CJ smiled at Eckles and patted his arm. “What are you, my dad now? We’ll be all right. I just think these girls are just wound a little too tight. Hopefully, we find out that all the chatter we’ve been hearing from the more militant women out there is just that — chatter. Frustrated women who need a place to vent and someone to listen to them.”

  Eckles clicked his tongue and nodded. “I hope so. That little IT geek, Peabody, is working the online stuff even as we speak. If anybody can figure out a bunch of weirdos, he should be able to do it.”

  Flint rolled his eyes and replied, “Eckles, if you ever see a crossword puzzle asking for a six-letter word for ‘dumbass,’ try your last name. It fits perfectly.”

  Eckles shook his head and laughed mirthlessly. “Stryker, you and I need to have another go-round. We never did finish that little sparring match we started during your training. Somewhere that Seven won’t interrupt us.”

  “Name the time and place, big man. Let’s just be sure to do it before you take a dump. I want you to have every available IQ point possible.” Flint grinned sarcastically at the ex-NFL star.

  “What is with you two?” CJ interjected as she sensed the temperature in the vehicle elevating. “If I wanted to watch a pissing contest, I’d hang out in the alleyway of O’Toole’s Bar. Can’t you cretins put aside your testosterone for five minutes and focus on the mission at hand?” She eyed them both with exasperation. “No wonder these women are all so pissed off!”

  The two men regarded her sheepishly, both grudgingly acknowledging her point. Eckles turned around and put the Tahoe in drive and pulled smoothly away from the hangar.

  Stryker settled back in his seat and went back to focusing on the brief in his hand. He cut his gaze sideways at CJ and saw that she was doing the same. She quickly turned to look out the window.

  Yeah! Come on! Chicks dig the bad boy, Flint thought.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Flint and CJ stood silently in the quiet elevator as it moved smoothly between floors at the building of Inanna Laius. They had decided that they would only speak completely in character from the moment they left the privacy of the Tahoe in case there was any chance they were being observed. Flint had noticed the video camera portal when they had entered the elevator. He was sure they were being observed even now.

  The elevator slid to an effortless stop. Flint and CJ glanced at each other and awaited the doors opening.

  As the doors swooshed quietly open, they were met by a bizarre sight. There, before them, stood Celine Winters, wearing an odd mash-up of expensive clothing and half-applied makeup.

  She noticed Flint’s and CJ’s reaction and touched her face self-consciously. “Oh! I’m so sorry! Sister Inanna and I were just going over some wardrobe changes consistent with my new position.” She nodded slightly, in a semi-bow, “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Prophetess Most High of the CDRS, Celine Winters, but you can call me Sister Celine.” Ignoring Flint, she extended her hand to CJ and said, “You must be Ms. Wu?”

  CJ clasped Celine’s extended hand and was at once repelled by the young woman’s damp, insipid grip. Hoping that Celine didn’t notice her reaction, CJ quickly replied, “Yes, Temperance Wu. I’ll be authoring the book on Sister Inanna and the CDRS.” Turning to Flint, she added, “And this is Acton Bell. He’s the agent I spoke with you about. He has several publishers that are interested in a book on Sister Inanna.”

  Celine eyed Flint with obvious disdain, gingerly extending her hand to him as if his hand contained a refuse bag filled with dog droppings. “Yes, we spoke on the phone. Charmed, I’m sure,” she said icily. He shook the two greasy fingers she proffered and immediately put his hand behind him to wipe it on his coattails. He hoped she didn’t notice.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Winters. May we come in?” They were still standing in the elevator foyer and had not yet entered into the residence proper.

  Celine colored slightly and lowered her head “Oh! Forgive me, of course! You must think I have no manners. It’s been such a whirlwind day! Please come in and make yourselves comfortable.” She led them to a parlor and indicated two luxuriant chairs for them. “Please, have a seat!”

  Flint and CJ sat, and Celine sat in an ornate oak side chair that looked every bit as unfordable as Celine obviously felt. She cleared her throat and placed her hands in her lap as if she were waiting to be called into the principal’s office.

