Authors: Connie Suttle
"He's not getting a Christmas card," I muttered.
"I think Dalton was only following orders," I added.
"Dalton took an oath when he came aboard, to protect the
Program and all involved. He didn't do that. He knew what Cutter's response
would be. He'll be reassigned, so stop worrying about his sorry ass."
August shook his head at me, as if he couldn't believe I'd stoop to defend
Dalton Parrish.
"I think he meant well; he just got caught up with the
wrong person," I said.
"Corinne, stop giving that bastard any sympathy,"
Rafe muttered.
"There's something else," August said.
"What?"
"I'm leaving the bugs and cameras inside your
suite—including the kitchen—turned off, Cori. They'll be active outside your
windows and the outside door, but you'll have privacy inside your suite. I know
that having no privacy bothers you, so the President ordered it done. From now
on, you'll have to contact James through traditional means to tell him the
cookies are ready."
"Are you kidding?" I stared at August in disbelief.
"Not kidding. The President appreciates what you've done
for the country, and this is her way of rewarding you."
"Then please tell her thank you for me," I
whispered.
* * *
I felt numb as Rafe and I walked out of Auggie's office. No
bugs inside my suite? I didn't know how to react. That meant, perhaps, that
Rafe and I could have a private conversation.
First, though, I needed a drink.
"Want wine or the hard stuff?" I asked the moment we
walked inside our kitchen and shut the door.
"Scotch?" he lifted an eyebrow.
"I have some Macallan here somewhere," I said,
scooting my step stool toward the fridge. I always kept the good stuff in the
cabinet over the refrigerator. "Here." I handed the bottle down to
him. "Twenty-five year. I love Macallan. It's hard to find Macallan Amber,
though. I like it, too."
"Someday, we'll go to Scotland and get all we want,"
Rafe grinned as he pulled two glasses from the cabinet. "Plain or
rocks?"
"I want ginger ale with mine, and a couple of ice cubes."
"Wimp."
"I keep telling you that. You never listen." I
hopped off the stool and went in search of a bottle of ginger ale in the
fridge.
He poured Scotch; I added ginger ale and ice to my glass.
"Here's to private conversations," he held his up in a toast. I
clinked my glass against his. He leaned in to kiss me.
I forgot to breathe.
I'll never forget our night. He didn't push me, or even
attempt to convince me to get naked with him. He was content to wait for that.
Instead, he herded me toward my sitting room, settled me onto the sofa and
wrapped an arm about me, pulling me close.
"Tell me," he whispered against my ear, his breath
warm and flavored with expensive Scotch. His accent had gone straight from
American to Ukrainian, and I was sorry I couldn't understand his native
language at that point—I figured his words would be delicious and something to
savor.
"Rafe," I began. If he wanted my story, he had to
understand how uncomfortable that was.
"When we're together like this and nobody watches or listens,
call me Ilya. That is the name I want to hear you cry out when we make
love."
"Ilya, I love that name, first off. Second, I want to
tell you, but I have to prepare myself for it. Does that make sense? Something
else you ought to know—I haven't had sex in a very, very, long time."
"First off, thank you. Second, I understand. Third, that
will only make it sweeter."
"What simple question can I answer that will keep you for
now?" I asked.
"How old?"
"Seventy-three."
"Perfect." He kissed me again.
* * *
While we worked on our second glasses of Scotch, we turned to
business. "What trouble do you think might come from Cutter being relieved
of his duties?" Ilya asked.
"He's connected to several organizations, some of whom
find no difficulty in pumping money into campaigns," I said. "If he'd
been named Vice President, that would have made things simpler for him to get
the nomination."
"But that would mean the President," he began.
"I think that's tied up in all this," I said.
"I have absolutely no proof that the President is a target, but it makes
sense to me. Plus, if Cutter thinks I'm a witch, well, you can imagine what the
people who back him think. As backward as he is, they're a hundred times worse.
