Ded Reckoning (26 page)

"Well, that's good."

"Yeah, but there will be others.  Waiting for us wherever we go.  The trick is to go where we are expected and still not be seen, or go where they don't expect and not be found."

Dee says nothing for several moments, then asks, "Who are we this time?"

"I'll tell you when we get inside."  He looks around outside, then says, "We're just about there."  Pauses, then adds, "And still without our friends."

"Wonderful.  The problem is that all this sounds a lot like your damn dream.  London.  His flat.  Now, Geneva, for money and ID's.  Rome.  Then, Pisa.  You're not following your premonition, are you?"

"Nope.  It's coincidental maybe, but things will be changing rapidly."   He laughs softly.  "Used to be called deduced reckoning, D E D, ded reckoning."  Chuckles again.  Then to the tune of a famous song he softly sings, "On patrol again ..." his voice trailing off.

Dee asks, "What's this 'On the go again' routine' and the Deduced reckoning?  Are you going to let me in on all this mumbo-jumbo you're spewing or are you going to continue to chortle?"

Hunter smiles, "Chortle?  Hmmmm. Remember what the Irish say.  'A handful of skill is better than a bagful of gold.'"  He leans forward to pay the cabbie, says to Dee,   "We're here.  Let's get a move on it.  We only have thirty minutes to catch the flight if my premonition is accurate."

"That's not funny, wise guy."

Hunter signals the cabbie to keep the change which is more than modest, less than to be remembered.  He slides out behind Dee as the driver says, "Thanks, mate."  Hunter   takes Dee's arm and leads her briskly to the Air France counter.  There he purchases two tickets for Geneva only.  Both he and Dee use new ID's.

Walking away from the counter, she utters, "Aimee Badeau.  Mr. and Mrs. Laurent Badeau.  Refreshing."  She laughs at her own humor.

"I got that. Well, all for a purpose.  We're on Air France.  I speak French fluently.  French is the predominant language in Geneva.  We can pass for French, and if you'll either hold on to my arm, or rant and pick at me, we'll even appear married."

"Given a choice, I'll nag."

"You'll wish you were nice when you see the shops on the Rue du Rive."  They jog to the departure gate to find the flight is in the final stages of boarding.  The couple, Badeau, board without incident.  The stewardess inside the aircraft hatch exchanges pleasantries with Laurent in her native language.  To Hunter's surprise, Dee, or more accurately Aimee, asks her a question in French regarding the seat numbers.  Then whines to Laurent, again in French, to let her sit by the window since he's changed his mind about being separated on the flight.

The flight to Geneva is about two hours and forty minutes.  Laurent spends this time napping.  Aimee spends hers staring out the window at the channel, French coastline and later the Alps.  She sips coffee while Laurent rests.  At Geneva's Contrin International Airport they quickly clear through customs and stop at a restaurant in the airport to eat.  Both use the restroom facilities to freshen up.  For Hunter it's the face and hands.  Dee, the same although she does have back-up in her purse to put on a decent new face, and perfume which will at least disguise what Hunter can't.

Upon returning to the table, they order breakfast, coffee first.  Strong and black.  As they muddle through the meal with nothing more than idle chit-chat, Hunter constantly surveys the goings-on in the airport, particularly this concourse.  Sees nothing suspicious.

After the third cup of coffee, Laurent says, "Aimee, I've got to make a call.  There's a bank of phones across the concourse.  You wait here, okay?"

"Why don't you pay the bill and we'll both go.  I'd like to call home."

"Call home?  What the hell for?"

"To let my folks, or Maria, know that I'm okay.  And check on my children."

They both stand to leave.  Laurent hesitates for several moments.  Aimee signals a question with her head jutting forward, eyebrows raised.  He says, "All right.  But don't tell 'em where we are, or were, or going.  Okay?"

"Yes, that's fine, except I'll have to make a collect call, so they'll know."

Hunter grimaces, "Yeah, right.  But nothing else."

"Got it.  Who are you calling?"

Laurent drops more than enough cash on the table to cover the breakfast check.  As they take a few steps toward the bank of phones he says, "I'm going to call ahead.  Make some arrangements and to chortle with Joe."  He steps into a booth and closes the door.

Aimee mutters, "I'm too tired to give ..." her voice trailing off as Hunter slams the booth door closed.  
And I need a shower and clean clothes.
  She goes down a few booths, puts in a few coins, and makes a collect call to the number she's memorized.  Again it rings, several times.  The hello on the other end is a tired one.

