February
San Francisco, California
Maria picked up the telephone and dialed the room number extension. "Hello, Mrs. Fong? This is Sophia."
"Is it time?"
"Almost. I just want to make sure that you know the rules: I want you to stay out of the way and keep quiet until I let you talk. Is that understood?"
"Yes, yes, Sophia! I understand."
"Good. I’ll call you again when I’m ready."
"I’ll be waiting."
Maria hung up the phone and went to the vanity mirror. She was dressed elegantly in a long, burgundy evening dress that had a long slit up the side. She put on her earrings and looked at herself in the mirror. The wound on her left shoulder was still visible. She sighed and walked over to the bed.
Her target was Mrs. Fong’s husband, the venture capital executive. He was staying at another hotel off Market Street with one of his young mistresses. As part of the agreement, Mrs. Fong would be allowed to chastise her husband one last time for his misdeeds. Then Maria was to oblige her by squeezing the trigger. Maria protested this arrangement – she didn’t like having her clients involved in any way in the job – but it was a condition of the case. She had no choice if she wanted to collect the $250,000 fee.
Maria readied her .380 semiautomatic, using a pair of pliers to attach the silencer to the end of the barrel. She checked the action of the gun, loaded it, and set the safety. She placed it in her handbag and zipped it closed.
She turned on the television, then poured herself a gin and tonic. She was usually careful not to drink on the job, but she didn’t expect any surprises tonight. You’re drinking too much these days, she told herself. It’s not good for your health. Her physical integrity was so important in her line of work that she tried to stay away from all such vices, but she could feel the need to dull her senses growing every day within her.
I need this drink. I need to relax. What’s bothering me so much these days? Is it still those Serbs?
She decided to make another phone call.
The line rang and rang. Finally, a sleepy voice answered on the other end. "Hello?"
"Patrick? It’s me."
"Maria? Is that you? What time is it?"
"It’s about three in the morning, your time. Sorry to wake you up."
"What’s the problem?"
"You were right about Markovic. They came after me."
"Are you all right? When did this happen?"
"Last month. They nicked me in the shoulder, but I’m okay. It’s just . . ."
"What?"
She paused. "Patrick, do you think they’re still on my trail?"
"I don’t know. Look, why don’t you let me do some research tomorrow, and I’ll get back in touch with you. Okay?"
"Sure."
"Where are you?"
"You can reach me at the Hotel Valencia in San Francisco. Sophia Martin."
"Okay. Are you at work?"
"Yes."
"Be safe."
"Thank you."
There was a long silence. She finally spoke. "Patrick, when we were together, did you ever think you might give it up? This work, I mean."
He mumbled. "Well, I guess everyone dreams about giving it up someday. I’m sure I did then."
"No; I mean, did our relationship make you want to give it up even more?"
"Maria, let’s talk about this some other time. Preferably not over an open phone line, okay? I’m half asleep anyway."
"Right. See you."
"Bye."
She set down the receiver, then dialed Mrs. Fong once again.
"It’s time."
Maria got off the elevator with Mrs. Fong and walked down the hallway to Yi-Chien Fong’s room.
"Wait here. I’ll leave the door ajar. You wait exactly three minutes before you come in. Not two minutes and fifty-nine seconds; three minutes. Got it?"
Maria opened the lock with a pick she designed herself. That engineering degree was worth something after all.
Sure enough, Yi-Chien Fong was in the bed with a pretty young woman who looked about the age of a college student. They were awake, lying side by side, watching the television.
They were startled by her presence. The man sat up; the girl pulled the sheets over her head.
"Looks who’s sleeping in my bed, Goldilocks!" Maria said.
"What are you doing in here? This is our room!"
"I know whose room it is, Yi-Chien. I see you’re sharing it with your little friend, too."
"That’s none of your business! Now get the hell out of here before I call security." He reached for the telephone. She pulled the .380 out of her bag.
