Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.
This story is rated T. Apart from some language, there's nothing here that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch the Following, you're old enough to read this. However, it is The Following, so bad things can happen. Expect possible violence, dark themes, angst, and a certain amount of general awfulness. No serial killers, FBI agents, or small furry animals were harmed in the making of this fanfic. And don't try anything you read here at home.
Hi gang. I don't know if The Following even has a fandom anymore, since it's been off the air for a while, but on the off chance it does, I decided to boldly go where no Following fanfic has gone before - straight into Mike's year overseas and Mark Gray's time on the run. But of course it's not that simple. Nothing ever is.
So the question is, if this is supposed to be about Mike's year overseas, why isn't Mike in this chapter? And the answer is that he'll be in the next one, and so will Ryan and Max. But the setup takes some doing, as you'll see, so Chapter One, somewhat to my surprise, ended up being BGO. (Bad Guys Only)
"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter." - Ernest Hemingway
Chapter 1 - Everything Has More Than One Name
MacLean, Virginia Four Weeks Ago
The party had been underway since eight o'clock, but the killing wouldn't begin for another hour. The victims were still being kept in the holding cells downstairs, and most of the guests hadn't even set eyes on their kills yet. A few had, of course. Those who had a V in their membership number were allowed to pick through the available choices ahead of time, as were members of the Committee who actually ran the Organization. They got first pick, with the Chairman getting to choose first.
For now, people were lounging about in the gallery in the center of the mansion, enjoying drinks and hors d'oeuvres served by attractive young people in fetish wear. Some of these were hors d'oeuvres as well, of a different sort. A few of the guests were masked. These were people who needed to preserve their anonymity, even from the other guests, either because of who they were, or what they were about to do.
One of the corridors leading away from the gallery was marked off by velvet rope dividers and guarded by two security men whose job it was to see that only authorized guests could pass. Guests and staff all wore plastic bracelets with a bar code. Anyone seeking to cross the red rope divider into the corridor beyond would have the plastic bracelet they wore scanned by a guard. Anyone without the correct bar code would be politely, but firmly turned away.
The bedrooms beyond were used for killing, except for one. A large bedroom with an adjoining sitting room was set aside for one very special member. The sitting room had been converted into an office. The dark paneled office and its adjoining bedroom and bath belonged to the striking, dark haired young woman who sat behind the desk studying some papers. When she attended a party she stayed there overnight. The office was used for work, and sometimes for receiving important guests. The bedroom was for sleeping. She never killed there. There was a surgical room in the basement, and when she carried out a vivisection, she reserved it for her use.
She sat at her desk, reading over a file on a prospective member, a flamboyant real estate magnate who was prominent in the casino business. He was certainly rich enough, and bent enough, to qualify for membership in the Organization. But reading over the report, she decided that he was some combination of high profile and reckless. The Organization demanded that its members be discreet, and while those who weren't could always be dealt with, doing so was both bothersome and expensive. The Chairman wanted her opinion before inviting this man to join. She decided to advise against it. This particular candidate had a mouth control problem , and admitting him would likely be making a disposal job for herself down the road.
Her phone, which was sitting on her desk, buzzed for her attention. She glanced at it, and saw that the call was from Kaminsky, one of her two regular bodyguards. He and her other bodyguard Stinnes often helped oversee security when she was at the House for an event. She picked up the phone. "Yes?"
"Ma'am," Kaminsky said, "I'm sorry to disturb you. We have a woman at the gate. She hasn't got a bracelet, but she gave the guards a recognition code."
"What was the code?"
"She said that she was here with a delivery from Henry Medical Supply, and that someone needed to sign for it."
"How did she arrive?"
"She came in a car, alone. No sign that she's being followed."
"Park her car in the garage in case we have to get rid of it. Take her in through the delivery entrance. I want her searched.. If she's clean, bring her to my office. I want a mask on her, and a blindfold under the mask. I don't want her recognizing anyone, and I don't want her being recognized."
"Yes Ma'am."
She went into the bedroom got her shoulder holster with the Makarov in it from the closet shelf . and put it on. To conceal it she slipped a black bolero jacket over the sleeveless black sheath dress she wore. She kept a Glock 26 in her desk drawer, but felt like some extra insurance.
II
Stinnes and Kaminsky entered the office, each of them with a hand on the upper arm of a woman wearing dark straight leg pants, a white blouse, a dark suit jacket with tux lapels, and black flats with a strap around the ankle. Her face was covered by one of the translucent masks that were used by guests. Beneath it, a black leather blindfold was secured in back with a buckle. Kaminsky closed the office door, and looked questioningly at his boss. She nodded, and he removed the mask and blindfold. The woman, a slender brunette with her hair pinned up in a bun, blinked at the light, and looked around her, trying to orient herself to her surroundings.
"Sit down," the woman behind the desk ordered.
"They took my phone and purse," the new arrival protested. .
"You'll get them back if we let you leave. Sit down."
The nervous woman sat down in a leather upholstered accent chair in front of the desk. Kaminsky reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a manila envelope, and placed it on the desk. "She was carrying this, Ma'am," he said.
She picked up the envelope. The flap was already open. She removed the contents. A few sheets of lined paper, legal size, folded up, and a black Moleskine notebook with a soft cover.
"Are you Eliza?" the newcomer asked.
