Chapter 21
The service elevator hauled furniture as well as maid carts, so thick vinyl pads hung on every wall and long skid marks marked the floor. Marta assumed Aaron got a pass key for it from Lockwood's pockets, but when they reached the penthouse floor, Aaron had keyed in its entry code apparently from memory. He'd said he'd been here two days ago. And there were the phone numbers he'd had her memorize for blowing the place up. He'd been planning some of this for days.
As soon as they left their hotel room, Aaron was on the phone, mostly speaking broken Russian in a voice not quite his own. Marta caught only the pronouns you, me, he and Lockwood's name. With an angry growl, he snapped the phone shut. "Can't get past the front man," he said. "Lockwood, you're not as important as you think you are, but at least they think I'm dead."
They stood in a small foyer between the elevator and a beautiful set of wooden doors that had no lock. The elevator was the lock. "Stay back and let me lead," Aaron hissed. She nodded and with her gun gestured what she hoped was a "go for it." His face took on that look that she'd come to think of as "murder mode." Slamming open the right side door, he shoved Lockwood through. Nothing happened, not even a yelp of alarm so he followed.
Marta had a slice of view.
Lockwood had fallen down a short flight of entry steps, rolled away and to his knees. "Boss, boss, watch out!"
"Ah, look, dear," a masculine voice rumbled, "we have a visitor. Lockwood, if you don't shut up, I will shoot you myself." A gun barrel had materialized near Aaron's head. He raised his hands in surrender. His gun was snatched away by a dark hand. The voice continued, "Come on in, whoever you are out there, or I will kill him."
He couldn't keep doing this to Marta, Aaron thought. He couldn't keep doing it to himself. The terror of Lockwood's gunshot still made his heart beat too fast. That made three times in as many days he'd almost lost her. She had to be safe for both of their sakes. Although initial contact with Benedict had gone as well as could be expected, since they were both still alive, Marta was not safe. He couldn't keep her safe. He shouldn't try anymore. She'd never be safe with him. It had to end today. He didn't know he'd do it yet, but he'd find a way.
Marta stood next to him. She looked angry. She liked her plans to behave like her lab projects, each step neatly executed, no surprises. She would never be happy fighting day by day, the way he'd lived his life for the last four years, the way the rest of his life would play out, and let's be realistic, it was going to be brutal and short.
He put his hands behind his head as a gesture of surrender. Marta copied him. Somewhere on the trip up from their room she'd taken off the dreadful white wig and thrown it in the garbage. Her hair clung to her head in sweaty, flat curls.
Two penthouse walls showed spectacular views of early evening Reno, a third had doors to other rooms, the fourth where they stood the main entry to the elevators. In the center of the large room a blonde woman of maybe 50 moved out from behind an impressionist sculpture that resembled a flow of coins. The sculpture had been in the middle of a shootout. Gashes marked the otherwise smooth green stone. Modern, squared off couches and chairs in a cash color scheme of greens, greys and chrome were scattered around the room. The walls were painted black, the floors were white marble. Everywhere there were fresh bullet holes.
The woman carried a small, spotted and mostly hairless dog in the crook of her arm and wore a short and revealing black evening dress that made Marta's look conservative. She seemed attenuated, stretched, scraped down. She'd obviously once been very beautiful. "Oh, you were wrong, Jed, love. It isn't Genghis Khan, it's Barbarossa!" She dropped the dog to the floor, raised her hands and declared, "Barbie, it's so good to see you again."
Barbarossa, his training pseudonym, his name after Kenny and before Aaron Cross. That made this Helen and Jed Robinson, his first trainers, CIA operatives he'd always assumed, but if they were here, they had been Torres' competition, and were running the Spots' drug operation … They looked different. But then they would. Helen had always been fond of the surgeon's knife. Jed followed where Helen led.
They had been CIA, or more likely ex-CIA. Were they working for Byer? Would they sell them to Byer? What was supposed to be a simple drug sell had morphed into another encounter with sudden death, and once again it had spun out of Aaron's control. With his back to the door, he wanted to turn and run with Marta into the night, but instead he let his arms drop into a proffered hug, "Helen, sweetheart! It's been years." If it was a fight, it wasn't here yet. Air kisses followed.
Turning he nodded to her husband Jed who had been the man behind the door, at least he'd always assumed the muscular, dark skinned close combat trainer was her husband. Jed was at least 10 years younger than Helen, maybe more. Jed looked ready to take him down and beat him into a bloody pulp, but he always did. Jed was what pop culture would call Aaron's frenemy. Jed had never accepted that Aaron would always be stronger and faster.
Marta had made the right call on this. He should have killed Lockwood and they should have run. Now they were neatly caught in a sticky web of deceit.
Marta hesitantly dropped her hands. "Barbarossa?" she asked.
Helen turned to her with a flourish. She'd always been like that, a drama queen. She'd told Aaron it was her default personality, but he'd seen her do many others, ranging from housewife to stone cold killer. A lot of her spycraft training had been acting lessons. "But surely this isn't June Monroe. Didn't the mob catch up with her after Byer sent you back to Afghanistan? Such a shame, and you kept her safe for so long."
