Authors: Connie Suttle
"I'll get dressed." Nick rose from his seat. All of
us were in robes and pajamas—we hadn't had time to get dressed before we'd been
pulled into the cafeteria.
"Maye, you should come, too; we're questioning anybody
who was in the area around midnight."
"I'll be ready in fifteen," she rose and followed
Nick from the room. Both handlers nodded to Safer and followed their charges.
"Corinne, I know it will be hard for you to see this up
close, but will you come?" Safer stood in front of our table.
"But," I stuttered.
"We know you're a damn fine mystery writer. Maybe you'll
see something we miss. It never hurts to have fresh eyes on something like
this."
"August?" I turned to him in shock.
"Cori, get your clothes on and let's go."
* * *
We walked through the bar, where several people were either in
the process of being questioned or waiting their turn. I watched them closely
as we headed toward the back door of the upscale bar—the crime scene wasn't far
from there, according to Safer.
"August," I tugged on his sleeve.
"What?" he stopped abruptly and I almost plowed into
him.
"That man sitting at the table against the wall? Who is
he?" I asked after regaining my balance.
"I don't know. General, do you know?" Safer had
stopped shortly after we did and turned toward us.
"Let's find out." Safer led us toward the man, who
lounged against the back wall, watching as police questioned bar patrons on
what they'd seen and heard shortly before the bar closed.
"Don't come any closer." He'd stood so fast I almost
didn't see it. He held a gun in his hand and pointed it right at General Safer.
"Gun," somebody shouted. I stared as things slowed.
The man, in his fifties and blond but going gray, shot at the officer who'd
shouted.
At least six officers fired back, killing the man instantly.
* * *
"I can't tell you, because I don't know," I said for
the fortieth time. "I just had a feeling, that's all. Trying to explain
this is like asking an earthworm to describe why the sky is blue. He lives in
the dark and doesn't know."
The blond man's gun was a nine millimeter and the same one
used to kill the Russian Ambassador. The ID on the man was a forgery, and his
fingerprints weren't in any database. August was just as tired as I was, but he
wanted an answer he could take to the Chief of Staff and the President. They'd
utilize their time better if they concentrated on identifying the shooter.
"Who do you think he was, since you can't explain why he
stood out?"
"I think they knew each other," I said. "This
guy and the Ambassador. I think the Ambassador had a reason to meet him, and
the guy had a reason to shoot the Ambassador. Ask your Russian spy when he
wakes up. I'll bet you ten bucks he knows something."
"Not a bad idea," August sighed. "If you get
any more of these feelings, will you let me know? He might have killed
somebody, or gotten away last night and we'd be nowhere with this. We have one
police officer with a shoulder wound and that's it. Could have been a lot
worse."
"Right. Can I go to bed, now?"
"Yeah. Want James to walk you back to your suite?"
"If he has time."
"He has time. One last thing, Corinne."
"What's that?"
"General Safer wants to keep this between us and the
President—that you pointed this guy out. The others think he just went crazy.
They were already outside at the crime scene and didn't see anything."
"Fine with me."
* * *
"A sausage and mushroom pizza, please, to Miss Watson's
suite," James said before ending the call to the restaurant downstairs. I
was exhausted and hadn't eaten since the night before. It was a difficult
decision to make—sleep or food, first. James said it would be easier to sleep
on a full stomach, so I asked him to order something for me.
I ate with my eyes closed at least half the time, drank a
glass of milk and went to bed after brushing my teeth.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
"Colonel, that's outstanding. The Russian President says
he's never seen the shooter and is giving us the usual bluster about our
defective security, but the Secretary of State pointed out that his security
let the Ambassador get away from the Embassy in the first place. We're having a
small, cold war at the moment, but we'll find out who that bastard was and
we'll have the Russians by the balls. Your theory is looking pretty sound from
where I'm sitting. You say she stopped you and asked about the shooter right
away?"
"She sure did, Madam President. General Safer can't get
over it, either."
"Keep me informed. This could turn out better than we
thought."
"Yes, Madam President. It sure could."
