DEADLY DRIVER Page 15

  Bryce reached into his jeans pocket, slowly, and pulled his phone, placing it on the coffee table. He noticed, as did she, the screen was lit with missed calls and unread texts. She reached and turned the phone toward her, reading what she could, and then writing another note.

  IF I WANTED YOU DEAD YOU WOULD BE

  THE TWO IN THE HALLWAY WOULD BE DEAD TOO

  I JUST WANT TO TALK

  I HAVE A PROPOSITION

  TURN OFF THE PHONE

  She’d hooked him. Between his uncle’s bad behavior and what came out of his encounters with the CIA, he’d thought he’d seen and heard it all. Now he was curious. Pissed off, but curious.

  He took the phone back, turned it off, and then sat back and waited. He watched as Lee studied the room and then stood up, gesturing for him to follow her to the balcony. The sun had set, and the Eiffel Tower was all lit up and pointing to the stars. Bryce laughed to himself, remembering the couple in Tokyo. The view was spectacular, but she shook her head no and went back into the suite. She’d moved to within a foot of him, but he opted not to pounce, remembering what she’d written. He followed her as she headed for the master bedroom and was surprised when she tossed her weapon on the bed. She continued into the bathroom, a space where marble and mirrors covered every inch. He followed her in, and she closed the door. She turned on the sink spigot and turned to him.

  “Before you say another word,” Bryce began, “if this is a practical joke of some kind, it’s a bit over the top, wouldn’t you say?”

  She wasn’t smiling. This wasn’t a joke and she cut to the chase. She told him that the MSS was aware of the deal he had cut with the CIA. “We have analysts watching everything, everywhere, 24/7, rain or shine, day or night. We saw what they saw, but were slow in deciding what to do with the intelligence.”

  Bryce stared at her. He wanted to know what she did.

  “You and your crew member, Jack Madigan. We saw the video of the two of you placing a dead body in a trash receptacle behind that hotel in the U.A.E. We know the CIA approached you in Abu Dhabi and cut a deal. You work for them now. But perhaps you can do something for us, too.”

  Bryce answered her, moving his lips but not making a sound.

  “I can still read lips, even though my hearing is fine,” she paused, smiling. “You are coming to race in our country very soon. There is a chance the CIA will want you to make a move on someone there.”

  Suddenly the bathroom door kicked open, tearing it apart at its fine French hinges. Bryce’s two guards had their guns drawn. The one now down on one knee aiming at her torso. The second standing upright, his gun aimed straight at her head.

  “You okay Bryce?” the kneeler called out.

  Lee didn’t move. Bryce smiled. “I’m fine, but ten minutes is ten minutes, boys,” he said checking his new British-made timepiece. He watched as she turned her attention away from the gunmen and back to Bryce.

  “Don’t like surprises either?” he asked and then followed the guards’ direction to slowly walk past them and into the bedroom. He stepped over the demolished door. Splinters and paint chips had fallen like snow in the doorway.

  Bryce looked to the bed for the gun, but they’d already discovered it and taken control of the weapon. He listened as he heard the security experts spin Lee around to secure her wrists behind her back with zip-ties. Not the hardware store ones that can snap with the right leverage, these were heavy duty and staying on her as long as needed.

  Bryce continued into the living room of the opulent suite and retrieved his phone, flipping it on and placing it back on the table while watching Lee being led into the room and shoved down onto the sofa. She cried out as she landed hard, twisting an already compromised wrist. Bryce noticed the room service cart the hotel manager had sent up, champagne, flowers, chocolates, and a fruit and cheese presentation fit for a king.

  “You said ten minutes, Bryce, and then this showed up at the fifteen-minute mark. We texted you: AOK? But when you didn’t respond, we used the cart delivery as an excuse to come in. When we saw the gun on the bed, it was time to party.”

  Bryce looked at her, at them, and then took a few chocolates from the cart and sat down across from Lee.

  “Have you called anyone yet—hotel security…F1…the police? Anyone?” he asked. They both shook their heads, no. Bryce smiled. Good.

  “Okay, you’ve eliminated the threat,” Bryce began. “Give me another ten minutes with her. I’m intrigued.”

  The men stared at their protectee.

  “I know, I know, I can see the concern all over your faces, but let me see what this is all about. We were just getting to it when you kicked down the damn door.”

  The two men had already holstered their weapons.

  “Let me talk to her for a few minutes and then we’ll decide if we throw her off the balcony or, well, I’ll leave the other options to you boys, okay?” He saw the reluctance in their eyes, but they agreed.

  “Where’s the gun?” he asked as they headed for the door. The guard that had taken the knee pulled his suit jacket back. He’d tucked it in his waistband for safekeeping.

  “It wasn’t loaded,” he said as he followed his partner into the hallway to stand guard there again, door slightly ajar, just in case. Bryce retook his place on the sofa across from Lee, as if to continue the interview. But now, he’d be the one asking the questions.

  “Where’d the silencer come from? I didn’t think they were made for that model.”

  She grinned. “We make everything.” Satisfied, they moved on.

