DEADLY DRIVER Page 19

  *

  Kyoto was also excited. Her first trip to Monte Carlo, an F1 race, and finally a glimpse of the home this jet-setting friend of hers kept. To surprise him, she flew in a day early. After a short ride from the airport in Nice to his address, she stood in the lobby of his condo checking her makeup and waiting for him to answer his phone. Despite the jet lag from the long overnight flight from DC, she was full of anticipation. Coffee and the warm, bright sunshine had recharged her, for now.

  She was disappointed Bryce hadn’t picked up yet – maybe he is in the shower, she thought, it is early. She kept hearing something strange echoing through the air and finally asked the concierge at the front desk just what that was.

  “Formula One,” he told her with a smug response, as if she should already know, “they are practicing today.”

  She said something in response, putting her first language of Japanese to work, cursing herself for not knowing he’d be racing that morning and telling the concierge to stick his smugness in a very dark place. Switching back to English she told him who she was, who she was there to see, and asked what he might suggest she do. She gave the man, a tall and thin French version of Herman Munster but with a pencil thin mustache, a look. She meant business, the air had just been let out of her tires, and she wasn’t in the mood for attitude.

  “You must understand, mademoiselle,” he began, “this is the race weekend. Everyone will say these sorts of things but regardless I cannot acknowledge or deny that Mr. Winters resides here. It is forbidden.” She glared at him but then took a breath and calmed. Okay, he’s racing. I need a shower.

  “I bet there’s not a hotel room available within fifty miles of here,” she said.

  The man looked down at her bag, noting the airline baggage ticket still strapped to the handle; NCE.

  “There would be rooms in Nice, most certainly at the airport but not on the beach, not the five-star hotels,” he told her.

  Just then, her phone vibrated, and she smiled, turning away from Munster and stepping to the lobby window to watch the passersby. She laughed when she heard Bryce ask if she was still coming and told him where she was. Flying in for a big surprise had gone wrong.

  After a few minutes of catching up she turned and faced the concierge, this time displaying her own smug expression as she handed her phone to him. Minutes later, after she entered Bryce’s five-number password code to disable the alarm, the bellman turned the key and led Kyoto into the Winters condo. Tipped and excused, he closed the door behind him.

  She walked down the hall, slowing to examine his collection of photographs, and then headed for the balcony and the sensory overload that was waiting for her there. She opened the sliding glass door and the scent of flowers on the balcony wafted over her. The sun stood high overhead in a cloudless blue sky. She heard the sound of the race cars far below running through the tight city streets and darting past dozens of magnificent yachts docked in the marina. It was spectacular.

  Bryce had told her he was booked solid between practice sessions, media and sponsor commitments, and a driver’s meeting he had to attend. He suggested she make herself at home, get some sleep, and he’d be there by four o’clock at the latest. The shower and more coffee woke her, and she perched back on the balcony but was soon surprised by just how hot the sun had become. She moved back inside to the sofa where Bryce and Madigan had made their peace not that long ago.

  After a minute looking about the room, loving the bright decor of Santorini Bryce had told her of, she sat forward and picked through the books and magazines he’d left on the clear glass coffee table. There were paperbacks by Dan Brown, Jack Carr, Mark Greaney, a copy of Autosport magazine, and a hard cover of My Greatest Defeat by Will Buxton. She smiled at what she had found so far – nice guy, nice taste, nice place – but then she picked up a paperback that scared her.

  The book’s title was The Mechanic’s Tale by Steve Matchett. The cover photo was of a man, a pit crewmember, fully engulfed in flames. She dropped it and shook her head in fear.

  *

  Racing through the streets of any city can be harrowing but driving between massive, hard-as-rock concrete barriers at speed requires exceptional focus and luck to win at Monte Carlo.

  “Imagine driving through a construction zone, single lane, with Jersey barriers and guardrails close on either side of you. Now do that at three times the allowed speed, through tight turns and the occasional bump, with someone close on your tail, chasing you – pushing you - the entire way.” That’s how Bryce described it to the international media assembled for the post-race press conference.

