CHAPTER 3

 At eight-fifteen the following morning, COMMEX Headquarters, an inconspicuous, three-story brick building was a hive of activity.   

 Lt. Marcus Kinnard strode by Mrs. Periwinkle’s desk, his eyes riveted to the door leading into Colonel Prescott’s office.

 “Excuse me, Lieutenant.” Her voice was cool, patronizing.  “The Colonel is on the phone and cannot be disturbed.”

 “Not to worry, Periwinkle,” he said, in his patented machine gun voice. “You just keep answering phones, taking messages and making coffee like a conscientious little woman, okay?  Let the Colonel and me worry about running the organization.”  

“Up yours,” she whispered, casting him a homicidal grin. 

Lt. Marcus Kinnard, second in command to Prescott, was a small, ratish-looking man, a badly preserved fifty-one, with a drinker’s purple veined face, a nose the color and size of an overly ripe apple and beady black eyes. Mrs. Periwinkle thought him a poisonous little man, secretly wondering how many times a year he shed his skin.  

Kinnard opened the door and waltzed into Prescott’s office.

The Colonel glanced up, his eyes filled with a quiet fury and pointed to a plush leather chair.

Kinnard sat down, struck up a Chesterfield and waited for Prescott to end his phone conversation.

“Yes, sir,” Prescott said, his voice controlled and expressionless. “The wheels are in motion even as we speak, sir. Lt. Kinnard has just arrived and my niece should be here any moment.”  Kinnard sucked on the cigarette and blew a large white smoke ring toward the ceiling.

“Of course, sir,” Prescott said. “I’ll keep apprised of our every move. Good bye, sir.” He muttered as he hung up the phone, “Oh my, yes, sir. But of course, sir”

“I just heard about Williams,” Kinnard said. “How, Colonel?  How in hell could anyone have known he was here at the Marriott?”

“I don’t know, Marcus. We’d taken every conceivable precaution.”

“We’re certain it was Azrael?”

“Forensics confirms it was a Yak-Pak.” Prescott cradled his head in the palms of his hands, thick fingers toying with the silver wisps sprouting from a balding pate.

“Well, then, there can be only one answer. Either Azrael or someone within his organization has happened upon the Key and accessed the computer.”

Prescott’s head snapped up. “I don’t believe that for one minute. We’ve got a foolproof system here. The damn Key and code changes daily. If someone did manage to get hold of it, without the proper code they’d end up hiking a false trail.”

“You have a better explanation, Colonel?” Kinnard said, thin colorless lips pulled back in an oily sneer.

“No, and I’m not about to waste time looking for one. The President has ‘strongly suggested’ that I remedy the situation straight away. So, I’m going to put this to bed once and for all. I’ve asked Mrs. Periwinkle to have Erika report to my office.”

“Somewhat drastic, Colonel.” 

“Drastic times and drastic measures, Marcus.” The intercom on the desk buzzed. “Yes?”  

“Ms. Kingston to see you, sir.”          

“That’s fine, send her in please.”

Erika walked into Prescott’s office, running a towel through her mop of blond hair. “I was in the middle of a workout at the health club, Uncle T, but from Ms. Periwinkle’s tone, I assumed immediately meant skip the shower. 

“That’s right, my dear.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Please, sit, we’ve much to discuss.”

“Lieutenant.” She sat, the patented Kingston pout enhancing her sensuous underlip.

“Erika.” Black pupils set into rheumy, yellow orbs traveled the length of her body, then returned to her ice-blue eyes.

Prescott knew that Erika had long been the focus of Kinnard’s warped fantasies but chose to ignore it. Regardless of his penchant for young women, preferably slim and trashy, as well as an insatiable appetite for what might be considered deviant sexual practices, Marcus Kinnard was a resolute, energetic employee, indispensable to the organization.

 “All right, Prescott said. “Down to business. Erika, I’m sure you’re aware that we’ve had a rash of ‘accidents’ lately.”

“If you mean the loss of several agents, then yes, I believe everyone’s aware of the problem.”

“Well, it appears we’ve lost another.”

“My God. Who? How?”

“Tim Williams.”

“You’ve heard about last night’s explosion at the Marriott?” Kinnard said. 

