Tricks and Traps (Gray Spear Society Book 7) (20 page)

"Yes, sir," Smythe said.

"Hey," Sheryl said, "I know Wilman. He's kind of a creep."

"Can Marina come?" Tawni said eagerly.

Aaron raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I want to see how a female commander operates in the field, sir, and she can tell us stories about her missions during the long drive."

He turned to Marina. "Well?"

"I was there last night for Sheryl's untimely death," she said, "and I watched her show before that. I'm not excited about driving up a third time. I'll have to wear some kind of disguise."

"Please, ma'am?" Tawni said. "It would mean a lot to me."

Marina's shoulders sagged. "OK."

Aaron wasn't pleased with her decision. They had had sex in the morning, so he couldn't complain about a lack of intimacy. Still, he didn't want her to go. Their time together was precious and fleeting.

She patted his arm. "It will just be for a few hours. I wouldn't want to disappoint a fan." She looked towards Tawni.

Aaron nodded. "I guess I'll train Sheryl while you're out."

Sheryl slouched in her chair as if she were trying to disappear under the table.

Marina kissed Aaron. "I'll be back before dinner at the latest." She stood up. "Let's go."

Smythe and Tawni followed her out the door.

Aaron looked at Sheryl and smiled.

"Sir," she said, "Tawni already gave me a pretty good workout today."

"I saw." He shook his head sadly.

"If I'm so terrible, why did you make me a
legionnaire
?"

"Because Wesley told me to, and you're not terrible. You just have different strengths than most
legionnaires
. Once we shore up your weaknesses, I'm sure you'll be very effective."

"How long will that take?" she said.

"Depends on how hard you work. Could be six months, could be a year."

She winced. "I have to put up with this hell for at least six months?"

"For the rest of your life." He stood up. "Move. Sitting there and whining isn't making you a better fighter."

* * *

Tawni and Smythe were following Marina through the back hallways of the Huhawira Casino. All of them wore cheap, blue business suits, yet somehow, Marina made the outfit look sharp.

Tawni was in awe of the commander. Marina projected an air of confidence that Tawni could only envy. Every detail, from the way Marina walked to the way she held her head suggested the peasants around her would do well to follow her commands. The incredible stories she had told during the long drive had created the impression of a woman who could walk through an inferno without getting scorched. She and Aaron were well matched.

"This way," a security guard said.

Two guards in green uniforms were escorting the team. They carried semi-automatics in holsters, but Tawni wasn't impressed. She had two machine pistols under her jacket.

The group arrived at a doorway. One of the guards was about to knock on the door when Marina just opened it. She went inside without hesitation.

Tawni followed her in.

A tall man with gray hair was sitting behind a desk. He was wearing a black suit, but the jacket was hung over the back of his chair. Skin the color of cinnamon and a long, straight nose indicated his family had come from Southern Italy.

"John Wilman?" Marina asked.

Wilman nodded. "Who are you?"

"FBI, White-Collar Crime Program." She took out her wallet and flashed a badge.

His eyes widened.

She sat on a chair facing him. The look on her face suggested he was just a dead bug on a windshield to her. Tawni and Smythe stood behind Marina with their hands at their sides.

Without being obvious, Tawni checked the room. The two guards were waiting near the doorway with anxious postures. One of them had his hand near the grip of his gun.

The office was strangely furnished. Wilman had many books with titles like "True Ghost Stories" and "Methods of Paranormal Investigation." A crystal ball rested on a silver stand. There was an antique clockwork mechanism made of bronze, but the metal was corroded. Clear plastic encased a plaster cast of a giant footprint.

"What can I do for the FBI?" Wilman said.

"We're investigating the Super Double Monkey machines," Marina said.

His face lost a shade of color but he didn't flinch. "Why?"

"Just tell us what you know."

"Should I call my lawyer first?"

"Mr. Wilman," she said, "I'm giving you an opportunity to cooperate of your own free will. Right now, you aren't a person of interest in this case, but that could change. Do you want to have this conversation in the FBI main office in Chicago?"