"Don't ask questions, answer them," the woman behind the desk replied. "I believe there's something you're supposed to tell me."
Her guest sat silent, looking flustered.
"I hope, for your sake, you remember what it is."
"I come from Hakim. Hakim sent me."
The woman behind the desk sat impassively for a moment, looking at the stranger as if measuring her for a coffin. "Thank you," she said to Kaminsky. "Wait outside."
The two bodyguards left. "So," the woman behind the desk said, " you come from Doctor Strauss."
"Yes. My name is Julianna Barnes. I'm a paralegal. I work for the firm that's handling his defense."
"And what's this?" the first woman asked, indicating the notebook and folded up paper.
"Doctor Strauss told me to give it to Eliza."
She picked up the notebook on her desk and flipped through it. The book was filled with page after page of handwritten numbers. Clearly a code of some sort. She put the book down, opened up the folded paper, and began to read.
There were three sheets of handwritten notes. Each sheet had a name at the top, along with a short biography. There were also dates when the people had studied with Strauss, along with their preferred methods of killing, and disposal of their victims. There were also lists of what weapons they were proficient with, and even notes on their psychological profiles. She looked at the names - Kyle and Daisy Locke, and Theo Noble.
"Doctor Strauss didn't write this," she said, putting the items back on her desk. "It's a woman's handwriting."
"It's mine," Julianna said.
"He dictated this?"
"No. He gave me two notebooks. Both were in code. The stuff on those three pages was from one of the books. It was much shorter. He gave me a key to the code. He told me to decode it, and take the decoded copy to Eliza. He said it would prove the other book was genuine. He said that
he would provide a key to the code in exchange for her help."
"So I decode the book, and what do I get? The answers on Jeopardy?"
"A list of all of his students. Are you Eliza?"
"Yes. I'm Eliza. Ms Barnes, this is all very beguiling, but Doctor Strauss is quite beyond my help. And that being the case, I don't see much reason to let you walk out of here alive."
"Doctor Strauss has a plan to compromise the Governments's case against him, but he needs your help to make it work. He said you had the resources to carry out his plan. He offers a deal. His life's work in exchange for your help in saving his life."
"And what's in it for you?"
"He said that after he walked out of court a free man, that we would be together."
Eliza flipped through the pages of the coded book, studying the lines of numbers carefully. At length, she put it down on the desk in front of her. "All right, Ms Barnes. Let's talk turkey."
III
Skopje, Macedonia Ten Days Ago *
The dance floor at Branko's was crowded with revelers who were some combination of happy, drunk, hopeful of the evening's prospects, or just high on the energy, the vibe, and the throbbing music. The place didn't have the garish colored lights common in American nightclubs, and the music, while loud, wasn't painful. The drinks were reasonably priced, and American dollars went far enough. At over fifty Denar to the dollar, Jerry Gilliam had managed to get himself seriously drunk every night this week without making a major dent in his bankroll. The male female ratio here was better than the average for most American nightclubs, and that was a plus as well.
The current song was ending just as he downed the last of his imported German beer. He'd been taking a break, nursing a Krombacher and a bit of anger at being rejected by a curvy brunette who had wandered off with a some guy wearing jeans and a black and white striped T shirt that looked like something a convict would wear in an old movie.
He saw a girl nearby with thick rimmed glasses and her dark hair in a braid. She was wearing a dark blouse, shorts, and ankle boots with high heels. Her ass was a little chunky, but overall...not bad. She was at the bar getting a drink. Something clear in a cocktail glass with a half slice of lemon floating in it. He was close enough to move in and approach, and the Krombacher had helped restore his self confidence. He began moving in her direction.
"Hi. Are you a good driver? Me and some friends are planning a bank robbery, and we need a getaway driver. We'll cut you in for three percent."
He had been hoping that she would try to negotiate for five percent, which the PUA** web site he had got the line from had said was likely. But she may not have spoken enough English, or maybe that particular opening didn't work as well here as he'd hoped, or maybe she hadn't understood him over the song that was starting up. Whatever the reason she retreated with a silly grin on her face and her drink in her hand, and was soon at a table with a guy with blond hair who wore similar looking glasses and had a stubbly beard. He was disappointed, but consoled himself with the thought that she'd had a fat ass anyway.
The new song was metal, but eminently danceable, and the lyrics were in English. He didn't recognize the band, but they were apparently British or American. He began scanning the crowd, looking for his next prospect.
"Hi, I'm Marta."
He turned to find himself facing a tall slender woman with high cheekbones and vaguely almond shaped brown eyes. She had long hair that fell loose over her shoulders. She was wearing a short black velvet dress with long sleeves. It hugged her curves, and they were, he decided, very nice curves.
He tried to think of an opening line, but before he could, she held out her hand and tilted her head towards the dance floor. He took her hand, and followed. She was athletic, graceful and something about her moves made him think she might have had some professional dance training. He felt clumsy next to her, but she seemed to be into it - and into him. Something about her made him think of a pole dancer he'd admired back home.
The song ended. "Are you American?" she asked.
"Yeah. My name is Jerry. You move like a professional dancer."
"Thank you. You move well yourself. I have another American friend. Come, I'll introduce you."
Another American friend. Crap. I'm probably not getting invited to a threesome.
