1 Manic Monday (2 page)

"I see."  But, he did not.  He was
confused.  "Will I need a lawyer, Miss…I am sorry,
I
forgot your name."

"Detective Bellevue.
 
And, yes, a lawyer will be appropriate."

He looked down at his designer boots.  His despair was
deep.  Not because he knew exactly why he felt a level of doom he had
never experienced before, but precisely because he had no earthly idea what the
future was going to hold.  He suddenly felt that some cosmic rug had been
pulled out from under the soles of his boots. 

He could not help himself.  The detective seemed
supremely helpful, but a little voice in his head told him not to trust her. 
Not for one minute.

"Am I in trouble, officer?"

She lifted an eyebrow and shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"I suppose you might be, Mr.
Nicholaisen
. 
And I am a detective, not an officer."

Eilif wanted Clarence to show up and get him out of this
situation.

"What are my options?"

She actually smirked.

"You can come willingly or I can come back with a
warrant and we can do it the messy way.  It is up to you, Mr.
Nicholaisen
.  The difference is that if you go with me
now, the trucks out there will only be able to assume you are coming with me to
answer questions concerning the crime that took place in your residence
here.  If I get a warrant, the reason for your visit to the department
will be a little more public.  You understand the difference, don't you, Mr.
Nicholaisen
?"

Eilif had noted the network trucks with their bristling
antennae, ugly satellite dishes and loud generators.  They were an
eyesore, and the reporters annoying.  He had been instructed by Clarence
to say "no comment" to everything and let him handle it.  That
was where Clarence was now. 

"I will need to gather some things first," he
said.  He had to stall.

"I appreciate that, but you will only need your
identification, your passport, and your lawyer.  That will suffice. 
After all, Mr.
Nicholaisen
, this is only
questioning.  We are not pressing charges at this time."

"Well, that is a relief.  I am innocent."

"Alright.
Now, if you will
come with me, please.  I have a car parked out the side door to minimize
your exposure."

"That was thoughtful.  Thank you."  He
knew she was placating him.  He hoped to win her over by being grateful
and compliant.  Clarence would surely recommend those strategies if he
were here.

Eilif followed the detective out into the bright California
sunshine. 

It was the last time he would see the daylight for almost a
week.  After that, the only times he would glimpse the sun was between
ducking into his car behind his lawyer, surrounded by police escort, reporters
shouting questions, and the flashing of bulbs.

California Dreaming

Jake picked at the corner of the chair arm.  He found
these meetings supremely boring.  They could be summed up in a dozen
sentences.  Inevitably, they would go on for over four hours.  They
would beat the proverbial horse until it was paste.

Lars was the biggest culprit.  He was tenacious about
details.  He wanted more information about the information.  One
answer would lead to four more connected questions.  He would fold his
fingers together, lean his head forward looking at the mountain of paperwork,
glancing at one of his three computer screens, tap his keyboard, and quietly
ask another question.  

Lars would then stare at the one answering the follow up
question,
his bifocals perched perilously on the end of his
nose.  His graying hair made him look distinguished.  His Russian
accent was, strangely enough, a reminder that he was in charge.

What made Jake the most ill was that his team mates would go
along with the
charade.
  Gary, Sammy, and Violet
were pleased to be called on to provide more information, to answer more
detailed questions.  Often, the reply would be:  it is in the
report. 

It never mattered.  Lars wanted it vocalized.

Mission debriefings were meant to be cathartic.  They
were meant to bring closure to the process of ruining other people's
lives.  These briefings were one reason why Monday was ready to just go
home and lie in bed. 

He felt nothing when he killed people. 
Nothing at all.
  That, in and of itself, did not bother
him.  But, paired with the boredom he felt at these meetings and the dread
he felt at mission assignments, he could plainly see that his days as a
high-priced assassin were almost over.

It would be ironic, he thought
,
if
he was decommissioned out of boredom.  He felt deeply that his discomfort
with his chosen profession was much more complicated than simply the lack of
excitement.  Such an idea was laughable. 

"What I can understand, then, is that our friends at
the VPD CSI have found all the clues we have planted?" Lars was looking at
Gary.  It was Violet who answered.  She was always eager to stand
out.

"Yes, Director.
  No
suspicions of the plants.  And the charges have also included the murder
of our 'goat,' Niles Sampson."

His name was Niles?  A nose like that and name to
match.  Maybe killing him was a favor,
Jake thought.

"Good."  He nodded and pushed the glasses up
on his nose.

Jake was distracted by a bird outside the window.  New
York seemed so sterile and concrete after his visit to the other coast. 
He missed the way the air felt.  He missed the views of the surf.

"The court date has been set for the seventeenth. 
We will have witnesses lined up as well as potential jurors planted.  We
should have no problem with this one," Sammy said.

Sammy was thorough.  His dark spiky hair and laissez
fair attitude towards the dress code belied his intelligence and
ruthlessness.  He was efficient and dedicated.  Jake had always
despised his cool nature. 

"
Nicholaisen
never saw it
coming," Gary remarked.  He seemed a little put out by Violet and
Sammy interrupting.  Everyone was vying for the assistant director
position.  The entire team had the disease. 
Except
for Jake.
  He could care less.

He sipped the water.  He was disappointed.  It was
tap water.  In an organization as powerful as the Galbraith Alliance, it
was surprising he could not get good purified water.  He pushed the glass
across the gleaming desk, watching the wake of condensation with mild interest.

"What is your input, Monday?"  Lars did not
look at him. 

Jake stared at the Director.  Lars never surprised
him.  He had expected to be singled out at some point. 

"Bring on the next assignment, I say."

This brought a wide smile to Lars' mouth.  He laughed
softly.

