Authors: Connie Suttle
Got any five-pound weights?
I shot back.
Yes, but those are for sissies
.
Really? What do you think I am?
You can lift more than five pounds. I saw you manhandle
that bag of flour.
Right. Lifting that weight, however, had a purpose. All-purpose,
if I remember correctly.
Lifting weights has a purpose, too. You can do weights with
me after Krav Maga lessons, three days a week.
Joy.
James spots me.
Really?
He does. He likes to look at my crotch.
TMI. Besides, there's nothing wrong with wishful thinking.
Understood. I told him from the beginning I was straight,
but there's nothing wrong with window shopping.
I'm glad you have a good attitude about that. James is
pretty awesome.
He's probably reading this right now.
That wasn't why I said it.
I know.
Fifteen seconds later, I got an e-mail from James.
Thank you! When are you baking cookies again?
How about the weekend?
We may be busy on the weekend.
Joy.
Fifteen minutes later, Auggie was on my doorstep, with James,
Dalton and Rafe. We had a meeting in my kitchen. It involved a two-week trip to
London and Paris with the Secretary of State, Maye, Kevin, Ken and our
respective handlers. I wanted to have a panic attack. I didn't.
* * *
"You've been outfitted and packed. All you need is pajamas
and underwear," James informed me when August and Dalton left. Rafe and
James had stayed behind with me in the kitchen.
"Somebody bought for me again?" I squeaked.
"One of the President's assistants. Bought for Rafe and
the others, too, so don't hyperventilate."
"James, this is two trips in less than two weeks."
"Think how the Secretary of State feels."
"He wanted that job, remember? Please tell me I won't be
squeezed into something too small and require oxygen."
"Too small?" Rafe huffed.
"Shut up, you. You're annoying."
"I thought I was conveying incredulity. My mistake."
"James, can I pay you to drop weights on his head?"
"How much?" James grinned.
"No one will be dropping weights. I'd send you out the
door, except that would do me no good at all," Rafe grumbled.
"I'm teasing. James knows that," I said.
"Besides, it's my door."
"As I said, it would do me no good at all. You'd only
come right back."
"I don't have anywhere else to go, since I'm an orphan
and all."
"Cori, were you? Really?" James asked.
"I can't answer that."
* * *
At least we weren't on a commercial flight when we left two
days later—on a Friday. The Secretary of State had a function to attend with
the Prime Minister on Saturday, so we were going. The President didn't trust
the woman posing as Mary Evans, and worried that she'd be there with the Prime
Minister and a few non-English-speaking dignitaries.
Rafe said she was fluent in too many languages to count, and
he was right. August was on the list of intended recipients if any new
information was gathered on her, and promised to share photographs with me. I
hoped I'd see the one I wanted to see.
Meanwhile, I was asked to advise August, who would then advise
the Secretary of State, at the President's behest. We didn't need an incident.
I couldn't agree more, but I couldn't say at the moment who was in the most
danger.
"August, what's the Vice President's schedule while we're
gone?" I asked. The flight had been smooth for the most part, but chose
that moment to buck us around. I hate turbulence, but there isn't anything I
can do about it.
"No idea—I don't usually get that information," he
said, turning a curious glance in my direction. He sat beside me, while James
sat on the other side with Rafe. Dalton sat behind Rafe, with Maye's handler,
Jeff, beside him. Maye and Kevin took up another row, while Ken and his handler
sat across the aisle. Kevin's handler was stretched out, taking an entire row
for himself while he napped. The Secretary of State and his entourage took up
the office and better seating toward the rear of the plane.
"Can you pass a message along that the VP needs to be
careful?" I said.
"I can try."
"Thanks." I turned my attention toward the front of
the plane—the pilots were locked inside their cubicle while two flight
attendants filled drink cups for some of the others.
"Cori?"
"What?"
"You scare me."
"Auggie, I scare myself, sometimes."
* * *
The Connaught Hotel was our destination after we landed
Saturday morning. I was ready to do a faceplant on a bed; that wasn't to be. We
showered, changed and loaded into three limousines for a visit with the Prime
Minister.
"This is why I never ran for office," I joked as our
vehicles were allowed inside a gated entrance by armed guards on our way to 10
Downing Street.
"You're not locked in, now?" Dalton asked.
"You know, we haven't had a discussion yet, have
we?" I made a face at him.
