Hellfire (Sisters In Law Book 2) Read online

  "And you know that how?"

  "I know that because she said so. Unlike you, I'm not so jaded that I immediately reject everything anyone tells me."

  "I don't reject everything. I just reserve judgment until I evaluate agendas. Huge difference."

  "Well, Wash has no agenda."

  Winona had grimaced. "No, other than stealing my husband away from me and the kids, she has no agenda."

  "The kids hate us both anyway," he'd said, referring to their twin boys, now fourteen, who were in that peculiar stage all teens must go through where confidants are required to be less than twenty years old. They had stopped speaking to their parents months ago. The parents now felt rejected and could only hope and pray there would be an end to the stony silence at some point. But the rejection hadn't been without effect; each parent secretly thought the other responsible for the impasse. Which made Gorman's reaching out to Washida all the more predictable.

  Winona settled back in the plush first class seat and closed her eyes. She tried to empty her mind of all thoughts of hearth and home. She tried to resist wondering what Gorman was doing just then and who he might be doing it with. She pushed her back hard against the seat, uncomfortable. That was it, the unknowing. If he had already moved out and taken up housekeeping with Washida it would feel much different. There would be no reason to hold out any hope that he might come to his senses and give her up. But having him still at home--even given that morning's announcement--made her feel as if she still had some ties to him. Didn't those ties give her some ownership rights in him? She wondered, even feeling she was thinking foolishly. Maybe the marriage could yet be salvaged if only he could be made to wake up and see how the twit was using him. God, some men could be dense, especially when the little head was doing the thinking for the big head, Winona thought with a smile. She wondered if the big head ever regained control after the teen years. If only.

  Almost without thinking she opened her purse and withdrew her cell phone. There was still time to call him and try to reason with him before--

  She stopped herself. Words weren't going to be enough. Gorman's future was decided the minute he first laid hands on the bunny. Hungry hands, her bedroom eyes--Winona had met her at a party last Christmas Eve at the big box store Gorman managed--it was a done deal. Slipping the cell back inside the bag, she motioned the steward over. Another glass of bubbly, she told him. Might as well get good and oiled and sleep it off over the Atlantic. Which was totally out of character for Winona, who was ordinarily first cousin to the teetotalers of the world. She drank little and she had never done drugs, even in college; she had majored in criminal justice, and CJ majors didn't drop acid or snort coke. It just wasn't who she was. But right now, on this huge jetliner, with her husband moving out and two kids who had forgotten her name, she was losing control, it seemed.

  Winona tasted the third offering of champagne and the steward waited while she swallowed it all down so he could collect the plastic ware before the plane began its takeoff roll. Her head lolled to the side as she offered the empty plastic to him. She closed her eyes. The alcohol was already relaxing her and a feeling of warmth was spreading through her body. She smiled. It was the first peaceful moment she'd had in months. And it came at the expense of her high standards where mood-altering substances were involved.

  Wouldn't you just know it?

  Even her own feelings had become artificial.

  How sick was that?

  12

  Christine had tapped on Sevi's door three times. Then a count of five followed by two quick taps. The code they'd agreed on. Sevi limped to the door and placed her hand on the handle. She waited. Then there it was again: three--five--two. Now she was sure.

  She pressed down the handle and pulled. The woman whose picture she'd seen on the Internet hurried into the room. She closed the door behind her, quickly, as if she was being followed.

  Christine hurried through the room, pulling the curtains away from the wall and looking behind, then placing her hand on her waistband gun as she crept into the bathroom and threw on the light in there. Satisfied the room was empty except for Sevi, her upper body relaxed and she approached Sevi with both hands out. She received Sevi's outstretched hands and gazed into the Syrian woman's dark eyes.

  "Sisters," Christine said. "Caught up in God-knows-what."

  "I'm Sevi."

  "Yes, you are. Now let me see your passport, please."

  Christine arranged herself at the small dining table while Sevi retrieved her bag and dug out her passport. She placed it before Christine.