"Mr. Monday you are always in a hurry to kill, are you
not?  Rest assured that you will be given a chance to do just that very
soon.  However, I need your assessment.  And I need to know why you
insisted on remaining at the scene to wait on the cleaners."

Jake shrugged.

"I was a little lonely."

Gary laughed.  Violet shook her head. 

"I see. 
And your assessment of
the assignment?"
Lars prompted.

Jake sighed.

"Flawless.  Like Gary said, he never saw it
coming.  Most criminals don't expect to be tied to a crime they never
committed.  It was a classic case of assassination of character and murder
of pride."

Lars squirreled up his mouth and glanced at a terminal.

"How do you evaluate your personal performance?"
He asked, without looking at him.

"Like the rest of the mission, it was flawless."

"I see.  Yet, you explain your dalliance with the
cleaners as an attempt to assuage your loneliness.  Do we need to
reconsider your solitary role in future missions?"

Jake tried to contain his irritation.  This was not the
first time the Director had suggested that he should be a member of a team or
at least have a partner. 

"I can handle it on my own.  More operatives
simply multiply the chances of disaster."

"Or provides an assurance that mission parameters have
been followed," Lars suggested.

Jake could feel a cold chill run down his spine.  He
fought the urge to shiver.

"I know you do not doubt my loyalty or my
efficiency," Jake threatened through clenched teeth.

He could see Gary cringe out of the corner of his eye. 
Violet smirked.  She was probably pleased that he was falling on his sword
so effectively.  Sammy seemed interested in the narrow straw in his
coffee.

"Of course not.
I was merely
suggesting that your talents could be concentrated to perform specific tasks
while another team mate could bring different set of aptitudes to bear in
conjunction with your own considerable endowments."

Jake heard Gary conceal a snicker.

Lars smirked.  Jake watched him carefully.  He
could not guess his intent or his attitude.  The rest of the room held
their breath. Jake sensed danger.

"I won't give in to this without a fight."

A look passed across Lars' face and the moment was gone.

"No one is fighting.  Just consider my proposal,"
Lars conceded. 

And the matter was done.

Lars consulted his screen and asked the next question. 
Gary seemed to be relieved to be called on.  The tension in the room
decreased and Jake was left wondering what had just transpired. 

The rest of the briefing was uneventful.  Jake barely
registered the information.  He understood that the client that had hired
them was pleased.  Ultimately, that was the goal, but the overall
performance of the team was what concerned Lars the most. 

They worked beyond the law, and therefore every move, every
detail was scrutinized.  No trace of their existence, let alone their
intent or connections, could ever surface on a government report
any where
in the world.

Jake had worked with Galbraith Alliance for almost a year
now.  His recruitment, promotion, and track record were undocumented yet
famous within the organization.  He felt like a rock-star most
times.  He was treated to long weekends, beautiful escorts, exotic
locations, a palatial estate in Quebec, a penthouse apartment in New York, and
some of the most expensive cars in production. 

Yet, at debriefings he felt as though his abilities and
methods were called into question with increasing occurrence.  It was not
that he felt he was perfect.  Jake merely found the two polar opposite
attitudes to be disconcerting. 

Was he the prodigy they promoted him to be, or was he not to
be trusted with even a simple assignment?

As the meeting wrapped up, he was suffused with this
question.  His mouth was set and his mind elsewhere.

"Jake.  I would like a word with you for a moment,
please," Lars said.

Jake squinted.  He detected a note of displeasure in
the director's voice.

"Sure."

"Please come to my office," he said as he led the
way.

Jake glanced back at Gary.  Gary shrugged and put two
thumbs up as he slipped out into the brightly lit hall.

He followed Lars down a short hall lined with expensive wood
paneling.  He noted the security cameras hidden in the molding at the
ceiling and tucked in the corners near doorways.

Jake would wonder sometimes if each camera was manned by a
single individual or if each were hooked to a super computer that would analyze
every second of footage and produce reports.  Either speculation would not
be too far-fetched for the size, scope, and paranoia that the Galbraith
Alliance represented.

Jake marveled at how he had arrived here.  It was not
the first time.  It haunted him, sometimes.  Not the killing. 
No, that seemed categorically wrong. The killing he had long ago
compartmentalized and could easily put aside as outside of himself.  But,
his career, this organization, his superiors, he had a difficult time
envisioning himself choosing this.

He remembered the feeling he had as he had watched the coast
in Ventura.  It had been so peaceful watching the
waves
crash into the private beach.  He had felt an odd pang.  It was as if
he had missed something in his life, longed for a past he could not
recall.  It was a siren's call to him.  It penetrated his dreams at
night and left him in a cold sweat.

Lars never turned back.  This did not reassure
him. 

Jake wanted to care.  He really did.

His ambivalence to his destiny here was dangerous.  Not
only was each
mission
a potential threat to his
existence, but his entire occupation represented a danger to his personal
well-being.

 He considered his boss.  Lars was a professional,
a perfectionist.  Jake had never sought to ingratiate himself to any of
his employers and had maintained a personal and professional distance. 
The same was not true with the other members of his team. Lars had never
threatened him, had never raised his voice.  Despite this, Jake had always
detected a note of hostility from Lars but had never pinpointed its source.

Lars was a large man.  Rumor around the office was that
he used to be a professional wrestler.  Jake could tell that his hands
were accustomed to violence.  The knuckles were swollen and the joints of
his fingers were permanently bent as though Lars had been squeezing a
particularly tough fruit.

Jake tried to imagine Lars picking his nose.  That
brought a smile to his face.  One of those digits would not fit in most
human nostrils, and Jake was not certain Lars could straighten out the finger
enough to get it in past the first knuckle.

"Come in," Lars invited as he held open the door.