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Disclaimer: Please see Chapter 1 for the usual statements
Hostile Environment
Chapter 9
By Callisto
Delta Airlines—Flight 2230
In flight from Atlanta, GA
The plane was headed northward, taking him towards a small clue he accidentally uncovered as to the whereabouts of Jarod and his playmate. He sat back in the comfortable first-class seat and considered his options. The Centre and all those associated with it were at the mercy of his deep, uncompromising anger. For every good deed he managed to perpetrate—à la Jarod, he dealt the Centre another irrevocable blow. He knew the prevailing thought was that when Jarod finally conceded to defeat at the extensive efforts in place to keep him from finding his mother; the preferred pretender would turn on the Centre. A move which was anticipated and the trap set to finally recapture their most elusive of prizes.
Alex was aware of most of the findings, prevailing thoughts and plans of the Centre’s hierarchy when it came to anything concerning Jarod. His time spent eagerly doing the bidding and carrying out every murderous whim of the Triumvirate had been educational on many levels. He also knew the other reasons for Mutumbo’s assassination. The arrogant African had lost faith in Mr. Parker’s plans and was actively working to minimize Miss Parker’s role in capturing Jarod. Mr. Parker and his brother Raines had plans involving Miss Parker and were practically shivering in anticipation of the emergence of her so-called ‘inner sense’. Alex scoffed inwardly at their belief in this ridiculous super-sense which was supposed act like a supernatural advisor to let them know the best way to manipulate and worm their way further up the ladder of power, influence and financial superiority, not to mention freedom, from the Triumvirate. Maintaining the fiction that she was a Parker was therefore necessary to their plans. They wanted her to produce a child with Jarod, among others, in an effort to meld their respective genetics; the issue of which was expected to eclipse even Jarod’s intellect and endowed with his mother’s gift.
Alex unconsciously exhaled a deeply cynical and dissatisfied sigh. If Jarod’s abilities and accomplishments were going to be minimized by his own child, that practically insured Alex would have been retired and brushed aside like yesterday’s third page news. That would never do and Alex refused to stand by idly and let it happen without making his objections felt by all those who discounted his gifts and contributions.
The Centre would have to pay dearly for his latest spate of goody two-shoes. The research he had put into this pretend alone was exhaustive. Alex discovered a demented scheme involving a group of street maintenance workers in a mid-sized Southern city. Alex had gone there hoping to get a line on Jarod, when he noticed an odd occurrence that almost caused a horrific traffic accident. This sick scheme involved two brothers and a couple other employees who would, at the behest of a greedy counterpart from an auto insurance company, cause the traffic signals in the busiest intersection in the city to all turn green. It only took a moment, then one direction was quickly returned to red but not before an enterprising speeder would run the yellow light at full speed and crash headlong into opposing traffic. The results were several deaths and lucrative kickbacks from the insurance company mole, as the rates would invariably soar for anyone living in or around that particular zip code. Between them they had claimed at least a dozen lives.
The counterpoint for the Centre had to be appropriate. Smiling happily, Alex decided to do some venting on the Triumvirate as well. The death of the Triumvirate’s Centre liaison would force them to sit up and take notice. As the plan began to take shape in his mind, he sipped at the glass of spring water the stewardess handed him; the clue destined for Broots sat waiting patiently on the seat beside him.
Jarod’s lair
Green Lake, WI
Lounging comfortably on the large couch, she tried to concentrate on the book in her hands instead of wondering where her lover had gone. She released a frustrated sigh as she tried to refocus her thoughts on the paperback novel. Still holding the book up, in an attitude that suggested reading, she gave into her thoughts about this intermezzo Jarod imposed on both of them. A soft smile graced her face as she thought about how much sex they had been having. It felt like she was getting more now than she ever had in her life. Centre intrigues didn’t get in the way and their interest and desire was mutual. The only part of her that had enjoyed more sex was her completely fictional reputation. How those morons back at the Centre actually believed the overheated illusion was beyond her, she was a workaholic who easily put in 16-18 hour days at the office. If she had as many men as rumored than she would also have black circles around her eyes, probably more than one STD and a mood fouler than Lucifer.
While she was contemplating the inanity of her Centre reputation, she felt the couch dip from someone sitting at the opposite end. She refused to look up and kept the book in front of her face. He lifted one of her crossed feet, gently removed her sock and started messaging it. The sensation was too enjoyable and she involuntarily released a groan of appreciation. Giving up her pretense she lowered the book and stared at Jarod, who was seated facing her.
