Lethal Affairs (7 page)

When she had learned enough, she made the call and requested backup. They told her to start with Hudson, but to make it look accidental.

Getting to him was easy, for she was now a guest in his home, her balcony near his. One night she used the outside ledge to steal from her balcony onto his and crept into his room while he slept. Just enough insulin to make it look like a heart attack. That was the plan.

She injected him but had barely finished when his Indonesian sex slave surprised her. A fifteen-year-old girl, naked, walked in from the bathroom and screamed.

She put a hand on the girl’s mouth. Show no mercy, they had taught her. Nothing could compromise an operation. Break her neck. But she couldn’t. Not this child with huge brown eyes, already abused in so many ways.

She froze, uncertain, then heard footsteps—someone running toward the bedroom. The girl started to scream again, and Domino ran for the balcony, back to her own room. But she knew the girl would tell. Any minute they’d come to her door. She already had her gun, tucked into her jeans. So she dashed in long enough to retrieve her passports and vaulted over the balcony, one hand on the waist-high railing, and dropped thirty feet onto the patio one floor below.

She landed badly, on a bamboo chair, breaking two ribs then crashing onto the pavement on her hip.
The wind was knocked out of her, the pain so immense she wanted to scream but couldn’t with no air in her lungs. Tears sprang to her eyes as she struggled to her knees, clutching her side and fighting to breathe.
Domino couldn’t hear, see, or think beyond the pain. But her instinct for survival pulled her to her feet and sent her running into the jungle.
They hunted her all night, but she ran forward through the absolute black only the jungle canopy can create, falling again and again, sweat pouring off her. At times the pain was so intense she moved on her knees, pushing forward by lurches, fear driving her until she could rise to run again.
Occasionally she paused, for she had to be absolutely still to distinguish the sounds of her pursuers from the cacophony of bird calls and the constant shrieks and cries of the other creatures.
The T-shirt she fled in provided no protection against the undergrowth, so by the time dawn broke, cuts covered her arms, hands, face, neck, stomach. And the sweat that poured into them burned like acid.
In the morning, helicopters joined the search. One spotted her, and they opened fire like she was an animal. But she kept running, diving under cover when necessary, every labored breath an effort through the ache of her broken ribs, her leg stiff from the pain that radiated from her injured hip.
She surprised one of her pursuers and broke his neck, took his rifle. At least now she had more than just her gun.
Finally, she made it to Binjai. Hudson had taken children from the village, so they knew of him—feared and loathed him.
By then she was ready to collapse, filthy and bleeding. An old man with a five-year-old grandson agreed to help her when she told him who was chasing her.
He gave her meager food and water and hid her in a tiny shed already crowded with his cow, goats, and chickens. She lay hidden under hay and manure for two days without moving, always afraid they were outside. Every morning and evening, the old man would open the door to let the animals out and then back in again, but she had told him he wasn’t to acknowledge her presence, and he complied.
On the third day, she emerged from her fetid sanctuary and, dressed in clothing she plucked from her benefactor’s clothesline, made it to Medan disguised as a local, hitching occasional rides in local farmers’ pickups.
In Medan, she knocked on the door of a home. In Dutch and in English, she said she’d had an accident, and they could see she was in trouble—dirty, hurt. They let her in and left her alone to call her husband at a nearby hotel to come get her.
When Pierce picked up his phone, she identified herself. “Book a room and wire money under ID B.”
“Call me back in five minutes,” he replied, “and I’ll tell you when and where.”
She informed her hosts her husband wasn’t in their room but would be back—she needed to try again soon. When she did, Pierce gave her the name of the hotel where the arrangements had been made.
At last she could have a long, hot shower and a calm, safe moment to gather her thoughts. She took out her backup passport and studied the photo. This identity had short, very dark hair, so she called for a hairdresser to be sent up, and dinner, too, her first good meal in days. While she ate, her long blond hair was cut and dyed, and soon, except for the cuts and abrasions on her face and neck, she matched her passport photo perfectly.
Next came new clothes, which she also arranged to have delivered to her room. She was a different person now, still hyper-alert but more relaxed about appearing in public. She sought out the nearest public phone booth and called Pierce again.
“It’s Domino.”
“Target down,” he responded. “Rest of operation has been compromised. Abort.”
“Ticket ready?”
“Yes.”
She hung up and headed to the airport. Nearly thirty-six hours later, when she landed in Colorado, she went straight to Pierce’s office. She pleaded to be allowed to leave. Told him she couldn’t do it anymore, she didn’t want this life. She saw too much death, unfairness, cruelty, and corruption.
“I can’t let you go,” he had replied. “You see, Domino, this life doesn’t come with options.”

