Donovan Creed 11 - Because We Can! (16 page)

12.

Donovan Creed.

I’M NOT SURE what Callie’s going through right now, but it’s so typically Callie, the way she’s shutting down. I’ve seen it many times over the years, so I don’t know why I thought things would be different just because she’s dating me.

What was it she said in Jackson? “Can we pretend the texting didn’t happen just now?”

Wouldn’t
that
be a crazy way to live? Every time she does something wrong we can just pretend it never happened.

I wonder what she’s up to.

I don’t think it involves Jack Tallow, or Jill DiPiese. But this thing she said about Jill has me thinking. What if Jill’s been in contact with Decker? What if she gave us a phony description?

Jack Tallow vouched for it, but what do we really know about him? He supposedly met Decker years ago. But was he covering for Jill? I’d like to think not, as angry as he seemed to be with her in the limo.

When my jet touches down in Louisville, I notice a car waiting beside the limo I ordered. I descend the steps and meet FBI Special Agent Brad Dung.

“Odd name,” I say.

“What, Donovan Creed? I agree. I bet the other kids used to give you hell about it.”

“Ah. A G-man with a sense of humor.”

“My bureau apparently has a bigger one. We spent hours culling information from the blast site.”

“So?”

“They ordered me to share it with you.”

“The FBI’s sharing data? Did I just land in Opposite Land?”

“Apparently, because nothing makes sense.”

“Wait,” I say. “I get it. You guys are about to get slammed by the media for letting this happen. You’ve had three chances to catch the guy, three chances to prevent Louisville and Jackson from being bombed.”

“Your point?”

“By sharing data with Homeland Security, your bosses are shifting half the burden to our department. From now on we’ll both look like we’ve got our heads up our asses.”

“You might be right. Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Have you recently had a face lift?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You’re not blinking your eyes. Why not?”

“It shows weakness.”

“You people are fucked.”

I glance at his government-issue car and say, “Why don’t you park that piece of shit and ride to the site with me in style?”

“That’ll work. Except we’re not going to the site.”

“Why not?”

“They want you at Mercy Hospital.”

“Someone’s conscious?”

“Not yet. But we’ve got some interesting situations developing.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

13.

“DOES THE NAME Milo Fister mean anything to you?” Agent Dung asks. “He’s an attorney, here in Louisville.”

He hands me a grainy photo, obviously pulled from the Internet.

I shake my head.

“What about his wife, Lemon Fister? Up-and-coming socialite?”

“That’s a name I’d remember. What, no photo?”

“Working on it.”

“Did they survive?”

“We don’t think so.”

“Either they did or they didn’t.”

“We’re literally moments away from having a positive ID.”

“Good. What makes this couple so special?”

“They were executed before the attack.”

“By ‘executed,’ you mean what, exactly?”

“They each took a bullet to the head. Between the eyes.”

I frown.

“There’s more,” he says. “A young woman was found in the same house, near the back door. She was badly hurt in the explosion, but she’s alive.”

“Got a name on that one?”

“Yeah. Jane Doe.” He laughs. “But we think she’s the shooter.”

“Why?”

“Police recovered two shells in her pocket, and three pinhole cameras.”

“The footage she took is probably on her cell phone.”

“We think so too. But it’s encrypted.”

“Your guys can crack that.”

“Sure. Eventually. But there’s a government footprint on the encryption.” He notes my blank look and adds, “A marker. Her phone is protected by some sort of government encryption.”

I’m rapidly developing a sick feeling in my stomach. “What’s her condition?”

“She’ll live.”

There aren’t many female assassins in the country, and I make it my business to know them all. But this one sounds like my daughter, Kimberly, who goes by the name Maybe Taylor.

“Got a picture of the shooter?” I say.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

He turns his cell phone toward me, shows me a picture of Kimberly.

My heart skips a beat, but I can’t let my expression show recognition. In the photo, she looks dead. Thank God Agent Dung already said she’s going to live. I’ll have to trust him on that. In the meantime, I need to get the focus off Kimberly. They’re already building a murder case against her, and have obviously sent this photo to police and FBI all over the country. It might very well be on the evening news tonight. If it is, she’ll be identified.

I ask, “Was Milo a criminal attorney?”

“Predominantly, yes.”

“Sounds like a gangland murder.”

“We agree. But we can’t figure out how it ties into Decker blowing up the neighborhood.”

“When we get to the hospital, any chance I can have a few minutes alone with her?”

“Not officially.”

“But…?”

“We realize you have more latitude than we do in these situations. The government actually cares if
we
break laws.”