“I thought we were supposed to stay away from each other for a day, to ‘get a better perspective on our relationship.’’’ She quoted softly, as a small petulant note crept into her voice.
“I know but I was starting to miss you and I couldn’t concentrate on anything, so I gave up. We can stay here as long as we like without any interruptions or anyone bothering us, so why put up useless restrictions? This is our time,” he said smilingly as she removed her foot from his hands and rubbed it along the inside of his thigh, working her way to his crotch. He looked at her fondly and with a mock expression of incredulity said, “I believe, Miss Parker, that you are starting to like me.”
Sensing a small grain of sincerity in his voice, she forced her expression to stay neutral. She was surprised by his comment, thinking she had made her feelings for him apparent—something she would take great pleasure in clearing up for him. Rather than speaking her mind on that subject she instead asked him another question that had perplexed her.
“Why did you keep trying to get me to leave after everything that occurred between us?”
Jarod had taken her foot back and tantalizingly started moving further up her leg, messaging her calf muscles. “I was there when you challenged Mr. Parker and Raines to reveal which was your real father. With the death of Mr. Parker, I knew Raines would start putting pressure on you to bring me in and tow the corporate line. You were never moderate in your dislike of him, so it was only a matter of time before he ordered your death. Because of some information I was privy to, I found it difficult to believe you could be his daughter, I saw his reaction when he lost his real daughter, Annie. It took me several years to figure out that Raines was the last name of the ‘Blue Moon’ killer’s final victim.”
Her response was a thoughtful nod and silent sigh. She looked up at him trustingly and Jarod, in turn, found himself struggling to maintain his composure. It was her trust that was his goal and quietly, without any fanfare, she had given it to him completely. His hands continued their slow trek up her leg as he started on her knee. He leaned over and softly bit her thigh through the material of her pants.
A desire-filled sigh escaped her lips. “Oh, God, you really know how to get to me, don’t you?” she asked laughingly as he looked up smilingly at her.
Instead of answering her, Jarod gave her an intense look and said, “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Why were you so determined to return me to the bottom level of Dante’s hell? Did you used to hate me that much?”
“No, Sweetheart, I never hated you,” Parker said with gentle earnestness, using the endearment unconsciously. “I suppose you didn’t notice my personal change in mandate. It was after I had been shot trying to save my father from a snipers bullet. Broots found some DSA’s that showed the treatment you were subjected to at Lyle’s hand. Previously, I never gave it much thought what would happen if you were brought back but seeing your torture—well, I decided to chase you with no intention of ever capturing you.”
“’You run, I chase’,” he quoted quietly. “Chase being the operative word. Whenever I left a clue, you would follow through on it and run after me enthusiastically, putting on a good show for the powers that be.”
“Right. Finding you on that island was a bit of a shock, I hadn’t thought it through what to do with you, if by any chance I actually caught up to you. I was depending on you to keep eluding me. The main reason I was stuck in hell was I didn’t want to leave or lose the man I had always thought of as my father.”
The sadness in her eyes, which during the past month had yet to make an appearance, reasserted itself. Jarod, to divert her train of thought, put her leg down, leaned over and stretched his length over hers. He stared into her eyes deciphering their expression and said in softly deep voice, “Hey, it’s much better when your thoughts are concentrated on more immediate concerns, such as your own pleasure. Just think of me as a means to refocus your attentions.”
He was rewarded with a small, wry smile and gently lowered himself on top of her. Once he positioned himself more comfortably for the both of them, he murmured into her mouth. “That was a dumb idea to take a break.” He kissed her tentatively, as she softly chuckled, then became more insistent after a few seconds.
“I have a request to make,” she announced as soon as he would allow her to speak. “No more fast food or junk food for you mister. Only well cooked and balanced meals from now on,” she said as her hands wandered under the cloth of his shirt and encountering nothing but his sinewy musculature.
“Why?” he asked tilting his head to one side.
“Neither of us is getting any younger. Face it, we’re both middle aged, how many more times are you going to be able to get your body into this kind of shape? For my part, I don’t want to take any chances because I love what you’ve done with yourself,” she said with a sensuous grin.
Lifting an eyebrow at her obvious compliment, Jarod pinched the flesh on her hip, barely able to grab any and commented, ”You, on the other hand, have gained a few pounds over the years.” At her widened eyes and slightly embarrassed demeanor, he continued, “Let me show you how much better I like you this way.” He started tickling her to make her laugh and kissing her at the same time. Her laughter drowned out the sounds of the front door being opened.
