Ded Reckoning (5 page)

"You're doin' it again, Dee," interrupts Hunter.

Ryder feigns a smile and says, "Well, ma'am, good you heard and we understand your confusion ... and grief."  He pauses, "But we won't be needing you to join us.  If you and the workmen just stay in those rooms that need repair, we'll be out of your way on the patio.  Agent Oboe here," jerking his thumb, "will need to talk to you later. In your place."  He looks to Oboe and gets a confirming nod.  Then asks, "Next door, isn't it?"

Dee looks to Hunter.  Sees him nod.  Agent Oboe nods also, but with a sly grin.  She pushes Bobby, with Richard in front of him, toward Hunter's office.

Dee half-shouts over her shoulder, "Got the message."

Then several steps along her way, murmurs, "They're all clueless."

Dee and the two handymen disappear into the office.  She tugs on the closet door and finds it locked, again.  Hunter and the two agents stride through the living room, go outside to the chairs adjacent to the Jacuzzi on the patio.  Only after Agent Oboe surveys the area outside the backyard fencing do they sit.

Hunter asks, "Any bodies?  Friends?"

Oboe asks, pointing at Dee's house, "Who lives there?  The pretty lil' landlady?"

Hunter says, "The Property Manager, Mrs. Columbo.  Yeah."

Oboe says to Ryder, "Let's get this over with, then I'll have a chat with the good Ms. Columbo," smirking at Hunter like a boxer jabbing, hoping to invite an expected roundhouse right.  It provokes only an icy stare.  

Ryder begins by asking Hunter to tell what he knows, saw, and did this morning.  Hunter delivers a more than complete "SitRep".  Ryder listens to the situation report without interrupting. Then follows with questions. Akin to an endless oral exam.  Agent Oboe listens, watches, and on occasion asks a question himself or clarifies a point for Ryder.  The result of this hour-long interrogation is that there will be a cover-up.  It will be in the hands of the Feds because Samantha McGee was an individual under contract to the government, and thereby a federal employee.  And of course, because it involves the death of a foreign national and because the CIA deems it thus to control the cause, the information and results.  What is difficult for Hunter to digest is the seemingly willing cooperation between Ryder and Oboe, particularly since the latter is a wise-ass.  This session is a wonderfully executed scam.  Nonetheless, Hunter's mind is set on finding and killing Pisces, completing his ultimate mission, and, if lucky along the way, kill a gaggle of passing PIRA.  Ryder drones on explaining the agenda and what will be said to the press.

When Agent Ryder finishes he gets up, shakes Hunter's hand, turns and strides through the house and out the front door.  Outside he finds the groups have increased in size with the arrival of several more of his own agents.  After Ryder has left, Agent Oboe gets in Hunter's face.  He grows more "Langley-like," and says, "I've been told to remind you that this is not your business and not involved with your project."

"Joe said that?"

"Yeah." He pauses, staring at Hunter. Nearly a challenge.  Then adds, "And, you're not to talk to any officials.  To no one.  And you are to be on your way by Wednesday, Thursday the latest.  Keep in touch with your handler, and visit with him before you depart country."  He starts to leave, stops and says, "Oh, by the way.  There is no Agent John Oboe.  And I wasn't here.  Bye, Jarhead."

"Why do you need to talk to Mrs. Columbo?  She's just the Property Manager and not part of any of this.  Why make it look like she's involved?"  

"Because I've been ordered to do it."  He does his pause and stare routine again.  "You get your job done.  I'll do mine. And if I were you, I'd have a plan.  Then I would have a backup plan because the first one won't work.  Ever hear that, Leatherhead?"

"Yeah, I've heard that.  How come we're in the same business, and I've just met you and already hate your bony ass?  Ever hear that?"

"Yeah, and it scares me to death.  Makes me shake like a cat shi ..."

Hunter's jack-hammer blow with the heel of his hand crashes against Oboe's forehead before he can finish.  Oboe is on his back, dazed but not unconscious, next to the pool.  His watch hand dangles in the water. Hunter leans over and finishes Oboe's remark, "peach pits on a marble floor.  And if we meet again I'm going to kick your ass before we start talkin'."  He reaches down and rolls Oboe into the pool and growls, "It's Leatherneck, shit head."

