We entered a quiet bar on the Upper West Side not far from the park. My companion found us a bar table in a corner at a comfortable distance from other people in the bar.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked me.
“A large Coke and some water, please,” I told him. After forty minutes of hard running, my throat was parched.
“Coming right up.” He walked up to the bar counter. As I watched him order our drinks, I thought about how he was the person who had purchased that twenty-pack to train with me. His name was Ian Armory and he was a naturalized Englishman, born and raised in London, hence the accent. He’d told me all this on our way over to the bar.
I had begun to believe he wanted me to stay alive. I couldn’t wait to hear more about who he was and how he knew my real identity.
He returned to the narrow bar table with three large glasses in his hands—water, Coke, and a foaming beer. He placed the water and the Coke in front of me and kept the beer.
“Thanks,” I said and chugged all of the big water. As I lowered the glass and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand in an unladylike manner, I caught him staring at me, amused.
“What?” I demanded.
“Thirsty much?”
I just looked at him. “Not anymore.”
He chuckled. “That’s good.” He took a seat on the stool opposite me. He rested both his elbows on the table top and kept gazing at me, covering the lower part of his face with his hands. The thin beard was gone, which made him look less rugged and more polished. I noted that he had interesting eyes, a mixture of grays, blues, and greens, even brown. In fact, they seemed to be shifting in color every few seconds.
“I’m all ears,” I said when he didn’t speak. What was he waiting for?
He lowered his hands and shook his head, seeming almost embarrassed. “Sorry. Yes, of course. I’m just amazed that I’m finally about to talk to you.”
I frowned at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been wanting to connect with you for the longest time. I’m a fan of yours. Ever since your work taking down Cardoza.”
I sat up straighter in my chair. “How do you know about that?” I leaned closer to him. “Should I know who you are?”
“Not really. I used to be an FBI special agent, and for the last eight years I was stationed in different cities in Europe, doing undercover work. You have no reason to be familiar with my work the way I’m with yours. I happened to be in New York when the sting operation involving the coke delivery and Southeast Airlines took place, so I was called in to be part of it. That’s how I know who you are. I watched you shoot that thug who was threatening to shoot Angela.” He smiled and his eyes glittered. “Your aim’s great.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, I’ve been following your career since that day. Like I said, I’m something of a fan of yours. You’re a very, very good cop. Someone I wanted to get in contact with.”
“Uh-huh. Just how much have you been wanting to get in contact with me?” I narrowed my eyes at him, not sure I was liking the turn this conversation was taking. Had he been stalking me? It was beginning to sound like that.
“Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker.” He patted my arm. “I can tell from the way you’re looking at me this is what you’re wondering right now. I’ve only been following your career from afar, reading about your quick rise within the LAPD. It’s unprecedented.”
I drank some of my soda. “Yes, I know. So if you’re not a stalker, how come you showed up at Nikkei and stared at me? Twice. And looking like you were royally pissed off with me for some inexplicable reason the first time.”
“The fact that I’m here in New York and a member at Nikkei has nothing to do with you. It was pure coincidence that I sat at that table that day and spotted you. I apologize if I made it seem like I was mad. I wasn’t. I remember having cramps in my legs from having run twelve miles the other day and not hydrating myself properly. As a trainer, I’m sure you know how common it is to get leg cramps due to dehydration. I was probably having one the moment I spotted you. I was just hurting. I make faces when I’m in pain.”
“Leg cramps, huh.” I thought about his explanation. I guess it was possible his scowling face had been due to pain.
“Precisely.”
“I see. But you’re saying you immediately recognized me then?”
I prayed this wasn’t the case as that would mean my cover must suck.
“No. I just thought that you looked very much like Gabi Longoria, the cop I admired so much who used to be undercover as a blond Swedish trainer at Nikkei. It was only when I noticed you stalking me”—he raised a triumphant eyebrow at me—“as I was heading to a meeting that I started to wonder if you might in fact be Gabi. I saw you in one of the windows on the building at the other side of Fifth Avenue while crossing that street. One is like a mirror. I made some phone calls afterward and found out about your husband having been murdered.” He paused and every trace of triumph disappeared from his face. “I’m so, so sorry about what happened.”
