Chapter Twenty-two


Jessie knew the instant she disconnected the call to Quest Compound that she needed to get out of the apartment. Her fury was so deep that if she didn't direct some of that energy into a constructive purpose, she was bound to vent it in some fashion guaranteed to wake the others and trigger awkward questions. She turned off her computer system and made sure Jonny's was powered down, as well. Then she went through the apartment and unplugged all the phones except the one attached to the answering machine. On that, she stilled the bell and set it to send all calls directly to the machine. Then she changed the tape, pocketing the used one grimly, and headed into her bedroom. Jonny was still sleeping deeply and didn't stir. Moving quietly, she retrieved an envelope from the back of the closet. Inside were two sets of identification papers, one for her and one for Jonny. Each set included a driver's license, social security card, passport, and credit cards. There was also a bankbook. Taking her set and the bankbook, she swapped out the identification in her purse, returned the envelope with Jonny's I.D. to its hiding place, grabbed a large canvas tote bag, and took off, leaving a note that she was running errands, in case anyone woke up and found her gone.

Telling herself that she needed to concentrate on getting the things for Jonny and Hadji, she forced her mind to focus on the job in front of her. A quick walk brought her to a subway entrance, where she descended, and hopped the first train. Her first stop was at a bank in a quiet, residential district about five miles from home. There, she withdrew funds from the emergency account using the bankbook and identification she had brought with her. She also gained access to a safety deposit box . . . one Jonny knew nothing about . . . where she retrieved a plastic storage container which she stuffed into the tote bag. Then she left the bank. She walked six blocks, re-entered the subway at a different location from where she entered, and grabbed the first train that crossed town. The entire time she moved around, Jessie kept a wary eye on the people around her. She had no reason to suppose she was being followed, but she dared take no chances.

Picking a stop at random, she exited the train about 15 minutes later. She checked the posted schedule carefully. She had twenty minutes before the train she wanted arrived at this stop. Glancing around to be sure the pedestrian traffic had cleared and that there was no one around, and she ducked into the transit system restroom and locked herself into the disabled-accessible stall at the far end of the room. Setting the box on the sink in the stall, she opened it and began sorting through the contents. Now it was time for Jessie Bannon to disappear. Using the items in the storage box, she worked quickly, applying make-up and changing her clothing. Ten minutes later, she looked over the woman facing her in the mirror with a critical eye. Finally, she nodded. It would do for now.

Reaching into the storage box once again, she drew out a pouch, opened it, and pulled out another complete set of identification, as well as a checkbook and bankcard. Checking them carefully to be certain they all matched, she changed out the items in her wallet for a second time, being certain to take out all of the pictures of her family and Jonny, and put everything she had removed into the box. Then she dumped her purse and sorted though the contents carefully, ensuring that there was nothing in it that in any way pointed to an identity other than the person she now was. Closing the box and putting it back into the tote bag once more, she opened the stall door carefully and looked around. It was still quiet. She slipped out quickly and merged with the gathering crowd on the platform. When the train arrived, she boarded it and finished her trip across town. She reemerged at street level into Downtown Crossing. She crossed the street quickly and headed directly for Saks Fifth Avenue. It took her about an hour to find everything she wanted and then she went back to the subway. After two train changes she ended up at Logan Airport. Choosing a relatively quiet concourse, she slipped into a bathroom once more and went to one of the far stalls. Here she completed her transformation.

Race Bannon wouldn't have known the woman who exited the airport bathroom some 15 minutes later. This person was older . . . perhaps 30 or 35 years of age. She was tall and had carefully groomed, straight, jaw-length chestnut brown hair that framed a narrow face. Her eyes were large and greenish brown in color and her lips were full and carefully accented in a warm shade of copper. She wore an elegant, russet-colored silk dress; brown, imported leather pumps; and carried matching handbag slung casually from one shoulder. Expensive, understated gold jewelry graced her neck, wrist, and earlobes; and she carried a camel wool jacket folded carefully over one arm. On her left ring finger she wore a diamond solitaire with an intricately interwoven wedding band. Picking an airport locker at random, she shoved the canvas bag into it and carefully pocketed the key. One more stop and she should be ready to go. She walked out into the main terminal of the airport and gazed around. Spotting what she wanted, she made her way up to the main desk of Allstar Exotics. Smiling pleasantly at the young man behind the counter, she said,

"Good afternoon. I need to rent a car. I'm afraid I don't have a reservation . . ."

Taking in her expensive clothes and carefully polished manners, the young man replied, "Oh, I'm sure that won't be a problem, madam. What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied with an airy laugh. "Something a bit sporty, I think. This was a spur of the moment trip, so why not just be impulsive."

The man consulted his computer and then replied, "Well, we have a rather nice silver Mercedes 300 E available. Also a forest green Jaguar S-Type Sports Sedan or a red Corvette C5 Convertible."

Jessie contemplated her choices for a minute and then replied, "The Jaguar Sports Sedan, I think."