The other American friend proved to be a brown haired man with a short beard sitting at a table over near the corner wearing jeans, sneakers, and a white long sleeve shirt, untucked. It was almost a uniform among many of the men in the club. He might be American, but he could have passed for a local. A bottle of Starogradsko Dark sat on the table in front of him.
"This is Luke," she said. "Luke, this is Jerry. He's from America."
"Nice to meet a fellow American," Jerry said, extending his hand.
"Have a seat," Luke replied, without offering his hand. "Welcome to Macedonia."
"I'll be back," Marta said, and headed off in the direction of the restrooms.
'What brings you to Skopje?" Luke asked.
"Vaycay. You?"
"I'm sort of an expatriate. Kind of bumming around right now. So how are you liking the place so far?"
"It's great. I always wanted to see Europe, ya know. Are you and Marta..."
"No," Luke interrupted, smiling. "We're not. Actually, we're leaving here in a few minutes to go to a party. You wanna come? There'll be drinks, and lots of unattached women."
"Sounds good. Expatriate, huh?"
"Yeah, I made some money working the fracking fields out West. I wanted to see the world."
"I know what you mean," Jerry said. "I wanted a change. They said the women were...different over here."
'Different?"
"You know. Hotter. More feminine. I mean, look around you, man. Not nearly as many fatties."
Luke smiled, and drained the rest of his Starogradsko. "I see what you mean. So you're here to meet women?"
"Among other things. But mostly that. How long have you been here?"
"I've been in Skopje about a month, but I've been traveling for a while. Since back in March."
"Fracking must pay good."
"You have no idea. And you have no idea how cold North Dakota gets in the winter, either. I had to get away for a while. What do you do?"
"I work for an insurance company in Philadelphia."
Another song was starting up, making conversation difficult. Luke said something, but Jerry couldn't quite make it out. He leaned closer. ""Couldn't hear you," he said.
"We're leaving," Luke replied. "Are you coming with us?"
He was aware of Marta leaning over his shoulder. "Let's go," she said.
"OK"
IV
"How far is this place?" Jerry asked.
They were in Marta's blue Ford Focus, which had been parked down the street from Branko's She drove, Jerry sat next to her, and Luke sat in the back. They drove beneath a Moonless, overcast sky past the edge of town. The two lane road, the Ulica Radovan Somethingorother passed beneath the massive concrete overpass of a four lane highway into what looked like farming country, with broad empty fields on either side stretching out into the darkness.
"It's over in Arachinova," Marta explained. "Just a few kilometers."
"So who are these friends of yours?"
"There are some people I went to University with They have a villa outside of Arachinova. They have parties. He works for the film ministry now."
"They have one?"
"Yes," she laughed. "We have movies here and everything. All of the modern conveniences. I had a bit part in a movie once, called The Gray Falcon."
"You're an actress?" Jerry asked.
"I've tried to be. I had one small part in one movie. All I did in it was get shot by the Germans. I tried to get a part in a movie about zombies. That would have been a small part as well. Instead of being killed by the Germans I would have been killed by the zombies. But they liked someone else better. Who knows? Maybe she slept with the director."
"So what do you do now?"
"I am an administrative assistant."
"This villa must be out in the middle of nowhere," Jerry said.
Mark dropped a wire loop over Jerry's head and tightened it, choking off his air. Jerry convulsively grabbed for loop around his neck, his fingers trying to gain purchase. He made a gurgling sound that might have been a plea Mark kept the pressure on while Jerry thrashed frantically. Mark felt the car come to a sudden halt as Marta slammed on the brakes. The sudden deceleration threw Jerry's head forward, further tightening the choke wire around his neck.
Marta pulled a syringe from her pocket, quickly removed the plastic cover over the needle, and stabbed it into the large muscle of Jerry's thigh, her thumb pressing down on the plunger. The effect was almost immediate. Within seconds, Jerry's became feeble, and then stopped. His hands fell to his side and his head slumped forward, spittle running down from his mouth.
Mark released the pressure on the garotte, and checked Jerry's pulse by placing a finger on the carotid artery of his neck. He nodded wordlessly at Marta, and opened the car door to get out.
V
Jerry came awake, and felt himself being carried in a fireman's carry across someone's shoulder. Luke. His hands, he realized, were bound behind his back. He was groggy, weak, and unable to fight. He felt himself being dropped, and landed on something hard. But he hadn't dropped far. He managed to turn and look up. He was in the trunk of the car. And the trunk was lined with plastic.
The lid of the trunk slammed shut.
VI
Marta drove them down a dark empty road that was now sloping sharply upwards.
"What do they call this mountain again?" Luke asked.
"In Macedonian it's the Skopska Crna Gora. In English it means the Black Mountain of Skopje. But the Turks call it the Karadag."
"That's how it is here," he mused. "Everything has more than one name."
"Yes," she said. "Including you." She sat in silence for a moment. "I do not think you should use your brother's name as an alias."
"They're not going around arresting guys named Luke. And what would you know about it anyway?"
"I know that you should be more careful."
"We were careful."
"That's not what I mean," she said. "The man who hunts you. I read about him, just as I read about you. He won't give up. And if there is anything at all unusual in your life..."
"The name Luke isn't unusual," he said angrily.
"Time is against you," she said. "You said it yourself. Weston is searching for your family's money. When he finds the last of it..."