  Flint and Celine glanced around expectantly, anticipating the arrival of Inanna Laius. “Er.., is Sister Inanna going to join us?” Flint began.

  Flustered, Celine stuttered, “Y-yes. She had something to do before joining us. She’ll be along in just a few moments.” She worried with her brown, stringy hair, twirling it unconsciously between her thumb and forefinger.

  In an attempt to put Celine at ease, CJ said, “This is a lovely residence. Has Sister Inanna lived here long?”

  Her words escaping in a mad, nervous rush, Celine replied in a stream-of-consciousness monologue. “Yes. No. Actually, she’s only lived here for a few years. She bought it shortly after her father passed away. Designed it herself. Spared no expense. Made it just like she wanted it. She said she couldn’t bear to live in their family home. Too many dark, unpleasant memories. Better to start fresh. A new start for a new life…” Spent, the young woman blew out a deep breath and gave the two of them a timid, self-conscious smile.

  Flint and CJ looked at her impassively, neither wishing to heighten the awkwardness by any overtly discomfited reaction. CJ smiled briefly and said, “What a fascinating story. I’m sure everyone would be dying to read about it in the book.”

  Celine nodded and the two Linchpin agents saw the briefest flicker of apprehension cross her face. She lowered her head and coughed. “Hello, Sister Inanna.”

  The two agents turned and stood face-to-face with a goddess.

  FIFTY-TWO

  At least a woman who represented herself as a goddess.

  Flint jumped to his feet and stammered, “H-hello, Sister Inanna. Pleased to meet you. I’m Acton Bell.” He extended his hand to greet her.

  Raising her nose slightly, Inanna Laius ignored Flint’s extended hand and seemed to float along to greet CJ. As she passed, Flint observed her brilliant white taffeta robe. Her waist was cinched tightly with a blood-red sash, and she was wearing a matching red cowl made of similar fabric. Her makeup was flawless, accentuating her striking features and accented in such a way to create an impression of otherworldliness. The woman was in full Goddess-Mode.

  CJ clasped Inanna’s hand and realized this was the woman in charge. Her hand was warm and soft and seemed to exude grace and serenity. “Temperance Wu, Sister. Thank you for having us in your home.” She nodded to Flint and added, “I think you’ve met Mr. Bell. He’s the agent who’s going to represent your book. He believes you have the potential to have a runaway best-seller, and he already has several publishing houses prepared to offer you substantial advances for your book.”

  Laius’ face transformed quickly as she turned to face Flint. Where before there was a detached coldness, it was now replaced by an effusive warmth which Flint assumed was all for his benefit. “Yes. Sister Celine indicated that you believe there is quite a market for my story and the story of the Sisterhood,” she quickly added.

  Flint smiled, his eyes searching hers, looking for any ‘tell’ that would indicate any sort of imminent danger. No Precog warning yet. So far so good.

  “Yes, Sister Inanna. Given the current social and cultural climate in the country, even the world today, we believe that there would be significant interest in a book about the CDRS — and you, of course.”

  Bemused, the corners of her mouth turned upwards in a small smile. “How significant, Mr. Bell?”

  Flint’s gaze bore into hers intently. “Let’s just say I have several publishers who are willing to get into a bidding war and are prepared to offer the largest advance ever offered for a single manuscript. A good bit more than the deal that the Obamas received.”

  Her eyebrows arched, and she demurred slightly as she responded, “Of course, you understand the money really has no significance to me, as I am already wealthy. Any monies received would be purely for growth of the Church.”

  Flint nodded approvingly and replied, “Certainly, but this is an opportunity to tell your story your way. There will be no backstabbing anchorpersons hijacking what should have been a validation of your mission.”

  Inanna narrowed her eyes but said nothing, studying Flint’s face.

  “With Ms. Wu working by your side, your message will be unvarnished and undiluted. And let me say this, Sister Inanna, I won’t accept a deal that doesn’t guarantee additional opportunities for things like movie options, content developed exclusively for streaming services, documentaries and a reality TV show.”

