Authors: Connie Suttle
* * *
Corinne
I owed Auggie cookies; he didn't mention my transfer to the
President. Not while I was there, anyway. If they held a private conversation
at another time, I didn't care, as long as they kept it to themselves.
Usually, I don't bake on Tuesdays. As I had the day off, aside
from meetings, I baked cookies for August and James. Rafe showed up after I
took the first batch out of the oven, so the intended recipients got the second
and third batches. I figured they could live with a dozen apiece.
"Do you have a washer and dryer?" Rafe asked as he
stuffed the rest of a cookie in his mouth.
"Yes—in a closet outside my office," I said.
"Why?"
"I like to wash my own jeans. The service here puts
starch in them. I prefer to keep them soft. It allows me easier movement."
"Fine. You can borrow my washer and dryer."
"I'll make gumbo tomorrow for dinner."
"Really? What kind?"
"Seafood gumbo."
"You're my hero," I said. "Do we have crackers
left?"
"I'd prefer fresh bread."
Rafe brought six pairs of jeans over, stuffed them in my
washer, then made himself comfortable on a nearby chair while I went through
the most recent chapter in the book. Taking days away from a manuscript requires
that I go through the last two or three chapters, just to get back in the
groove.
"I've read it already. It's good," Rafe said when I
finished reading.
"It needs editing. I'll send out the first half soon, so
my editor can start working on it."
"Want to invite James to dinner tomorrow night? I tend to
make enough gumbo to feed an army."
My inter-Mansion phone rang beside my desk. I couldn't call
out on it, but anyone inside the Mansion could call me. "Hello?" I
said after picking up.
"I want to come," James said immediately.
"We really need to find you a date," I informed him
dryly. "But your cookies are here waiting. You probably already know
that."
"Can I come get them now?"
"You're always welcome here, unless I'm asleep or in the
shower."
"On my way." The line went dead.
"What shall we name our adopted child?" I asked
Rafe. He laughed.
* * *
I had no idea we'd have uninvited guests. Thank goodness Rafe
did make enough for an army. All of the Five showed, with Carol, Kevin's
handler, and Jeff, Maye's handler. James had a great time—he probably hadn't
been to a party since college.
"Why didn't we know you could—you know," Maye said
to me as Rafe handed her a glass of wine.
"I can't explain it, really. August would probably kill
me."
"He wouldn't, he'd just be pissed," James grinned.
"This gumbo is awesome."
"I guess it's a good thing I made extra bread," I
said dryly.
"It goes great with the gumbo," Ken said, dumping
more gumbo in his bowl. Everybody was in my kitchen. Extra chairs had been
dragged in from somewhere, and several were eating around my dining table while
the rest took seats at the island.
"Why didn't we think of this before?" Kevin asked.
"I want to grill burgers on the back patio."
"I haven't been to a cookout in a long time," Nick
said. "I vote for steaks, though."
"I think we could accommodate that—I enjoy cooking
steaks," Rafe responded.
"I'll buy the grill, if they'll allow it," I said.
"What's this about a grill?" August and Leo walked
in.
"Ask them. I'm just funding it, if it's approved."
"I think the new VP might approve it," August
grinned. "Cori, the President asked me what I thought. The former
Secretary of State will be the new Vice President." My mouth dropped
open—I know it did—because Rafe tipped it closed with a finger beneath my chin.
* * *
"You saw who took off the minute we started cleaning the
kitchen," I said, flopping onto a barstool with a cup of chamomile.
"No surprise. I'd have bet money on Becker leaving first,
and I'd have won."
"Hah. No way I'd take that bet."
"I'm surprised Dr. Shaw stayed to help. Not surprised
that James did."
"Here's to good gumbo." I held up my cup.
"I'll second that."
* * *
Thursday, it was back to running, followed by Krav Maga and
weight training. Becker was the only one to show up for Krav Maga. I'm sure it
was for pointers. At least he hadn't shoved me in the mud, because it was
raining during the six a.m. torture. Springtime in the D.C. area. Lovely.
August waited in our kitchen for Rafe and me when the
weight-lifting torture was over. By that time, I was ready for a shower and
lunch.
Auggie
, I thought at him,
why is Dalton even here, except as a
spy?
"This won't take but a minute, and we can talk on our way
to the former Vice President's funeral. The President wants both of you to ride
with her and the First Gentleman," Auggie didn't bat an eyelash at the
mental communication.
"Who's taking the Secretary of State's spot?" I
asked.