He smiled, but it was forced. "I want to cooperate. It's just that the monkey machines are a very sensitive topic. I signed a contract specifically stating I wouldn't disclose any information. Breaching that contract could destroy me professionally and financially."

"That arrangement seems very unusual."

"The vendor demanded those terms, and we had to accept them. The monkey machines are our largest source of revenue. This casino was struggling before we acquired them."

"Who is the vendor?" she said.

He just stared at her.

She exhaled angrily. "The FBI believes those machines are at the center of a criminal conspiracy. If we find out you're involved, saving your career will be the least of your worries."

"I've done nothing wrong," he said. "I'm not a criminal. This casino is fully licensed and completely legal. You can threaten me all day, and it won't change those facts."

"The monkey machines are ruining lives. That is also a fact."

"This casino doesn't force anybody to play. Customers come and go as they see fit. What happens to them after they leave is not our concern or our legal responsibility."

"In other words," she said, "you don't care."

"I'm not supposed to care. That's what organizations like Gamblers Anonymous are for. If we turned away every patron who might have a problem, we'd go bankrupt."

"Ruining lives is just good business."

He shook his head. "You're twisting my words around."

"I'm just expressing your position in clearer terms. This casino takes advantage of human weakness. The profits you pocket along the way are even more disgusting. You may be legal, but that doesn't mean you're ethical."

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty so I'll talk?" He raised his eyebrows.

She snarled. "Let me be even more explicit. The monkey machines are very bad business. You will regret your involvement with them. By protecting your mysterious vendor, you're sealing your fate. The truth will come out. I strongly recommend you reconsider your position now."

Tawni realized Marina was telling the truth. People who opposed the Society usually paid with their lives.

"You don't scare me," Wilman said. "I know all my rights, and I have a first-rate lawyer. I also know you have nothing on me because there is nothing to get. I'm one hundred percent legal. If you want to pursue a moral crusade against gambling, that's your prerogative, but I don't have to help you."

Marina placed a business card on the desk. "When you change your mind, call this number." She stood up and walked out.

Tawni and Smythe hurried after her.

Marina didn't stop walking until the team was alone in the parking lot. It was a very warm, sticky day outside. Tawni immediately started sweating under the hot sun. She took off her jacket.

"That was a waste of time," Tawni said.

Marina cocked her head. "Why?" Her green eyes and freckled nose made her look mischievous.

"We didn't learn anything. The guy was too tough."

"He was scared out of his mind."

Tawni furrowed her brow. "I didn't get that."

"I knew he wouldn't talk right away," Marina said. "High-power executives like him never do, not without strong encouragement. This was just reconnaissance. I was looking for a weakness and got a good one. It's so perfect I have to thank the Lord for arranging it."

"What weakness?"

Marina smiled. "Let see if you or Smythe can figure it out. What did you notice when you walked in?"

"Books about ghosts," Tawni said. "The guy likes paranormal shit."

"And do we know a ghost?"

It was Smythe's turn to smile. "Indeed, we do," he said in a gleeful tone.

Tawni looked back and forth between them. "I don't get it. Wait a sec! Is this the casino where Sheryl got shot last night?"

"She died on stage," Marina said, "right in front of the audience. I imagine Wilman was shocked when he heard the news. How would he react if he met her again?"

Finally, Tawni smiled.

* * *

"Do it again," Aaron said. "Take a deep breath, hold it, and squeeze slowly. The only thing that should move is your finger."

Sheryl was lying on the cold, hard floor of the gun range. She was staring down the scope of a sniper rifle at a bulls-eye target one inch across. Her right shoulder ached from getting pounded by the rifle stock, but Aaron obviously didn't care about her pain. He was only interested in the lesson.

She squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked her in the sore shoulder.

"Come on, Sheryl," he said with annoyance. "You're still pulling to the left."

"I've never shot a rifle before, sir."

"This is the lightest one I have. It's almost a toy."

