Lethal: an Off-Book Novel

time, but she managed to keep her emotions largely bottled up in-
side. But seeing this other terrier… Well the dam had burst and she
could no longer keep it inside.

I managed to get her back to the car and we sat quietly for a long
time, Traci with her head in her hands. I put a hand on her shoulder
for reassurance and then she started sobbing.

I’m never sure what to do in these situations, so I decided to keep
my hand where it was and to keep my mouth shut. I had found that
it was hard to go wrong when you didn’t talk.

Traci cried for ten minutes, then turned to me, her eyes red. I took
her in my arms, kissing her neck, telling her that I loved her.

She held onto me fiercely, saying nothing, still shaking.
After a half hour she pulled back, wiping her eyes. She still
couldn’t speak so I just patted her knee and told her to put on her
seatbelt.
We went back to the hotel and up to our room. I ran a hot bath
and made her sit and soak for a while. When she came out it was
nearly midnight. The sadness was still there, but she was smiling a
little too. She had on a beige terrycloth bathrobe, running a towel
through her damp hair.
“My ex-husband never would have known what to do in a situa-
tion like that, Derrick,” she said, coming to stop in front of me. “I
know you think you’re clueless when it comes to emotions and stuff,
but believe me, you aren’t. You knew exactly what I needed, a shoul-
der to cry on, and some time. You gave me both. I love you for that.
Thank you.”
I smiled and took her in my arms, kissing her forehead.
“You’re welcome, luv,” I told her. “And I love you, too.”
Traci smiled, raising her head and kissing me on the mouth.

“So, sailor,” she teased, reaching for the buttons on my shirt.
“Want to fool around?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, woman,” I mocked. “In the
Air Force we’re airmen. Sailors are Navy, and are actually called sea-
men!”

Traci giggled as she undid my buttons, slipping her hands inside
my shirt.

“Well speaking of semen…” she said, and then kissed me. “Let’s
see how much of it your body has replenished since this afternoon,
airman!”

Chapter 34

Birmingham, Alabama

Traci didn’t have to be back at work until Tuesday so we extended
our trip in Chattanooga until Monday morning, spending our last
day in Tennessee taking a tour of Ruby Falls. Once again Traci was
enchanted and excited by what she saw, and once again I was pretty
good at faking it. Then later in the night I didn’t have to fake it, nor
did Traci…

We packed up and left after stopping for breakfast at a little diner
just down the street from our hotel. Chattanooga is just under a
hundred fifty miles from Birmingham, and despite the morning
traffic, we made pretty good time, arriving within the limits of the
Magic City around ten-thirty.

Most of the drive had taken place on I-59 South. Shortly after
reaching Birmingham, I took 459 South until arriving in Hoover,
and then getting off on Highway 31 South, which led to Riverchase
Parkway West. From there it was a straight shot to Traci’s house on
Tulip Poplar Drive.

The sun had been out when we left Tennessee, and for most of the
trip, but now it was overcast and looked as if it might start to rain at
any minute.

I pulled my SUV into the circular drive outside Traci’s house and
kept my foot on the brake, glancing around. Traci was about to undo
her seatbelt but I stopped her.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Not sure,” I said. “I’ve just had this feeling for the past hour that
someone was following us.”

Traci glanced around.
“Did you see anybody?” she asked calmly.
“No,” I told her. “Didn’t see anybody, but sensed something.”
“And you didn’t say anything?” she said.
“Didn’t want to worry you,” I said. “And like I said, I didn’t see
anyone. Just got a feeling.”
“Well I know to trust your feelings, Derrick,” she said, still looking
around. “So if you think somebody’s following us, I’ll go with that.
What do you want to do?”
I was about to respond when my mobile phone buzzed. I pulled it
off my belt and looked at the display.
“Who is it?” Traci asked as I pressed the SEND button.
“Too much of a coincidence,” I told her, then started speaking into
the phone.
The call lasted less than thirty seconds, and then I closed the
phone and put it back on my belt.
Traci sat staring at me intently.
“Let’s go inside,” I told her. “We’re going to have company
shortly.”
“I take it this has something to do with the feeling you’ve been
having about us being followed?” she said.
I nodded, reaching for the door handle and undoing my seatbelt.
“It does. Come on, I’ll explain inside.”
She undid her seatbelt and climbed out of the jeep as well. I
glanced around briefly, still seeing nothing. They were good, and
this bothered me a little because I had thought the same of myself.
Better than good, actually. More like outstanding.

Of course, on the bright side, I might not have seen them, but a
part of me had at least sensed them. That was something I suppose.

I got Traci’s suitcases out of the back of the jeep and carried them
to the front door where she was already standing with it open and
waiting.

She had questions, I knew, and so did I. Shortly they would all be
answered.

Hopefully.
Traci went inside the house and I followed her.

Chapter 35

I was going to take Traci’s bags upstairs but she stopped me, telling
me to just put them next to the staircase. I did and turned to face
her. Her eyes held lots of questions, too bad I didn’t have any an-
swers right now.

“Baby, I just know that Will Jordon told me he was on the way
and would be here in a few minutes,” I told her calmly. “And he said
that if I thought I was being followed that I shouldn’t worry. The
surveillance was his doing, and his people.”

“So why would Will be having you followed?” she asked, her
hands now on her hips. “He’s a bigwig in OSI now, right? So again I
ask, why would he be having you followed?”

“No idea, luv,” I told her honestly. “But I intend to find out. I sup-
pose it could have something to do with my consulting work for
him. I was reinvestigated a year ago for a clearance reactivation.
There shouldn’t be another one for a few years. And they wouldn’t
be following me because of a clearance investigation. Not unless I
was suspected of some wrongdoing.”

Traci nodded slowly, glancing away briefly.
“And we know you would never do anything wrong,” she said.
I chuckled and walked over to her, putting my hands on top of
hers at her waist.
“Nothing I’d ever get caught doing anyway,” I told her.

Traci smiled absently and leaned forward to kiss me.
The doorbell rang.
I kissed her quickly and went to answer it.
I had been expecting Will Jordon, my old buddy from Air Force
days, and the current Chief of Counterintelligence for the Air Force
Office of Special Investigations (AFOSI or simply OSI), but the per-
son who accompanied him was not someone I was expecting.
Will Jordon was my age, but much smaller and more compact.
Even so, the man radiated authority and control. And why shouldn’t
he, after all he was a full colonel in the Air Force and the number
three person at OSI. Today he wasn’t wearing a blue uniform, but
rather a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red striped tie. Even so,
there was still a very strong military air about his bearing.
“Hey, Derrick,” Will said. “Been a while since we’ve seen each
other in person.”
“It has, Will,” I said to him, but looking at the person beside him.
“And especially since I’ve seen you, Nic.”
Nicola Calavici smiled and stepped forward, putting her arms
around me and squeezing me tightly. This was going to require a de-
tailed explanation later.
I hugged her back, but not nearly as tightly.
“Well this is really a surprise,” I said.
“Yeah,” Will said. “Could we come in, Derrick?”
I nodded, stepping back to admit them, then closing and locking
the door. We went into the living room and sat, all four of us. Traci
and I sat down on the loveseat in front of the interior wall behind
which set the dining room, and Will and Nic Calavici sat on the sofa
by the front wall.

