Cobalt (15 page)

     ‘I'll see you soon,’ was all he said. He gently kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand before  she turned and walked away. He watched her go. She walked so purposefully and yet so gracefully. He didn't move until she was completely out of sight. ‘Be careful,’ he called into the darkness after her. When he could no longer hear the clicking of her heels on the un-even pavement he entered the hotel and went up to their room.

CHAPTER 20

Madeline heard his call and shook her head. In her mind one of Rick's biggest faults was his misguided notion that she needed to be protected, to be looked after. Nothing, she thought, could be further from the truth. She had been independent and self-sufficient since she was nine years old. Still it was nice to have someone care that much about her. Madeline thought of Rick as she walked. His silver-blonde hair. She smiled. Rick hated the fact that his once blonde hair was going grey. He was only forty-five, and in his mind, far too young to be going grey. She liked it. It gave him a distinguished, debonair look, that when mixed with his unbeatable combination of power and sexuality, made him completely irresistible. As the deputy director of the CIA Rick had control over many agents, and leadership was something he was quite good at. He had a dominant presence, an ability to command fear and respect in appropriate doses, and the ability to motivate those under him. Rick, she thought, also had an incredible talent for getting things, through sheer force of will.

            Madeline also thought of his faults. Apart from wanting to protect her, his most considerable weaknesses were his damaging myopia in decision making, which is where she fit in, and a superiority complex. Rick's decisions were guided by her, and while she did not share the title of deputy director, she was his partner and every decision was underlined by her. As for his superiority complex, Rick always wanted,
needed
to be in control. He loved the power and the importance of maintaining control. It was one of the reasons she had refused to give into him, to admit her feelings to him for so long, that and the fact she liked toying with him…offering power over her and taking it away. Teaching him to be recessive, when he dominated everything else he participated in.  He resented Marcus for achieving the status of director. Both Rick and herself knew he could do the job better than Marcus, as Marcus lacked the drive, clarity of vision, confidence and the ability to see the big picture it took to hold a power position. Marcus, too, was far from commanding the respect, from his agents, he desired. Something Rick and Madeline made up for, as they were highly respected by all facets of the CIA and the government it worked for.

            In her head she could envisage Rick's other facial features, his straight nose, his slightly-pointed chin, the scar that passed through his left eyebrow. A scar that you forgot was even there unless it was pointed out. It was as much a part of his face as the rest of his features. As was the scar that marked his chin. A scar she was particularly fond of as it reminded her of Rick’s sometimes extremely reckless decision making, his leaping into action before looking, especially when it involved her. Lastly she imagined his dark brown eyes. The way they looked at her, sometimes made her want to melt. It had been difficult to keep her emotions locked away for all those years, and while she still hadn't completely forgiven him for reducing her to tears, in Florence, she realised it was for the best. He's nearly forgiven, she thought, smiling to herself.

            Madeline walked across the raised boards to where the gondola were moored. Seeing a young man waiting patiently for a fare, she approached him. Settling back into the red velvet cushions of the boat she thought it would have been nice to have Rick there with her, but the journey through the grand canal would be just as impressive, on her own. As the gondola drifted through the water Madeline remembered the case. It had been nine years ago, yet it still affected the things they did. She had been at the agency for five years when it happened. Rick and herself had been assigned to what was to become the most difficult case of their careers, and the case with the most repercussions. The bush murders was one of the most horrific case to have been investigated in the whole of the CIA’s existence. Women aged between nineteen and twenty-eight had been disappearing all across the Tennessee, Kentucky and Alabama region, and then turning up raped and murdered, by decapitation, five days after their disappearances. Along with the FBI, the CIA had been brought in to investigate, and solve this murder mystery. Madeline and Rick had been assigned to this case, as they were the best the CIA could offer, in violent crimes investigation. Marcus had been deputy director then, and it was widely known that he was in line for the directors position, when the present Director, Timothy Pickett resigned. Rumour quickly spread that Madeline had only been offered this case because she was sleeping with Marcus Shaw. After all she was only relatively new to the agency, and longer serving operatives resented the fact that she was assigned to the ground-breaking case. It was also widely known that who ever solved the case would be assigned as the new Deputy Director when the promotions occurred. As the case progressed, and they became closer to solving it, it became known to Madeline, that Rick had started the ‘Madeline’s sleeping with Marcus’ rumour, to slightly taint her perfect image in the eyes of the National Security Council, the Senate and of course the President, because he knew it was ultimately their decision as to whom would receive the promotion. He knew that she was the smarter and more dedicated of the two, so it was obvious to him that she was the main reason he was assigned to the case. Rick wanted the promotion, and he knew that if he had to compete with Madeline, he would loose. Madeline on the other hand, knew that whatever the outcome, Rick would receive the promotion, anyway. The women’s movement hadn’t quite made it in to the CIA building. Of course Madeline didn’t mind so much, that Rick had spread the rumour she was sleeping with Marcus. Most that knew her, also knew that she would never sleep with the self-centred, ego controlled Deputy Director. What she did mind was the fact that he had undermined her credibility as an investigative agent. That, and the fact he put her life in danger, for a quick arrest.

One of the facts not widely known, by the press and the public, was that all the victims had been beautiful, dark haired prostitutes, and Rick, using this to his advantage, placed Madeline undercover, as the next victim. He lied to Marcus, and told him, she was doing research, every time the Deputy Director called a late night progress meeting, and he lied to Madeline by telling her, that Marcus, and Director Pickett had cleared this manoeuvre personally.  Rick had been right on target when he placed Madeline undercover, as it only took five days for the new ‘prostitute’ in town to be noticed, and abducted by their suspect. Using the tracking device Madeline was wearing, Rick, and the rest of the investigative team, caught up to their suspect four hours after he kidnapped Madeline, just as he was about to perform the decapitation. To this day Madeline didn’t know what had taken them so long to pursuit.  She shuddered as she remembered everything that had happened to her during those four hours.