  In the hours that preceded, he’d won his first-ever Monaco Grand Prix, his first pole there, led every lap, and posed with his new girl. Royalty – the sovereign prince, graced the podium ceremonies. When the focus was taken from the race and to the Asian beauty he’d kissed for the cameras, Bryce’s tone changed slightly.

  “She’s a dear friend. Her father who passed recently was a big fan back in Japan, and that’s the extent of what I’ll say. Now let’s get back to the race story.”

  After a quick shower and change of clothes, Bryce, Kyoto, Kazaan, Burns, and a stumbling Madigan made their way across the track to the parties and celebrations on yacht after yacht, hosted by millionaire after billionaire, movie and sports stars.

  “First Madigan and now this lovely lady,” an intoxicated Burns said as he raised yet another glass of champagne to toast the two and the weekend’s success. “They’ve both brought us luck.”

  Bryce couldn’t be happier, but knowing Kyoto had to leave early the next morning he called it a night. The couple headed back to his condo to do what lovers do.

  In the car he teased her. “Forget work, call in sick, stay the week,” he begged. She thought about it, at least that’s what Bryce assumed as he saw her attention turn elsewhere.

  “No can do,” she said as she turned toward him. “Got a job to do. But I will be there in Montreal.” He smiled as she said something, perhaps a tease, in French. He’d always found the language sexy but coming from the lips of this beautiful Japanese woman made it even better.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Summers in Burlington, Vermont were a stark contrast to the vibrant fall colors of autumn and winters there with the cold temps falling over the land and frozen Lake Champlain that separated the state from New York. Everything in the summer was green; the lake was warmish and full of sailboats and jet-skis. The region was now crammed with tourists, campers, and travelers.

  On this week in June many would soon head north, driving the ninety miles to Montreal and the next stop on the Formula One calendar. Bryce flew commercial into Boston from Nice via Paris and then rented a car to drive across New England. For someone who risked his life behind the wheel and loved it, a scenic ride at a significantly lower speed across New Hampshire and toward the region he’d grown up in was pure pleasure.

  He stopped at Montpelier along the way, Vermont’s capitol, to say hi to the Governor, who used to race cars on the same tracks—Thunder Road, Lee, Thompson, and many others. After he posed for photos with Vermont State Troopers at the state house, he headed north again toward the one spot he had to visit before crossing the border into Canada.

  Cemeteries are tough places. They are reminders of what’s been lost and what’s to come. For race car drivers, they are stark reminders of what could come very prematurely. For Bryce, visiting his father’s grave, and now Pete’s, was always sad. He longed for what might have been but always left them behind with a smile, choosing to think of the happier times than the days he shoveled dirt to cover their caskets.

  The brothers were together again, forever now. Bryce laughed as he imagined the two giving the gatekeepers in heaven a hard time as they checked their credentials, demanding to be let in. Then he turned his attention to Christy. He walked the short distance to her gravestone and stared at the date. It had been nearly ten years since she’d been killed in that horrible crash. Nearl
y ten years since he’d felt the pain that would never leave him. He’d been in very hard crashes over the years, but he loved racing, more than anything. So much so that the risk of pain and suffering just couldn’t keep him from coming back.

  “Ten years is a long time,” he whispered to her. He hadn’t loved anyone since her, but now his heart and mind had healed enough to finally let someone else in. I have to let you go Christy, he said to her without speaking a word. It’s not fair to her for me to continue to miss you and hurt from what happened. I’ll never forget you, but today will be my final goodbye.

  He stood over her grave, thinking of her for another few minutes. But sensed someone nearby and, fearing they might have recognized him, he walked back to his car before they had time to approach him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The plate that flew across the kitchen and smashed into pieces against the sink was the last thing Kyoto threw before her brother Jon wrapped his arms around her to disable her outburst.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she had screamed at him, more from a broken heart than the mental rage she had felt just minutes before.