The Centre
Blue Cove, DE
A quiet omnipresent feeling of doom swirled around the atmosphere of the Centre like a violent riptide. This dark ambiance was nothing new for the Centre’s numerous employees; what was causing the slowly rising level of alarm was a persistent feeling of threat that hung like the Sword of Damocles over the heads of all the employees.
Two mid-level managers had mysteriously disappeared in less than a month. What alarmed all those who heard the story was that their homes had been cleared completely of all their belongings and all records of these managers’ existence outside the Centre had been erased. All that was left were some bloody smears indicating the ultimate fate of the missing. Now, this was the kind of thing Centre employees had heard of occurring to outsiders or to the foolhardy few insiders who forgot who was their employer. For the experienced insiders, this would never happen without some obvious misdeed having occurred and definitely never without the rumor mill circulating news of the inevitable. So the managers’ disappearance was reason and cause for much uneasiness.
Broots sat in the tech room oblivious to the nervous concerns of his subordinates and colleagues. He absently ate an apple wedge his daughter had insisted over the telephone that he take for his lunch. Busily typing away and searching the internet for more info on the murderous preacher who had a psychotic sideline of sacrificing a few of his followers to some obscure god. Broots was so absorbed in his research that he missed noticing the arrival of a large package.
Sydney had encouraged him to keep silent about the clue of the bloodstained choir robe that arrived with a note from Alex. Sitting back in his seat, Broots shook his head incredulously. By all accounts, Alex seemed to be on a mission, he had uncovered some pretty unsavory activities and plots—a few of which were on a par with Jarod’s avenging. A sudden thought hit Broots, as he recalled a few of Jarod’s pretends had direct ties to the Centre. With a sinking stomach, the gifted computer tech began searching through the Centre’s files for the name of the depraved preacher, hoping he would find nothing.
When Sydney walked into the tech room, all was quiet as approximately half a dozen computer techs went about their business. A few cast Sydney apprehensive glances but no one said a word to him and most kept their eyes glued to their monitors. Sydney walked up to Broots’ area situated on an expansive dais and stood next to his friend. Broots was muttering softly to himself as he continued to type feverishly.
“You must go through keyboards on a fairly regular basis with all that typing.”
Practically jumping out of his skin, Broots turned in panic towards his friend, raising half out of his seat and placed a supporting hand on his desktop. “Geez, Syd, you shouldn’t go around sneaking up on people! That’s one trait that you definitely share with Miss Parker, although I’m sure she took a little sadistic pleasure in scaring me half to death,” Broots admonished.
“I apologize for frightening you. Have you found anything on Alex’s last clue?” Sydney replied, ignoring the latter part of Broots’ outburst. He was happy that Jarod had found a way to get through to her but couldn’t help but be a little miffed. Unexpectedly, he found himself missing his caustic colleague more as each day went by, he hadn’t realized it, but she filled a void in his life which now seemed impossible to fill.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bark at you, Sydney. As capricious and moody as she usually was I still miss her a lot. Now I just find myself hoping that she’ll call and make some crazy, dangerous request or something.”
“Yes, I know how you feel, perhaps she will soon. Right now, I was wondering about that robe Alex sent you,” Sydney whispered as he pulled a chair over to sit next to Broots.
“The robe he sent belonged to a murder victim named Susan Collins. She was a member of a fringe Christian sect whose minister had the bizarre sideline of sacrificing some of his parishioners to an obscure South American god. This whole case is beyond strange. Apparently Alex was the mysterious stranger who exposed the minister for the brutal megalomaniac he was.”
During the explanation, Sydney noticed the large parcel left on the corner of the desk and gingerly picked it up. When Broots looked up, he noticed Sydney handling the package and looked at his friend inquisitively.
“I found this sitting on the corner of your desk, any idea who could have sent it?”
“No, I didn’t even notice it. I have to admit that I’m getting seriously sick and tired of receiving these clues from Alex,” Broots stated apprehensively.
“Let’s open it, there isn’t any point in sticking our heads in the sand.”
Broots had already retrieved a small knife, and slicing through the tape, he quickly opened the box and found an old-fashioned traffic light. “I wonder what horrible crime Alex uncovered this time?” Another note, this time type written under the letterhead of the city of Mobile, AL, was addressed to Broots.
‘We’re both workhorses, Mr. Broots. We are so good at what we do that our so-called superiors forget how invaluable we are to them. Let’s not remind them as the signal is about to give you the green light to leave.’
“Oh great, is that a threat? Do you think Simmons and Williamson got similar notes?” Broots whispered stridently.