  They spoke about the MSS. Bryce had heard of them before and learned it was set up as one service, essentially combining the Chinese version of their FBI and CIA under one roof. Lee insisted that her story, raised in London and working as a journalist was true, not just a cover. The MSS had leveraged her much like the CIA had done to Bryce and so they had that in common.

  “Listen,” she told him. “You and I are both under the gun so to speak. So please, I ask you, to listen to what I was going to say.”

  Bryce smiled at her. If she was telling the truth then yes, they had something in common. But she was pressed into the service of a ruthless government controlled by the Chinese Communist party. The holders of his leash were at least working in the best interests of his country, allegedly for freedom and democracy.

  “Okay, so I cut you loose and we forget this ever happened. Those guards out there have seen a lot, a lot of things that rich people get to do because they can do what they want. They’ll forget this ever happened if I ask them to. But you’re paying for the door and I’m keeping the gun.”

  He watched as Lee processed the situation. She looked to his phone.

  “They listen,” she said. “I saw from the look on your face when I wrote that note that you never considered that.”

  “If they are listening, they’ve heard enough that someone else should be kicking in the front door at any moment, right?”

  Lee shook her head no.

  “They’re as curious as you are. They want to know what I was sent here for.”

  Bryce looked to her bag. “And your phone? Anyone listening in from back in Beijing?”

  Now she smiled. “I turned it off. I wanted to talk to you, just me to you. I thought we established a rapport on the train. It is against protocol, but I can talk my way out of it. I could say it lost power but they can tell that was a lie. I’ll just tell them you insisted. That you thought we were going to have sex and wanted any recording devices clicked off.”

  “Guess I blew any chance of that happening now,” he said with a laugh.

  “Not necessarily, but we’ll need more than ten minutes,” she said as she looked to the front door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Winchester, West Virginia. Driving race cars can be exhilarating, but they can also scare the daylights out of a person. When things go wrong they can snuff out life in the blink of an eye. Today, with the brisk winds of late winter still blowing a
nd a chilly 40° F outside the vehicle, Bryce sat behind the wheel of an entirely different animal than he was accustomed to. Over the years he had proven he could drive anything, but this had given him a run for his money.

  Later, sitting in a small classroom that was set up for watching training videos and instructors, he sat back and thought through the day while sipping on a hot coffee. The driving academy was located adjacent to the historic road course at Summit Point Raceway. Here, they specialized in training professionals from federal, state, and local law enforcement and protective services. Learning how to drive smart and fast, getting to an incident or rushing a protectee from one was a challenge. Learning how to do it behind the wheel of a tank on tires was even harder.

  Bryce had always wanted to give it a try and had suggested today’s activity as cover for the meeting that would soon take place. He’d ridden in this sort of vehicle many times before, particularly in countries where kidnapping VIP’s is a regular occurrence. His celebrity made the academy jump at the chance - the photos of him behind the wheel would wallpaper their social media. With members of the U.S. State Department there for training, it all fit together nicely. Then he heard what would normally have intrigued him, a set of high heel shoes clicking down the hallway. As the sound came closer and closer he looked forward to seeing who was driving them. When the woman entered the room his sense of intrigue vanished.

  “I heard it took a while for you to get used to the weight of an 11,000 pound armored SUV out on the course. Did you have any fun?” she asked through an awkward smile as she approached him. She exuded confidence but his celebrity tripped her up. He’d seen it before.

  Bryce stood, extended his hand, and introduced himself. The woman shook his hand, passed him her card, and took a seat opposite him at the table. This one’s all business, no cleavage, nada, he thought. Not a field op, I bet.

  “Sandra Jennings, Central Intelligence Agency,” he read then stopped when he heard another set of footsteps approaching. When Jason Ryan entered the room, he nodded at Bryce and closed the door behind him. Out came the little black box he’d used in Spain and after exchanging pleasantries very, very briefly their meeting got down to business.

  “So, how’d you do out there?” Ryan asked.

  “The damn things weigh nearly twice as much as a regular full size SUV, but after I got in some seat time I picked up the moves pretty quickly. While we were taking a bunch of photos I asked if I could take one of the president’s limos for a ride sometime but they just laughed.”

  “Bryce, first off I want to thank you for your service to the agency and to the country,” Jennings stated. “I know you feel compromised, blackmailed as it were, into doing some of the work my predecessors asked you to do. But that will change with me, I can assure you.”

  Bryce was encouraged but kept his optimism in check. Jennings was clearly a serious woman, probably a career one, and kept her look and dress pure business. Graying hair, chiseled features, fit and trim but in basic blue suit and shoes. Just a touch of makeup, her red lipstick matching the stripes in her lapel pin. No rings. “So that means no more terminations. Cool. Thanks for the play date. Now, can I get the hell out of here?”

  Jennings frowned and shook her head slowly. No. “Actually, I was hoping we could forget the methods the agency used to secure your services and try to put that behind us. What I want to do, what I am hoping to accomplish here today, is for you to volunteer to continue to work with us. You put your life on the line out on the track, and do a great job representing your country while you’re at it. I want to solicit your help, ongoing, in taking out some very bad actors and helping to disrupt their enterprises and the natural order of the underworld.”

