar with a lot of places to go," she said with some difficulty.
"That sounds fine to me, would you like me to meet you after work?"
"Uhm… Okay, I hadn't thought about that. What's the address?"
She got up and went into the kitchen to get something to write with and to his disappointment, she didn't come back to the table. However, he watched from a distance as she shuffled about fretfully for a few more minutes before putting the phone back in her pocket and returning to her seat, where she sat silently with the ghost of a smile on her face.
It amazed him that the woman who had emotionlessly killed three people less than an hour ago could alter so radically into the person he had observed for the last few minutes. Having been witness to a more accessible side of her personality, he summoned the courage to speak for the first time since getting out of her car.
"So, do you have a date?" he asked and immediately regretted it when her eyes pinned his.
"No."
"Sorry," he said quickly, feeling her eyes lance through his head.
She reached out and grabbed his hand and began to clean the wound in a fashion that in no way could be considered gentle. He thanked God that she had anesthetized the hand or he was sure he would have passed out almost instantly. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at him, she opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. He watched as she seemed to struggle with herself for a moment.
"Why would you think I had a date?" she asked finally with a scowl.
He wasn't sure at first if he should risk answering her. In addition to being the most fearsome person that he had ever met, she apparently had a short fuse. But remembering the woman who had spoken so shyly on the phone, he mustered up the nerve.
"W…Well, I just assumed from your fidgeting…"
"I do not fidget," she interrupted indignantly and more than a little childishly.
Amused, and vaguely aware he could be taking his life in his hands but unable to stop himself; he jumped in with both feet.
"Do too."
"Do not."
"Do too, and you were blushing."
She shot up from her chair. "I was not blushing."
"Was too."
Her hands clenched into fists and she took a deep breath, unable to believe she was having this conversation. She had a flash of desire to reach across the table and render him unconscious but managed to quickly suppress it. Stifling her temper, she sat back down slowly and closed her eyes for a long moment.
"Was I really?"
He just nodded, he was intrigued but wasn't willing to press his luck any further.
She stared at him and drummed her fingers on the table for a few seconds before reaching out again to see to his injury. She applied herself to the task at hand and five minutes later the injured hand was properly dressed.
"The wound was relatively clean, there were bone chips but no fractures," she said clinically. "It'll leave a scar but with a little work I doubt you'll lose any mobility."
"Thank you."
She leaned back in her chair and studied him intently. "I'm not quite sure what to do with you, Mr. Satterfield," she said thoughtfully. "The last person I had in my home was a man who delivered a television two years ago. However, if the information you've given me turns out to be correct, I'll be in your debt," she paused and slid a box of gauze pads and a tube of ointment across the table. "You'll need to apply that and redress your wound twice a day. There's tape in the box. Follow me."
He rose from his chair and followed her from the kitchen and around a corner, where he was led down a long hallway that passed several other rooms. It occurred to him as he walked along, that her home took up the entire floor as she eventually came to a halt and pointed.
"Down this hall you'll find living quarters, make yourself comfortable, I think you'll find everything you need." She paused and handed him a card. "There's a phone in your room, call me on that number if you need anything and I'm not here. I'd imagine you'll be here for a few weeks at least. You can help yourself to the kitchen and the library."
She stopped and looked at him carefully. "Mr. Satterfield, I value my privacy. Do not enter any of the rooms on the other side of the kitchen and I should point out that I'll be aware if you do. Understand?"
He nodded.
"I'll be out tonight, so if you need anything see me in the morning," she said and left without another word.
He watched her disappear and then walked down the short hall to find a room that upon a quick perusal appeared to have all the amenities. Deciding to explore his new home later, he threw himself on the bed and fell asleep almost instantaneously.
Bailey left Martin and traveled directly to her desk to retrieve her book from the floor safe. Over the years she had anonymously employed several investigators for the express purpose of locating her family. Only one, and just recently, had sent her word that he believed that they were in Britain but could go no further on the matter. However, that information gave Satterfield's story all the credence she needed; it was time to call in a marker. She entered the number into the computer and watched the monitor with interest until it was answered on the sixth ring and she picked up the handset.
"Watts," he said with a British accent.
"Is it still Major Watts or is it Mr. Watts now?"
There was a short pause and she could here him clear his throat. "I'm at home is the line clean?"
"Yes," she said with a glance at her monitor.
"Hold a moment."
She shook out a cigarette and lit it while she waited.
"My apologies, it's been a long time," he said finally.
"Yes it has, I need a favor," she said getting right to the point.
"Indeed?"
"A rather large favor."
"If I can do it I will, you know that. What do you need?"
"I need you to confirm the existence of a female, age 56, and a male, age 29, with the last names of Bennigan in Southampton. They're mother and son."
"Easy enough, what's the rest?"
"If they exist, I need them transported to the U.S. with diplomatic immunity and asylum at a British Embassy."
He let out a long breath. "That'll require authorization, I'd have to go to the PM and he would want to know why."
"The Bennigan's are really Doreen and Ryan Cameron, my mother and my brother," she said quietly. "They're under U.S. manipulation."
"Really? In our own backyard? That alone would probably get approval from the PM."
"I thought it might."
"Are the Bennigan's in the dark with regards to you?"
"Yes, I'd like it to remain that way," she hesitated. "At least for awhile."
"Would this have anything to do with the paper circulating on The Wraith?"
"Really?" she asked a little surprised. "They moved faster than I thought they would, has anyone picked it up?"
"No one so stupid as of yet," he chuckled.
"I see, well to answer your question, yes. I'm up for retirement."
"Interesting." He paused. "Alright, I'll explain the situation, the man owes me a favor or two. I can confirm and have you an answer on the rest by 11:00am my time tomorrow, good enough?"
"Good enough. I'll contact you then," she said and started to hang up.
"Wait!"
"Yes?"
"I've wondered for nine years and it'll go no further, you have my word," he said sincerely and paused. "But I would very much like to know the name of the woman who saved my life."
A long silence.
"My name is Bailey, Bailey Cameron. Goodbye, Major."
She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes while she smoked the rest of her cigarette. If Watts came through, she'd have all the cards and would have her family back. She wondered if they thought about her as often as she did them. What would she say to her mother? She hoped that she would be able to look at her daughter and not see the killer that she saw every time she looked in the mirror.
Snuffing out her cigarette, she opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. Piper had told her she needed to go and change after work and had asked her to pick her up at home. Her stomach did a little flip flop at the thought of seeing her again, which made her think about the conversation she and Satterfield had engaged in. If Satterfield thought it was a date, did that mean Piper thought it was a date as well? Was it a date? She racked her brain but came up short, she didn't have the experience to draw information from and her own feelings on the subject were too chaotic to give her any answers. The only thing she knew for certain was that she liked being in the company of the woman. She decided that she would take a short nap and tonight she would carefully analyze everything that took place during her evening with Piper. Satisfied with her plan, she got up from her chair and headed for the bedroom.