“Right. And when you guys retire, no one shows up to kill you.”

“There’s that.”

“I assume they’re considering Jane Doe a murder suspect, and not one of the bombers?”

“That’s right, and that’s the problem. The bombers haven’t officially been classified as terrorists. But if that changes, I’m told you have the power to classify her as a possible terrorist, which would allow you to interrogate her. Is that a fair assessment of how your department operates?”

“Off the record?”

“Of course.”

“It is. But not in high-visibility cases like this one.”

“I really want to find out what she knows,” Dung says. “After the police do their thing I’m willing to create a diversion to buy you some time with her.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Two stipulations.”

“Name them.”

“She’ll have to survive your interview.”

“You have my word. What’s the second thing?”

“You’ll have to record the interview and let us make a copy.”

“No problem.”

When we arrive at the hospital I tell Agent Dung I need to make a couple of quick calls to let Homeland Security know about the upcoming interview. He tells me where to meet him when I’m finished.

I use the time to make five calls.

Callie doesn’t answer.

Nat Flemming does.

“Nat, it’s Donovan Creed.”

“Holy shit!”

“Ready for the big leagues?”

“I’ve been waiting two years for this call. Where and when?”

“For now I just need a warning shot. When can you be in place?”

“Zone 1?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty minutes, give or take.”

“Good man.”

Third call is to Layla Hart. When she answers, I say, “It’s Donovan Creed. You’re being activated.”

“Thank you, sir! When do I start?”

“Immediately.”

“Not to sound mercenary, but how will this affect my pay?”

“That’s your second question?”

“I’m sort of dating a guy. It’s gotten serious.”

“I’d have to check what starting salary is these days. But activation bonus is a million.”

“Wow! Can I keep the guy?”

“Have we vetted him?”

“Not officially.”

“If he passes you can date him between assignments. But you can’t tell him anything about your work.”

“Of course. Where do you need me?”

“Florida.”

“When?”

“Instantly. Pack your things. C.H. will call you with details.”

“What does C.H. stand for?”

“I honestly don’t know. But you’ll know him by his voice.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s an elf.”

She pauses. “This is a test, right?
Shit!
I know this. It’s a clandestine group or a code name for someone.”

“Relax. It’s neither. C.H. is an actual woodland elf.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Don’t tell C.H.”

Fourth call is to C.H. the elf. I tell him what I need.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says.

I hang up, take a deep breath, and make the fifth call.

14.

“HELLO?”

“Janet, it’s me.”

“What do
you
want?”

“I need a favor.”

“Fuck you!”

“This is important.”

“Your favors ended with the divorce papers.”

“It’s about Kimberly.”

“What about her?”

“I need you to take her shopping today.”

“What are you
talking
about? Kimberly’s in Las Vegas.”

“She’s on her way to your place. She’ll be there in two hours. She’ll stay with you a few days. It’ll be like old times. Except not exactly. When she gets her luggage situated, you’ll take her shopping. You’ll buy something nice for yourself on her credit card. My treat. A dress, a car—whatever you want. You’ll have lunch at a public place, you’ll laugh, you’ll hug each other like the old days. But make sure the neighbors see you together. And don’t be afraid to let her talk to the neighbors.”

“Do you have any idea how insane you sound?”

“No.”

“I don’t know what type of relationship you have with our daughter, but Kimberly always calls before showing up. We make plans.”

“When’s the last time you heard from her?”

“Yesterday.”

“Well, she’s been in an accident.”

“
What
?”

“You know the bombs that went off in Jackson and Louisville?”

“
You
did that?”

“No, of course not. It was a terrorist attack. Anyway, Kimberly was…visiting one of the homes.”

She says nothing, so I add, “At the time of the bombing.”

She says, “If she was in an accident, why would she want to go shopping?”

I sigh.

Civilians.

Jesus.

“Look, I know this won’t make any sense to you,” I say. “But in a few hours Kimberly’s photo will be all over the news.”

“Why?”

“Two of the bombing victims were shot before the attack.”

“What attack?”

“The fucking
bombing
attack. Are you paying attention?”

“What does the bombing attack have to do with Kimberly?”

“The FBI thinks she shot and killed two people. The whole thing’s a misunderstanding, and I can fix it. But I can’t fix it in time to keep her photo from going out. What I’m saying, I need you to do something for me. For Kimberly, I mean.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I can’t wait to hear the favor.”

“I already told you. I want you to take her shopping today.”

The line goes dead.

I call back. “We got disconnected.”

“Yeah, we did. Because I hung up on you.”

“You knew I’d call you back.”

“If you had the time.”

