Chapter 1
Bob watched, from the shadows of the palms. He came here often when he
wasn't on duty. The tranquillity was the magnet that drew him to the Casa
Rios. That, as well as his friends, the Mungras. However, their newest guest
was an enigma.
Manny and Moira Mungra owned the hotel. During the twenties, the Casa Rios
was a Mecca for travelers wishing luxury accommodations in the primitive
reaches of the southern Caribbean. The area boasted temperate weather,
superb fishing, sugar sand beaches and a natural peace that pervaded every
cell of its visitors.
Time had eroded its initial cosmetic beauty and the increased popularity of
resort style vacations had diminished the clientele. Now the only guests
were repeat visitors that wished to come back and enjoy the ambiance of a
simpler time. The woman on the dock did not fit that description.
The woman had been here for almost a month, yet no one knew the first thing
about her. She seldom talked to anyone unless she had to. He watched her,
without knowing why. In a photograph, she wouldn't hold a candle to the
super models but in a different way, she was beyond beautiful. Bob wondered
if she had any idea how revealing that dress was.
She was wearing some kind of loose gauzy thing. It would be perfectly modest
under most conditions but framed in the late afternoon sun, it revealed as
much as it concealed. The sea breeze was just kicking up and the gauzy
fabric molded to her figure in an innocently provocative way. Her body was
breath taking, taut and fine boned, almost delicate.
He felt the pleasant stirring of arousal but pushed it to the back of his
mind. She was different from the type of woman he normally found himself
attracted to. He couldn't categorize that difference either. There was
something about her. Something about how she moved. How she held herself off
from every intrusion. Something he couldn't put a finger on. Something
unfathomable.
He supposed that it was that unfathomability that kept him watching.
There was a guileless innocence about her that he couldn't help but want.
The incongruity of it baffled him. He couldn't understand his attraction.
Maybe it was because she seemed impervious to his appeal. He had never
lacked for female companionship. Well, only one time, in the jungles of
'Nam, but that was more choice than anything was.
Moira had introduced him over two weeks ago and this strange woman hadn't
been far from his thoughts since. When she looked up to acknowledge him, her
eyes showed an unusual emptiness that was disconcerting. She didn't look at
him, but through him. It was as if she didn't accept the outside package and
was looking beyond this visual plane into a time behind. Then, he remembered
how she flinched when he started to shake her hand.
Colonel Bracken was an astute people watcher and he'd bet his wings that
this Callie Franklin was far more than she revealed. There was a depth to
this woman. Much more so than anyone he'd ever known. There was an ember in
the darkness of her eyes, but she was hiding from something or someone. But
who?
Bob seldom took things at face value. His was a pessimistic attitude, but it
came with the territory. He'd been assigned to the American Embassy in
Suriname as the Drug Interdiction Training coordinator.
Suriname was very sparsely populated, with the interior of the country
unreachable by anything but small aircraft. Only the Maroon tribes had been
able to adapt to the rugged terrain of the interior. The Maroon were
descendants of the runaway slaves from as far back as the 1600's. Theirs,
was a primitive, tribal culture that permeated the jungles. They were mostly
untouched by civilized man. It was his belief that less scrupulous people
were using the naiveté of the tribes to pack the drugs out of the jungles.
Previous investigations had pointed to Suriname, and most notably,
Paramaribo as the main jump point of the various drug cartels. Narcotics
trafficking organizations from Guyana to the west, French Guyana on the east
and Brazil to the south were channeling increasing quantities of cocaine
through Suriname for repackaging and transport to Europe and the United
States. To assist Suriname in the fight against drugs and associated
criminal activity, the United States Army had sent him to train the
Surinamese anti-drug squad personnel.
His jungle experience and knowledge of covert operations made him the
logical choice. A basic background check would reveal that he was considered
a mustang that barely squeaked through in the Army.
A deeper check would reveal the real Colonel Robert Bracken. His cover was
so solid that only the President and the Joint Chiefs would have access.