"What do you care about it?" he snarled. "Maybe you're looking for my family's money."
"That's ridiculous. If I only wanted money I could collect the reward. You should talk to Dusko. He could help you. He knows people"
"You'd never live to collect the reward. And how do I know you aren't working for Dusko?"
"Of course I work for Dusko. How do you think I live? I'm not really an administrative assistant, and that acting job didn't pay very much."
" All right, then. I'll call him. Pull off here," he said, pointing to a dirt road that led into some woods.
VII
He lifted up the lid of the trunk, revealing, in the beam of the flashlight she held, a terrified man, his hands and feet zip tied and his mouth sealed shut with duct tape, lying on the clear plastic liner. Jerry.
"You want to do the honors?" he asked.
She hesitated, but then nodded, the ghost of a smile on her face. He handed her a knife with a smooth and slightly greasy feeling black handle and a steel blade reminiscent of an American K-Bar. The man he'd bought it from had told him it was Russian army issue. She took it in her hand, and gave him her flashlight. He reached down and grabbed Jerry by the hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat to the blade.
She bent down, knife in hand, to reach the struggling victim. "That's it," he said. "Just like that. Right across the jugular. Good girl." She back away quickly, startled at the spray of bright warm arterial blood. "It's OK," he assured her. "I've got some bottled water. We can clean that right off your hands. And we just wrap Jerry up in plastic for clean and sanitary disposal. No fuss, no muss, no bother. So how was your first time, babe? Was it good for you too?"
VIII
Marta looked out her bedroom window at the café across the narrow cobblestone street. They'd slept late, spending the night at her flat, with her taking the couch. She'd considered trying again to seduce him, but he had become so agitated and angry the last time that she was afraid to try it again. She'd called Dusko after breakfast at the café across the street. He would be here soon, and she hoped Mark would be in a better mood than when he'd got up. Mark's moods were unpredictable, and whatever release he'd got from last night's kill had worn off by the time he'd awakened.
"He should be here by now."
She turned to find Mark standing behind her. "He's only a few minutes late. Give him time. Dusko will call, if he needs to cancel for some reason."
"How did you meet him?"
"He hung around the campus when I was at University. Afterwards jobs were scarce. Dusko was well traveled. He'd been to many places. Germany, Ukraine, all over the Balkans. He took me on a couple of business trips. He said a couple was less conspicuous than one man alone. The intrigue was romantic, and it gave me a chance to travel some. Later, I did a few jobs for him."
"I can imagine."
"I was never a whore," she said icily.
"It was just money? Or you loved him? Or did you believe?"
"It was romantic. And Dusko believed, and sometimes I believed in him. And I needed the money."
A knock sounded at the door.
"That's him," she said, and went to answer.
Mark followed her to the tiny living room. She looked out the peephole in the door, and then opened the door to reveal a bear of a man wearing jeans, sneakers, and a tan pullover hoodie. He was fair skinned, with an angular face, brown hair cut short, and a short, neatly trimmed beard. The hoodie fit loosely, but not loosely enough to conceal his powerful build.
"Marta," he said, holding put his arms to embrace her, "it's good to see you."
She hugged him warmly. "Come in, Dusko. I want you to meet someone."
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I am Dusko Ivanovich," he said.
"Dusko," she said, "I introduce Mister Mark Gray."
"I've heard so much about you," Dusko said.
IX
Dusko took a sip of the tea Marta had made for them, and placed the cup back on the small dining table. "We are really not as different as you think," he said. "When the Twin Towers were brought down, some commentator said it was a work of art. Said it admiringly, in fact. But murder is often a work of art, and not just when it's done on a mass scale. Joe Carroll was an artist, as was..."
"Let's get to the point," Mark interrupted. "I want Mike Weston dead."
"And you think we can help."
"You can help. Question is will you."
"You understand we'll want something in return."
"I kill Weston myself," Mark said. "Even if I had the money, I wouldn't pay you. This is personal to me, it's not a cause."
"Mr Gray, I wouldn't take your money if you offered it. So both of us take money out of the equation. And as for Weston's death...I'll have to take that to my people. For them, this is part of a larger plan. Remember, this is a work of art. And it has to speak to people, and open their minds to new ideas."
"Your people. So you're not the one in charge. Marta said..."
"I work for myself. But I'm...brokering this deal for some other people."
"So who are they? And who's in charge?"
"That would be Zamir. You'll meet him later, if he agrees to work with you."
"I kill Weston myself. I need help trapping him. You tell this Zamir character. If you want to make videos of it, that's fine. In fact, that's exactly what I want."
Dusko stood. "I'll tell them. We'll speak again. And Mister Gray, when you do meet Zamir, please remember that he is a man to be treated with respect."
X
Zamir kept a safe house in a flat above a café on the Ulica Bogdan Kabulska. It was a blocky, four story building with a forest of satellite dishes on the roof. Zamir's flat was on the fourth floor, and commanded a view, in the distance, of the Stone Bridge. Much closer was a row of small shops across the street. There was no parking on these narrow streets, and Dusko had walked a long evasive rout from the bus station to get here, carefully checking for surveillance as he went.
