"Yes," Stupenagel said, trying to keep the glee out of her voice. Curiouser and curiouser. "This Inge talks with a foreign accent, right?"
Jimy looked at her in the rearview mirror as if she'd divulged a state secret. He nodded. "Yeah, I think she told me she's from Sweden."
Stupenagel snorted. "Sweden? That's what she's telling people? I'm sure you recognized the accent, and it wasn't Swedish."
"Sure," Jimy said, stealing another glance.
"Any idiot would peg it for at least Russian."
"She's Russian?"
"Chechen."
"A terrorist?"
"We think so," Stupenagel said. "Let's just say we're watching her. Mr. Ewen's going along for the ride, if you get what I mean?" She looked in the mirror and winked.
"Oh, yeah." Jimy grinned. "Nice work if you can get it. She's hot."
"She may also be a killer known in agency circles as the Lioness."
Jimy gulped audibly. "The Lioness?"
"Yes, sort of like the Jackal, who I'm sure you've heard of."
"Oh sure, I saw the movie."
"Then Mr. Ewen, the agency, and I can count on your discretion until the moment we're ready to move? At some point, you'll be free to tell anyone you want about tonight. Might even be a book in it, who knows? But right now, we don't even want Mr. Ewen to know when we're watching and when we're not so that he doesn't accidentally give it away that we're watching her. I'm sorry, Jimy…"
"Sorry? What for?"
Stupenagel bowed her head to hide a smile and let her voice become choked up. "Sorry that I may have put your life in danger. These people we're watching don't play nice."
The Adam's apple was working double time and the voice quavered, but Jimy managed to reply bravely, "That's okay. I was an Eagle Scout. I know how to keep a secret. And don't you worry about me. I've been taking tae kwon do with Master Kim Soo. I'll be a brown belt this summer."
"I'm so relieved," Stupenagel said. God, are you milking this one, Ari, but where are you going to find an audience like this guy again. "You looked like someone who could take care of himself. I just…well, never mind."
Jimy nodded. Some things are understood between a man and a woman. He maintained his silence manfully for the rest of the drive. On the wooded outskirts of Bolton Landing, he slowed the car down.
Looking ahead, Stupenagel saw the headlights of Ewen's car as it turned and began to wind its way back toward the lake and a huge log house. "Pull over and turn the lights off, I want to make sure we're not followed," Stupenagel ordered.
About the same time, her cell phone buzzed its special code for Murrow. "Hi, Honey Buns," she answered. She looked up and saw a quizzical look on Jimy's face. "Code name for Agent Murrow," she whispered.
She covered the telephone and said to Jimy, "Our cover is that we're a married couple, so a little of the mushy stuff is necessary just in case someone's listening. If you saw Agent Murrow, you'd understand we're not exactly a match made in heaven." Jimy gave a small tilt of his head to indicate he understood and slumped down in his seat to keep watch on the house. She spoke into the telephone again, "That'll work, Agent Murrow. Here, I'm going to let you talk to Jimy Murphy. He's my handsome young taxi driver; he'll give you directions."
She paused, then spoke again. "Just listen to Jimy for now, Agent Murrow, I'll explain the scenario when I see you. These lines are not secure. I repeat, these lines are not secure."
Stupenagel passed her telephone forward. "Would you please tell Agent Murrow how to find us?"
When Jimy finished giving instructions, he handed the telephone back without looking. "What next?"
"I'm going to get out and stand guard until Agent Murrow can back me up," she said.
"You want me to wait?" Jimy asked. He could tell she liked him, and despite the code names, he doubted two agents who worked together would also be shacking up.
"Only until Agent Murrow arrives, so you can tell him the direction I went," she said. She saw the disappointed look and knew what it meant. "Please, don't try to follow me. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, Jimy. Murrow, well, he's not much to look at, but he's a trained assassin."
Jimy nodded but said nothing. She heard him sniffle and wondered if he was crying.
"There is one last thing you can do for me," she said. "But I can't order you to do this, it's too dangerous…"
"No, please, ask."
"After I get out, I need you to get somewhere public…like a bar or a restaurant, as far away as you can get, but you have to get there quickly-ten minutes max. And make sure you're seen by people and that they know the time."
Jimy looked confused. "Why?"
"Your alibi, silly," she said, getting out. She leaned in the window and gave Jimy a quick kiss on the cheek. "And thank you…for everything."
There were definitely tears in his eyes now. "I'll never forget you," he croaked. "No matter what happens to me."
"Au revoir, mon ami," Stupenagel said, stepping back from the taxi.
"Goo…good-bye. But wait…I don't even know your name."
"Lauren," she said. Sheesh, straight out of Casablanca. "Now wait until Agent Murrow arrives, point him in the right direction, then drive like the wind. But keep your lights off until you're out of sight of the house."
Stupenagel ran across the street, hopped the rail fence, and, sticking to the tree line on the outside of the property, made her way to the back of the house. She ran the last few yards from the trees until she was standing in the shadows beneath a back deck that overlooked the lake. Nice pad, she thought, looking out at the dock in the backyard to which a brand-new thirty-five-foot sailboat was tied. Cool million at least. Not bad for a union boss; wonder what the rank and file would think.
The deck lights came on, nearly giving Stupenagel, who thought she'd been discovered, a heart attack. But it was just Ewen, Lindahl, and Carney stepping out for a cigar.
"Sorry to make you fellas light up out here but the little woman insists."
"I sure wouldn't want to piss her off on a cold night," Carney said. "That's some little doxie you got stashed up here away from the missus."
"Yeah, she ain't half bad." Ewen chuckled. "Met her on a flight to Stockholm. She was a stewardess…wouldn't have nothin' to do with my ugly mug until I started flashing hundreds. That's when there was a definite attitude adjustment and it's been 'Harry, hold your horses' ever since. Dumb as a stick and barely speaks the language but she likes the bump and grind as long as I keep the presents coming. Don't bother me. I got money, she's got what I want; it's a nice arrangement."
The men puffed on their cigars for a minute, sending a blue cloud into the starry night. Carney again broke the silence. "Nice little fishing lodge."
"I like it. I hear your place in the Keys ain't half bad either," Ewen replied.
The two laughed and turned to Lindahl. "Hey, Sam, what are you doing with your share? Got yourself a little young thing stashed away in a 'fishing lodge'?"
Lindahl ignored the chuckles. "I don't like this. I don't trust those two niggers or that Russian faggot. If somebody saw us all together we'd be dancing pretty damn quick to explain it."
Ewen rolled his froggy eyes. "Nobody likes working with them three," he said. "But we're hundreds of miles away from the city. We needed to sit them down and make sure we're all on the same page with that fucker in the DA's office, Newbury, and his little Goody Two-shoe investigators poking their nose in old business where they don't belong. Then that bitch Marlene Ciampi calls you and that fat fuck Louis and says she's been 'retained' as a private investigator by Repass and Russell and wants to see the files. Couldn't you have told her 'thanks, but no thanks'?"