Colonel Bracken was truly a wild card in a game that was supposed to be
played by the rules, but he had seldom seen an operation played by the
rules. He played by his own.
It had been his experience that most people had an agenda that was far
different from their outside persona. Military or civilian, it didn't
matter. It was a fact of life. He wondered what Callie's was.
He heard soft footsteps on the shell path behind him but didn't need to turn
to see. He knew who it was and absently accepted the fresh Heineken being
pressed into his hand.
Moira stood next to him for a moment, touching his arm affectionately. The
beach was silent and serene except for the rustling palm fronds overhead as
they answered the gentle afternoon breeze. She must have followed his gaze.
"Tread softly, Bobcito.” she whispered. "This one is different… different
and so sad." He heard her turn, moving back up the path to the verandah and
her duties. She had not waited for his response.
He supposed that after all these years, she knew there wouldn't be one. Bob
didn't want to speculate as to whether her comment was a warning or merely
an observation. At times, Moira knew him better than he knew himself. Yet,
she accepted him for what he was. Robert Bracken was a rogue at best. And a
whoremonger at worst. He loved the ladies. This one was a challenge he
couldn't ignore.
Callie stood, unaware of her unseen admirer. It wouldn't have mattered one
way or the other though. She had no wishes for a casual liaison. She didn't
even want a serious one. All she wanted was to be left alone.
Her muscles eased as she reveled in the feel of the Equatorial sun. For the
first time in days, Callie could almost forget that phone call. Almost.
Lyn's call had upset her more than she wanted to admit. She had holed up in
her cabana since Saturday, trying to decide what to do.
He hadn't found her yet.
But, yet, was the operative word. How long would it be now? He always found
her. He always destroyed what little haven she found. How long before him,
or one of his minions showed up? How long before she'd have to run again?
Lyn said that he made some wild threats but nothing she couldn't handle.
Callie wasn't so sure about that. Lyn didn't understand how totally insane
Richard really was. Lyn was her best friend and her agent since Denver and
Callie trusted her implicitly. She was the only one who really knew where
Callie was. While Lyn Thorton didn't know Richard personally, she despised
him and his callous attitude. She was the only person to whom Callie had
truly confided. She was the only one who knew the whole story.
He was looking for her again and she was tired of hiding
She was tired of running.
Callie was only 18 when she met him, her freshman year of college. Richard
Franklin was the heartthrob of the senior class. Girls would titter and bat
their eyelashes at him shamelessly. Callie would watch him and his entourage
pass on their way to another class. Secretly, she couldn’t help but admire
his strong good looks and confident swagger.
They dated, rather casually at first. It pained her to hear the whispered
asides of her dorm mates, about what he could possibly see in her. But
Richard seemed to know everything, all her secret doubts. And he did his
best to fortify her self-esteem. After all this time, she couldn’t say it
had been easy. Whatever he turned into later, at that crucial time in her
life, she thought he was the one for her.
Soon, they were dating exclusively. She believed in them, and in him. The
whispers subsided and she bloomed under his tutelage. Emotionally, she began
to emerge, moving further away from her protective cocoon, first giving
herself mentally to him, becoming more confident, then physically. She
slowly shed the cloaking disguise of the past to becoming the woman she
should be, for him and for their future. She adored him.
Callie believed every word he said, no matter how implausible. She accepted
his dominance as a natural progression, never questioning the subtle acts of
innate cruelty he sometimes displayed. On the occasions that bruises would
remain, he would kiss her tears tenderly, coddling her in his embrace,
convincing her that if she would ‘just do right', it would never happen
again. The rose colored glasses never cleared enough for her to see the
reality until it was far too late.
They married in the summer of 79. No fanfare, no hoopla. Only the Justice of
the Peace and his wife in attendance. Her parents had been crushed that
there would be no big wedding for their only child but gave an impromptu
reception for them when they visited on their honeymoon. Callie’s family
accepted Richard with open arms, nodding their approval at the ample doses
of blarney he dispensed and at the way he held Callie to his side at all
times.