  He held onto her until he could feel the tension release through her tears. Jon guided her to a chair at the kitchen table, moving the last remaining plate from her reach.

  She sighed. “I’m done. I’m done with plates, I’m done with love, I’m just done,” she told him.

  He had wanted to tell his sister, his only sibling, sooner—but hadn’t been able to until he’d seen the race. He’d watched F1, just as he had with their father, growing up and inherited his dad’s passion for it. When he saw Bryce Winters standing in his sister’s living room a short time ago, he was excited but conflicted. The joy he’d seen in his sister’s eyes as she stood beside her new beau, holding his hand, had put him in a bad way.

  “I wanted to tell you. I knew I should,” he’d said. “But that would have put my security clearance, even my job, in jeopardy.” He leaned in, whispering, as if someone might hear. “There are some serious hombres at the CIA and even more serious operators working as contractors for them. I do not want to get on the wrong side of anyone affiliated with Langley. Period.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes still red from the tears. “So why now? What the fuck! You tell me that the guy I was falling in love with is a murderer. You got to keep your job for a while, but you’ve left me in bed with a guy that kills people? Is that job more important than me to you?”

  They spent the next hour going over and over everything he’d told her, everything he knew about Bryce, Madigan, and their escapades. He told her about Baja, how two CIA agents had been assassinated in what some suspected was retaliation for Bryce’s hit in Sochi. Others felt he’d orchestrated something in an attempt to free himself from the CIA.

  “You’re saying he not only kills criminals and enemies of the United States, he’s taken out CIA agents? He’s killed CIA agents?” she shouted.

  “There’s no proof he took out his handler and her boss, but that’s what the team they worked with believes or at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Are you at risk – are we at risk?” she asked, her anger turning toward panic.

  He tried to quiet her but watched as his sister’s mind raced. She specialized in International Law and was brilliant at it. She’ll figure something out, he told himself. He hoped.

  “Now that your face has been plastered all around the world kissing a killer, how do you think this will impact you? Will you ever see him again or not?” he said as he placed a tall glass of vodka, no ice, in front of her.

  She took a few breaths and stared at her brother. She didn’t say another word but sat quietly and drank down the alcohol without flinching. Her eyes blinked as she shook her head and coughed in response to the liquor’s bite. He watched her expression change from anger and frustration to a smile.

  “Who knows, maybe I can get a Revlon contract or one with Chanel,” she joked as she wiped away the few remaining tears. Then Kyoto got up and walked to the bar, poured another vodka and returned to the table.

  Jon protested. “Don’t you think one was enough?”

  She smiled again. “No – this one’s for you. Now down it or I’ll kick your ass for not telling me!”

  He made a face but swallowed the vodka. He’d never been able to drink hard liquor from anything more than a shot glass.

  She was pleased. “Glad to see you still can’t drink – one of us needs to keep our shit together while we sort this out.”

  “What’s to sort?” he asked, pushing the glass away and getting up to look for something in the kitchen to wash away the taste.

  “Well, from a legal standpoint, you’ve breached your CIA clearance. That puts both of us at risk from the CIA, not just Bryce. I’ve also got to tell him we’re done and that he won’t understand.”

  Jon looked at her and shook his head slowly. “This can’t be happening. He’s developed a relationship – a working one – with his new handler Sandra Jennings. If he wanted to, he could ask her to check into you and perhaps even surveil us if he thinks the break-up is bullshit.” He tore the lid off a tin of potato chips he’d found in a cabinet and began to inhale them.

  She reached for the tin and pulled it away so she could share.

  “Can you get protection from work?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said with a sarcastic tone. “I just moved here from Japan, not even fully settled in yet, and my boyfriend is killing people for the CIA. I need to break up with him and somehow make sure that both my knucklehead CIA analyst, should-have-known-better brother and I don’t wind up floating in the Potomac.” She laughed. “Is that how you see that playing out at my job?”