They'd like to unleash an inquisition here and now, to bring the country in
line with their political and religious views."
"How do you know this?"
"I did some research in the past five years. I've been
looking for the ones responsible for that attack in France. Sometimes the
trails led in different directions. Somehow, there's a network out there, and I
can't explain who's behind it or how it's connected, even."
"How did you do this research without Colonel Hunter or
the others knowing?"
"Library computer system," I said. "I paid
several people cash at the library to do research for me. My name isn't
attached to any of it, and the people I hired thought I was doing research for
a book. Printed photographs can be helpful, if the printer is good
enough."
"Where is all the research?"
"I had to trash it, so nobody would know what I was
doing. I really need those photographs of Mary Evans, or whatever her name
is," I said, sipping my Scotch and ginger ale. "I think she may be
connected somehow with the puppet masters who are stringing all of us
along."
"This is more frightening than I thought," Ilya
murmured.
"This government does business with those who can provide
security services in Afghanistan and other Middle Eastern countries. They employ
a lot of ex-military personnel. It's like the U.S. military is college, and the
security services are the pro leagues."
"This I already knew," he nodded. "These are
connected to those who want Cutter in office?"
"Yes. They have tons of money, and they can dump any
amount they want into a campaign and barely feel it. Other business concerns are
out there, willing to do the same thing."
"You think they want to control legislation and elected
officials?"
"Yeah. They just don't want to get their hands dirty
doing it, so they have to hire somebody else to do it for them. Somebody very,
very good. Somebody able to steal the crown jewels from the Tower of London
good."
"And Mary Evans is connected to this?"
"I think so."
"I think so, too."
* * *
Rafe didn't allow me to slack off in running, Krav Maga or
weight lifting. He did kiss me while we made breakfast, though. Then he
proceeded to give me a solid trouncing in Krav Maga.
James spotted him in weight training, as he usually did, but
gave me a wicked grin while I lifted ten and twenty-pound weights nearby. I
wanted to tell him to save the grin—I hadn't done anything to warrant it.
Yet
.
"Colonel Hunter wants a meeting with you two, Maye and
Nick tonight. Dinner at seven in the restaurant downstairs," James said
when we were done.
Auggie wanted to talk about the funeral scheduled for the following
day.
"We'll be there," Rafe said. "Come on, you. You
need a bath." Hooking an arm around my neck, he propelled me out of the
weight room.
* * *
Lunch came after a nice shower. No, it wasn't together. Rafe
went to his suite; I went to mine. We met in the kitchen, clean, hair damp and
hungry for lunch.
"What are your plans this afternoon?" he asked.
"Want an omelette?"
"Omelette sounds good," I agreed. "I need to
work on the book."
"You need to stop worrying about tomorrow."
"I can do that by writing."
"I have a better idea."
"Checkers?"
"Fucking."
"Gets right to the point. I like that," I said.
"Want me to chop onions and tomatoes?"
"Yes."
"Cool."
* * *
"Cabbage, time to wake up."
"Hmmm?"
"Dinner in an hour. We have time to shower and
dress."
"Do I have to move? I like it here."
Here
was cuddled against Ilya's chest.
"Come along. You can't wallow in bed all day."
"I'll bet I can."
"You want Colonel Hunter to turn the bugs on again?"
"I'm up."
"You are so very fine," his fingers trailed down my ribs
as I sat up in bed.
"I thought we were getting up."
"We are. I merely wanted to remind you that this is for
me."
"Who else would it be for?"
"You make me laugh."
"Right. Are you getting out of bed first, or do I have to
crawl over you?"
"You may do whatever you like. I will enjoy the sight of
it, either way."
Forty-five minutes later, we were on our way to the restaurant
downstairs and the meeting with Auggie, Maye and Nick.
* * *
"You will be driven to the White House at oh-five-hundred
tomorrow morning, where you'll be briefed by the Secret Service agents riding
with you and the President. The First Gentleman isn't going," Auggie said
when we took our seats at the round table he'd chosen inside the restaurant.