* * *
"You know she won't say anything. She never talks about
it." Shaw met me for dinner, as requested. "You're telling me she
went right to the guy, without even sizing anybody else up?"
"The minute she saw him, she stopped me. Safer knew
something was up, so he stopped, too. The guy knew he was made, so he stood and
pulled his weapon."
"If he were involved with something deeper, he knew he
had to die before we arrested him," Shaw agreed around a mouthful of
steak.
"Nobody has anything on this guy. He's a spook."
"No money trail?"
"None to follow. Not yet, anyway. Picture's sent
everywhere. Nobody knows him."
"Did Maye walk right past him and not pick anything
up?"
"That's what I hear."
"It may be a good thing he's dead, then."
"We all worry about that—that somebody knows. So far,
we've been safe."
"I worry about what will happen if ninety-five families
find out their relatives didn't die in combat."
"We had nothing to do with that, and you know it. Those
were volunteers. The life insurance payouts given to the families weren't
refused, either."
"No comment."
* * *
Corinne
Waking up in the afternoon after sleeping all day after
staying up most of the night before always leaves me groggy and nauseated. I
wouldn't have awakened when I did if there hadn't been a knock on my door.
Shuffling toward my front door and silently cursing whoever
stood on the other side, I peered through my peephole to see who it was.
Colonel August Hunter. He didn't look happy.
"Who pissed in your Post Toasties?" I asked when I opened
the door.
"I don't eat Post Toasties."
"Shredded Wheat?" I asked innocently.
"This isn't about breakfast cereal."
"Then come in and tell me what it is about," I waved
him in. Yes, I was dressed in pajamas and a robe, which wasn't exactly military
issue. Colonel Hunter ignored my dress and walked inside my suite.
"I just got word," he began, "While I was
downstairs having a late lunch with Doctor Shaw."
"What word is that?" I asked.
"That we'll be getting a new resident soon," August
muttered.
"Great. Didn't I tell you that? I thought I told you
that," I said trying to comb fingers through my hair. It likely looked as
if birds had nested in it. Condors, maybe. I didn't have a mirror to check.
"Corinne, will you stop and listen for a minute?"
"I'm listening."
"They want to put him in the suite next to yours, because
he likes to cook. You'll be sharing your kitchen with him, looks like, since
it's the only one available to a resident. They'll install a connecting door in
the next few days, and they'll put up something sturdier between your living
space and the kitchen, so you can lock yourself in. The kitchen is the only
thing you're expected to share."
"No. That's not acceptable," I snapped, immediately
angry. "It's one thing to be hauled here without being given a choice in
the matter. It's something else to share any space with one of the others. You
know how they all feel about me." I tossed up a hand, as if that might
make a difference.
"Corinne, the decision wasn't mine to make. I objected
when I heard, but that didn't sway the ones in charge."
"So they don't even know how things will turn out with
him and already he's getting perks? Typical," I huffed. "When have
they ever given me perks? Want to answer that?" I rounded on August, as if
he could wave a hand and make things different for me.
"I know," I held up a hand. "Neither of us has
a choice in this. Thank you for voicing your concerns. When will the wrecking
crew arrive?"
"Thursday."
"Fine. Will he be sharing my groceries and kitchen
gadgets, in addition to insulting me every chance he gets?"
"They didn't say. I assume that's true."
"Will the smell of borsht be permeating my office?"
"I don't know."
"You know," I pointed a finger at August,
"Every time I think things can't get any worse, they always do."
"There's more," August winced.
"Oh, joy. Please—do tell."
"He's an expert in Krav Maga."
"Great."
"Corinne, they'll ask him to take over your
lessons."
"Just to keep him busy, huh?" I shook my head in
disbelief. "If he's occupied with obliterating the least important person
in the building, maybe he can't get into too much trouble?"
"I think they want you to help keep an eye on him."
"No. There are enough people in this building watching
what everybody else does. You don't need my help for that."
"Corinne, I'm asking you to do that. With that special
insight you seem to have, maybe you can let us know if he's on the level or
not."