"I wouldn’t do that if I were you! Don’t make a move, or your face is going to be halfway down your throat."
The man looked up to see her holding the gun on him. He was dumbfounded. "What is this? Why do you have that?" At this point the girl peeked out from under the sheets and saw Maria with the handgun. She gasped.
"Don’t say a word, little tramp! I’ve got enough bullets in here for both of you."
The businessman searched his brain for an answer. "Is my wife behind this? Of course she is. She and her shady friends. Not a surprise."
Maria just smiled a wicked smile. "She thought we’d make a nice threesome. Care if I join you? What are you watching, anyway?" She glanced at the TV to see the image of a woman licking another woman’s breasts. "Oh, a very cerebral film, I see."
The man spoke. "Look, whatever she offered you, I can give you ten times as much. I promise. Don’t do this!"
The young woman nodded in agreement. "It’s true! He’s rich."
Maria looked at them blankly. "I know he’s rich, dear. In fact, I’m sure he could buy and sell me. Problem is, it’s bad business for an assassin to double cross her clients. Repeat business goes way down." She stared them down for a minute. "So tell me, little girl: is this venture capitalist good in bed? Or don’t you care? It’s just the money and the nice things you want, right?"
She didn’t answer.
"Well, I hope you two had a good fuck already," Maria said. "The rest of your evening is going downhill fast."
At that point Mrs. Fong entered the room. She looked at Maria in amazement; she couldn’t believe it was really taking place.
Maria told the man, "Your wife has something to say to you."
Yi-Chien blurted out to his wife, "Helen! How could you do this? What the hell have I done to you?"
Mrs. Fong trembled with anger. "You bastard! Look at you; you’re in bed with a girl half your age and you dare to ask me that?" She pointed her finger at the girl. "You! What’s your name?"
"Nadia," she replied sheepishly.
"How does it feel to spit in the face of a married woman? Do you think it’s funny to insult me this way?"
Keep down the volume, Helen, thought Maria.
Helen Fong continued. "And you, Mr. Playboy. What did you think I would do when I found out? Or did you think I was so stupid that I would never find out? Did you think you could hide it from me forever? There must be a different one every night."
He didn’t say a word.
"Well, I found out. And I’m not going to let it go unpunished." She turned to Maria. "Kill him. I want them dead. Kill them both."
Maria raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Fong. "The girl, too?" She knew it wasn’t part of the contract and would merit some extra cash.
"Yes, the girl, too."
The man and the young woman were too shocked by the words to react. The girl clung tightly to her lover as Maria walked over to the side of the bed, raised her arm, and took aim from just a few feet away. The silenced .380 sparked to life – chhk, chhk, chhk. Yi-Chien Fong’s blood spattered over the white sheets and the face of his mistress. She let out a stifled cry, but choked it back down.
She didn’t make enough noise to alarm the neighbors, Maria hoped. Maria pointed the gun at the girl and fired. Chhk, chhk, chhk. A puff of air rippled through the bed sheet the girl was holding as the bullets penetrated it. The girl jerked back in the bed and collapsed against the man’s shoulder.
Maria moved closer to check for signs of life – first the man, then the girl. There was nothing.
Maria turned to face her benefactor. "They’ve gone to the happy place, Mrs. Fong."
The woman shook her head. "They’re really dead? Just like that? It happened so fast."
"That’s why you hired me. I’m a professional."
"It was so easy. So simple."
"It’s so easy, I can’t believe they pay me to do it," Maria said sarcastically. "Now we have to get out of here. That little bitch screamed just loud enough for someone to call security. And my suppressor isn’t as quiet as it used to be."
Mrs. Fong couldn’t take her eyes off her dead husband. "I can’t believe it. I have to touch him one last time . . ."
Maria grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "You can’t! You gave up the privilege of saying goodbye when you hired me. Now you either have to leave with me, or you stay behind and take the blame for this."
