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Date Posted: 19:41:14 04/23/09 Thu
Author: Randy
Author Host/IP: S010600179a334297.gv.shawcable.net / 24.69.74.23
Subject: And the last section of main character intros
In reply to: Trudy 's message, "Re: Excellent. Now try this character out..." on 14:23:38 04/23/09 Thu

Picking up from where the above left off...

“So, what would that take?”

I drained my beer, and motioned for another. “If you could grant legal immunity for disclosing classified data, that would be a start.”

“What if we were to speak hypothetically, again?

Her persistence was admirable, and so were her curves. Fact was, though, that she was digging for information that would leave me dangling in the wind, legally speaking.

“We just talked about facts that could be induced with some consideration,“ I said. “The kind of information you’re asking for is hard to dress up in plausible deniability.”

Naomi leaned forward, and her expression suddenly changed, becoming a mask that I hadn’t seen, yet. It was downright cocky.

“Does ‘Dr. Leonid Zolkin’ ring a bell, Mr. McGuillivray?”

She knew more than I had imagined. A lot more. I wondered who else she‘d been talking to.

“Tell me about him, please,” she asked.

“One person’s breach of secrecy doesn’t cover my ass if I do it, too. Why don‘t you just use whatever you‘ve already been told?”

She grinned. “It was hard to get much sense out of him. He was pretty whacked out on heroin or ketamine, or something. But I did get your name out of him, among others.”

I was taken aback. She’s spoken to Zolkin? And he’s a junky? That was hard for me to reconcile.

“He mentioned something that he called a ‘Talbot tree‘. He started to tell me about it, but then he ran away.”

“Ran away?”

Naomi nodded. “He was pretty frantic.”

Now, she was turning the tables on me. I was intensely curious, and she had information that I suddenly wanted to know, myself. She could see it, and she was dangling bait to see if I would bite.

“Are you sure you were speaking to Leonid Zolkin? How did you even learn about him, let alone contact him?”

Naomi laughed. It was bright and clear, and her eyes shined. “It would be difficult to speak hypothetically about this sort of thing, Randolph. But we might be able to arrange a trade.”

Uh oh. I suddenly suspected that she‘d been working toward this since she arrived. I was being played-- and I didn‘t care. “What do you have in mind?”

The alarm on her watch started to beep, and she glanced at her wrist, annoyance furrowing her brow. “I have another appointment, Mr. McGillivray,” she said. “But how about dinner? We can talk some more about this then.”

I do admit, I was taken aback. My better judgement warned me not to go there, but my curiosity coupled with a sincere desire to spend more time with her tipped the scales. After all, what harm could a dinner date do?

I pretended to think about it for a moment, then nodded.

“Great. I’ll found a primo little Thai place last time I was in town,” Naomi said. “I’ll email the address to you. Eight o’ clock?”

“Eight o’ clock.”

As she sauntered away, swaying her hips, my inner voice told me that I was playing with fire.

I told my inner voice to shut the hell up. Besides, she still owed me an autograph.

* * *

















Day 03 1600
Mexican Pacific Coast

The speedboat docked, and two broad-shouldered men escorted Kepler through the yacht’s oak-paneled passageways. The boat-- the ship, really-- was the largest he’d ever seen. Plushly carpeted, richly appointed with various paintings and works of art, it seemed more a floating mansion than a boat.

When they arrived at a pair of heavy, polished doors beset with ornate fixtures, one of Kepler’s escorts patted him down while another ran a metal detector up and down the length of his body. Then, satisfied, they stood silently to the either side of the doors.

Kepler’s hand rested on the brass handle, and paused. He felt suddenly cold, and goosebumps rose on his forearms. His stomach clenched, and his jaw began to tighten. He could feel the nervous tic coming on.

He loathed meetings with Eliphas Enslann.

From beyond the doors, through the oak, he could hear a low rumble. A deep, feral sound that reminded him of an agitated lion. The tic knotted up the corner of his mouth.

“Come in, Mr. Kepler.”

Paul opened one door, and stepped inside.

The Old Man sat at an expansive, rosewood desk of 18th century design. When Kepler entered, Enslann stood, his massively muscled bulk rising slowly.

Enslann settled his gaze on Paul from beneath a great curly mane of thick, black locks. They were dark eyes, steady and intense. Cold eyes.

“Congratulations, Mr. Kepler,” Enslann said. He spoke slowly, and his voice was deep, powerful, and carefully measured. “I understand that you have obtained the documents.”

Paul remained by the door, and the nervous tic started to relent, slightly. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Enslann smiled, then. It seemed an unnatural expression. White, sharkish teeth through a thick, black beard. “Excellent, Mr. Kepler. If you please.”

Paul walked to the desk, and presented Enslann with a leather tube.

The Old Man took it from him, and his massive hands virtually ripped the top from the case. He removed the contents, and unrolled the first of the yellowing pages. He scanned the document, and nodded, slowly.

“You have done well, Paul,” Enslann said. “You shall be amply rewarded, good and faithful servant… despite your loss of a helicopter and twenty men. Under the circumstances, I am willing to forgive. They spilled their blood for your sin, and your debt is paid.” Then, the Old Man stared into Kepler’s eyes. His gaze carried what seemed a nearly physical weight.

Kepler’s tic returned.

Slowly, deliberately, Enslann returned the papers to the case, and set it on the desk. “Indeed, I have another task for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In reviewing the after action reports, I have determined that Mr. Jacobson is best suited to accompany you on this forray. He is disciplined, reasonably intelligent, and like yourself has a background in the constabulary. Mr. Schneider will provide you with travel documents, mission information, and all else that you may require for this task.”

“Thank you, Mr. Enslann,” Kepler said. He backed up a step.

Enslann smiled once more. “Now, Paul. No need to leave, just yet. I insist that you join me for a celebratory toast.” He pressed a button just under his desk, and a butler entered, carrying a silver tray with a brandy decanter and two crystal classes.

While the butler carefully poured the amber liquid, Enslann continued to gaze at Kepler. His teeth were bared.

“I keep this stock on hand for particularly ostentatious occasions, Mr. Kepler. It was bottled between the two great wars, in Leon. Only twice, since that day, has it felt the open air.”

The butler decanted a two fingers of liquid to each glass and, after a slight bow, retreated. Enslann took one glass, and held it aloft. Kepler, his jaw clenching, took the other.

“The task that I set before you is especially vital, Mr. Kepler.”

Paul nodded, solemnly. “I understand, sir.”

“To success!”, Enslann said, and drank. He swallowed the brandy with a single, smooth motion..

Kepler raised his glass; the gesture was almost feeble. “To success.”

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