Operation Heartbreaker (3 page)

Not good at all, Ally thought, and grabbed her pillbox. When Julie wasn’t looking, she took one. The last one, she noticed. She would have to fill up her supply when she got home. When the familiar numbness set in she sighs with relief.

*

They were silent for the first minutes during the drive downtown. They didn’t have to talk anyway. Julie plugged her iPod into the radio of her VW Beetle and the two of them listened to George Michael’s
Amazing
on infinite loop. The fact that Julie rocked back and forth enthusiastically gave Ally a hard time holding on to her gloomy mood. When they passed
Bellevue
with their top down, she was already rocking too, and on the
Evergreen Bridge
, both of them were singing their lungs out. “The day you walked in and changed my life–I think it's amazing! The way that love can you set you free–I think it's amazing…”

The
Seattle Times
was located in the immediate vicinity of the opera house. Julie only had to follow the signs after leaving the interstate.

The headquarters of Washington’s largest daily newspaper was shockingly unimpressive. A one-storied sandstone building in John Street with a miniature park in front. Inside, there was also no awe-inspiring marble lobby awaiting them, but a rather austere reception desk ambience reflecting the simplicity of the outside facade.

Ally absorbed every detail, starting with the smell of the printing ink to the lively atmosphere that was tingling on her skin like little needle pricks. Something was in the air, an agitation that didn’t seem to fit at all to the stoic building.

After the lady at the reception had informed Renée McKenzie about their arrival, they got visitor passes. They hadn’t even attached them when a rushed staff member, who gave honor to her name, Holly Hunter, swept in. To Ally it sounded like a comic figure with long ears and rabbit feet, but she kept that to herself.

After a conceivably brief greeting, Holly lead her and Julie to the second floor and sped along a never-ending hallway until they reached the office of the chief editor. The assistant announced the visitors, turned on her heel and disappeared like a vision.

Renée was on the phone when they entered the office. She was a woman in her forties with a graying bob and thin lips. The piercing look of her icy gray eagle eyes hit Ally like a laser beam and she knew right away that she was in trouble. She  knew about Renée’s anger, but she had no idea about how pissed off she really was.

With a brisk move of her hand, she signaled them to take a seat, while arguing with someone on the other end of the line about a gappy distribution network and decreasing sales numbers.

Ally mentally stuck a post-it to her forehead: look up ‘distribution’! She secretly hoped that Renée was mad at the guy at the end of the line, but she knew better.

After the call had ended, Renée grumbled something, then turned to her guests. “Ally, how nice you could make it.” She glanced at Julie.“ And you are…?”

“Julie Watson. We were nearby, that’s why I…” Instead of finishing the sentence, she shrugged.

“I understand.” Renée turned back to Ally and sighed. It sounded like an accusation. “Ally, we have a problem,” she began and started going through the paper work on her desk.

That much she’d figured herself.

“This morning, I had a call from David Reynolds.” For a brief moment Renée stopped her search and looked toward her. “Does this name sound familiar?”

Oops. Feeling uncomfortable, Ally sank deeper into the cushions of the chair. If David had called Renée, she was in deeper trouble than she assumed. Her uncle was neither known for his humor nor for his relaxed attitude. If he had found out about her working as a freelancer at the
Seattle Times
he would be anything but amused. Everything he couldn’t control, he pushed outside her reach like a glazed cake. As if she was going into sugar coma if she’d only nibble on it.

He would give her hell on earth for the fact that she had taken on a side job, that’s for sure. If he would find out about the faked personal data on her CV–and there was no doubt about it he would–hell would be the least of her problems.

“I assume you do,” Renée answered her own questions. Quietly cursing, she started going through another stack of documents.

Ally cleared her throat. Suddenly it felt hard to speak.

“How?”

This one word contained a whole universe of questions: How could this happen? How did I get into this mess? How do I get out of it again? Why now? Why me?

But foremost: How did he find out? Instinctually, Renée picket the right question.

“I left a message for you on your answering machine this morning,” she said and opened the top drawer of her desk. “The flight was moved back one hour.”

So, that`s it. Her guts went for a dive.