The sound of a car alarm under her window returned her to the present. She wondered if Hayley still had options. Pierce’s instructions rang in her ears.
You are to extract the information we need and find out who else is involved…someone else will eliminate her, if necessary.

ayley answered her cell before it could ring a second time and tried not to sound disappointed it was her sister Claudette instead of Luka. She was curled up on the couch in her sweats with a pint of Haagen Dazs rum raisin.

“Hey, Hay.” It had been her sibling’s standard greeting since childhood. “Whatcha doin’? Wanna catch a flick or something?” Unlike Hayley, Claudette had embraced the stay-at-home-mom lifestyle their father had long espoused, but every now and then, she required a girls’ night out with her sister.

“Can’t. Tonight is all work and no play, and I’m expecting a call.” Hayley reached for the remote and paused her DVD copy of the assassination tape.

“Like that’s anything new,” Claudette griped good-naturedly. “Come on, take two hours and bring your cell. Don’t make me come hurt you.”

Hayley laughed. “Really, Claudi, not tonight. Soon, though, I promise.”
But her sister wouldn’t give up so easily. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“If it’s any consolation, this call I’m expecting would be all play, so no worries there.”
“Oh? Do tell. Found someone interesting, have you?” Claudette pressed.
“As a matter of fact, very. An art restorer I met at that AIDS fundraiser last night. Bright, buff, and immensely cute.” Hayley shut her eyes and recalled the feel of Luka’s body pressed against hers on the dance floor.
“So why are you waiting for her to call and not calling her?”
“Uh…don’t have her number?” Hayley confessed.
“What?” Claudette laughed loudly into her ear. “You let her get away without getting her number and your ace reporter skills can’t track her down? Sounds like you’re slipping.”
“She’ll call. Now let me go so the line is free, will ya? And I promise to do a movie some time next week.”
“Yeah, yeah. Promises, promises.” Claudette sighed for dramatic effect. “Good luck, Hay. Hope she does call. See you soon.”
After her sister signed off, Hayley returned to her study of the assassination video. She was so intently focused on it when her cell phone rang again, she didn’t answer for a full three rings.
“Hello, it’s Hayley.”
“Hi there. It’s Luka.”
Hayley’s spirits brightened. “Luka who?” she deadpanned.
Laughter on the other end.
“No, really,” Hayley said. “You never told me your last name.”
“Madison. Do you still want to know?”
“You’re referring to churches and cathedrals now. See how well I keep up? Of course I still want to know. I’ve been all anxious anticipation since last night.” She spoke in a teasing way, though the statement was true.
Laughter answered her again. “A reporter doesn’t sit around anxiously awaiting a stranger’s call.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “When you’re a reporter, some of your best calls come from strangers.”
“Are you busy? Am I interrupting anything?”
Hayley stared at the frozen image of the assassin, firing her second shot into Guerrero’s head. “No, not at all. Actually, you’re saving me from an aggravating blonde.”
“Company?”
“No, only a difficult assignment.” She clicked off the TV and returned her full attention to Luka. “Count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with ’em.”
“Guess that’s true. Art restorers don’t get many of those. If you don’t have a fear of heights, you’re golden.”
“So tell me. Why churches and cathedrals?”
“How about I tell you over dinner?”
The invitation sent a ripple of exhilaration through her. “Are you asking me out?”
“Only if you accept,” Luka said. “Dinner it is, then.”

