The correct response in this situation is, Of course I want you! You’re very important to me!—And I am going to say that.
In a minute.
But first I say, “You’re a bit moody.”
“I know, honey,” she says. “But I don’t have to be. I mean, I wouldn’t be moody if I were with you.”
“I’ll require a lot of sex.”
“Good thing I’m so young,” she says. “By the time I stop liking sex, you’ll be an old man.”
“In that case, of course I want to be with you! You’re very important to me.”
“Really?”
“I swear.”
I’m not lying. Gwen has become very important to me. Especially her titties. Because behind one of them, pressing against the edge of her rib cage, is the device. Phyllis implanted it during Gwen’s boob job. I didn’t see it, didn’t feel it while making love just now, but I know it’s there. Since its ceramic, she’s probably walked through a dozen airport scanners and no one ever knew. For Phyllis, it was the perfect place to hide the device, and the perfect way to get back at Lucky. Not to mention Gwen.
So yes, I want to be with Gwen. Want to protect her, keep her close at all times. At least till I recover the device. And maybe afterward, too, because Gwen has potential. She’s smart, wild, and, once you know the combination, she’s great in bed.
31.
After dropping Gwen off I grab my gear and head to the private airstrip where I’ll catch my flight. While driving there, I call Callie to invite her to come with me. She’s been bored lately, and I know she’ll jump at the chance to help me kill one of the FBI’s highest ranking terrorists. Unfortunately, Callie’s cell phone has been turned off. Fortunately, it probably means she’s having one of those incredible sexual gymnastic experiences with her life partner, Eva LeSage. Eva’s a star in the most popular stage production in Las Vegas history. I’ve seen it twice, and paid money to see it the second time.
But I’d pay a fortune to see the show she and Callie put on behind closed doors!
Should I wait for Callie?
I know she’d love to come. And she’s such a valuable asset, I’d be nuts not to wait for her. But the more I think about Darwin’s plan, the less I like it. So I decide to go to San Francisco alone, and leave Callie behind to enjoy her evening with Eva.
In the air now, flying by private jet, I think about the job at hand. According to Darwin’s intelligence, Rasool bin Muhaymin is due to land at San Francisco International Airport tonight at 10:19. Muhaymin, known to us as M, has been on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Terrorists List for years. He was indicted in the Southern District of New York for his role in the 2008 hijacking of a commercial airliner which resulted in the assault of twenty-four passengers and crew members, and the murder of three United States citizens. The Rewards for Justice Program has offered $5 million for information leading to M’s apprehension or conviction in any country.
For apprehension or conviction, they say. Not for death.
Death makes more sense. Not just to me, but to Uncle Sam, as well. “Sam” knows our legal system is tiresome, cumbersome, expensive, and overly accommodating to high profile defendants. So “Sam” (off the record) wants to handle M outside the courtroom. While the current charges against him are serious, M is far more dangerous than his indictment indicates. Simply put, Uncle Sam feels the world is better off without M, and when these things are decided from on high, I’m the one who gets the call.
Usually, I get to do things my way. This time, Darwin wants it done his way. Problem is, Darwin’s plan sucks. He wants me to find the limousine that matches the license plate number he’s provided. Then I’m to use whatever means necessary to take the limo driver’s place. Once that’s done, I’m to stand at baggage claim holding a sign that reads, Diego Santosch. M will get his bags and introduce himself to me as Diego, and I’ll escort him to the limo. I’ll put his bags in the trunk and open the door for him. When he crouches down to get in the car, I’m supposed to shoot him in the back of the head. I’ll have the silencer attached, to reduce the sound. M will crumple into the rear seat, and I’ll drive him to the pass-off person a few miles away.
It’s so simple a hit man could do it.
And that’s what bothers me.
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: I’m a hit man. Well, to the mob, maybe. But to Uncle Sam, I’m an assassin.
Big difference.
32.
There are lots of holes in Darwin’s plan.
I like Darwin, enjoy working for him, but it’s hard to trust a guy who would graft a kill chip to your brain. I mean, call me a bad sport, but it’s not the sort of team-building exercise that inspires confidence.
For me, anyway.
So, in addition to worrying about a deadly terrorist, I have to worry that my own boss could be setting me up. I don’t think he is, but isn’t that when you’re at the highest risk? When you think you’re not?
It would be nice if:
1. Sensory could contact the limo company and tell them not to come. I could get my own limo, and wouldn’t have to deal with the current driver. Except we can’t contact the limo company because you never know who knows who. One of their employees could tip off M when he lands, and we could blow the opportunity to snuff him.
