HARD CASE (A John Harding Novel - Special Ops, Cage Fighter, CIA Agent) (3 page)

“Where the hell do you live? All I have for you is a post office box.”

“I own a place on Lyon. Do you want to stop there and let me shower first?”

“It’s almost nine,” Tess informed me, looking at her watch. “You can shower at my place while I make coffee.”

Not expecting to go out after the fight, all I had on were jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt under my old blue windbreaker. I hadn’t had time to do my usual quick cleanup after the fight because of the gun confrontation. Tess glanced back at me taking stock of my clothing. She laughed.

“I have some extra large t-shirts at home. You can borrow one.”

“I’m trying to cut down on the smell factor for you,” I explain, pulling open the driver’s door on her black BMW 35i after she beeps it unlocked.

“You smell sexy,” Tess tells me as I get an eyeful during her leg swing into the car.

“Earlier, it was ‘you stink, hard-head’. Now, it’s a pheromone?” I ask rhetorically, closing her door before jogging around to the passenger side. She’s still chuckling over my pheromone dig when I slip in and shut my door. Tess gets the BMW going. She lowers the audio on the CD she’s playing.

“I didn’t know you knew a word like pheromone.”

“Ouch,” I retort, pretending hurt and hanging my head.

“How come there is no John Harding before the date you went into the Marine Corps?” Tess asked, real innocent like.

“I joined from a little town called Plano, Texas. We didn’t have to have a passport to join from there,” I reply, knowing what’s coming next.

“No John Harding ever went to school in Plano, Texas.” Tess smiles over at me sweetly.

Bingo!

“I was home-schooled.”

“I’ll bet. Tell me something about yourself.”

“I’d rather hear about you,” I reply honestly. Hell, there’s not much to tell about my life before the Marines. “I didn’t have a record or anything before I joined if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

“I graduated in the top third of my class at Harvard law slightly before my twentieth birthday. I have a chance to make partner at the law firm before I’m thirty. Your turn. How many languages do you know?”

“A few,” I admit reluctantly. “I have a knack for them. How about you?”

“I speak French and Spanish fluently,” Tess answers in French.

“Nice,” I compliment her because hearing French from Tess is like listening to classical music.

“You speak French,” Tess states, proud of herself. “Why does the State Department know right where to find you?”

“I’m still in the Marine Reserve and I’m not in hiding.”

“I know you killed a guy in the ring.”

“The ref was a little slow.” It’s in the public record. I’m beginning to regret my agreeing to coffee at her house. “Why don’t you ask me where I learned how to make you sing out in that high pitched voice just before-”

“Shut up!” Tess gasps as she smacks my arm. “I’m making intelligent conversation and you start diving in the gutter.”

“Sounds more like an interrogation to me, Tess.”

Silence for the remaining moments until Tess pulls into her driveway. She remotes the garage door open and drives the BMW inside. Tess shuts off the car. She turns to me with her hand on my arm.

“Sorry about the interrogation.”

“No problem,” I pat her hand. “Make decaf, okay?”

Her Piedmont place reminds me of the redhead’s house in ‘Desperate Housewives’. I don’t watch much TV… but I like redheads. Every single item looks in place, like a three dimensional puzzle. I take off my shoes before following her into the adjoining kitchen from the garage. A little black kitten ran out from under the kitchen table and pounced on my right socked foot. I started laughing. Tess turned around to see what was so funny. She chuckled and snatched the little cat up.

“Sorry about that.” Tess roughed the kitten up in her hand. “His name’s Midnight.”

“Neat,” I reply poking my index sausage around in Midnight’s stomach. He had flipped on his back in Tess’s hands.

“C’mon, I’ll get you a shirt to take in the bathroom with you.” Tess walked toward her bedroom carrying the purring Midnight with her. She came out a moment later with an extra large white t-shirt and handed it to me. Midnight protested with a swat at my hand when I took it.

“I’ll be out in a few,” I told her and went in the bathroom.