  He stared at her. This was incredible, he thought.

  “Let me get this straight. You want to remove the shackles but have me continue to put my life at risk? My name isn’t Bond, and I don’t drive an Aston Martin. With all due respect, are you crazy?”

  “No, Bryce, I am not. I’ve watched you from afar and went through every page in your file, over and over. You are an American hero and a patriot. You are very good at what you do – a really cool operator under pressure, and your celebrity status does get you closer to people and invited into places where we would struggle to put an agent or enable any other asset to penetrate without suspicion. Every time you learned why we wanted a target taken out you went about it with focus and seemingly without remorse.”

  Bryce stared at them both without uttering a word and got up to pour himself another coffee. He paused at the window, peeking through the blinds, watching his classmates outside continue to pose for group photos in front of the vehicles they had just mastered. He’d enjoyed the camaraderie; it reminded him of the race teams he’d been a part of over the years. He walked back to his seat and stared at the two, shaking his head.

  “It’s not something I would normally admit, not something I am necessarily proud of – killing that is. But I have looked on this as serving my country. I never had the inclination to join the military. I admire those who have served just like I admire all the men and women outside. But all I wanted to do was race. Then you guys came along and bent me over big time. I like serving, just don’t like being on the receiving end, not under duress.”

  Jennings shrugged her shoulders and gave an innocent smile. She reminded Bryce that she wasn’t in charge at the time and that she was only interested in serving her country and wanted Bryce to continue to do so, through a more cooperative and collaborative relationship.

  “You know, I’ve never met a race car driver before let alone a world champion,” she began. “Do you know Matt Christopher?” Bryce shook his head no.

  “Outstanding investigator. Only works overseas and I’m told he knows a lot of the crowd you race with. Perhaps some day you two should meet.” Bryce shook his head again. “Don’t change the subject.” She smiled.

  “Remember, Bryce, you put yourself in a position to be bent over as it were when you and Madigan were caught cleaning up after your own dirty work, dumping bodies in the dark. My predecessors leveraged you, yes. They found someone capable and many felt you seemed comfortable with killing and took advantage of the situation.”

  Bryce sat forward. He explained that he’d been killing since a very young age, first taking out rabbits and then graduating to deer, all under the tutelage of his Uncle Pete. He didn’t particularly enjoy having to gut and skin them, but he’d been taught that was what you did to live, if you had to. And he also learned to show respect for the animal whose life he had taken. It was a way of life in the woods, it was what they needed to do in those alleys, and that seemed to be the case with the CIA as well – doing what needed to be done.

  “Did Ryan here tell you that Pete was dead now and that we were only cleaning up after him? Jack and I didn’t kill any of those dipshits.” She shook her head yes.

  “That doesn’t change where we are today Bryce. I’m looking forward, not back.”

  “So, are you willing, are you capable of handing me a presidential pardon for all past and future crimes?” he asked.

  Jennings looked to Ryan and smiled. Got him.

  “That’s entirely possible with a few conditions. In addition, although your uncle seems to have trained you extremely well, kudos to the old leatherneck for that, I would like to have the CIA train you further so you can become an even more valuable and capable asset overseas.”

  “Spy school?” he joked.

  She didn’t laugh. “Private instruction.”

  Bryce grinned. He’d enjoyed today’s activity, and Nitro had taught him a thing or two in the field. But this interested him. If they could take the gun away from his temple then he might go along, for a time.

  “I need to think about this,” he began. “I have to watch my mirrors at over 200 miles per hour a lot. I’m not sure I want to be looking for someone coming after me, seeking revenge for something you’ve asked me to do.” He paused. “How can you stop t
hat from happening?”

  “By being smart—you doing your part and we doing ours,” she stated. “You’ve only done - what - four terminations for us? We don’t ask very often. You come and go like at one of your pit stops but you don’t leave any skid marks behind – no clues or evidence that you were involved. You’re good at what you do, very good. If you are ever compromised, we’ll put a protective detail on you.”

  Jennings got up to get a coffee and kept the conversation going, her back turned to the men.

  “You’re accustomed to being shadowed by security already. Terrorists would love to grab you or take you out to embarrass our country. You’re protected now but we can enhance it.”

  “For life? What if it comes too late? What about our new arrangement if I agree to it? You retire or things change at the top and I get a new contact and our deal comes under scrutiny. I can’t have that. I need all of this in writing.”

  Jennings said she would work on a top-secret document for him. She reviewed Bryce’s schedule of the next few months and then she looked to Ryan. “Any change in status on Madigan?”

  Ryan nodded. “Yes, I met with him in Spain after I spoke with Bryce. He told me he wanted time to process what had happened to Joan Myers.”

  “And what does that have to do with his relationship with Mr. Winters here? I don’t understand. Refresh my memory please.” Ryan looked to Bryce who simply returned the stare.

  “Madigan believes that Pete Winters was behind her death in Mexico, that Bryce’s uncle was the sniper who took out Agents Gunn and Myers.”

  “Why the hell would he have thought that?” she demanded.