His parents were another story. They made no bones about their disapproval
or gave the smallest pretense of acceptance. Their initial visit was short
and anything but sweet.
Upon her arrival, Callie was informed that they were to be addressed as Mr.
and Mrs. Franklin, period. No questions, no discussion. Their house was
devoid of personality, more a showcase to be admired, than a real home. The
quality of their collections was undeniable, but the blend only added to the
impression of studied sterility.
Richard was uncomfortable there as well. Normally talkative and jovial, he
retreated into an unreadable clam in his father’s presence. Yet, he was
tensely polite to both his parents. Relief was the overwhelming emotion as
they put the miles between them on their way to Denver.
After graduation, Richard had been looking at several positions, but had
accepted the Denver offer. It was a good job, one with a lot of potential.
Richard’s gift of gab served him well and he was skyrocketing through the
company ranks in record time. They bought a house and with few exceptions,
their first year together was wonderful. At first, Richard’s dark moods were
few and far between, seldom leaving any telltale marks to remind Callie that
all was not as it should be.
Later, his good moods were few and far between. Their lovemaking lost the
languid exploratory luxury of the first few months, becoming instead,
animalistic attacks for which Callie was sorely prepared. Each episode would
leave her stiff and achy for days, her muscles protesting the misuse.
He began traveling more. Unexpected overnight trips, late hours at the
office, business meetings that extended far into the night. Sullen, and
short-tempered, she would feel his eyes watching her as she tried to live up
to his expectations. More than once, she’d worn big sunglasses to hide the
livid bruising that would follow his correction of her. He was always so
sorry, never admitting wrongdoing. Only that she pushed him into it. Holding
her tight, he would keep talking to her until she gave in from exhaustion.
Then, for several days, he would be sweet and affectionate, bringing her
flowers or a special gift. Trying hard to make her laugh.
Richard loved to watch her dress for him. She had given up trying to inject
her personality into her clothing choices. He went shopping with her.
Richard decided what outfit was appropriate for her, regardless of her
tastes. Reclining on their bed, he would subtly indicate his likes or
dislikes for that particular evening. Richard picked out everything, from
her lingerie to her exact shade of lipstick.
She remembered one scene with nightmarish clarity. A neighbor lady had
dropped off some lipstick samples earlier in the day. She experimented with
the shades and found one that she thought looked particularly good with her
hair and coloring.
He was intensely critical of her appearance even though she went out of her
way to look her best at all times. In the morning she would rise an hour
before he did to painstakingly apply her makeup so she would look
‘civilized’ for his breakfast. And at night, she would wait and slip out of
bed once his breathing slowed to wash it all off again.
Over supper that evening, he suddenly looked at her strangely, his face
reddening. She blanched as she realized that he was staring at her lips.
Callie held her breath as she waited for his tirade to begin. “Callie” His
voice was tight and controlled, but edgy at the same time. “Haven’t I told
you not to fuck with me?”
“It’s only a shade or two different. Honestly Richard, it’s not that much
different. I think it looks better.” She didn’t know how she had found the
courage to say anything. Inside she was quivering like jelly, but she
couldn’t stop. “If you hate it that much, then I won’t use it anymore.”
“No, Callie.” he said, rising slowly. His eyes glittered like two cubes of
ice in the stark light of winter. “I’m sure you won’t.”
Dread dropped into her veins like ice water and she watched in paralyzed
silence as his hands closed on the linen tablecloth, pulling it slowly
across the table. Her precious china, her crystal, dropping one by one.
The absolute clarity of her terror made their destruction alternate between
shattering explosions of hopelessness and the soulless tinkling of a
wind-chime caught in a tornado.
The roaring sound of her blood pressure rising took over as she tried
desperately to concentrate on the hands, her own, clasped tightly in her
lap.
She waited.
It was weeks before she could leave the house. The discoloration of her arms
and shoulders would have been hidden from sight, but she could do nothing to
cover her face. The bathroom bleaching powder he had used to scrub her face
had literally stripped the top layer of skin in places.
