“No family I know of, and the girls around the club were the only friends I saw her hang out with. But I can’t help you there either — those girls are scattered to the winds. I’m lucky to hang on to someone for two or three years.”
“Is there anything else you remember that might be helpful? Where she went to next? What she might be doing now?”
“She said she was paying her way through college, going to have a respectable life. But I’d take that with a grain of salt. Her story was the same as every stripper. Deep down, they’re all good girls working nights to pay for college or to put food on the table until they get that big break in their acting or dancing career. At least that’s what they tell the guys.”
“Got it,” Harrison replied.
As he searched for another line of questioning that might produce a lead, the manager asked, “So why all the sudden interest in this stripper?”
Harrison was surprised by the manager’s question. “What do you mean, all the sudden interest?”
“A woman was in here earlier today, asking the same questions.”
“Did you get her name?”
Reed shook his head. “But she’s hard to miss — a tall Arab chick. A real looker. I offered her a job and she gave me a look to kill. Daggers for eyes, that girl. Know her?”
“Maybe,” Harrison replied, although he was sure it was Khalila. Why was she running down this lead, and why without him? Was she trying to help, or was she trying to get to the stripper before he did? If the latter, what were Khalila’s plans if she caught up to her?
As usual with Khalila, there were more questions than answers.
Harrison pulled a Bluestone Security business card from his wallet and handed it to the manager. “If you remember anything that might be helpful, give me a call.”
62
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
Lonnie Mixell sat at the table in the warehouse, working into the evening as he set up the last element of his plan. The three displays were energized and connected to video feeds from the cameras he had placed the previous day, and he tweaked the angles and played with the zooms, adjusting each camera to the optimum settings.
Everything was proceeding smoothly. His biggest concern had amounted to nothing. Earlier today, he had climbed inside the CONEX box and checked out the equipment. It energized without any issues, and instructions had been provided as requested. He had spent the better part of the day reviewing the procedures. As Futtaim said, the instructions were easy to follow.
The warehouse’s heavy metal entrance door began to grind open, and Mixell turned to find the realtor, Sandy Perry, stepping inside. As he wondered how she unlocked the door, he remembered he had rented and not purchased the warehouse, and Sandy still had a key.
She pushed the door closed, then greeted Mixell. “I hope I’m not intruding. I was in the area and thought I’d stop by. No one answered my knock, but the lights were on, so I thought I’d check to be sure.”
Mixell realized he must have missed her knock as he concentrated on the camera adjustments.
“I was hoping you were available,” she said, “because… Well, you know. I thought we had a great time the other day.” As Mixell rose to greet her, she asked, “Are you busy?”
He was indeed busy, and was also quite irritated at her unrequested return, but his annoyance quickly faded as his eyes swept over her body.
She had come to please. She wore tight jeans, and despite the cold weather, a stomach-baring halter top clinging to her breasts. Her hair was neatly arranged and her lips glinted with freshly applied strawberry-colored lipstick.
“I am busy,” he answered, “but could use a break.” He flashed a smile.
She returned the smile and moved toward him. As she approached, she glanced over his shoulder, then gave Mixell a curious look. Her eyes shifted to the left and she stopped, standing there with an air of uncertainty.
Mixell suddenly realized the displays were still energized, and she had noticed what his cameras were monitoring. There was also a pistol lying on the table.
Sandy Perry had seen too much.
She realized it as well.
“If this is a bad time,” she said, her voice quavering, “I–I can come back later.”
Mixell started toward her.
“Actually, now — now that I think about it, I need — I’ve got an appointment in a half-hour.”
She began backing toward the door.
“I really shouldn’t have used my key. I–I’m so sorry. I–I’ll be going now.”
Sandy turned to leave, but the door was heavy and opened slowly. Mixell closed the remaining distance and placed a firm hand on the door before it opened wide enough for Sandy to slip outside. He pushed it shut as he wrapped his other arm around the woman’s waist and pulled her close. He kissed her on the lips as he let his hand move slowly down her ass. When she didn’t respond to his touch, he realized, with some amusement, that she was too afraid to move.
Sandy’s fate was sealed, but he couldn’t waste the opportunity to toy with her.
“Actually, this is a bad time, and I regret what happened between us the other day. You see, I’m in a committed relationship and it would be unfortunate if word got out that I’ve been messing around. My soul mate is the jealous type, and I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”
“I–I won’t say a word. I promise. No one will find out.”
“You’re right,” Mixell replied. “No one will find out.”
He had no weapon on him — his pistol was on the table — but considering the victim, he didn’t need one.
He spun Sandy around and pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the wall.
“PLEASE! I WON’T TELL ANYONE!”
Mixell grabbed her head with both hands and twisted it forcefully, turning her face around toward his. Her body squirmed as she tried to break free, her neck muscles straining as she fought the rotation. She tried to speak, but the force on her jaw from Mixell’s hands prevented her from talking. He could tell she was pleading for her life, but the only thing he heard was a desperate whimper.
As her head twisted slowly toward him, he saw the pain on her face and the panic in her eyes. He leaned in for a lingering kiss, then pulled back and twisted her head with all his strength until her neck gave way with a sickening sound of shredding tendons and cartilage.
She dropped to the floor when he released her, and he knelt beside her as she stared at him. She was paralyzed but still conscious, and she opened her mouth to scream. Mixell placed a hand over her mouth and nose, suffocating her, watching the illumination fade from her beautiful hazel eyes.
63
MAD FOX ZERO-FOUR • K-561 KAZAN
The P-8A Poseidon, call sign Mad Fox zero-four, cruised at thirty thousand feet, circling above its station in the Gulf of Mexico. The P-8A, a modified Boeing 737-800ERX, was the replacement for the venerable P-3C Orion submarine hunter aircraft, sporting an array of technological improvements coupled with next-generation GPS-capable sonobuoys and a significant enhancement in weapon payload. The P-8As carried five HAAWCs (High Altitude ASW Weapon Capability) — MK 54 torpedoes with wing kits. Once the torpedo was ejected, the HAAWC’s wings popped out and guided the torpedo, changing its descent angle and course as required, aiming for a GPS coordinate in the ocean.
Despite the improvements incorporated into the P-8A, there had been two steps backward in the new aircraft’s design. The first was that the P-8As lacked the magnetic anomaly detection equipment carried aboard its predecessor, since it patrolled at a much higher altitude, and the second was a minor but somewhat annoying deficiency: Lieutenant Commander George Stringer, the crew’s Tactical Coordinator or TACCO, in charge of the personnel in the aircraft’s cabin, had no window to look through.