"Thank goodness," I slumped in my chair. Graye Sanders,
the First Gentleman, was just another target and his absence would make things
easier for Rafe and me.
"The same goes for you," August nodded to Maye and
Nick, "only you'll meet with the VP's guards."
Nick didn't seem happy that he'd been assigned to the VP, but
Rafe and I'd had nothing to do with the assignments.
"Why the time change?" Rafe asked. "I thought
we'd be leaving at seven."
"I had a conversation with the President, that's
why," August replied. "Only she and I are currently in the loop on this,
so keep it to yourselves and be ready by the designated time. Corinne, did you
get a message from Dr. Shaw?"
My appointment with Dr. Shaw had been rescheduled so I could
do this assignment. He didn't seem to mind—I'd gotten an e-mail from him
earlier, giving me the time for the rescheduled session. "Yeah. We're
good," I said. I wasn't looking forward to rising at four in the morning
for our drive to the White House, but there wasn't anything I could do about
it.
"Dalton has left the Mansion," August went on.
"He'll be reassigned next week."
"Will he keep the Program secret?" Maye asked. I
suppose Jeff had given her the particulars on Dalton's exit.
"He'd better," August muttered. "His
communications will be monitored anyway. He probably knows that."
"This is a snarled mess," I said, rubbing my
forehead. Our food arrived, so the conversation slowed as we began to eat.
* * *
"I don't feel good about this," I mumbled as I
joined Rafe in the kitchen early the following morning. We'd slept in our own
suites, if you can call tossing and turning sleep.
"What's not right?" he asked.
"Everything. It just feels—weird."
"We have to be downstairs in ten," he pointed out.
"Are you ready?"
"I'm dressed. I guess that's ready."
"Come, then." He took my hand and led me to the
door. "What do you think is the problem?" he asked as we walked
toward the center of the floor and the stairs leading downward.
"It's as if everything is in flux," I said.
"Like somebody who can't make up their mind whether they want strawberry
or vanilla ice cream."
"Is it that unimportant?" We took the steps together
at a quick pace.
"I don't think so—well, that's not exactly true. It's
like deciding on strawberry, when you know it's safer, or vanilla, because it
holds danger."
"An unusual analogy." We reached the second floor
landing and proceeded down the steps to the first floor.
"It's the best I have after little sleep and an early
morning," I said.
"Perhaps they'll stop at Starbucks, then," Rafe
grinned at me.
"I'd kill for a vanilla latte right now," I mumbled.
"Even though vanilla might be more dangerous?" he
teased.
"Please stop. You're way too cheerful. Don't you know that
cheerfulness at this hour is unconstitutional?"
"I will curtail that activity immediately."
"Please do. And don't start it up again until I've had
more coffee."
"I will keep that under advisement."
"Ready?" August waited at the bottom of the steps
for us. Maye had also arrived, but Nick hadn't shown up yet.
"He's on the way," Maye said when August turned to
her. Thirty seconds later, Nick came trotting down the stairs.
"Let's go," August said. Until then, I had no idea
he was coming with us. I didn't question, however. August was finally getting
the authority he deserved, and that was a good thing.
We didn't get to stop at Starbucks. Instead, we drove directly
to the White House. Halfway there, I shrieked as the images hit me, and I must
have shouted at Auggie while mentally screaming at everyone left inside the
Mansion to get out. August hit an alarm on his cell phone, but that early in
the morning, few people were already up and time was short.
The Mansion exploded with more than a third of its inhabitants
still inside.
Chapter 10
"Corinne, hold your head up. We're here with you,"
Rafe soothed as we walked toward the limousine carrying the President.
"We'll know something soon."
I wanted to drop to my knees and weep. Yes, most of those
inside the Mansion still held me in contempt, but that didn't mean I wanted
them to die.