  It was a Syrian passport and the picture clearly matched the bearer sitting across from her.

  "Order some tea," said Christine, studying the passport front to back. "And rolls with butter. I'm famished."

  "Was there trouble coming here?"

  Christine gave the woman's passport back to her.

  "Let's say it was interesting. There are people who don't want us to meet."

  "That would be the government?"

  Christine slowly nodded. "Could be. And there are others, companies in America that make unbelievable profits from war."

  "And from stolen oil."

  "That's right."

  "They start wars so they can steal oil. Those are the ones I want to sue."

  "Those are the ones I want to sue for you. They are the rot at the tree roots. That's why I came here."

  "Will you take me to the U.S.?"

  "Yes. I have a plane waiting."

  "A plane is waiting. For us?"

  Christine nodded.

  Sevi held up one finger and picked up the phone. She dialed room service.

  "My plane will be here within the hour. No one knows except the pilots and me. And now you."

  "Are you being followed? Is that it?"

  Christine stretched her arms and arched her back. She was tired, not having slept at all last night, and her mind was exhausted after the last two days of cat and mouse and constant movement from the U.S. to Ankara. She closed her eyes and allowed her racing mind to calm. As she did this, Sevi saw the lawyer's need and gave her space. Christine shook her head as if coming to and smiled at Sevi.

  "Yes, I've been followed."

  "Who is it?"

  "There's a man. He's looking for me now."

  "Who is it?"

  "He goes by Hussein, though that's not his real name. I'll never know his real name, most likely. I left him back in my room."

  "He let you leave without following?"

  Christine smiled and shook her head. "He didn't have any choice. I drugged him. He'll be unconscious for several more hours. In the meantime, we'll leave for the airport."

  "Should we hurry?"

  "No need. The drug I used is powerful enough to stop a mule for twelve hours. This man has met his match."

  "Then we should hurry."

  Christine raised her hand. The woman studied the hand with the missing fingers. She realized she wasn't alone in her suffering; this woman had suffered too at some time.

  Sevi pulled herself to her feet, with the use of her cane, and wobbled to the room door. Christine followed close behind and stepped behind the door as it opened, out of sight. Her hand was on her waistband as she waited to see who had knocked. Satisfied it was their refreshments and nothing more, she then stepped around, received the room service tray from the man in the green coat, and allowed the door to close on its own.

  They made their way back to the table and took the same seats as before.

  Sevi poured tea while Christine hungrily buttered a bun. She pushed the plate toward Sevi and nodded.

  "Forgive me," she said, chewing in double-time. "Sex with strange men always makes me ravenous."

  Sevi's hand paused between the butter dish and bun.

  "Did you just say you had sex with the man?"

  "I did, didn't I." It wasn't a question. "Well, there you have it. Now you know the extent of my dedication to your cause. Any questions?"

&n
bsp; Sevi appeared to be thrown off. "No--no--""Good, then eat up. It's a long way from here to the airport."

  "No, it's only a few miles. I have watched the planes landing."

  Christine smiled and wiped her hands on her linen napkin.

  "It's a small trip for normal people. Sister, that no longer includes you. Welcome to my world."

  "Oh."

  "Things--" Christine said as she took a sip of the strong tea, "are no longer as they appear. You can make bank on that."

  Sevi shook her head. She had no idea what her lawyer meant.

  But she was ready. One step closer to American soil and high explosives.

  An airplane ride away.

  13

  Winona had been a cop long enough to immediately discern when someone was following her. And someone was.

  That someone followed Winona off the plane and waited in the second circle of passengers at the luggage carousel. Winona didn't actually have luggage to pick up, she was simply using the location to study those around her. Eventually all passengers had taken their luggage and departed the area. All except Winona and her overseer.

  She stepped around the woman and watched over her shoulder as the last three pieces of unclaimed luggage rode the metal merry-go-round. The woman grew uncomfortable with Winona behind her and abruptly departed. Winona waited until she was totally alone, then went back along the hallway at the end of the luggage claim and located the bank of elevators.