Nic was wearing a gray skirt suit and green blouse. I really wished
she had not worn a skirt though. In all the time I’ve known her she
has never worn one that’s been longer than mid-thigh. Today was
no exception, despite the fact that she's pushing fifty. And you
couldn’t tell it by her legs. Still some of the best I’ve ever seen. And I
knew Traci was watching to see where my eyes went. Yep, definitely
a very long conversation later. But first things first.

“Okay, you two,” I said. “I know something is going on now. First
I’m being followed on the trip back from Tennessee, and now the
two of you show up here. The head of counterintelligence at OSI and
a principal undersecretary at Homeland Security. This has to be big.
What gives?”

Will and Nic glanced at one another, and then back at me.
“First off, Derrick,” she said. “I’m no longer with Homeland Secu-
rity as of nearly nine months ago. I’m back with my former agency
now.”
I nodded, glancing briefly at Traci.
“Well that doesn’t surprise me,” I said to her. “You running the
Counterintelligence Center there now?”
She shook her head, also glancing at Traci.
“Look, Derrick, I hate to ask this, considering where we are and
all, but perhaps Traci could give us a bit of privacy. Some of what we
have to discuss with you is classified top secret. She doesn’t have the
clearance.”
“Then you should give it to her,” I said firmly. “Because this is her
house and I’m not going to ask her to leave the room. Further, what-
ever you tell me I’m going to tell her anyway. Might as well save me
the trouble.”

After a few moments of giving me the hard stare, she glanced over
to Will as he sat silently, looking at nothing in particular. Eventually
the Air Force bird colonel sighed and nodded.

“All right,” Nic said reluctantly, glancing at Traci once more. “You
should now consider yourself the temporary recipient of a Grade-
Two SCI[v] security clearance. What you are going to hear today is
not to be discussed with anyone who is not currently in this room. Is
that understood?”

I knew that Traci didn’t like being dictated to in her own home,
and especially not by a woman she likely thought had better legs
than she did (not in my opinion, though). But she held her tongue
and swallowed her pride, nodding sharply.

Calavici nodded in return, took a breath, and then started talking.
“Well to complete my thought,” she said to me. “I’m back at CIA.
Not as head of Counterintelligence though. I’m the DDO.”
My left eyebrow arched in surprise.
“Well, well, well,” I said. “You have come up in the world, lady.” I
turned to Traci. “Nic is the Deputy Director for Operations, in
essence the CIA's spymaster.”
Traci was not as impressed, she simply nodded and turned back to
listen.
“Okay,” I said. “So you’re back at CIA and in senior executive
management. Not really all that surprising. I always thought you’d
make Director one day. Looks like I’m pretty close to being right.”
Nic smiled a little, uncrossing her very shapely legs and recrossing
them the other way, casually smoothing out the hem of her too-
short skirt. I kept my eyes on her eyes the entire time, feeling Traci’s
eyes turn toward me for just the briefest of instances.

“Well it’s fortunate for all of us that I am in my current position,
Derrick,” Nic continued. “Since returning to the Agency and assum-
ing my post, I have taken over all oversight for counterterrorism and
counterintelligence as it relates to international terrorism and
transnational crime orchestrated by state actors who don’t play by
the rules. A daunting task, which I’m sure you know. With the way
the world is right now it’s next to impossible to keep track of all the
bad guys, even just the ones who want to do Uncle Sam harm. But I
have good people, dedicated to the job. They do the best they can,
work harder than anyone should have to some times. We don’t al-
ways get it right, but we’re better at it than a lot of people give us
credit for.”

This was starting to bore me, and I suspected that Nic knew it. I
knew Will knew it because he looked into my eyes, his expression
saying that I should just be patient a little longer.

Finally Nic came to the point.
“You remember a few years ago when someone was trying to kill
you?” she said. “And I know I should probably be more specific,
given your line of business.”
I cast a sardonic expression her way.
“You should talk,” I said.
Nic smiled.
“True. But I mean the time when you were targeted by operatives
that we later learned belonged to the Cannon Group?”
The blood froze in my veins.
“You know I remember that,” I said coldly. “Bastards tried to rip
up my life, screwed with my friends—Will included—and damn near
killed me and my friends—Will included—on more than one occa-
sion. We got the operational mastermind, Jacob Long, but not the

person at the top. The person who actually ordered the hit. At least
according to Long before he died.”

Traci had turned to stare at me. This was a story she had never
heard. No reason to really. At the time it happened she was no
longer in my life, living out west with her husband, a career Army
NCO, and her son M.J. Far away from me and the danger. Thank-
fully. She knew the life I led, knew that from time to time dangerous
people tried to hurt or kill me, so this probably came as no real sur-
prise. However, hearing about it like this was probably a bit unnerv-
ing. Especially because of the company she now found herself in.

“He was not lying, Derrick,” Nic said. “As you have long sus-
pected, we did not let the investigation die when you killed Long.”
She paused briefly and looked at Traci. “It was self-defense,” she
told her. “Jacob Long had a weapon, was trying to kill Derrick at the
time. There were several witnesses. Colonel Jordon among them.”

Will nodded.
“That’s right,” he said.
Traci didn’t say anything, but took my hand and held it in her lap.
“Well anyway,” Nic continued. “My team and Colonel Jordon’s
team did not let the matter drop. The Cannon Group had been on
the radar for several years before this, suspected of supplying arms
and mercenaries to some very dangerous people around the globe,
many of them hostile to U.S. and allied interests. Unfortunately they
were very good at counterespionage and every attempt we made to
penetrate their organization to any great degree always failed. And
not just ours, those of some of our closest allies too. The British SIS,
the French DGSE, the German BND, even the Israeli Mossad. All
tried, all got nowhere. But after their attempts to kill you, Derrick, it
became a bit more personal for some of us. So we decided to apply a

little more time and effort to the matter. As you know, there is one
individual who works for me who is rather dogged in her duties,
tenacious… relentless. I put her in charge of the investigation.”

I smiled.
“That’s kind of like setting Jack the Ripper loose, Nic,” I said. “Or
in this case, his even scarier sister, Jane.”
Nic smiled.
“A bit overdramatic,” she said. “But not entirely off the mark. She
can be brutal, but always effective. The people we were dealing with
needed to be afraid, because so far they hadn’t been. They moved
about the globe with impunity, unafraid of any law enforcement or
intelligence agency. They did and do business with some of the most
dangerous people on the planet. They sell them weapons on every
scale except nuclear—so far—they train their people to carry out
brutal acts of violence on civilian populations, and they have had a
direct hand in at least a dozen high-profile assassinations around
the world that we know of. Know of but can’t prove, I might add.
And then there’s the fact that they tried to kill a good friend of mine.
Almost succeeding.”
She stopped talking and stared deeply into my eyes.
Traci squeezed my hand harder.
“So what did your ace operative find out?” I said.
Nic smiled.
“It took her two years, and a lot of very tough work, but eventually
she was able to discover the real name of the person who sits in the
chairman’s chair at Cannon.”
A pause for dramatic effect.
“Okay,” I said impatiently. “Out with it. Who is it?”
Nic turned to Will Jordon and nodded.