"Whatever you do, don't have a discussion with her,"
Rafe said. "You'll lose, I promise."
"Be nice, Corinne," August warned.
"I am nice. All the time. You just don't see it that
way."
"We're here," he announced, curtailing our
conversation. I sighed and slid out of the car when my door was opened.
The door to 10 Downing Street is rather modest, considering it
houses much of the British government behind its unassuming frame. Designed by
Christopher Wren in the late 1600s, the huge building is connected to 11 and 12
Downing Street, which house the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Prime
Minister's Press Office, among other things.
I felt it when I walked across the threshold, where a guard
greeted us.
Trouble was on the way.
* * *
The meeting only lasted an hour; the rest of us kicked our
heels in an antechamber while the Prime Minister and the Secretary of State had
their private meeting. The state dinner would be held later—in the evening and
in another part of the building, after we had some rest.
Too many things were in motion, however, so our rest might be
short, if we got any at all.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
I didn't pass along Corinne's message. How do you tell the
Vice President to be careful, anyway?
He'd gone to a suburb of Detroit, where cars were still
made—an island in a former sea of continental industry, now dead. The Mayor
invited him to a local ice-cream shop afterward.
A sniper killed both of them, plus two of their bodyguards.
Chapter 7
Corinne
News of the assassination was on every British television
station. My hopes that the state dinner would be canceled were dashed—August
walked into my hotel room while I huddled against the headboard, watching the
latest reports.
"The Secretary wants to attend the dinner tonight, then
fly back to the U.S. tomorrow," August said. He sounded guilty.
"Normally, the VP wouldn't take a side trip like that, but the Mayor
talked him into it," he added.
I didn't say anything.
Rafe and Dalton walked through my door, just as August had.
Without a word, Rafe sat on the side of the bed, took one of my hands and held
it tightly while watching the news with me. He knew I was shaking.
This could have been prevented.
Things were so much worse, now.
"General Cutter said the Detroit Mayor had the ice-cream
place checked out beforehand, and plenty of police around. It shouldn't have
been a big deal," Dalton said, taking a seat on the end of my bed and
watching the news with us.
The journalist on television repeated what Dalton said, adding
that nobody had seen the sniper—before or afterward, and there were currently
no leads. News crews were held back from the small dessert shop, so they'd set
up as close as they could, like hungry vultures waiting for their turn at the
corpse.
"The VP has a family. I hope they're not watching
this," I quavered.
"Corinne, I need you to be steady for tonight,"
August said.
"I know."
* * *
Ilya
For perhaps the hundredth time, I wondered about Corinne's
past. Yes, I knew about the terrorist attack in France, now, but what about
before then? Did she have a family? Was her orphan comment to James misleading?
I didn't even know how old she was when the drug was administered.
The Mansion has a library, and I'd visited it twice—once to
research the names of those who'd died in the Louvre attack. None of them appeared
to be Corinne. That meant that she was either not reported among the deaths, or
it had been covered up, somehow. My guess was the latter, but I had no way to
prove it.
Everything I did was scrutinized, but I couldn't say they
watched me any closer than they did Corinne. We were the wild cards, she and I.
How she'd managed to escape them for more than five years and live outside the
Mansion still astounded me, and why she'd allowed them to pull her back in by
displaying a bit of her talent astounded me more.
Corinne wasn't stupid. Not by a far shot. She was vulnerable,
though, and she knew that better than anyone. Perhaps she realized—more than
any of us—what was coming and decided to do something about it. I gripped her
hand tighter for a moment before patting it and letting go.
"We have to get dressed, cabbage," I told her.
"We'll get through this."
* * *
Corinne
I decided not to read anything into the cabbage comment.
Wearily, I climbed off the bed and went to find the black dress I was supposed
to wear for the evening. Rafe and Dalton left, leaving August standing near the
foot of my bed.
"Corinne, someone will be taking care of the VP's
family," he sighed before following the others out the door.
"Too bad somebody can't take care of us, too," I
muttered, slipping the black evening dress off its hanger with shaking hands.
* * *
Nobody spoke to the Secretary's entourage—they all spoke to
him, offering their condolences on the loss of the Vice President. In multiple
languages. Another interpreter stood beside the Prime Minister as he and the
Secretary shook hands, but I wasn't surprised.
Mary Evans likely had other places to be when the shit hit.