"We need you near the President," August said on my
other side. "For the same reason. Cori, you saved a lot of people who
would have died. We'll talk about that later. Dr. Shaw has already called
in—he's on the scene and helping those who need it."
"James?" My voice quavered.
"He's fine, but got banged up saving some files. He's all
right, Cori."
I'd been too afraid to use what I had to check on him. I
almost wept in relief.
* * *
"Corinne, I realize this is difficult for you, but we
need you. I need you," the President said as we loaded into her limousine.
She was flanked by two Secret Service agents, who wore communication devices
and looked tougher than chainsaws.
Rafe could take both of them easily.
"Will you do something for me, then?" I asked,
blinking at the President and working to keep the quiver from my voice.
"Anything—within reason."
"I know this is disrespectful, but will you have
someone—preferably a bomb squad—go over every inch of the Vice President's
casket? I have a terrible feeling they're not done with us, yet."
"Oh, dear God," August muttered.
"See to it," the President nodded at one of her
agents. We listened as he gave the order and the vehicle began to move. Twenty
minutes later, we received a message that the bomb had been located and disarmed.
"How in the name of Hades did it get there?" The President's
anger erupted.
She was in her sixties and looked every bit of it, her
once-dark hair showing much gray. Her eyes were still a clear blue, indicating
the intelligence behind them, however. I could read the level of her anger
easily.
"We don't have that information yet, Madam President, but
we're working on it," her agent replied before barking orders into his
communicator.
"You can be assured the ones responsible are long
gone," Rafe sighed.
* * *
The funeral was uneventful.
The ride back to the White House was anything but.
Rafe heard the missile approaching the limo the moment the
images hit my brain. Both of us shouted at the driver to stop, but he ignored
us and hit the gas.
Sure, the limo was bulletproof. It might have been
rocket-proof, too, for all I know. What I remember is this—the vehicle sailing
through the air as the blast lifted it and flung it forward. Both Secret
Service agents were shielding Madam President as we tumbled end over end along
the street.
Rafe kept me safe, somehow, inside the shield he created. My
head snapped twice as we bounced along, but his arms kept me from being jolted
too much.
The problems came when we came to a metal-scraping halt after
what seemed forever. Six men surrounded the vehicle, their weapons drawn.
A firefight with more Secret Service ensued, while we cringed
inside the vehicle. Bullets pinged and whizzed against every part of the car as
assassins attempted to shoot their way inside. I shuddered when one of our
attackers slid down the side, the bloody wound in his head creating a sickening
squeak against glass and metal as he dropped.
Capitol Police were on their way; Madam President's agents in
the car called for backup the moment we'd settled on the road in one piece, but
we'd already lost six Secret Service agents outside the car.
One of our attackers hit the windshield with the butt of his
gun, pounding in a hard, regular rhythm while attempting to break reinforced
glass to get to us. He died, dropping where he stood as Capitol Police arrived
and began shooting.
Once the immediate threat was eliminated, Rafe loosened his
grip on me. It wasn't until then I realized I'd been holding my breath during
most of the ordeal. "We're all right," he whispered against my ear
when things looked to return to normal. I offered a silent nod of agreement.
It took an hour of checking the streets and nearby
neighborhoods before we were allowed outside the car and escorted back to the
White House in a second vehicle by more Secret Service. I was a wreck by that
time, but we still had a meeting with the President about the destruction of
the Mansion, the bomb in the casket and the attack on her vehicle.
I sat on a sofa in a room near the Oval Office, listening
while August and the President were updated on the Mansion's casualties.
The luxury of our surroundings felt like decorative
punctuation marks at the end of a poorly worded and awkward sentence. It didn't
fit. Shouldn't have been. I wanted to deny it when August read names off a list
he'd received on his cell phone.
Kevin and Ken, plus their handlers—dead.
