The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (32 page)

“Ah. Lots of them around?”

“Eh, just like anywhere, I'd guess. Three that I can think of
offhand; can't remember their names.”

“Sniffers; hmm. That fits.”

Suddenly, a burst of applause broke out. Pam, startled, looked over
her shoulder to see where it was coming from.

“Ten o'clock; the AA meetings are letting out.”

“Where?”

“You'll see 'em in a second. First gazebo down there.”

“Oh, got it. I didn't see them arrive.”

“Ah, that was while you went jogging after our walk. I hardly
notice 'em anymore, other than the ten o'clock applause. Yup, here
they come.”

“Gee, Jake, look at the figure on her. Must be a 38 double D.”

“Naw, she's really a 32B; she just has really good posture.”

Pam cracked up. “Oh, Jake.”

They watched the exodus of the AA people for a minute or two, and
then Jake snapped his fingers.

“Pam, one serious question.”

“Go for it, Jake.”

“When I get rid of that section tonight --”

“Yeah.”

“-- what do you think about the other part, Bush and Cheney's
meeting with Donne?”

“That I don't know; I never heard anything about that. That
reads more like fiction, anyhow.”

“Damn. I meant it to sound realistic.” Jake rubbed his
forehead and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I probably should take that out, too. I don't want this to
come off as anything even remotely partisan.”

“That one probably can't put you in too much danger. But I can
see what you mean about being nonpartisan.”

“I'll look it over tonight, but I do think I'll need to take
that out, too; keep things balanced.”

“That one's up to you. But I can see what you mean about
balancing it out.”

“Yeah. By the way, were you there when that guy got shot in
the knee on the White House lawn? I think his name was Pickett or
Puckett, something like that.”

“Oh, right. Ahh, it was Pickett, Robert Pickett, February of
'01. No, Laura and my team were at the ranch in Crawford that day.
I did know the officer that shot him, though.”

“Just wondering. I think I read somewhere he got three years …
Pickett, I mean.”

“I think that's right, something like that.”

“Thanks.”

“Bitte, and de nada,” Pam said, smiling.

“Now you're just showing off,” Jake replied, smiling
more.

“Guilty as charged, Jake. Sorry,” Pam fake-pouted.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I love it.”

“Which reminds me. Are you ready to read my love scene?”

“Absolutely. Been looking forward to that all morning.”

“Well, let's go, then. I printed it out for you.”

“Lead on, MacDuff.”

As they headed out of the water, Sharon's smoky voice came over the
Mimosa twins' earbuds. “Now, don't you kids miss any of this.
I want to hear every moan and groan, okay?”

The twins glanced subtly at each other and giggled. Jill replied,
“Don't worry, you horny old hooker; we'll keep you plugged in.”

Sharon laughed and said, “I don't make rugs. Over and out, you
poor little virgins.”

The twins giggled and settled in for the duration, still tapping
their feet to the now-nonexistent music on their earbuds.

-59-

Monday, January 9, 2012

9:05 a.m. local time

The Reclining Buddha

Wat Pho Temple

Bangkok, Thailand

A youngish, pretty blonde woman using the name Missy sidled up to a
short, heavy-set man waiting at the feet of the 46-meter-long
gold-leafed statue and said, “He sure has big feet, doesn't
he?”

The man replied with a leer, “You know what they say about men
with big feet, don't you?”

“I do.” She paused, then said, “They have to buy
big shoes.”

Recognition codes completed, the man said, “Okay, young lady,
I'm here and I left the key next to the Buddha by the door.”

“I know,” she replied. “Our associate has already
picked up the deposit and the target information from the locker.”

“So we're all set?”

“Not quite. My principal always operates in the deep
background, and the death always appears to be from either natural
causes or an accident, or the body is never found. No women, no
children, no innocents and minimal collateral damage. You
understand?”

“I do. But for 20 million euros, we expect proof of death.”

“He does not guarantee that. But you know that no one has ever
been disappointed in his results.”

“I will have to check with my principal on that.”

“Go ahead. I'll wait right here. You have five minutes.”

The man walked around to the front of the Buddha, and three minutes
later, returned with an open cell phone. “He wants to talk to
you.”