“In the left stack under the ring binder,” she said without thinking. Damn! She had only just taken her pill. Maybe next time she should take two of them–or was their effect wearing off already? That’s just what she needed.

Renée hesitated, then she did as told and pulled out a folder with travel information including flight tickets.

“How…?” she began, then shook her head and turned her eagle eyes back on Ally.

“I was quite surprised when he called,” Renée continued in a professional manner, “and had to find out that way that my adult age staff member really is a seventeen year old high school student.” She leaned forward and pierced Ally with her stare. “Does the term forgery mean anything to you?”

No, Ally thought, that was more Julie’s department. She threw a nervous side glance at her friend. By Julie’s facial expression she could tell that she was up to something. Not good. Not good at all.

“Does that mean I can’t go to Paris?“ she asked in a voice that vaguely resembled her own.

“Ally, I’m going to be honest with you. Under these circumstances it isn’t just your flight that’s cancelled. I’m afraid we’ll have to put your blog on hold for now until we’ve clarified if, given the state of affairs, you can actually continue to work for us at all.”

State of affairs? She wasn’t an illegal immigrant. She had only made herself one and a half years older. How complicated could that be?

To her relief the melodic ringing of the telephone saved her a reply. A variety of feelings were punching themselves through the cotton wall she’d put up with the help of one of the little pink pills. It seemed they were effective after all. Only in this case they were fighting her own emotions. Nevertheless, her disappointment brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry in front of her boss and give her even more ammunition. Only a child cries when getting caught with the hand in the cookie jar.

When Renée ended the conversation and looked at her expectantly, she still didn’t know what to say.

Julie made the decision for her. She jumped up and theatrically leaned over the office desk. “Please, Mrs. McKenzie,” she whined in her best Scarlett O’Hara begging tone.

If she pulled that one out, she was determined to wrap somebody around her finger. Mostly it worked. Julie’s father was practically helpless when his daughter hung onto his arm with that tone: Her blue eyes opened wide while pleading for gasoline money.
But Daddy, otherwise I’ll have to take the bus, and who knows what could happen to me!

Yeah, right. She was good at that.

Anyway, Ally was pretty sure that this number wouldn’t go over with Renée. The chief editor was definitely made of harder stuff.

To her horror, her friend was making her way around the desk, grabbing her bosses shoulders.

Just perfect. If Julie was going to shake her, Renée would probably call security.

“Ally worked her ass off day and night for this job. In this short time she’d won more fans than any other resort of your newspaper. Her blog had almost a thousand clicks today!”

“That’s generally true,” Renée replied and pushed Julie carefully, but resolutely away from her so that she was practically sitting on her desk.

“And think of Viktor Iwanow.”

That’s a good one. A small spark of hope lit up and she took a deep breath.

“In order to remedy my concerns she would need ten times as many clicks, but that’s not the point. The
Seattle Times
is neither a student newspaper nor an institution where you can steal your way in under the pretense of false…”

She didn’t get any further, because Julie suddenly broke into tears.

Oh. My. God! She was stuck in the middle of her personal nightmare and nobody came to wake her up. Time to show some initiative. Much to Renée’s relief, Ally pulled her friend off the desk and pushed her down into the visitor’s chair. Julie had buried her face in both her hands, her body quivering under suppressed sobs.

Sobs? Ally’s brows narrowed. She knew her friend–or at least she’d thought so until just a few moments ago. This wasn’t a hysterical bundle sitting in front of her, crying her eyes out. Julie was laughing.

“Uh…” What the hell was going on? “I apologize for…uh… modifying my age.” According to her calendar,
modify
was her word of the day, she should use as much as possible. And this was an excellent opportunity. “I know that wasn’t right. But I hoped if I do a good job and prove myself, you would condone it.” At some point at least. Ally cleared her throat,  this was the hard part. She wanted this job more than anything else. But how could she keep it without begging? Besides, ten times as many clicks were a joke. How in the world could she rustle up that many fans in a few days?

The phone rang again.

Renée took the call, and gave Ally the chance to throw Julie an inquisitive glance. Julie bit her tongue, but not to prevent another sob, but to suppress a giggle.

Why did her friend have to lose her mind just now?