She moved through each day as a robot. Thinking of nothing, attending to his
needs and wants. Not even caring at the glib way he lied to people over how
his poor little wife had taken a bad fall and he was staying home to take
care of her. He had been livid that she didn’t heal fast enough to attend
some important business functions. But one good thing did come out of it. He
never touched her face again.
Executive etiquette was of paramount importance. She was expected to enhance
his image if he was to succeed. At social events, he demanded that she stay
by his side at all times. Glaring harshly if her eyes strayed to the other
people there, or pinching the tender skin of her side painfully if she
didn’t move quickly enough. Afterwards, he would berate her for flirting or
encouraging some man’s attention. She had no friends and her world dissolved
into a tightening circle controlled only by him. She had no concept of her
own waking misery. There was nothing to compare it to. Richard was all she
had ever known.
Three days before their fifth anniversary, the dubious trappings of her
marriage fell apart. She was gathering his suits for the cleaners, checking
the pockets as she always did. He always seemed to leave something in the
pockets and would blame her if something were inadvertently discarded. She
pulled out the usual assortment of business cards, loose change etc. when
her fingers found a thick tissue. A cocktail napkin, with a note.
Richard- Here’s the new key. Will meet you there on Wed.
Usual time. Just come on in, will be ready, willing, and
waiting for you. It’s been too long..
Debra
She sat, unmoving and uncaring for the rest of the day. Today is Wednesday.
Was he with her now? Were he and his mistress, laughing over the fool he was
married to? Visualizing how they must see her. Weak, ineffectual, a nothing.
The flooding realization of her tenuous situation did nothing to dampen the
fiery resentment she felt. His physical betrayal was just the tip of the
iceberg. As she ticked down the pyramid of lies she had told herself, the
brutal truth unfolded.
There was nothing she could do. She had no money of her own, no job skills;
her hard-earned scholarship became history when she married him. Besides,
both of her parents had passed away by then. Any inheritance, she'd handed
to Richard. She didn't know where it went or what they had. He handled the
finances. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She was all alone.
Maybe, if she’d been happier with him, she could have forgiven his
infidelity.
She should have known better than to confront him that evening. It was after
nine when she heard his car pull into the drive. Callie heard him whistling
as he came across the lawn. She heard his mumbled curses as he fumbled with
his keys on the dark porch and the snick-click when the tumblers disengaged
the lock.
“Callie? What’s with the lights? Where are you?” She flinched at the bright
whiteness of the kitchen light as he flicked the switch and tossed his
briefcase up on the counter. He turned and looked at her strangely.
“Okay, what’s up? You know I want my supper ready when I get home from work.
So what’s the big idea?”
Now he was the bug under the microscope. Dry eyed and stony, she silently
watched him. His discomfort was becoming evident and she slid the napkin
towards him, uncovering the words at the last moment. A slow flush of
recognition was creeping up his neck as his eyes narrowed, and his jaws
tightened in barely controlled anger.
She could take no more, and started to rise.
“You bastard.” Two words only, but two she had never verbalized in his
presence.
“You fucking bitch.” He launched himself at her as she scrambled to escape.
But he was fast, far faster then she. She only made it halfway through the
dining room when his hand wound through her hair, painfully yanking it out
by the roots as he propelled her around and across the room into the china
cabinet. Her head collided with the side molding and her shoulder shattered
the glass display doors.
The blurring warmth of blood gushed from somewhere over her left eye. Callie
could see nothing but bright explosions of light as the force of the blow
continued to reverberate in her brain. She slumped slowly down the side of
the cabinet, barely conscious.
His hands grabbed the front of her dress, enclosing her breasts in a
vise-like grip, pulling her upright, then completely off the floor. The
searing pain of the assault snapped her mind back as she felt the momentum
of her next destination.
Dear God, he’s going to kill me! The cruel reality of that thought
galvanized her to action.