Senator Terrence Burrows took his morning
Washington Post
and coffee to a chaise lounge by the pool to watch the twins romp in the shallow end while his wife Diana cooked bacon and eggs.

It was still sixteen months until the presidential election, but the special section of the Sunday newspaper profiled all the major candidates and the status of their campaign coffers. Pundits predicted the eventual nominees would need to raise nearly half a billion dollars each, and Terrence had only a fraction of that, but he expected the numerous fundraising events on his calendar would keep him competitively in the running.

He hated that the EOO’s shadow kept him from focusing entirely on his bid for the White House. He’d had the Guerrero tape sent to Hayley Ward five days ago, and he was spending far too much of his time wondering what she was doing with it.

Terrence pulled out his cell phone and dialed Jack’s number. While he waited for an answer, he rose and went to stand nearer the house, where he could see the twins but not be overheard.

“Put a tail on Hayley Ward,” he told Jack. “For now, at least, you can limit it to days and evenings. It’s probably best not to have someone sitting outside her apartment overnight. I want to know where she goes, who she sees.”

Terrence worried that if the EOO found out what Hayley was up to, they might put someone on her themselves. “And use private detectives, Jack. Not anyone traceable back to you or me. Tell them she’s a cheating spouse or something.”

Diana appeared with his breakfast just as he disconnected and frowned when she saw the cell phone in his hand.
“I thought you were taking the day off,” she complained, setting the plate down on a table beside the chaise lounge he’d vacated.
“I am.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Just clearing the way to think of nothing but my family today.”

Leroy Deloatch finally returned Hayley’s call on Sunday afternoon as she was deciding what to wear on her date with Luka. She’d narrowed it down to two possibilities—a low-cut green dress that highlighted her auburn hair, or a baby blue number with a scalloped hem that showed off her thighs.

The AP reporter apologized for not getting back to her sooner, explaining he’d been out of town on assignment. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling about a story you did a year ago on professional assassins,” she said. “I wanted to ask whether you remember coming across anything about any women in that field.”

“Okay, hang on. Let me call it up on my laptop.” Hayley could vaguely hear the sounds of typing. Deloatch evidently had her on speakerphone. “Seems like there were at least a couple of cases.” He typed rapidly. “Yeah, first one I found was fifteen years ago. A mob retaliation hit in Vegas was attributed to a tall, dark-haired woman. Young. Witness saw her flee the scene. She was never caught.” He typed some more. “Eight years ago, the same woman may have made two hits back to back. The targets were both Yakuza members— Japanese mafia.”

After even more typing, he said, “Three years ago, they got one on tape in Brooklyn, but it didn’t give them anything ’cause it was shitty quality. A woman killed a state senator. Cops concluded she was a pro, but never got a line on her. And the last one I found happened just before I wrote the story…so that would put it about fourteen months ago. A woman was spotted running from a shooting in Belgium that had all the earmarks of a professional hit. The target there was a buyer in a major child-porn ring.”