The place was Spartan, since no one lived there full time. There wasn't much furniture and what there was had seen better days. Zamir wasn't a tall man, only about 170 centimeters, but was was powerfully built, with arms like a blacksmith. He had a broad face, and short blond hair with widow's peaks and fair skin. He sat in a chair with wooden arms and cushions upholstered with ratty gray vinyl that might have been castoff office furniture. Dusko sat on couch with the same gray vinyl upholstery. A cheap writing desk with spindly legs was placed by the window, but there was no sign that anyone had ever done any work there. Well, office furniture was fitting, Dusko thought. This wasn't really a residence, it was a place of business.
"Is she in love with him?" Zamir asked.
"Very likely," Dusko replied. "He's damaged, and dangerous, and she finds this romantic. She read a lot about him, and about the Joe Caroll and Lily Gray cases. I think if she lived in America, she would have ended up as someone's follower, as they put it."
"And yet she brought him to your attention."
"Yes. She met him, and recognized him She found him attractive. This was over a month ago. She didn't come to me until just a few days ago. She wants to help him."
"And what does she think is going to happen?"
"She hopes to be paid for helping deliver Mike Weston to us. And she hopes to help Mark Gray by having Weston killed."
Zamir shook his head sadly. "That plan has a number of flaws in it. She hasn't thought this all the way through."
"So the answer is no?"
"The answer is yes," Zamir said. " But afterwards...she'll have to eliminated. They both will. Mark Gray is radioactive. I'm sorry that she has bad taste in men, present company excepted, of course. Some American once said that three may keep a secret if two are dead."
"Mark Gray wants to kill Weston himself," Dusko said. "In fact he insists on it."
" We'll promise him what he wants, but my principals have specific requirements. And the final say."
"Who are your principals?" Dusko asked.
"That's not relevant. To you, at any rate."
"Is it relevant to you?" Dusko asked.
Zamir gave a slight shrug. "You'll get your finder's fee after I meet Gray, and I'm satisfied we can work with him. Or at least keep him under control until he's served his purpose."
'When do you want to meet Gray?"
"Tomorrow. Tell Mister Gray. That should give me time to make some phone calls. And we'll see if he can be discreet for that length of time."
XI
New York City, 48 Hours Ago
The window of Eliza's office on the 23rd floor looked out at the towers of Manhattan on a glorious late summer day. It would be fall in a couple of weeks, and while it was getting cool at night, it was still warm and perfect in the daytime. She wanted to get outdoors after work and enjoy some of it. For now, she was taking a short break. A cup of Masala Chai sat on the broad expanse of desk in front of her. Next to it, a small dish held a few ginger cookies.
Her company, ZR Security Ops , had been founded by her late father, Colonel Peter Getman, after he retired from the US Army. ZR provided hired guns for bodyguarding, security, and paramilitary operations all over the world. It protected corporate executives, ambassadors, and VIPs of all sorts. It guarded black sites for the US intelligence community. It protected mines and oil platforms in unstable countries. It helped train police, military personnel, and intelligence operatives in several nations, including the US.
And it also protected the Organization.
Eliza, who had studied under Dr Arthur Strauss, used her father's private military contracting company to provide security, firepower, and muscle for an organization of wealthy and powerful serial killers. On the outside, ZR provided security and hired guns for legitimate customers, including the United States Government. Behind the scenes, it engaged in human trafficking, kidnaping, murder for hire, and much more besides. In many ways, it was the ultimate black op, and Eliza was at the center of it.
Her phone signaled that she had received a text. She set down her cup and checked her messages. There was one from a number she did not recognize. It would be a burner. The message read "We're getting together at The Four Winds Bar at 6."
She texted back "OK". She gathered up a file on her desk that she had been reading and slipped the papers back into their folder. She carried the file to a cabinet and opened up a door in the bottom of it to reveal a safe. She spun the combination and placed the file inside. Then she walked out of her office to the reception area . Her secretary, a slender woman with short dark blonde hair named Alyssa, had a word processing program open on her monitor. "Alyssa, I'll have to cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. I need to take care of something."
"Yes Ma'am."
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. She would not go straight to her destination. Before that, she would carefully run a surveillance detection rout and make sure she was not being followed.
XII
She watched the world go by from a table by the window of a wine bar on Long Island , pretending to sip a glass of Merlot and feigning interest in something on her phone while waiting for her contact to arrive. He wasn't her boss, that was the Chairman, the head of the Organization. He wasn't exactly her boss' boss either, because there wasn't really a rigid table of organization. But setting the Organization up had been a formidable undertaking, and at the time, it had taken some help. The organization wasn't anyone's wholly owned subsidiary, but favors were owed, and service was expected. She thought of it sometimes as a giant squid. That squid had tentacles, and in the scheme of things, the Organization was only one of them. The man she was about to meet could be thought of as a liaison, and he was a man to be dealt with carefully.
She checked the time. He would arrive shortly. She got up, leaving her wine on the table, and walked out. She waited on the sidewalk at an intersection. Traffic was one way here. She was at the end of a row of small shops. A delivery truck was parked just up the road, its driver carrying barrels of soft drink syrup into a restaurant. A couple of bicycles were chained to a stand in front of the wine bar. Traffic on the four lane cross street was heavy at this hour of the afternoon.
She spotted the dark gray Lexus LX approaching from up the one way street. This one was modified with armor and a partition that separated the passengers from the driver. Those sort of mods were expensive, but money was no object when it came to his comfort, convenience, or safety.