I frown. “I’m trying to solve this issue with Kimberly.”

“Then tell the fucking truth for once in your life! Our daughter’s a school teacher in Las Vegas. It makes no sense she’d be in Louisville, or that the FBI considers her a murder suspect. But if they did, I doubt they’d let her flee the state to go shopping with me. So what the fuck is going on? Where’s Kimberly?”

“You mean right now?”

“No. I mean six years ago when I caught you in the lady’s room at Starbucks with that Irish whore!”

“She wasn’t a whore. She was a CIA agent.”

“You were kissing her on the floor!”

“Jesus, Janet. We’ve been through this a hundred times. The agent was late to our meeting, I found her unconscious in the women’s room. I gave her mouth-to-mouth. And—why am I even telling you this?—You weren’t even
there
! Your friend, Christine’s the one who walked in on us.”

“You slept with her.”

“You know that’s not true. You made me take a polygraph, remember?”

“What sort of spy would you be if you couldn’t fake a polygraph?”

I sigh. “Kimberly’s in the hospital.”

“Bullshit.”

“Why are you so difficult to talk to?”

“Because I’m the ex-wife of a pathological liar. Which hospital is she in? I’ll call to verify.”

“Mercy Hospital, in Louisville. But don’t call. And don’t tell anyone.”

She laughs. “You are so full of shit. Let’s see if I’ve got this right. My daughter’s been in a bombing accident in Louisville, Kentucky. She’s a patient at Mercy Hospital, but I’m not allowed to call her, or tell anyone. She’s a murder suspect, but she’s on her way to visit me for a shopping spree.”

“I have to tell you something. Don’t hang up and don’t go nuts on me. This is serious. The woman who’s on her way to stay with you is Kimberly’s body double. She knows everything there is to know about Kimberly. And looks exactly like her. You wouldn’t be able to tell them apart except for the voice. The
real
Kimberly—our daughter—is in the hospital. She’ll be fine, but at the moment she’s unconscious. They’re calling her Jane Doe, and asking the public to identify her. Be we can’t let that happen. So when her photo hits the newswires, I don’t want your friends and relatives thinking she’s Kimberly.”

“If you’re telling the truth, it
is
Kimberly.”

“Yes. But I can’t let them identify her.”

“They could take her fingerprints.”

“She doesn’t have fingerprints.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have time to get into all that. I’m trying to move her to a safe location.”

“She’s in the hospital? Swear it. On Kimberly’s life.”

“I swear.”

“You
son of a bitch
! I know you had something to do with this. What’s her condition?”

“She’s been downgraded to serious.”

“
Serious
? What the fuck was it
before
?”

“Critical. But she’s doing fine.”

“I’m going there. She needs me.”

“You can’t.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what I can and can’t do! Especially when your solution is for me to go shopping.
Shopping
? Why the fuck would I go
shopping
when my daughter’s in the
intensive care unit
?”

“She’s been moved out of intensive care—”

I notice an orderly heading toward me, pushing a cart. I give him my full focus in case he’s been sent here to assassinate me. As I work out the best way to neutralize him, he passes without incident. I turn my focus back to Janet and say, “Kimberly’s in serious danger with the police and FBI, and you’re going to have to trust me to solve this. So listen without interrupting. If you don’t do
exactly
what I say, I will fucking kill you. You know I’m serious. I’m at Mercy Hospital right now. I’ve seen Kimberly, and she’s going to be fine. The place is crawling with police, detectives, and FBI. I need to get her out of here, and I will, but I can’t let them find out who she is. So the body double is going to pose as our daughter, and you’re going to play along. And I’ll keep you posted on Kimberly’s recovery. When everything’s safe, you can come to my facility in Virginia and spend as much time with her as you want.”

“You wouldn’t kill your daughter’s mother.”

“Hold on, while I conference someone.”

I work the buttons on my phone till Nat Flemming says, “I’m here.”

“Janet? This is Nat. He works for me.”

“Fuck you, Nat,” she says.

I ask, “Nat, where’s Janet?”

“In the kitchen.”

“What the
fuck
?” Janet says.

“Nat, do it!”

He fires a shot through the kitchen window.

Janet screams.

I say, “That was a warning shot to show I’m serious. Nat’s going to keep an eye on you till this is over. He’s going to pose as Kimberly’s boyfriend. Now open the door and let him in, or he’ll kill you before you can call 911.”

“You’re a despicable son of a bitch. A disgusting, whore-mongering, low-life, murderous bastard.”

“I agree. And those are the very flaws that kept me from getting a better wife.”

“Fuck you!”