  It was time to meet Christine. She had Christine's flight number from Istanbul--stopover one from Ankara--as well as gate number, and she began punching buttons and walking through passenger areas toward the numbered gate.

  Heathrow Airport is a huge enclave of terminals. The Heathrow Express, a passenger tube, connects them. From Terminal 1 Winona rode the express to Terminal 5 where she would meet the incoming flight from Istanbul.

  Would the woman follow her?

  She turned after stepping from the car; the woman followed her off. Winona fought down the impulse to walk up to the tail and confront her. That would solve nothing and certainly would result in the woman being replaced by yet another, unknown, pursuer. So she did nothing and instead casually approached Christine's gate. There she sat in the long row of waiting chairs closest to the jetway exit, where Christine would, within the next half hour, appear in Terminal 5. As expected, her tail sat just behind her and two seats to her right.

  Winona selected the mirror app on her phone and studied the woman over her shoulder. What she saw told her little: dark-complected, probably Middle Eastern though maybe Far Eastern; short hair and high forehead; small gold bar in her left earlobe; ring-less hands; and some kind of e-reader that was having trouble keeping her interest, as the woman repeatedly stared across at Winona who, she failed to realize, was watching her.

  Winona soon tired of the sport and took to reading an eBook on her phone. As she did, her thoughts wandered time and again to Gorman and the twit and she admitted, finally, that his words yesterday advising her that he was moving out still played hard upon her. She loved Gorman despite his frailties and dalliances. She thought their relationship more one of the tried and comfortable type rather than one of the heart-fluttering romance newly acquired type. He was her old shoe and she had wanted him to stay on. But he hadn't and now she would be alone.

  Sitting there, in Terminal 5, with a deranged person on her tail (who else would perform such a chore except someone deranged?), she was lonely and not just a little sad. In fact, she felt tears come to her eyes and she dabbed at them with two fingers and a wisp of tissue.

  "F-ing men," she whispered under her breath, and tossed her head back with new resolve to keep her mind on the present and off the old. She had a job to do and she steeled herself against what was to come.

  Thirty minutes later Christine appeared with the other passengers, one of the first off the plane.

  Except it wasn't Christine, she realized when she stepped within three feet of the woman. Winona was shocked and a little unnerved: the woman was Christine's height, wore Christine's hair color and hairstyle, bore the same complexion, and was sturdy across the shoulders and back like Christine. Plus she was lugging along the exact same backpack Christine was so often seen traveling with. Winona froze.

  But the new Christine came right up to her. She held out her hand and gave Winona a note, which the detective took without thinking. She pulled it open and read:

  Win: This is an actress my plane flew in from Chicago. She is dressed and made up to look like me. I have used her before and she's quite good at being me. She is flying on my real passport and on my real commercial flight from Istanbul. Fly back to the U.S with her and interact with her as if she were me. Chris.

  P.S., sorry I couldn't tell you all this beforehand. I'll make it up to you and buy your lunch at Sisters In Law.

  Without missing a beat, Winona swept the new Christine up in her arms and hugged her. She leaned forward and whispered into the new Christine's ear and both women smiled and drew apart.

  "She's the dark woman with the short hair," said Winona.

  "Got her," said the new Christine, whose name, she whispered to Winona, was actually Rae. "So she's our companion back across the pond?"

  "Evidently. Her or someone just like her. Whatever, our Brit Airways flight back to New York doesn't leave for ninety minutes. What say we grab a brunch and fill our bellies? You must be starved."

  Said Rae with a huge smile--two old friends reuniting--"You know, no airline serves a full meal anymore. Welcome to the new air travel where you lose weight as you go."

  "That's beautiful. And so true."

  The women left the gate area and began making their way back toward the Express, where they would travel to Terminal 1. Neither carried luggage; their bags were backpacks that hung from their shoulders. Not quite what one would expect from women traveling internationally.