"You won't find Becker or Gene," I said flatly, my
lips numbed and unfeeling as I spoke. "Tell the crew to stop looking for
them."
"Why?" August turned to me.
"Because they brought the bomb inside the Mansion to
begin with. I saw it, right there at the last. They didn't know Rafe, Maye,
Nick and I were already gone. They dumped it in Dalton's empty suite."
"Why didn't you see this earlier?" The President
asked.
"Because they couldn't make up their minds to do it until
then," I said. Yes, I was giving the people present better insight into my
talent, but it wasn't anything they couldn't already determine for themselves.
"She did say something this morning as we were walking
downstairs at the Mansion," Rafe acknowledged. "That things seemed to
be in flux."
"Madam President?" An aide knocked softly on the
outside door.
"Come in," the President said.
"We just received word," the young man reported.
"Captain Dalton was found dead inside his quarters and General Cutter has
disappeared."
"Thanks, Greg," the President said.
* * *
"This is the best we can do at the moment," August
said as we arrived at a building in Arlington. "It's scheduled for
renovation, but for now, it's ours until they can find something else for
us."
Sometime in the past, the four-story, square brick building
had been used as upscale apartments. That was in the eighties, judging by the
décor.
Every suite held a kitchenette—dated, of course, but still
functional.
Rafe lifted an eyebrow at me. I shrugged. It didn't matter.
We'd lost so many. The latest death toll was twenty-two, plus the six Secret
Service agents. We only had the clothes we wore. Those things no longer
mattered. So many families would receive bad news, and there was no comfort we
could give them.
"This location isn't on anybody's radar," August
said, taking a seat on a floral-patterned chair in the common area downstairs.
"Those responsible for the bombing don't know about it, and the
information won't be given to anyone else for a while. Cori, did you get
anything on Preston? Did he leave with Becker and Gene?"
"No—to the last question."
"Dead then." August shook his head.
Nick, who sat nearby, wore a stone-faced expression. Preston
was his handler.
"We heard from Jeff; he's on the way now with
James," August said. "There's an office upstairs, but the equipment
is outdated. That'll either be fixed in the next week or we'll be moved again
before then. Safer's talking with the President now—he says he should have
waited to send Dalton out of the Mansion. This likely put Cutter on
alert."
"Cutter's involved in this?" Maye asked.
"It's likely. All his personal files and belongings are
gone—his home was searched earlier. It's suspected that he was involved in
Dalton's death, too."
"Why would he do that?" Nick asked.
"Because Dalton wouldn't cooperate, most likely, so
Cutter convinced Becker and Gene to do his dirty work instead."
"What does that do to the Program?" Rafe asked
quietly.
"It could blow up in our faces," August said. "Only
one or two know everything there is to know about it. The rest of us only know
what we need to know to do our jobs. With Becker in enemy hands and available
for testing, somebody could backtrack and produce the same results in
others."
"He was pissed because he wasn't going on assignments
like he was before," Nick offered. "Becker, that is."
"He's placed all of us in danger," August said.
"He was presented with what he saw as a better deal after Safer told Gene
the other night that he was useless. That set the wheels in motion."
"Where does that leave us?" Nick asked. "We're
two men down, and those two men could help track enemy movements through
cyberspace."
"Auggie, I know you may not think this is important right
now, but we still need those photographs I asked for," I said. My fingers
twisted nervously together as I asked, and I wouldn't have asked if I didn't
feel it was important.
"I'll see what I can do," August sighed. "You
understand that the President's mind is on other things, right now."
"Yeah."
* * *
"Cabbage?" Rafe's arms were around me the moment the
door shut behind us. We stood inside his new apartment, both of us feeling as
if we'd been dropped onto an alien landscape. Nothing there belonged to us, and
the day's events had ensured that we were on unsteady ground.
"Oh, God, Ilya," I mumbled against his chest. The
chessboard was shifting around us, in movements too swift and blurred for us to
comprehend or counter.