"Wow. There go my plans of avoiding him altogether."
"There's something else."
"Lemmings have invaded the White House?"
"Cori."
"Okay."
"You're expected to go to meetings with the Five from now
on."
"Auggie, say it ain't so."
Chapter 4
Ilya
"We'll allow leeway on your new name—within reason.
Nothing Russian—that should be obvious."
"I'm from Ukraine." That should have explained everything
to the dolt sitting behind the desk, but it didn't.
"Nothing Ukrainian, either."
Fucker
. "Rafe," I said. "Rafe Black.
That will do."
"You sure? You won't be able to change it, once it's
entered in your dossier."
"I don't intend to change it."
He lifted an eyebrow but tapped the name on his computer
anyway. "We'll have legal documents sent to you at the Mansion. Is there
anything else?"
"You say I'll have a kitchen available?"
"Yes, but you'll share it with another resident."
"I prefer not to share."
"It's that or no kitchen at all. Those are your
options."
"I hope he stays out of my way."
"
She
will likely stay as far away from you as
possible, if the rumors are true."
"Is she part of the Program?"
"Yes, although she seldom participates."
"By her choice?"
"By her talent. She has little, according to my
records."
"Her name?"
"Corinne."
* * *
Corinne
I eyed the new connecting door distrustfully, as if something
might pop through it at any moment. Realistically, I knew I'd probably be
introduced first, but that didn't keep my fear at bay while I checked on pot
roast and vegetables.
Pot roast would last me two or three days, if I made
sandwiches. That left more writing time, and with the impending Russian
invasion, I could avoid seeing him as much as possible if I didn't cook so
often.
Until he started beating me into a floor mat at the gym while
pretending to teach Krav Maga.
August let me see the heavily redacted dossier on him, since
we'd share space. I learned his original first name, too—Ilya. Common enough,
and safe enough, since I didn't officially have a last name to go with it.
I heard he spoke English better than most Americans, with no
trace of a Russian accent, and that he spoke many more languages—fluently. No
surprise, since he was a spy. No wonder the Russians were experiencing
palpitations.
Rafe Black was his new name. I'd see how well it fit him. No
photographs were included in any of the information I'd been given, so I had no
idea what he'd look like. It didn't matter; I intended to stay out of his way
behind the new, steel door that divided my office and sleeping quarters from
the kitchen.
* * *
Ilya
I didn't need the bulletproof vest I wore. My talent appeared
to be shielding—good enough to stop bullets. They'd been afraid to test
anything stronger against what I had. I could protect anyone standing near me,
too—up to four feet. Past that, they died. Obviously, I'd only protected mannequins
during the testing. That was a shame; I wouldn't have minded seeing a few
doctors and scientists riddled with bullets.
"Here's the entrance to the tunnel," my companion,
Dalton Parrish, announced. They'd named him my handler. We'd see who did the
handling.
The tunnel was perhaps a quarter mile long, and the entrance
lay beyond a guarded gate. Once we'd driven past the tunnel, I saw the Mansion.
It was impressive, but I'd stayed in better.
"Your quarters are on the third floor," Dalton
informed me as I lifted my duffel from the trunk of the vehicle. "My suite
is next to yours, but not connected."
"Good," I said.
"Uh, when do you want to meet the others?" He didn't
know whether my last response meant that I was glad he was next door or glad
his suite wasn't connected to mine. I let him worry about it.
"Tomorrow," I said. "That will be soon
enough." Hefting the bag over a shoulder, I walked toward the nearest
entrance.
* * *
Corinne
"He's here, so you may hear something next door if you're
in the kitchen," August said. "He said he didn't want to meet anyone
until tomorrow, so we're delivering a meal to his suite for tonight," he
added.
"Thank God." I slouched onto a barstool and let my
forehead drop to the island. "I can eat in peace tonight, at least."
I didn't add that I wished they'd put a sign on the connecting
door, or some other way to let us know the other's preferred cooking schedules.
I shoved that thought away and lifted my head to blink at August. He was
frowning at me. No surprise.