  “Think of it, Sister Inanna, there will be a variety of ways to present the message of the CDRS and your tireless efforts on behalf of women everywhere,” interjected a flushed Celine Winters. “This will be a chance to grow the church and your ministry around the world.” She turned anxiously to Flint, “Tell her about the international opportunities Mr. Bell.”

  Flint knew now was the moment to go in for the kill. “Sister Inanna, my pledge to you is to secure multiple content venues, multiple revenue streams, as well as an aggressive marketing campaign behind all of them.” He leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he had not only set the hook but was seconds away from reeling in a huge catch.

  Inanna’s gaze went from one to the other, finally resting on the beaming face of her executive assistant. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and took a long pause. CJ and Flint exchanged furtive glances, and Celine held her breath, scarcely daring to look at her.

  Finally, Inanna lowered her gaze and spoke to Flint and CJ. “All right. It sounds like we can work together.”

  Celine squealed like a giddy middle schooler. “Yes! I knew it! Oh, Sister Inanna, you’ll never regret it! This will be the start of something spectacular in your ministry!”

  Inanna looked at Flint coolly. “I presume you will have documents for me to review soon, Mr. Bell?”

  Flint nodded. “Of course, Sister Inanna. I’ll call my contacts at the various publishing houses tonight, and I’ll have offers for your review and acceptance tomorrow. Then it will be just a matter of arranging a time when you and Ms. Wu can begin the co-authoring process.”

  CJ interjected, “I was hoping we could get to know each other a bit and start the process immediately, Sister Inanna. Would it be possible for us to start soon?”

  Inanna knit her brows as she pondered this. Celine timidly suggested, “Perhaps she could start tomorrow, Sister… You know, before your rally at the Garden tomorrow night. Perhaps she could observe you all day and then have behind-the-scenes access during the service.”

  Inanna nodded slowly as if warming to the idea. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea. All right, Ms. Wu. Please join us tomorrow for breakfast, and then plan on being with us all day. We’ll expect you at 8:00 AM, sharp.”

  CJ smiled and extended her hand to Inanna as Celine beamed beatifically at the two of them. “Wonderful! I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow. I’ll bring my recorder, camera, and laptop, and we’ll hit the ground running.”

  Inanna quickly shook CJ’s hand and turned toward Flint, extending her hand lightly. “Thank you, Mr. Bell. I look forward to seeing what you come up with for us.”

  Flint stood and took her hand, giving her a thin smile. “My pleasure, Sister Inanna. I look forward to working with you.”

  Inanna eyed him warily. “Mr. Bell, perhaps it would be better if you and I communicated electronically, by text, email, or FaceTime, perhaps.”

  Flint’s brows knit as he queried, “Oh? I’d hoped we could work closely together, Sister Inanna.”

  Inanna adjusted her cowl and gave him a look that was almost coy. “I expect we will get to know each other well enough. I may already know more about you than you suspect.” She laughed lightly, displaying a brilliant smile. “Please do not take offense, Mr. Bell. Sister Celine and I just prefer to work with women. We find that they have a greater understanding of the feminine psyche and spirit. It is the nature of my ministry, after all. You understand.”

  Flint shrugged. “Of course, Sister Inanna. If that’s what you prefer. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Ms. Wu and I will return to our hotel tonight and begin preparations to get everything underway tomorrow. Good night, ladies.”

  Inanna and Celine walked Flint and CJ to the elevator and paused as Flint pressed the button. They turned again, and Flint gave a slight wave to the two women who were watching him and CJ closely.

  The elevator toned softly and the doors opened, allowing the two agents to step quickly in. They turned and watched the doors close silently behind them, the elevator quickly beginning its downward descent.

  Flint cast a sidelong glance at CJ and whispered, barely audible, “Batshit crazy?”

  Without moving her lips, CJ replied, also in a whisper, “Both those bitches.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  Seven sat in his office absently flipping through the sheath of papers in the file on his desk. He didn’t really need to review them again; he knew almost every scrap of information contained therein by heart. It was just a mental exercise while pondering the next move, something he frequently did while making decisions. He was not the impulsive sort. His nature was to carefully consider all options and act when the time was right.