“I’m sorry,” Renée interrupted her troubled thoughts. “I have a phone conference now. Ally, we’ll talk next week to see if and how we will continue. Your blog is certainly popular, I’m not doubting that. But you really are very young and your uncle  made it clear that he doesn’t permit your side job. Besides, I can’t remember ever having a high school student among my editors. That really seems a bit…” She was looking for the right word.

“Modern?” Julie interrupted her hopefully. She had miraculously recovered from her nervous breakdown.

“I was thinking of dubious.”

“But it’s the entertainment section!” Ally chipped in.

“Next week,” Renée replied, and this time there was steel in her voice.

As if on cue, both girls stood up and left the office in single file.

“What the hell…?”

Julie punched Ally’s ribs and shook her head. “Not now,” she hissed. “Let’s get out of here–and make it quick.”

“Why?”

Her friend’s eyes glanced down the hallway, then she pulled two plane tickets from the sleeve of her denim jacket. When she noticed Ally’s horror, she grinned impishly, grabbed Ally’s hand and started to run.

“Tell me you didn’t…” Ally hit the passenger seat door of Julie’s Beetle with her open hand.

“Take a breath! It was easy as pie.”

“Julie!”

“Do you really think I would let that old bat ruin your  dream?” She opened the driver’s side door. “Besides, I want to go to Paris. I’m young, I have time, and my parents are out of town!” With that she started the engine. When Ally didn’t move she honked impatiently. “What’s up? Am I supposed to fly alone, or what?”

02

On the way back they were silent. Ally was lost in her thoughts, which were spinning like a merry-go-round. The Paris trip was cancelled, so was her blog in the newspaper. And all that, because her uncle had blown her cover. She knew he wouldn’t approve of her little sideline. But the fact that he would go as far as ruining her chances at the newspaper without even talking to her first was outrageous. With a single phone call he had shot down her plans for the future as if it was his God-given right. How could he dare?

By the time they turned onto her street, she had gone through the entire range between shock and anger on the fast track. Right now her emotional barometer was somewhere between indignation and resignation.

She lived in the northeast of Redmond, a part of town near the Benson Way. Julie’s home,
Perrigo Heights
, a guarded community called
Open Space Park
, was a bit over one mile north of it. Both communities were surrounded by the
Neighborhood Park
, an extensive wooded area, where Ally went running in the mornings. If there was something abundant in Seattle, it was greenery, and, well, trees.

But Ally didn’t have an eye for the beauty of nature right now. Her thoughts were as dark as the clouds gathering above them.

“Are you okay?” Julie asked carefully as she turned off the engine.

Shaking her head Ally looked outside the passenger seat window over at the entrance of the dreary gray box she called her home.

“Do you want me to come inside?”

Head shaking.

“Should I be worried?”

Ally turned to her and gave her a grim smile. “Not about me.”

“We’re flying, right?”

Ally sighed. “I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

“No problem.”

As she got out of the car, a raindrop hit the bridge of her nose. “Hurry up or you’ll get drenched.”

Julie grinned and pushed the button that closed the cover of her cabriolet.

If only everything was that easy. Sighing she climbed the steps to the entrance door.

The first thing she noticed was the fact that the alarm system had been deactivated. How negligent of her uncle. She couldn’t remember him ever forgetting to arm the system before leaving for work. But maybe he had stayed at home today to confront her about her job? Unlikely. Just to be safe, she put out her senses and traced David. The effect of the pills had obviously worn off completely by now, because she detected him Downtown Seattle in the conference room of his law office. Well, figures. He didn’t let anything or anybody knock him out of his stride. To get him to change his daily routine Mount St. Helens would have to erupt–if that would even do the job.

Inside the house the chaos of a searched abode was awaiting her. Lose papers, pillow fillings, as well as pieces of broken glass lining the entrance hall like bread crumbs. Among there was stuff she couldn’t identify. Single pages from newspapers were scattered across the tiles of the hallway and it smelled of alcohol. A glance into the parlor told her that the latter came from smashed brandy bottles that were strewn about the wooden floor together with books, billiard balls and glass fragments.

