Another sweet look. ‘That’s nice. I mean, we were told never to open our mouths, never to say anything. And we were told that if we did say something the money would stop, and the IRS would be called in, and we’d have to pay back taxes and penalties, and maybe even go to jail — for breaking our deal. So I’m not in trouble, am I? I mean, I’ve always kept my end of the deal. I’ve never said anything, until right now. It’s her fault, you know, since the money’s stopped. She broke the deal first.’ The old woman’s voice was now defiant, and he found himself liking her spirit.
‘And who’s “she”, ma’am?’
The old woman seemed to struggle for a moment, and then said, her voice just above a whisper.
‘Adrianna.’
Oh, Brian thought. Oh, shit. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘From the beginning, Mrs Garrity. Tell me what happened.’
She said, ‘Oh, it was some years ago. Right after she had graduated from college. She came back and talked to me and talked to Mrs Grissom, from upstairs, and Mister Conklin, he served in the Navy, he was downstairs. Just the immediate neighbors, the three of us. She showed us some paperwork that said she was working for the government. For the CIA. It was a very important job that she was going to get, very important, but there was one thing she asked us to do, and it wasn’t really a lie, it was part of the program, to get in. She said officers needed a… what did she call it? What do you put on a book? You know… a…’
The tingling in Brian’s fingers was now up to his forearms. ‘A cover. That’s what she said. A cover. Am I right?’
A little series of nods, like an old bird dipping her beak into a water glass. ‘That’s right. A cover. She had to have a cover story in order to do her job well, and she asked the neighbors if they would help her out. And who wouldn’t? Such a nice girl! And she promised us that we would be paid, every month, one hundred dollars, if we told the same story to anybody who came by and. asked questions about her.’
Brian tried to pay attention to what he was hearing, but his mind was racing along on another path. He thought about a young Adrianna Scott who had graduated from college, who had gotten an interview with the Central Intelligence Agency, was going through the vetting process. Somehow, she has something in her past that must be hidden. Something that can’t be uncovered by the back-ground checkers in the employ of the CIA. She’s fortunate in that her circle of neighbors are poor and are quite limited in number. So payments — all right, bribes — are made to present the perfect cover story. And what was the perfect cover story?
Brian said, ‘Ma’am, I’ll be able to pay some of your back payments today, and I promise that you’ll get the rest by the end of this week. But can you tell me, what was the story that you were asked to provide?’
‘Well! It was all kind of strange, you know… it was very simple. We were asked just to tell anyone who came by to ask questions that Adrianna had moved in with her aunt at a very young age. When that wasn’t the truth at all.’
‘I see. And when did Adrianna move in with her aunt?’
‘Oh, I don’t know the date… but I do know that she was a teenager, a young girl. A very pretty young girl but a teenager nonetheless. And unlike the other girls of her time…she was different.’
‘How was she different?’
And the old woman gave Brian a knowing look, one mature adult to another. ‘Oh, come now, Mr Doyle. You know what I mean. Tight blouses, tight jeans, skirts up to here… wearing that awful jewelry…strutting their wares so the boys would notice. But not Adrianna. She spent two years here, I believe — before going off to college — and not once did I ever see her with a boy. She was very serious, too serious. Always seemed to be studying…like she had some big goal in front of her… and we respected her, yes, we did. Which was why we agreed to that odd request of hers.’
‘And her aunt? What was her aunt like, during all of this?’
Mamma Garrity clasped her hands together. ‘Oh, the poor dear. Do you know what happened to her? She died, just before Adrianna left for college.’
‘She did, did she? And how did she die?’
The old woman made a cluck-cluck noise as she shook her head. ‘Poor dear was murdered. Suffocated in her own bed by someone who held a pillow over her head. Can you imagine that? What an awful coincidence, just as Adrianna was getting ready to move out.’
Brian nodded slowly, feeling cold. ‘Yes. What an awful coincidence.’
Vladimir saw the whole thing unfold in front of him, as if he was an extra in a stage production, destined to observe and stand still and watch all that happened.
Imad strolled over to the four young men and women, confidence in his step, one hand held out in a friendly greeting, the other behind his back, holding the automatic pistol. There was bile at the back of Vladimir’s throat as he saw what was going on, and a part of him that he thought was civilized, a part that he had left behind in Mother Russia, that part of him wanted to warn the four rock climbers out there — children, really — of what was approaching them. For death was walking near, with a friendly smile and a hand held out in friendship. He wondered if this was what it was like in Palestine, when the suicide bombers approached a school bus or a nightclub or a pizza parlor with that same mystic confidence that they were doing God’s work.
Vladimir did not believe in God, had never believed in God. But now, in this American desert, he was sure that he believed in the Devil.
One of the young men called out something and Imad replied in a friendly voice as he approached them. He said something else, and the four came to him. Vladimir thought, how sly, he got them to come to him and—
Imad’s hidden hand whipped out, and Vladimir saw the confusion in the rock climbers’ eyes. What could this mean? How was this happening? How had a safe day of rock climbing and adventure and a lunch eaten in the wilderness and a night ahead planned, perhaps a restaurant with a good meal and cold beer and lots of laughs and lovemaking later — how had it turned into this?
How?
They started to move but, like sheep before a wolf, they moved too slow and they moved separately. If they had been smarter and tougher — there were four of them against Imad -maybe something could have been done. But this was not a day for maybes and—
The first shot seemed to hit the tattooed man in the chest. He fell to his knees. The next shot caught the other young man in the side as he was turning, his goateed face twisted in fear and horror.
Vladimir thought, the Arab boy’s doing well, shooting the men, the obvious threats first, and now—
Now the women were screaming, turning to flee.
Imad shot each of them once in the back.
He paused.
All four young people were moving some. The tattooed man was on his knees, hands at his chest.
Imad stepped behind him, placed the muzzle of the pistol against the back of his skull, fired again. The tattooed man fell forward.
The goateed man was yelling, ‘Please, Jesus, don’t, please, don’t…’ as he tried to get up, one hand on the ground, the other hand against his side.
Imad moved again. Pistol barrel against the rear of the head.
Another shot.
Vladimir closed his eyes.
The girls were screaming and crying and then there were two more shots.
Then silence.
The Russian opened his eyes.
Imad strolled back, smiling, the pistol now tucked in his waistband.
‘We have work to do,’ he said.
Vladimir said, ‘Yes, we do.’
He swallowed and followed Imad back to the Jeep Wrangler. It took a while. From the gear of the rock climbers, he and Imad took out ponchos and tarpaulins. Once the material was spread over the bodies, it was easier to work, for they didn’t have to look at their victims’ faces, didn’t have to look at the blood and exposed bone and brain tissue. Vladimir worked with the Arab in wrapping up the bodies and tying them tight with bungee cords.
It took some work, but the bodies and the gear were eventually placed in the Wrangler. Vladimir was