“No. For some reason, it appears as though Alex is relating to you. From his treatment here, I must confess that I’m a little surprised. I would have thought that all empathy would have been burned free from his psyche but apparently not.”
“Oh, now I get it, “ Broots said quietly as he stared at his friend.
“What is it?”
“Alex thinks if you and I left our absence would cause further disruption within the Centre, unfortunately I think he’s overestimating my importance,” Broots said slowly, while Sydney nodded with a look of admiration.
“Very good, Broots. In this case, however, I wouldn’t be so quick to believe that, Alex understands the Centre and the Triumvirate much better than we do. So far Mr. Raines has been very quiet, too quiet. I think some snooping around into his recent activities would be advantageous for the both of us. I would hate to ignore a valid warning, even if it does come from Alex.”
Klouchi’s residence
Dover, DE
The day had been productive and the Chairman, for once, was reasonable. All in all he thought the plans that had been set into motion would be realized with a minimum of fuss. He originally thought this posting had been given to him as a form of punishment, now Klouchi saw this situation as an opportunity. The Triumvirate funded the Centre in large part; there was no reason why a member of that same body shouldn’t also run it.
Klouchi smiled to himself as mental pictures of him successfully running the Centre on behalf of the Triumvirate danced through his head. Klouchi was only dimly concerned about the suspicious nature of Mr. Simmons and Miss Williamson’s disappearance since he assumed they had fallen victim to an ambitious plot hatched by the current Chairman. It was probably another half-baked attempt to convince the Triumvirate that the Centre was under attack by a long dead pretender. Alighting from his luxurious Mercedes-Benz, Klouchi strode confidently into his grand home located in an upscale neighborhood. Once inside, he deactivated then reactivated his alarm system. It was his habit to stay at home for the remainder of the night when he finally had a chance to come home. After completing his usual nighttime rituals of shedding his expensive suit, donning silk, French-made lounging pajamas and turning on his new Bang & Olufsen stereo to hear the sounds of his favorite music waft sonorously throughout the house, he decided to get something to eat.
He found everything as he expected when he entered the still darkened kitchen, so he was extremely surprised when he slipped in an unknown, slippery substance on the floor. He landed comically on his back, badly injuring his tailbone in the process and receiving a nasty bump on the back of his head. His loud groan halfway drowned out a soft giggle from the dark shadows of his swanky kitchen. Klouchi strained to see if he were alone and called out a couple of times in his native tongue for the trickster to come out in the open.
The illusion of shadows moving disorientated the slightly concussed African, when emerging from the darkness the figure of a man became discernable.
“Who are you and why are you in my house?” Klouchi inquired in English with groggy anger.
“Your life is about to come to a sudden, violent end, Vice-Minister. Unfortunately for you the time has come to send an authoritative message to the Triumvirate, something that cannot be brushed aside as the ramblings of an evil, old man who drags his bag of murderous wind on the wheels of a squeaky cart,” the stranger intoned quietly in accent-less Algerian. Klouchi noticed that the stranger used his correct title of office, instead of the Centre title of Vice-President of Foreign Affairs and Communications.
“Before I die, I want to see the eyes of my murderer. Who are you?” Klouchi repeated furiously.
“I’m the invention of your ambition, depravity and pride. There will be no welcoming shouts from your misguided brethren in Allah’s gardens. No, there is a far more fitting place for the likes of you,” the stranger stated as he stepped clear from the North African’s grasp and circled around him noiselessly. Alex bent over and swiftly lifted Klouchi’s head and brought it down forcefully on the stylish, imported tile floor with a sickeningly wet, cracking noise as the skull gave way to the force applied. Klouchi’s body twitched reflexively several times then slowly came to rest as he died. Alex squatted next to the body again and felt for a pulse. When he found none, he carefully lifted the upper portion of the African’s body and brought the head down at a plausible angle on the table and returned it to its original position. When he was finished, Alex turned on the kitchen light using a remote device, stared down and mentally critiqued his handiwork. He felt absolutely nothing as he examined his latest victim.
It was several hours later when Alex left Klouchi’s home. In Seattle, he had become addicted to a daytime soap opera which he taped using the dead man’s expensive equipment. Since Klouchi was no longer in a position to protest, Alex, still wearing a baseball cap and hazmat approved overalls, had enjoyed the latest episode while eating a sandwich and drinking a cola. He meticulously washed the dishes he used, replaced the can of Pam cooking spray he used to cause Klouchi’s slippery fall, careful to avoid contaminating the crime scene and left undetected in a work van that advertised the name of a popular home heating oil company.