All I had to do was control my shaking and the panic attack
that threatened.
Ilya
, I thought,
please be everything I think you
are
.
* * *
Ilya
I heard her. I always hear her. A part of me wanted to tell
her that. Another part waited to hear everything, in case she told me something
I really wanted to know. I wasn't sure how to interpret what she'd said,
however.
Was it related to my taking her hand, earlier, or for my other
talents? I nodded and smiled, just as the others did while we followed in the
wake of the Secretary of State. Did I know that Maye watched me, ready to
defend the Secretary in case I went wild?
Of course
.
She had no idea that I meant him—and all the others—no harm.
There were some I did want to harm, however, but they were far away and of no
concern to her.
"Rafe?" Corinne was beside me.
"Cabbage?"
"Exits?"
"Got them."
"Gonna need 'em.
Now
."
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
The lights flashed and a few female guests screamed when an
outside wall was hit by an explosive. The loud boom was accompanied by the
entire building shaking, as if we were having an earthquake. This sort of thing
had happened only once before—that's why the gate had been erected at the
entrance years ago.
That didn't matter now—someone, somehow, had gotten around
that safeguard. Maye, Kevin and Ken surrounded the Secretary of State while two
guards stepped up beside the Prime Minister, ready to herd both to safety. I
didn't have time to look for Corinne, Dalton or Rafe.
I shouldn't have worried.
Corinne grasped Dalton by the hand and led him toward one of
the exits; he'd wanted to run in the opposite direction. Rafe ran behind them,
clearing a space for the rest of us.
The emergency lights came on, affording us enough illumination
to see. The Prime Minister and his guards weren't arguing with our impromptu
escape route, so I realized Corinne was heading in the proper direction.
I shouldn't have been surprised. The second blast hit, shaking
the floor beneath us, knocking furniture over and dropping light fixtures onto
a screaming, fleeing crowd. Yes, I knew they were running in the wrong
direction, but you generally can't stop a frightened mob; you'll get run over
if you try. Attempting to shout into the din as walls fell and glass shattered would
be equally pointless. I didn't try.
I only recall seeing a small sign next to a narrow stairway
leading downward after traversing several halls. The image stuck in my mind,
however, as the last thing I read in the dim light when the third blast hit,
vibrating the floor beneath our feet.
The green, rectangular sign, roughly the size of my hand,
proclaimed in white letters,
To Bomb Shelter Area
, with an arrow
pointing down the stairs.
That's where we went.
I knew people behind us were dead as we raced down the steps
as quickly as we could, Corinne and Rafe still in the lead, the Prime Minister,
his guards and the Secretary of State right behind. Dalton had dropped back to
the middle; I brought up the rear, with Ken beside me. A bit of smoke billowed
behind us, telling me the building was on fire.
In the distance, I heard sirens, but they wouldn't arrive in
time for some. I hoped they'd arrive in time for us.
* * *
Corinne
If Rafe hadn't been beside me, I might not have fought off the
panic attack. People's lives depended on me, and I couldn't let my fear take
over. The screams we'd heard at first stopped after the third blast. Reminding
myself that I'd have to worry about that later, I continued my race down the
steps, Rafe a half-step behind.
At the bottom of the steps lay another door. The Prime
Minister likely had the combination for the keypad beside it. I didn't wait for
him. Flipping the cover down, I lifted my hand to punch in numbers.
"Wait," he shouted. "You only get two
tries."
I got it on the first try. If I survived the night, I might
not be welcome back in England again, but that wasn't my biggest worry. My
biggest worry was getting the people with me out of this fiasco alive. I'd been
in a similar situation before, and was powerless to do anything.
This time, I hoped things would be different.
Once we were through the door, it shut behind us, rearming
itself. At least that was one barrier between us.
Yes, we had followers. I just didn't know how far back they
were.
A musty, concrete tunnel and another set of stairs lay beyond
us. We fled down those steps the moment we heard gunshots. They were shooting
at the doorknob behind us, attempting to gain access that way and bypassing the
alarm. Not good.
"This tunnel will lead us to the Waterloo exit," the
Prime Minister said, breaking into a trot and attempting to take control of our
exodus.
"They're waiting for you at the Waterloo exit," I
said, stopping him short, his guards sliding to a stop beside him.
"You don't know a thing about any of this," the
Prime Minister huffed.