This time when she landed, she rolled, her foot catching her hem, ripping
the skirt away from the waistline from one side to the other. Callie
scrambled again, this time more effectively as she flung a dining room chair
across the room. It skittered uncertainly across the hardwood floor before
tipping to one side when he tried to lunge at her again. His foot tangled
and he went down but she did not see him fall.
She was already out the door running for her life. Callie was halfway across
the lawn, running for the only house with lights burning. It was down the
block and across the street and she prayed for strength, as her lungs burned
from the exertion in the thin Denver air.
Richard hurdled the porch railings, shortening her lead by only yards. She
dared not look back and did not have the breath to scream. She could hear
him pounding closer as she dashed into the street.
Callie did not see the headlights come flying around the corner. She only
heard the jangled squeal of brakes and the sickening scrunch of metal
against bone.
The front grill caught her full force, shooting her like a slingshot up into
the air to land on the hood in a broken heap.
She remembered little after that. So much time was spent in Intensive Care.
She did recall that she could only nod in pained silence when he came to see
her. Her injuries were severe, pelvis and left arm, both broken in several
places. She was heavily medicated but would never forget the venomous
quality of Richard's whispered warnings.
He would not have his reputation tarnished by the likes of her. That if she
knew what was good for her, she would keep her mouth shut. That she was his,
and if she tried to pull anything she would find out that her marriage was
only a walk in the park so far, compared to what was in store for her.
She numbly agreed, not rebutting the official version of a young couple
being out for an evening stroll. The driver’s allegation of a battered woman
being chased into oncoming traffic was discounted as a desperate attempt to
avoid prosecution.
Callie took mental baby steps at first. She called a lawyer, filing for a
divorce, citing Irreconcilable Differences. Richard would not let it alone.
The day he was served with the papers, he came to her room raging. The
hospital staff had to physically restrain him. He was served with an
injunction and that was the last time she ever saw him. After that, she
dealt with no one but his lawyers.
At that time, all she could do emotionally was sign everything they placed
in front of her. Every document, every waiver. She literally signed her life
away, but she didn’t care.
It was not until much later that she realized how wealthy Richard really
was. No, they were. But her forced frugality paid off in the long run.
He 'graciously' allowed her to keep the house. Callie had to re-learn the
decision-making processes. She put the house up for sale with only the
smallest twinge of regret.
Over the next two months, she watched the sick and dying come and go. Her
compassion for the families was as heartfelt as her rising awareness. She
offered encouragement where she could and sympathy where she had to.
To amuse the living and keep her hands busy, she started sketching a daily
cartoon for the nurses to hang on the bulletin board. Callie had always
dabbled in some form of art, but no one had ever taken it seriously. Soon,
that comic strip was being copied and distributed to every floor.
Some of her days were long and filled with her inner depression, but others
were truly spiritual and healing. Finally, she was out of traction and into
a walker cast. She never stopped to look back after that. Once she was out
of the hospital and healed enough to be really mobile, she started art
school.
After a couple of months, she was offered a temporary strip in the local
newspaper, which she accepted gratefully. The house had not been sold yet
and she needed the money. What little she could spare, now went for art
supplies.
Soon, her strides were longer, doing things on her own schedule instead of
Richard’s, splurging occasionally, on a movie or going to dinner at a little
Italian place around the corner.
The changes in Callie’s life may have been slow in coming but once they
started, they rolled. The house sold and in the midst of trying to get
packed and relocated, she was offered a syndicated deal for the cartoon
strip she'd started at the hospital. She worked hard, applying herself
diligently. That was seven years ago.
The divorce made her feel like a huge veil had been lifted. She knew she was
finally free. Alive, and free. Two concepts she had never tied together.
Or she thought she was free. It didn't seem to be happening that way though.
Richard had left her alone for almost a year. He was busy building his
empire. Seldom a week went by that his name wasn't mentioned in the Denver
papers. Then the phone calls started.