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Madeline stood leaning against the stone wall of the building in down-town Washington DC. She had been on her feet for nearly six hours now. And this was just tonight. She had been on the street for the past four days, working during the day at the agency and then from six until six on the street in hopes that their suspect would make his appearance soon.

            She looked down at the outfit Rick had picked for her tonight. The very short, very tight black skirt that barely covered her and the red, halter-neck silk blouse that displayed far too much of her cleavage than she was comfortable with. Rick assured her than no man would be able to resits her in this outfit. He’d said the same line for four days. Madeline just felt stupid. The outfits had gotten more and more revealing, shorter, tighter more ridiculous as the evenings went by. And then there were the boots she was wearing tonight. They were by far the stupidest part of the whole ensemble. Long, black boots that came to just above her knees, they had a six inch spike heel. She leant back further against the wall and lifting one foot, she rubbed at her toes through the stiff vinyl. I’m going to kill the man, the misogynistic bastard that invented heels, she decided, rubbing at the blister she knew was forming. No, I’m going to kill Rick. He’s why I’m wearing these god-awful boots. She gingerly put her foot down on the ground and looked at the other four women standing next to her. Amber, a tall, red-head with oversized silicon breasts was smoking a cigarette and pacing the side-walk. Not many prostitutes were still working once news spread that the Bush-murderer had moved to Washington DC. Business was slow. It had been over the past week and a half, or so Brittiny had told her. Madeline glanced over to where Brittiny was sitting, resting on an up-side down garbage can. The girl was no more that sixteen years of age, blonde- but badly dyed blonde, and flat-chested. Madeline could just imagine the cliental she attracted on a regular basis. She shuddered thinking about it, but then stopped herself. She was here on a mission only, and she was under no circumstances to feel emotion towards these women, sympathy or otherwise. It was an in and out mission- no association with anyone.

            To her left stood Brigitte, a cross-dressing, transsexual- Madeline hadn’t been told which- with a French accent, cinnamon hair and two centimetre long ruby red fingernails. She or he, depending on who’s story was right had been in Washington DC for nearly ten years, after being rejected one too many times in Hollywood. All in all Brigitte was, as Madeline assessed, a rather good-looking woman, or an extremely beautiful man. The last of her brave companions was a natural looking girl of about twenty-four years of age. She had soft features, long mid-brown hair and greenish, grey eyes. Of all of the girls on the corner, this girl was the one Madeline felt strongly for. Pity mostly. Madeline had never been told her name, but she had heard one of the others call her Lea. Leah, Leanne, Kelly all ran through her mind. Each with a question mark behind it. Over the last few nights she had seen the other girls go on jobs, each seeing at least three ‘John’s’ a night. Lea had seen no-one.

            Madeline was drawn from her contemplation as a red Corvette pulled up beside the curb, and the passenger side window was wound down. Three out of the four working-girls jumped and hustled, and shimmied across the pavement in front of the car, Lea remained in the shadows, while Madeline, too tired to act her part stepped forward into the rays of the single street light and glanced at the car. Part of her hoped it was not the killer, but the other part, the professional part of her mind wished that it were. The sooner they got this scum off the streets the better.

            Madeline started as the ‘John’ called out to her. ‘You, dark hair. In the car.’ No formalities like ‘Need a Date Big Boy,’ as she had seen in the movies. Just ‘In the car.’ She complied, walking past the other women on the street. She heard ‘Lucky Bitch’ muttered under someone’s, most likely Amber’s breath as she stepped from the curb, into the open passenger side of the Corvette. Not so lucky, she thought afterwards.

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The plan had been for her to get in the car, with Barnem, and lead the investigators to his house, where they would retrieve her safely, apprehend the suspect, and bag some conclusive evidence. Somehow, however, after she got in the car, Barnem managed to render her unconscious. Madeline couldn’t remember him hitting her, at that point, so she assumed that he used chloroform or ether to perform the task. The next thing she remembered was waking to find herself tied, by one wrist, to a bed, her red silk blouse cut open to reveal her black bra, and her short, black skirt pulled up around her hips. Barnem sat next to her staring, saliva forming in the corners of his mouth. She remembered looking quickly around the room. The window was boarded up, her boots were next to the door, her black lace panties were hanging from the end of the bed, her gun was lying on the bedside table, and the headboard of the bed was slightly rotted. This could prove useful, she thought. Barnem saw her gaze fall on to the weapon.

     ‘What’s a pretty little thing, like you, doing with something like this?’ he said, as he picked up the pistol, dropped it onto the floor and kicked it under the bed. Madeline said nothing. Barnem then began to slide his hands up her legs. The thought of what happened to the other girls, happening to her, infuriated Madeline. She lashed out, her foot connecting with the side of his head. As Barnem was knocked off-balance, Madeline yanked her bound wrist from the rope, splintering the rotted wood on the bed head, and made a run from the room. Having never seen the old wooden house before, as she entered the hallway, Madeline was uncertain as to which direction to go.

Choosing left, she ran around the corner to find herself at the top of two flights of stairs. Behind her a vase crashed. Madeline spun around to see Harold Barnem hurl himself directly at her. The impact of him sent them both reeling down the stairs. Madeline landed flat on her back, at the bottom, with Barnem on top of her. Thinking he was unconscious she pulled her arms free and placed them on his shoulders. As she moved to shift him, Barnem sat up, grabbed her wrists, and pinned them on the floor, behind her head. Madeline struggled underneath him. Barnem smiled.