Authors: Connie Suttle
I had two weeks of solitary confinement in my rooms to
consider my actions, as August and Madam President put it. Well, she wasn't
getting my vote ever again.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
"Let's look at this from a logical standpoint," Shaw
said. "You'd just gotten the notification from your wife's lawyer, you
were secretly pissed that Corinne gave money to Nick to track down Becker, you
learn she could have told you more about Cutter, including where he was, and
you exploded."
"The President supported me the whole way," I
blustered. Was I beginning to feel guilty?
You bet
.
I felt responsible for the breakup between Rafe and Cori, too.
I couldn't fix that; I'd lost it and told him she could see where Baikov was.
His face went dark immediately and I knew I'd done the wrong thing.
Shaw was telling me what I already knew.
"We need her help," Shaw went on. "Face it,
she's saved your life, the President's life, the sitting Vice President's life
and the Prime Minister's life. Do you think for a moment that she wouldn't have
told you if the President or anyone else was in danger? She didn't see the
Sacramento bombing because she'd never seen Ted Ryan before he posted his video
on the Internet. She has to see them, or haven't you figured that out, yet?"
"Stop," I held up a hand. "Look, I already feel
like a bastard. You don't have to rub it in."
"She refuses to talk to me, now. I can't get to her.
Right now, nobody can. She isn't talking and if what James tells me is true,
she isn't eating, either."
"Fuck. Look, what's the word from Maye? Do we have
anything?"
"There's a huge crowd of school kids scheduled for a tour
at the museum tomorrow. It would be just like our quarry to hide in those
numbers," Shaw observed. "I've already asked Maye to be extra careful
and look for adults."
"Good. Keep me posted." I left Shaw's office as
quickly as I could.
* * *
Ilya
Colonel Hunter called a halt to Krav Maga lessons while
Corinne was confined to her quarters.
Just as well, I might have done inadvertent harm. Angry
couldn't begin to describe how I felt. She could have given me Baikov's
location after seeing his photograph. I could have taken the fucker down
immediately.
She'd withheld that information, just as she'd withheld
information on Cutter from Colonel Hunter. If Corinne didn't know before that
she was playing with fire where Baikov and I were concerned, then she knew it
now.
James refused to spot me while I lifted weights.
I didn't care. I could take care of myself.
* * *
Corinne
There was so much that so many people didn't know. I hunched
my shoulders as I walked down a sidewalk in Silver Spring. Getting out had
never been a problem, no matter how well Colonel Hunter imagined his villa was
guarded.
Nick would get back the following day. Maybe he could tell
them when they were in danger; I was currently out of the business. Auggie and
Ilya had played their hands; I'd played mine. I still held cards, too, while
their hands were empty. There was one last thing I had to do before I dropped
out of sight.
Maye
, I sent to her,
Mary Evans will be disguised
and in a wheelchair tomorrow
.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
We had to break down the door—she'd moved a heavy dresser in
front of it. I had no idea how she could get past the cameras outside her
windows after that. It wasn't difficult to determine actually—the soldier
watching those feeds had fallen asleep.
I played the images back twice—she'd crawled through the
window as if it were something she did every day and walked—
yes,
walked
—off
the property.
Nobody stopped her.
I thought Rafe would go crazy when I told him. I'd never heard
him curse in his native language, but I'm glad I didn't understand anything he
said. At least he didn't have to tell the President that Corinne had gone AWOL.
That was my job.
"I was angry. So angry with her," Rafe slammed his
fist onto the kitchen counter. That's where I'd found him, brewing coffee.
"Now she is outside without help." He cursed again.
"And she has vital information."
"You know they will kill her if they learn of this."
I was just as sure as Rafe was that Cutter had pointed her out
to whomever he was serving. He knew the Program was still alive—he'd shot at
Nick, after all. He'd called Corinne a witch. His cronies had that information,
just as they had information on everyone else in the Program.