Will sat up and looked at me, his eyes very serious.
“Do you remember an operation we had in Madagascar back in
the mid-nineties, Derrick? It involved a radical right-wing South
African team trying to buy heavy weapons that they could use in an
attempt to overthrow the government and restore white-rule to
South Africa.”
I stared back at him, remembering.
“Of course,” I told him. “You know I never forget past operations.
It was a joint job with CIA. First time we met Nic. Although she
wasn’t going by that name back then. What’s this have to do with
that?”
“You remember Emily DeKlirk?” Will said.
“I do,” I said slowly, other memories flooding back into my mind,
feeling something cold move through my guts. “A real nutcase. A
true believer in the purity of the white race and its god-given right to
rule over every other race.”
“You killed her,” the CIA woman said directly. “Again, in self-de-
fense.”
Traci’s grip on my hand was as tight as it could get and I was be-
coming a little uncomfortable, but chose to say nothing.
“Yes,” I said. “She had an Uzi as I recall. I warned her to drop it,
she didn’t, tried to shoot me instead. So I shot her. She died before
we could get her airlifted out.”
“Right,” Will said. “And you remember that we were able to round
up every other member of her team, save for her younger brother,
Emil, the co-founder and co-commander of their movement. The
South African Liberation Corps.”
“Yes,” I said. “And as I recall, the South African National Security
Service later reported him being killed in a gun battle with police

outside of Capetown.”
Will and Nic looked at one another. That feeling in my guts be-

came even colder.
Nic turned back to face me, taking a breath.
“That report turned out to be bogus, Derrick,” she said evenly.

“We didn’t know it at the time, only found out the truth recently.
Emil DeKlirk did not die in Capetown, or any place else for that
matter. He went underground, joined up with various mercenary
outfits in the Middle East and Southwest Asia, got some affiliations
in Europe, and eventually formed his own network.”

“Fuck me pink,” I said softly, realization setting in.”
“Yeah,” Will said. “And that network eventually blossomed into
the most lethal private terrorist supplier in the world. The Cannon
Group.”
“And Emil DeKlirk is the Chairman and CEO,” Nic Calavici added
unnecessarily.
I turned and looked into Traci’s eyes, seeing both fear and con-
cern. This time I squeezed her hand, leaning over and kissing her on
the cheek.
“Tell me the rest,” I said, turning back to the two senior feds sit-
ting across the room from us. “The reason you’re here now. The rea-
son you’ve had me under surveillance.”
Again they looked at one another, and this time it was Will who
spoke.
“You’re under protective surveillance,” Derrick. “My people. A
team that I trained personally. They’re the best I’ve got. You’re on
the books as a senior consultant with OSI so I can swing this with no
problems. This includes Traci as well, and her son at MIT.”
Traci looked at him sharply.

“M.J.? You have people watching my son?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Will said. “Just a precaution. Since you and Derrick
are… close, I thought it would be prudent.”
Traci looked at me. I put a hand on her cheek.
“Will?”
“Okay, pal,” he said. “Okay. Nic, you better tell him the rest.”
She nodded.
“We found out that Emil DeKlirk means to finish that contract on
you, Derrick. The order has been given, the hitter already put in mo-
tion. This is why we moved so quickly, making sure you and those
you loved were covered. We have a plan, and if you will agree to it,
we’d like your help. We know who the hitter is, where he is headed
at the moment, but we don’t know where DeKlirk is. He’s the one we
need to get ahold of. Besides this vendetta against you there are
other things that the Cannon Group is in to that we have to know
about and stop. We need to get our hands on DeKlirk, and alive. We
could do this without you, but Will and I believe that you could be
useful to our efforts; and we know you’re motivated. If you’re willing
that is.”
I glanced at Traci again. There was a quiver along her bottom lip. I
put my forehead against hers.
Everyone was silent for several minutes.
Then I looked back at Will and Nic.
“I need to talk to Traci first,” I said. “And then…”
Traci squeezed my hand very hard and I looked back at her. There
was something else in her eyes now, something very strong and defi-
nite. Her grip remained on my hand, and her other hand went to my
shoulder.

“You do it,” she said in a low but clear tone. “You do it. Find this
guy and finish this. He’s already tried to kill you before and if you
don’t get him first he’ll keep coming. I don’t want anything to hap-
pen to you and I don’t want us to live under the protection of gov-
ernment agents for the rest of our lives. Nor M.J. So you go and do
whatever you have to. And do it quickly.”

She fell silent and was breathless. I put an arm around her and
squeezed her to me.

“All right,” I said to the others, Traci still in my arms. “I’ll do it.
But, Will, that team of yours had better be the best. Because I’m not
leaving Traci unless I know for sure that she and M.J. are absolutely
covered.”

“Understood,” said the man from OSI.
“Everything will be taken care of, Derrick,” said the DDO. “This op
will be run directly from my office. My assistant will personally
oversee and direct everything in the field. I’ll handle everything else
myself.”
Another pause.
“Oh, and, Derrick, you’ll need a passport for this one…”

Chapter 36

Montreal, Canada

I had only been to Canada twice in my life, and one of those times I
was so young that I couldn’t even remember the event.

The weather was a lot colder up here than it was back in Birming-
ham at the moment, strong wind gusts and cloudy, overcast skies.
The forecast was even calling for the possibility of a late-season
snowstorm. Well that was just perfect, exactly what I needed. Yet
another reason to really dislike Emil DeKlirk. Not that I actually
needed any more.

Will Jordon had introduced me to the leader of the protection de-
tail that would be responsible for keeping Traci safe in my absence.
A senior special agent with nearly twenty years experience in OSI,
including four with my old unit, the Antiterrorism Security Team.
Once I was absolutely convinced that Traci was safe, I went home to
pack and then accompanied Will and Nic to the airport where they
had an unmarked Gulfstream G-550 jet standing by. Traveling on
the taxpayers definitely had its perks.

I received a very thorough briefing in the air, all operational de-
tails explained, including the mission’s initial target and the reasons
behind his selection. We set down at Andrews Air Force Base in
Maryland and then I was taken by unmarked car to Dulles Interna-
tional Airport and put on a commercial flight to Montreal.

Despite a few bumps early on, the flight was without incident. I
landed and collected my one piece of luggage, a medium sized blue

duffel, then followed the instructions from my briefing and went
down to the rental car counters on the lower level.

Within two minutes I was approached by a young man in a brown
suit, a yellow carnation in his lapel. The recognition signal. A bit
overdramatic, yes, but effective nonetheless.

I followed him without conversation and he led me across to the
car park to where a dark colored van awaited us. I climbed in back,
only slightly apprehensive, and as soon as I was settled inside, the
person occupying the front passenger’s seat turned and smiled. The
eyes I looked into were cool and deadly, despite the smile on the
beautiful face. I smiled, too, forcing most of it because I was never
sure when dealing with this person whether or not I should turn my
back on her.

Shelbee Roberts extended her arm over the seat, and after a brief
hesitation, I shook her hand. She grinned again.

“Don’t worry, Derrick,” she said in a cheerful tone. “I’m under
strict orders not to bite it off. And you know how I like to follow or-
ders.”

I chuckled myself, but was glad when I pulled my hand back and
found that all my fingers were still attached.

