Chapter 32

Manassas, VA

In the fourth floor suite of the 5225 building, Melody Armstrong checked her off-net computer system and looked in on her source, Peter. Peter was slowly failing, and now needed continuous dialysis. The cocktail of psychotropic drugs that she administered almost around the clock had finally almost done him in. But the drugs did some good, too: they caused him to see into the future. Not reliably, but beggars can't be choosers.

She asked him again about the Gold Target – the man who was going to be her next 'source.' The Mexican-American former U.S. Navy SEAL that had somehow managed to defeat all her teams. "So far," she whispered to herself.

Peter said that the Target – who had 'no body' or 'nobody' – was now dead, although he was still alive. He was swimming in water, and there were now two of him. But he was dead. That made absolutely no sense, but most of Peter's ramblings made little sense these days. He was doing most of his mumbled talking about the Chicago Bulls. At least she thought it was about the Bulls. They were going to gore some horse, or occasionally die in the heat. One clear prediction for next year: the Cubs were going to lose 100 games again.

It was hot in her overheated apartment. It would be a good night to sleep al fresco, so fitting the action to the thought she went to the balcony and slid the large door open.

She arranged her diaphanous nightgown carefully and slid into bed. Melody thought a nightcap was in order, and so lifted the phone and ordered a 'special nightcap' to be delivered by Jacques St. Pierre.

Jacques, a Haitian hustler also known as 'Boi Martin, ' worked out of the nightcap delivery service, known to its employees as 'Guy (or Gal) on a Plate.' Melody was an extra good tipper and he was glad to take part of his night off for the money. Martin – sorry, 'Jacques' – was a large, powerfully built man who was well endowed. Melody would be well serviced tonight.

He arrived at 9:30 local time and came in through the back door. Melody particularly liked that euphemism, and the symbolism of having her sex toy come in through the rear. Not that Jacques would be getting any of that particular kink. No, Melody just wanted it straight and long and strong.

She went to the apartment door to let him in. While she did, a small, remote controlled, flying assassin flew in through the open balcony door and nestled in the shadows under a chair, in the corner. From there 'Ali' could see the bed.

Jacques came into the bedroom and immediately stripped. He proceeded to have sex with Melody in any way she wanted.

Three hours later, at about 1 a.m., Melody lay spent, on her back, barely conscious.

"That's it, Jacques. It was great. I'll remember it as long as I live," she said. "Close the door on your way out, honey."

Jacques collected the $1500 from the nightstand on his way out. The door snicked closed.

'I'll remember it as long as I live, ' echoed in the integrated circuits of Io, the killer. How prophetic.

Thirty minutes later, Melody fell asleep sprawled across the mattress. Two minutes after that, Ali struck, injecting a large bolus of air into her interior jugular vein, and then retreated to his hiding place. Twenty-eight seconds later Melody gasped and opened her eyes for the last time. She sat up, clutched her chest then collapsed back onto the bed. Ali flew out to the balcony again, his work done.

Dead. She was dead.

At 1:30 and 35 seconds in the early morning of January 17, Io began to strip her accounts of all liquid assets. The tally came to $639,421,530.29. Each account was funneled into an account in the Caymans, then to a Mexican bank, then to a Singapore bank, to a Lichtenstein bank, to a bank in Geneva and finally to Io's contingency fund on the Isle of Man in a bank wholly owned by Z&A Limited.

That contingency fund had grown nicely to a figure that approached $3.5 Billion. It would provide a good cushion for Zeus, Arti and their child, no matter the outcome of Zeus' injury in the west Pacific. He'd never have to sleep in a homeless shelter or under a bridge again.