Tate — Boston, MA
Swatling’s call found Tate in suite 2301 at The Westin Copley Place, in the middle of an acupuncture treatment. The acupuncturist, a beautiful Chinese-American woman, had arrived earlier in the evening to relieve Tate’s mounting stress. Tate was lying face up on the massage table as he put the phone to his ear.
“It’s not Carter,” Swatling said chillingly.
“What?” Tate said, sitting up. He grimaced from the nerve pain caused by his sudden muscle movement.
“The person attending the history conference at Stanford. It’s not Carter,” Swatling said, this time more loudly.
There was silence on the phone as Tate stood up; the towel covering him fell to the floor. He stood naked in the middle of the spacious suite. Acupuncture needles in his face, neck, and shoulders flopped about in every direction. He no longer felt the pain.
“Who is it?” he finally demanded. The acupuncturist attempted to give him a towel to cover himself, but he dismissed her.
“We don’t know yet,” Swatling said. “He’s disguised to look like Carter, but something didn’t seem right. Our people found a way to check his fingerprints when they made contact with him. It’s not him.”
There was more silence while Tate made his decision. “Find out who he is and what he knows about Carter. Then kill him. Our wait is over.”
“It may be premature to…”
Tate interrupted, “Not when you consider the context.”
“What are you talking about?”
“One of our FBI contacts called earlier to inform us that several CEOs from major corporations in the Boston area are under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Something’s scheduled to go down on Friday. That’s why I sent you the message to make contact with Carter. Kamin and Malouf are waiting for a conference call, but that won’t be necessary now. Carter has made the decision for us.”
“What about the other FBI informants?”
“It’s time to pull the plug, Bob. You know what to do. I’ll see you in seventy-two hours,” Tate said, finally looking over at the acupuncturist, who was now staring at him in fear.
Tate placed the phone down slowly. What had she heard? He’d uncharacteristically forgotten all about her. He began gently removing the acupuncture needles until one of them disturbed a nerve, causing him to flinch with pain. He ripped the rest of them out, leaving several bleeding pinholes on his face, neck, and shoulders. When he turned to look at himself in the full-length mirror, it was a reflection that disturbed him greatly.
The startled woman ran to the bathroom for a warm damp towel. As she tried to wipe away the blood on Tate’s neck and shoulders, he pushed her away and walked into the bedroom. When he returned, he held a long-barreled pistol in his hand. He fired it once into her head. She’s heard too much, and I feel like killing.
As Tate stood above her, watching the lifeblood ooze out of her body, he vowed to himself that he would never be caught. He immediately called Morita to activate their exit strategy. Then he called Kamin and Malouf to let them know about Carter. The partnership was no longer of any use to him. It would soon be exposed. His firm and his clients would have to fend for themselves. The only thing he could do now was to protect himself and his key relationships.
Twenty minutes later, a cleanup crew dressed in business attire arrived at suite 2301. Tate smiled as he watched them go about their work. With money you can buy anything in this world, he said to himself. Two men attended to the lifeless body of the acupuncturist while others cleaned the room. Two women escorted him to the bathroom where they began working on a new disguise-an artificial nose, raised brow with bushy eyebrows, new receding hairline, sandy blonde wig, and an extended chin were carefully put into place, transforming Tate in a matter of minutes into a completely different-looking person. When they were finished, Tate got dressed while going over the documents of his new identity.
Thirty minutes after they arrived, the cleanup crew exited the suite looking like a group of business associates who’d just concluded a late night meeting-some were going out for drinks while others were leaving to catch flights. Three suitcases carried the remains of the acupuncturist.