I looked down into my drink, my chest feeling tight. “Thank you. Go on.”
Ian cleared his throat. “When I heard that you’d been put on paid leave and was supposedly no longer in the country, I was sure you were Gabi. I bought the sessions so I could get in touch with you, talk to you. But I’m glad I decided to follow you tonight. It wasn’t very smart of you to go out running so late in the park.”
I exhaled. “Yeah, it was probably not my brightest moment. But I thought I’d be okay since I had my gun with me. I was wrong. Thanks for saving me. Why did you decide to follow me tonight anyway?”
“I was wondering what you were thinking going out running so late. I was walking home from Nikkei and spotted you running toward the park. I thought I might as well go after you. I’m a good runner and I was already in athletic gear, so I had nothing to lose. You didn’t notice me being after you then?”
“Can’t say I did. I’m glad you decided to go after me, though, I have to admit.”
He nodded and put the dead man’s wallet on the table between us and opened it, removing the driver’s license inside. He held it up as he studied it. When he was done, he handed it for me to look. I took it and studied it as well. It was a New York state license and the man’s name was Felix Bose. That did not sound very Hispanic to me.
I put the card down and looked at Ian.
“Do you know who this might be?” I asked. “Because I have no clue.”
“I have my suspicions.”
I raised my brows. “You do?”
“Yes. I think he has something to do with The Adler Group.”
“What? Why would someone from Adler want to assault me?”
“Because you were married to Nick.” Ian looked at me with fire in his eyes suddenly.
I frowned again. “Because I was married to Nick? I’m totally lost. What are you talking about?”
Ian had a large sip of his beer and then placed his elbows on the table, leaning closer to me. “I told you I used to be an FBI special agent. I was fired because I was on to them.”
“You were on to them?”
“Yes. A select part of the government is working with The Adler Group in an attempt to change the world according to their worldview. They’re trying to create a master race in labs and have been doing so for years. Lots of their products are out there already.”
I tried not to start laughing. It sounded to me like this guy had watched a few too many episodes of the X-Files. But the way he was looking at me, eyes burning with passion—crazed eyes—I didn’t think it was a good idea to let out a big guffaw. Also, he knew too much about me. So I controlled myself and said in a light tone, “Really? And how exactly does Nick fit into this picture? He never mentioned a thing about The Adler Group and government conspiracies to me. You’d think that he would have. We were very close.” I swallowed hard.
“Yes. If he’d known the people he was dealing with were part of The Adler Group, I’m sure he would have shared it with you. But unfortunately he was killed before figuring that out.”
“What people?”
“The week before he died he was working on a case involving burglars. Do you remember?”
I thought back to that week and Ian was right; Nick had been working on a burglary case of a government agency. But so what? It was nothing unusual. I told Ian this.
“Look,” Ian said. “If he’d have found out exactly what the burglars had been looking for, he would have known that Adler was involved. The Adler Group and the government faction don’t want anyone to know what they’re up to, for obvious reasons. They had to take precautions, so they killed him.”
“But if that’s the case, why would they go through all the horrible”—I took a moment to regain my bearings as images of Nick’s death suddenly filled my head—“torture before killing him? Why put him through all that and risk being caught?”
“They wanted to make it seem like the Cardoza cartel was behind it somehow. And they succeeded, didn’t they? Here you are, pretending to be someone else so you can find out who ratted out Nick, while the LAPD is doing the same back in L.A.”
His eyes gleamed with confidence. Too much confidence. I was getting increasingly convinced something was seriously wrong with this guy, and that was the real reason he’d been fired from the FBI. As soon as I got back home, I’d research him online and ask George to help me if I couldn’t get to the bottom of it on my own.