"Corinne, I expect you to keep me informed," he
said.
"August, if there's anything worthy of informing you
about, you'll hear it from me, first. Okay?" I figured the new guy's brand
of toothpaste wasn't important to national security.
"Okay."
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
"Corinne's scared to death," Shaw informed me.
"Did she tell you that?"
I'd met Shaw in the coffee shop at his request; he'd seen
Corinne the day before. "No, she didn't say it. I asked a few
questions—how she felt about sharing space with a stranger, that sort of thing.
It wasn't difficult to draw the logical conclusion."
"I don't blame her for being frightened. He's taller now
than he was before, and looks even tougher, if that's possible."
"You've seen photographs?"
"Yes. I kept those away from Corinne."
"That was probably a mistake. The first time she walks
into her kitchen for coffee and finds him there, she'll have a panic
attack."
"We're making arrangements to introduce him to her and
the others in a controlled setting," I argued. "So she won't have
panic attacks. I'm hoping for a kitchen schedule, too, to keep the peace."
"Best laid plans, Colonel?" Shaw lifted a skeptical
eyebrow.
"Probably. I don't know what will happen when he starts
training her in Krav Maga."
"Don't let him hurt her. This isn't fun and games, you
know, and beating on her for the pleasure of it will garner a complaint from me
to the President."
"When are you scheduled to meet with her?" I asked,
ignoring the threat. I figured the President wouldn't be happy if somebody
broke Corinne—she was her new toy.
"Next Wednesday, right after Corinne's appointment."
"Convenient. You can yell at Rafe if he hurts her,"
I said.
"You know that's not the way things work. Those sessions
are private and shouldn't bleed into the others."
"Yet you and I discuss," I began.
"I discuss with all the handlers. That's their job—to see
that their assets don't get out of hand, or receive what they need to thrive.
If they'd asked, and they didn't, I'd have suggested leaving Rafe and Corinne
separate, and building a second kitchen."
"We were given enough money for a few doors, nothing
else," I huffed.
"Corinne would have paid for a private kitchen,"
Shaw shot back. "You know that. Are you asking her to help keep an eye on
him?"
"That's not common knowledge," I hissed. "Keep
it to yourself."
"Not a problem," Shaw shrugged. "Just keep her
safe, got it? I hear things, Colonel Hunter. I hear Corinne may be a lot more
useful than you ever thought she'd be."
"The President doesn't want that spread around, and she
doesn't want to alarm Corinne," I snapped.
"If she didn't want to alarm Corinne, she should have
left her alone and found someone else to teach her Krav Maga."
"Point taken."
* * *
Corinne
"There's a formal breakfast meet and greet scheduled in
the morning," James handed a note to me. "You and the Five will be
there to meet the new guy."
"I'm not looking forward to it." I stood on one side
of my doorway while James stood on the other, delivering the formal invitation
to breakfast Friday morning.
"I know. I noticed you haven't written anything the last
two days."
"It's difficult to write while you're mopey and
depressed," I pointed out.
"Cori, you can't leave the book hanging like that."
"Wanna bet?"
"Please?" he wheedled. "I'd ask for cookies,
too, but that would be too much. I'll settle for the end of the chapter."
"I can't make any promises, James," I said, leaning
my head against the doorframe. "Not only does he get my kitchen, he gets
to beat on me, too."
"If he's any good at all, that won't happen."
"Look, if he wants to impress the others, all he has to
do is join in and bully the weakest member, or don't you remember that from
high school?"
"Cori, what are you really worried about?"
"That the others will come to watch, and he'll hit harder
because of it."
"It's only three days a week."
"Yeah."
* * *
Ilya
The best way to size anybody up, as they say in America, is to
catch them off-guard. I intended to size up Corinne Watson before we were
introduced. That's why I was in the kitchen quite early, sipping strong, black
coffee and waiting for her to arrive.
Big mistake
.
* * *
"Not the best way to make your presence known,"
Dalton shook his head.
"If you'd given me sufficient information, this could
have been avoided."