Cutter had gotten killed for his trouble—his body had already
been transported back to the U.S. by Canadian authorities. He'd served a purpose,
but after Becker and Gene died, that purpose died with him. Somebody, somewhere,
had Becker's blood and enough information to do whatever they wanted.
"We have to get Cori back," I fumed.
"Where would she go?"
"I don't have a clue."
"Perhaps the beach? She said she wanted a beach
house."
"Which one?" I shook my head at Rafe. "Never
mind, I'll get everybody I know to start looking for clues. She has no
money—that I know of. Wait, where the hell did she get the money she gave Nick?
Everything she had was destroyed in the Mansion."
"I am beginning to believe that Corinne is smarter than
all of us."
"And three steps ahead," I snapped.
"James," I shouted while I headed for the stairs and the second
floor.
* * *
Corinne
One of my lawyers has offices in Silver Spring. All my e-mail
correspondence with him is read by James or someone else in the Program.
I wasn't at his office because of that.
I was at his office for something else.
He'd never laid eyes on Sarah Fox or Corinne Watson.
"Ms. Dane?" the receptionist stood. "Bryan is
waiting for you in his office."
I didn't just write as Sarah Fox. I also wrote other books—as
Carol Dane. All those books I'd written as Carol Dane had been done at the
library, on a laptop I kept at a storage facility. I no longer had a key to the
storage facility—it had been destroyed in the Mansion bombing.
Bryan Kellogg, one of my lawyers, had a key, along with an
envelope full of other things in case I needed them.
Things like credit cards, cash, keys and banking information.
All registered to Carol Dane.
"Here are the things you requested," Bryan smiled
and handed a large manila envelope to me. He'd tried to ask me out before. I
always said no. I didn't intend to change my answer.
"Thank you for this," I held up the envelope and
smiled back.
"How was your trip to France?"
"Enlightening," I said.
"Let us know if you need anything else."
"I will. Thanks again."
* * *
A cab dropped me off at the storage facility. I waited until
he drove away to walk to the unit I rented.
Opening the garage-like door after pulling off the lock, I set
the lock inside the unit and nodded.
The car was registered to Carol Dane and draped with a car
cover. Flipping the cover back, I revealed the front bumper of my silver
Mercedes. In the trunk was a laptop and enough cash to do me for a while.
I laid my envelope on the car's hood and pulled the rest of
the cover off before piling it in a corner. Then I found the car keys inside
the envelope, tossed the envelope on the passenger seat and climbed in.
The car started right up.
So many things needed doing, before I allowed myself the time
and a corner somewhere to weep my heart out.
* * *
"Miss Dane, we hardly expected you to arrive
unannounced," the desk clerk breathed. He was a fan; that was easy to see.
Carol Dane owned a condo on Myrtle Beach. The transaction had
taken place in written and e-mail correspondence two years earlier. A third,
local attorney had taken care of everything else, and he had no idea that Carol
Dane was fiction, just as Sarah Fox was.
"Everything you sent is in boxes, and the furniture is
still wrapped in plastic," he admitted. "Since we didn't know what
you wanted done with it."
"Are the washer and dryer hooked up and ready to
go?"
"All the appliances should be ready for use."
"Then you've done a spectacular job," I smiled at
him. "Thank you. Oh, one more thing—this is a writing retreat for me. I'd
appreciate it if nobody knew I was here."
"You got it," he said, grinning back. "I'm just
so excited that you're finally here."
"Me, too," I said.
I thought he might follow me into the elevator to the top
floor where my condo was, but he didn't. I rode up the elevator, clutching my
purse, the laptop bag and the manila envelope. I had to hold it together until
I got inside my condo. Then I could cry as much as I wanted.
When I opened the door, boxes were everywhere. Yes, Carol Dane
had ordered everything online I thought I might need, and left instructions for
the deliveries to be left inside the condo. I just hadn't realized how much
room those boxes would take. Some were stacked atop one another.