"And how long will you be needing it?"

"For the weekend, if it's available. I'll be leaving on Sunday."

"That won't be a problem. If you'd just fill this out for me, and I'll need a valid driver's license and a credit card." Handing him the requested documents, Jessie completed the card quickly. He scanned the information, nodded, handed her documents back, and said, "That should do it, Mrs. Leveck. If you'd care to wait out at the curb, I'll have someone bring the car around to you. You have a pleasant stay in our city."

"Thank you very much. I'm sure I will."

A short time later, Jessie carefully merged onto the freeway and turned south, heading into the outskirts of the city. Glancing at the clock, she frowned. It was nearing 2:30 and she still had a lot to do.

The drive gave her time to start thinking again and it didn't take her long to discover that she was still deeply angry. No matter how she tried to tell herself that Jonny was an adult and she should let him fight his own battles, the more she remembered Benton Quest's sharp, sarcastic tone and the shaken, pained fury in his son's voice. Jonny was feeling overwhelmed enough right now. He didn't need his father damaging his faith in himself at the same time. Jessie was still brooding when she reached her destination and as she climbed out of the car, she slammed the door with more force than she intended, causing several of the passersby to look at her with misgiving. She locked the car carefully as she struggled to dampen the anger that still seethed inside her.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned and inspected the building in front of her. She stood on the sidewalk in front of a very trendy art gallery on the far north side of the city. A sign above the door read Eclectica and in the window was a very modern sculpture made of some sort of molded paper or fiber in a particularly nasty shade of mustard yellow. Jessie eyed it with distaste and wondered who in their right mind would ever buy it. Each to their own, she thought with a shrug as she opened the door and entered the establishment.

Obviously, the gallery wasn't busy at this hour of the afternoon. There was no one at the front reception desk and after waiting for a few minutes, Jessie picked up the pen by the guest register and carefully signed in . . . Monica Leveck, Palm Harbor, Florida. Setting the pen down once more, she turned and moved casually into the bowels of the gallery. One or two people strode idly among the displays, but all of them were obviously visitors. There was no sign of any staff. She curbed her impatience by carefully reviewing everything her father had ever told her about working undercover. Play your role, she chanted silently. Be the person you say you are. Mistakes can be deadly.

"Madame Leveck, how delightful to see you again!"

Jessie turned and smiled easily at the elegantly clad, middle-aged man approaching her. Holding out her hand, she replied, "Jean-Paul. It has been way too long. How have you been?"

"Very well, thank you. And you and your husband?"

"We are both doing well, thank you."

"I'm thrilled to hear it. You are certainly looking as lovely as ever," he replied gallantly. Taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm, he turned her toward one of the large galleries, and the two of them moved at an idle pace as they talked. Finally, he said to her, "But here I am, taking up your time with my idle chatter. How can I help you today?"

Turning to him, she said, "I'm looking for something very special, Jean-Paul, and I just knew you were the man to come to. Father always said that when it came to needing that perfect something for a special occasion, I should come racing to you."

For a split second she saw his face go still. Then he bowed slightly. "Your father was always a discerning man. Is this for an occasion in the future or do you need it right away?"

Jessie sighed. "Unfortunately, it turns out it is for a very unexpected occasion and I have very little time. It's why I thought of you immediately."

"Of course. Why don't you come back to my office? I have a number of items that may suit you." Waving her toward the back, he called out, "Timothy, I am going to show Madame Leveck the new sculpture in the back. Please keep an eye out here for me, if you would." Jessie saw the other man nod, and then the two of them moved toward a door in the back wall. He opened it and waved her through into an airy, thoroughly modern office. Closing the door behind him, he said, "This way." His voice had changed. Where before it held a light, laughter-filled tone, now it was cold, hard, and all business. Without a word, she followed him. He crossed to a shelf unit on the far end of the room. Doing something she couldn't see, he then grabbed the shelf unit and pulled. An entire section swung away from the wall, revealing a door. Swiftly, he unlocked and opened it, then waved her toward the interior. "Watch the stairs," he warned her and she approached it with misgiving. With a wary look at the man, she stepped through the doorway and descended the stairs into a large, below-ground workshop.

She looked around swiftly, taking in her surroundings at a glance. Everything was neat and orderly. On a counter along one wall, she saw the pieces of a rifle that was obviously in the process of being modified. A grinding apparatus with a long, wicked corkscrew-style drill bit stood nearby, and there were metal shavings lying on the floor at its base. She turned back to her escort who had followed her down the stairs, closing the hidden door behind them. "Increasing the bore of a rifle?" she commented. "Dangerous business, that. Gun could explode in your face, if you aren't careful."

"On the other hand, perhaps that's the point," the man replied evenly. He stood, staring at her intensely for a long time. Finally, he said softly, "Nice job. I'm good with faces . . . even ones I haven't seen in a long time . . . and I never would have recognized you as Race Bannon's daughter."

