Agent of Influence: A Thriller (21 page)

“Fuck you, Jeff. I’ll
be out in a second,” he yelled back. The taunting helped strengthen his resolve.

             
“Good. You still need to go next door and put the moves on our hot neighbor like you said you were going to,” Jeff continued the ribbing of his college roommate, enjoying every second of it.  A few hours earlier a woman they all agreed was incredibly hot, even if she was about thirty years old, had come out of the room next door to ask questions about the local ski resort. William had been the lucky recipient of the question and answer session. He may have been the lightweight of the group when it came to drinking, but all his friends were envious of his numerous successes with the ladies. This case seemed to be no different, and they were all convinced that the dark-haired woman had been flirting with him. Now, after an hour of drinking to heighten everyone’s arrogance they all were able to convince William that she was willing and ready for him, and all he needed to do was to go next door and make a move on her. 

He would show them he was still the ladies’ magnet of their group. Spraying a few ounces of his favorite cologne over carefully chosen parts of his physique, he stepped out of the bathroom feeling much better. His friends let out a collective yell of encouragement; pounding their drinks on the coffee table they had moved to the middle of the room.
             

             
“Alright, fellas. It’s time to show you what a real man is made of. Watch me work my magic.” William possessed the typical cockiness of a twenty-one-year-old from a wealthy upbringing in Northern California. As he tried to sidestep around the coffee table his foot caught the leg of the bed, sending him crashing to the floor. His friends broke out in laughter as he dusted himself off and flipped them the bird. He sheepishly made his way out the door into the crisp night air, and turned to his friends one last time.

“Don’t worry, boys. I’ll still
be ready to go tomorrow. I’ll make sure she does all the heavy lifting.” With a wink he slammed the door and left his friends to debate whether or not he would succeed.

             
William gripped the handrails and cautiously walked down the short flight of stairs. The thin layer of snow made them extremely slick, and even in his drunken haze he knew he could easily break his leg if he was not careful. His inebriated mind began fighting off the alcohol, trying to come up with something witty to say. After a couple of seconds he came up with an idea. He stood there shaking, unsure if it was the cold weather or nerves. He crossed the short distance over the parking lot and began climbing the stairs that led to the woman’s door. There was a man in blue jeans and a flannel shirt standing in the small hallway. Was he beaten to the punch?  He breathed a sigh of relief when the stranger reached into his pocket and began fiddling with the door opposite the woman’s. William climbed the short flight of steps.

“Whaz up?” William’s words were slurred as they spilled out of his mouth. The man ignored him. For a brief second he considered heading back to his room, but the thought of his friends harassing his manhood forced him to take the plunge. He rapped on the door several times, the cheap hinges moving more than they should have. Glancing into the parking lot, William noticed another man standing at the bottom of the stairs. He did not recall seeing him there before.  He never got the opportunity to try out his improvised play for the lady.

***

             
The banging of the door shook Alex out of his relaxed state. He sat up straight in his chair. His right hand immediately grasped for the Smith & Wesson 3913 he had been practicing with for the last few hours. His arms trembling, he raised the gun and aimed it at the door.

“We have company,” he blurted out, not sure what else to say.

              “Hello? I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong room,” William replied from the other side of the door. The man’s voice inside the room confirmed he would be going home empty-handed. He started to turn around when a muscular arm wrapped around his neck, and what felt like a metal rod was jammed into his back. He started to speak, but his body convulsed in agony as a bullet ripped through his back and into his lungs from point blank rage. He went from agonizing pain to the numbness of death within a split second. Gregor’s man held onto the limp body to use as a shield and gave the door a resounding kick, his black belt skills barely being tested by the poorly maintained door.

Marilyn was sleeping lightly in her hiding place inside the over-sized closet when the sliding glass door crashed to the floor in a thousand tiny shards. She immediately stood
on one knee with her pistol ready. A silhouette of a man appeared, and she watched through the crack in the closet doors as gloved hands repeatedly pulled the trigger of a silenced pistol, unloading a hale of bullets into the group of pillows she had carefully placed underneath the sheets to resemble a human. It was an old, but effective trick. The would-be killer hesitated for a moment, and then stepped into the room. Marilyn sprung her trap.  She focused her silenced Sig Sauer P229 and pressed the trigger, unleashing two bullets into the man’s chest. 

“Ahhh!” She recognized the voice of Gregor, one of Aman’s security detail, as he yelped in pain.

His cry of pain told her he was not wearing body armor so she fired five more shots at the easier target of his chest. He crashed to the floor, landing on the shattered remains of the glass door he had just demolished.  She walked quickly out of the closet and over to his writhing body. The silenced barrel of the weapon found his head, and she squeezed the trigger one more time, ending the German’s already faltering life. The empty shell casing from her gun fell onto the dead man’s body before rolling onto the floor. Her gun was unmarked and could never be traced so she left all her shell casings where they were.              

             
In the living room area Alex fell to one knee and positioned himself behind the frayed chair, providing as small as target as possible. The large man stepped through the threshold, using the dead body of William Johnson IV to shield most of his muscular frame. The massive picture window to Alex’s right shattered simultaneously. A man in a ski mask appeared in the open space with his gun raised.

Alex wasted no time. The man in the window was only ten feet away and had to be dealt with first. Alex pulled the trigger as hard as he could. The weapon fired, and the loud explosion reverberated in the small room, shocking his eardrums. The discharge of the pistol was surprisingly strong, and he was disorientated from the noise. Alex panicked, his hands weaving back and forth from the force of the bullets exploding out of the barrel. The intruder rushed at him in a flurry of motion.  Alex fired off the rest of the bullets in the chamber, finally catching the intruder in the chest with a lucky shot right before his gun began clicking harmlessly. The intruder lay motionless on the ground in front of him.