Oboe flops, sputters and splashes in the water like wet long johns on a clothesline on a windy day. He pulls himself out of  the pool.  No longer looks like the sleek leopard he projected throughout the day.  Pushes himself to a squatting position before standing.  Once on his feet he shakes his head, clearing the webs.  Stares at his clothes, trying to decide how to get dry.  He squirms out of his suit coat and slowly wrings it out, pen and sunglasses clattering to the concrete.  He can't, or doesn't want to completely recover his composure.  He manages a less threatening glare and mutters, "Maybe so.  If you see me comin'."  He staggers slightly, then turns and leaves calling for Dee as he enters the house from the patio dripping water through the living room.  Dee comes to him with a beach towel in hand and leads him from Hunter's house, arm around Oboe's shoulder, soothing him while giving Hunter a scornful look.  Magpie sits in the yard, watching. Hunter saunters to the front door and watches as they cross the yard.  As they do, Oboe looks back, smiles and winks at Hunter.

Hunter mutters, "Should slit his throat now and get it over with."  Pauses, hears Dee call out for Magpie to "come".  He sees Magpie gazing at him with what looks like a smile on her face.  Hunter shakes his head.  "Well, the dog likes me."

Then he turns to locate Moe and Curly, the two handymen, and determine how far along they are.  He finds them and sees the two clowns are good at what they do.  The plastic sheets cover the windows. Glass shards gone. Holes plugged in the walls. They tell him that they'll be back early Monday morning to put on the cover-up paint and replace the windows.  They also report they've cleared off the roof and inspected it.  No damage.

Now that he has time, Hunter ambles back into his bedroom to sort out his gear, papers, and clothes.  He never unpacked his suitcase nor arranged all the "vitals" Sam had put in place for his mission.  The different passports.  Information on bank accounts, here and in Geneva.  Also a wad of cash in a 8x10 plain brown envelope, clipped closed and scotch taped.  Names to use, credit cards. Samantha had already been sent photos in his different disguises, matching the names.  Sam had everything ready but she wasn't ready for Shanahan, and evidently had no clue she was being stalked.  Hunter pauses, staring at the envelope, mind drifting.  
The agency should have known, watched her or at least warned
her.  Or I should have.
 

He murmurs, "Well, shit."  Looks across the bed at his image in the full-length closet mirror where not that many hours ago, a completely nude, voluptuous Samantha was teasingly doing the same in front of him.  Again, in a murmur, "If I do run into any of those bastards, I'll make it messy, Sam."

Finishing putting everything away, he returns to the front of the house and opens the door.  Sees that the mess out front has been cleaned up as good as possible.  The asphalt is charred. The section of split rail fencing is not yet replaced and the grass plot between the sidewalk and curbing is scorched. A tow truck is hauling away the remains of Samantha's Pontiac.  It follows the ME's wagon.  And Sam.  And the Irishman.  Hunter extends his arm and leans against the doorframe, running his other hand through his cropped hair.  
Sam, I'm sorry.  Damn sorry.  I'll make it up somehow.  
 

He pushes off the doorframe.  Gazes about. The crowd has dispersed, including the press which is strange. He sees a patrolman posted at the end of the cul-de-sac.  
Good ol' Bradovich
.   One vehicle does remain, parked along the curb outside of Dee's house.  The
Bony-ass'
sedan.

In the kitchen, Hunter glances at his watch then pours himself an apricot brandy.  A stout one.  Says out loud to no one, "It's evening somewhere.  Washington.  For sure in Ireland. Italy." He ambles out to his patio to sit.  Alone.  With his thoughts.

 

 

Pisces stands and watches as Anna gets out of the spotless and shiny family sedan.  A black four-door 1970 Mercedes-Benz 600.  The driveway and garage are on the down-slope side of the villa.  Bruno is at first holding the car door open, the front door.  He offers the lady his hand.  She takes it and slinks out of the seat like a cheetah.  Their hands touching for a second too long.  Bruno then turns to get packages and Anna's bright, multicolored beach bag from the rear seat.  He is Pisces' long time driver and bodyguard.  The cheetah, Anna, Pisces' wife.  Signora Anna Puglisi Catalano.  Pisces squints.  
What the hell is she doing riding in front?  Bruno knows better.  Too close.  Too friendly.  Much too friendly.
 

Pisces returns to his spot on the lounge chair, pours another glass of Chianti, and waits for Anna to come out and welcome him home.  In a few more minutes than necessary she does, with Bruno trailing behind.  Bruno speaks first, "Hello, Bossa.  Welcome backa.  All wenta well, yes?"

