To read this serial novel from the beginning, go here.
The Preferred Blonde
They were in a room, maybe ten by ten, with a concrete floor and corrugated metal walls on two sides, the other two drywall. A single light fixture hung down from the ceiling. Instead of the usual naked incandescent found in most interrogation chambers, it was a white aluminum job from a Swedish furniture store -- quite stylish.
"The metal walls are one thing, but I could probably kick through the drywall," Cardinal whispered in Marsha's ear. "Looks like a divider, not weight-bearing. Easy to punch through."
"It's not the wall I'm worried about," Marsha said. "It's the 9 millimeter the guy on the other side has in his pocket."
"Well, er, yes, I thought of that too. You seem to be catching on to this spy thing pretty well."
"It doesn't seem too complicated to me. From observing you, I'd say the key is to be recklessly aggressive and then do anything you can to keep from getting killed when the bullets fly."
"It sounds better in Sun Tzu's original Chinese."
The door opened and in stepped two heavily armed guards in black fatigues. They moved to each side of the door, and a third character in a gray suit followed.
"Well, if it isn't David Vitter," Cardinal said.
"Cardinal, don't think I got you out of trouble this time. And before I go any further, Ms. Cantrell, I would like to compliment you on your skills as a pilot. It takes considerable acumen to land a 747 in an Iowa cornfield."
"My father was a pilot, and a good teacher. I was just following your directions."
"It was easier to dispose of the plane in the country than at an airport. But enough of that." He turned back to the main object of his disdain. "Cardinal, if it were up to me you would be back in the electric chair, but somebody higher up has other plans for you."
"Are you sure it isn't an unaccounted-for photo I have in my possession?" Cardinal said with a trace of a smile.
Vitter laughed briefly. It was one of those laughs people who never laugh practice in private to perfect. "I don't give a damn about your photos. If I ordered you shot right now and your body dumped in a ditch in Montana, no one would be the wiser."
"I like Montana, living or dead. All right, I'll bite. What am I here for?"
"We know you were headed up here to pay a visit to the Iowa National Testing Service. The girls you ditched in Texas were going to take you there anyway, if you had let them. But you brought along your Kung Fu girlfriend and gave them the slip. You can't do things the easy way, can you? I had a cross country car ride set up with three beautiful women, nice and easy, but you had to trash a hotel room and hijack a plane instead."
"You make it sound like I am such a troublemaker. The plane wasn't my fault. Bad luck that we ran into the ELFs, I guess."
"Now that we have you up here, we intend to deliver you to the Testing Service. The bureau chief here will tell you what he wants from you."
"So the Testing Service has a top secret detention center. How fascinating."
Marsha spoke. "Why would the feds be involved in school testing?"
"Girlie, that's classified."
"Then let me guess," Marsha said. "The Republicans rig the tests for their own kids so they can flood the Ivy League schools with conservatives."
Vitter stammered for a moment before his voice regained its confident edge. "Well, uh, that wouldn't be entirely correct, but . . . . Hell, what do I care? You'll never survive the mission anyway."
Vitter then angrily ordered them out of the room. They were taken at gunpoint to a van, loaded in the back and handcuffed to the door handles. "John," Marsha whispered, leaning over as far as her restrained arm would allow, "Tell me about this photo."
"I worked an assignment in New Orleans a few years back, and a couple of my contacts were in a brothel on Canal Street. Vitter was involved in the job, although he worked for another department. He got hooked up with one of the girls. She was tall, blonde, buxom. The other girls said he liked her a whole lot more than the rest. One day he went in shortly before I got there, and as a joke I busted into the room and snapped a picture."
"I can see how getting involved with a hooker might be a problem for a government agent, but you make it sound like such a big deal. Why would he worry about a photo like that?"
"Turns out his preferred blonde was not a she."