The shower felt good. When I came out with my t-shirt and underwear tied up together, I went out to the kitchen and found Tess pouring coffee into two cups. I sat down, feeling real relaxed. Midnight immediately began batting the shoelace on my right tennis shoe. Tess brought over a tray with full coffee cups, saucers, and all the makings. After putting the tray on the table Tess sat down opposite me. She fixed her coffee real comfortable like. I sipped mine, thinking this was real nice. Then the doorbell rang. Tess got this startled but knowing look on her face. Okay… it was nice for a couple minutes there.

“Excuse me,” Tess said, getting up and going over to open her front door.

I turned to watch through the kitchen archway leading to the living room. From where I sat, I could see Tess open the door. She stepped aside. Two large suits walked in the doorway carrying briefcases. Tess led them to the kitchen. I’m thinkin’ this is going to be interesting. All those neat little redhead thoughts melted away - leaving only a slight stinging sensation, like when one of those meat eatin’ yellow-jackets porks you in the woods. I lock eyes with the lead suit. His name’s Dennis Strobert. He and I do government business occasionally. He’s never pulled anything like this before so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Tess… I’ll have to think on.

“Hey, John.” Dennis grins at me real friendly like. He’s about six-two in height and only a small bit desk softened. Dennis looks a lot like an ex-Marine, crew cut sandy hair, and been around the block. We spent some quality time in Afghanistan together. “You ought to get a phone, buddy.”

“You call T and I get back to you, just like always. Why all this? I’m not in hiding.”

“We don’t deal with middle men anymore, Harding,” the other suit informs me. He’s a little taller than Dennis and half again as wide, none of it in his stomach.

“Calm down, Ben,” Dennis tells his partner. “John, this is Ben Reddig. He’s a CIA liaison from the State Department-”

“Before you go on,” I interrupted him. “Since when do you use civilians as intermediaries?”

“John, I-”

“I’m not talking to you, Tess,” I cut her off without taking my eyes off Dennis and his Igor. I can tell she’s all excited, smiling nervously. Apparently, Dennis charmed her into thinking she was being recruited for some clandestine operation.

“Mind if we sit down, John?”

“It’s not my house. Why don’t you answer my question first?”

“Ms. Connagher’s firm does some contracting for us in a peripheral manner.” Dennis sat down in the chair next to mine.

Reddig starts walking around behind me. I get up, careful not to kick Midnight, hiding next to my shoe.

“You want to sit, Ben, go on over next to Dennis.” I smile at him charmingly, while keeping his hands in view. “When you get comfortable, keep your hands up on the table where I can see them.”

“Do as he says, Ben,” Dennis said, the urgency in his voice making an impression on Ben. “Sit over here and tell John what this meeting’s all about.”

“I don’t like you,” Ben tells me in what he thinks is a menacing growl.

“That phrase is on a lot of tombstones,” I reply with an easy grin. I’ve measured him and found ol’ Ben wanting. “If you don’t sit down, I’m leaving. I like Ms. Connagher’s house as it is. I’d rather you didn’t die in it.”

“Sit down, Ben!” Dennis ordered. “I told you not to make a scene in here, damn it!”

“We shouldn’t have to take orders from street pugs,” Reddig complains but walks around to his seat.

I sit down when he does, not taking offense. A lot of government types I’ve dealt with over the years think they can treat me like their own personal hand puppet. I sip my coffee. Tess brings over two more cups and saucers with trembling hands. She then brings over the coffee pot and pours coffee for Dennis and Ben. After meeting Reddig, I understood Dennis’s thinking on setting up a meet here. Our State Department is full of appointed hangers on. Reddig looked younger than Dennis, probably middle to late thirties. He was used to bullying people. Tess sat down again across from me.

“We want to know everything about Samira Karim, Harding,” Ben tells me.

“I haven’t seen her since ‘03 when she was eleven. If you know so much about me you ought to know that.”

“Listen you…” Reddig begins trekking down a trail he may not return from when Dennis cuts him off.