“Any way I can see the tape from the one in Brooklyn?” “Dunno,” Deloatch answered. “I can give you the name of the detective who worked the case. He’s retired now. But something’s not right about him, you know? Almost too determined, if you know what I mean. The obsessive, conspiracy-theory type. May have been why he left the force.” She could hear the sound of papers being shuffled. “Here it is. Manny Vasquez. I don’t know if the number I have for him is still any good, though.” He read it off and she copied it.
“I’d also like whatever you have on the other cases involving women,” Hayley said. “Do you mind faxing copies to me?”
“Nope. If you’ll call me if whatever you’re working on turns into anything. Give AP a bit of a lead in getting the story?”
“Got a deal.” Hayley gave him her fax number.
When she signed off with Deloatch, she tried the number he had given her for the retired detective.
“Manny Vasquez?”
“Who wants to know?” He had the raspy baritone of a confirmed smoker.
“My name is Hayley Ward, Mr. Vasquez. I’m a reporter with the
Baltimore Dispatch
. Leroy Deloatch gave me your name in reference to a case involving a female assassin who killed a state senator three years or so ago.”
“What about it?”
“Well, I’d appreciate any information you can give me on that case,” she said.
“What do you want to know?”
“First off, is there any way I can get a copy of the tape of the hit?”
“Maybe. I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine,” he replied.
From what Deloatch had told her, Hayley suspected the retired cop would be reluctant to share information unless he had some idea why she was seeking it, but she certainly couldn’t tell him the particulars of what she was working on, or that she had the tape of the Guerrero hit. “You could say I’ve taken a personal interest in the subject. I’ll be honest, Mr. Vasquez. I’m pretty new at this. You know how it is when you’re trying to make a name for yourself. I’m looking for that breakthrough story.”
“So, you’re telling me you, Ms. inexperienced journalist, are checking out female professional assassins—a
muy
unusual and dangerous subject—just to get noticed? Do you have any idea what you’re getting into? You’re either really green or you know something you ain’t giving up. Now, I don’t know you…
pero
I been around the block enough to know you don’t sound naïve. So let’s take this again from the jump.”
“I think I have a lead on a case similar to yours, and I want to see if they’re connected,” she offered.
The leather of his chair squeaked and she knew he had leaned forward. “Okay, go on,” he said.
“I received an anonymous envelope in the mail. Whoever sent it wants me to do something with what was in it, but I don’t know where to start. My first attempt has led me to you.” It was all she dared tell him, and she hoped it was enough.
“So what was in it?”
“I’m afraid I can’t share that with you,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. But if there’s a connection, I’ll give you whatever I find out.”
“No, no, no, Miss Ward. Tell me what you got or me and my tape are out of the picture. I got a lot of experience with this type of thing. Maybe I can help.”
She was fairly certain if she told this cop—retired or not—that she had the missing Guerrero tape, she’d not only be off the story, but probably facing some kind of criminal charges. “What if we talk in person first and take it from there? I know you of all people understand you can’t trust just anyone.”
“
Si
, exactly. Why should I trust you?”
“You bring what you have and I’ll bring my share,” she proposed. “What do you have to lose?”
“
Mi tiempo
?”
“Trust me, Mr. Vasquez. What I have will definitely make up for your time.”
She heard the flick of a lighter, then a long exhale before he answered. “
Muy bien
. Now the question is when. Can’t tomorrow. Day after?”
“Sure, Tuesday’s great. I can drive up after work. Eight o’clock okay?”
“Yeah, that works. There’s a bar near my old precinct. The Three Sisters. I’ll meet you there.” He gave her the address.
“By the way,” she added before signing off, “and I know you’ll understand. If you tell anyone I’ve talked to you about this, I’ll deny everything. This phone call never happened.”
He chuckled. “You catch on quick, lady.”
Domino got the disquieting update from Pierce as she dressed for her date with Hayley.
“Strike’s made a couple of noteworthy phone calls in connection with the tape,” he said. “One to a reporter in Seattle and another to a retired police detective in Brooklyn.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the rest.
“The reporter’s probably not an issue. But she’s meeting the cop, Manuel Vasquez, Tuesday night,” Pierce told her. “We know this guy. He did some digging of his own about us a while back but didn’t get far. He’s probably not a threat—but you need to monitor the situation closely.”