Damn, Marta would never let that go. She still asked him about June Monroe now and then.
Jed re-holstered his gun and waved away a flock of henchmen who had appeared like a swarm of house flies. Before the henchies melted away with Lockwood in tow, Jed summoned one closer for whispered instructions, then he turned back to his wife. "No, my dear, don't you recognize her? She was all over TV news just a month or two ago. This is one of those Outcome people, Dr. Marta Shearing. Remember, I showed you the information I dug up after Barbarossa broke my arm. Nothing human should be that strong. No offense, Barbie, or should I say Aaron Cross?" There had been something off about that. Jed hadn't exactly been lying, but he'd held something back. Had the Outcome files been supplied by Byer?
"None taken, Jed. I prefer Aaron, if you don't mind." He found himself turning toward the door. There was no elevator sound, no footsteps in the foyer, but he didn't trust the Robinsons … the Benedicts … whoever the f**k they were. They knew way too much about him and Marta. "Who's Genghis Khan?" he asked.
"One of the other Outcome agents we trained, number three, I believe," Jed told him. "Isn't that right, dear?"
"Yes, yes. But you have Doctor Marta Kristina Shearing, Barbie. That's so wonderful," Helen interjected. "I didn't think you had it in you to be so devious! You were always more of a soldier than a saboteur. Such a prize! Can we help you shop her around? I can think of several buyers right now."
Buyers, for Marta. And what about him? "Why are we really here, Helen? Are you working for Byer? Is he on his way?" Lockwood and his team had been a test of some kind, perhaps even bait to lure them up here.
"Oh, no, no. Byer has no backing at the CIA anymore. Well, he does in theory, but they're weaning him off, and he doesn't have enough funding for a decent bounty. We looked at it, but you'd be too expensive to take down. Why, here we are being friends and you've killed two of our people." She gave him a hard stare. "You do believe me, don't you? Why don't you do one of those truth stares, I taught you? Look at my eyes, sweetie, check out those micro-expressions. I am telling you the truth."
"What do you mean 'buyers'? You mean people who want my skills in virology and genetics?" Marta asked.
"Not people, darling, corporations, governments. And they don't particularly want you. They want Outcome."
Aaron broke in, "Marta, this not a great idea." Or was it? She'd rejected it back in Hong Kong. But if Helen had a buyer lined up, it might be Marta's best option, what he'd been wanting for her. A safe place, protection, even work she could do. He'd lose her … but he was always going to lose her. Right from the very beginning he knew that he would eventually lose her. Auntie Amanda had told him so just last night.
Marta ignored Aaron's objection. "Will they have the Outcome research or do I have to rebuild it from scratch?"
"Well, there's one buyer who has the files, dear." Helen and Marta walked away talking. Aaron watched, left behind and alone.
"She wants to sell out?" Jed said at Aaron's elbow.
"Yeah, looks like it," he
replied. "Who's Helen talking about? The buyer with the files?" It had better not be Ric Byer or they were leaving now, even if he had shoot his way out.
"Candent. They blind copied everything they sent to the CIA. At least that's what Boyd tells me."
Candent, the Sterisyn parent company and thus a party to the original Outcome study. A massive corporate conglomerate in pharma, rivaling Bayer and Pfizer, with offices in Europe and Asia. If it wanted to stick it to the CIA and keep its data and its program, it could do it. While it didn't have more money than God, it could afford to outspend the CIA on a specific project. The CIA had the world as its beat. Candent only cared about relatively tiny pieces of it.
As a research venture, Outcome had been supremely successful. It had huge potential in making revolutionary changes in medicine. While Congressional hearings were digging into the Jason Bourne/Treadstone fiasco and Ric Byer had advised Candent to bury Outcome, LARX and the rest, mostly to cover the collective CIA ass, Candent Group did not intend to waste the millions it had invested in the projects. It wanted Marta back.
It was the perfect set up for her.
But who was Boyd? The only Boyd he knew of was Peter Boyd, Marta's former lover, long gone. And he'd been, what? A researcher in animal behavior? Something like that. "Boyd's our contact at Candent," Jed told him. "Since we were moving on Reno and it was one of the top possibles for snagging Shearing, he's been calling us pretty much every day. Even says he'll arrange a nice little under-the-counter pipeline for schedule II and III drugs if we bring her in." They'd been walking toward the penthouse's kitchen, where Aaron could hear the off-duty guard staff rattling pans and chatting while they cooked an evening meal. Jed stopped and turned toward Aaron. "He's not made an offer for you, but I think that's just because Candent brass doesn't expect you to come in on your own. Your rep. proceedeth you, man."
"My files proceedeth me." Aaron sighed. Jed had told mostly the truth, but had held something back. Probably how much he and Helen expected to make on the deal. Or the likelihood that he would be killed. Something that would not bother Jed at all. "Thanks, man. You have a phone number for this Boyd?"
Jed gave him the stink eye.
Ah yes, there was just one little detail still outstanding. Aaron threw up his hands. "Okay, okay, Jed. Slipped my mind. I'll show you where I stashed the rest of Joachim's drug delivery."