Chapter 10
A Time to Throw Away Stones
The traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard was mild. It was a relief to get away from the airport. The holiday crowd was brisk.
Jake drove the Maserati Convertible Sport with the top up. The California winter wind was uncharacteristically brisk. This disappointed him; he had looked forward to driving with the top down around Beverly Hills and through Hollywood before flying back to the frozen northeast.
Jake was pleased to listen to the deep bass baffle of the sport car, though. The low rumble was soothing and therapeutic—very male, and satisfying to his ego. Jake downshifted and whipped the convertible into an underground parking garage near the Los Angeles Country Club. He placed his aviator glasses in his front pocket as he steered into a guest parking slot.
He removed the leather driving gloves and placed them in a small satchel on the passenger seat.
Galbraith had no qualms providing him with the perks of a six-figure vehicle, an expensive suite at the Four Seasons of Beverly Hills, and a wardrobe purchased from the priciest shops on Sunset Strip.
He felt ready. Something about the velvet and gold trappings of this profession prepared him for the grittiness of the act he committed. Murder was such a mess. However, in an Alexandre Plokhov blazer, Armani high-waist slacks, and Damir Doma derbies, he felt as though it added a class, a purity, to the untidiness that came with taking another’s life.
He exited the vehicle, not bothering with the alarm system. He had his satchel. It was all he would need. No prints on the car. He would just leave it here. Such a waste, he thought. There was some sense of freedom in the act of leaving behind expensive breadcrumbs.
Jake extracted the disposable cell phone he had purchased with a pre-paid credit card in the airport. He dialed Gary’s number.
“Hello, pal.”
“You there?”
“Yes. I parked next door, underground.”
“I have the feed for your glasses on tap here.”
“And Galbraith Central won’t know you are tapped in?”
“It isn’t that type of frequency. Anyone with a Bluetooth cell phone or laptop could pick up your feed if they knew the password.”
Jake kept walking, noting a couple ahead of him getting out of their SUV.
“Isn’t that a security risk?”
“Yeah. A big one. Unlikely, but a risk all the same. Violet is a fool.”
“Let’s hope that is true. Just remember I will hit the button in mid-sentence so it seems legitimate. I will go live once I get in the building. I will approach the elevator and then be talking as the elevator closes. You have the elevator controls, too, right?”
“Got it yesterday. Stay frosty.”
“Stop it. Out.” He switched off and pocketed the phone. He would need to dispose of it later. He got out the glasses and put them on.
He wondered blithely if maybe they were engineered by Apple. The pair he was given had only one button. It was discreetly hidden on the inside of the dark frame and was concave. He waited while the tiny processor went through its initiation programming.
The elevators opened and he watched from inside its light at the couple making their way towards the elevators. He was older, his hair peppered grey and she was likely the same age but looked a decade younger. They were dressed in Beverly Hills chic and holding hands.
Jake held the doors for them. Something about them seemed familiar. He could not place it.
“Thank you,” the blonde offered, her smile genuine.
“No problem.”
The man smiled at him. They were strangers, but why did he feel like this scene was so familiar? He felt a brief flash of pain and a sense of dizziness. A thought came unbidden to his mind: VANITY. It was as if the word was written in red stencil across his eyesight. Jake blinked away the image and almost took off the glasses. He had learned long ago to ignore such oddities. If he pursued them, an enormous migraine followed. It was easier and less dangerous to just ignore them and keep focused on the task at hand.
He heard the buzzing that signaled that the audio was connected. A blue flash arced across his vision as the video technology and HUD came online.
“What floor?” The man was almost as tall as him, his shoulders broad. His blazer was long and stylish. His hair was cut close on the sides. Jake guessed that he was ex-military.
“Ground, please,” Jake responded. “Thanks.”
The man punched the buttons for “Ground” and for “Parking Level Three” with thick, calloused fingers.
Those are not hands of a businessman, Jake noted. He glanced again at the woman who clutched a small purse to her abdomen and stared ahead. He could tell she had caught his glance.
Who were these people?
He could hear the team in New York confirming video and audio connections. He was told to look right and then left, up then down. Nod his head. Cough. Again. He felt like he was submitting to a physical. Turn your head. Bend over. Uncomfortable stuff. Especially with Mr. and Mrs. Beverly Hills standing awkwardly next to him.