The van left the airport and took a very indirect route into Mon-
treal proper. From time to time I noticed several vehicles come into
view behind us, drop back, and then reappear miles later. Shelbee
Roberts soon informed me that the vehicles I was seeing were all a
part of her team, providing security and countersurveillance. This
made me feel better, but I didn’t relax, still keeping my eyes sharp.

In the city the van took us to a hotel on Rue St-Denis (St. Denis
Street), ironically named Hotel American. Shelbee Roberts and I
were dropped off on the east side of the building and the van kept

going, followed by at least one of the countersurveillance vehicles
that I had noticed earlier. I followed Shelbee Roberts into the hotel,
greatly admiring her statuesque frame from behind, noting that it
only seemed to improve with age.

We got onto an elevator and took it all the way to the top floor, the
penthouse level. I soon discovered that the entire floor had been
taken over by the CIA for this operation. I was shown a room where
I could put my stuff and freshen up, and then told to report to the
command post when I was ready.

It only took about ten minutes for me to relieve my bladder, wash
up, and stretch for a bit. Then I wandered around the floor for a few
minutes, looking for exits, checking for security. It was discreet, not
easily noticed, but it was there. All electronic, however I had no
doubt that should the need arise, a number of heavily armed indi-
viduals would appear on the instant to confront whatever hostile
threat presented itself.

The command post was the center suite. I knocked and the door
opened, the same young man who had initially met me at the airport
stood there, now minus the jacket and yellow carnation. He intro-
duced himself as Martin and then led the way inside.

Shelbee Roberts was at a desk in the back corner sitting in front of
a desktop computer, staring intently at the screen and wearing a
pair of headphones. She continued to concentrate for several min-
utes while I stood and watched. Then she sat back, pulled the head-
phones down on her neck, and looked up at me.

“So you’re all settled in?” she said.
I nodded, pulling a chair over from one of the other tables and sit-
ting down in front of the desk.
“Yeah,” I told her. “So what’s going on?”

Shelbee Roberts glanced around for a moment, pulled the head-
phones over her head and put them on the desk next to the key-
board.

“Nic told me you received a full briefing on the plane up from
Birmingham,” the government spook said. “So you know about the
Frenchman?”

I nodded.
“Marcel LeBlanc,” I said. “Former captain in the French Army,
commando; recruited into the DST[vi] and worked there for about
eleven years until he was fired for some unspecified reason. Went
on the mercenary circuit after that, became an assassin. And accord-
ing to the information that both CIA and OSI have, he’s now under
exclusive contract with the Cannon Group.”
Shelbee Roberts nodded, crossing her long legs and resting her
hands on her lap.
“Yes,” she said. “And somewhat close to Mr. DeKlirk. Which is
fortunate for us.”
“Is he here?” I said. “LeBlanc I mean.”
“Yes,” Shelbee Roberts told me. “He’s here. Actually not all that
far away. Just up the street in the Hotel St-Denis. Checked in last
night, under an alias, of course, but it’s him. We have absolute con-
firmation.”
“And surveillance?” I said.
“Of course,” she said. “Loose, but there. He has protection. A five
man team. My people have tagged all of them, and are keeping out
of their way. We don’t want to spook them or LeBlanc until we’re
ready to move.”
“And when will that be?” I asked, trying to keep the impatience
from my voice.

Shelbee Roberts stared at me for a long time before responding.
“Well, now that you’re here, Derrick, we can start the show. All of
the other pieces have been put into place. We’ve been lucky, we’ve
managed to get this far without alerting the other side. A lot of very
good intelligence work has gone into all of this.”
“I’m sure,” I said, this time not bothering to hide my annoyance. I
had no great love for unnecessary conversation or small talk. I
didn’t care how many man-hours or good intelligence work went
into any of this. I just wanted to get on with it and get it done. I
wanted this over. And most of all I wanted to get my hands on Emil
DeKlirk.
Shelbee Roberts saw the expression on my face and held up a
hand.
“All right, Derrick. I’ll cut to it. Now that you’re here, we’re set to
do this tonight. If you’re ready, that is.”
That last comment was just meant to be a dig at me, but it had the
opposite effect, actually making me smile a genuine smile.
“Oh, Shelbee, my love, I am quite ready for this.”
She smiled too.
“Good,” she said. “So let me tell you how this is going to go.”

Chapter 37

Marcel LeBlanc had been dispatched to Montreal to await final in-
structions for the start of his latest mission. That mission being the
cold-blooded murder of one of Birmingham, Alabama’s most fa-
vorite sons, the charming and redoubtable Derrick Olin; yours fuck-
ing truly! According to the information Shelbee Roberts had gath-
ered through her comprehensive covert intelligence gathering—and
who knew what else—Emil DeKlirk was personally overseeing the
details of this mission and had personally tasked LeBlanc with car-
rying it out. He wanted to take no more chances after what had hap-
pened the last time he sent people to kill me a few years ago. There-
fore, he was now in direct command and had chosen his most
skilled operator to carry out the job, a man that was reputed to have
his complete confidence.

Over the past six months, Cannon operatives had been conducting
surveillance of the target (me) and reporting everything back to
Emil DeKlirk, allowing him to put together as near perfect a target
profile as was possible. He then took this profile and began to as-
semble a detailed plan that would allow a kill team to get close and
take the target out, and this time there would be no screwing
around, nothing fancy, just a straightforward kill. Which is why
DeKlirk had chosen Marcel LeBlanc.

LeBlanc never failed, and he never got off track. He was good at
his job because he understood that the only thing that actually mat-
tered was the end-result. And in the assassination game the only
correct end-result was a dead target. No fucking about, no playing
games, just get in, kill, and get out. Simple. And that’s what Emil
DeKlirk wanted now. Simplicity.

Well that and my head.
Unfortunately for both Monsieur LeBlanc and Herr DeKlirk, their
operation had been compromised from the beginning.
Shortly after Nicola Calavici took over her position at CIA, she
made it one of her top priorities to track down the sources of all the
weapons and explosives that were being supplied to insurgent and
terrorist groups inside Iraq and Afghanistan. She knew that the offi-
cial line out of the previous administration was largely bullshit. Iran
was their boogieman, the source of all evil in the world from their
perspective, and the source of most of the weapons that were being
used against American and allied forces in the Middle East theater.
Sure, they supplied some, but in Nic’s opinion that number was
probably less than twenty percent. And that only applied to Iraq. In
Afghanistan Iranian influence was practically zero. This meant the
weapons were coming from somewhere else. The new DDO at CIA
wanted to know where else and who else. And she wanted to stop
them.
As was usually the case when there was hard and dirty work to be
done, Nic turned to her most effective operator, a one-time Army
CID agent who had worked for her at Homeland Security and was
now her assistant for Counterterrorism and Counterintelligence at
CIA. Shelbee Roberts.

Within two months Shelbee Roberts had been able to establish a
connection—albeit tenuous at first—between various terrorist cells
operating in Southwest Asia and the Cannon Group. And because of
her previous knowledge of them due to their prior attempt to kill me
in Birmingham several years earlier, Shelbee Roberts knew just how
dangerous this organization was. While still at Homeland Security
she had led an operation to try to discover who actually ran Cannon,
however that operation was curtailed due to other more pressing
threats that higher ups deemed a greater priority. Nonetheless she
never forgot about Cannon, always hoped to get another chance to
go after them. Now that chance had come.