The woman turned and walked out the door with Maria.
As they walked down the hallway, a security guard turned the corner and approached them.
"Excuse me!" A large, imposing man stopped them. "Did you ladies hear anything unusual a few minutes ago?"
"Not really. Like what?" Maria asked.
"Some people having an argument. Someone screaming. Anything like that?"
"No, nothing."
"All right. Thank you," the guard said as he let them pass.
They waited at the elevator bank.
Mrs. Fong started to speak, but Maria cut her off.
"Don’t say a damn thing until we’re in my room!" Maria could see tears streaming down her face. Fucking wonderful. Now I have to put up with her regret. How did I get involved in marital disputes, anyway? Just think about the money, Maria.
Once inside the hotel room, Helen Fong could no longer contain her emotion.
"I’ve made a terrible mistake! This is wrong; it’s the wrong thing to do!"
Maria just let her spill her feelings. She sat on the bed with a disgusted look on her face. Mrs. Fong continued to wail.
"How could I do this? How could I agree to do this to my husband?"
Maria couldn’t take it anymore and lashed out at the woman. "Will you shut up? Do you want to wake up everyone in the hotel with your crying? Get a hold of yourself and come to terms with it. You made a decision, and now you have to live with it."
Mrs. Fong looked at the hit woman, incredulous. "A decision? Is that all you think it is? How can you say that? How can you have no regret, no heart?"
Maria jumped up from the bed, ready to strike the woman. She held back, knowing that word of anything she did to Helen would get back to Teresa.
Mrs. Fong cried, "It’s a crime and an evil thing! This was so very wrong to do . . ."
The words vexed Maria. Rarely was she confronted so immediately and so sincerely with someone’s remorse after she completed an assignment. God, what’s happening to me? Am I going soft?
Maria called William. She dialed his cell phone, but he had it turned off. She left him a voice message. "William, this is your contractor, Sophia Martin. Completed the job, but our mutual friend is having some problems with my work. She doesn’t know if she likes the new flooring. I’m going to drop her off now; you can tell our boss that everything is under control."
Maria went to Mrs. Fong and led her by the arm out of the hotel room. "We need to leave this place, Helen. Grab your coat and your belongings, and let’s go." The new widow sobbed the whole way down to the lobby. Downstairs, Maria got a taxi for Mrs. Fong to take her home.
After the taxi drove away, Maria felt an urge to escape. Her mind was racing, her thoughts strangely transfixed by the image of the sobbing client. She began to wander on foot through the streets of the city, aimlessly traveling up and down the steep hills. She lost track of the hours as the night became early morning. She didn’t know how many miles she’d walked.
As the twilight was just beginning to appear in the east, she stopped to rest and catch her breath. From the bus stop where she was sitting, she looked at her surroundings. Across the street, she noticed a large, ornate church. She stood up and crossed the street to read the sign: St. Peter’s Cathedral. A Roman Catholic Church of the Archdiocese of San Francisco. Sunday Masses 8:30, 10:00. Sacrament of Reconciliation, Saturday 3:00-4:30.
"Confession," she whispered to herself. She stood on the steps for awhile as the light began to filter through the cold and windy air.
March
Seattle, Washington
"Maria, I have good news and bad news." Patrick’s voice on the other end was the first familiar person she’d talked to in a month.
"Tell me."
"The good news is that Markovic’s thugs are distracted right now, so you’re off their shit list for the time being."
"The bad news?"
"Well, it’s not really bad news, depending on how you look at it."
"It’s always bad. What is it?"
"Well, my optimist friend," Patrick said sarcastically, "The bad news is that the reason for the distraction is a little case of terrorism in the making. It appears that Markovic’s heir apparent, a guy known as Radovic or ‘Rado,’ is planning a bombing campaign on American soil."
"And what does this have to do with me?" She couldn’t hide her annoyance.
