Imminent Reprisal

Chapter One

In the predawn darkness, Jessica Cameron Langdon pulled into the empty parking area at Jet Propulsion Laboratory at Pasadena’s Cal Tech and parked her ten-year-old chevy, the headlights filtering through the fog to the sign, Dr. Langdon.

She turned off the ignition and sat listening to the motor still knocking and banging. Last week she had browsed car lots, but the price tags on the new ‘79 models sent her scurrying home. Although her salary as Chief Aeronautical Engineer on the Trident Project was more than adequate, her daughter’s education and future came first. The motor gave one last knock and shut off with a shudder.

She gathered her briefcase from the seat. As she started to get out, she realized she had forgotten to leave the house key for the repairman so he could fix the heating system. The house was old, everything breaking and in need of repair, from rotting wood on the exterior to leaky pipes within the walls. A thousand times, she had thought about selling the house, but those walls of wood and mortar and lilac papered walls had been witness to her entire life, thirty-six years of sadness and happiness, her mother’s laughter, her father’s tears. Her daughter Laney’s first word and step.

She would call the repairman and reschedule. She got out and yanked up the collar of her leather coat against the chill. Through the fog, JPL’s interior lights gave a ghostly appearance; strangely upsetting. Remindful of the worry, that since early last night had hovered over her every thought and kept her distracted from the Trident Missile report she had been unable to finish. An unknown dread, real yet ghostly, undefined.

Laney had promised to call last night. And she hadn’t. The four calls Jessie made to her had gone unanswered. This morning Laney’s line had been busy. The telephone operator in Lexington assured Jessie that the line was in working order, but the phone was off the hook.

Jessie quickened her steps. She would try to reach her again when she got to her office. She had to clear her mind. Focus on her report. She always felt on shaky ground when it came to her career. Only last year had she succeeded to her present status, and retaining that position seemed an everyday battle. Females in high positions at JPL were rare, and if she didn’t supersede expectations on this project she could wind up back as an assistant. The one mistake she had made at the beginning of the project had been costly in time and money, as well as raising questions about her ability. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

The guard outside the entrance nodded to her as he took a drag from his cigarette. She hurried inside, cleared security, and kept up the pace down the empty hall, the strap of her worn overstuffed briefcase biting into her shoulder. Feeling a headache coming on, she fished a bottle of aspirins from her purse, dumped the last three in her hand and stopped at the water fountain near her office door. As she gulped them down, she thought of the empty wine bottle on her night stand and those in the trash can by her bed, one for every night of the week. No wonder she had headaches.

She caught her dim reflection in the dark wall of glass across from her office. Standing five-feet-eight, she wore flat shoes so her peers would not have to look up at her. She maintained a good ten pounds too many and wore loose drab clothes, like the boxy brown suit she had on. All because she didn’t want to intimidate or to be given favor because of her looks. She wanted to climb the success ladder on her own merits of intellect and ability. Or was she hiding behind those ideas, afraid to be herself, to let love come to her?

She unlocked her door and flipped on the switch that illuminated the windowless office, barely room enough to accommodate the desk and chair, much less the file cabinets and bookcases lining the walls. She dumped the briefcase and purse on her desk, knocking over a gold-framed photograph. For a moment, she stared at the picture, then she picked it up, a typical beach scene of a happy family on vacation. Sixteen at the time, she, her mother and father were helping one-year-old Laney build a sand castle. Behind them, the waves of the Pacific crashed into dark boulders along Carmel’s shoreline. The smile left Jessie’s face. She placed the picture in its usual spot, turned to face her while she worked.

Shortly after they returned home from Carmel, her mother died, and in a sense, so had her father. He began to work late into the night, and on most weekends drank himself into oblivion. The sharp-tongued housekeeper he hired kept the house clean and prepared the meals, the extent of her duties. Rose Wiley, her godfather Cameron’s wife, cared for Laney during the day while Jessie finished her last two years of high school. Jessie postponed college until Laney started kindergarten, arranging college courses around Laney’s schedule.