She was the one who had established that Emil DeKlirk was the
power behind Cannon, and it was not long after this that she discov-
ered his connection to me; now knowing exactly why I had been tar-
geted in the first place.

Emily DeKlirk.
Shelbee Roberts reported this information to her boss, and Nicola
Calavici thought long and hard before deciding on a course of ac-
tion. At the time she was unaware of DeKlirk’s surveillance project
in Birmingham, but soon this information came to light. Nic real-
ized that this time DeKlirk was being very careful, methodical, and
slow. He didn’t want any more slipups. He wanted me dead for sure
this time.
Nic’s initial thought was to warn me—or so she told me the other
day—but Shelbee Roberts had convinced her that this was not a
good idea. This I could believe. As I said, those cold black eyes of
hers always fill me with trepidation and caution. I never know
what’s going on behind them, but I have to assume some very black
thoughts.

Eventually Nic acceded to Shelbee Roberts’ request. I would not
be told, but every precaution must be taken to ensure that DeKlirk’s
people never got close enough to do any actual damage. Shelbee
Roberts assured her boss that they never would.

For my part I would have been a little skeptical had I been in Nic’s
shoes, however, Shelbee Roberts is quite good at what she does; not
to mention rather ruthless. Her sources quickly identified the sur-
veillance team being dispatched to Birmingham, and in short order
they were all rounded up and taken to a CIA covert site in North
Carolina. There they were given a choice—after a bit of softening up
—either cooperate fully or else… What the else might have been was
never actually disclosed, but knowing Shelbee Roberts as I do, I can
just imagine all sorts of unpleasant things. And no doubt her captors
could as well. They all agreed, and over the course of the next few
months, Emil DeKlirk was fed regular surveillance reports on my
movements and habits. All of it quite complete and detailed, and all
of it absolute bullshit that had been meticulously prepared by CIA
counterintelligence specialists with years of experience in creating
false histories. This was sufficient to keep DeKlirk occupied while
Shelbee Roberts quietly went about her real mission, which was
tracking the weapons being supplied to terrorists by the Cannon
Group.

Then two weeks ago DeKlirk made the decision that the time was
right to take me out. He summoned Marcel LeBlanc to a meeting
with a trusted intermediary in Amsterdam and gave him the job,
passing along all the surveillance reports and the target profile that
had been compiled. The first thing LeBlanc did after that was to or-
der in his own surveillance team, stating that he liked to get direct
assessments from people that he knew personally.

A scramble was on then. Shelbee Roberts knew that she could not
arrange to intercept the new surveillance team and turn them in
time, so she went to her boss for guidance. That’s when Nic got in
touch with Will Jordon and told him everything. Will then sug-
gested that they let the new surveillance team move into place and
do the job. They were only supposed to watch, take no hostile ac-
tion, so the danger should be minimal. Someday I would have to re-
member to thank Will for that rather cold assessment concerning
my well-being.

Nic agreed with him but added she would feel better if someone
were watching the watchers. Will said he would too and suggested a
team from OSI. I’m not sure if it was LeBlanc’s team or the OSI
team that I sensed in Tennessee, but with so many people on my tail
I should have sensed more than I did. That bothered me a lot be-
cause it meant I wasn’t as on my game as I should have been. Even
if I was on vacation with the gal of my fantasies.

Thanks to some quick work by Shelbee Roberts and her team of
fabricators, LeBlanc’s people saw what they needed to see, and re-
ported this to their boss. LeBlanc in turn reported to Emil DeKlirk
and DeKlirk was prepared to give the final order. LeBlanc would go
to Montreal and wait for the “go” signal, then he’d enter the United
States and head straight for his target in Birmingham. Me.

Well the only problem with that scenario was the fact that I wasn’t
in Birmingham right now. I was right here in Montreal.

In fact, I was right here in the Hotel St-Denis.
Shelbee Roberts glanced at me, her expression inscrutable.
“You ready?” she said.
I nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

She nodded, then spoke into the communicator attached to her
lapel.

“All sections, this is Condor. We’re a go.”
And we went.

Chapter 38

The CIA team was able to neutralize four of the five protectors cov-
ering Marcel LeBlanc at his hotel. The younger operative, Martin,
was assigned to take out the fifth but his target was quicker than an-
ticipated and managed to escape at the last moment. Martin gave
chase but was unable to get him before he sent a warning to the
Frenchman.

LeBlanc had been having a late meal in his suite on the eighth
floor back side when he received the emergency signal. He remained
calm, simply standing from the table and going over to the closet
and taking out a heavy jacket and a small green duffel bag. Every-
thing else in the room was disposable and could be easily replaced.

Before stepping out into the corridor the professional killer
checked the peephole. Then, satisfied that there was no waiting am-
bush, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. The elevators
were just around the corner to his left but he had no intention of us-
ing them. The fire stairs to his right were more convenient, and
there was less chance of being trapped.

LeBlanc was just reaching the stairway door when Shelbee
Roberts and I rounded the corner, silenced pistols in our hands. He
glanced back and saw us, although I’m not sure whether he initially
recognized me or not.

“Marcel LeBlanc, stop where you are!” Shelbee Roberts shouted in
flawless French, raising her weapon.

Without missing a beat LeBlanc dropped low and shouldered
open the fire stair door, going through before either us could get off
a shot. I took the lead, running over to the door and dropping into a
crouch before pushing it open. Two muffled shots came through the
open doorway and impacted against the wall behind me. I ducked
back as Shelbee Roberts came up behind me, also dropping down
low.

She moved to my left and I put my back to the wall on the right
side of the door, taking a deep breath. The CIA woman’s face
showed nothing, she was completely calm, no trace of an increased
pulse or sweat on her brow. For all you could tell from her outward
appearance, Shelbee Roberts could have been sitting at home read-
ing a good book or just waking up from a nap. We looked at each
other briefly and then she nodded.

I stood up and kicked the door open and Shelbee Roberts dove
through it, rolling over her left shoulder and coming up in a low
crouch. This time there were no shots. I followed behind her, glanc-
ing all around, then stepping around her and heading down the
stairs.

“He went down!” I shouted over my shoulder. “I can see him three
landings down.”

I could hear Shelbee Roberts on the communicator issuing orders,
and then a few seconds later I heard her on the metal stairs behind
me. When I reached the fifth floor I paused. She stopped as well, re-
alizing that I was trying to listen. Down below we could still hear
LeBlanc’s boots clanging on the stairs. I took a deep breath and
started back down.

On the next landing I realized that there were no footsteps behind
me and suspected that Shelbee Roberts had gone through the fire
door up above and would try to get ahead of LeBlanc another way,
probably coordinating with her team via the secure net.

I was on the third level now, my breathing a little ragged, and
about to proceed down to the next level when I noticed that the fire
door on this floor was just slightly ajar. I also didn’t hear footsteps
below me anymore. Shit!

Cautiously, I swung the door open while taking cover to the side.
No muffled gunshots, no bullet impacts.

I peered around the doorjamb and saw nothing but empty hall-
way.