I shut the door behind me and locked it. I couldn't even sit
on the sofa against the wall without pulling heavy, dusty plastic off it first.
Somewhere in the boxes was a vacuum and cleaning supplies.
Those would have to wait. I headed straight for the bathroom,
sat on the edge of a huge whirlpool tub and let the tears fall.
* * *
Maye
A sea of school-age children shuffled past me, few of them
appreciating their surroundings as they were led through the Smithsonian's
Natural History Museum. Weary teachers and a few parents listened as well as
they could to the docents explaining what this article or that artifact
actually was, all while carefully watching third and fourth-grade students
poke, tease and giggle as they made their way past priceless treasures.
So far, none of them had been in a wheelchair. More were
coming, however; the next group had been dropped off and were being herded into
the building. Holding back a sigh, I watched as a sparring match occurred
between two boys before a teacher broke it up. Deliberately I shut out their
mental accusations that the other boy had started the fight.
The target wasn't in this group
.
Stepping into an alcove and adjusting the camera strap around
my neck, I waited for the next batch of children to arrive.
* * *
Ilya
"James, did she have any friends on the outside?" I
asked. He and I sat in the kitchen, morosely consuming coffee. I watched as
James picked at a bag of microwave popcorn, chewing kernels absently while he
considered my question.
"Her old neighbors in Arlington," James shrugged.
"She made cookies for them and watched their cats when they went out of
town."
"Do you have access to a vehicle?"
"Yes," James offered a hesitant answer.
"Good. You drive. We will question these neighbors."
"But Colonel Hunter," he protested.
"Is busy," I said. "We will go.
Immediately."
"I guess it's better than sitting here," he agreed.
Ten minutes later, we were driving through the gate at the
villa in a small, black car that had an excuse for an engine in it. Someday, I
intended to have my own transportation again. I had no idea at present when
that day might come.
"Hello?" The word was a question, and failed to
encompass a much larger statement—one that said
I don't know you
. While
Eric Borden didn't appear frightened by James, he was terrified of me. We stood
on Eric's porch, which was as narrow as the three-story house it fronted. It
was nearly identical to the empty one next door—the one Corinne had called home
for five years. I wished she'd chosen to go there; it would have made things
easy.
She was much too smart for that.
"We were just wondering if you've seen Cori—Corinne,
lately," James said. "We're old friends and having a hard time
catching up with her."
"She's in France," Eric said, stepping back and
attempting to shut the door. I laid a palm against the door, stopping its
momentum.
"You have heard from her," I narrowed my eyes at
Eric, watching as the fear in his eyes increased.
"I just, I, I," he swallowed with difficulty.
"Tell me," I demanded. "She is in danger, and
anything you say may prove important."
* * *
"A storage unit?" James' voice was close to cracking
as we studied the unit. It was large enough to hold a car and other belongings.
Most of those things were now missing. Eric had a key to the lock, and his
voice and his hands shook as he'd handed it over. We'd left him behind,
trembling and gaping as we drove to Corinne's storage facility.
Only a few boxes and bags lined the back wall; things Corinne
didn't want to take with her. I went through them as quickly and efficiently as
possible. One box held old manuscripts. I barely paid attention to them as I
rummaged for something that might be used to find Corinne.
"She didn't want us to know," James whispered.
"So her neighbor did a lot of this for her, or she took a cab so we
wouldn't trace her car. Damn."
"Here," I handed a business card to James. It was an
attorney's card, with the words "Call me," handwritten on the back. I'd
found it at the bottom of one of the boxes.
"This is one of the lawyers Sarah Fox uses," James
mumbled, staring at the card as if it might catch fire at any moment.
His cell phone rang. Colonel Hunter was calling, demanding to
know where we were and what we were doing.
* * *
Maye
The third group looked very much like the first and second.
Sounded very much like the first and second. Except there were three in
wheelchairs. Two of them were teachers, with students crowding about them. The
other was a tiny, male student—much too small for Mary Evans to emulate in
disguise.