"No idea, yet, but the moment they're brought on board
and the schedule is cleared, that trip to France is in the offing."
"Auggie, I don't want to go there," I slumped my
shoulders.
"Cori, it'll be all right."
It wasn't the first time I'd heard those words. They made me
sad. "Corinne, I don't have a specific time for next Tuesday, but I expect
both of you to be ready at nine. We'll be updated sometime after that, as to
when we have to leave. The President doesn't want to take any chances."
"I understand. I'll be ready."
"I'm giving you permission to go out with James and Rafe
tomorrow, to buy something to wear. Make sure it's tasteful and discreet."
"Does it have to be a dress?"
"That's preferable, yes."
"Damn," I sighed.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
"I'm just waiting for him to make his move," Shaw
said.
"What move?"
"With Corinne."
"Has he said anything to you?"
"No, but it doesn't take a genius to see it."
"Neither one has any names on their list."
"Do you think for a minute they'll be that obvious about
it—face it, placing a single name on that list is the same as announcing to the
entire Mansion that they're a couple."
"Look, I know he has a big beef with the Russian
government right now—a lot of Ukrainians do. You think we can trust him with
Corinne?"
"Do you think Corinne would trust him, if he wasn't
trustworthy?"
"I don't know. People have been blinded by love or lust
in the past."
"Corinne isn't acting like a Chihuahua in heat, you know.
Neither of them are young and stupid."
"Then let's keep an eye on them while they're out with
James tomorrow. We'll see where this goes."
* * *
Corinne
You'd think I'd been let out of prison. Nice jeans, low-heeled
short boots, a blue, boat-necked top and earrings were what I wore. The day was
overcast, but I didn't care. I was going
outside
.
With Rafe
.
What did it matter that they'd have an entire SWAT team
discreetly following us? Somebody, somewhere, wanted to know whom the target
was when the helicopter exploded, so they were watching us like hawks. It made
me wonder if they were watching Auggie and Dalton, too.
"Stay on your toes, cabbage," Rafe breathed next to
my ear as we walked out of the Mansion's side door toward a waiting car. We'd
have a driver and James as a personal escort. I made a point to make eye
contact with the driver.
No problem there
.
Alexandria, Virginia, was our destination; an upscale
department store waited there. It wasn't far away, but traffic made the drive
longer. Our destination was quite close to the Pentagon, actually, in Pentagon
City. When we arrived, I stared—the adjoining mall was huge.
The driver found a spot in a parking garage, and we walked
from there. Just as Rafe asked, I watched everything around us—he did, too.
James appeared to be more watchful than I'd ever seen him be, and together the
three of us strolled into the mall area and headed toward the department store.
I knew we were followed discreetly; that was also a concern.
Someone had gotten to a helicopter pilot; what might keep them from getting to
one of those who followed us now?
"Stop being obvious, cabbage," Rafe rumbled at my
side.
"Okay." I attempted to breathe out the tension
gathering inside me. "This is supposed to be fun. Relaxing," I
reminded myself. After my confinement at the Mansion, the mall and its many
shops overloaded my senses, especially since my fear was waking and shoving
everything else aside. I found I couldn't focus on anything except that.
Rafe's hand went to my neck, gently swept my hair aside and
massaged my skin. I wanted to moan at the contact—it felt wonderful. Too soon,
we arrived at the department store and he took his hand away.
"Dresses or suits first?" James asked.
"Let's do suits," I said. "I'm too shaky to
pick an outfit right now."
"Cori?" James turned his full attention on me.
"It's nothing," I lied and waved away his concern.
"Nothing imminent, anyway."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, it's just the usual," I said.
"Let's look at suits, then," Rafe took charge of the
situation as well as my hand and led me toward the nearest escalator.
"Get what you want; we can get it altered faster than
they can do it here," James advised as Rafe and I studied the selection of
suits. For a funeral, it had to be dark, tasteful and discreet. I forced my
mind to focus on Rafe and his selections.
"I like the dark gray and the navy pinstripe," I
said after Rafe slipped into several suit coats.
"We'll get both," James said.
"We have to hurry," I said. "They're getting
closer. We may have time to run through the dress department, but that's
it."
"Who?" Rafe turned to me, then.
"I don't know. I just feel them coming closer."
"To the dress department, then." James led the way
downstairs, where the women's clothing was.
I felt as if I were suffocating as I lifted skirts, blouses
and jackets off racks and raced toward the checkout. James paid and we headed
toward the mall entrance.