Shit!
Where the hell did he get to?
I was about to turn and keep going down the stairs, but then
something moved in the corner of my left eye and I ducked down
just as two shots came my way, followed quickly by three more.
I had missed him, the corridor was not empty. There was a small
bench about half the distance down the hall from where I stood. I
didn’t realize it at first but LeBlanc had dropped down on the other
side of the bench and flattened his body to the ground, using the
bench for camouflage. If I had come further into the corridor I
would have spotted him. Fortunately for me when I turned he de-
cided to try to take me, moving his weapon into position. That little
movement caught my attention and probably saved my life. I might
have to thank LeBlanc for that one day.
But then considering the fact that he was an assassin hired to kill
me, maybe not.

I fell back into the doorway and aimed my weapon with my left
hand. LeBlanc was already up and moving. I fired two shots, both
going wide, and he ducked low and kept going around the corner on
the opposite side of the corridor.

I got to my feet and took off after him. There’s a fire door on this
side as well and when I reached the corner I saw that the door was
just closing. Great. Here we go again.

I paused at the door, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. No
time to take a break though. I reached for the doorknob and turned,
pushing the door all the way open and jumping back.

More muffled shots.
I ducked back even further, but soon realized that the shots were
not directed at me; they also came from above my level. Return fire
came from below and suddenly I realized that the shooter upstairs
must be Shelbee Roberts.
Not wanting to get caught in a crossfire, I held my position and
waited.
There was one more volley of gunfire from above. Then nothing.
I waited three seconds, then moved into the doorway.
“Shelbee!” I shouted.
A heartbeat went by, then another.
“Yeah!” she called, moving cautiously down the stairs.
We rejoined on the landing, both of us holding our weapons low
by our sides.
“Still on the move,” I said.
She nodded, smiled, then stepped past me and started down the
stairs. I took another deep breath, smiled myself, and then followed
her.
Nothing like the thrill of the chase.

Chapter 39

“He got away,” Shelbee Roberts announced as she walked into the
command post at the Hotel American just after midnight. “Slipped
right through the net around his hotel, even the exterior perimeter.
He had a plan, and a good one. Probably in a hole somewhere right
now waiting for things to cool so he can get out by preplanned es-
cape route.”

I came in behind her, feeling a little tired, like the wind had been
let out of my sails. She moved around the back of her desk, took off
her jacket, then dropped heavily into her chair.

I took off my jacket and tossed it down on the desk, glanced to my
right and saw Martin standing with his hands folded in front of him,
an uncertain expression on his young face. Shelbee Roberts stared
at the youthful looking operative.

“And as for you, young man,” she said, pausing for effect. “Out-
standing work.”

Martin started grinning.
“Thank you,” he said. “Guy was fast but I could’ve tagged him be-
fore he made the call.”
“But that would have blown the plan,” I said, sitting down and
stretching my legs out in front of me. “We wanted him to warn
LeBlanc, and we wanted LeBlanc to make it out of the hotel alive
and in one piece.”

Shelbee Roberts put her hands behind her head and arched her
back, groaning loudly.

“That we did,” she confirmed. “And he did. He now knows that his
whole operation has been compromised. That he’s been compro-
mised.”

“Think he recognized me?” I said.
“Probably,” she said after a moment. “Maybe not at first, but I’m
sure he’s seen enough surveillance photos of you to make the con-
nection.”
We were all quiet for a while then, only the hum of machinery in
the background. Martin turned and went to a workstation. A phone
rang and was answered by another operator.
Shelbee Roberts glanced at the clock on the wall to her left.
“We’re on schedule for now,” she said. “But for this next part we
can’t really plan. No telling how long he’ll wait.”
“True,” I said. “But he can’t wait too long. He knows that the
longer he stays put the more time that gives us to tighten the noose.
My bet is he moves sooner rather than later.”
Shelbee Roberts considered this for a few moments, then nodded.
“Probably right. So now we just sit back and wait.”
“Yep,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, sitting forward in her chair. “Then maybe we
should get a little rest.”
She was reading my mind.
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up as well.
She gave instructions to the duty officer to notify her immediately
if anything should develop in the next couple of hours. She then said
that she was going to one of the small bedrooms in back and take a
nap. I said okay and watched her go. I hung around for a few more

minutes, watching everyone on the night staff continuing to do their
jobs. Turning around again, about to take my leave, I noticed young
Martin quietly excuse himself when no one appeared to be watch-
ing. He headed down the same small hallway that Shelbee Roberts
had gone down a short time ago.

Interesting, I thought. And none of my business. However, if I
never saw young Martin again I might begin to suspect that he had
been devoured whole by whatever bloodthirsty animal resided un-
der the beautiful skin of the lethal blond operative known as Shelbee
Roberts.

On that note I walked out, heading down to my own quarters.
Alone!

Chapter 40

I called Traci on the secure mobile phone that Will Jordon had
given her before I left Birmingham. It was late but I knew she
wouldn’t mind; I really wanted to hear her voice.

“Should I ask where you are?” she said, trying to disguise the fact
that I had woken her up.

“Sorry I woke you,” I said, adjusting my position on the bed in my
room. “I won’t keep you long. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Glad you called,” Traci replied. “And I wanted to hear your voice,
too. No need to apologize. And since you avoided the question, I
take it that means I shouldn’t ask where you are?”

I chuckled.
“Can’t get anything past you, luv,” I said.
“And you should remember that for the future, Mister,” Traci
teased. “I love you, you know.”
“Good to know,” I said. “And seeing as how I love you… Well I’m
sure you get the picture.”
“Actually I’m having a little trouble with my visualization skills at
the moment,” she told me, the sleep dissipating from her voice.
“Why don’t you describe it for me?”
“Is that your way of saying you want me to talk dirty to you?” I
said.
Traci giggled.

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”
So I did.
“Well now I’m fully awake,” Traci said a few minutes later. “And
more than a little wet.”
“Well, well,” I said. “Good to know my skills haven’t atrophied in
recent days. Wish I was there to make full use of my oral talents.”
“That makes two of us,” she said. “But right now I’ll just have to
settle for what I can get. Keep talking. And don’t mind the sighing
and the moaning and carrying on you might hear down the phone
line.”
I chuckled again, and then told her more intimate things that I
wished I was there to do with her right at this moment.
The desired result was achieved in short order, on both ends.
When we both caught our breaths we lay back in our respective
beds two countries away and said nothing for a while.
“I wish you were here right now, Derrick,” Traci told me.
“I wish the same, luv,” I told her. “And soon I will be. I promise. I
miss you so much already. Every part of you.”
She snickered.
“Any part in particular?” she said.
“All of them,” I said. “Every inch of you.”
“Well speaking of inches,” she said in a seductive voice. “I’d like to
feel every inch of you inside me right now.”
“And soon you will,” I told her. “Promise. Is everything going okay
with the protection detail?”
A pause.
A sigh.
“They’re fine, Derrick,” she said. “They’re great, actually. Espe-
cially Melissa. She’s professional, courteous, and scary as hell.

Couldn’t be in better hands. Other than yours. But even so, I wish
they didn’t have to be around. They remind me too much of what
you’re going through. Why you’re not here right now. And I keep
thinking about M.J. up at MIT. He has no idea what’s going on, that
there are people with guns watching and protecting him everywhere
he goes.”