She says, "Hi, it's me.  We're in Geneva.  We left in the middle of the night without checking out and we're now traveling as Aimee and Laurent Badeau."

First comes a grumble.  Then, "Okay.  Excuse me," followed by a clearing of the throat.  "I was asleep. Let's see, why did you call?”  Another hesitation, this one void of sound effects. Then, "You're on plan, right?  Geneva, to Pisa through Rome?"

"I guess.  He's only purchased tickets to here and he's making a call now to make arrangements.  At least that's what he said."

"He's right there?"

"Yes and no.  He's in another booth."  She hesitates, follows quickly with.  "Don't worry.  He can't hear.  He's two or three booths away and thinks I'm calling my children."

"Well, okay, but we probably need to hurry this along.  Avoid any suspicion." A pause, then, "All right, everything seems on track.  By the time you get to Pisa, everyone, meaning the Israelis, East Germans and probably some angry Irishmen will be looking for Leanardo Frati, and his wife, Caterina.  The name he will be using."

"What about me?  When do I finally drop out of sight?"

"When he's dead, then pick the best time.  I don't care who kills him.  Them, Rizzo, the police.  Push him into confrontations.   Even you if no one else does.  I need Kerrigan dead.  In Pisa."

"I thought ..."

"Just see that it gets done, darling.  Put him in or get him in a confrontation by making it easy  for him to be found.  In Pisa is best.  That will give the Italian government a lot to think about.  Two American government employees killed in their country, in Pisa, within weeks of one another.  With the Israelis and Germans there, and the Italians will know that, the finger of blame will point in at least two, possibly more, directions.  But not ours.  Okay, anything else?"

"No, I guess not, but ... but what about Pisces?"

"Pisces?  Pisces is my guy.  Our guy."

"I thought Rocco was our guy?"

"No, no.  He just works for my man.  And he'll be gone soon as well."

"WHAT?"

"Calm down. We're a team.  A threesome.  And I paid him off so we do Kerrigan and he does his guy.  Then he goes his way and we go ours.  All square."

"That's ... this is ..."

"Brilliant, huh?  More than brilliant.  Now, you take good care of yourself.  Be vigilant and cautious.  We have a wonderful life ahead of us."  He emits a soft chuckle.  "Better than the President and First Lady." He chuckles.  "Yep.  Better.  Now remember, Kerrigan must die. That's a must."  Then a whispered, "I love you."  Click.

Dee stands in the booth, gathering herself.  
I do love him.  God forgive me, but I do.
 
Always have.
  Exhales, and digs into her purse.  Opens a compartment at the bottom.  She confirms the name of Caterina Frati by checking the passport and accompanying credit cards.  
This is my last one
.

Dee takes in a deep breath, pulls a tissue out of her purse and zips the bag closed.  Inhales deeply again and steps out of the booth.  Glances around, moves a few steps and sees that Hunter is still on the telephone.  He signals her with his index finger.  She nods, tugs at her purse looking about at the maze of people moving to and fro.  Sees no one watching her.  Wipes the perspiration from her brow.  
I can do it.  I can.
 

In the other booth, Hunter continues his brief conversation.  He's had two.  The first with Joe Zachary who gave him a name, Roberto Catalano, and an address in Taormina.  The new shipping address for the cigars, with a new surname but still Roberto.  Still, Pisces.  The die is cast.

This last call nears its end.  Hunter says, "Listen, Maria, I'm sorry she hasn't called.  For the kids' sake, and for your parents.  More than sorry.  But we knew it would be coming to this or worse someday.  We know what she, they, are capable of doing.   I want you to know I've got everything under control."

"I hope so.  But, what about us?  Am I weird for thinking there's an us?"

"Listen, there isn't.  Just isn't.  I thought I made that clear.  I have a job to do.  You do as well.  You're either with us as planned or you're an accomplice. I realize this is perhaps your worst nightmare.  Mine as ... never mind. It's a nightmare.  Trust me, there is not an us except as a team.  Now, I've gotta run.  You'll have to leave for that vacation and go where I told you.  Wait there until you hear from me.  If you don't hear in a week, get Dee and go home.  She'll be in Pisa.  

"I ..."

"Go, I will be there within a week.  I've got to go.  Bye."  Click.  