She halted in mid motion, slumping on the edge of the dock, her head in her
hands as she remembered. The tightness behind her eyelids was threatening to
release those pent-up emotions again. Callie breathed deeply, trying to take
control of her physical self, but she could do nothing to stop the
outpouring of emotional anguish. Suddenly her posture was that of a broken
doll, folding in on herself, as the memories overflowed their confinement.
She had ceased to cry about him years ago, but the haunting sorrow over what
should have been would plague her forever.
Jack Murdock sat and watched his captive while he leisurely practiced his
smoke rings. Electricity was his favorite, but the cigar was a close second.
It made delicious marks but wasn't deadly. You had to monitor electric shock
too closely. You could only go so far.
Murdock was a sadist of the highest order. Torture was his specialty. He'd
always known he was a bit different. He would guess that his curiosity
started when he was about 8 or so. He was clipping the knots out of his
dog's hair when the scissors slipped and he caught a good piece of skin as
well. The cut never really bled and when he looked closer, he could see the
meat and muscle below the skin.
His mother had taken the dog for stitches but the incident got him wondering
if dogs could live without their skins. His mom would have had his hide if
he experimented on their dog. Instead, he tried the strays that frequented
the alleys behind his house.
That fascination didn't last long. He found out that they died too damn
quick. He wanted to draw the thrill out… to make it last. Real people were
too dangerous back then. He was just a kid but he was too smart for that.
Until 'Nam. They discovered his propensity right off the bat and it wasn't
long before he was given free rein. He wasn't officially military, but he
was covertly attached. He learned every method the Cong ever knew and
invented a few of his own. Life was good in the early days of that conflict.
After the first year or so, the weaker links in his squad were weeded out
and transferred. Soon his cadre consisted of men who were as hard-boiled as
he was and who could appreciate an artful interrogation.
Jack Murdock's signature was a tasseled gold dart. He had them custom made
and bought them by the case. They were copies of some earrings he'd removed
from a Bangkok call girl. He'd been with her before and she had always been
more than willing to be paid for his fun and games up until then. He smiled
as he remembered her muffled screams when he shoved them through her
nipples. That was probably the best sex he'd had up until then and his path
was set.
He had never considered himself impotent, but sex was definitely better when
preceded by a particularly interesting interrogation. Men or women, it
didn't matter. Whoever had the information he wanted. He would punch his
dart through some part of his current subject before they died. It served as
a warning to whoever found the body that Murdock's Marauders were out and
about. It wasn't surprising that Cong activity in the area would diminish
drastically.
They moved across the borders with impunity. That was until the government
started getting all testy and wishy-washy. They'd been all hot to trot in
the beginning. The politicians wanted to play at being the Dogs of War
against an Imperial Evil. That was until the dogs started getting their
asses kicked with regularity and the body count rose.
Rumors of war crimes and criminal prosecution circulated. Of course, the
Geneva Convention was cited. Acceptable practices were being consistently
narrowed. Soon he and his squad were reduced to nothing but puppets. Rules
and regulations strangled him. Then he did one interrogation that got a
little out of hand.
Turned out, that the gook he threw out of the chopper was a chu hoi, or a
bad guy turned good. Shit, he thought, how was I supposed to know that guy
was a double agent with some vital information?
The memories of that time were bittersweet though. He never had one moments
doubt or regret about the gook. But what happened next was probably the
biggest mistake he'd ever made in his life. He still remembered the pilot's
name too. Lieutenant Robert Bracken. He had taken an instant dislike to the
chopper pilot. The intense dislike escalated to raging hatred by the time
they'd reached the ground. The pilot only looked at him, the face unreadable
except for the eyes. That look was one of genuine contempt and revulsion and
it infuriated him further.
The young lieutenant was probably, the only man who had ever bested him. Not
only bested him, but had left him with a permanent reminder of that failure.
His jaw tightened as he fingered the deep scar that ran from mouth to
earlobe and remembered.