It was a good test of whether the audio and the HUD were detectable, though. Someone made some adjustments and the HUD became fainter, its yellow lines and scrolling information bar fading enough for it to not make his eyes water.
The elevator ride ended. Without a word or a backward glance, Jake stepped out into the breezeway between the Century Plaza and the parking garage. He heard the doors close. He looked up and confirmed security cameras. Red lights were off. He smiled. Holidays were the easiest time to pull off assignments like this. Lower staff levels, less witnesses. Which made him think of Mr. and Mrs. Beverly Hills.
Were they his back up? A counter assassination team? An internal investigation team? Or did they work for Sinegem? Regardless, he saw no one else and they were gone now. Besides, he needed to check in.
“Monday requesting audio confirmation. Vector New Year 7114E.” Who made up this stuff, anyway?
“Confirmed. Base clear. Audio and visual confirmation, Vector New Year,” Violet’s voice always sounded like a robot over transmission. Jake smirked. Ironically, he would rather be talking to Lars. Maybe he had been bumped by the Darius Group.
Galbraith Alliance normal protocol was being supplanted, but that was what he expected for a rogue operation. He wondered how much of the operational expenses and personnel, digital and financial cookie crumbs of this foolishness was being reported higher up the chain. He pushed it to the back of his mind for now. Nothing could stay a secret forever.
“A/V confirmed, check. Entering in 5, 4, 3....” Jake walked briskly to the elevator, ignoring the security cameras. They were on a loop, anyway. He glanced right and left as he entered the building. “No lookers.”
“No witnesses. Confirmed. Heat signatures show negative activity on first three floors. Happy New Year.”
Violet was not usually jovial during assignments. Jake took it for what it was worth. She was showing off for the Darius Group. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Too dangerous. Maybe it would show up on his heat signature.
“You too. Elevator operational,” Jake said as the door opened. He stared straight ahead as he walked into the elevator and turned, focusing his vision on his right hand entering the building code to the fourteenth floor. With his left hand he extracted a small plastic device with three buttons. He held it behind his back.
“Confirmation. Elevator uninterrupted to target floor. Security code eng-“As soon as the doors closed, he pushed the red button on the device in his hand. His glasses made a sharp whine and the audio from the other end cut out.
“Hello? Monday to Vector New Year. Hello?” Satisfied, he removed the glasses and placed them in his pocket for now, remembering at the last moment to hit the button to disconnect. He knew that he was safe from here on out unless the team chose to turn on the security cameras. He was relying on Gary to keep that from happening.
The loop that was running on the
cameras now was internal. That meant that the programming was done locally. However, some of the technical folks could figure out that they could remotely override the internal loop. He only had five minutes. His only other worry was the infernal heat signatures.
As he rode the elevator, he extracted the wet suit and the ice packs.
The door opened. Jake turned right and saw the Vector Energy suite ahead of him. This was one of Sinegem’s first American acquisitions when it went public. He entered through the glass door. He was surprised to see it was already open. Giselle was in one of the glass offices speaking to someone on video conference. She was shaking her head. She seemed nervous or upset.
Jake knocked on the glass. She turned, startled. She turned back to the screen, flustered and he watched her make a hurried excuse and then turned her screen to the side so he could not see.
What is she trying to hide from me?
She got up, and came around to the door. She had locked it.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, incredulously. She stared at the wet suit he held in his hand.
“I wanted to invite you to go parasailing with me. I thought we could head on down to Santa Monica and get wet,” Jake managed, smiling.
“You are crazy,” she replied. Her eyes were wide with fear. Her nostrils flared. “You are here to kill me! Aren’t you?”
“No,” he said calmly. He held out the wet suit to her. “Put this on. I will get you out of here. We need to work some things out where it is safe.”
“Safe? Where do you think in this whole wide world I am safe? My security attachment has been pulled. I know what this is about, Mr. Monday.”
It hurt him a little that she used his family name.
“You are right. You are not safe. Darius wants to make you an example. Sinegem seems to not care. I assume this has something to do with your failure to recruit me. Is that right?”
She shook her head. She was crying now. Jake hated it when women cried. It made him feel so vulnerable. So responsible. So guilty.