“Not gonna happen. Tell him he accepts the terms or he loses
his deposit.”

The man spoke quietly into his phone, finally closed it and turned
back to Missy, frowning.

“He accepts, but with objections.”

“Tough. And he knows that his life is collateral for the final
payment once the job is done, I trust?”

“He does.”

“He understands we would have no problem taking out a lobbyist,
even in the heart of DC, right?”

“He does.”

“Even if he has a family.”

“He understands.”

“Now give me the email address and password for the account you
set up.”

The man handed her an envelope, which she put in her purse.

“And the instruction card that got you here.”

The man handed over a 3x5 card, which also went in her purse.

“Your principal also understands that with the thin information
on the target that you've provided, this may take a while?”

“He does, and he wishes he could give you more.”

“My principal can work with what you've given him.”

“Good.”

“When the job is done, you'll find a message in the Drafts
folder of the email account you provided, and the final payment will
be due within 24 hours in the bank account that he will provide in
that message. And under NO circumstances are you to send that
message anywhere, but just change it with the single word 'Sent' in
the body, NOT the subject line, and save it back in the Drafts
folder.”

“I understand.”

“Once we have received the final payment, we will scrub that
message and the account, which will let you know that we have
finished and our arrangement is complete … until the next time
you need his services. Then you can contact us as you did this
time.”

“I understand.”

“Any questions or concerns?”

After a pause, the man shrugged and said, “No.”

“Good. The Andorran appreciates your business and thanks you
for thinking of him. Now walk away … no, no, casually.”

Once he was out of earshot, she muttered to herself, “Geez;
amateurs.”

-60-

Five Months Earlier

Sunday, August 14, 2011

10:10 a.m.

Bonita Beach, Florida

“What' s so funny, Jake?”

Trying hard to control his laughter, Jake said, “Sorry, Pam.
This is good, but that one word always gets me going.”

“What word?”

“'Voluptuous.' Whenever I read or hear that, it takes me back
to high school, when I misread it as 'volumptuous,' with an M in
there, and the whole class laughed at me. And then I had an image of
a woman walking down the street and her chest bouncing along, going
'volump-volump, volump-volump.' It just cracks me up.”

Pam laughed and said, “Volump-volump. Oh, god, Jake, that's –
that's – I can't even think of a word for that.”

“How about 'sophomoric' … or 'juvenile' … or just
'stupid'?”

“Yeah, but I was thinking more of … of 'hysterical.'”
Her laughter turned into cackling and snorting. “Volump-volump.”

Up near the boardwalk, Jill and Carie started laughing, and quickly
pulled out a cell phone and pretended to be looking at a photo or a
video, focusing on it and completely avoiding looking anywhere near
Pam and Jake. It didn't help them that Sharon's smoky guffaws came
over their earbuds. “Volump-volump.”

Pam pulled up a corner of her towel and wiped her eyes. “Oh,
god, Jake, you got me going again.” Then she laughed even
harder. “Stevie … Stevie … Stevie Bruce. Oh,
god.” And off she went again.

Jake was the first to sort of get his laughter under control, but not
at all successfully.

“Okay; serious. Let me get back into --”

“And what you did with him with Jennifer and … oh, god,
I'm gone … Jennifer and … and … and Poopsie.”
And Pam truly was gone, to the point that she had to get her noodle
and head into the Gulf, laughing all the way. Jake tried not to
stare, but the white bikini she'd worn today, with the same gold-ring
decorations as the black one, swayed so delightfully that he couldn't
avoid it.

Finally, he tore his eyes away and looked back at the papers in his
hand, still chuckling. Absently, he picked up a cigarette and lit
it.

He had read only about halfway through the second page when Pam
returned, having finally either controlled her laughter or let it
drain itself away. She dropped the noodle and flopped back into her
chair, looking at Jake expectantly.

“Wow, Pam, I had no idea that you could write so … so …
so … oh, what's the word? Graphically?”

Pam smiled. “You need two more syllables before that.”

Jake looked at her blankly.

“Starting with a P.”