Those years had been hard, but so worth it. In less than three weeks, Laney would graduate from the University of Kentucky, then on to Ohio State for her degree in veterinary medicine.

She grabbed the phone and dialed her number. Please answer. Jessie sat there staring into her thoughts, the repetitive busy tone evoking frightening images. Finally, she hung up, dropped into her chair, and opened her briefcase. It was imperative that she finish that report, be ready for the presentation she would give at 1:00 this afternoon.

Two hours later, as she punched the word print on her computer, Neal, her assistant, came through the door. You spend the night here? he asked, perching on the edge of her desk.

Neal was her age, a pencil of a man with a receding hairline and not much on top, with the exception of a brain that could outthink a computer. She gave him a mock frown.

You keep working these hours you will burn out.

Sometimes I feel I already have.

Not a chance; your curiosity is what makes Jessie tick. You need to get a life. Those papers make for a cold bed, he said, tapping his knuckles against the papers Jessie held.

So now you’re a shrink? Don’t even think about setting me up with another one of those surprise blind dates. Unless he’s a handyman . . . and loaded with money.

If your perfect match were standing right in front of you, you would find some fault with him.

Yeah, yeah. Jessie gave a wave of her hand and thumbed through her report. She hoped she hadn’t missed anything. I think this D-5 will have a credible hard target kill. It may even wipe out those traditional notions that the sea leg’s weapons are inaccurate.

Then why the long face?

There’s a problem with the weight. We need to get it down, under 60,000 kilograms if possible. Did you get the slides in order?

In the wheel ready to roll.

We need to go over the few changes I’ve--- The ringing of the telephone on her desk interrupted her. Excuse me, she said to him, then picked up the receiver. Doctor Langdon.

Jess, Laney cried. You’ve got to help me.

The terror in Laney’s voice sliced through Jessie. Laney, wha---

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to involve you, but there’s no one but you I can trust. They were breaking down my door. I only had a five-dollar bill in my jeans to call you. The car’s almost on empty. I don’t know how long I can keep running.

Laney, slow down. What in God’s name are you talking about? Running from whom?

Tommy, his men, B. L.’s men . . . the police. By now, they’ve turned Lexington inside out looking for me. Tommy already found me once, he and Yogie--- they shot out my back window, but I got away. Jess, last night he killed Connie. I know he did it.

Jessie felt she was drowning, couldn’t breathe. Laney, are---

I want you to listen, Laney said, sobbing. God . . . I don’t want to die.

Jessie palmed her hand over her mouth to keep from letting out the scream building in her throat. I won’t let anything happen to you, she finally managed to say. Where are you? I’ll be on the next pla---

I need to tell you things---if something happens to me, you need to know so you can tell Cameron.

Don’t say that. For God’s sake, Laney, why are they after you? And why would B. L. want to hurt you? You he told me he loved you.

Love? Laney’s voice rang with bitterness. Like Tommy loved Connie? Last night she told me those men were incapable of love, they suck you in, tell you everything you want to hear, then when you’re hooked, the game changes. Oh, Jess, I’ve been so stupid. Why couldn’t I have seen any of this? I should have known something wasn’t right.

Please, just tell me where you are.

You’ve got to know about these people, who they are, what they’re capable of. I thought I knew Connie. But she’d lied about it all. She wasn’t working for Tommy as a secretary; she was a high-priced prostitute, working for him. I think some kind of escort service that’s somehow connected to The Corporation.

Jessie, fighting to keep her tears silent, felt as if hell’s door had sprung open. The Corporation?

Neal handed Jessie a tissue, then squatted beside her chair, his arm around her shoulder.

I’ll tell you about that in a minute.

Laney, stop; you can tell me all this when I see you. I’ll be on the next flight out.

No, listen now. Listen to me. I met Connie last night at The Study Hall, the disco where we all hang out. She said she had to leave town, change her name. Vanish. Somehow she’d gained incriminating knowledge about The Corporation, the blackmail, extortion, and God knows what else. She begged me to get away from B.L. before it was too late.