"He's a good teacher," she replied in the same tone.

The man crossed the room and sank down onto a stool, his eyes never leaving her. "So what brings Race Bannon's daughter to my doorstep?"

Facing him squarely, she replied, "My father tells me that I can trust you. Can I?"

The man nodded. "The debt I owe your father can never be paid off. Helping his daughter is the least I can do."

Mimicking his nod, she said, "I need weapons."

"What kind of weapons?"

"The kind that are untraceable, hard to spot, and can save someone in a tight situation."

"You?"

"Not immediately, but it may come to that."

"The people that will be using them . . . what are they familiar with?"

"Both of them despise the need to use any type of weapon at all, although they both know how. They can use guns, both conventional and laser varieties . . . handguns and full-sized. One's a better shot than the other, but both can hit what they're aiming at. And both are reasonably good with knives."

"Garrotes, poisons, anything like that?"

She shook her head sharply. "No point. Neither one of them would ever use them."

"Moral," the man said with a hint of disgust.

"Scrupulously so," she replied in a tone that told him she hadn't missed his opinion, and that the respect she held for him had diminished as a result.

"Explosives?"

"Might be useful," she acknowledged grudgingly.

"What kind of situation are we talking about?"

She thought about that one for a while. "Unstable government with assassination attempts likely.

"Backup?"

"No." Then she paused and modified that a bit. "Little to none."

The man leaned back against the bench with the rifle and said in disbelief, "And Race is going to let you walk into a powder keg like that? This is no agency op . . ."

Jessie just stared at him without answering, privately interested to discover that he thought she worked for I-1. Finally, he sighed and said, "All right. I take it that's the armament for the two that don't like weapons. As I recall, you don't have that compunction."

"No."

"So what about you?"

Again, Jessie gave it some thought. Maybe she wouldn't need them . . . but then again . . . "Same sort of stuff . . . anything easy to conceal. Enough for myself and one other person. Also, a couple of handguns . . . 9 mm . . . at least one of them an HK USP 9 mm semi automatic . . ."

The man raised his eyebrows. "That's quite a gun for a woman. Not for you, surely. I'd have thought you'd be more likely to use a Glock."

Jessie nodded. "I'd prefer a Glock if you can get it."

"I can get it. You still want the HK?" When he saw her nod, he just shrugged. "Okay. What else?"

"Sniper rifle, high-powered, with a good distance scope. Wouldn't hurt to have a night scope for it, too. Also two Uzis - or something similar - capable of full auto, a good quantity of plastique with detonators, about two dozen grenades, and the same number of anti-personnel mines. Oh, and a generous amount of ammo for all of the weapons."

"You planning to start a war?" he demanded.

Jessie's smile was cold. "No, but if the people in question don't settle this dispute on their own, I'll certainly do my best to end it for them. How soon can you have it?"

The man glanced at the clock. "I can have the small stuff and the handguns together by early this evening. The bigger items will take a day or two."

Jessie nodded. "That will work. When and where?"

"You have a safe number where I can reach you?" She nodded and rattled off one. "Fine. When it's ready, I'll call you and we'll set up a meet." As she started to turn away, he held up a hand. "One thing. You bring the people these weapons are for with you." When she started to protest, he shook his head sharply. "The sheathes for the throwing knives and the smaller weapons need to be fitted, and I'm guessing we aren't talking pros here. And before I go handing any of this stuff to you, I'm going to be damned sure you can handle it. I trust Race, but I owe him enough to be careful. And if there's one thing I know for certain, it's that he has no knowledge about whatever it is you're into."

"And you aren't going to tell him, either," she said flatly in a tone that sent cold fingers down his spine. He'd heard that tone before. No question about it now . . . this was Race Bannon's daughter.

"What you do or don't tell your father is none of my business. But it is my business to be sure you know how to use any hardware I provide."

"Fair enough. What about payment?"

The man eyed her thoughtfully. "You can pay for all of this stuff?"

"Yes."

He grinned at her. "Then I'm not going to ask you to. It's enough that you come to me prepared to pay."

"But . . ."

He shook his head sharply. "The next time you come to me it may be different, but for now we'll call it payback on a very old debt."

Finally, she nodded. "All right."

Nodding in return, he gestured toward the stairs again and the two of them ascended to his office once more. As they were getting ready to leave, he paused. Then with a grin, he said, "Hold on just a minute." Going through another door, he reappeared a few minutes later with a medium-sized box carefully wrapped in gleaming blue paper. "Here, take this. And one of these days, when times are better, give it to your father and see if it brings to mind any stories." Then, opening the door into the gallery once more, he gestured her through and the two of them returned to the front of the store. When they reached it, she turned and smiled, holding out her hand.

"Thank you again, Jean-Paul. As always, you know just the perfect thing."

"For you, Madame Leveck, any time," he replied and kissed the hand she held out to him. "À bientôt."

"À bientôt, Jean-Paul."


To Be Continued . . .