  Was now the right time?

  His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Come.”

  Serafina peeked around the door, “Sorry if I’m interrupting…”

  He shook his head and set the file aside. “Not at all. You know me. I’m just having another look at these files on Tesar Arman that Stryker and Jeong were able to access.”

  She sat in the chair across from his desk and studied his face.

  “Have you made a decision?”

  He shrugged, “I think so. Arman’s influence and reach go pretty deep. It’s clear that he’s skimming so much off the top that whoever is further up the food chain than him has no idea of the extent of his double-dealing. I have a feeling that if they ever find out, they would be very unhappy with Mr. Arman.”

  Ferrari smiled, leaned forward and picked up a Lucite cube with a spent shell casing in it. “I’ve always wondered about this, Seven. Can you tell me what this is? You don’t really strike me as the kind of man who has knick-knacks on his desk.”

  Seven leaned back in his chair and gave a long pause before responding. “It’s a shell casing I picked up after my first kill. It was a long time ago. You wouldn’t think there would be a need for mementos from something like that, but there it is.”

  She replaced the cube on his desk. “I understand.” She looked at him directly and continued, “Anything you’d like to share about that?”

  One thing about a woman with an eyepatch that never ceased to amaze Seven was that Serafina’s one eye almost had the ability to bore right through you. When she stared you down, the intensity of that one eye made it impossible to turn away.

  He returned her gaze directly. “No, I don’t think so. Perhaps another day.” He abruptly leaned forward and placed his right hand on the stack of files before him. “Peabody has done a remarkable job. He has identified about 95% of all of Arman’s global financial holdings. He has been able to identify and access virtually all of his offshore accounts and money laundering operations in the U.S. and around the world, including his involvement with cryptocurrency.” He arched his left eyebrow as he continued. “Peabody was even able to find some resources for hiding money we didn’t even know existed.”

  “And?” She gave him a knowing look.

  “Oddly enough, Peabody can also transfer every single penny from Arman’s holdings in accounts that we can access into secret accounts controlled by Linchpin — completely untraceable. He can single-handedly fund our budget for the next twenty years at least, allowing us to be as self-sufficient as possible in our ongoing operations.”

  Ferrari leaned back in her chair and smiled, steepling her carefully manicured fingers in front of her lips. “Having said that, is now a good time to ask for a raise?”

  “Submit the paperwork,” he deadpanned, “and I’ll think about it.”

  “You can be such a bastard.”

  “Lady, you have no idea.” He grinned as he quickly keyed in a code on his cell, putting it to his ear as he spoke. “Peabody? Seven here. Drop the Hammer on Arman — now.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Tesar Arman was in a foul mood. He looked at the reflection of his neck in the small handheld mirror. His throat displayed the dark purple blotches that clearly showed the outlines where Flint Stryker’s hands had almost squeezed his last breath from him. His larynx had nearly been crushed, and but for the benefit of a powerful corticosteroid pain reliever, his pain would be unbearable. His voice was barely above a whisper, and it was excruciating to speak more than a few words at a time.

  The door to his bedroom opened slightly, and the hulking figure of Savchenko entered, looking almost comical carrying a silver tray with a dainty china tea serving. His normally grotesque visage was even more mangled, displaying the aftermath of his forceful encounter with Ivanova’s patient monitoring system at the hospital. The machine’s metal corner had left a nasty gash running perpendicular across the big man’s face, nearly cleaving his misshapen nose. Several more of his teeth had been broken, making his face resemble a cloning experiment between a man and a gorilla that had gone horribly wrong.

  Grimacing, Savchenko spoke slowly through shattered teeth, his voice more harsh than normal, “Tea, boss? Savchenko made it just how you like. Bourbon with honey. Maybe make throat feel better.”

  Arman eyed his bodyguard, unflinchingly loyal, he would take a bullet and more for him. Since discovering him almost ten years ago, he had proven himself invaluable as a defender many times since. Possessed of a less than impressive intellect, he was nonetheless almost childlike in his devotion and concern for Arman. “Thank you, Savchenko,” he croaked, wincing as he spoke.

 

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