The operator came on. Please deposit two dollars for an additional four minutes.

Jessie’s heart pounded. She had no idea where to call Laney back should they be cut off. Laney? Laney? Hearing Laney deposit the needed coins, she let out a held breath.

Where can I call you should we get cut off? Laney?

I’m looking for the number, but it’s worn off. All I know is that I’m in the worst part of town.

A chill swept through Jessie. What’s The Corporation?

Tommy and B.L.’s company. Connie said B. L. is the one who calls the shots. That was so hard to believe, because they come from two of the wealthiest families in the state. I’ve been to their parties where guests included law officials and socialites. Even the governor. I begged Connie to go to the police, but she said that would get her killed.

I don’t understand why they’re after you.

Someone involved with The Corporation may have seen us last night, maybe even overheard everything Connie told me. This morning after I saw on the news that she’d been murdered, I called B. L. in Chicago. I didn’t tell him she had been shot, but he knew, then I told him I knew about him and The Corporation. He laughed it off, said that Connie didn’t know what she was talking about. He said if it would make me feel better to call District Attorney Todd Barker and tell him everything Connie had told me, that the D.A. would vouch for him. I knew he was setting me up, because Connie pointed Barker out to me last night, also a detective named Bob Shepherd. She said The Corporation owned the D.A, and the detective. Jess, you must remember all this. The names, everything I’ve told you.

Jessie squeezed her eyes shut, wishing Laney would stop talking as if . . . as if she would not have the chance to speak to her again. Yet she knew she must listen.

I told B. L. to go to hell and hung up. Fifteen minutes later, Tommy and Yogie were breaking down my door, so I jumped off the balcony and took off in my car.

Jessie tried to quiet her mind, quiet the fear that made her stomach rise in her throat. She would lay down and die for Laney this second if it could save her life. She had to get her to safety. Cameron, her godfather, Special Agent in Charge at the LA Bureau, could help.

Tell me where you are. Cameron will get the FBI there to pick you---

No! Don’t call him. Aren’t you listening? Laney yelled. I’m sorry, Jess, but Cameron wouldn’t know who to trust, not in this matter. Whatever this is, it’s big, with powerful people involved. If he contacts the wrong person, they will kill me.

Never had Jessie felt so helpless. Surely not the FBI?

I don’t know, Jess. I need you. Laney paused, and when she continued her voice had warmed, Remember what Daddy used to say about not revealing everything about yourself, that you never know when it can be used against you?

Yes, I do, Jessie said. Now more than ever Jessie regretted the deception she had began before Laney’s birth. In crisis, a child no matter how old needed the safe harbor of a mother’s arms.

Not even B. L. knows I’m from Pasadena and he doesn’t know about you. The bastard.

Getting to Laney would take at least ten hours, maybe more. Please, God, keep her safe, Jessie prayed. Where can I meet you?

I’ll find someplace safe to hide out, then leave a message with your answering service. Bring cash, credit cards can be traced. Langdon isn’t a common name. I don’t want anything to lead them to you. They’re smart, Jess. I’m sorry I had to call you and get you . . . I’m so sorry.

Jessie clinched her fists, struggling to hold together a little longer. All we have is each other. There is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you. I love you more than you know. Now don’t worry.

The operator came back on, Please deposit---

Jessie heard the phone click, then the dial tone hum endlessly. Laney? Laney?

Neal took the receiver from Jessie and placed it in the cradle. She stared into his eyes, not seeing them or any part of any thing. How did I let this happen? she heard herself say.

I don’t know what’s happened, but please, is there anything I can do? Neal said. Jessie, don’t blame yourself. Please don’t.

Coming out of her fog, she looked at her watch. The banks wouldn’t be open for another two hours. How much money do you have on you?

A twenty.

I’ve got maybe fifty. I’ll have to go home for cash. Springing from her chair, she picked up the phone and shoved it into Neal’s hand. Book me on the next flight to Lexington, she said, racing to the door.