Hostile Environment
Chapter 9
By Callisto
Delta Airlines—Flight 2230
In flight from Atlanta, GA
The plane was headed northward, taking him towards a small clue he accidentally uncovered as to the whereabouts of Jarod and his playmate. He sat back in the comfortable first-class seat and considered his options. The Centre and all those associated with it were at the mercy of his deep, uncompromising anger. For every good deed he managed to perpetrate—à la Jarod, he dealt the Centre another irrevocable blow. He knew the prevailing thought was that when Jarod finally conceded to defeat at the extensive efforts in place to keep him from finding his mother; the preferred pretender would turn on the Centre. A move which was anticipated and the trap set to finally recapture their most elusive of prizes.
Alex was aware of most of the findings, prevailing thoughts and plans of the Centre’s hierarchy when it came to anything concerning Jarod. His time spent eagerly doing the bidding and carrying out every murderous whim of the Triumvirate had been educational on many levels. He also knew the other reasons for Mutumbo’s assassination. The arrogant African had lost faith in Mr. Parker’s plans and was actively working to minimize Miss Parker’s role in capturing Jarod. Mr. Parker and his brother Raines had plans involving Miss Parker and were practically shivering in anticipation of the emergence of her so-called ‘inner sense’. Alex scoffed inwardly at their belief in this ridiculous super-sense which was supposed act like a supernatural advisor to let them know the best way to manipulate and worm their way further up the ladder of power, influence and financial superiority, not to mention freedom, from the Triumvirate. Maintaining the fiction that she was a Parker was therefore necessary to their plans. They wanted her to produce a child with Jarod, among others, in an effort to meld their respective genetics; the issue of which was expected to eclipse even Jarod’s intellect and endowed with his mother’s gift.
Alex unconsciously exhaled a deeply cynical and dissatisfied sigh. If Jarod’s abilities and accomplishments were going to be minimized by his own child, that practically insured Alex would have been retired and brushed aside like yesterday’s third page news. That would never do and Alex refused to stand by idly and let it happen without making his objections felt by all those who discounted his gifts and contributions.
The Centre would have to pay dearly for his latest spate of goody two-shoes. The research he had put into this pretend alone was exhaustive. Alex discovered a demented scheme involving a group of street maintenance workers in a mid-sized Southern city. Alex had gone there hoping to get a line on Jarod, when he noticed an odd occurrence that almost caused a horrific traffic accident. This sick scheme involved two brothers and a couple other employees who would, at the behest of a greedy counterpart from an auto insurance company, cause the traffic signals in the busiest intersection in the city to all turn green. It only took a moment, then one direction was quickly returned to red but not before an enterprising speeder would run the yellow light at full speed and crash headlong into opposing traffic. The results were several deaths and lucrative kickbacks from the insurance company mole, as the rates would invariably soar for anyone living in or around that particular zip code. Between them they had claimed at least a dozen lives.
The counterpoint for the Centre had to be appropriate. Smiling happily, Alex decided to do some venting on the Triumvirate as well. The death of the Triumvirate’s Centre liaison would force them to sit up and take notice. As the plan began to take shape in his mind, he sipped at the glass of spring water the stewardess handed him; the clue destined for Broots sat waiting patiently on the seat beside him.
Jarod’s lair
Green Lake, WI
Lounging comfortably on the large couch, she tried to concentrate on the book in her hands instead of wondering where her lover had gone. She released a frustrated sigh as she tried to refocus her thoughts on the paperback novel. Still holding the book up, in an attitude that suggested reading, she gave into her thoughts about this intermezzo Jarod imposed on both of them. A soft smile graced her face as she thought about how much sex they had been having. It felt like she was getting more now than she ever had in her life. Centre intrigues didn’t get in the way and their interest and desire was mutual. The only part of her that had enjoyed more sex was her completely fictional reputation. How those morons back at the Centre actually believed the overheated illusion was beyond her, she was a workaholic who easily put in 16-18 hour days at the office. If she had as many men as rumored than she would also have black circles around her eyes, probably more than one STD and a mood fouler than Lucifer.
While she was contemplating the inanity of her Centre reputation, she felt the couch dip from someone sitting at the opposite end. She refused to look up and kept the book in front of her face. He lifted one of her crossed feet, gently removed her sock and started messaging it. The sensation was too enjoyable and she involuntarily released a groan of appreciation. Giving up her pretense she lowered the book and stared at Jarod, who was seated facing her.
