Endangered Species: PART 1 (10 page)

Later, as they were leaving the bar and
walking out into the chill of the desert evening, she nestled close
to him. Using the tequila as an excuse, she suggested that she’d
had too much too drink to drive back to her place in Albuquerque.
Drunkenly gallant, Christie asked her to stay at his apartment. He
offered to sleep on the couch, giving her the Murphy bed. When they
got home, one thing quickly led to another. Later, as Christie lay
there beside her in the darkness, he felt a rush of feelings; not
all of them negative. He knew for certain that he wasn’t ready for
a relationship. Not until after he had taken care of Whelan. But
there were two main differences now. He could actually see a life
beyond that payback. And, to his very great relief, he didn’t
suffer from erectile dysfunction. That was a fear that had haunted
him ever since his marriage had fallen apart.

But that comfort didn’t
solve his immediate problem. How to deal with Camilla Ramirez? What
were her expectations now? Would she think they were an “item”? He
recalled snippets of locker room conversation from his youth. It
had been a commonly accepted premise that women could talk a good
game of free and easy, but once you bedded them, they often became
territorial, possessive. He and his youthful buddies had opined
that it was as if, having done the dirty deed, a girl’s
rationalization of the act required some form of commitment from
the guy who had bedded her. They viewed it as a woman’s way of
trapping a man into a relationship that was designed to lead to
marriage. He thought that probably sounded an awful lot like male
chauvinism in today’s world. On the other hand, Deborah had been
his first real girlfriend and
she
had been the one to press for marriage. Maybe
there was something to that theory after all.

That was the thought that frightened
Christie. It was what drove him to slip quietly from the Murphy
bed, dress hurriedly, and sneak out to his car. He left a brief
note on the tiny kitchen counter. He really didn’t know what to
tell her. Ultimately, the note simply said, “I’ll call you
later”.

* * *

The angry blaring of a car horn snatched
Christie from his reverie. He had drifted absentmindedly into the
outside lane on the Interstate and the other driver responded loud
and long. Christie glanced at the other driver through the Crown
Vic’s side window. It was a young, blonde woman. She was giving him
the finger. He actually was relieved at the incident. He’d been
about to miss the off ramp at the exit for Montgomery Boulevard. He
turned left at the end of the ramp and proceeded east on
Montgomery.

His first stop was a Jack in the Box. It was
close to his office and easy to access. That was about the only
reason he could think of for eating there. And he ate there almost
every day, sometimes all three meals. Today, he ordered the same
thing he had for breakfast every day, black coffee and a Breakfast
Waffle Sandwich. Fried egg, American cheese, and sausage patty
layered between two small waffle slices. When it came to his
stomach problems, the meal was probably a wash. The egg and cheese,
although fried, basically were neutral. But the sausage definitely
didn’t help matters. That’s where he hoped the waffle slices played
a key role. It seemed logical to him that they would act like
sponges, soaking up stomach acid. Just to be safe, he popped three
Rolaids in his mouth.

After picking up his meal, Christie swung a
U-turn at the intersection with San Mateo Boulevard and stopped at
the Walgreens in Montgomery Plaza. He bought a toothbrush, safety
razor, and travel size toothpaste and shaving cream. He really
wanted a shower, but would have to make do with a sink in a men’s
room at the office. He also bought a disposable cell phone, a
Nokia, and $100 of minutes through T-Mobile.

Given the early hour, he easily was the
first Bureau employee to arrive that morning. After freshening up,
he settled into his office, closed the door and fired up his
computer. Using Google Earth, he surfed to the Dingle Peninsula in
Southwestern Ireland. He had done this several times since the
online discussion with his friend at INTERPOL Washington. He had
learned that the peninsula was thirty-two miles long by twelve at
its widest point. According to online sources, it had a population
of 10,000 people. He recognized that it was a lot of territory to
cover and a lot of people to sift through, but he was determined to
do it. No matter how long it took.

At nine o’clock, he made it a point to stick
his head in Wojakowski’s office and discuss some trivial matter. He
wanted her to think he was on the job. A few minutes later, he left
the building and strolled around the parking lot to a point
opposite the SAC’s office. He stepped under an overhang that
provided sheltered parking to the building’s bigwigs and pulled out
his new cell phone. Christie tapped in a local number he had
memorized and waited for an answer at the other end.

After three rings, a woman’s voice said,
“Travel Services, Margaret speaking. How may I help you?” She
sounded annoyingly affected to Christie.

“
I’m interested in
traveling to Ireland.”

“
Oh, it is absolutely
gorgeous this time of year.”

“
No it isn’t. It’s cold and
it’s rainy.”

There was a momentary pause on the other end
of the line. Somewhat stiffly Margaret said, “Excuse me. I assumed
you wanted to travel in the very near future.”

“
I do, and it’s cold and
it’s rainy.” He paused momentarily then said, “It’s always cold and
rainy in Ireland.”

The tone of the woman’s response was
noticeably frostier. “I see. Well then, when are you planning to
fly?”

“
What’s the cheapest day to
fly? I don’t want to spend a fortune.”

Another pause. The agent dealt with a lot of
different personalities in her business. She swiftly categorized
Christie a rude and miserly. She sighed audibly and said, “I take
it your plans are somewhat flexible?”

“
No. I just don’t want to
spend more money than I have to.”

“
Well, Tuesdays generally
are considered to be the most economical days to fly.”

“
That’s fine,” Christie
said. “Book me a one-way ticket to Ireland next
Tuesday.”

“
Do you know your return
date?”

“
No. Not yet.”

“
Alright.” She paused for a
few moments. Christie assumed she was searching her computer for
airfares. After a short while, Margaret said, “You’re in luck. I’ve
found a fare that connects with Aer Lingus in New York. It departs
Albuquerque at midnight and arrives in Dublin at about five in the
morning.”