“Okay,” I said. “But then they got what they wanted, right? They wanted everyone to think someone tied to Cardoza is behind Nick’s murder and that’s what we all believe. So why assault me now?”
“I didn’t say I know for sure this guy’s attached to The Adler Group. I only said I had my suspicions. The motive for the assault would be to get rid of you for the same reason they got rid of Nick—if you keep hanging around Nikkei long enough, you might learn things about The Adler Group they don’t want anyone to know. They probably didn’t realize who you really were when they first hired you, but somehow found out. If they now know who you are, they’re well aware that you’re bright and an extremely good investigator. In other words, it’s only a matter of time before you unravel the truth. But again, it’s of course possible Felix Bose has nothing at all to do with The Adler Group.”
I nodded like I was totally with him. “Interesting… Hey, I need to get going. I have to be back at the club at seven a.m. in the morning and it’s getting late.” I got to my feet. “Thanks again for saving me. How about we talk more about this when I train you?” I gave him a smile. “You’re still gonna use those twenty sessions you bought to train with me, right?”
He stood up as well. “Yes, absolutely. Could we train the day after tomorrow? Sometime in the middle of the day?”
“Sure. I called the number on the sheet my manager gave me and left a message.”
“Yeah, I heard. I’ll text you tomorrow morning with some times to train. Would that be okay?”
“That sounds perfect. Okay, well, I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.” I waved to him and left the bar.
I jogged back home as soon as I was out the door and on the street. Only when I was entering my apartment building did I realize I was still in possession of Ian’s gun. It was tucked into my waistband, safely hidden from the world because of my baggy sweater.
Well, I suppose I’ll give it back to him after our training session, I thought, chuckling a little as I took the elevator up to my apartment.
When I walked inside, I dashed over to my laptop and googled “Ian Armory FBI agent.”
The screen was soon filled with several hits containing both subjects. I clicked on one of the first links, the one that said Ex-FBI Agent Busted, Claimed It Was Really an Undercover Operation.
According to the article, FBI Special Agent Ian Armory had been let go because of alcohol and drug abuse and was later involved in a small burglary. He was sentenced to ten months in prison and served five of them. He was released December 2014.
It was late March 2015 now.
There were a couple more articles, describing roughly the same events. One was from the Washington Post, so I had no reason to doubt their veracity.
I shut down my computer and went into the bathroom to take a shower.
As I let the warm water spray over my tired body, I thought about what I would say, how to act around Ian Armory when I saw him the next time. When we were training. This crazy drug addict obviously was determined to be part of my life, having bought that twenty-pack. Had I known what I knew now, I wouldn’t have sounded so eager to train him even if I could use more clients.
I sighed heavily as I shampooed my hair. Just what I needed, an ex-FBI agent/ex-con with serious conspiracy fantasies. As if my life wasn’t complicated enough already.
Well, I’d find a way to deal with it just as I had found a way to deal with Nick’s horrible death. Ian Armory was just a minor bump in the road that I would survive. It was really no big deal. As I considered the situation some more, I should really be happy. At least he would train with me. That was one less client to hustle for. I really did need every single client that came my way at the moment if I planned on staying at Nikkei what with all the competition.
Yes, it was all good, I told myself as I wrapped myself in one of my big, fluffy bath towels. All I needed to do was humor Ian and I was good to go. I walked over to my couch and plopped down, sprawling over it while closing my eyes.
But no matter how much I kept trying to convince myself how convenient it was that crazy ex-agent Ian had shown up in my life all of a sudden, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something didn’t compute—the fact that a man had assaulted me tonight with the intent to kill me. A man who most likely wasn’t Hispanic.
If Felix Bose wasn’t tied to the Cardoza cartel, why had he wanted to see me dead? This guy had been a professional, not a random thug. I had been in law enforcement long enough to be able to distinguish between amateurs and professional criminals, and this one had known what he was doing.
Maybe Ian Armory wasn’t quite as crazy as I wanted him to be.
Maybe all that he had told me tonight was in fact the truth.