Enclave - a thriller in progress

        The Comfort Suites in West Little Rock should have been safe.  I booked a room under an alias that took six weeks to build, so it was too soon to be on anyone’s radar, in case thy were looking, and seasoned enough to pass scrutiny.

        I flew into Bentonville on a regional airline, one of the smaller airbuses and rented a car under another AKA.

        My head was shorn to a buzz, and I was twenty pounds lighter, lost through running and diet.  All in all I should have been unrecognizable and hard as hell to follow.  So I was beyond shocked when the Russian walked in.

        The kids were playing in the water area, I had a pen and a notepad, but no firearm.  In hindsight, that was stupid.  Even something as innocent as watching my children play required constant vigilance.  It was one of the reasons I didn’t see them often enough, and the fact that he knew where I was and who I was with shot my concern-o-meter straight past the redline.

        “Kroquidil,” he muttered.

        His jaw was wired shut, impeding speech.

        “Dmitri.”

        We used code names, depending on the danger level.  Dmitri had just told me I was close to dead.

        I quickly considered jamming the pen into his eye and waiting for the satisfying pop that preceded the death gurgle.

        “Why are you here with those children?”

        “My God-children,” I said immediately.  “How did you find me?”

        “You’re only fifty miles from home,” the Russian chided.  “You often visit your grandmother around holiday.”

        I nodded but kept quiet.

        “The people who have been looking for you know this habit,” his cultured English held little trace of the Motherland’s accent.

        “Every year they set up a surveillance net to catch you.”

        “I didn’t go this year.”

        It was true.  I hadn’t gone in several years in fact.  I’d cut a lot of ties and changed more than a few habits.

        Apparently not enough.

        “Still doesn’t explain how you got here,” I said.

        Dmitri looked at the pen in my hand and quickly shifted back in his seat.  Out of reach.

        “Kroq…” he smiled.

        I hate to admit it, but I really liked the fear in his eyes.  It’s a part of myself I’ve grown to hate.

        “I used resources of my own,” he said.  “The desk clerk had your picture.”

        I went instantly on alert.  A wanted picture could cause a lot of problems.  My head raced with possible escape routes.

        “It was a standing research order,” he explained.  “A Ben Franklin solution.”

        I relaxed.  Barely.

        Dmitri had posed as a PI and paid the desk clerk who found me one hundred dollars.

        “Which con?”

        “A cheating husband,” he smirked.  “A specialty of mine.”

        Holly, my oldest at eleven, had watched the exchange.  She started to come over, but I glared and made a slight shake of my head.  I may not be around my kids much, but they can read me almost telepathically.

        “I won’t keep you from your...God-children.  I came to tell you that they know you are here.”

        “You should have started with that,” I growled.

        He held out a hand.

        “You have time,” he said.  “Otherwise I would have called to warn you.”

        “How much time?”

        “Tonight.  Perhaps tomorrow.”

        Plenty of time to disappear.

        “So why show up in person?”

        “To hire you,” his piercing blue eyes grew bright with tears.

        “I’m off the market,” I said to him.

        “I have warned you to save your children’s life,” he said.  “And I need you to save mine.”

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