“
That’s a pretty quick
flight.”

“
Not really.” Margaret’s
voice had the tone of someone who thought she was speaking to a
nitwit. “The layover in New York is almost twelve hours. Total time
is over twenty-two hours.”

Christie didn’t like that. “Isn’t there a
direct flight?”

“
Not from Albuquerque.”
Again, there was a sound of exasperation in her voice, like that of
someone who believed she was having to explain the obvious to a
fool. “There are other flights available that are shorter, but they
involve multiple connections and cost considerably
more.”

He thought about his options for a moment.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll take the flight you mentioned
first.”

Margaret spent several minutes getting his
information and booking the passage. Eventually, she said, “That
should take care of the flight. Will you need ground transportation
or lodging in Dublin?”

“
No,” he said quickly.
Maybe too quickly. He thought about the kind of impression he might
be making on the travel agent in an era of terrorism. “I’m staying
with friends. They’ll take care of all that.” He knew it would have
been simpler to let the agent make all of his travel arrangements
including a rental car and a place to stay, but he didn’t want to
leave such an easy trail to follow.

The agent finished the flight arrangements
and Christie pressed the red key to disconnect the call. He dropped
the cell phone in a trouser pocket and went back to his office. As
he passed through the reception area, an attractive young lady on
the desk sweetly said, “Excuse me, Agent Christie, you had two
calls while you were away from your desk. They came through the
main switchboard and didn’t leave any messages.” With a big smile,
she handed him a single slip of paper.

He looked at her with a mildly confused
expression. “Didn’t you say there were two calls?”

The big smile never left her face, as if she
were inexplicably delighted just to have a relatively low-paying
job in the backwater outpost of a government bureaucracy. “Yes,
there were two, but only one caller left a number. It was a female
caller. The other was a man, but he said he’d call again
later.”

“
Do you have any
information regarding the other call?”

“
Only that the number had a
33 prefix. I copied it from my phone’s screen.”

The smile might be a little overdone,
Christie thought, but the girl seemed to be good at her job.
Christie looked at the slip of paper as he walked to his office. If
the calls had been made directly to his line, the screen on his
desk set would have notified him of the calls. He then could have
viewed them by accessing the Missed Calls list on his phone.

He didn’t recognize the
local number. As for the other one, he thought the prefix, 33, was
the calling code for France.
Who the hell
would be calling me from France
, he
wondered. He couldn’t think of anyone he knew who lived or was
visiting there. He entered his office and punched up Bureau
software that would identify the location of the callers. The local
number had been placed from the headquarters of the Bernalillo
County sheriff’s department. He knew it wasn’t Tom Burkhardt’s
number. Then he figured it out. Camilla Ramirez. His initial
reaction was a mild panic attack.
Shit
, he thought,
what have I gotten into? Is she gonna stalk me now that we
had sex?
The feeling passed in a moment as
he realized she must have called because she was confused about
waking up in his apartment to find he had vanished without a word.
Probably just wants to tell me she had a good time, he thought.
He’d had a good time too. He made a mental note to return her call
later in the day. Maybe he would see her again before next
Tuesday.

The second call was a
different matter. The software confirmed that it had come from
Paris. But, for some reason, it couldn’t provide any additional
information. That puzzled him. The program had been hyped as being
able to pinpoint the source of every call received; and provide
additional information such as to whom the phone was registered. It
was like the caller knew about the system and had managed to bypass
it.
Maybe James Bond is alive and well
after all
, he thought wryly.

At a few minutes after three in the
afternoon, he called the number in the sheriff’s department.
Camilla Ramirez picked up on the third ring. He apologized for his
mysterious behavior of earlier that morning, claiming he’d had an
early morning appointment that he had almost forgotten. They agreed
to meet for dinner on Saturday evening.

Shortly after he finished the conversation
his phone rang. The small screen displayed the number of the
incoming call. It had a 33 prefix. He picked up the receiver.

“
This is Special Agent
Christie.” There was a long pause at the other end. Christie said
again, “This is Special Agent Christie, can I help you?”

A man’s voice came over the line. “Agent
Christie, it has been awhile. I trust you are well.”

Christie struggled to place the voice. There
was something vaguely familiar about it. And traces of an accent.
Eastern European? “Who is this?” he said, trying to sound
disinterested.

“
We last spoke almost a
year ago.”

“
Yeah? In reference to
what?”

“
Your family.”

And then it hit him. The
kidnapping of his family the previous summer. And the man who
called him and said he had them, trying to use that as leverage to
involve Christie in some forthcoming activity. That activity,
Christie was sure, had been the attempt to assassinate the
president. What Christie had known then was that his family had
been abducted by Whelan’s people, and, according to a call from
Deborah, they were safe and being treated like royalty. In a
mansion. With servants.
That fucking
Whelan
, he thought. No wonder his wife had
gone all gaga over the Irish bastard. A solar flare immediately
burst through his stomach. Yes, now he knew who was on the other
end of the line.

“
Maksym,” he
said.

“
How kind of you to
remember me, Special Agent.”

“
Cut the shit. What do you
want?” Christie activated the call tracer mechanism, but didn’t
have much confidence that it would be of use in this situation.
After all, the Bureau’s sophisticated number pinpointing software
hadn’t been able to provide much information.

“
We have a common foe, you
and I,” Maksym said.

“
Yeah? And that would be?”
Christie had a premonition that he knew what the answer would be
and he was right.

“
A person named Brendan
Whelan. Yes?”

“
What’s your point?”
Christie said warily. What the hell was this Maksym person up to
now? And how could he know how much Christie hated
Whelan?