Michele Bravo Playing With Fire, Chapter 15

I.

Keller reached into his inner pocket and drew out a small spiral notebook and a thin gold pen.

“Alright, gentlemen,” he said, “You heard the lady. Fill me in on Alain Pretorius. The full biography, everything you know about him. Start at the beginning, go on to the end, and then stop.”

Jan Janasz took out a handkerchief, wiped his brow, and then began to speak. Keller listened intently. At the same time, when he wasn’t taking down notes, his eyes flickered between Janasz and Adams, noting their body language. Janasz seemed nervous and ill-at-ease, Adams, self-absorbed, as if he wasn’t even paying attention to what was going on in the room. Occasionally he’d smile, at some thought in his head, Keller assumed.

When it is one’s job to capture a criminal, as it was for Keller and the rest of the agents at the Special Criminals Task Force, one learned how to profile him…or her. The same type of profiling was used if one wanted to kill someone, and get away with it. Keller, therefore, was on familiar ground as he took down notes of the background and proclivities of this Alain Pretorius.

But he was also making notes of Janasz and Adams, since his whole purpose here was to somehow prevent Taran Tula, or Marguerite Zelle as she was now calling herself, from successfully completing this assassination. To do that, he would also have to deal with repercussions, if any, from Janasz and Adams. Adams seemed to be a self-absorbed individual..indeed, Keller wasn’t sure precisely what his role was in this scenario. Janasz seemed to be completely in charge. If so, very foolish of him to have added a second person, this Adams, into the mix, when going about soliciting the assassination of his partner.


II.

Michele Bravo, meantime, was driving toward Sydney in the yellow convertible and loving every minute of it. What a glorious, glorious car. What a glorious feeling, with the wind whipping through her hair. She didn’t drive convertibles as a rule, all her cars were dark colored, old, slightly battered looking, so that she would always look as innocuous as possible. It was certainly nice to be driving such as sweet car for a change.

One day, one day when she retired, she’d have a car like this…

She arrived at the hotel, packed up her bags and those of Gus Keller, and summoned a bellhop to help her carry them down and stow them into the convertible. Then she settled the bill (leaving a generous tip in the suite for the maid) and headed out once more toward Dover Heights.


III.

Gus Keller took out his pajamas and slipped into them, leaving the rest of his clothing packed away in the suitcase. Taran Tula must have a military background, he thought. All of his clothes, slacks and shirts, were not folded flat, but rather rolled up into tight little cylinders. That supported his contention that her real identity was that of Michele Bravo… except Bravo had just been a military brat, not in the military herself. Would her father – who had been in the military – have taught her to fold her clothes in such a way?

He opened the curtains on the large picture window…out there was the ocean, and he could see the luminescent foam on the rollers. What a romantic sight…too bad he wasn’t out on the veranda…or whatever they called it in Australia, with Taran Tula at his side, drinking and kissing and making love…

Tula had returned with their suitcases, and then had told Keller that he could give her the information on Pretorius first thing in the morning, as it was so late. And all of them had separated and gone to their separate bedrooms.

Gus Keller sighed. He was in over his head. He knew it. But he could do nothing but continue on. He was not without skills, and though he may lack experience, he was certainly getting that quickly enough. The thing was just to stay alert, stay “frosty,” and be ready to take advantage of any opportunity offered.

He went to bed, and that night he dreamed of Taran Tula.