Agent of Influence: A Thriller (9 page)

             
The Stevens’ both had firm grips on their U-shaped handlebars when they heard the noise of the supports coming off. They exchanged a quizzical look that instantly turned to fear as they reached the apex of the loop and the bars slid forward, pulling their arms away from their bodies. They both let out hysterical screams, their bodies pulled out of their seats by gravity’s now sinister force. They fell several stories before crashing into the sidewalk below. The roller coaster lurched to a stop as soon as it came out of the loop. Solomon strained to peer below him. The two broken bodies lay lifeless on the concrete expanse below.

Chapter 13

              “Alex, what the hell is going on?” Michael slapped him on the shoulder. He and Cindy had just exited one of the stores on the Strip selling cheap and tacky Las Vegas themed clothing. They both had bags in their hand.

“Two people fell out of the roller coaster when it went through the loop.” Alex motioned skyward and noticed for
the first time that it had stopped on the tracks after coming out of the loop.

             
“What?” Michael stared dumbfounded at the stopped coaster, trying to roughly calculate how far they had fallen. They both turned to Cindy who had a stricken look on her face.

“Easy, honey. Relax. I guess we won’t be riding the roller coaster after all.” The poor timing of the remar
k did nothing to relieve the tension.

             
“Amen.” It was the most appropriate response Alex could think of. Their vacation was getting stranger by the minute.              

             
“Honey, let’s go check out the MGM. I’ll show you around,” Michael said. He recognized the pale look on her face, and decided it would probably be best to get her away from the scene. “Alex, do you want to head on over with us?”

“Go on ahead.  I think I’ll
head on over to the Luxor and gamble a little. How about we meet there for lunch in ninety minutes?”

“Sounds good to me.” Michael gripped Cindy’s hand and pulled her towards the giant lion’s head of the MGM Hotel
’s entrance.

Alex fought his way around the gathering crowd and headed towards the
Luxor. He was craving some air conditioning and a cold beer. He did not notice the lithe woman following him from a safe distance.

***

White House, Washington D.C., 8:00 A.M.

             
President Allan Gray furiously made his way through the short stack of papers in front of him, scribbling his signature at the places his doting secretary had marked for him with large arrows stuck to the side of the paper.  His head still ached from the New Years Eve Party a few nights earlier. He fumbled in one of his drawers until he found the aspirin he wanted and swallowed them dry. This was the price he paid, he told himself, for getting a little drunk after not touching the stuff for over twenty years. The good news was that he had no desire for another drink at the current moment. 

He always wanted to know how he would handle it if he decided to drink again. He was never dubbed an official alcoholic; he had quit of his own volition many years before due to the strain it was causing in his personal and professional life. Giving it up had helped his energy level tremendously, and he credited his dry life
style with getting him elected governor of California twice. His cautious stewardship of one of the largest economies in the world served as a springboard to the highest office in the land. His time in the Presidency, however, was not panning out quite as well.  He casually flipped the papers aside and hit the intercom button on the desk.

“Yes, sir?” Jamal Mahmoud, the current head of his Secret Service detail, immediately answered the call.

              “Is my wife ready to go? I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.” The President had to meet with another sports team for a brief photo op. He had lost track of which team it was this time, and he really did not care anyway. The secret investigation he allowed the CIA Director to put together was currently his only concern, and it appeared to have fallen apart. He was still holding out hope for some bit of good news. Allan Gray was arguably the most powerful man in the world, but he felt helpless at the moment.

 
              “I just called upstairs, Sir. They told me she was on her way down now. Should I send her in when she gets here?” Jamal asked.

“Yes please,” President Gray replied.
“Oh, and I guess congratulations are in order for you, Jamal. I understand they will allow you to remain on to continue to lead the security detail for President-Elect Hardin. You’ve earned it, son. You’ve definitely put in your time.” He liked his new agent. He took over less than a year ago after the previous agent suffered a mental breakdown. Due to the high stress level of the job, they normally rotated the head of the security detail with the inauguration of a new president. However, Jamal had received his appointment just months earlier, so he was given special permission to continue in that position with the incoming administration.

             
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Jamal replied in an even tone. “Also, sir, the CIA Director’s office called a few minutes ago to cancel his appointment with you. Would you like to schedule someone else to fill the time slot?”

“No, don’t
worry about it, Jamal. Things are starting to wind down a little quicker than I anticipated,” the President responded dejectedly before pressing the “end” button on the intercom.

***

Washington D.C. FBI Headquarters 9:33 A.M.

             
The mixture of cigarettes and coffee were finally jolting his mind awake. Bret McMichael sat behind his desk, staring blankly at the couch that also served as his bed last night. He barely slept, whether it was due to the cramped couch or his nerves, he could not be sure. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring, but nothing happened. He wanted to make a more informed decision before deciding whether or not he should cut his losses and distance himself from this little political storm that was gathering strength on the banks of the Potomac. If the storm turned into a hurricane, he wanted to be sure to be out of town when it made landfall.

Sean would be in any moment now, and if his people did not check in soon, then he may have to let Sean go to
Cairo. Malcolm was already pushing for it but Bret knew when to be non-committal. As a Beltway-lifer he learned a long time ago that the best reply to a request was often silence. You rarely got in trouble in this town for doing nothing. It was when you over-reached that someone always broke your exposed hands. The soon-to-be ex-president learned this the hard way. 