“It is much bigger than that. You don’t know. I have—“
“We don’t have time now, Giselle. Quick. Put this on. I will turn my back.” She took the suit from him, the material slipping from his fingers. He turned his back and then pulled a pistol from his bag. He fired one shot into a cubicle nearby. The silencer muffled the majority of the sound, but he could hear Giselle shriek.
He did not turn around.
“I have to make it appear as though I did my job.”
“I don’t understand why I have to put on this thing,” she complained. She was sobbing.
“They have thermal cameras set up in the building east of us. I need them to think you died.”
“I died? So you are here to kill me!”
It is difficult to be consoling when you have your back turned, he thought.
“I’m not, though. Just put it on and bring your clothes.”
“What will happen when they discover I am not dead?”
“Let me worry about that. Here, put on these ice packs.” He handed the packs to her. They were shaped as rings to fit over wrists, legs and around necks.
Giselle looked at him quizzically.
“Where?”
Jake tried to remain patient. Time was slipping by. Every second was important. He tried to ignore the watch on his arm. He took a deep breath.
“Around your wrists, over your neck. It will keep your body temperature down for a little while. In that gear, your body will heat up quickly.” He tried to ignore the shape of her body in the tight-fitting rubber. She slipped the ice packs on, mumbling.
“Alright. Let’s go,” Jake said, turning toward the door.
“Wait!” He looked back and she was staring at him, her eyes wild. He understood that she had questions. This was sudden, this was life-shattering, and this was awful. He had no time for questions, feet dragging, or hesitation. They needed to move.
“Yes?” he said, trying to keep the ice from his smile.
“I can’t go out like this. I look ridiculous!” She was shaking her head. She did look odd. Odd, beautiful, sensuous, and frightened. Jake was a sucker for a damsel in distress.
“Put on a coat. It’s cold outside.”
“Won’t that counteract the suit? I mean—“
He put his hand to her mouth. He looked into her eyes.
“You can’t have it both ways. We don’t have time for this. Put the coat on and we will hope that it will lock in the cold. The coat doesn’t show up on the cameras.” She nodded, his hand still on her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. “The longer we stay here, the easier it will be for them to see that you are still here. There is no one on the first three floors, so I need to be the only heat signature they see. Okay? Once we get to the garage, though, we are in the clear. They have no heat cameras there.”
Giselle swallowed and nodded. He removed his hand and she walked over to the closet and pulled out a long trench coat. It was a man’s coat. Jake could not help but to wonder whose it was.
“Alright, I am ready,” she said, picking up her silver heels. She left her underclothes across the desk. He regretted not having time to set up a scene. This would have to do.
“Are you the only one working today?”
“Yes,” she said. She hesitated, her gaze going to the terminal in the office. “I came only to communicate with my superiors at Sinegem. They aren’t helping.”
“I know. Something is wrong. We will get to the bottom of it. Come on.”
He held the door open for her. Giselle tucked her chin to her chest and batted her eyes at him. The ice pack forming around her neck showed beneath the collar of the trench coat. She looked like a proper spy come out from the cold, carrying silver pumps and prepared to seduce. He imagined she was very good at her job.
As they walked the carpeted hall, he heard the elevator moving. The doors swished open and the couple he had met earlier emerged, pistols in hand. They both had little Bluetooth mics in their ears. Time slowed for Jake and he saw details. This is what made him special.
The man was big, but favored his right leg. His knee was weak. The woman turned her head to the left, tilted down but the mic was in her right ear. She had an equilibrium problem. Jake guessed that she had flown in recently and had not recovered from the pressurization.
Both pistols were B&T TP-9 semi-auto nine millimeter machine pistols. They were handy because stripped down, they were easier to disguise since many of their exterior parts and magazine were polymer. Springs, guide rods, and ammunition could be hidden in separate compartments, or picked up at the destination. They were also common weapons, although more expensive than perhaps a fully automatic Glock. Jake noted that they had the barrel extensions attached to hide flash and suppress sound. These extensions added about three grams of weight to the front of the barrel. In addition, he noted they did not have an attached stock or a sling system to give them a more stable platform to assist with quicker follow up shots.
With this knowledge, Jake went into motion. He noted in his peripheral vision that Giselle had dropped her shoes. He was not sure how much he could depend upon her to assist, but he was prepared to end this threat quickly. He and Giselle were still racing against the clock. These two did not seem to be pros. He wondered again who sent them. Hired mercs was his best guess. Security personnel, maybe.
