“This is amazing. What’s in this?” Blayne asked.
“A little of this, a little of that.”
“I didn’t have that much here. How did you throw this together?” Blayne asked as he forked another mouthful in.
Ethan followed suit. The flavor combination in the omelet was unlike any he’d tasted before.
“You’d be amazed at how a well-trained chef can make a five-star meal with the barest ingredients.”
“You’re a chef?” Ethan asked.
“In another life.”
“I take it you’re Richardson,” Blayne asked as he took a bite of toast.
“So, you have heard of me?”
“We’ve met your friends,” Blayne said noncommittally. “How do we know you are who you say you are?”
“You don’t, but since you didn’t call anyone or even try to call someone, you’ve already made that determination.”
“True,” Blayne said.
“This is pretty remarkable,” Ethan commented. “Tell us about yourself.” He didn’t mean to say that, but he felt like he was having a pleasant breakfast, which was the most natural thing to say.
“For obvious reasons, I won’t tell you much, but I’ve worked for The Foundation for several years. I was recruited while I was in culinary school studying to be a chef. After…training, my first assignment was to liquidate one of my professors.”
“Liquidate?” Ethan asked.
“Liquidation, in simple terms, involves closing a company and selling off assets to generate cash, typically to settle outstanding debts. In my world, it’s not a company we’re closing, it’s someone’s existence on this planet. Someone has either committed great atrocities or been found guilty of a heinous crime against the United States. When that person is untouchable by the US government for whatever reason, we step in and ensure the debts are settled.”
“How does that philosophy mesh with you taking out an airliner to destroy Ethan’s phone?”
“Hennigan told you about that?” The woman raised one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows thoughtfully. “She trusts you more than I expected. You don’t know how special that makes you two.” Neither man said anything, so Richardson continued. “I don’t give the liquidation orders. I execute them. I’m very good at what I do. Take the professor I was talking about. He was a contract Russian assassin. Because of his culinary skills and association with my college, he could travel the world. He was a renowned chef, so he easily slipped in and out of countries executing people on behalf of the Russian government. Then he made the mistake of killing a member of the British parliament who was the deciding vote on a matter that involved both the United States and the Russians. The member of parliament who was executed was more favorable to US interests. It was determined that he needed to die—and I, his student, would be the tool of his execution.”
“Was it hard to kill someone you knew like that?”
“He was like a father to me. But no, after I read his record, I became aware the world was safer without him. I had no qualms about killing him. I used NeuroCelerin, a swift-acting neurotoxin. He would taste our work, so getting him to taste my food was never a problem.” Ethan shot Blayne a quick look. “Don’t worry. It’s a fast-working toxin. If I had poisoned you two, you’d already be dead. Anyway, the night before, we had a party on campus and all my peers were there, so I ensured they all ingested the antidote. That way, anyone who tasted my food would already have the antidote running in their systems. My professor died just as planned. The medical examiner wrote it up as a heart attack because NeuroCelerin can only be detected if you’re looking for it. The chemical agent doesn’t appear on a standard tox screen if you’re not specifically seeking it. It’s one reason it’s so popular in my line of work.” She glanced between Blayne and Ethan. “Where are they?”
Chapter Fourteen
Agent Murphy
Dear God, I’ve entered the third rung of hell, Murphy thought as her plane touched ground at the Ann Lee Doran Memorial Airport. They hadn’t flown into the town’s larger Rick Husband Amarillo International Airport because they wanted to get in and out of the area quickly with little fuss and even fewer eyes on the operation. The plane taxied around the runway before stopping in what looked like the middle of a field. Security at this little airport was nonexistent.
The air was clean and empty. That’s one thing she could say for West Texas. They didn’t have the haze of a larger city. Blue sky stretched in every direction, not a cloud in the sky. Around them was nothing but a sea of concrete or dirt. Why anyone in their right mind believed this was a great area to settle was beyond her.
“Welcome, Agent Murphy.” A man stepped out of a building, looking every bit the stereotype of a West Texas lawman. He wore the standard FBI black suit but had a silver bolo tie that glinted in the mid-morning light. He also had a white cowboy hat sitting on his head.
“Agent Mitchell, I presume.”
“Please, call me Big D. Everybody does.” He extended his hand, and she shook it once firmly. Agent Michael Davis was the Special Agent in Charge of the Dallas Field Office, which covered Dallas and most of northern and West Texas. “Let’s get to the staging area. It’s about a twenty-minute whirlybird ride as the crow flies.”
Murphy just looked at him, understanding about fifty percent of what he said. When he started leading her toward a helicopter, she got the gist. “Who’s coordinating efforts on the ground?” she asked.
“One of my agents from the Amarillo office is coordinating efforts on this side. There are two different complexes we’re raiding. There’s one just outside Texline and another in the middle of nowhere on the New Mexico side. Ben and Laura Lee Jackson own the one on the Texas side. The other is owned by William Johnson. That operation is being coordinated by agents from the Albuquerque Field Office.” He stopped and turned to look at Murphy. “Have you met Euphrasia Via?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