  “You never told Bryce where you worked?”

  “No. All I ever said was that I took a new job practicing international law at a big firm headquartered in Washington. Boring stuff that would put you to sleep and much less exciting than driving race cars around the world.”

  They sat quietly for a time. And then Kyoto grabbed her phone and tapped away for a minute.

  “What’d you do?” Jon asked.

  “Two things. I ordered a pizza and then cancelled my flight to Montreal.”

  “Are you going to tell him you’re not coming?”

  “Not sure. First, I need to go throw up and get rid of the vodka. I need a clear head. Then we can talk while we eat. We can figure this out. I know we can.”

  Jon smiled. His sister always had known what to do in a pinch. “What can I do?” he asked.

  “Clean up the plates – that’s the least you can do for not telling me,” she ordered.

  He went about the chore while she took care of herself. When she returned to the kitchen, she had changed from her dark blue suit to white t-shirt and shorts, her long silky black hair pulled back with a tie.

  “What do you think about me transferring to the CIA?” she asked, her tone serious. Jon did a double take at the thought. “That’s funny,” he said.

  “I was just going to ask about a transfer to the work with you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Sandra Jennings had never been to Montreal, but she’d flown there to meet with her counterparts at the CSIS, Canada’s Security Intelligence Service. Their offices for Quebec province were located in an unremarkable walk-up in the lower city, a stone’s throw from the St. Lawrence River. She wanted to kill two birds with one stone, meet up them and then spend a short time with Bryce to discuss a person of interest. He’d be racing in Germany in six weeks’ time, and there was someone who needed to be dealt with there. She knew it would be a sensitive topic and was waiting for him in his suite at the Sheraton Centre downtown.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” he asked, surprised to find anyone other than a maid tidying up his room.

  She smiled and gave him a look that reminded him she was a spy with the CIA. Luckily, he’d discovered her sitting by the window in his room after he’d closed the do
or behind him. The F1 security team was in place now for the duration of the event. If they’d heard his declaration they’d have been in there behind him in seconds.

  Jennings told Bryce she’d only be there for a short time to broach the subject of his next assignment and then be gone. When she noticed that his phone distracted him, she asked if everything was okay.

  “Yeah, yeah – just can’t reach someone. I have a friend coming up for the race, and she’s not responding to my calls or texts.”

  “Kyoto Watanabe coming up?” she asked.

  His shocked expression gave away surprise and anger. “Spying on me?”

  “Just looking out for you Bryce. I told you when we met at the driving school that I wanted to work with you. You agreed to the new, friendlier, terms of our arrangement. We’re not bugging your bedroom. Just making sure the people you are with are not there with sinister agendas. Wouldn’t you want us to check up on the hot Russian models you date overseas to make sure there wasn’t any possibility of compromise there?”

  He got it. He shook his head and put his phone down. He walked to the window and stared up at St. Joseph’s, a catholic basilica with one of the largest domes in the world, sitting high on Mount Royal overlooking the city. He wasn’t Catholic, or a person of any faith for that matter, but could appreciate their architecture.

  “I get it,” he said. He wasn’t sure how good his acting skills were on this day. He was concerned Kyoto hadn’t shown up yet, the CIA had shown up in his room unannounced and uninvited, and he couldn’t understand what Susan Lee had said in Paris. He remembered the words she’d written down for him in a much more extravagant hotel suite a few months earlier.

  WHY DOES THE CIA HAVE A BUG ON YOUR PHONE?

  Lee hadn’t offered any proof at the time, but since then Bryce hadn’t taken any chances. Anything he didn’t want the CIA to know he didn’t discuss, text, or email with his phone anywhere nearby. He began relying on burner phones, ones he could use and discard. As Jennings began to lay out the next assignment, Bryce found himself looking first at the lamps in the room, then the flat screen, then and the telephone on the nightstand. Wonder if they’ve bugged the place?