His intercom button buzzed loudly. “Yes? Send him in,” Bret said to his young sentinel of a secretary who monitored all the comings and goings of his office.  The
door flung open and Sean Hill drug himself through the threshold looking just as tired as Bret felt.

             
“Judging by the fact that you’re already smoking, I’m assuming we don’t have anymore news?”

“No
, but the newspapers sure can’t get enough of our newly-elected President.  They are ready to have the inauguration right now instead of waiting,” Bret said as he motioned at the newspaper sitting on his expansive desk.

             
“As long as there is nothing in the paper about the current POTUS and our little operation I’m happy.” As a former Secret Service agent, Sean still used the acronym for the president out of habit. 

        “Bret, we’re
going to have to make some kind of move soon. At least give President Gray some more information so he can make a better decision.” Sean desperately wanted to keep the operation going. The fact that Marilyn vanished could only mean she was onto something.             

“Not yet, Sean.  We have already had this discussion. Just be patient. Trying to force something will only make matter
s worse.” Bret crossed his knees and listened in disgust as they cracked, his body once again reminding him that it was wearing down. The ring of the phone interrupted their conservation.         

“Director McMichael speaking,” Bret answered the phone with a cheerful smile. He may be exhausted, but he still loved flaunting his title.  Sean watched his body language as he talked on the phone. A few grunts and affirmatives and he put the phone back on its cradle.

“A little good news. Malcolm said she left a signal at the airport. Apparently she’s okay. At least for the moment.”

“How does he know?” Sean asked.

              “No idea. Malcolm never gives up any secrets. That’s why he doesn’t have any friends in this town.” The CIA Director was a constant thorn in his side. He could not remember the last time a man with so much influence never used the power of the perfectly placed leak to get what he wanted. The man had spent too much time in the field.             

“S
he’s alive for now then. What’s our next step?” Sean asked expectantly.

Brett made a snap decision. He decided to relent to Malcolm’s wish and pack Sean off to
Egypt just as the CIA Director had been begging him to do ever since Marilyn came back from Cairo a few months ago. If Sean got caught doing something illegal there, he could just place the blame on the CIA Director. After all, Bret had his tape-recorded request sitting in his safe. It could be brought out if things continued as Bret thought they would; and on the off chance Sean succeeded, he could take the credit for the gutsy decision.

“I want you on the next plane to
Egypt, Sean. Follow up on her research. Malcolm and I can keep track of things here in the States. I’ll have a plane ready for you in two hours. I’ll call Malcolm and tell him you’re heading out.”

             
“Yes, sir,” Sean said in an excited tone.

Bret watched the display with annoyance. It was clear to him that Sean was becoming too attached to his partner. She was certainly beautiful, but everyone had a job to do, regardless of any perceived feelings they may have about agents in the field.  Bret could not help but laugh a little at the irony of the situation. He was concerned that feelings were keeping Sean from properly doing his work, while he was not worried about Marilyn in the least. Maybe women were the stronger sex.  He stubbed out his cigarette and decided to take a shower. He needed to look decent for his upcoming meeting with the CIA Director. He wanted to look his best as he lied to the man’s face.

Chapter 14

“You feeling alright, honey?”
Michael asked as he dropped his hotel key card onto the desk along with his wallet, which was a little lighter after running into his first string of bad luck.

“Sure am. I’ll be
out in a minute,” she called out from the bathroom in a mischievous voice. The playful tone suggested to Michael that the day’s events were being forgotten already. He eyed his suitcase and tried to decide if now would be an appropriate time to break out the engagement ring stashed inside it.

“I’m trying on what I bought while you two were throwing away your money.
Want to see?” Cindy called out. Michael was about to say no when he glanced at the bed and noticed the empty Victoria’s Secret bag. It looked like Las Vegas fever had caught up with his girlfriend.

             
“I’m up for a little fashion show. I’ll just lie on the bed here and judge…” a knock on the door interrupted him. “I’ll call you in thirty minutes, Alex,” he called out, not wanting to break the sexual tension that was creeping into the room.

             
“Hotel security, can we have a minute, sir?” It was not a question, despite the phrasing. Exasperated, Michael got up from the bed. “Stay in the bathroom honey. I’ll be one minute. Someone’s at the door.” Michael opened the door a crack, trying to see who was there. Did he forget to give them a credit card last night?

             
“Sir, we have a small problem.” The very slight accent sounded almost European. Michael was not surprised. Las Vegas attracted its employees from all over the world.

“What can I do for you…” Before he could finish the sentence the door exploded in his face. He went sprawling back into the h
otel room, blood spurting from his broken nose. He watched as a slim man with a fair complexion, dressed in slacks, a blue button down dress shirt, and corduroy sports jacket stepped into the room. Michael’s eyes scanned down to the man’s right hand, and noticed the gun for the first time. He froze in horror. His last thought was of Cindy in the next room.

***

Solomon closed and locked the door by feel, never taking his eyes off his target.  The look of fear on the smashed face of his prey’s eyes told him this was going to be easy. He leveled the silenced FN Herstal 5.7mm and gave the trigger one delicate pull. The single action pistol sent one perfectly placed bullet through the heart, ending the man’s life before he could muster any pleas. Solomon strode cautiously over to the bathroom door, pushing it open to reveal a petite redhead in black lingerie. Her freckled skin turned ashen at the sight of the stranger, and she groped for a towel. She did not scream like he expected her to. She just stood transfixed on the weapon pointed her way. He decided to try a long shot.