"In here," I grabbed Rafe and James' hands and led
them into a tiny shop not far away that sold women's lingerie. Pulling them
behind a large display sign hanging in a window, we watched as three men walked
past. They looked as if they were ready for a golf outing. Two of the three
appeared to be identical twins. I released a shaky breath.
Right behind them came some of those who were guarding us.
They knew, just as I did, that these three were looking for us. "Go,"
I hissed. We took off, moving as quickly as we could out of the store without
being obvious. Two of our discreet guards caught up with us near the entrance
to the parking garage, and they stayed with us until we were safely inside the
car.
The driver took off without a word, the screech of the
vehicle's tires scraping against my nerves as he drove us away from customer
parking. James received a call on his cell halfway back to the Mansion; August
was on the line. James put the call on speaker. "We have one of them in
custody," August said. "The other two are dead."
"Who?" Rafe asked.
"We have no information, and we're having trouble with
identification at the moment," August replied. "Did you get a look at
them? Recognize anyone?"
"No, but that's no surprise," Rafe responded.
"If I'm the target, they wouldn't want me to recognize a potential
shooter. Two of them were twins; I could see that clearly."
"What about you, Cori? Did you see any of them? Know
anything about them?"
"One wanted me. The twins wanted Rafe," I said.
"Are you holding up?" August asked—he'd noticed the
quaver in my voice.
"I didn't collapse on the floor, but it may be because
Rafe and James were holding me up."
"I can have Dr. Shaw waiting for you," August
offered.
"No, Auggie. I'll get through this, I think."
* * *
Shopping bags were dumped inside Auggie's office as we walked
in. He already had photographs spread across his desk. I lifted one of them—it
was of two bodies, both shot from close range. The twins were obviously dead.
"These two were after Rafe," I repeated, handing the
photograph to a frowning August. "The other one was definitely after
me."
"What can you tell me about him?" He handed a
photograph of the third man to me.
"Auggie, his mind is a mess," I said. "I'm not
getting much at all from him. It's like he had orders, and that's all he could
remember."
Chapter 9
Notes—Colonel Hunter
James and Rafe took Corinne back to her suite while I examined
the photographs again. I had information from our team, too, concerning the
shootings. They'd occurred in a maintenance area between the department store
and a nearby hotel; the two dead men got off several rounds before ours took
them down.
Getting the third man was a fluke—he'd stumbled and lost his
footing. It was easy to take him after that. The incident was handled
discreetly, with locals guarding the area until vans arrived to remove the
prisoner and the bodies.
Forensics was working on the bodies while the prisoner sat in
an interrogation room. I hoped he wouldn't end up like the pilot—dead in an
apparent suicide. What I'd discussed two hours earlier with the President and
General Safer was that I was being followed, too, so my wife had been sent out
of town to visit her mother.
Most of us scheduled to ride in that helicopter were targeted.
What we didn't know was why. I suspected the Russians were after Rafe, but how
had they learned of his existence, or what he even looked like now?
Corinne? How could anyone know about Corinne? She was only now
showing her talents, after all. It led me to believe that information was
leaking from the Mansion, but how, and through whom?
"Colonel?" James was back.
"James?"
"I want to do anything I can to find out who's doing
this."
"Doing what?"
"Releasing information on Cori and Rafe."
"Add me to that list," I said. "They're
following me, too."
"What about Dalton? He was supposed to be on that
chopper."
"No idea," I shrugged. "But it bears a closer
look."
* * *
Corinne
"I was hoping we'd have time to do lunch while we were
out," Rafe said, opening the fridge and searching for the package of
sliced roast beef.
"Lunch out may not be on the itinerary anytime
soon," I said.
"Want a sandwich?" he asked, setting the roast beef,
mayonnaise and a tomato on the island.
"Maybe half a sandwich. More than that might make me
sick. I feel queasy."
"Then I'll make half a sandwich for you."
Ilya
, I thought at him,
we have to start paying
attention to the ones who refuse to show me their face
.
"Want lettuce, too?"
"Yeah."
* * *
Ilya
Things were quiet around the Mansion for the rest of the day
and into the following morning, when Nick and Maye, who were scheduled to go
with the new Vice President to the former Vice President's funeral, went out to
buy clothing.
Nick was hit in the arm with a bullet, while Maye barely escaped
injury. We had a meeting Sunday night, after Nick was released by the medical unit
upstairs. Corinne's and my shared kitchen was the venue of choice.
"It appears that the entire Program is targeted, and not
just parts of it," General Safer announced. I wondered that he was here
instead of Cutter for this meeting, but didn't comment. It was on my list of
things to inquire discreetly about, however.