“Understood.”
She had never felt such mixed emotions heading into an assignment. Unfamiliar nervous anticipation about seeing Hayley again enveloped her, but the news that Hayley was avidly trying to solve the Guerrero murder and expose the Organization tempered her excitement
. Operation Eclipse
, she kept reminding herself.
Objectify her.
After an unusually long time, she settled on a form-fitting black turtleneck, taupe low-cut trousers, and a black, double-breasted jacket. The restaurant she was taking Hayley to was quiet and upscale, with an ambience conducive to easy, unhurried conversation.
She had arranged to pick up Hayley so she could look around her apartment, not that she expected anything related to the tape or her newsgathering about the EOO to be sitting out in plain view. At precisely six, she rapped twice on her door.
“Hi.” Hayley smiled, forcing Domino to admire her dimples. “The punctual type. I like that. Come on in. I’m almost ready.” She was wearing an emerald green dress, well suited for her coloring and body type. Sexy but classic in its cut and drape, it allowed Domino a wonderful glimpse of her cleavage.
She was supposed to get close to Hayley Ward. Seduce her, if need be, to obtain the information she needed. Certainly not an unpleasant prospect. “You look great,” she said as she stepped into the apartment. “I don’t know what you need to finish.”
“Uh-oh. A smooth talker, too. Pretty potent combination, and the same back at ya in the you-look-great department.” She raised her eyebrows as she surveyed Domino approvingly.
“Thank you,” Domino replied. She was well accomplished at gaining someone’s interest, and she’d heard these lines before. But this time the compliment genuinely pleased her.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be ready in a minute.” Hayley plucked a couple of newspapers off the couch to make a place for her to sit. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, I’m good.” Domino remained standing and took in the cozy clutter of mementos, pictures, clippings, and other personal effects. It was as different from her own spartan existence as possible, yet incredibly warm and inviting. “Nice. Very…you.”
“Interesting observation,” Hayley replied, looking at her curiously, “since we hardly know each other. Yet.”
Domino shrugged. “I try to pay attention.”
“Sorry I’m not ready, but time kind of got away from me today,” Hayley called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the bedroom. “I know that sounds pretty bad coming from someone who works under a deadline.”
As soon as she’d gone, Domino walked to the windows, surveying the view, checking for ways the second-floor apartment could be accessed from outside. The main entrance appeared to be the only way. The building had no external fire escapes or balconies.
Hayley’s laptop was sitting on her desk, closed. Off. Domino put her hand on it—still warm. At least for the moment, it kept her attention on the job at hand. “Busy with business or pleasure?” she said, loud enough for Hayley to hear in the next room.
“Business. Always business, especially lately,” Hayley answered. “Which is why I’m looking forward to a night of pleasure. Well, another night of pleasure. Because last night turned out to be more fun than work. Thanks to you.”
“I had a nice time, too, Hayley. I can’t stop thinking about how much you improved my evening.” Domino scanned the assorted items on the desk. Her appointment book, closed. A couple of notebooks. Several newspaper and magazine clippings, none relevant. “Need any help?”
Hayley laughed. A nice laugh, with high, infectious overtones.
“Tempting. Very tempting. Maybe later I’ll think of something I can get your help with.” Hayley reappeared with a coat slung over her arm. “Shall we go?”
As soon as they were in the car, Hayley said, “So…we’ll start with why cathedrals and churches.” She settled into the passenger seat, but half turned to watch Domino as they headed toward the restaurant. “But I warn you, I
am
a reporter, so I want to know everything.”
Domino knew she’d have to be on top of her game tonight and deceive Hayley about many things, but she could respond honestly to this question. “Because I think art should be there for everybody. You visit museums and galleries for the art. With churches and cathedrals, art is there for you. Nobody has to pay to get in, or pretend to know anything about it, or even like it. There are no pretentious bullshit comments on whoever’s work. You can go there and just be. Whoever you are.”
She had another reason too, but she couldn’t enunciate it to Hayley. Bringing damaged things back to life and making them beautiful again gave her a rare sense of peace that contrasted so totally to the violent world she knew but couldn’t change. On the job, another ten assholes endlessly sprang up for every one she dispatched. But restoring art truly gratified her.