Before Pisces can respond, Anna says in English, "Welcome home, Roberto."  Then in Italian which she uses nearly all the time in and around the house with Pisces, and every moment in town, "I have missed you terribly, Roberto.  This trip was much too long and you did not call.  Look, I have been to the beach."  She takes off her sheer screamingly bright red outer beach garment, and spins around displaying her tanned body that's barely tucked in to her scant white bikini.  She says, "See, my tan makes me look more Italian than Sicilian.  And it is all for you, my love."

Anna is Sicilian.  Puglisi an old established name.  She is younger by ten years than Roberto Catalano, who is forty-three, and she is holding her figure, tone and complexion as good as any twenty-year old.  Dark brown hair and eyes, shapely petite body and however diminutive, generous in portions. And her summer-cloud white teeth are still more so within her bright maraschino red lips.  She neither wears nor needs much make-up other than the lipstick and matching polish.  She sits down next to Pisces on the lounge chair, leans over, and smothers him with a kiss, leaning into him hence he receives the full pressure of her giving breasts.  When she releases him, she says, "Oh, Roberto, I love you so. I do.  And I have missed you.  Like a canvas misses the brushes of the painter.  The strokes.  The artistry."  She smiles, grazes her index finger across his lips and says, "I will have Gina serve us supper here on the veranda," engagingly smiles again, "And then we will make love.  Here or where we choose."

She turns abruptly, says, "Bruno, put those packages in my room.  You are done for the day."  

Pisces says, in English, "Bruno, do as the Signora says, but then come to my study.  I have something I want to discuss with you."

"Yessa, sir."  Bruno leaves.  Anna departs as well, strutting several paces behind Bruno as if a dog at his heel, into the living room that adjoins the veranda.  Gina, eavesdropping from the kitchen doorway, smiles.

Pisces takes a slow sip of his wine and watches the two go.  Stares after them for several moments.  Glances at Gina just as she ducks from view.  He returns his glass to the side table, stands for a moment, then strolls toward his office, hands in pockets.  Looks off to the far end to the veranda gate  that leads to the garage below. Sees Rocco, his other bodyguard and confidant.  Pisces motions him to come.

 

 

"It's all under control.  We've got it covered.  Be on track by Thursday, the latest.  And he'll be in here to get an update briefing, the latest intel." Joe Zachary listens for a few more moments to John MacBeer, his boss.  Hunter's boss.  And the Deputy Director of Operations.  MacBeer also served with Hunter's father, Patrick "Corker" Kerrigan, in London.  Herman Mueller, Aries by code, also worked for MacBeer.  And interestingly enough, so did Robert "Bobby" Camack at one time before Corker uncovered Camack, now Pisces, as a double agent.

Finally, Joe Zachary says, "Yes, sir."  And hangs up the phone in his office.  It's been a long day.  One of many.  It's the nature of the business, or the game, depending on one's perspective.  And John MacBeer demands that no one leave the office, or the board game, before he does.  Joe sighs.  He knows the nature of the business, the game, all too well.  Plus he knows the nature of the board master, MacBeer.

Joe's mind wanders. He knows Hunter from the Corps.  Hell, early on Hunter reported to him.  Now again. They're both still Marines.  There are no ex-Marines.  No matter the era, on duty or not; in uniform or not; once a Marine...always a... He mutters, "Everyone knows that."  His thoughts and muttering reminds him of what an Army General once said: "There are only two kinds of people who understand Marines:  Marines and the enemy.  Everyone else has a second-hand opinion."

Joe locks up his desk, slings his suit coat over his shoulder, and heads out his office door mumbling, "Oh man, this is goin' to get ugly."

 

 

In Derry, the Shanahan brothers return home from their task.  This one a deadly one.  A loyalist, causing problems for the Army, the PIRA, hence the cause, was the target.  A warning had been given and not heeded.  Two in fact.  There was no third, just an ending.  It's a much shorter game than American baseball.  The man was shot in the back of his head while making love to a buxom lass.  Unfortunately, she too became a victim.  Danny Shanahan was the shooter; the younger brother, Sean, the "eyes" in front of the quaint inn on the edge of town.  

Their worried mother welcomes them home and hugs them as they enter through the back of the cottage and into the kitchen.  She scurries, red faced, to pour them some tea.  Sean asks, "Any word from Paddy, or from someone who knows?"