“I’m sorry about this, luv,” I said. “I really am. If there…”
“Shut up, Derrick,” she said. “Just shut up about that. You haven’t
done anything wrong. This is not your fault and I don’t blame you. I
love you. M.J. loves you. I’m just venting, telling you that I don’t like
having armed guards around me while you’re out god knows where
trying to stop a lunatic before he kills you. I’m worried about you.
I’m going to keep worrying about you until you’re back here in my
arms, in this bed with me. Until I’ve got my arms and legs wrapped
around you…”
“Until I’m all the way inside you,” I finished for her.
“Exactly,” she laughed. “All the way.”
“I hope to wrap this up pretty quick. Might take a couple of weeks
or so though. Things are in motion now. If all goes the way we
hope…”
“Just be safe,” she told me. “I want you to be safe. Then I want you
back here.”
“Deal,” I said.
“Good,” she said, some of the seriousness draining from her tone.
“So now why don’t I tell you what I’m going to do to you when next
we see each other?”
I smiled and closed my eyes, moaning softly.
“Sounds like a plan,” I told her. “Tell me.”

“Well, first thing I’m going to do is push you down on the bed,”
she teased. “That is, after I strip you completely naked. Then I’m go-
ing to get down on my knees and slowly run my wet tongue all over
your…”

I only got sixty-three minutes of sleep before receiving a call to
come back to the command post.

Curiously, despite this, I still felt rather relaxed and free of stress.
Almost light as a feather.

Chapter 41

Marbella, Spain

Marcel LeBlanc made it out of Montreal safely. There were a few
close calls, agents cornering and nearly capturing him twice before
he managed to make it onto a private charter arranged by Cannon
Group support operatives. And knowing that he was most likely be-
ing tracked, the French assassin had only gone a few hundred miles
in that plane, crossing the border into the United States and disap-
pearing again.

Later he arranged transportation out of the U.S. through Mexico.
From there it was a small matter to find other means of conveyance.
After all, Cannon is an international criminal operation with thou-
sands of shady connections everywhere.

One week later LeBlanc was at a safehouse in Marbella, Spain.
Shelbee Roberts already had operatives in place by the time she and
I arrived. They were responsible for conducting surveillance only,
and to follow LeBlanc if he departed before we got there. But he did
not.

Shortly after our arrival in-country, Shelbee Roberts and I met
with the leader of the surveillance team at a CIA safehouse just out-
side Marbella’s city limits. The agent’s name was Barrett, a slightly
overweight brunette around thirty-five with very serious eyes. She
was efficient and to the point, no wasted words. I liked her immedi-
ately.

“I’ve got two people on the safehouse around the clock,” Barrett
said. “Twelve hour shifts. Plus another team on standby in case we
need to go mobile. That’s only happened twice. The target went out
for lunch both times. Other than that he’s stayed in since he got here
three days ago.”

“Visitors?” Shelbee Roberts asked, sitting down and sipping black
coffee at a heavily scarred wooden table in our safehouse’s small
kitchen.”

“One,” Barrett said as she stood across the table from her.
“Unidentified male, about forty. We got photos but so far no ID
from Headquarters. Only visited the one time shortly after the target
arrived. Stayed approximately forty minutes. At the time my team
was just getting into place and we didn’t have the mobile op in place
yet. On my authority I decided it was best to remain in place on the
target and not pursue the visitor.”

Shelbee Roberts nodded.
“Good call,” she said. “I’d have done the same. What about secu-
rity?”
“Two man team around the clock as well. Twelve hours, same as
us. Only we rotate an hour before they do. They seem sharp, capa-
ble. But I don’t doubt my people can neutralize them when the time
comes.”
“I’m sure,” Shelbee Roberts said, then glanced at me leaning
against the counter to her right. “Derrick?”
“What do we know about Cannon’s Marbella operation?” I said.
Shelbee Roberts looked at Barrett.
“Well, sir,” the CIA operator said. “According to our intelligence,
it’s one of their largest transshipment points. From the port here
they can smuggle supplies, weapons, and even mercenaries

throughout Southern Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. They’ve
got warehouses all along the docks, all heavily protected by hard-
ened mercs. Also protected by the local police and politicians,
thanks to heavy bribes.”

“If this operation were to suddenly shut down,” I mused, “what
would that do to Cannon’s European distribution operations?”

“Damage them significantly, sir,” Barrett said. “However, I should
point out that it would be very difficult to do. As I indicated, they
have all the locals in their pocket. And then there are the mercs who
do security. In order to do significant damage, the kind that would
shut down the operation, you’d probably need a battalion of Special
Forces troopers and heavy weapons.”

I smiled and glanced at Shelbee Roberts.
She smiled in return and finished her coffee.
“We might just have to see about that, Janice,” said the senior CIA
operative as she reached for her encrypted mobile phone.

Chapter 42

The CIA Deputy Director for Operations called Shelbee Roberts
back two hours later and told her that the meeting she had re-
quested had been arranged. Set for three in the afternoon at the lo-
cal government center.

This gave us both the time to get cleaned up and changed into
more appropriate clothing. We each chose black suits, but somehow
Shelbee Roberts appeared more menacing in hers than I did in
mine. Or maybe that was just a projection on my part. She was
wearing trousers with her suit and I did notice that they were a bit
snug in the seat. And that part I knew I wasn’t projecting.

Barrett provided us with a clean car and the two of us left the safe-
house forty-five minutes ahead of time so that we could do a little
reconnaissance before our meeting. I had never been to this part of
Spain, and despite the fact that I’m not much for sightseeing, I did
enjoy the scenery.

Shelbee Roberts parked our car a couple blocks from the govern-
ment center and we walked the rest of the way. The afternoon was
very warm but there was a good breeze blowing in from the sea and
this helped to keep us relatively cool as we strolled.

Inside the first level entry hall of the government center a young
woman at reception asked how she could help us in surprisingly
good English. Shelbee Roberts identified herself and the person she

was scheduled to meet. The young woman checked her appointment
schedule and smiled, picking up her telephone.

A few minutes later two uniformed policemen arrived to escort us
up to the office of the Second Deputy Minister of the Interior.

The office was located on the top floor and we took the elevator
up. Both policemen stood behind us, but when the doors slid open
one of them stepped ahead of us and into the corridor. The other re-
mained at our backs. We followed the first officer as he led us down
the corridor and into a large corner office suite.

The Second Deputy Minister was a tall and lean man with a full
head of dark curly hair. I put his age around fifty, still in good shape,
and no doubt still most attractive to members of the opposite sex.

He smiled graciously, but not warmly, when we entered the office,
remaining behind his desk with his hands down by his sides. The
two policemen remained at our backs, closing the double doors and
taking positions on either side of them.

Shelbee Roberts walked up to the desk and extended her hand. I
remained in the background and kept a casual eye on the two guys
with the guns and furtive eyes.

“Good afternoon, Senor Mendrosa,” the CIA woman said in flaw-
less Spanish. “So good of you to meet with us on such short notice.”

The gracious smile remained on the Spanish bureaucrat’s face, but
it seemed to grow colder by the second. He made no effort to shake
the hand extended before him.

