7 Kills + An Apple

Twelve: Worrisome Day

Kalypso Queen

"Get me on a flight to New York City. Tonight. One for me. One for the new vintner," I say, speaking to Tanya. I drop my purse on her desk, and then continue on into my office. "Don't forget a car. I prefer a sedan if possible."

"Yes, Miss Queen." Tanya rubs her eyes and then starts typing on her computer. She looks as if she hasn't slept last night.

The trip is probably only one day. It won't take too long, because I'm only inspecting the wine barrels at Huston Valley. James Worth mentioned some irregularities that I should personally take a look at, and that is more than enough to send me flying across the nation.

My personal phone—the iPhone—rings. I answer it right away. "Hello, this is Kalypso Queen. Who is this?"

"Diaz. I want to talk to you. Charlie's café. As soon as possible."

Then he hangs up on me.

***

At the café, I sit in the lonely corner. I check my messages. There are too many of them. Hundreds of emails pile into my inbox per minute, and I'm afraid I need Helen's help to get rid of them all. I sip my cup of hot green tea, savoring the taste.

"Thank goodness you are here," says the man. He is about forty-something years old, and he blends in easily. His black hoodie covers most of his face, but I know what he looks like. He pulls some thick folders from his backpack. "I think you want to know about this."

"About what?"

"Manuel Vargas."

I blink. I know a lot about him. He went missing over a month ago, and now, he is back. I sigh. "If you're telling me he's dead, I already know."

"How can you be sure?"

"I am sure."

Silence. Then he nods. "Okay, then we won't talk about that. I heard"—he puts another thick gray folder on the table—"about your recent acquisition. You can probably buy it for much less. You plan to buy the cheese farms for twenty million. Good deal, but if you barter, you can get it for fifteen million."

"Why fifteen?"

"Owner is desperate. His son has some drug problems."

I raise my eyebrow. "I don't care. I already signed the forms. Going back to the Board will be too much of a hassle. Have you found anything on the Board?"

"If they have any secrets, they hide them well," he answers.

"Anything else?"

"No," he replies. "Nothing else."

"I want you to look through a name. Tanya Johnson," I order, sliding a personnel folder on her across the table. "Security has done a standard background check on her. But I want you to go even further. You know what that means."

"Yes," he agrees. "If I find anything, I'll tell you. What has the junior assistant done now? Sitting in your chair, snooping around?"

"Snooping around my office. Looking into things she shouldn't be looking at. Security has warned me of possible corporate espionage." Then I sigh. "Thanks for your help."

He stands up, puts on his backpack, and pauses. "Do you want me to continue looking into the police's investigation on Vargas?"

"Yes."

"Got it." Then he exits the café, escaping through open doorway. He calls for a yellow taxi, and he is gone from my view.

Not once have I seen his face.

I sip from my cup and call my new vintner. Without letting him say hello, I growl, "Charlie's Café. Corner booth. Now."

Then I hang up.

***

He comes in twelve minutes. He must had been close by, because driving from the micro-winery to here takes about twenty-two minutes. His suit is worn and frayed at the hem, and I take a close look at him as he enters the café.

He is tall—six feet two according to his file. His brown hair reminds me of wine barrels, and his long nose turns left and right until his blue eyes find me. He quickly walks and sits at my table—all while being as humanly far as possible from me.

"You're early."

"I was in the neighborhood," he says.

"We're going to Huston Valley," I go on. I sip from my tea cup, and then continue on with my words. "It is in New York City. You're going to fly out tonight. Tanya will give you the details, and I expect you to be at the airport on time. You don't need to pack any clothes, but you're welcome too. Pack lightly."

"Anything else?" he asks.

"Yes, the winery in Huston Valley has—"

My iPhone rings. I pick it up to answer, but a long beat blares in my ear. I frown, and then I see an incoming text from a familiar name.

Mercedes Benz Dealership: Restroom. Emergency.

"I'll be back," I tell him, standing up and leaving my tea behind. I go to the back of the café and enter the restroom, pushing open the bamboo door. I lock it behind me, and I'm very unsurprised to see a girl sitting on the edge of the sink when I turn the lights on.

"Hello, Kalypso," she says. "How are you doing?"

"Mercedes," I groan. She is the last person I want to see, but she is right in front of me. No matter where I go, she will always find me.

Mercedes Bai is the most infamous grifter in the world. I hired her once to do a small job years ago, and she can never let that go. Now, she is hounding me again. I heard she is on the CIA list too many times for her own good.

"Kalypso," she sings. "I need your help."

"What do you need this time?"

"Your grandmother's jewels. And I might want to borrow a few bottles from your wine collection," she answers, wincing. "I'm sorry. But there is no one else who I can turn to. Don't worry. What I'm in isn't dangerous."

"Which means it is spectacularly dangerous," I translate. "What are you in this time? Don't tell me that your old best friend now wants to see your head on a spike."

"Not that," she says. "You shouldn't worry. If anything happens, Alliance Division will be able to cover your losses. We only want to borrow your possessions."

Alliance Division would be an organization that takes agents and officers from FBI, CIA, NSA, MI6, MI5, and every intelligence agency imaginable and turns them into an allied force. They have many projects under its umbrella, and this information shouldn't be privy to me. I'm an American citizen and a well-known businesswoman.

"Alliance Division?" I choke. "What...? Why are you working with them? You of all people would not work with them."

"They have my back."

"I don't think they do."

"They do."

"It doesn't matter." I pause. "But I'll tell you that I'll loan them to you. Don't get them lost, destroyed, or swapped with a fake. Combined, they are worth millions of dollars."

"Thank you," she softly whispers. "I also want to tell you that Alliance Division is still willing to recruit you. If you ever decide to stop being a businesswoman."

"They tried recruiting me when I was thirteen," I remind her. "I have to say no again. The business is too much a part of me. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Then the lights turn off for a three seconds.

When they turn back on, I'm unsurprised to find her gone and the tiny window swinging open and closed. That is Mercedes. She is good at what she does.