“Yes. Has someone claimed responsibility?”

Prescott leaned forward, his forearms on the desk. “No, but the work has a unique signature.”

Erika gazed into her Uncle’s slate-gray eyes, waiting for him to get to the point.

“Lieutenant Kinnard and I have orders to put an end to this dilemma and we need your help.”

“Sir?” Her forehead wrinkled. 

Prescott had never before asked for Erika’s help, had always kept her on the periphery, away from the big picture, offering only an occasional, cursory glimpse into the heart of COMMEX.

“We’ve reason to believe that a group called the Mezzhandi is responsible,” he said. “They are led by a ruthless killer with an appropriate moniker: Azrael.”

“Mezzhandi?” she murmured, with a quizzical look

“The Mezzhandi are not unfamiliar to us,” Kinnard interjected. “Its members have been monitored by the government for years, long before COMMEX became involved.”

“Mezzhandi,” she whispered. “Scuttlebutt has it they were disbanded by a team of agents known as ‘Shadow Company’? But there are no files, either in the computer system or in the vault that contain a single reference to ‘Shadow Company’.”

Prescott nodded. “I purged the file years ago, though I still have digital backup.  Best goddamn team of agents we ever put together.”

“All right then, Uncle, what can I do to help?”

“We need you to locate someone for us,” Kinnard said.  “Someone,” he added with a smirk. “Who has made it perfectly clear he wants never to hear from us again.” 

“I don’t understand?” She continued to stare at her uncle.

“The gentleman the lieutenant refers to was once the leader of ‘Shadow Company’. A ‘wet’ agent, one of the most lethal the intelligence community ever produced.”

“Do I know of him?”

“I think not.” Prescott leaned back in his chair, folded his hands in his lap and stared down at the tips of his shoes. This was dangerous territory. “His name is Brady Thomas. Known as Kenjisan within the intelligence community. He’s since left us. You see, there was a terrible accident…”

For the next two hours, Prescott and Kinnard recounted the history of the Mezzhandi, of ‘Shadow Company’s’ involvement in its demise and the elimination of the Druid. Finally, he detailed the unfortunate incident that caused Brady Thomas to leave COMMEX.

“So,” Erika said. “Our agents are being systematically killed off by the Mezzhandi, a group thought disbanded by Shadow Company and you believe the only way to stop the bleeding is to bring this Brady Thomas back into the fold?”

“Exactly,” Kinnard said.

“But you’ve already told me he wants nothing to do with us as he blames us for his fiancé’s death. What makes you think we can change his mind?”

“The Mezzhandi, Erika.” Prescott said it deliberately. “The Mezzhandi and Azrael, the Druid’s son, were responsible for Elizabeth’s death.”

Prescott was renowned for his ability to coolly and assuredly intertwine threads of truth and fiction into the fabric of a story. Erika was a living example of his ability to manipulate facts. After all these years she still suspected nothing.

“I see,” Erika said. “Sounds like a simple case of revenge.  Why not try to contact him yourself? Explain the situation. I don’t understand why you need me?”

“Oh, but that it were that simple, Erika.” Prescott shook his head. “Unfortunately, we face two very real problems. First, although we know Brady lives in Arizona, somewhere in the Verde Valley, most likely the Sedona area, we’re not sure of his exact whereabouts. Second, as Lt. Kinnard has alluded to, he’s not likely to be what you would call approachable.”

“What the Colonel is saying,” Kinnard interjected. “Is that Mr. Thomas would not welcome us back regardless of the reason. If he gets an inkling that we’re involved, he’ll burrow in so deeply that we’ll never find him.”

“Right,” Prescott added. “But he doesn’t know about you, Erika, has no idea you’re affiliated with us. That makes you, my dear, our ace in the hole.”

“All right, Uncle, shoot, what do you want me to do?” 

Prescott turned and logged onto his computer terminal. “I want you to go home and pack. You’re going to Arizona.”

“Arizona?” Her bright blue eyes sparkled as she watched him bang out a memo.

“Now.” Prescott spun on the chair, stared at her. “Listen carefully. The success of this mission is entirely dependent upon you following everything Lt. Kinnard and I have to say to the letter, understand?” 

“Yes, sir.”       

He handed her a memo and a check. “On your way out, stop by petty cash.”