Within the hour Jessie was running through LAX’s terminal, a carry-on in her hand and cash in her purse; Laney’s terrifying words tumbling through her mind. She rushed past the line of travelers inching toward Delta’s ticket counter, not stopping until she stood facing the agent who was writing something on a young girl’s ticket.

Excuse me. Do you have a ticket waiting for Jessica Langdon?

Miss, please step to the back of the line. He gestured to waiting customers who looked on with disdain. Wait your turn.

I apologize. Jessie brushed at the tears on her cheeks. But this is an emergency.

The woman started to protest, then began punching information into her computer. Yes. Doctor Jessica Langdon. Flight 6412, departing for Atlanta at 12:02, arriving in Lex---

No. Isn’t there anything sooner? Jessie’s eyes flashed to the monitor behind the agent. A flight to Lexington was boarding, gate B-14. She raced from the counter through the crowded terminal to the escalator. She lunged onto the moving steps and kept running.

At B-14, an agent stood at the jet-way’s entrance collecting boarding passes.

Excuse me, Jessie said, catching her breath, I’ve got to be on this plane.

Certainly, he said, sternly. So do all these other people. He inclined his head toward the line and reached out his hand. Your ticket?

I don’t have one. In her panic, she hadn’t taken the ticket at the counter.

The annoyed agent motioned for the next in line to step forward, then glanced back to her. This is a full flight. You can wait until all passengers have boarded, but I seriously doubt there being an empty seat.

Jessie turned to the passengers moving past her. She glanced to the clock by the elevators, the second hand jumping from second to second. With each movement, Jessie felt more desperate. She had to get on this plane; another hour, another minute may be too late.

She took a handful of cash from her purse and hurried down the dwindling line, offering cash to anyone willing to give up their seat. Shaking heads cut her heart like a knife.

Please, won’t someone help me? Her shoulders shook with her sobs. She fought to collect herself, a woman who under extraordinary stress would shrug adversity off and laugh. At this moment, she was not that woman; she was a mother who may never again see her only daughter.

She found herself staring at a man on the telephone near the gate. Something seemed familiar about him. He stared back, then hung up and walked to her.

Aren’t you Jessica Langdon, he asked.

Yes, she said, still trying to place him.

Barry Frye. FBI. Your father and I worked together years ago at the L.A. Bureau. Cameron Wiley, your godfather, and I still work cases together . . . remember . . . No Lie Frye?

Of course, Mr. Frye. Jessie managed a smile and took his offered hand. Barry was the Bureau’s cryptologic and polygraphist expert. He had changed, his hair now white. It’s been a long time.

Six years ago . . .at your father’s funeral.

I hope you’ll forgive me, but I really must go.

He took her arm and eased her aside. I can see something is terribly wrong. Is there anything I can do to help?

It’s Laney . . . I’ve got to get a flight out of here to Lexington.

Barry’s eyes reflected his concern. Your sister? Barry asked.

The deception the words carried stung her. Yes, she’s a senior at the University of Kentucky.

Perhaps Cameron could help.

He doesn’t know. Under the circumstances, I need to know more from Laney before I call him. She’s afraid to trust anyone in Lexington, even the law. That could possibly include the FBI there. Mr. Frye, are you on this flight?

No. Not anymore. He pulled his ticket from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. This will get you as far as Atlanta. I’ll have a ticket to Lexington waiting for you at Delta there. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he escorted her to the agent who just took the last passenger’s boarding pass.

Jessie handed him the ticket.

The agent scowled at the name, then eyed Jessie. Are you Barry Frye?

Barry flipped open his FBI badge wallet and pushed it toward the man. Today she is.

Jessie gave Barry a hug. I’ll never forget this. Thank you. Please don’t call Cameron. I’ll get in touch with him as soon as I reach Laney.

Barry watched her hurry down the jetway. She reminded him a lot of her father, the way she carried herself, her head held squarely above her shoulders with confidence. Langdon had been a good agent, strong, unwilling to take defeat, relentless. Jessie had those same qualities, and just like him, she had guts.