“Of course, Senorita…”
Shelbee Roberts smiled warmly, lowering her hand and sitting
down in one of the comfortable red leather chairs in front of the
desk.

“If you like, you may call me Senorita Derrick,” she said, crossing
her shapely legs and smoothing out the crease along the left leg of
her trousers.

I glanced over at her then, an ironic twist to my lips. Really cute, I
thought.

The Second Deputy Minister stared down at the woman sitting
across from his desk for a long moment, his eyes now barely able to
hide his feelings. Finally he sighed and sat down in his own comfort-
able leather chair, rolling forward and folding his hands on the back
of the large steel and glass desk that occupied most of the back part
of the office.

“So, Ms. Derrick,” Minister Mendrosa said in near-perfect Eng-
lish. “How may I be of assistance to you? The phone call I received
from the United States was not very specific.”

Shelbee Roberts smiled again.
“I’m sure it wasn’t.”
She glanced back over her shoulder, first at me, and then at the
two policemen.
“My associate is not someone I worry about,” she told the Second
Deputy Minister. “But perhaps you would prefer this discussion take
place out of the hearing of your men over there.”
Mendrosa glanced at the two officers for a moment, then back at
Shelbee Roberts.
“They speak no English,” he said. “Which is why I am now speak-
ing your language. Please feel free to be candid, Ms. Derrick.”
“Very well then,” she said. “I’ll get right to it then, Senor Men-
drosa. It involves an arrangement that you have with an organiza-
tion called the Cannon Group.”

And suddenly the mask fell from the man’s face and everything
was revealed. However, before he could raise the alarm with his
guards, Shelbee Roberts calmly explained to him the extent to which
his personal life and special habits had been meticulously observed
and documented throughout the years. Offering names, places,
dates, positions…

The color drained from Mendrosa’s long face and the result was
astonishing to witness. I glanced over at the guards and they seemed
apprehensive, unsure of how they should respond. I kept watching
their hands, alert for the slightest indication that they were about do
reach for weapons. An ironic thought struck me at that moment. I
was now acting as Shelbee Robert’s bodyguard. Now wasn’t that a
switch. A decade ago I had a gun in her mouth and was threatening
to blow her brains out.[vii] Guess the old saying is true: “One day
they’re shooting at you and the next day they’re buying you dinner.”
Or in this case, watching your fine, round ass while you blackmail a
government minister.

Mendrosa managed to recover some of his composure, removing
the show hanky from the breast pocket of his expensively tailored
suit jacket and mopping his damp forehead. He glanced over at the
two policemen and ordered them out of the room. They went, but
reluctantly, eyeing me with hostility as they did so. I moved over
and secured the door, then came to the desk and sat down next to
Shelbee Roberts.

She sat perfectly still, her legs still crossed, her elbows on the rests
of the chair, the fingers of both hands interlaced across her flat
stomach. Mendrosa stared at her very hard, his eyes becoming deep,
dark circles of hatred.

Shelbee Roberts continued to wait, seemingly unaffected by every-
thing. I had no doubt that at this moment she felt absolutely noth-
ing. This was what she did for a living, what she was good at. There
were no feelings involved at all, only the mission. So if she had to
blackmail a perverted Spanish politician, so be it. All for the cause.
The only thing that actually mattered to a true clandestine operator.
Now I remembered why I had left Uncle Sam’s service when I did.
But here I was now… back in it. Sort of.

“What do you want of me?” Mendrosa finally managed to speak.
Shelbee Roberts paused a little while longer, twisting the knife
just a tiny bit, and then told him.
The words hit him like a ton of bricks and he recoiled in the chair,
his mouth dropping open. It took him a few minutes to find his
voice, and when he spoke it was barely a whisper.
“You cannot be serious, surely? If I do what you ask…”
“If you don’t do what I ask, Senor Mendrosa,” Shelbee Roberts
told him directly, “then your problems will have only just begun. I
promise you that. And remember this, whether you decide to help or
not, I have the means to make it appear that you did. And should I
let certain information become available to your associates in the
Cannon Group, I believe they would take steps to remove you them-
selves. Permanently.”
He was caught and he knew it. No place to turn.
Shelbee Roberts waited.
So did I, slightly in awe, slightly repulsed. I really needed to hurry
up and get away from her before this all seemed like normal again.
Mendrosa agreed, of course. He had no choice and everyone in
that room knew it.

Three days later Marcel LeBlanc was once again on the run as the
Marbella Police and special units of the Ministry of the Interior
moved against all Cannon Group operations in the city. It was a
bloodbath, but luckily most of the casualties were taken on the Can-
non side because they were unprepared, believing that they were be-
ing protected by crooked politicians and police officials in high
places. Of course they had been up until Shelbee Roberts had come
to town carrying with her a black bag full of the dirtiest secrets any-
one could ever imagine.

Money may be a great motivator, probably the second greatest
there is. But never underestimate the power of fear. Something that
I’m sure Shelbee Roberts has never done in her life.

Chapter 43

“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, baby. More than I can say right now.”
“You’ll have to show me when you get home.”
I smiled and moaned softly.
“Home. One of the best words in the English language,” I said into

the encrypted mobile phone. “Never thought I could miss a place so
much. Or a person.”

“Would that person be someone I know?” Traci teased.
“Yes,” I told her. “A woman you are quite intimately familiar
with.”
She giggled.
“I’ve never been intimately familiar with a woman in my life, Der-
rick Olin,” Traci said mockingly.
“Then you don’t know what you’re missing, lover,” I said.
She giggled again.
“I’ll just have to take your word for it,” she told me. “Actually I
prefer men. Even though they can be rather thick sometimes. Espe-
cially black guys with shaved heads.”
“What about shaved cocks?” I said.
Traci laughed.
“I like shaved cocks,” she said. “And shaved balls. I like to hold
them in my hands and lick them, suck on them, squeeze them…”

I moaned again, feeling myself begin to swell.
“Now I know what I’m getting you for your next birthday,” I said.
“What?” she said. “My very own set of balls?”
“Exactly,” I told her. “And a cock. Color, brown, size, extra-large!”
Traci snorted and laughed.
“I like the balls extra-large, too,” she said. “So I can feel them all
over my face, bouncing against my chin when I’m sucking the cock.
And speaking of that… I’d really like to be doing that right now.
Sucking your cock, that is.”
“Well he’s hard for you right now,” I told her. “And he’d love to
oblige. I don’t think I’m ever going to let you out of my sight again
after this, luv. It’s too hard. No pun intended. I don’t ever want to be
away from you this long again.”
“Then don’t,” she told me.
“All right,” I told her. “I won’t.”
We were quiet for a while after that, then I asked Traci about work
and she told me. I knew she wanted to ask me about what I was do-
ing, but managed to restrain herself.
We finished the conversation in the usual manner, both saying “I
love you” and “goodbye”, and then hung up.
I really hated this.
It had taken forty years for me to finally admit to myself that I
didn’t like being alone. I had finally found someone I could be with,
share my life with, be happy with. And now here I was thousands of
miles away from her chasing a group of murdering psychopaths
with the aid of a murdering sociopath who just happened to collect a
U.S. Government paycheck.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Derrick Olin?” I said aloud, and
to myself.

That was a question for the ages. And one not likely to be an-
swered any time soon.

Well then fuck it!