“A P?” He puzzled on that for a moment, than said, “Oh,
right. Right.” He continued reading, with Pam watching him
closely.

“Geez, Pam. 'Oh, my god, it's huge'? 'Throbbing'? 'Swollen'?
'Squeeze'? 'A tiny trickle of blood'? Pam, how could --”

“Just keep reading, Jake, and take that filter off.”

“Okay, okay.”

He turned his attention back to the pages. A moment later, he
swallowed hard, then after reading a bit more, he gasped.

“Can a human body actually get into that --”

“Please, Jake, just keep reading.”

“But I can't see how --”

“Please, Jake.”

He shut up and kept reading. Another few moments and he looked up at
Pam, who was still watching him intently.

“Feathers? Okay. But Neapolitan? Why Neapolitan?”

“'Variety is the spice of life,' right? Three flavors in one.”

Jake shrugged, nodded and continued reading.

“Oh, my god!” He looked over at Pam, his eyes wider than
the lenses on his sunglasses. “Where could you even get
something like that?”

“Like what?” Pam asked; Jake pointed to the page.

“Oh, that? Lots of places; you just need to know where to go.
And I know where to go.”

“Ohhhh, okay.”

“Or you might just want to make one of your own; gotta make
sure it fits on exactly right. If you don't, it could cause
blisters.”

“Oh, god!!! I don't even want to think about that.”

“Well, you wouldn't be the one getting the blisters.”

“Like that makes me feel better?”

“Just keep reading, Jake. You've still got a ways to go.”

“Okay.” He continued, quietly.

Carie whispered to Jill. “What was that? Blisters?”

Sharon rasped over their earbuds, “I think I know what it is.”

“Yeah? What?”

Sharon chuckled. “You're not old enough yet.”

Jill whispered, “Oh, yes, we are. Tell us.”

“Maybe later. Keep concentrating. Listen to his breathing.”

Sure enough, Jake's breathing had gotten deeper and faster, and had
he thought about it, he would have noticed that his blood pressure
was rising, not dangerously, but definitely up to near normal.

“Geez, Pam, this --”

“You've still got the filter on, Jake. Set it aside, please.”
She smiled at him, gently running her tongue over the inside of her
lower lip.

“I'm trying to.” He looked back at the paper. “But
it's hard – I mean difficult … to concentrate out here
in public.”

“Don't worry about it, Jake; just keep reading. Please.”
Jake complied. Pam kept watching him. So did the twins. So did
Sharon, but she had to use her scope and couldn't really get a good
angle on his face.

“Oh, geez. Neapolitan again? Wow. 'Moist,' 'twitching,'
'writhing in ecstasy,' 'exposed,' 'volcanic eruption,' 'creamy'?
Geez.”

Pam smiled. “Almost done, Jake, almost done.”

“I know, I know.” He continued, his breathing getting
even deeper and faster, then said, “Oh, my god,” and let
out a great sigh.

Then he folded the papers and handed them back to Pam, but she
demurred.

“Keep it, Jake; I've got it on my PC.”

“Okay.” Jake put them in his bag, stubbed out his
cigarette and picked up his noodles. “I've gotta get in the
water.”

“Me, too,” Pam said, smiling to herself. The twins
smiled at each other, and Sharon said, “Aw, shit; I'd thought
he'd read the whole thing out loud,” in their earbuds. “I
was so ready for some volcanic erupting.”

-61-

Monday, January 9, 2012

9:05 a.m. EST

Arlington, VA

An older yet stunning woman using the name Andreana sidled up to a
rail-thin, very tall man waiting at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
and said, “Do you know what war he fought in?”

The man replied, “His last one.”

Andreana responded, “Actually, it was World War One.”

“Okay, Andreana, if that's your real name” he said, “I'm
here and I left the key in the pencil cactus pot next to the ticket
counter outside the station.”

“I know,” she replied, ignoring his dig. “Our
associate has already picked up the deposit and the target
information from the locker.”

“So we're all set?”

“Not quite. My principal always operates in the deep
background, and the death always appears to be from either natural
causes or an accident, or the body is never found. No women, no
children, no innocents and minimal collateral damage. You
understand?”