Jack had made no moves at first, but later he saw the pilot on the fringe of
the camp. He'd been sitting there alone, looking out at the night, and never
expecting an ambush. Not scouting the capability of the enemy had been
Jack's biggest mistake. He'd been blinded by the intense dislike of anyone
who had the gall to look at him with contempt.
He had expected an easy, quiet, and anonymous kill. Instead, he wound up
with a tiger by the tail and was in the fight of his life. That guy had more
grit and guts than he'd expected. He was only a louie but he knew moves very
few men knew. They were experienced moves too and Jack never had figured
that one out. He was just a kid, but obviously not a kid to be messed with.
The noise of the life and death struggle attracted attention. Armed men
pulled the intended victim off of him a split second before it would have
been too late. Had they been a moment later, his blood would have fertilized
the soil of Vietnam forever. The slashing cut that split his face from stem
to stern had been intended for his throat.
He got himself sewed up and tended to but the handwriting was on the wall.
Vietnam was no longer the place to be. He wasn't about to surrender to
military rules and regulations. Jack and most of his squad bailed during the
night.
He released another smoke ring, momentarily happy with how it retained its
clear lines as it rose. It had taken him years to learn to compensate for
the severed muscles on that one side of his face. It was a constant reminder
of how much he despised the establishment and the people who made the
lily-livered decisions.
Those were the ones who pulled the rug out from under him in 'Nam. Now they
sit there, in their fancy high-rise offices dictating policy. He knew they
didn't have a clue as to what goes on in the real world. They wanted him
when it suited them but when the going got rough, they were the ones that
bailed out… on him.
He sat, looking at the rising smoke ring thoughtfully. It was ironic. Now
here he was, working for the same kind of people who openly condemned him
back then. Richard Franklin represented everything he considered wrong with
life. To Jack's way of thinking, not only was he a coward, but he was a
blatant hypocrite as well.
Jack's expertise and experience put the millionaire where he was today but
did he appreciate it? Franklin wouldn't give him a second glance if they met
on the street. Jack was just an employee, albeit, a very well paid employee,
but still just someone to be used.
Franklin thought he was better than everyone else, above it all,
untouchable. Jack voiced his own thoughts, speaking only to himself. "One of
these days, Franklin, you're going to have another think coming." Then that
pompous ass would find out he wasn't worthy of licking dog shit off of
Jack's shoes. He just didn't have it all figured out yet.
Across the room, the woman moaned and started to stir. Jack Murdock fingered
the delicate gold tassel. It was his last one; his personal lucky charm. He
decided he'd keep it and pushed the protective tip back on. Moving into the
pool of light from the overhead bulb and into her range of vision, he took
another puff of the cigar and saw her eyes stretch wide in renewed fear.
"Well, my dear. Are you rested enough to begin again?"
Richard Franklin sat at his desk in a posh modern building that was part of
Manhattan's skyline. He stared at the private detective's report. She was
getting better at this little cat and mouse game of his, but he was still
the master. Callie couldn't elude him for long. It was just a matter of
time.
Tracking her from Denver to Seattle had been child's play. She had applied
for a department store credit card and it was just a matter of pulling the
credit report. Maine was trickier.
She rented from a private individual but still used her real name for the
utilities. She'd used her agent's name in Hilton Head, but it was just a
matter of knowing what to look for.
He knew her inside and out. She wouldn't stray far from the ocean if she
could help it. Callie had hated Denver. She always said she couldn't breathe
there and she despised the winters. After Hilton Head, she went to St.
Petersburg and practically dropped out of sight. It was months before one of
Murdock's men happened to spot her on the beach. Richard pulled the manila
file folder from his desk drawer and let the 8 X 10 glossies spill onto the
desktop.
Callie was still a beautiful woman, even in her mid thirties. He fingered
the shiny surface of the photograph thoughtfully. Her figure was just as
exquisite as ever. He wouldn't have chosen that bathing suit for her, but
his tastes were far more sophisticated than hers were. Callie would shop
K-Mart if she could. She had never remarried and his sources never found any
hint of romantic liaisons. She was still his.