“What Ben here was getting at, John, is did Karim keep in touch with you after your last time seeing her… a phone call or e-mail?”

“Not a word.”

“If that’s true… why the hell is she so hot about getting you to look after her on this trip to the states? What kind of relationship did you have with her when-”

“There was no relationship, moron,” I break in before I have to make an adjustment in Reddig’s facial features. “When you speak to me, remember something before allowing words to spew out of your pie-hole - if you make stupid comments like linking me with an eleven-year-old girl I’m going to break some important parts on your body.”

“Are…are you threatening me?” Reddig is aghast. He looks over at a very uncomfortable Dennis. “You better get your boy in line, Strobert.”

“He’s not my boy, Ben,” Dennis tells him. “If you ignore his warning there aren’t enough people in this room to keep you safe even if I was of a mind to try and stop him, which I’m not. You wanted this meeting. I told you we could obtain John’s help through Ms. Connagher’s firm without direct contact.”

“I…I presented John’s manager with the body-guarding details,” Tess adds hesitantly. “The figure Mr. Sands gave me was within the range you were willing to pay, although it was very close to the maximum figure you gave me.”

Ben sat with his fists clenched on the table. I could tell he was grinding his teeth to keep from shooting his mouth off. He wanted a go at me but I think reality was sinking in. Ben gestured at Dennis before leaning back in his chair. Dennis went on for him.

“Can you think of why Ms. Karim would single you out to look after her in the states, John? Apparently, the Saudi’s are on edge with her Father. He’s still speaking out against the Taliban and Islamic extremists.”

“Her Father was a stand up guy,” I told him, thinking back to when I last saw Badee Karim. “The Taliban wiped out his entire family. He escaped with his wife, two sons, and Samira to the Northern Alliance. Badee Karim helped us gain a foothold amongst the tribes at the beginning. There were so many attempts on his life the US decided to move him once we were established. We escorted him to Saudi Arabia where he was supposed to wait until the political turmoil cooled off to the point he could return home. I take it that won’t be happening?”

“So you were pretty close with the family then?” Dennis pressed on.

“Me and three other company recruits had to spend a month in not much more than a cave with three families from the tribal area. Badee Karim’s family was one of the three. My Pashtu was pretty good by then. I filled in a lot as an interpreter between our forces and the Northern Alliance.”

“Jesus…” Tess muttered, blushing when Ben gave her an irritated look.

“I see you’ve kept up on your language skills,” Dennis noted, looking over a folder he took out of his briefcase. “Do you think Ms. Karim may have had a crush on you?”

“It’s possible. She was just a kid. What the hell is the State Department’s interest in this and why did you involve Tess’s firm in… oh… wait a minute. I get it. If something happens to Samira while I’m watching her then she asked for me so your hands are clean. If the State Department insists on Badee allowing them to supply protection it’s on them if anything happens to Samira.”

“I guess you haven’t had all your brains beat out yet.” Dennis nodded, confirming my scenario. “Mr. Karim continues to speak out. If he were living anywhere but on our base in Saudi Arabia, he’d be dead. Ms. Karim has become very popular abroad speaking up for democracy in the Middle East and the evolving place of women in Islamic society.”

“She’s a money maker for the cause.” I’m getting the drift now. “We have a huge Afghan population here in Northern California and Samira is raising money for the homeland?”

“I believe you have the basics, John. There are over 40,000 Afghani’s living in the San Francisco Bay area. It’s not about the money though. She’d be touring all over America if this was about money. Ms. Karim is passionate about her cause. Being young, vibrant, and fluent in English, she shows the side of Islam we need people to see. Her Father agreed with us about California being the ideal place for Ms. Karim’s first public appearance in the United States. Mr. Karim also okayed his daughter’s choice in enlisting your services as an escort.”

“I take it I won’t be alone on this then. The last thing you guys need is a dead young Afghani woman sympathetic to America. You just need a scapegoat in case tragedy strikes.”

Ben begins an angry retort only to be hushed by a quick hand motion from Dennis.