"Corinne?" Dr. Shaw's voice came after the knock on
Ilya's door. I moved away from him and Rafe called for him to come in.
"She could use a sedative, I think," Rafe said
before I could stop him. "She's been shaking for hours."
"Corinne, I do have something with me. It'll relax you,
that's all," Leo Shaw said. "You can eat something while it takes
effect, then lie down and rest. There's pizza on the way," he added.
"But what if I," I began.
"Cabbage, trust me. Nothing will happen while you rest. I
promise," Rafe said.
"Fine."
"Yes, it will be fine. Doctor, please proceed." Rafe
waved Leo forward.
James walked in with a box of pizza two minutes after Dr. Shaw
gave me the sedative. I think I fell asleep before I finished my second slice.
* * *
Ilya
She fell asleep against my shoulder, a half-eaten slice of
sausage pizza still in her hand. "Thank you," I nodded at Leo Shaw,
who'd joined James, Corinne and me for pizza. James and Leo looked exhausted to
me, but I didn't want to point that out. Corinne was my primary concern.
"No problem. James, take enough pizza with you to fill
you up—I believe we have bedrooms waiting across the hall." Shaw nodded to
James, who rose stiffly.
"I have pain medication," James waved off Shaw's
offer of more. "I'll take it before I lie down."
"Good. Good-night, Rafe." Shaw led James out of my
room and shut the door.
"Now, let's get you to bed," I whispered against
Corinne's hair. "We will worry about these bastards tomorrow."
* * *
Corinne
One of the reasons I hate sedatives so much is that I always
wake feeling groggy, with a foggy slime confusing my brain. It takes hours to dissipate,
while I wander about like a zombie shopping for groceries; nothing looks
familiar or seems appropriate.
"Coffee." Rafe placed a paper cup in my hands. It
took half the cup to realize I was drinking a Starbucks vanilla latte.
"Uh, thanks," I mumbled eventually. He led me toward
a seat in the common area, where August, James and Leo waited for us. Maye,
Nick and Jeff arrived moments later.
"We'll be moving tomorrow," August announced, once
everyone was present. "I have people working on our new residence, now.
They won't know anything about who's moving in, they're just making it
habitable. The old staff—what's left of it—will arrive just before we do. While
I don't have to worry about clothing or personal items, the rest of you do.
James will be helping with that. Corinne, I hope you had your books backed up
somewhere. Everything in your suite was destroyed."
"I have everything backed up," I said.
"I have her things backed up, too," James said.
"Look, at the moment, the enemy doesn't know that any of you
survived. We're going to keep it that way," August said. "In fact,
Safer and the President are the only ones who know for sure that you survived
the attack at the Mansion. We'll let the enemy believe that they killed the
Program for now."
"How will we explain our presence at the funeral
yesterday?" Maye asked.
"We banned cameras inside the chapel, and your entrance
and exit with the President and Vice President was under cover and not
recorded. Only those inside the chapel may have seen you, and it's likely they
thought you were a part of the Secret Service."
"Let's hope it stays that way for a while," Rafe
said.
"James has a laptop; give him lists of personal items
you'll need in the next three days, including clothing sizes. We'll have
someone take care of that until we can do a better job. There's a food delivery
on the way, so start making your lists now."
"I already ordered replacements for a lot of your
stuff," James whispered to me as the others rose to walk to their
apartments. "Since all the requests and orders have to go through me for
approval anyway. Got stuff for Rafe, too."
"Lotion, underwear, mascara, bath soap and jeans?" I
asked.
"All that and more, in the brands you like."
"Good. I didn't have any lotion after my shower," I
sighed. "Thanks, James. You're awesome."
* * *
We weren't informed of our destination when we walked out a
back door and climbed into dark vans for the drive to our new residence the
following morning. Rafe insisted that I stay with him both nights, but we used
our time together to sleep. Neither of us felt up to sex, and I was grateful he
didn't ask.