"I will."  She hesitates then whispers, "Hunter, I know in my heart we're goin' to do it someday."  All this to the buzzing and clicking of a long distant line shutting down.

"He steps out of the booth, takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow.  Says to Dee, "Hot as a sauna in there.  You get through okay?"

"Yep.  Everything's fine.  Folks, Maria, children.  Want me home."

"Well, to be expected."  Hunter smiles, "Let's go to the bank and get some monopoly money and spend it on Boardwalk or Park Place."

"What bank?"

"Rothchild's.  Big bank.  Is located in over thirty countries, and best, one is in D.C.  Makes things easy for us.  This one is on Rue du Rhone, not far from where we go after that.  We'll take public transportation.  Taxis are hard to find in this city and ..." abruptly whistles down a cab.  Pumps his fist, "Our luck is changing.  Now, don't forget.  We'll speak French.  If you're not comfortable, go to Italian.  Some of that here too, and a little English.  Prefer not to speak any English here.  You can handle all this, right?"

"
Oui
, and the Italian like a native.  A onea, twoa ..." accompanied with a coy smile.

Hunter only shrugs.  Mr. and Mrs. Badeau, Aimee and Laurent, a happy, in-love French couple slide into the taxi.  Hunter, using French, says to the driver, "Take us to the Rue du Rive.  The best lady's clothing shop you know."

The driver smiles into the rear mirror,
"Oui, Monsieur."
 

Laurent leans back, smiles at Aimee and says, "When we get there, you use the

Badeau credit card to shop.  While you shop I'll take care of things at the bank and meet you back at a shop we choose.  Say, two, two and a half hours?"

"I thought you said we were going to get some money?"

"You're right, I did say that.  But on second thought, I don't want the bank officials to see both of us.  And they will.  I have to get into the safety deposit box set up there for me."

"What if something happens?"

"Like what?"

"Like anything."

"Well, use the credit card and go home ... to Maria, the kids, your family, whatever.  They miss you, right?"

She stares at him.  "Children.  And, yes."  She cocks her head to one side holding the stare.

Hunter reciprocates and when she looks away, he turns his gaze out the window, feigning taking in the sights.

Aimee sits quietly.  Stares straight ahead over the front seat and out the windshield.  
I hope I can do this.   I need to; I'm in too deep.  
 

Laurent, both tired and refreshed.  Continues to look intently out the window.  
Didn't even call.
 
She's in on it
.  
Again
.  
And she's gonna' try to do me
...
do me in.  Been tryin' the other every other hour.
 

 

 

Maria DeLuca sits alone, staring at the cradled phone.  Her pink cotton robe half open, but covering some of her sleep ware, a thigh-length tee shirt she purchased years ago at Yosemite with "A National Treasure" stenciled across the front.  She remembers their first meeting.  Arranged clandestinely and hidden from all except Hunter's old Marine buddy, Findlay, who was stuck at Headquarters Marine Corps tour for fast track Lieutenant Colonels.  His place was a safe house, an apartment in Bailey's Cross Roads in Virginia.  It was a terrifying meeting but she thought she struck a chord with Hunter.   Wasn't any music but in her heart she heard notes.  Discernibly not Hunter.  Maybe it was Findlay.  He kept vetting her.

Then her thoughts drift back to another time, a few months ago when on a routine business trip for the winery, she was picked up by agents and brought to another clandestine location for yet another secret meeting.  Findlay met them and he escorted her to the same place.  His.  Hunter was there with Joe Zachary.  At this meeting it was apparent they knew everything about Dee, her lover, about Angelo, and about her knowing and not disclosing everything.  Hiding the truth, the facts from the family, from the law, and even from herself.  Under the surface she was a head case.  And Zachary had a plan, and she didn't have any options any longer, at least not affable ones.  And, of course, they took her deposition. And what amounted to a plea bargain.  Each distressful and yet a relief.

Maria's reflections persist as she continues to stare into nothingness.  She visualizes and lives sensations of the day and especially the evening afterward with Hunter.  An incongruity to the interrogatory meeting earlier.  The seemingly connection at a non-business dinner. The contact, although only a handshake again, it was warm and seemed to linger. perhaps only to her.  Then her yearning and craving held moderately in check by improbability but more so by Hunter's words and lack of action.  Her life and comfort zone had changed, transcending into a region of petition and longing.