He walked to the nearest pay phone and held the receiver in one hand and a coin in the other. Cameron talked about Jessie and Laney as if they were his own daughters. Jessie was terrified, and with what little she had told him, reasonably so. He raised the coin to the slot. Should he make the call?

Chapter Two

Kentucky’s governor Paul Ackerman the Fourth, or Gov as close friends called him, liked everything about his title except the early morning appointments. After almost three years in office he had grown less and less fond of them.

His wife, Diana, an ex-model, was in New York raising money for his presidential campaign with one of her fifteen-hundred-dollar-a-plate functions; not that he needed the money, but she enjoyed the spotlight, and he enjoyed her occasional absences. It presented him opportunity to party and gamble all night with his old college buddies; most of whom were now a part of his cabinet, and most, like he, were millionaires. Good old boys who donated their services, but by law accepted payment in the amount of one dollar.

One being Vance Woods, his aide. The perks offered worthwhile compensation in more ways than one. Some legit. Some definitely questionable.

Last night’s party at Tommy Preston’s had been in full swing at 2:00 A.M. when Gov climbed into his Continental with his body guards, Vance Woods, and Darlene Clark, the sexy brunette Tommy introduced him to months ago.

The cards had not been in his favor. He’d left almost twenty-two thousand down, a hefty sum, but not unusual. The stakes were always high. A diversion, such a Darlene would take his mind from his loss. Gov did not like to lose. At anything.

Gov had been lying there thinking, half asleep. He sat upright and glanced around the luxurious bedroom. It took a moment to remember where he was. The two empty champagne bottles on the floor explained his incoherency, as well as his headache. The nude redhead stirring awake next to him explained the rest.

Darlene rolled over, smiled, and in a sexy voice, said, Good morning, Gov. You’ve still got my vote.

He watched her full breasts bounce softly as she pulled herself up from the tangle of pink satin sheets. Despite the champagne headache, the memory of how good she had felt last night aroused him. He was ready to test her judgment when the alarm clock on the night stand went off.

Damn, he said, bolting out of bed. He had forgotten his eight o’clock appointment with Ralph Conley. I’ve got to hit the shower.

Darlene drew the sheet between her thighs to her breasts and ran her tongue over her lips. I know a better way to take care of that.

For a moment, he thought about taking her up on her offer. I’m sure you do. He headed in the direction of the bathroom he now remembered as being where he’d left his clothes when he and Darlene had gotten into the Jacuzzi.

His appointment with Conley took priority over any hard on. He would have lots of those, but there was only one Ralph Conley. The man had not come cheap. Gov was slipping in the polls, and with the Democratic primary only six months away, to win the nomination, he had to overcome the rumors that linked him to organized crime figures. He strongly believed Conley’s distinguished reputation alone could elevate him and his administration above reproach.

As soon as Gov disappeared from the room, Darlene focused on the floral arrangement on the dresser. The camera’s eye cleverly hidden among the silk flowers was undetectable. She sprang from the bed and hurried to the closet. Behind a rack of clothes, wires ran to a video camera. The tape inside had stopped long before she and Gov awoke. She removed the tape, inserted a blank one, then hid the tape she had taken from the camera in a shoe box, along with the three already there of Gov and her. He knew about the camera and its purpose. But he would put a quick end to her happy life if he as much as suspected she taped their sexual encounters. She eyed the shoe box next to it. In it were four videos of other unsuspecting individuals targeted by The Corporation.

Tommy Preston was to pick up all of the videos today. She’d been busy. Although she felt disgust for what she did, it paid well. She closed the door and on the way back to bed, flipped the TV on to an old black and white movie.

Inside the bath that resembled those in Vegas’s MGM luxury suites, Gov padded down the marble steps to the shower. The crystal chandelier left on all night glowed brightly overhead. From habit, he glanced to a replica of Venus de Milo positioned in a corner that allowed the hidden camera’s eye to take in the room. The camera was one of many in Darlene’s apartment. Thinking of those unsuspecting saps already captured on film, he smiled. Some people would call it blackmail; he called it leverage.