“I thought we were supposed to stay away from each other for a day, to ‘get a better perspective on our relationship.’’’ She quoted softly, as a small petulant note crept into her voice.
“I know but I was starting to miss you and I couldn’t concentrate on anything, so I gave up. We can stay here as long as we like without any interruptions or anyone bothering us, so why put up useless restrictions? This is our time,” he said smilingly as she removed her foot from his hands and rubbed it along the inside of his thigh, working her way to his crotch. He looked at her fondly and with a mock expression of incredulity said, “I believe, Miss Parker, that you are starting to like me.”
Sensing a small grain of sincerity in his voice, she forced her expression to stay neutral. She was surprised by his comment, thinking she had made her feelings for him apparent—something she would take great pleasure in clearing up for him. Rather than speaking her mind on that subject she instead asked him another question that had perplexed her.
“Why did you keep trying to get me to leave after everything that occurred between us?”
Jarod had taken her foot back and tantalizingly started moving further up her leg, messaging her calf muscles. “I was there when you challenged Mr. Parker and Raines to reveal which was your real father. With the death of Mr. Parker, I knew Raines would start putting pressure on you to bring me in and tow the corporate line. You were never moderate in your dislike of him, so it was only a matter of time before he ordered your death. Because of some information I was privy to, I found it difficult to believe you could be his daughter, I saw his reaction when he lost his real daughter, Annie. It took me several years to figure out that Raines was the last name of the ‘Blue Moon’ killer’s final victim.”
Her response was a thoughtful nod and silent sigh. She looked up at him trustingly and Jarod, in turn, found himself struggling to maintain his composure. It was her trust that was his goal and quietly, without any fanfare, she had given it to him completely. His hands continued their slow trek up her leg as he started on her knee. He leaned over and softly bit her thigh through the material of her pants.
A desire-filled sigh escaped her lips. “Oh, God, you really know how to get to me, don’t you?” she asked laughingly as he looked up smilingly at her.
Instead of answering her, Jarod gave her an intense look and said, “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Why were you so determined to return me to the bottom level of Dante’s hell? Did you used to hate me that much?”
“No, Sweetheart, I never hated you,” Parker said with gentle earnestness, using the endearment unconsciously. “I suppose you didn’t notice my personal change in mandate. It was after I had been shot trying to save my father from a snipers bullet. Broots found some DSA’s that showed the treatment you were subjected to at Lyle’s hand. Previously, I never gave it much thought what would happen if you were brought back but seeing your torture—well, I decided to chase you with no intention of ever capturing you.”
“’You run, I chase’,” he quoted quietly. “Chase being the operative word. Whenever I left a clue, you would follow through on it and run after me enthusiastically, putting on a good show for the powers that be.”
“Right. Finding you on that island was a bit of a shock, I hadn’t thought it through what to do with you, if by any chance I actually caught up to you. I was depending on you to keep eluding me. The main reason I was stuck in hell was I didn’t want to leave or lose the man I had always thought of as my father.”
The sadness in her eyes, which during the past month had yet to make an appearance, reasserted itself. Jarod, to divert her train of thought, put her leg down, leaned over and stretched his length over hers. He stared into her eyes deciphering their expression and said in softly deep voice, “Hey, it’s much better when your thoughts are concentrated on more immediate concerns, such as your own pleasure. Just think of me as a means to refocus your attentions.”
He was rewarded with a small, wry smile and gently lowered himself on top of her. Once he positioned himself more comfortably for the both of them, he murmured into her mouth. “That was a dumb idea to take a break.” He kissed her tentatively, as she softly chuckled, then became more insistent after a few seconds.
“I have a request to make,” she announced as soon as he would allow her to speak. “No more fast food or junk food for you mister. Only well cooked and balanced meals from now on,” she said as her hands wandered under the cloth of his shirt and encountering nothing but his sinewy musculature.
“Why?” he asked tilting his head to one side.
“Neither of us is getting any younger. Face it, we’re both middle aged, how many more times are you going to be able to get your body into this kind of shape? For my part, I don’t want to take any chances because I love what you’ve done with yourself,” she said with a sensuous grin.
Lifting an eyebrow at her obvious compliment, Jarod pinched the flesh on her hip, barely able to grab any and commented, ”You, on the other hand, have gained a few pounds over the years.” At her widened eyes and slightly embarrassed demeanor, he continued, “Let me show you how much better I like you this way.” He started tickling her to make her laugh and kissing her at the same time. Her laughter drowned out the sounds of the front door being opened.