Cutter was furious that the President hadn't moved him into
the VP's slot, and I imagined that we had Corinne to thank for that. Cutter
would have been a huge mistake in that position, and would likely hurt Amelia Sanders'
bid for reelection the following year. I didn't want to speculate on what might
happen if the President was killed or incapacitated with Cutter in the Vice
President's position. That could become extremely dangerous.
I wasn't about to ask Dalton about any of this—he attended the
meeting reluctantly and sat at the table next to Kevin, with little expression
on his face as he listened to Safer with the rest of us.
I figured that Corinne would let August know if anyone in our
kitchen was involved in the leak of information, so I wasn't overly concerned
at the moment. The other thing I surmised was that all cameras and listening
devices in the kitchen had been blocked or deactivated temporarily, so the
meeting was as private as any meeting inside the Mansion could be.
"Both our attackers are dead," Maye said. "Is
there anything new on their identification?"
"We have nothing so far, and that concerns me,"
Safer acknowledged. "How can five unidentifiable gunmen show up so
quickly? They carried no ID, no credit cards or anything else that might help,
and their fingerprints aren't in any database."
"Has the one in custody talked, yet?" Nick asked.
"No. Hasn't spoken a word, as far as I know. Wrote a
note, asking for an attorney."
"So he's taking the fifth to the extreme?" August
asked.
"Looks that way."
"Did you take his belt away?" Corinne asked.
James snorted at Corinne's question.
"Yes. He no longer has anything left to hang himself,
unless he gets creative with his clothing."
"Are we still set to attend the funeral next week with
the President and Vice President?"
"Yes," Safer confirmed. "I don't believe I need
to tell you how vital it is that both come away safely."
"You don't have to tell me that," Maye huffed.
"Will there be plenty of protection surrounding the chapel?"
"We've increased it as of today," Safer said.
"Every man checked out beforehand, and Secret Service is guarding all
doors."
"You don't think it's only the Program being targeted, do
you?" August observed.
"Not after the Vice President's assassination, no,"
Safer said. "We had no rumblings on that one. We've been digging deeper
and listening more carefully since then."
That meant the NSA and every other agency was on high alert.
So far, the Vice President had been assassinated, the British Prime Minister
and the U.S. Secretary of State targeted, and possibly other officials in
foreign countries. That's what the meeting at Camp David was about—potential
terrorist attacks in multiple countries.
"What about the G-8?" I asked. "Are all those
countries potential targets?"
"We're looking into that, and other agencies are busy
with all the information that's been supplied so far. That's not our concern.
Our concern is keeping the Program safe, and then keeping the President, Vice
President and other highly-placed officials safe."
"What will you do if the Program is exposed?" Nick
asked.
"Likely move it; send it underground and let it sit dormant
for a while, to throw off conspiracy theorists," Safer said. "We
don't need that. Now, we may have a leak already; that's what concerns the
President and me. If you see any unusual activity, or if anyone asks questions
better left unanswered, let August know. He'll contact me, and we'll make sure
the President gets the information."
"Since when did Hunter get to take point?" Gene
Little, Becker's handler, demanded.
"Since he's been more useful than you ever were,"
Safer snapped. "He does investigative research and stays in contact with
me and the White House continually, while you twiddle your thumbs and watch
Becker play basketball. It's your job to listen and take orders, just as
Colonel Hunter is expected to do."
The division in the ranks is widening
, I heard
Corinne's voice plainly in my mind.
She was right, and likely knew it wasn't a good thing. Since I
had no knowledge of Safer's previous interactions with the Five, I didn't know
if Becker's handler had gotten dressed down before. I'd have to investigate
that, in addition to the other things on my list.
Corinne sat next to Colonel Hunter, while I'd taken a position
against the wall near the door. I wanted to watch all of them. Study them. I
was in danger, just as they were, but I wondered if we were being targeted as a
whole or individually, from different directions. Corinne and I needed a
private place to talk; I just wasn't sure where that might be.
* * *
Corinne
I wanted that talk Rafe suggested once—in a safe, non-bugged
place. I'd have to go looking for it. He might know things I didn't, and
vice-versa. August, too, was on my list of private conversations, and that
might be another problem.
Safer had painted a target on Auggie's back, by snapping at
Gene. Gene let Becker do whatever he wanted—consequently, Becker would be on
Gene's side if Gene wanted somebody pounded or embarrassed.
Auggie, we have to talk
, I sent in his direction. He
dropped his chin in a half-nod, indicating he'd heard me.