“Fifty-thousand dollars?” 

“You’ll need to pick up a few items before you leave. I want you to stop by The Photo Emporium. Buy the best equipment on the shelf, strictly first-class stuff: cameras, lenses, light meters, everything a professional would take on assignment. You know what’s required. You’re the finest photographer we have on staff.”

“Thanks, but why not take what we already own?”

“He’d know,” Kinnard said. “Every piece of COMMEX equipment has an asset code etched onto it. He doesn’t miss a trick.”

She looked at Prescott. “I…”

“Stay with us, it will all fall into place. He handed her a first-class ticket to Phoenix. We’ve left your return flight open for now.  No telling how long this assignment will last. Okay so far?”

“Yes.”  

“Good. Now, once you get to Phoenix, rent one of those fancy RVs. Then, head north toward Sedona. We’ve reserved a secluded campsite for you outside of town.” He rifled through a file. “Here we are, the Manzanita Campground. Here are your papers.” He handed her a manila envelope. “You’ve already been cleared through appropriate state and federal agencies.”

“This is my cover? I’m on assignment from National Geographic? In the Verde Valley to photograph rock formations for an upcoming feature on northern Arizona?”

Prescott nodded. “Once you’ve settled in, it’s business as usual. Act as if you actually are on assignment.”

“And?”

“That’s it, my dear. Enjoy yourself, good food, lots of sun and from what I understand, spectacular photo opportunities. Oh, and snoop around a bit, name drop. You know the drill.”

“All right, then what?”  

“You wait. It will be only a matter of time before Brady finds you.”

“And, when he does?”

“Well.” Kinnard pulled at his lower lip. “That’s the tricky part. You must do your damndest to convince him that you truly are there at the request of the National Geographic. But we also need you to slip up on occasion.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, Erika,” Prescott said. “We’ve already told you what’s likely to happen should Brady find out we’re searching for him. At the same time, as strange as this sounds, we want him to realize just that. But it is absolutely vital that he figure it out on his own. But slowly, we can ill afford to be overly zealous or conspicuous.”

“So, I drop subtle nuggets?”

“Exactly, but keep them very subtle and very infrequent. You’re to impart, over time, only enough information to make him suspicious, to get him to make a move and contact us directly.”

“And believe me,” Kinnard added. “If we pull off this off, Mr. Thomas be all over us when he figures it out.”

“All right,” she said.

“One last point,” Prescott said. “You’ve been fully trained here, so use that knowledge to your advantage. But please, take your time and be very careful. You need to leave a trail, but do not make it appear as such. Brady’s a damn bloodhound, understand?”  

“Yes, Uncle, this guy sounds like an interesting man.”

“A thoroughly dangerous one, Erika, a man of enormous conviction. Regardless of your training, I want you out of there and on a plane home at the first sign of trouble.”

“I understand.” 

“Well, I think that’s about it. Any questions?”

“None that I can think of at the moment.”

“All right, then. Stay in touch with me daily.”

“Yes, sir.” She stood, leaned over the desk and kissed Prescott on the cheek.

“Please, be careful.” He was genuinely concerned.

“I promise, Uncle T. Hey, I’ve been trained by the best, right?”

“What would you have me say?” 

“Is the letch staring at me again?” she whispered.

“Of course, my dear. You’re going to be the death of the man, but you already know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, I hope so.” She smiled impishly. “I’ll check in when I get to Sedona.” She blew him a kiss and walked out.

“Well?” Kinnard turned back to his boss.

“Well, what?”

“Do you think she can pull it off?”

“I believe so.” His smile broadened, as it did whenever he became nervous or agitated. “Then again, it doesn’t really matter, does it? One way or another, Brady will come back here. It’s only a matter of time. Hell, that’s why I initiated this strategy all those years ago, isn’t it? In anticipation of a moment, a situation, precisely like this? I knew the day would come when we would require Mr. Thomas’s extraordinary talents in order to save COMMEX.”  

“Oh, I understand, Colonel,” Kinnard said. “But I’d certainly not want to be in your shoes should he have to be told the truth about Ms. Kingston.”

“Well, Lieutenant,” Prescott said and sat back in his chair and cleared his throat. “let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we?”