  But, then, who knew what to expect from women anymore anyway?

  * * *

  Hussein awoke at noon. Just barely noon. He awoke to the sound of the housemaid rapping her keys against the door and announcing she was there to clean. He stood up from the bed and immediately fell back down with a thump. The room swirled around him as the dizziness coursed through his body, disorienting him and causing him to blink hard against the daylight. He sat on the side of the bed for several minutes and, as he slowed his pulse and forced the dizziness away, the housemaid let herself into the room. She was startled to find him sitting there, looking up at her with his best effort at a smile under such circumstances. She backed away and said in Turkish that she could come back later. No need, he told her, he was about to dress and leave, would she just give him five minutes alone?

  She shut the bedroom door behind her and he stood once again. Locating his trousers and underwear, shoes and socks, he assembled the lower half of his outfit. He found his white shirt flung across the back of a chair in the other room and discovered his passport and wallet were missing. He half-smiled. She didn't need the money; she had taken his ID to slow him up. It would work and it wouldn't. He seized the phone, got an outside line, and called the Ankara Blackguard desk. New papers would be delivered to the front desk in fifteen minutes with enough U.S. currency to keep him for two weeks. He would need a sizable chunk to set up shop in Chicago and begin the hunt. They asked, could they do anything else? He told them thank you but no. He would contact the company from Chicago.

  He was about to hang up when Lugo came on the line.

  "She fucked you and put you out, eh?" said Lugo in his most cynical tone.

  "She drugged me. Whatever else happened, I have no memory."

  "How about the lawyer? You're just going to let her go?"

  Hussein grimaced. "How can you say that? Haven't you people learned anything about Hussein yet?"

  "Whatever, I just know Randall C. Maxwelle in Washington is going to turn on you if you fail again."

  "You tell Mr. Maxwelle the plan is proceeding just as
I made it up. There will be no lawsuit filed. That is what I was hired to prevent and, by all that is holy, it will be done."

  "I'll tell him that. He will be calling any moment now."

  "Good. And tell him I will be in touch from Chicago. The women will be erased by tomorrow night. Tell him that."

  "He'll send the hounds of hell after you if it's not done as you say."

  "There will be no need. I'm just getting started."

  They said their goodbyes and Hussein finished dressing.

  At the front desk he was given a folder containing a new passport, ID, American dollars, and Chicago addresses belonging to Christine Susmann, both office and home. Plus there was a dossier on the lawyer, complete with comments and recommendations for taking her down. He was interested to find she was the mother of two children, a boy and a girl. Evidently the boy suffered from some kind of handicap that kept him on crutches. Just the sort of lad Hussein might like to meet. What else was in there, he wondered, and he turned more pages.

  On the flight out of Ankara to Istanbul, Hussein devoured the file. He declined the offer of food and drink and sat scanning page after page. Then he watched the clouds passing by below. Had she just flown through these same clouds? He wondered at that, for he knew he wasn't that far behind.

  Once he changed planes in Istanbul he settled in for the long flight to London. It was time to sleep. He ordered a small pillow and blanket and tucked the dossier under his leg for safekeeping. As he drifted off he remembered the American lawyer embracing him in the shower, water beating down on their heads.

  Then they had ordered room service with coffee. He had excused himself after dinner to use the restroom. Which was when she doped his drink. He was sure of it.

  He smiled as he drifted off to sleep.

  The favor would be returned tenfold with a bomb they would never forget.

  14

  The hiring officer at Blackguard believed everything Althea had to say. She believed Althea's ID was legitimate, believed her Social Security card was real, took photos of her driver's license and put those in the file marked Applicant, and studied the W-9 IRS form before sliding it into the file as well. The position was officially titled "Administrative Assistant" and her role would be assisting a pool of thirty-some data analysts in the overseas arm of Blackguard. Exactly the spot Althea wanted to land.