“I’ve never thought about the art in churches that way,” Hayley said. “Kind of art for the people, in other words.”
“Exactly.”
They arrived at the restaurant and sat facing each other at an intimate table for two overlooking the Baltimore skyline. For a time, they made small talk, extolling the view and comparing tastes in music, old movies and food as they studied the menu.
“Do you paint at all?” Hayley asked.
“Occasionally, but I prefer to sketch. Do you have any interest in art?” she asked after the waiter delivered their wine and appetizers.
“Well, I think a certain artist is pretty interesting.” Hayley leaned toward her and grinned mischievously.
She smiled back. “I hope you’re referring to someone contemporary.”
“Oh, most definitely contemporary. Nothing beats the here and now, I always say,” Hayley replied, all innuendo.
“You’d better be careful, then. Those artsy types can be tricky. Before you know it, they’re asking you to pose for them.”
“Hmm.” Hayley cocked her head as though considering the possibilities. “I wonder what kind of poses this artist would have in mind.”
“If I knew who you’re referring to, perhaps I could help.” She refilled Hayley’s wine glass, then hers.
“Now, I know you’re not that dense,” Hayley teased. “You want everything spelled out, do you?”
“Preferably.”
“Aw, and I was having so much fun with the roundabout approach. But okay. Spelled out, huh? I’m very attracted to you, Luka.” Hayley was staring at her mouth in a way that made her feel as though someone had turned up the thermostat several degrees. “Is that clear enough, I hope?”
It was obvious that getting close to Hayley would not be a problem. However, she had to take it slow. She had to keep her interested until they found out everything they needed to know, and Hayley’s file indicated she had a reputation for brief, casual affairs. “In that case, I’d pose you the way that best fits your personality. But I don’t know enough about you…yet…to determine what kind of pose that would be. And since you’re not dense, is it clear I’m very attracted to you?”
“Well, I’d say that’s been pretty clear on both sides since last night, but of course it’s nice to hear. I like the direct approach, Luka.”
The waiter arrived with their meals. “Do busy journalists find time to play or is it a rarity?” Domino inquired.
“Oh, I like to play,” Hayley said in her most suggestive manner. “Very much. And yes, I’m kept so busy it’s rare for me, unfortunately. All the more reason for the direct approach, don’t you think?”
Domino could see where this was going. “It’s not in my nature to be that direct. I like to take my time…with everything.”
The remark made Hayley smile. “That can be good. Some things, I agree, are best when you go slow.”
“All good things are worth taking your time with. Make every moment last and count.”
“Am I one of those good things?”
“I don’t ask women—even if they’re beautiful women like you— out to dinner unless I think so.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Hayley replied with a pleased expression. “So do you think I can get you to take your time with me later?”
“I prefer to think of it as…eventually.” Domino kept a flirtatious tone.
“Eventually?” Hayley’s smile evaporated and became half frown, half pout. “Define ‘eventually.’”
Domino looked into her eyes. “I like you, Hayley. As a matter of fact, I like you a lot. And I want to get to know you. Call me oldfashioned and you’d be right, but I’ll be honest. You’re the first woman I’ve ever felt compelled to want to see beyond one evening. I probably sound like an idiot, but I’m not. I’m merely trying to say that I want to take it slow because this feels different. Have I put you off? I truly hope I haven’t.”
“Actually, that’s one of the sweetest things I’ve heard in a very long while,” she replied. “I like you a lot, too, Luka. And I guess I can try slow. But let me tell you now, I’m not patient. When I want something, I go for it. Occupational hazard.”
I can relate to occupational hazard,
Domino thought wryly. It was time to steer the conversation in another direction. “I can see that about you. You seem very driven. Have you made any progress with this big story of yours?”
“Not enough. It’s going to take some time. But it’s an investigative piece, and they always do.”
“Sounds like you have more patience than you give yourself credit for. By the way, have I mentioned you’re a beautiful woman?”
“Yes, and flattery will get you everywhere,” Hayley said. “So, where do you want to go? To my place for coffee and,
eventually,
dessert?”
Domino laughed. “You’re relentless. Let’s go.” She signaled for the check.
All the way back to Hayley’s apartment, she wondered how far she should take this hard-to-get approach. Hayley had been staring at her lips all evening, her intentions clear.