The Lexus stopped in front of her, and she stepped off the curb and entered quickly, closing the door behind her. In the back seat next to her sat a dark haired man with a short, neatly trimmed beard. He might have been thirty. He might have been fifty. His coal black hair was thick and tousled in a way that takes some effort to achieve. No hint of gray, but the face was hard. Not the face of a young man. He wore a black pullover and jeans with a Max Toney suit jacket. She had never seen him in jeans before.
The driver pulled away from the curb, and turned right onto the four lane road. They were headed east towards I 278. "You're looking well," he said.
"Thank you. Dress down day at the office?"
"Actually, it's a day off. Or it was. A perfectly good day off that was shot to hell by a message I got this morning. They've got a line on Mark Gray. I knew you'd want to be told as soon as possible."
"Where?" she asked. "And who are they?"
"Where is Skopje. And they are CIA."
"How did the Agency get on to him?"
"I don't know yet. All I've seen is the Tier 2 report, with the source edited out. The actual Tier 3, with the source identity included, I haven't seen. *** But I don't think it was an intercept. CIA has a human source for this, I'm sure." He took a flash drive out of the pocket of his suit coat and handed it to her. "The Tier 2 report is on that flash drive."
"Can you get access to the Tier 3?"
"I'm working on it. So what's your interest in this? Why do you care about Mark Gray?"
"I think he's a risk. And I think he should be eliminated."
"Risk in what way?"
"Because Ryan Hardy and his crew took almost no one alive. Strauss was in contact with Joe Carroll, and Hardy found Strauss. Carroll was in contact with Lily Gray and her disgusting brood. And because the FBI took no prisoners, we have no idea who told what to whom."
"You're serious? Isn't that a bit paranoid?"
"Paranoia," she said,"is part of my job description. It's actually one of my best qualities. People fail to appreciate my paranoia, even when it's keeping them off Death Row."
"I've always appreciated your good qualities," he grinned. After a moment, he grew more serious. "Strauss hasn't said anything to the FBI, and the Chairman doesn't think he ever will."
"The Chairman is a student, and Doctor Strauss has kept in touch with him for years. He knows about the Organization."
"You're a student too," he said. "And you of all people know the bond the good Doctor's students have with him. Strauss hasn't said anything so far, and why would he? Given what he's done, it's not like they're going to give him immunity, even if he talks. And he kept everything compartmented. You said so yourself."
"And yet he's in jail, like Joe Carroll. And I'm more worried about Carroll. What did he know, and who did he tell? Doctor Strauss had a special place in his heart for Joe Carroll. God only knows why, the man is a study in smug. A gigantic walking ego, and he had big plans. All I'm saying is better safe than sorry. I don't want Mark Gray talking into a microphone at One Federal Plaza."
"You mean you're actually going after him?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"For one thing, you're indispensable to the Organization. Frankly, I'd send a hundred guys before I'd send you."
"You're not sending me," she said. "I'm going on my own. Get me the Tier 3 Report."
"I'll get you the report, but the trip may be completely unnecessary."
'What do you mean?" she asked.
"There's an operation in the works to capture Gray. Macedonia is a nonextradition country, so they've decided they have to go in and get him. Now CIA, by statute, can't do tactical law enforcement, so they put in a call to the FBI. And the Bureau is sending someone."****
"Who?"
"Three guesses, and the first two don't count."
She shook her head in apparent disbelief. " My God. Do these people never learn? What do they think is going to happen?"
"Beats me, but somehow I don't think Mike Weston is planning to take Gray alive."
She gave a snort of derision. "Mike Weston left Ryan Hardy's niece to go chasing after Gray. Tells me how smart he is. He'll end up as hamburger. Get me the Tier 3."
"As long as I've got you here," he said, "I was wondering if you could do something for me."
"What?"
"I've got a guy who needs a job. Former Company man. Cratered his career in Iraq."
"What did he do?" she asked.
"Went rogue. He's good. He took out a guy that was funneling cash to Al Qaeda. But the guy was a Saudi royal, and there was a stink about it. He's an independent contractor these days."
"OK, but I want to see his dossier, and I want to meet him."
"You'll like him. Once you get used to him. His name's Derek."
XIII
The Shoreditch Hotel was located near Madison Square Garden. It was well below Eliza's usual standards, but good enough for a quick meeting. She had Kaminsky book a room, and he and Stinnes took up position on 7th Avenue to watch for the approach of Julianna Barnes. Eliza sat on a leather couch by a window that looked out on a medical building and a nail salon across a narrow street. She looked at her phone, scrolling down a list of emails and reading a few that looked important, but it was hard to concentrate. She had a lot on her mind, and Julianna was late.
Her phone buzzed. Kaminsky. "Yes?"
"She's here, Ma'am."
"Thank you."
She pocketed her phone, stood, and waited by the door. A few minutes later there was a knock. A look through the peephole confirmed that it was Juliana. She opened the door. "About bloody time."
"I had to work late," Julianna said, as she stepped inside.
"You work for me now," Eliza replied, and produced an envelope from the inside pocket of the lambskin moto jacket she wore over her white poplin shirt and wool pants.
Julianna opened the envelope and examined the contents. Inside was a thick wad of bills.
"You'll get a hundred thousand all told," Eliza said. "That's a down payment. You won't get it all at once. That's to keep you from doing anything that draws attention. God's mercy on you if you do that. When you get home, start packing. You're going to Europe."