The man in the door way rushed forward, seizing the opportunity. He had strict orders to try to keep this one alive. The intruder dropped his human shield to the ground, and lunged towards him. Alex desperately flung the weapon towards his attacker, who batted it harmlessly to the floor.  Alex then reached for the 1970s era table lamp and stood straight up, preparing to swing it like a baseball bat. Exposing himself was an error as the attacker caught the lamp with his left hand, and pistol-whipped Alex with his weapon, sending him sprawling to the floor, just barely conscious.

             
“Gregor?” he called out cautiously. There was no sound coming from the bedroom.

Marilyn, gripping her pistol in the classic two-handed fashion, appeared from the far corner of the room. The hooded intruder noticed her a split second too late. His weapon flashed upward, but she was already squeezing her trigger. Her first shot caught him in the stomach, and he doubled over as the searing pain enveloped him. His gun fell to the floor, and s
he hurried over to where he collapsed on the floor, firing off one more round, execution style, into his forehead. No witnesses, she thought to herself. 

Alex groaned in pain. She ran her hands over his body and found no bullet wounds. She helped him to his feet, and they stepped over the broken door lying on the floor and walked out into the snowstorm. They had to get out quickly before the police arrived.  They stumbled across the parking lot. Alex was draped over her shoulder and moaning in agony. She unlocked the Range Rover, opened th
e back door, and maneuvered him into the back seat. He was just conscious enough to provide a miniscule amount of assistance.

“Try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in an hour.” Marilyn hopped in the front and gunned the engine, leaving the lights off until they were out onto Highway 50. She then flicked on the lights, and swung a sharp left onto the main road, passing the casinos on her way out. She threw on a baseball cap that was lying on the front seat. It helped to hide her profile, and provided additional warmth. The temperature was in the upper twenties and with the gas tank only half full, she refrained from turning on the heat in order to conserve fuel. She needed to be sure she would have enough for the forty-five minute trip to the Reno airport.  She just hoped there would be someone there to pick them up. Otherwise, they would have to try and board a commercial flight, and considering the way they both looked, she knew that could raise all sorts of questions from the authorities.

             
The tires of the Range Rover lost their grip on the mountain road for a second, bringing her out of her thoughts. She flicked on the 4-wheel drive and the tires reasserted themselves, biting through the snow to grip the road beneath. They were ascending a steep incline, and she cautiously moved the steering wheel, carefully maneuvering the bend in the road. To her left, the lake shimmered in the midnight sky. Up ahead she saw a two-lane tunnel dug into the side of the mountain. Enormous pine trees, buried twenty feet in the snow followed her on the right side of the road. The next twenty minutes of the drive would be the most dangerous. The steep mountain, dropping temperature, and continually falling snow would be very hazardous to navigate. One slip of the tires and they would be off the side of the mountain or plowing head first into a snowdrift or pine tree.

Headlights appeared from the tunnel, and she could see another vehicle coming the opposite way down the road. The bright beams seemed to be staring right through her. The silhouetted vehicle accelerated out of the tunnel, traveling much too fast for the conditions.  Marilyn tapped the brakes, and eased the Range Rover closer to the mountain. The last thing she needed was to be involved in a head-on collision with some idiot. The small truck passed her at fifty miles per hour, traveling downhill towards the ski town from which they had just come. The headlights of the Range Rover revealed the driver of the oncoming vehicle as it passed, and she gripped the steering wheel
in a moment of fear. She only had a split second look, but she was sure it had been the agitated face of Solomon. As she approached the entrance to the tunnel she carefully watched her rearview mirror. Solomon was continuing on his opposite path. After five more minutes and no sign of headlights in her mirror, she relaxed again. Alex was already stirring in the backseat. He was tougher than she thought. She figured he would not move again until they arrived at the airport.

***

              Solomon knew there was trouble when he saw the flashing police lights as he turned onto the side street. He cursed Gregor. He told the idiot to wait for him so they could mount the operation, but the German’s desire to one-up Solomon must have overcome his common sense. He backed up the truck and parked on the street. He approached the parking lot of the cheap motel. A small crowd had already gathered outside, trying to see what all the fuss was about. Solomon meandered up to a group that was being told to back off by two agitated police officers. Solomon fabricated a story to a few people around him about how he heard some commotion from the casino a few blocks away.

He studied the
four young men with stunned stares on their faces standing next to a hole where a window used to be. Snow was pelting their faces as they listened to another police officer ask them questions. After fifteen minutes of chatting with some of the other bystanders he determined there were definitely three dead men inside the motel. The ambulance in the parking lot sat waiting to take the bodies away. He heard a few of the other people in the motel say they heard shots, and one saw a Range Rover speed quickly out of the parking lot shortly after the episode. They could not be sure, but they thought the driver was a woman.  Solomon flashed back to the vehicle heading the opposite way on Highway 50. He was sure it was a Range Rover. He remembered wondering what the fool was doing on the road, and the short glimpse he caught with his headlights confirmed a young teenager wearing a ball cap. Now he realized what he missed. It was not a young kid, but a female face inside the cap. Solomon glanced at his watch.  By now she would be very close to the relative safety of the Reno airport.

He silently congratulated her
and accepted his own fate. Her escape was no longer a concern for him.  He now had a scapegoat in Gregor who could no longer defend himself, and he wanted nothing to do with this woman right now. She was cornered and dangerous, and he was not ready to continue risking his life for Aman unless the payoff was going to be increased dramatically. He headed back up the road to where he left the truck. He would head back to Reno at his own pace, which would include a stop at the local bordello. Once he arrived back in Vegas he would give Aman an ultimatum. If he was not willing to accept it, then it would be time to make a visit to the Bank of Grand Cayman and disappear for a few months.