A toy that kills,
she thought.

His phone rang. She was glad for the break in the training, however short.

He listened for a moment. Finally, he said, "That's a brilliant idea. We'll come up in the helicopter. Meet us at the airport."

He grinned at her, and the expression sent a chill down her spine.

"What's going on?" she asked timidly.

"It will be fun," he said. "You're going to play a ghost."

"Huh?"

He took the rifle from Sheryl and put it on one of the many shelves in the gun range. When she stood up, aching muscles made her feel crippled.

Aaron led her to the storage room where the costumes were kept. Long racks filled the space, and they were packed with all kinds of clothes. Wigs, false mustaches, beards, makeup, and other accessories occupied shelves along the walls. The team was prepared for all possible undercover assignments.

"Find a white dress," he said. "Something gauzy and flowing. It should be appropriate for a woman who is returning to Earth as a specter with a dire warning."

"Who am I giving this warning to?" She pushed through the crowded room. There was barely enough space to squeeze between the racks.

"John Wilman, a man who apparently believes in ghosts. You're going to scare him into spilling his guts."

She looked back at him in surprise. "Ooh. I get it. And where will this haunting take place?"

"I think the main stage will do nicely."

"Perfect. I can use some of my props. Hopefully, they haven't torn down the set."

"I'm sure it hasn't been touched," he said. "It's a crime scene. I murdered you there."

It took some digging, but Sheryl found a white gown that looked right. She grabbed a makeup kit and a pack of fake blood.

She suggested to Aaron what costumes he should bring. She already had ideas about the tricks she would perform. This show was going to be great. It was a shame only one man would ever see it.

When the preparations were complete, they went up to the roof. The blue helicopter was parked in the center on a big, white "H." She was excited.

"I've never been in a helicopter, sir," she said.

"Neither have I," he replied. "I hope I can figure out how to fly this thing."

"What?"

He gave her a little smile.

"Was that a joke?" she said. "Did you actually tell a joke? The feared commander has a sense of humor?"

He shrugged. "I'm not grim all the time."

"Close enough, sir."

She sat in the front beside him. There was glass all around, even below her feet, and it was like riding in a bubble. They wore headsets so they could talk over the engine noise.

The rotors began to spin. The jet turbine made a high pitched whine only a few feet from her head, but the headset blocked most of the sound.

"I have to go straight up," Aaron said. "We don't want the people inside the hotel hearing anything."

"How can they not hear a helicopter on the roof?"

"The glass exterior is air-tight and soundproof. I anticipated this problem when we were building the hotel, and the helicopter is designed to run quiet when it's not at full power."

The helicopter lifted off slowly and smoothly. Sheryl suddenly had a panoramic view of Rosemont and the surrounding area. She squeaked as her heart jumped into her throat.

O'Hare Airport was directly to the west. From above, she could see how the many runways crossed each other at odd angles. Airplanes were moving along several of them. She wondered if the pilots ever chose the wrong runway by mistake.

The Forest Preserve was to the east. It was a strip of lush green vegetation that ran far to the north and south. She wanted to walk in those woods when she had time.

Much farther to the east, she saw the impressive buildings of downtown Chicago. Haze washed out the colors and blurred the edges, making them seem ghostly.

"Every time I fly," Aaron said, "I'm reminded of the size of my territory. All these millions of people are depending on us for protection. It's intimidating."

Sheryl had never considered that perspective. It seemed he didn't understand the meaning of the word intimidation. Maybe he was finally opening up to her.

"How long have you been a commander?"

"A little more than a year. Not long. Ethel ran Chicago before she was promoted to legate."

"You act like you've done it your whole life," she said.

"Projecting confidence is important. You don't need to hear about my private insecurities."

"You can't be a tough guy all the time."

"It's part of the job," he said. "The only person I let inside my head is Marina."

"You two certainly have a lot of sex."

"We don't see each other much these days, and we have to make up for lost time. She's going home tomorrow." His face showed pain.