"But I don't have any time off," Julianna protested.
"Then have a family emergency. Call in sick. I don't care."
"But I don't have a passport."
"Yes you do. You'll have a complete set of papers. That's why we had you sit for a few pictures. You'll be going as Marissa Clark. Julianna Barnes can't leave a paper trail.".
"Why do I have to go?" Julianna asked.
"For your health," Eliza said. "Not going would be very unhealthy."
"What am I supposed to do there?"
"You're going to make contact with Mark Gray," Eliza replied. "We need him."
"Arthur told me I wouldn't have to do anything like that."
"Arthur, as you put it, is in jail. He'll tell you anything."
"Why do we need Mark Gray?" Julianna asked. " That's not part of the plan. Can't you kill Ryan Hardy's people yourself? You have all these men working for you. And you have Daisy. Kyle. You should be able to do this."
Eliza had a brief mental image of Julianna strapped to an operating table and awaiting her attentions. "Because," she explained patiently, "I'm changing the plan. I have to. Doctor Strauss has been in jail for a while, and I think it's affected him. Dulled his thinking a bit. When we kill everyone Ryan Hardy loves, it has to look like the work of more than one person. Mike Weston plus Max Hardy dead equals Doctor Strauss. We need someone with a motive to kill Mike Weston."
"Why not send Kyle and Daisy to contact Mark?"
"They have their own part to play. Everything has to be compartmented."
"You're sending me because you won't risk your precious students," Julianna said accusingly. "Gray is dangerous, and you think I'm expendable."
So you're not as stupid as you sometimes look. "I can't be directly involved because my organization demands it. We stay below the surface. Kyle and Daisy can't be involved because they might be linked to Doctor Strauss. You understand? When this is over, it never happened, and we don't exist. I'm sending two men with you. They'll keep an eye on you, for your protection. And mine."
"When do we leave?"
"In two or three days." She took a phone from her jacket pocket and handed it to Julianna. "That's a burner. We'll call you on it to inform you of our departure time. And one other thing." Eliza reached into her pocket, and took out a plastic bracelet with a bar code. "Keep that. Do not lose it. When we leave, you won't be going to Europe direct. There will be a stop at the House. I'll meet you there. That will get you past the gate. No more recognition codes. I'll meet you at the House before we leave for Europe."
"Why go to the House?" Julianna asked.
"You'll see. You do as you're told, and you'll be with... Arthur. And you'll have some money to show for it. Which I know you need. But you have to do as I say. No questions. You understand?"
"I understand."
"Good. Keep that phone handy. We'll be in touch."
XIV
MacLean, Virginia, 12 Hours Ago
Eliza's office at the House was windowless, and there were no clocks, so there was no obvious sign that it was nearly midnight. She had brought some paperwork from ZR that she needed to catch up before she boarded the plane for Skopje. She didn't mind working late. She'd never been a morning person, and given a choice, she'd likely keep what she described jokingly as "vampire hours" She'd always loved sleeping late, and she loved the night. Running her business meant that she could rarely keep the hours she preferred.
Her phone buzzed for attention. Kaminsky. She picked it up. "Tell me that she's here."
"She's here, Ma'am."
"Well better late than never, I suppose. Take her to one of the guest bedrooms, and leave her alone for thirty minutes. Keep an eye on her over the vidcams. Let her sweat for a while. Then bring her to the operating room."
"Yes Ma'am."
She rose, and went to the bedroom where she changed into blue surgical scrubs. She then headed downstairs to prepare for Julianna's arrival.
XV
The basement of the house had been subdivided into a warren of soundproof rooms which normally were kept locked. Tonight, with no guests present and no party taking place, Eliza had left the doors open so that Julianna could see inside each room when she was brought downstairs and marched down the corridor. She wanted Julianna to see the holding cages, the torture devices, the acid vats for disposing of bodies.
But the room at the end of corridor - the operating room, was kept closed. No sense in spoiling the surprise too soon.
Stinnes and Kaminsky brought Julianna downstairs, and walked closely behind her. She looked in the rooms as she passed each one, and up ahead she could see Eliza in her blue scrubs. By the time she reached the last door, the one Eliza had left closed, she was shaking with fear.
"Why are you dressed like that?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"So that I don't get blood all over my clothes," Eliza replied.
It was then that Julianna panicked. She turned and tried to bolt, but Stinnes and Kaminsky grabbed her, and held her, and marched her through the now open door of the operating room while Eliza watched, smirking.
In the center of the room, lying on an articulated steel table fitted with straps, was a young man in his early twenties. A rubber bit was fitted into his mouth and held in place by a kind of clamp around his head. He was naked, and he was conscious.
"What are you going to do?" Julianna sobbed.
"I have bought you," Eliza said calmly. "And I own you. You might have gotten into this on account of Doctor Strauss, but I own you now. And I'm not happy with your attitude. Also, I want you to understand what can happen if you double cross me, by, for example, not coming across with that decryption key when the time comes. So it's time for a demonstration. I want you to see just how long I can keep this man conscious, and screaming."