"I’m getting to that. We think he might be aiming for something small at first – there’s a mosque with a lot of Albanian and Bosnian Muslims in New York that he might be targeting, just as a potshot at his adversaries."
"What’s this ‘we’ business, Patrick?" Maria questioned him. "Has Uncle Sam hired you to handle this one?"
"Let’s just say that they saw the value in contracting with me one more time," he answered. "And you have a lot to do with this. I need your help on this job. It’s too much for me to handle by myself."
"Why don’t you get your CIA and NSA drinking buddies to pitch in?" Maria shot back at him. "Leave me out of your shit, Patrick. I’m not getting messed up in your affairs ever again."
"My shit is your shit, Maria. These are the same people who will eventually turn their attention to hunting you. Why not cut them off at the pass and wipe them out all at once?"
Maria saw some logic in his appeal, but she was still wary. "You do it without me. I’ll send you a thank-you note. Why do you so desperately need me, anyway?"
There was a pause. "I want you to be there because I know you do a better job than anybody else. I can’t take a rookie on this one. Besides, the FBI can’t touch this one because they’re afraid of what a high-profile trial might do to the peacekeeping effort overseas. You’re the only person who can help me."
"I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It’s as if you’re making a pitch for God and country all over again. Do you think I’m still going to play Girl Scout for you?"
"I don’t know what kind of Girl Scout troop you belonged to, but this is definitely not like that. The money’s good. They’ll fork it over for this one. I’ve already secured a good fee for my associate, whoever that might be."
Maria looked out the window of her apartment to see a ferry crossing Puget Sound. It was a gray, melancholy sight. She sighed audibly into the receiver. "Patrick, I’m growing weary. I have enough money to keep myself satisfied for a long time. There’s very little energy in me right now to take on something like this. What incentive is there?"
Patrick laughed. "Now don’t laugh at this, but I thought it might be like old times. You and me together for another adventure? What do you say to that?"
Maria burst out laughing. "Patrick! That is the stupidest, funniest thing I’ve ever heard you say! Are you trying to seduce me, sir? What a charmer! ‘Just like old times.’ It sounds like we’re going to do our old vaudeville routine again!"
He laughed on the other end. "Can’t I be nostalgic about it? Admit it, we had some pretty wild times together."
"Yes we did, Major Sullivan."
"Won’t you at least fly out here to meet me so we can talk about it? You can still say no."
"I’ll think about it."
"Say yes!"
"I said I’ll think about it. Now leave me alone." She hung up the phone. As she stared out the window at the gray Pacific Northwest afternoon, she began to remember her early encounters with Patrick Sullivan . . .
Twelve years ago, August
Washington, DC
"Come in."
Maria entered the office and saluted the man behind the desk. "Sir, General Hastings needs updated briefings on Karachi and Islamabad by the end of the day."
"Of course he does," Patrick answered laconically.
She saluted him again and was about to leave when he called to her. "Maria! Just a minute."
"Yes, Major Sullivan?"
He seemed amused by the title. "You can drop the protocol. Call me Patrick."
"Yes, sir. Patrick."
He squinted at the young summer intern, wearing her army suit uniform. "Maria, do you really think I’m with military intelligence?"
She smiled at him. She and everyone else in the Pentagon internship program knew he was a civilian. "No. Nobody believes you are."
"So what do they think I am?"
"They don’t think you’re a soldier, that’s for sure." She stepped closer to his desk. "Maybe NSA?"
He laughed. "That’s not a bad guess," he said. "But it’s not completely accurate."
"Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you?"
He stared at her, a strange smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I’m an accountant!" he said with glee.
Maria laughed at him. "Bullshit! What are you?" She was intrigued by this enigma of a man with prematurely white hair and a strong, broad-shouldered appearance. He had a devilish twinkle in his blue eyes that all the female interns swooned over in the mess hall. They all speculated about his occupation: he was a spy, an aide close to the President, an assassin. No one could solve the mystery.
