The Icarus File -- Flash Fiction

Ch 1 G7 Spy, A Sand Dune, An Extension Cord

      “Adele.” Armand called. “Adele, can you come in here?”
     
     No Bond Girl, Adele, at just over average height and more than average weight, dressed in olive drab scrubs, looked more like an army nurse than a caterer’s assistant.
     
     “Yes, dear. A moment. Let me start the dryer.” She had to start the dryer, air only. She moved a tray of seedlings off the dryer and unplugged the grow light from an extension cord. The missus was apparently into fresh herbs.
   
     “Adele, now, please.”
   
     Armand leaned against the kitchen counter, blood seeping from just above his left eye, his left cheek swollen and beginning to color.
   
     Two very large, very fit young men stood, one on either side of him. Aleksei, the blond, had his back to her. In a club or a bar, Aleksei and Kolya, with his shaved head, would be bouncers. In the Portero home, they were Uncle Aleksei and Uncle Kolya, security.
   
     “Armand?” She pulled the hand towel from her waist band. “Aleksei, get some ice.”
   
     Aleksei turned toward her, a gun in his hand. A Glock 19. Good choice, she thought. Reliable. Easily modified to fit a smaller hand. Standard 15-round magazine. Reduced dimensions make it ideal for concealed-carry. She wished she had hers on her. She glanced at the box of clean towels sitting on the other end of the counter. Beyond her reach.
   
     “Give me your phone” the blond ordered her. She did and he motioned her to Armand’s side.
“Have you been in the Communications Room?”
   
     “Communications?” She pressed the towel against Armand’s wound. “You mean with all that computer stuff?”
   
     Kolya got ice with his bare hands. Adele wouldn’t serve ice from that tray. Who knew where his hand had been?
   
     “May I get a clean towel?” She nodded toward the box of towels.
   
     “Kolya, get her towels.”
   
     Kolya, brought her one towel. Not the box as she’d hoped, but she was glad he took only the top one.
   
     Without giving her time to deal properly with Armand’s wound, Aleksei herded them into the laundry room. The door had no lock.
   
     The Communications Room, a half-bath, and the mudroom also opened off the kitchen. Mudroom, a misnomer if she ever heard one. They were in the desert, an hour and a half southwest of Vegas. Beyond the wall surrounding the house was forty-five square miles of sand dunes and many more miles of Mojave Desert. Not much mud.
   
     “Make sure the guests all leave, then check the perimeter. I’ll watch these two.” The blond scanned the laundry room. Probably looking for weapons. She didn’t see any either. He then closed the door and poured himself a cup of coffee.
   
     This was her third dinner party at the Portero house in five weeks. Its layout suited Adele perfectly. She had easy access to the Communications Room and their main computer. The Portero people hadn’t caught her before. The Field Office planned to use her for continuing information mining. Tonight the goal was the Icarus File, a list of access codes. Low-level stuff, but useful. Continuing? Guess not.
   
     “I am so sorry, Adele. I didn’t know. But they pay well and their parties are small and easy to do.” Armand’s considerable bulk seemed to have melted onto the floor. “You’ve not been with me long. Honestly, I don’t usually have these problems.”
   
     “I know. I know.” She patted his shoulder then listened at the door. She couldn’t tell who was out there or what they were doing. “Can you get up?”
   
     He struggled to his feet.
   
     “We’ve got to get out of here.” Adele rolled up the extension cord and stuck it in her pocket. She got her smock out of the dryer and took a thumb drive out of its pocket. “Be ready to go when I get back.”
   
     “Aleksei, please,” she called.
   
     “What?”
   
     “I need to go to the bathroom.”
   
     He opened the door and stepped back. He stood relaxed, his gun holstered. He could easily watch both the door to the half-bath and to the laundry room.
   
     She flushed the toilet and ran water.
   
     As she walked back to the laundry room, she seemed to stumble. Aleksei, walking behind her, failed to stop and suddenly he was right against her.
   
     She stomped his instep with her full weight. Turning into him, she brought her knee into his groin. He went to the floor. Luckily for her he was face-down with the wind knocked out of him. She kneeled on his back and uncoiled the extension cord. Wrapping it around his neck, she pulled it tighter and tighter. It seemed to take forever for him to stop struggling. Kolya would be back soon.
   
     “Armand! Come on,” she called as she retrieved her phone from the dead man’s pocket. And his gun.
   
     Armand staggered from the laundry room. She grabbed his arm and dragged him through the back door.
   
     “Do you have your van keys?”
   
     “Keys?” he wondered. “Kolya took ‘em.”
   
     She pulled him to the gate in the wall and into the sand dunes beyond. They didn’t have much time.
   
     Less obvious than white in the moonless night, she could clearly see him in his black chef’s clothes against the sand. She got him to the back side of a small dune twenty yards from the wall.
   
     “Lie down.” She started scooping sand onto him. “Be still.” She didn’t have to completely cover him. Just muddy his lines, Camouflage 101.
   
     “Who are you?” he whispered.
   
     “Just a cook,” she whispered back. “But I have friends.” She waved the phone at him. “No matter what happens, be quiet. I won’t be far.”