The Centre
Blue Cove, DE
A quiet omnipresent feeling of doom swirled around the atmosphere of the Centre like a violent riptide. This dark ambiance was nothing new for the Centre’s numerous employees; what was causing the slowly rising level of alarm was a persistent feeling of threat that hung like the Sword of Damocles over the heads of all the employees.
Two mid-level managers had mysteriously disappeared in less than a month. What alarmed all those who heard the story was that their homes had been cleared completely of all their belongings and all records of these managers’ existence outside the Centre had been erased. All that was left were some bloody smears indicating the ultimate fate of the missing. Now, this was the kind of thing Centre employees had heard of occurring to outsiders or to the foolhardy few insiders who forgot who was their employer. For the experienced insiders, this would never happen without some obvious misdeed having occurred and definitely never without the rumor mill circulating news of the inevitable. So the managers’ disappearance was reason and cause for much uneasiness.
Broots sat in the tech room oblivious to the nervous concerns of his subordinates and colleagues. He absently ate an apple wedge his daughter had insisted over the telephone that he take for his lunch. Busily typing away and searching the internet for more info on the murderous preacher who had a psychotic sideline of sacrificing a few of his followers to some obscure god. Broots was so absorbed in his research that he missed noticing the arrival of a large package.
Sydney had encouraged him to keep silent about the clue of the bloodstained choir robe that arrived with a note from Alex. Sitting back in his seat, Broots shook his head incredulously. By all accounts, Alex seemed to be on a mission, he had uncovered some pretty unsavory activities and plots—a few of which were on a par with Jarod’s avenging. A sudden thought hit Broots, as he recalled a few of Jarod’s pretends had direct ties to the Centre. With a sinking stomach, the gifted computer tech began searching through the Centre’s files for the name of the depraved preacher, hoping he would find nothing.
When Sydney walked into the tech room, all was quiet as approximately half a dozen computer techs went about their business. A few cast Sydney apprehensive glances but no one said a word to him and most kept their eyes glued to their monitors. Sydney walked up to Broots’ area situated on an expansive dais and stood next to his friend. Broots was muttering softly to himself as he continued to type feverishly.
“You must go through keyboards on a fairly regular basis with all that typing.”
Practically jumping out of his skin, Broots turned in panic towards his friend, raising half out of his seat and placed a supporting hand on his desktop. “Geez, Syd, you shouldn’t go around sneaking up on people! That’s one trait that you definitely share with Miss Parker, although I’m sure she took a little sadistic pleasure in scaring me half to death,” Broots admonished.
“I apologize for frightening you. Have you found anything on Alex’s last clue?” Sydney replied, ignoring the latter part of Broots’ outburst. He was happy that Jarod had found a way to get through to her but couldn’t help but be a little miffed. Unexpectedly, he found himself missing his caustic colleague more as each day went by, he hadn’t realized it, but she filled a void in his life which now seemed impossible to fill.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bark at you, Sydney. As capricious and moody as she usually was I still miss her a lot. Now I just find myself hoping that she’ll call and make some crazy, dangerous request or something.”
“Yes, I know how you feel, perhaps she will soon. Right now, I was wondering about that robe Alex sent you,” Sydney whispered as he pulled a chair over to sit next to Broots.
“The robe he sent belonged to a murder victim named Susan Collins. She was a member of a fringe Christian sect whose minister had the bizarre sideline of sacrificing some of his parishioners to an obscure South American god. This whole case is beyond strange. Apparently Alex was the mysterious stranger who exposed the minister for the brutal megalomaniac he was.”
During the explanation, Sydney noticed the large parcel left on the corner of the desk and gingerly picked it up. When Broots looked up, he noticed Sydney handling the package and looked at his friend inquisitively.
“I found this sitting on the corner of your desk, any idea who could have sent it?”
“No, I didn’t even notice it. I have to admit that I’m getting seriously sick and tired of receiving these clues from Alex,” Broots stated apprehensively.
“Let’s open it, there isn’t any point in sticking our heads in the sand.”
Broots had already retrieved a small knife, and slicing through the tape, he quickly opened the box and found an old-fashioned traffic light. “I wonder what horrible crime Alex uncovered this time?” Another note, this time type written under the letterhead of the city of Mobile, AL, was addressed to Broots.
‘We’re both workhorses, Mr. Broots. We are so good at what we do that our so-called superiors forget how invaluable we are to them. Let’s not remind them as the signal is about to give you the green light to leave.’
“Oh great, is that a threat? Do you think Simmons and Williamson got similar notes?” Broots whispered stridently.