As he passed the ceiling to floor mirror, he paused, looking at his tan, nude body. Damn good for a man in their mid-forties. He straightened, shoulders squared. Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country. Gov’s youth and good looks were often compared to Kennedy’s. He had studied every film made of the late President, and had Kennedy’s walk down pat. The facial expressions still needed more work.

He should have been born into the Kennedy line instead of his own. Maybe JFK’s old man had been a tyrant just like his. Couldn’t be that bad, not Joe Kennedy, he thought, and went on to the shower. He had just stepped under the water when Darlene knocked on the door.

Vance Woods is on the telephone. He said it’s important.

It damned well bettered be important. I’ll be right out. Gov hurriedly dried off and fastened the towel around him. As he came into the bedroom, he glanced at Darlene, who was reclined against the bed pillows watching TV. A sheet covered her from the waist down. He wiped a hand over his face, then lifted the telephone receiver from the night stand.

What’s up, Vance?

Channel twenty-seven, Vance said, then hung up.

Gov cradled the receiver and rushed to the TV, switching the channel to the local news. He threw up his hand at Darlene’s protest.

A reporter stood in front of the plush Eden Garden Apartments. He gestured to an arched entrance several yards away. This entrance leads to Connie Bishop’s apartment, where she and Judge Richard Blanton were found early this morning. District Attorney Todd Barker is calling it a murder suicide.

Idiots. Gov slammed a fist down on the night stand.

Noooooo, Darlene screamed, her eyes staring wildly at the screen.

Chapter Three

Special Agent Hunter Rawls, feeling much older than his forty-one years, was staring out the window of his small office located on High Street, downtown Lexington. Dawn was beginning to pale the lights at Lexington Center, home court for the Kentucky Wildcats. This office was not exactly what he had been used to, but the leased building, referred to as the pool, was roomy enough to house his team of under-budgeted Special Operation agents and auditors.

The leather of his shoulder holster creaked as he moved his head from side to side to get the kinks out of his neck. Strands of dark brown hair fell over his bloodshot eyes. He and Phil Watson, his partner, had been up since 2:00 A.M.. The time was now 6:30.

Hunter’s long strides took him quickly to the file cabinet that doubled as a space for a coffee maker. He glanced to Phil who was pacing in front of the TV that was turned on. If not for Phil’s constant state of motion, fueled by nervous energy, Phil could be in danger of being a very round man. Right now, he wished he had some of Phil’s nervous energy.

Want some coffee? Hunter asked.

Phil held up his coke and pulled a Twinkie from the supply he always carried in his jacket pocket. Want one?

Hunter shook his head. Those things are going to clog your veins.

Yeah, yeah, and that crap you call coffee is going to make your stomach look like Swiss cheese.

Hunter grinned, hooked the coffee pot and emptied it into his Pittsburgh Steelers mug. He took a drink, then cringed. He had made the coffee at 4:30, after he and Phil arrived back from the Bishop/Blanton crime scene.

Told ya. Swiss cheese. Here, have a Tums. Phil tossed Hunter the roll from on top the TV. Ever wonder what it would be like to have a nine to five kinda job? In at nine, out the door at five, home by 5:30, wife in the kitchen, pot roast in the oven, kids on your knee, that sort of normal thing?

Hunter cracked a weary grin. Nope. Not since my divorce. If it’s pot roast you want I’ll give you my recipe. If it’s a wife you want, change your profession.

Hunter’s eyes flashed to the TV just as the Commonwealth’s D.A. Todd Barker and Chief Medical Examiner Edmond DeMarko’s images appeared on the screen. Having overheard them earlier at the crime scene discussing what they planned to release to the media, he was eager to hear what they said.

Hunter pushed his mug toward the screen. "It’s not the coffee that’s eating a hole in my stomach; it’s those two jokers and the bottomless pit of corruption Special Ops is fighting. We’ve