"I didn't have Colonel Hunter's permission."
"Where is he, then? I'll talk to him myself."
"Stay put." Dalton held out a hand. "We're in
enough trouble as it is, and this is just our first day."
"Hmmph," I snorted. "How was I to know she'd
have a panic attack? You told me she wasn't very talented. I expected her to be
military, at the very least, and prepared for things like this."
"Look, a big part of her file is redacted, so even I
don't have access. If you get information, you may have to get it from her. Colonel
Hunter is so mad he could breathe fire over this."
* * *
Corinne
"Why, Dr. Shaw," I muttered. I opened my eyes to
find him leaning over me. "Whatever are you doing here?" I added.
"I believe you know why." He grimaced and
straightened beside my bed. "You really need to handle surprises better
than this."
"Did you see him?" I pulled myself up and leaned
against my headboard. "He looks like a mountain."
"He's six-four. That's not a mountain."
"Says you."
"It appears you're feeling better," Shaw said, his
voice dry.
"Look, just, well, never mind." I rubbed my
forehead.
"I think he's willing to work out a schedule, or at least
knock," Shaw said.
"Great."
"The meeting with the others went well."
"I imagine Becker is in his pocket already—Becker's never
made me have a panic attack."
"Let's not add wild speculation to this debacle,"
Shaw said. "I have enough paperwork as it is."
* * *
Ilya
Becker and Nick are pigs masquerading as humans. Maye is an
ice queen with telepathic talents. Kevin and Ken are tech geeks with acquired
physical abilities.
All of them are sent out regularly on assignment; sometimes
outside the country. I wasn't surprised that their handlers were with them;
Dalton insisted on being with me when I met with the Five at breakfast.
I wasn't stupid enough to ask why they were called the Five
and not the Six. To them, Corinne didn't count. I understood that—up to a
point.
It wasn't difficult to determine that something was happening
with Corinne—latent talents or such—because she'd only been brought to the Mansion
recently, after being on the outside for more than five years.
That spelled one thing to me—she'd suddenly become more
valuable. Whatever the talent was, it wasn't common knowledge. The Five thought
her just as ineffective as they'd always imagined.
I'd gotten an earful, too, from Corinne's handler about PTSD,
which Corinne has. I didn't interrupt the rant, although I knew more about the
illness than he did. I'd seen too many—soldiers and spies—formerly strong and
resilient, suddenly fall because of the affliction. Where I came from, a spy
with PTSD didn't live long. They were too much of a liability.
It intrigued me, too, why they'd given Corinne—a civilian—the
drug. Perhaps we were more alike than I wanted to think. Information can be quite
valuable, and I figured Corinne held something they wanted.
Just as I did.
"I hear you're gonna teach Corinne Krav Maga,"
Becker snickered as I studied the remains of my breakfast. The eggs, toast and
ham I'd consumed. I've never liked hash browns. Those stayed on my plate,
untouched.
"Are you an expert?" I refused to blink as I turned
to him, lifting an eyebrow in speculation.
"I'm good enough," he growled.
Easy to anger,
that one
.
"Maye's the expert," Ken intervened.
Peacemaker
.
"I'd like to see you take her on," Nick said.
Instigator
.
"I just arrived," I said. "I'd like to settle
in before anyone attempts to bloody me up."
"I believe it's my choice whether I bloody anyone or
not," Maye lifted her cup of tea gracefully.
Deadly—no doubt about that
.
Curly red hair?
The best disguise I'd ever seen
.
"I have news," General Safer walked up to our table.
We'd met in a private corner of the cafeteria, but still visible to anyone who
came inside. I recognized him, even before I'd been informed that he was
currently in charge of the Program.
When the President replaced General Edwards, Safer would go
back to his former position of second-in-command. Meanwhile, he had news. All
of us at the table quieted, waiting to hear what it was.
"The President just named a new Secretary of Defense, who
will be placed in charge of the Program."
"Who?" Carol White, Kevin Harvey's handler, asked.
"General Paul Cutter," Safer deadpanned.
* * *
Corinne