"If I were you, I'd listen to Corinne," Rafe warned.
"Sir, it would be better if we all paid attention to
her," August said from somewhere behind. From the sound of things, our
pursuers had broken through the door. We didn't have much time.
"Then what do you suggest? There's a warren of offices
and shelters beyond this door and throughout this space. We can lock ourselves
in and wait for rescue," the Prime Minister pointed out.
"They won't get here in time," I said. "It's
your choice, obviously—I can't force you to believe me or do anything I say.
I'm just trying to get us out of here alive."
"Then get us out of here alive. I warn you, if you're in
on this, England will prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law."
"I have no doubt," I said dryly. "Let's
go."
I punched in a second code to get us through the door, which
August shut behind us. We already heard running footsteps; it wouldn't be long
before this door would be treated to the same abuse as the last one.
I knew where the door leading to the Waterloo exit was. We
weren't going near it. Instead, I led our group in the opposite direction,
stopping in front of an air vent.
"No," the PM shook his head as I knelt to open it.
"Yeah. We're going a different way. This shaft leads to another
vent, connected to the Citadel beneath the Ministry of Defense. After that,
we'll change course again."
* * *
"Madam President, I hate to interrupt," President
Sanders' Chief of Staff knocked softly on the Oval Office door.
"Hal?" the President looked up from the papers on her
desk. She no longer saw them; they were merely an excuse—a decoy, to make it
look as if she were busy. While she and the Vice President hadn't been close
friends, they respected one another. The VP's loss was a terrible blow—to her
and to the country.
"I've had word from Britain," Hal Prentice said. "Ten
Downing has been attacked. They're pulling bodies out of the building—it was
hit three times by rockets and partially burned. There's no word on the
Secretary of State or the Prime Minister. It's all over the media, in addition
to the Vice President's death. The Joint Chiefs and your cabinet are on the
way."
"Dear God." The President dropped her face in her
hands.
* * *
Corinne
At least the vent was large enough to crawl through, and I was
grateful the PM and the Secretary were still limber enough to do so. August and
Ken made sure the vent cover was closed behind us—I didn't want our pursuers to
guess right away where we'd gone.
"Corinne," Maye hissed, "How long is this
fucking vent?"
"Probably half as long as a fucking football field,"
I said.
"What's your beef?" Dalton asked—he was crawling
behind her.
"I don't have enough room to protect anyone in this tight
space," she complained.
"I hope you won't have to," I said, ignoring the
panicky timbre of her voice. It told me she was slightly claustrophobic. I
wasn't about to yell at her about that. "I hate crawling anywhere in an
evening dress," I added. "It sort of sucks."
"This isn't the time for chitchat," August reminded
us. We shut up and kept crawling. Somewhere, far behind us, I heard the clang
of the vent cover being ripped away. We crawled faster.
* * *
Ignoring the cramps in my back and legs, I lay flat on my belly
while Rafe crawled over me to punch the vent cover off. I cringed at the sound
it made as the metal clattered against tile. Rafe somersaulted out of the vent gracefully,
while I crawled out like a wounded lizard dressed in an evening gown.
I moved aside so Rafe could help the PM and the others out of
the ventilation shaft, while I leaned against the wall and attempted to even my
breathing.
"They're coming," August said when he dropped out of
the vent last. That's when Rafe and the PM's guards took stock of the hallway
around us—there wasn't any furniture or anything heavy to shove against the
vent and slow our pursuers.
"Which way, cabbage?" Rafe asked softly. I peeled
myself away from the wall, lifted the skirts of my evening dress and took off
at a run. The others ran behind me.
* * *
President Sanders blinked in disbelief. Another news report
interrupted the one she and her cabinet watched concerning the Secretary of
State and the British Prime Minister.
"It is now confirmed that the Tower of London was
breached during the confusion after the attack on 10 Downing Street, and an
anonymous source reports that the Imperial State Crown and other valuables have
been taken. It is not known as yet whether the two incidents are
connected."
"Holy fucking hell," the Secretary of Homeland
Security cursed.
* * *
Corinne
The Pindar Citadel beneath the Ministry of Defence might have
been worth the enormous price paid when it was finished in the '90s. The
facility housed a huge warren of rooms, bomb shelters, sleeping quarters and
everything else one might require in the event of a siege. We didn't have time
to stop and appreciate it—our pursuers were catching up.