The tail he'd hired in Florida had followed her to the Tampa airport where
she purchased a one-way ticket to Miami. They had to do some fast shuffling
then. Murdock had a contact in Miami and they caught up to her just as she
entered the International Terminal. They had lost her from there.
Once again, he studied the report. It detailed the International flights
that were leaving from that particular concourse. The list was impressive,
but he could narrow it down considerably because he knew how Callie thought.
She would have flown to New York if she were heading to Europe. The majority
of destinations were in South America and the Caribbean. Again, he was sure
of her penchant for the ocean.
He leaned back in the leather chair and smiled with satisfaction. Callie had
no idea of his reach. She thought she was safe. She wasn't. He'd find her.
It was just a matter of time. He'd snatch her back and teach her the lesson
that was years in the coming. He was the doer, not the doee. She'd leave
when he said so and not one second before. Just then, the intercom buzzed.
"Excuse me Mr. Franklin, Jack Murdock from Pheizer is here to see you."
Marilyn, his secretary, had no idea that Murdock wasn't remotely connected
to Pheizer or any facet of the pharmaceutical business. Jack Murdock was
Richard's personal henchman. When there was dirty work to be done, Murdock
got the call.
"Buzz him through Marilyn, it's fine. I've been expecting him."
Jack Murdock was a man of many talents. He was equally at home in barroom or
boardroom. Were it not for that hideous scar, he'd have been a striking
figure. He entered with the cool confidence of a seasoned professional.
Murdock had been in the business for well over thirty years and had an
impressive web of contacts and associates throughout the world.
Richard supposed he must be fifty-ish but he looked more like early forties,
and had the physical stamina of a man much younger. He knew that Murdock had
wandered onto the mercenary path in Vietnam in the mid-sixties. He was one
of the paid 'advisors' for the United States before anyone ever heard of the
Ho Chi Min Trail.
He also knew that Murdock held him in contempt because he had never served
in the military. Yet, that contempt was tempered by the hefty checks that
Richard wrote every month and by the kickbacks Murdock received when he
could hook up another connection.
Murdock was considerably older than Richard but it didn't matter what he
thought of him personally. Richard had better things to do back then. Those
things didn't involve wasting his time in a militarized situation for the
supposed cause of the American way. Richard had his own cause. He had plans,
big plans.
Richard remained quiet, waiting for Murdock to get settled. Him and that
damn briefcase, he thought. He always had to have it positioned just so,
only then would he begin the report. He saw Murdock's final adjustments and
thought that it was about time.
"Well, we've got a trail. It was a little cold though. Your wife is using a
drop box in Miami. From there, it is forwarded to Thorton's office." The icy
blue eyes stared directly into Richard's as he continued. "We ah… couldn't
find out where she's sending from. Like I said the trail was a little cold."
Richard didn't see how it could be. This was important information. "So,
what's the problem Murdock? Just have your people question the drop box
people."
"We did Franklin. The fucker went and died on us before we could find out
where it originated. That's what I meant by it being a little cold. As in
rigor mortis. Get it? My guys just got back from Miami."
"Ah, I see." Murdock had a rather macabre sense of humor but Richard didn't
flinch one iota over this news. He had ordered selective inquisitions
before. That's why Murdock was the best. He left nothing to chance. "So, it
would seem that Lyn Thorton is the only one who knows. It will be
interesting to see what she has to say when we talk to her."
"I already did." The man was smug. He already knew. Then he shared the
information he'd obviously gathered and Richard responded in awe.
"Suriname. What in the hell is she doing in Paramaribo, Suriname?"
In the Miami Herald, a small article reported that a popular local
businessman, Joseph Hans, suffered a fatal heart attack after being savagely
beaten during a foiled robbery attempt. The perpetrators were still being
sought.
Two days later, the New York Police Department posted a notice that the body
of a well known New York agent, Lyn Thorton, reported missing from her
apartment had been discovered in an alley. Foul play was suspected.
© 1998
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