“He’s funny,” said Jessica. “Now can we swing?” The phone, hanging from Fiona’s hip like a sleeping bat, spit out an abrupt chime and Jessica’s face twisted. “I know what that means,” she said, stomping off toward the swing in a huff.
Fiona excused herself. Helen, her assistant at the courthouse, needed a word.
“Why don’t I give you your privacy mum,” said Mick. “I’m not here to entertain, but I will go over and push the little tyke for a moment or two till you finish. That is, if you don’t mind?”
“Oh, how nice of you Mick, that would be very helpful. Thank you.
She and I are going a little stir crazy around here. We’ve been cooped up for almost a week.”
“I read the paper mum,” Mick said, in a solemn, sympathetic tone. “I understand.”
Rejuvenated, Fiona thanked him again and headed for the house. She liked the Aussies, always friendly and full of life. Mick’s infectious smile and friendly manner made her feel a little better, a great temporary fix.
From inside the kitchen, she looked back. Jessica soared back and forth, swinging and laughing like crazy. It delighted Fiona to see Jessica having a little fun, even if short lived.
She plucked an apple from a bowl on the counter, took one last look at her daughter, polished the fruit on her blouse and disappeared into the living room. Maybe we’ll eat at Al Tiramisu. Italian sounds good. Careful not to push too hard, the Australian sent Jessica high into the air.
Stephan McPhee, a common name in Australia, wore several names.
Some called him Andre; others called him “the Bear.” None of it mattered.
“This is a fine house you live in,” said Andre. “You must really like it here.”
“It’s okay,” said Jessica. “It was more fun around here when my daddy was alive.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Andre lied. “You must get lonely.”
“I do. I sit there in my room bored most of the time,” she said, pointing to her bedroom window”
Andre memorized her window. Useful information when he came back to kill them. He stopped the swing, walked in front of her and knelt down on one knee. “Well, I’m sure things will change for you soon,” said Andre. “I feel it in my heart. When you least expect it, good things will happen and your life will change forever.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Jessica, excited.
Andre stared lovingly into her eyes. She was only a child. It didn’t matter. No such thing as an innocent bystander. If you’re home when I come to kill your mother, you’ll die too.
“I know so,” he said, giving her a big hug. “Now go inside and be nice to your mum. She’s going through a lot ya know. She needs your help.”
Jessica hopped off the swing, gave him another hug and took off toward the house. Andre watched her disappear inside, and quietly slipped around back to resume his surveillance, out of the agent’s line of sight.
It took him more than six weeks to sell himself to Fernando. He’d observed the crew clearing snow from Judge Patrick’s estate when he scouted the place three months earlier. The lingering cold weather made the South American immigrant hesitant to add to his crew. A sudden shift in temperature left the groundskeeper a few hands short. The Russian came home from the Weiss’ to a message on his answering machine welcoming him to Salvador Landscaping.
The glue on his phony mustache itched horribly. He shrugged it off.
The oversized push-broom hair under his lip required strong adhesive, but did a considerable job of changing his face. Makeup and disguise, a talent he mastered working for the extinct KGB, fed his love of new looks and identities.
Andre scanned the sky. It’ll be dark soon. He focused hard, and put his photographic memory to work.
Floodlights, mounted atop ten-foot poles, were equipped with diamond-prism motion detectors. Recently developed, the detectors emitted dense waves of infrared light in a net-like maze across a designated area. The slightest movement within the five to fifteen hundred square foot web, and the lights would spit out blinding white beams, like the sun on an August afternoon.
Two feet above double French doors, a white wood-grained metal box blended in perfectly with the rest of the exterior. Two small, barely perceptible antennas protruded from the top. A wireless transmitter for a silent alarm system. He smiled, and made note he’d need a high-grade Motorola handheld scrambler, and would need to cut the hard-line backup system.
Fifty yards from the house, a ten-foot stone wall surrounded the estate. Andre moved deeper into the yard, pretending to work an area alongside the white-brick stairway near the main garden. Two large Rottweilers sprawled out behind a metal fence, lay motionless. He lightly tapped his shovel on the stairs. The dogs sprang to attention.
Their black eyes locked in and followed his every move. Magnificent creatures. Obviously well kept and trained. He thought of poisoning them as they roamed about, however, in his experience, well-trained guard dogs didn’t take food from strangers. No problem. I’ll shoot them from the wall with a silencer fitted rifle.
He heard Judge Patrick laughing and playing with Jessica through an open window on the second floor. How would the seven-year-old sound crying at her mother’s funeral? No. He would definitely save her the trouble and end her life too. After all, what was life without a mother?
“Excuse me sir, no one is allowed to move outside our view,” the agent said, catching him off guard. “Please come to the front and let us know when you plan to work in another area.”
“Sorry mate” he said. “Had no idea. Just trying to do me job.” Counting the number and types of windows on the side and back of the house, he tried to determine which window led to what room. Idiots.
Fooling them is so easy. In the old Soviet Union, I’d be halfway to Siberia by now.
Andre needed more information. No matter. I’ll return with the crew tomorrow. Later during the week, I’ll break inside for a trial run and learn what I need.
An hour later, they were finished. Andre helped load the truck, thoughts of his brother, Vladimir, torturing his mind.
They pulled away from the estate and headed back to Salvador Landscaping’s company compound. The truck’s rhythmic movement lulled Andre into a twilight sleep. He dreamed of home. He saw his brother Vladimir walking past St. Basil’s Cathedral in the Kremlin, tall and proud in his military uniform. He called out, but Vladimir didn’t answer. He waved goodbye to Andre as American soldiers led him to a bullet-riddled wall. One of the soldiers, a General, blindfolded Vladimir, while the others lined up in front of him. The General stepped aside, raised one hand in the air, and slowly counted backwards from three.
Andre screamed for them to stop, to take his life instead. He was too late.
The General’s hand dropped and the rifle’s retort violently ripped through the air. Andre screamed again and ran to his brother, helpless.
Vladimir’s body slumped to the ground, leaving a bright crimson trail streaking down the wall. The General smiled, a taunting, teasing display.
The mirth sealed his next victim’s fate. The General wore the face of-
Judge Fiona Patrick.
8
After eight o’clock, the regular mix of tourists, political hacks and city veterans, went home for the night, and left traffic light. The city’s ceiling, dark but clear, lost its frosty bite, but remained crisp and cold.
Robert treated the streets like a personal NASCAR speedway, barely missed a taxi or two, with Thorne right on his tail.
George Clinton pounded out funky beats from his stereo. Robert’s pulse quickened, and his nose snorted air like an angry bull. He bit down on his lip, imagining Patrick Miller’s jovial reflection in the windshield.
A tight grip on the steering wheel, and his bloodless knuckles turned white.
I should’ve checked out that weasel who followed me to the mission.
Did he have anything to do with Miller’s death? He slapped a palm against his forehead.
The Mustang and Range Rover slowed at Constitution Avenue, where speeding cars attracted the attention of Secret Service and Army personnel, strategically hidden near each monument and major government building. Minutes later, they crept into the city’s parallel dimension, where murky, dilapidated streets spawned an eerie