Patrick deflected the question. "How old are you, Maria?"
"Twenty."
"You have one more year of school . . . school is where, now?"
"The University of California, Berkeley."
"And you’re studying . . . ?"
"Mechanical engineering."
He nodded. "Very good subject. And your grades are good, I presume?"
"Yes, of course. Sir, where is this leading?"
"Oh, I just thought that I might have a job for you after you graduate," he said off-handedly.
Maria’s curiosity was piqued. "But I have to serve in the Army for four years."
"Not if you take my job offer, you don’t. Your tour of duty will be waived."
Maria swallowed hard; her heart raced. What could this be? she wondered. Why won’t he just come out and say it?
Patrick continued. "Are you proficient with firearms at all, Maria?"
She gave him a puzzled look. "I spent three very long years in Texas, sir. A girl learns to shoot a gun in Texas."
"Your record says you’re an excellent marksman; and you’re very talented with many calibers."
So he’s been looking at my record. Why the need for all the basic questions, then? "I was able to handle my father’s .45 when I was fifteen. Rifles, shotguns – I’ve used them all."
"That’s nice. So how does a girl – excuse me, a woman – of your age learn the language of the gun so well? Seems a bit . . . misanthropic, doesn’t it?"
She was uncomfortable with his words and the line of questioning. She looked past him, through the window. "Sir, if you’re asking about my family life and all the things I’ve done to escape it, then I’m not prepared to talk about it."
He leaned over the desk. "To get the security clearances you’ll need, you’re going to have to get comfortable talking about it," he said darkly. "But we can save those questions for later."
She realized she was being interviewed on the spot for a job she had no knowledge of.
Patrick took on a more formal tone. "It seems to me, Maria, that you’re different from most of the interns that come through here. Male and female interns, I might add."
She could feel her brow furrowing. "Different how, Patrick?" She used his first name intentionally and said it with a bark.
"In many ways, good and bad. Let’s face it: you haven’t made many friends among your peers or your superiors. They complain that you’re too aggressive, too ambitious, and too opinionated. You’ve shown a bit of a violent streak as well. Don’t think we didn’t hear about your little scuffle with Private Conroy outside that bar in Georgetown. Kicked his ass, did you?"
She was seething. "They can say what they want. They’re just stupid and weak, afraid to take risks. And most of them are men, so I frankly don’t care what THEY think."
"They also think you’re very attractive."
By this point in her life Maria was acutely aware that she had the kind of looks that sent men back to their rooms to be alone with their thoughts and images of her. Being pretty was more a curse than a blessing.
"That’s more male stupidity. What do my looks have to do with anything?"
"They might make a difference – you can never tell about these things. People also recognize that you’re intelligent, clever, and ingenious. But not necessarily in a military sense."
"What do you mean by that?" She wanted to reach over the table and strangle him.
"The military is about strategy; it’s about moving lots of people and lots of metal over great distances in an orderly fashion. You’re much more tactical. You respond well to difficult situations on an individual level, but you’re not looking out for the team."
"This is bullshit, sir. I’ll make an excellent officer."
"Maybe, Maria. But my guess is that, after a few months of filling out requisition orders and wiping the snotty noses of eighteen-year-old infantrymen, you’re going to be bored out of your skull. That’s just my humble opinion."
"So what are you saying?"
"I’m saying that you might be better suited to a job where you could take more risks, see more immediate results to your work. Not to mention travel the world and meet lots of interesting people."
Patrick had that wicked twinkle in his eye again. Maria found herself gazing at the handsome angles of his face, wondering what this man had in store for her. She was nervous, but excited, too. Instinctively she knew that he could be her ticket out of past troubles and into opportunity. She waited for him to speak again.
"We can talk more about this tomorrow. Would that be okay with you?"
"Yes, sir. Let’s talk tomorrow."
"I’ll see you then, Maria." He smiled and dismissed her.