“Stop right there!” The man shouted. He aimed his pistol with both hands.
Jake held up his hands as he stepped forward again. The man began to lower his weapon and the woman fanned out to his left, closer to the wall, her pistol trained on him. They were ignoring Giselle. He turned his head and Giselle was there holding a gun to his head.
“Oh. I see. A trap.”
“No. I didn’t know who would show up. I hired these two to protect me.”
Jake raised his eyebrows.
“I’m impressed. So, why did you go along with me?”
She shrugged.
/> “To buy time. To see what your intentions were.”
“Darius won’t stop here, Giselle.” His hands were still above his head. He wanted to bolt ahead and take them out. In his head, he was forming his cover. Blown assignment. Security personnel, communications scrambled, and bad decisions. Darius would be furious. He wouldn’t lose his job, but his reputation would suffer. He had never failed an assignment. This one would never show in the books, but people would talk. Surviving never entered his mind. He knew what he had to do.
“Actually, you are in more hot water than I am. You should never have accepted this assignment. I tried to warn you when I met you in New York, Mr. Monday.”
Mr. and Mrs. Beverly Hills took their places in the hall in front of him, barring his escape. He ignored their menacing stares.
He looked at her with sad eyes.
“I thought we were on a first name basis.”
She smiled and shrugged.
“That was personal. This is business.”
Jake nodded.
Then he vaulted forward in a quick roll. He came up in front of Mr. Beverly Hills. To his credit, he had followed Jake’s movement and fired just over his shoulder as he ducked. Jake knew the next shot would be high. He smashed his foot into the man’s right knee, feeling his leg give. He watched as the man collapsed. Jake grabbed his TP-9 and twisted it from his grip and quickly cracked his skull as he fell limp the floor.
Jake heard the report of Giselle’s pistol behind him. He trusted that she was firing to warn, not to kill. He pivoted away as Mrs. Beverly Hills shouted something. As he turned he brought his open palm around in a wide arc, smacking her in the left hear. At the same time, he stepped close into her, his leg between hers and he brought his foot down hard on the stiletto of her right foot. It broke with a snap. Jake felt a bullet rip through the fabric of his jacket. It missed his side by maybe an inch, he saw as he looked down. Mrs. Beverly Hills collapsed with a grunt. Jake imagined that she had twisted her ankle pretty hard and that her ears were ringing quite badly. He pushed her shoulder on the right side and watched as she dove backwards and smashed into the wall behind her.
She dropped her pistol and Jake kicked it, and rounded on Giselle. She stood behind him, her legs spread wide, the men’s trench coat open, revealing her lithe figure in the tight scuba outfit. She was smiling smugly.
“I had heard you were good. I am impressed. How much would it be to secure your services, Monday?”
“I am not for sale, Giselle. Drop your weapon.”
She shrugged and stuffed the pistol into a pocket of the coat. She held her empty hands in front of her.
“We can go now. I will go with you. I am interested to hear your side of this now.”
“What changed your mind?”
“It doesn’t seem I have a choice. Evidently, you are the only one capable of protecting me.”
Jake looked at her sadly and then glanced at his watch.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Giselle.”
“There is only one way to find out,” she said, a sly smile lighting up her face.
Jake motioned with his head at the two mercenaries sprawled on the floor.
“How about these two? You could have called the dogs off.”
“You will need an alibi, am I not right?”
I can see now why Sinegem hired her, he thought. He said, “Then let’s move. That suit isn’t going to fool them for long.”
Minutes later, Jake was peeling out of the parking garage and heading south on the Highway 2. A boat was waiting for them docked in Santa Monica, courtesy of Gary’s rich friend, Seyla Harrington. They stopped long enough to check if Anthropologie or Fred Seagal was open on the holiday. To Giselle’s disappointment, both were shuttered, despite signs declaring a sale. Jake assured her that Gary’s friend would have an acceptable wardrobe at the yacht. Giselle was melancholy for the rest of the trip, but he suspected it had more to do with her brush with death than Seyla’s taste in shoes and sensible sailing clothes.
The captain, crew, cabin, and wine suited Jake just fine. He was glad to be off shore and safe. He knew that could be a short-lived condition, so he began making calls. He started with Gary.