XVI
They'd need a cleanup crew for the operating room, since Eliza didn't clean up after herself following a vivisection. The length of meat on the operating table, now laid open, its major organs in jars on the countertop along the back wall, the blood everywhere, the vomit in the corner where Julianna had thrown up, all would be taken care of. Eliza, standing by the sink, stripped off her bloody gloves and tossed then into a wastebasket. Her blue scrubs were splattered with gore. They would have to go into the trash as well.
Kaminsky stood by, watching her, seemingly oblivious to the horror around him. Stinnes was helping Julianna back to the guest room.
"I'll be leaving in a few hours," Eliza said. "You and Stinnes will follow 24 hours later with Julianna. Just keep an eye on her. I'll need to find Gray first. Once I've done that, I'll contact you. We have to move fast, because Julianna can't go missing for too long. Stan The Man is arranging our equipment packages. He'll contact you when you arrive. He'll also be your contact if it goes to hell, and you have to escape and evade."
"Understood. Good luck, Ma'am."
" Thanks," she said. "You too." She looked down at her gore spattered scrubs, and grinned. "Guess I better shower and change before I head for airport."
XVII
Dulles International Airport, 8 Hours Ago
Eliza found him alone, waiting in a gunmetal blue Volvo S90 parked in a deck off Aviation Drive. She got in beside him and closed the door. "I was getting worried," she said.
"These things take time," he replied. "But I got a look at the Tier 3 case file. The guy who ratted Gray is named Dusko Ivanovich. He's Croatian. He's got contacts all over the Balkans. He's been selling intel for years to whoever will pay. Today it's us. Tomorrow it'll be NATO. Next week it'll be the Russians. Apparently a girl he uses as a courier spotted Gray in Skopje, took it to Ivanovich, and they're looking to collect the reward. I'm sending you the report encrypted."
"A girl?" Eliza said doubtfully.
"Awfully convenient isn't it? It occurs to me that if this is a trap, you'd be better off letting it slam shut on Weston."
"If he expects to collect the reward, then he has to show them something. He has to deliver. Do we know anything about this girl?"
"It's in the report. Look, we've got a lot invested in you. We disappeared your father's body. We got him declared dead years earlier than would have normally been the case, just so you could inherit. Just so you could use his company to do jobs for us. I've gone along with this so far, but I'm starting to wonder what you're not telling me."
Careful here. He can order you to stand down.
"Mike Weston is Ryan Hardy's best friend, and Ryan Hardy remained in the FBI. I don't know if Gray knows anything about us. I don't know what else there is to find. Maybe nothing. But whatever there is to find, Ryan Hardy will find it. I want this taken care of before Ryan Hardy decides to get involved."
He stared out the windshield in the general direction of the elevator, lost in thought. "All right, then," he said at last. "Like they said on the old TV show, be careful out there."
Musical Interlude - I Have A Need by Black Light Burns
And from Branko's - Kill Me Every Time by Blue Stahli
========Chapter Notes========
* Pronounced SKOHP-ee-yuh. You can hear it pronounced on Wikipedia. Whenever you encounter a j in the local languages, it's usually pronounced like an English y or like ia (As in Sofia or Utopia) . Don't ask me why. Macedonia is located just north of Greece. It was once a part of Yugoslavia, which collapsed and broke up in the 1990s in an orgy of civil war and ethnic killing that eventually led to military intervention by the US and NATO. Search engine if you're interested. For reasons that would take too long to explain here, Macedonia's full and proper name is the Former Yugoslav Republic Of Macedonia, and it is sometimes marked on the map as FYRO Macedonia.
**Pick Up Artist. PUA web sites, offering men so called "Red Pill" advice on how to succeed with women have proliferated on the web. I take no position on the matter. Sometimes they extol the advantages of foreign women over their American counterparts. I take no position on that either, but spending a lot of money on a plane ticket to go pick up women overseas might prove an expensive way of finding out that the problem is you and not the women.
*** For security, intelligence data is organized in tiers, and only certain people are allowed access to each level. Tier 1 is mostly low level administrative material. Tier 2 are actual intelligence reports with the source edited out. This is to prevent, for example, the name of an agent being revealed when a report sent by that agent is disseminated. Tier 3 identifies actual intelligence sources, such as wiretaps, communications intercepts, or the names of agents. For obvious reasons, Tier 3 data is guarded very carefully, and only a small number of people should have access to it.
**** The Following sometimes referred to "non extradition countries", meaning countries that don't have an extradition treaty with the United States and therefore aren't obligated to hand accused criminals over the US to face trial. Macedonia, as of this writing, has no extradition treaty with America. Of course a country without an extradition treaty may still choose to extradite a suspect if the US asks, but the answer may be no. For that matter, even if there is a treaty, the answer may still be no, because countries that sign extradition treaties don't always keep them.
The FBI can arrest a suspect anywhere in the world, and so far as the Federal courts are concerned, it's perfectly legal. The same goes for other law enforcement agencies like the Coast Guard, or even a bounty hunter in cases where a suspect has jumped bail. If you're in court, and charged with a crime, they'll put you on trial. They really don't care how you got there.
The CIA, by law, is not allowed to make arrests. They do, within certain limits, operate inside the US. The FBI began operating outside the US during World War II., but its overseas operations became much larger after 9-11. Since then, it has opened sixteen new overseas offices. The relationship between the FBI and CIA is complicated, and not always friendly. Entire books have been written about it, and I won't even try to deal with it in detail here.
23