Her heart was beating in her throat while she was trailing the path of destruction. Though it didn’t look like it, the intruders had acted in a levelheaded and calculated manner. The energetic fingerprint gave it away, which was running like a clear thread through the hallway. Nevertheless, it was supposed to look as if
Guns N’ Roses
had a good time in here. Strange.

Again, she put out her senses to make sure nobody else was in the house. Luckily, Annie had gone off into her well-deserved weekend. The skinny housekeeper was Canadian and regularly drove across the border to White Rock in British Columbia to visit her daughter.

While moving deeper into the house, Ally was trying to read the energy of the intruders–she tracked more than one. There had been two, maybe three people in here, who had worked their way quickly through the rooms. She traced them until she realized where the chaos would end up. For a brief moment she allowed herself to feel a spiteful satisfaction that her uncle’s office had been the target of this vicious attack. Like a punishment for what he’d done to her. But the impulse blew over as quick as it came. This was the work of ruthless people. Their evil intentions were lingering like fumes in the hallway and accumulated at the broken down door to David’s office.

It looked as if a tornado had raged its way through his workspace. Desk and shelves were emptied, nothing was where it used to be. But it wasn’t the chaos that drew Ally’s attention. It was the open door behind the office desk, embedded in the wooden panel.

A door she’d never seen before. And she had spent her entire life in this damn bunker.

Her bag slipped off her shoulder and fell onto the ground as she walked towards the opening like a sleepwalker. In her mind alarms went off but she ignored them. Her rational side sensed a trap. The emotional part of her was following a different set of rules entirely and was stronger than her caution.

The room was rather large for a secret chamber, maybe ten by fourteen feet. A slender glass desk filled the back wall of the room, as well as an office chair and technology–a lot of it. As if she’d stumbled into the head office of a security firm. There were more than a dozen monitors above the desk, all of them switched off at the moment though. Servers were humming to her right, cables by the bundle running from them into covered shafts in the floor.

Shelves were built into the wall, framing the room like a banderole. Inside were piles of ring binders, folders and…a safe. A steel-clad case, not much bigger than a toaster, embedded in the wall. Somebody had cleared away the ring binders in front of it and had opened it.

Ally stood up on her tiptoes and peeked into it as if she expected a rattlesnake inside. Instead, she discovered a slender, silvery object. She reached in, got hold of it with her fingertips and pulled on it until a silver MacBook Air became visible. She exhaled in relief and put the laptop onto the glass table. Just to be sure, she glanced back into the safe, but it was empty now.

When she looked around again, she noticed that this room, contrary to the rest of the house, was not marked by destruction. Everything was stored persnickety in its place, making the whole scenery appear almost ridiculous.

Why hadn’t those dipshits raged in here of all places, but left everything as it was? Well, except for the safe. Uncle David would never leave that thing open. On the other hand, he also wouldn’t forget to activate the alarm system. He had forgotten, right?

She grabbed one of the folders that had been removed from the shelf area in front of the safe and scanned the label. There were a row of letters and numbers, no other hint pointing at its contents. Not very helpful. She put the file next to the laptop on the desk and went for the other binders. More combinations of letters and numbers were starring at her. Great! She read one label after another, hoping something would jump out at her, but nothing rang a bell. She pulled one of the folders from the files, the label read
OpMT-046-07/07/2010
, opened it and…gasped.

Swallowing she sunk into the office chair and looked at the photos of two guys she knew just too well. According to the record, the taller one was William Collins, the other  Steven Brown–that was news to her. But then, why would she know their names? When they attacked and battered her there wasn’t time for introductions. On that day almost three years ago she was supposed to meet Julie, Marc and Brian at Pike Place Market. From there they had planned to go to the
Seattle Aquarium
, but for Ally the trip was over just a few streets down. On her way to her friends she ran into Will and Steve, who attacked and mugged her. They beat her so badly, she needed numerous stitches in several places. These rats had stolen her backpack including her cell and had kicked her into her ribs a few more times after she’d already been on the ground, bleeding badly.

She would never forget the faces of her attackers. Seeing them here and now on these photos was so unexpected that a wave of nausea washed over her. With trembling fingers, she turned the page and starred at a photo of herself. Her face swollen with countless cuts, her body covered with lacerations, abrasions and bruises. And there was blood–blood everywhere.

