It was just before 8 a.m. when the last passengers aboard Air France Flight 21 trudged into Terminal B at Dulles International Airport, toting an assortment of carry-on bags, backpacks, and sleeping infants. For the most part, the travelers felt as tired as they appeared after the overnight nine-hour flight, except for a man near the back of the line, who pretended to rub the sleep from his eyes.
Although he shuffled along with the rest of the passengers, Lonnie Mixell felt quite refreshed, which was remarkable since his journey had been much longer: a three-flight trip from Baku, Azerbaijan, to Bucharest, Romania, then on to Paris for the final leg to the United States—all preceded by a winding drive through Syria, Turkey, and Armenia.
The extra precautions had been necessary. After Harrison caught up to him in Syria, Mixell realized the facial recognition programs had access to far more cameras, and could process the images faster, than he had expected. As a result, he’d begun his journey back to the United States far from Syria, and with a notably altered appearance.
He stopped in a bathroom, and after relieving himself and washing his hands, looked into the mirror. His hair had been dyed black and was now streaked with gray, and his eyes were blue due to a pair of clear-vision contacts. His cheekbone structure had been altered by implants wedged high in his mouth on both sides, and his jawline was more pronounced due to additional implants outside his lower teeth—along the sides and in the front.
Despite the altered appearance, the face in the mirror was still quite handsome, he had to admit. Of more importance, however, the image matched the picture on his passport, issued in the name of David Morrell, an executive of DavRoc Industries, looking to open a distribution center near Washington, D.C. In keeping with his new and wealthy identity, Mixell wore a three-piece blue suit and complementing silk tie, along with polished black wing-tipped dress shoes.
He had previously made an appointment for this morning and had made a call upon landing at Dulles, and waiting at the curb by baggage claim in a red Lexus GS sedan was Sandy Perry, the sole owner of a realty company specializing in commercial properties. She emerged from the car to greet Mixell, who noticed the woman was an attractive brunette in her forties, smartly attired in a white blouse and gray skirt that went midway down her thighs. He also noticed that she wore no wedding ring.
She offered a firm handshake as she greeted him. “Welcome to Virginia, Mr. Morrell.”
Mixell smiled warmly. “Please, call me Dave.”
After he placed his carry-on luggage in the trunk, he slipped into the passenger seat beside her.
“I’ve got a good list of properties,” she said as they pulled away from the curb. “I’m sure one of them will be exactly what you’re looking for.”
Sandy was already aware of David Morrell’s professional details, and the conversation eventually turned to more personal topics. Mixell learned that Sandy was single, a recent divorcée.
Sandy Perry had been in the real estate business for over twenty years; a well-known and highly respected woman in her community. Her recent divorce had been an embarrassing and frustrating ordeal, and the mere thought of her ex-husband made her hands clench the steering wheel.
She forced herself to relax and focus instead on the client in her passenger seat, whom she had sized up the moment she laid eyes on him at the airport. She glanced at him frequently as she drove, her eyes lingering for longer than they should have, given she was speeding toward Washington at well above the speed limit.
David Morrell was a strikingly handsome man. His black hair was streaked with gray, which she found attractive, and his eyes were the most amazing color of blue she had ever seen. He was tall and well built, filling out his suit quite nicely.
As they traveled down the Dulles Access Road, her mind began to wander. She was an attractive woman, and over the last few months, she had taken advantage of her new single status. Her eyes went to Morrell’s left hand, which bore no wedding ring.
“How long will you be in town?” she asked.
“Only a few days.”
“Oh,” she said, trying to hide the disappointment from her voice. “Will you be back to visit the property often?”
“It depends on how things go.”
Mixell noticed Sandy’s frequent glances. He got those kinds of looks often, and while he occasionally mixed business with pleasure, business came first today.
He had requested a property in Alexandria, Virginia. Other than that, there were few requirements: a warehouse with at least three thousand square feet of space on the ground floor, and an industrial-sized garage door at least ten feet wide by fifteen feet tall.
Sandy showed him several properties, and one of the warehouses would have worked, except the large industrial doors opened to the west instead of the east. That was a detail Mixell had decided not to share with the realtor to prevent unnecessary questions.
She showed him several more properties, this time pulling up alongside a vacant warehouse at the end of Oronoco Street. As far as the location went, it was perfect. Situated on the bank of the Potomac River and bordered on one side by Oronoco Bay and the other by Founders Park, he doubted he would find a more secluded location, considering his requirements.
Sandy unlocked the heavy steel door and pushed it open for Mixell. The bare warehouse was exactly what he was looking for. The interior was large enough for the planned equipment, there were only a few grimy windows along one wall through which dim light filtered in, and there was a large industrial door on the far wall, opening to the east.
She turned on the lights and pressed the nearby controller; the door slid slowly up, revealing a dilapidated wharf along the riverbank. Mixell stepped from the warehouse to examine the dock, which was in need of repair but serviceable.
Even better.
He took a mental note, making a small change in his future plans.
When he returned to the warehouse, Sandy sensed he was interested and tried to seal the deal. “It’s been vacant for a few years, but there’s been recent interest. With the new Amazon headquarters development a few miles away, the warehouse won’t be on the market much longer.”
Mixell decided to string her along. “It’s got possibilities.”
“It’s in a respectable and safe area,” she offered, “not far from where I live. While you’re getting settled in, I could stop by on occasion.”
Her offer caught Mixell’s attention, his eyes locking on to hers.
“Only if you want, of course…” Her voice trailed off as her cheeks blushed.
She moved to the other side of the garage opening and pressed the controller, shutting the door. As it descended, Mixell turned back toward the Potomac, pretending to contemplate the matter.
When the door closed, he turned to tell Sandy he’d rent the property, but she was facing away from him, leaning over to remove a shoe, presumably to extract a pebble that had worked its way in. She had timed it perfectly, he thought. His eyes moved over her firm ass, then down her lean legs to her four-inch platform heels.
She replaced her shoe and stood, turning to face him. Mixell pulled his eyes up to hers too slowly and she caught his wandering gaze. A small smile played across her lips.
“Do you like it?” she asked, her voice taking on a sultry quality. “Or would you like to see more?”
Mixell’s eyes held hers for a moment before replying. “It’s quite nice; more than adequate to satisfy my needs.”
“So … you’ll be taking it, then?” Her body tensed in anticipation. “Right now?”
“Absolutely,” he said as he moved toward her, shrugging the suit jacket from his shoulders.