“No. For some reason, it appears as though Alex is relating to you. From his treatment here, I must confess that I’m a little surprised. I would have thought that all empathy would have been burned free from his psyche but apparently not.”
“Oh, now I get it, “ Broots said quietly as he stared at his friend.
“What is it?”
“Alex thinks if you and I left our absence would cause further disruption within the Centre, unfortunately I think he’s overestimating my importance,” Broots said slowly, while Sydney nodded with a look of admiration.
“Very good, Broots. In this case, however, I wouldn’t be so quick to believe that, Alex understands the Centre and the Triumvirate much better than we do. So far Mr. Raines has been very quiet, too quiet. I think some snooping around into his recent activities would be advantageous for the both of us. I would hate to ignore a valid warning, even if it does come from Alex.”
Klouchi’s residence
Dover, DE
The day had been productive and the Chairman, for once, was reasonable. All in all he thought the plans that had been set into motion would be realized with a minimum of fuss. He originally thought this posting had been given to him as a form of punishment, now Klouchi saw this situation as an opportunity. The Triumvirate funded the Centre in large part; there was no reason why a member of that same body shouldn’t also run it.
Klouchi smiled to himself as mental pictures of him successfully running the Centre on behalf of the Triumvirate danced through his head. Klouchi was only dimly concerned about the suspicious nature of Mr. Simmons and Miss Williamson’s disappearance since he assumed they had fallen victim to an ambitious plot hatched by the current Chairman. It was probably another half-baked attempt to convince the Triumvirate that the Centre was under attack by a long dead pretender. Alighting from his luxurious Mercedes-Benz, Klouchi strode confidently into his grand home located in an upscale neighborhood. Once inside, he deactivated then reactivated his alarm system. It was his habit to stay at home for the remainder of the night when he finally had a chance to come home. After completing his usual nighttime rituals of shedding his expensive suit, donning silk, French-made lounging pajamas and turning on his new Bang & Olufsen stereo to hear the sounds of his favorite music waft sonorously throughout the house, he decided to get something to eat.
He found everything as he expected when he entered the still darkened kitchen, so he was extremely surprised when he slipped in an unknown, slippery substance on the floor. He landed comically on his back, badly injuring his tailbone in the process and receiving a nasty bump on the back of his head. His loud groan halfway drowned out a soft giggle from the dark shadows of his swanky kitchen. Klouchi strained to see if he were alone and called out a couple of times in his native tongue for the trickster to come out in the open.
The illusion of shadows moving disorientated the slightly concussed African, when emerging from the darkness the figure of a man became discernable.
“Who are you and why are you in my house?” Klouchi inquired in English with groggy anger.
“Your life is about to come to a sudden, violent end, Vice-Minister. Unfortunately for you the time has come to send an authoritative message to the Triumvirate, something that cannot be brushed aside as the ramblings of an evil, old man who drags his bag of murderous wind on the wheels of a squeaky cart,” the stranger intoned quietly in accent-less Algerian. Klouchi noticed that the stranger used his correct title of office, instead of the Centre title of Vice-President of Foreign Affairs and Communications.
“Before I die, I want to see the eyes of my murderer. Who are you?” Klouchi repeated furiously.
“I’m the invention of your ambition, depravity and pride. There will be no welcoming shouts from your misguided brethren in Allah’s gardens. No, there is a far more fitting place for the likes of you,” the stranger stated as he stepped clear from the North African’s grasp and circled around him noiselessly. Alex bent over and swiftly lifted Klouchi’s head and brought it down forcefully on the stylish, imported tile floor with a sickeningly wet, cracking noise as the skull gave way to the force applied. Klouchi’s body twitched reflexively several times then slowly came to rest as he died. Alex squatted next to the body again and felt for a pulse. When he found none, he carefully lifted the upper portion of the African’s body and brought the head down at a plausible angle on the table and returned it to its original position. When he was finished, Alex turned on the kitchen light using a remote device, stared down and mentally critiqued his handiwork. He felt absolutely nothing as he examined his latest victim.
It was several hours later when Alex left Klouchi’s home. In Seattle, he had become addicted to a daytime soap opera which he taped using the dead man’s expensive equipment. Since Klouchi was no longer in a position to protest, Alex, still wearing a baseball cap and hazmat approved overalls, had enjoyed the latest episode while eating a sandwich and drinking a cola. He meticulously washed the dishes he used, replaced the can of Pam cooking spray he used to cause Klouchi’s slippery fall, careful to avoid contaminating the crime scene and left undetected in a work van that advertised the name of a popular home heating oil company.