Why had her uncle documented this mess? And how in hell did he get mug shots of her attackers? Was this a police file? The perpetrators never reappeared, a search for them turned up nothing. But then again, they hadn’t any pictures of them, only some useless facial composite crap. How had her uncle gotten hold of the photos anyway? And why didn’t he breath a word to her about the attackers being identified? Didn’t he want to get her hopes up if they couldn’t find them in the end? 

A different thought crept to her mind and eliminated all others: What if he had found them?

Her uncle was known for his thoroughness. Whatever he began, he finished, no matter what. With these pictures it must have been a piece of cake to find her assailants. The way they acted, it certainly hadn’t been their first crime. There was probably a police file on them. As a lawyer, especially one who was a regular at the courts, her uncle had excellent connection to the cops.

She swallowed a lump. What happened to them? The file revealed nothing, so she opened the notebook and started it up. It was password-protected, just great. With a huff she closed it again and pulled another folder from the shelves.

If she’d thought the photos had been the low of the day, she was now proven wrong.

In the file
WB-017-04/23/2010
she found another picture of herself, this time at her karate lessons. She hadn’t been aware of being photographed. Who had taken the picture? And why? In the file there were also short messages in telegram style which were so disconcerting that they raised her eyebrows.

2.24. Slowly making progress. Probably due to a lack of motivation; academic performance adequate, but not outstanding. No sign of skills; good physical condition, eats too little. 30 minute call with JW. Jog at 5.25 p.m.; went to the movies at 7.00 p.m. with JW, BG and…

This went on and on in a similar fashion. She could only assume that JW stood for Julie Watson and BG for Brian Green. Her stomach started cramping when she found report cards including teacher’s reviews of her on the following pages.

This was a dossier on her. Her life, her friends, and the things she did all day long. But why?

Her questions increased even more when she continued going through more files, which all proved that she’d been under surveillance every single day of her life.

Why?

When she found a handwritten note of her uncle, the last bit of hope, David hadn’t known about it, died. After all, there had been the possibility these files had been placed in order to create a wrong impression–for whatever reason. Even though the thought was weird and, well, a bit unlikely. But this was not some error. Uncle David had spied on her 24/7.

One of those notes read:
We’re overlooking something!

What the hell was going on?

Binder after binder landed on the desk. But instead of bringing light into the situation, they raised even more questions. Ally found more reviews by her teachers, also medical reports, results of various blood tests, as well as statements of several bank accounts in her name, in Switzerland and on the Cayman Islands. As if this wasn’t odd enough, she found encrypted messages and photos of herself at all ages. Most of them snapshots. There were also Christmas photos and pictures taken at school events. One of them showed her at her Sempai exam six months ago. This was the third degree, also called Dan degree, on the way to becoming a karate master. She’d been so proud back then. Just as David. He stood next to her in the photograph, his arm around her shoulder, one of the rare smiles on his lips.

As if in trance, she let her eyes wander across her life, which her uncle had recorded between the covers of countless files, cataloging them by date.

This was a horror flick, happening live and in color. And she was the lead.

The fact that David had spied on her wasn’t even the worst part. While she was studying the files more closely, she noticed the receiver of all these reports. All the pictures, emails and messages were addressed to
CP
.

Under different circumstances that wouldn’t be a big deal, but a few times it said
Cole
. After that she worked through the dossiers like a maniac.

She knew someone called Cole Pierce Montgommery, CP for his friends. He had been killed more than ten years ago in a car crash. She was three years old when it happened.

Why should her uncle send reports and pictures of her to a dead person week after week?

Her heart was pounding as if trying to break through her ribcage.

Of course there were many people called Cole or people using CP as a acronym. Unfortunately she sensed the truth before her mind had the chance to catch up. Nevertheless, she needed confirmation by the man who raised her, the one she trusted all those years.

She left the secret chamber and with trembling fingers pulled her cell out of her pocket. A glance at the display showed a missed a call from David. In order to calm herself down, she took a deep breath before calling her mailbox.