Vengeance

12 BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

Standing outside the entrance to Camden Yards, home of the Baltimore Orioles, Lonnie Mixell checked his watch: 5:58 p.m.

Brenda Verbeck had provided an unusual meeting address, which Mixell assumed was where she planned to pick him up. With the Baltimore Orioles in spring training in Sarasota, Florida, the area around Camden Yards was sparsely populated, with only occasional passing pedestrians. The mostly empty sidewalk would be helpful, Mixell surmised, since Brenda likely had no idea who she was meeting — he was just a faceless name and alias on the dark web.

Even if she knew who he was, he had altered his appearance before venturing into public. His hair had been dyed black and his eyes were blue due to a pair of contacts. His cheekbone structure had been altered by implants wedged high in his mouth on both sides, and his jawline was more pronounced because of additional implants outside his lower teeth — on the sides and in the front. Despite the altered appearance, the face in the mirror in his hotel room had still been quite handsome, he had to admit.

At exactly 6 p.m., a black limousine cruised to a halt before him. The front passenger window slid down and the driver called out to him.

“What’s your name?”

“Mitch Larson.”

The rear passenger door opened automatically. Mixell approached the vehicle and peered inside, finding the limousine unoccupied aside from the driver.

“Get in,” the driver said. “I’ll take you to Mrs. Verbeck.”

After Mixell slid into the back seat, the door closed and the limo pulled back into traffic. Following a ten-minute drive deeper into Baltimore, the driver stopped alongside a block of small dilapidated storefronts.

The rear door opened again.

Mixell cast a curious look toward the driver, who pointed to a narrow stairway between two of the stores. He exited the car and made his way to the second floor, reaching the entrance to a restaurant. He entered a small foyer where he was greeted by an attractive Vietnamese woman wearing a red silk dress. After informing her that he was meeting Mrs. Verbeck for dinner, he followed the hostess through a busy dining area to a row of small rooms in the back, where he found Brenda waiting at a table for two, examining a menu.

The hostess handed Mixell a menu and departed, softly sliding the door closed behind her. Mixell took the seat across from Brenda, noting that it was quiet in the small alcove, with the only sound penetrating the door being the barely audible murmur of customer conversations.

Sitting across from Brenda, Mixell examined his potential employer. Before today, his closest view of her had been through the scope of his Steyr SSG 69 rifle. Up close, she was even more attractive, and there was a seductive quality to her that he couldn’t put his finger on. Perhaps it was the confidence exuded by a woman who always got what she wanted. Her forced resignation as secretary of the Navy must have stung.

“Before we get into the details,” Mixell said, “I want to ensure the payment amount wasn’t a typo. One hundred million?”

“Not a typo. Ten million up front, ninety upon task completion.”

There was a tap on the door, and it slid aside, revealing a waitress. She smiled demurely and placed two cups on the table, then filled them with tea. Brenda recommended several menu items, and after they placed their orders, the waitress departed, closing the door behind her.

“Do you eat here often?” Mixell asked.

“Not recently. But I used to eat here on occasion with my parents when I was a teenager.”

“I like the place,” Mixell remarked. “Nice ambiance, and I look forward to the food you recommended. In the meantime, how can I help you?”

“I must admit,” Brenda said, “that I have reservations about hiring you, considering your failure to complete my brother’s task.”

“That’s your brother’s fault, not mine. The ship carrying the centrifuges was sunk because your brother slipped up, letting U.S. intelligence decipher what he had sold to Iran.”

“True,” Brenda conceded.

“However, I did accomplish your previous task, eliminating the Navy Pentagon chief and your military aide when you were secretary of the Navy, plus making the murder of your protective agent look like an attempt to assassinate you.”

Brenda’s eyes widened, which caught Mixell by surprise — she apparently hadn’t known who had been contracted for the jobs.

“I didn’t make those arrangements,” she admitted. “An associate of mine did.”

“A mutual friend of ours?”

“Not anymore. He took a bullet to his head.”

“I see,” Mixell replied, wondering who the friend had been.

“Well, Lonnie,” Brenda said, using his real name, “I must commend you on your disguise.”

Brenda had pieced the information together, although they weren’t clues he had intended to provide. Authorities had identified Lonnie Mixell as the man who had attempted to assassinate the secretary of the Navy, and he had just revealed that he had been the man contracted for that job. Brenda knew she was sitting across from the most wanted man on the planet, but the revelation seemed not to faze the woman. Mixell’s thoughts returned to her concern about his failure to complete her brother’s task.

“I’ll admit that I don’t always succeed, and that my track record is about fifty-fifty. However, if you bat .500, you’ll make it into the Baseball Hall of Fame.”

“Quite true,” Brenda replied.

She reached into her purse and withdrew an envelope, which she handed to Mixell. Inside was an itinerary.

“Hopefully, this will aid your endeavor.”

It didn’t take long for Mixell to realize whose itinerary it was, with occasional departures from Joint Base Andrews aboard Air Force One.

“You want me to assassinate the president of the United States?”

“Can you do it?”

Mixell leaned back in his chair. He had tried once before and failed. He’d been only seconds away from success, thwarted only by the unexpected arrival of Harrison and his sidekick Khalila. Given a second chance, he was confident he could do it. But the plan would have to be a novel one, something unexpected that could penetrate the president’s protection.

“Getting even?” he asked.

Brenda nodded.

“I’m all about getting even,” Mixell remarked. “I’m working a similar task at the moment.”

“That’s the most satisfying type of endeavor, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Mixell agreed. Brenda was truly a woman after his own heart.

The waitress returned, bearing food. After she placed the dishes on the table and departed, Mixell waited for Brenda to start before digging in. After Brenda placed the first forkful in her mouth and swallowed, she smiled.

Mixell grinned in return. Perhaps, after he was finished with Brenda’s task plus his own, it would be time to settle down. Brenda’s husband might be an issue, but it was a problem that could be easily dealt with.