Do we have those
photographs of Mary Evans? I really want to look at them,
I added.
We hadn't gotten anything yet—the agencies who'd taken the
photographs were busy tying them up with bureaucratic red tape, to keep them
out of anyone else's hands. Maybe the President ought to get in on that. I
needed those photographs and soon.
"If there are no other questions?" General Safer
asked. He was done and ready to leave.
Nobody raised their hands, so Safer left with three
handlers—Vance, Preston and Carol—hot on his heels. They wanted a private word
I could tell, and didn't want to talk in front of the rest of us. Gene, a sour
expression on his face, pulled Becker out of the room shortly after.
"Cori, I want you and Rafe in my office. Now,"
August said and headed toward the door. Rafe waited while the others, Dalton included,
shuffled out of the kitchen before he shut the door and hauled me toward
Auggie's office.
* * *
"We're having trouble getting the photographs you
wanted," August said immediately when Rafe and I took seats inside his
office. James was outside at his station, making sure we weren't interrupted.
"The President may have to cut through this bureaucratic bullshit,"
he went on. "Nothing I've done has moved those assholes any faster."
August was cursing—that meant he was really pissed. He wanted
answers just as I did, and neither of us were having any luck. He couldn't come
out and tell them why he wanted the information, so his requests were going
through channels. It also told me that Cutter hadn't asked for the information
on Auggie's behalf—his requests wouldn't have met with brick walls.
"You may be wondering why I haven't involved the Program
Director in these requests," August said, echoing my thoughts. "I
have an answer. Corinne, I feel you need this information, although it may
upset you."
"What information?" Rafe asked.
"It's on this flash drive," he pulled a small drive
from a locked drawer and slipped it into his computer. "This is a recorded
phone conversation from a few days ago."
Rafe and I listened—it wasn't difficult to determine that the
conversation was between Dalton and General Cutter. I thought Rafe might
explode when Cutter called me a witch. He wasn't talking in generalities,
either. He meant a bona-fide, spell-weaving broom-rider. In his few,
ultra-conservative brain cells, that meant one thing.
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live
. When he actually
said those words to Dalton during their conversation, I drew a shaky breath.
It mattered not that the King James Version of the Bible was
written after the Inquisition was in full swing, or that the term witch was
misinterpreted and may have meant a poisoner of either sex. For those like
Cutter, the Bible was God's word, spoken directly into King James' printed
verses.
"I've already discussed this with the President,"
August said.
It didn't matter; I was shaking anyway. Cutter wanted me dead.
Was that why he hadn't shown his face to me—afraid I might be able to tell?
Fucker
.
"Corinne, the President is removing Dalton as Rafe's
handler. I'm taking over for him until another handler can be found, if it
proves necessary. I figure Safer is handing him his walking papers now. We
don't need a handler spying on somebody else's ward with the intention to harm,
and we certainly don't need a Program Director who wants a member of the
Program dead."
"What does the President intend to do?" Rafe asked,
a chill in his voice.
"Cutter will be asked—discreetly of course—to step aside
and retire permanently."
"When will that happen?"
"Next week, after the funeral. We don't need more than
one thing at a time cluttering up the media."
"Who's in line to take his place?" I asked. While
the word
witch
and the threat that followed sent a chill through me, the
fact that Cutter would be asked to step aside sent a bigger chill down my
spine. This wasn't a man who'd happily accept a request to step aside and
retire. Trouble would come of it—I just wasn't sure what form it would take.
Cutter was more than dangerous—to all of us.
"I don't have an answer," August replied. "I
think the President intends to be much more careful choosing the next Director.
She wanted to throw Cutter a bone, since he has so much support throughout the
country."
"And perhaps turn Cutter aside from running against her
in the next election?" Rafe asked.
"It has happened before," August agreed. "If he'd
stopped at naming him Secretary of Defense, then we wouldn't be having this
conversation. Since Hugh, his predecessor, was also Director of the Program,
the President thought it made sense. It didn't, and most people involved in the
Program understood that. We need someone a little more open-minded than Paul
Cutter."
"Auggie, you know there'll be trouble to come of
this," I said.
"I'm afraid of that, too, but we can't let him keep the
job. Not with that attitude. The President was really pissed when she heard this
conversation, and it took place right after the two of you saved the Prime
Minister and the Secretary of State. Dalton contacted Cutter to spill everything
he knew about that rescue, and Cutter responded to your act of heroism by
calling you an offensive name and making implied threats."