Assassin - Chapter 3

"Special Agent Dawson speaking," came the voice through the phone.

"You are way too fuckin' formal, Ronny," Rain smiled into the mouthpiece.

"Rebecca? You're not supposed to report in for another two weeks. What's going on?"

"Fuck, Ron, you know I hate that name."

"Well, I thought Special Agent Raines was too 'formal' for your tastes," Ron teased.

"That's why I make everyone call me Rain. Just because I'm not there to slap the shit out of you right now doesn't mean I won't later," she warned, a feral grin causing her teeth to sparkle white in the dim light of the alley.

"Fine, Rain, just tell me why you're checking in so early?"

"I just got a ticket to the inner circle," she said, and waited for the information to sink in.

"What do you mean? How?"

"Carlotti liked my style, so he's sending me for some kind of training."

"Training? Wait, when did you meet up with Carlotti? I thought you were working for Rossi? They haven't had contact with each other in over a year."

"Yeah, well, some meeting came up with Spinella. He's dead, by the way. Unfortunately, they didn't actually talk about what they were talking about, though Carlotti admitted to having knowledge about some Senator's death. Senator Stone. It sounded like he hired the hit, but that's all inference, totally useless," she relayed her latest information before continuing. "Anyway, I'm supposed to wait to hear from one of Carlotti's people. And I don't know what the training is, but it sounds like it's gonna be a lot more intense than the bodyguard type stuff I've been doing," she commented.

"I know this is what we've all been waiting for, but..." Dawson hesitated.

"What."

"Well, you've been sounding more and more like, well, like one of them. 'Bodyguard type stuff'? I don't even think that's proper English. You've been undercover for three years—"

"So, what are you saying? You think I've gone native?" Silence answered her. "Oh, fuck you, Ron. My name is Rebecca Raines. I'm a Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'm investigating one Antonio Carlotti under the fictitious name Erica Raineri in an attempt to gain evidence concerning illegal acts that come under the heading of 'organized crime,' which comes under the jurisdiction of the Criminal Investigative Division of the FBI, the division that I happen to work in," Rain finished impatiently, as she fished in her pocket for a roll of antacid tablets.

"I'm sorry."

"I know where my loyalties lie, Dawson," Rain replied, as she angrily tore another section of foil and paper off the half-consumed roll and popped a couple tabs into her mouth.

"All right. I already said I was sorry. But you know I had to bring it up. It's happened before."

"I know. Look, don't worry about it. I'm fine. I'll check in at the regular time," she promised, and then clicked off the phone.

She slipped it into the pocket of her coat, and then checked the street, before exiting the alley. She needed to go home and get some sleep.

* * *

It was midnight when Case finally crossed state lines. She pulled over at the next truck stop she came to and brought out her cell phone. She hit the first memory button and waited.

"Doc," a deep voice came on the line.

He sounded a little impatient.

"Case, here. It's done. Package was delivered. Unfortunately, the receipt for delivery was lost due to a fire."

The plastique had destroyed the gun, as well as most of the hotel room, taking care of any useful evidence, including matching the bullet to the rifle. The explosives themselves would be traced back to an international supplier that would be an effective dead end.

Doc entered the information into his computer. The light from his monitor cast eerie shadows over his strong features. He smiled at the code phrases they were forced to use whenever they spoke. There was no way to tell if the smile ever reached his eyes because of the white computer screen image that was reflected from the lenses of his wire rim glasses.

"That's too bad." Case heard the clacking of a keyboard being used, and then Doc came back on the line. "Payment for delivery has been rendered. I'll be in touch," he said, just before the line went dead.

Case closed down the phone and walked into the diner and ordered a breakfast plate. She sat in a booth and tried not to think about anything in particular while she ate.

She finished her meal and paid the check, and then went to the back to use the restroom. Before leaving, she pulled the surgical gloves from her jeans pocket and stuffed them into the metal trashcan set aside specifically for disposing of used tampons and pads.

Once she was on the road again, she turned on the radio and found a station with music she knew and started singing along. After an hour though, she realized she was getting too tired to drive and pulled into the first motel she could find.

She brought her tote bag in with her, and then collapsed onto the bed. After a couple minutes, she got up, placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and undressed before turning on the television. She flipped through the channels, letting the TV settle on a news program that seemed to be repeating from earlier in the evening. As soon as she recognized the stage and the crowd, though, Case grabbed the remote again.

She flipped the channel and was happy to see that the porn station was part of the cable package that came with the room. She settled into the bed and tried to exhaust her libido. It really was an excellent diversion, and she finally passed out just as the sky was beginning to lighten.