Designated Survivor (29 page)

Grace stood and wiped the sweat off his face and chest with the tee shirt he’d worn all day then pulled his shorts off and laid down on the thin cot in his underwear, closed his eyes, and let himself fade to sleep.

CHAPTER 63

Avery was with Netty in the water just as Grace had been a day earlier. They snorkeled 30 yards off the shore, stopping to splash each other and act cozy every few minutes until they’d worked themselves straight out from the cottage. Avery reached out under the water and grabbed Netty, making her squeal loudly then begin laughing, all the while watching over her shoulder.

“Nothing yet,” Avery said. The radio earpiece was waterproof and worked off the vibration of your voice rather than the sound from your mouth so he didn’t have to speak loudly.

“Do it again,” Grace’s voice came through.

Avery reached back towards Netty who was already glaring at him, having heard the order. As his hands reached her she was already screaming and laughing, splashing water into his face then began to swim away.

“Where are you going?” Avery yelled.

She stopped and waited for him to catch up and work into position for another visual check.

“We have movement,” Avery said. “Can’t confirm it’s the target, but one person is standing outside and appears to be watching us.”

“Keep it up out there,” Grace said.

The dense woods surrounding the cottage were broken up only by the narrow drive that led from the highway to the house. Grace had been let out half a mile down from the driveway and disappeared into the trees. It took more than an hour in the darkness to reach cover just off the west side of the house where he hid to wait for sunrise and then for his team to draw attention out to sea.

Holden would be on the other side of the house but further out by now. Corbin had the car a mile down the highway. Grace traveled light, only his silenced Glock 19 and a hunting knife with a nine-inch blade. He didn’t expect any security and so far had seen nothing to counter that thought.

He began to move from his position he’d held for ninety minutes to work around to the front of the cottage. Through the earpiece he continued to hear Avery and Netty frolicking in the Caribbean.

“Target is going inside,” Avery said.

Grace froze. He was already out in the open and approaching the side of the building. “You need to draw attention. Do whatever you can.”

Out in the water Avery looked at Netty and she just grinned and nodded. They turned and swam towards the beach until they were waist deep in the water then stood up and faced each other, taking their masks and snorkels off.

“You sure?” Avery said.

“It’s just work,” Netty said.

Avery reached behind her and pulled her body into his and kissed her, his tongue entering her mouth and being pushed back by hers. They had discussed the possibility of having to get creative. Avery had no issues with it and had thought Netty would. Her tongue surrounding his now out in the ocean made him think otherwise.

They turned so he could get a look at the house.

He pulled away from the kiss just enough to speak. “He’s stopped and looks like he’s trying to decide whether it’s worth his time.”

Netty pushed Avery away and turned around to face the beach and looked over her shoulder at Avery.

“Pull it,” she said.

Avery hesitated briefly then grabbed the string on the back of her green polka dotted bikini and pulled. She lowered her shoulders and allowed the top to fall down her arms and off of her then tucked one string around the side of her bikini bottoms.

“Go for it,” she said.

Avery stepped up behind her and brought his hands around to her tight belly. She grabbed his right hand and moved it up to her bare breast.

“Sell it,” she said.

He glanced up enough to see the cottage.

“We have him,” Avery said. “Damn perv has his binoculars out again.”

“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” Grace said.

“Yessir,” Avery let his left hand slide down her wet skin and Netty didn’t stop him.

Grace went in motion. He decided to go through the front to come up behind the target rather than approaching from the beach and risking being seen in peripheral vision. The front door was locked but the simple handle was easily picked in only seconds and he entered the cottage silently.

The house was small, only 18 feet front to back and thirty feet end to end to allow for more ocean views from the living area and the matching bedrooms on either end. He passed the small kitchen, which didn’t appear to have been used. The living room had a few old pieces of wicker furniture with dated floral print cushions on top.

Through the wide glass windows in back of the cottage Grace could see Arash Abbasi standing on the deck, binoculars to his eyes. Grace’s Glock was already in his right hand and ready. He got to the opening to the deck and paused. Glancing down at the old wooden deck he knew it was likely to creak when he stepped out. He raised the pistol and aimed at the man’s head and stepped through the threshold. With his second step the wood below him groaned. He saw Abbasi’s body become still, alert, then the man lowered his binoculars halfway.

Grace couldn’t see a gun on the man and no bulge below his loose white shirt but he knew not to underestimate the terrorist.

“May I turn to face my executioner?” Arash Abbasi spoke.

“Slow,” Grace said.

Abbasi let his binoculars fall to his chest and began to turn, keeping his arms out away from his body. Once he was facing Grace he stopped and looked the NSA operative up and down.

“I knew it would be you,” Abbasi said.

“Yeah?”

“I saw you there, when I killed the FBI director,” Abbasi said. “And when they loaded me into that truck. I knew then it would be you.”

“Happy not to let you down,” Grace said.

“So, will you be taking me in for torture, or interrogation as your government prefers to say,” Abbasi said. “Or will you simply be killing me here?”

“I’m not much for torture,” Grace said. “But how helpful you are in the next few minutes will go a long way in determining whether you walk out of here today or someone finds your dead body in a week.”

“Yes, of course. I know you have questions,” Abbasi said. “Would you care to sit while we talk?” He motioned with his chin towards the faded outdoor furniture where a weapon was likely hidden.

“No, we’re fine right here,” Grace said. “Who hired you?”

“You must be more specific,” Abbasi said. “I have many clients all over the world.”

“Okay. Who hired you to destroy the United States Capitol?”

Abbasi nodded. “Right to the point, no desire for a longer discussion on the decision to accept such an assignment?”

“Nope,” Grace said.

“I understand. The man who hired me for that assignment was William Whitlock,” Abbasi said. “But I have a feeling you already knew that.”

“I did,” Grace said. “I just wanted to see how easily you’d give up your client.”

“I am as committed to my clients as they are to me,” Abbasi said. “But once a client demonstrates their lack of professional demeanor, I have no reason to protect them.”

“What did Whitlock do?”

“It is what he did not do. He refused to pay the remainder of his fee,” Abbasi said. “He claimed the job was unfinished so I didn’t deserve the rest of my payment.”

Grace cocked his head to the side and sized up the Persian man. “Was the attack at the ETTF part of the contract?”

“No, it was not,” Abbasi said. “That was negotiated after the destruction of the Capitol failed to achieve the results Mr. Whitlock desired, and after he withheld payment.”

“Even after he didn’t pay, you took another job from him?” Grace said.

“That I did not say,” Abbasi said. “A second client stepped up with the remainder of the funds under the condition that I completed the second task.”

“Who was the second client?” Grace said.

“That is information I cannot share,” Abbasi said. “That agreement was fulfilled by both parties.”

“So the president wasn’t your target,” Grace said. “If your client paid you then you must have achieved your goal.”

Abbasi nodded in approval. “That is a fair estimation of the events,” he said. “You are wiser than I expected.”

“Thanks,” Grace pulled the trigger on his Glock 19 pistol and the whispered nine-millimeter round flew from the barrel and entered the center of Arash Abbasi’s forehead. The bullet shattered upon entering the man’s skull and sent shrapnel throughout his brain.

Abbasi was dead before his knees buckled beneath him, dropping him backwards onto the wooden deck. Blood came down the side of his face from the single wound as his heart came to a stop.

CHAPTER 64

Grace stood facing the white door, a bottle of expensive Irish whiskey in his hand, then reached out and pressed the doorbell. He heard footsteps moving across the floor inside then the door opened to reveal Amanda Paulson.

“Wine is more traditional, but I’ll take it,” she stepped aside and let him in. “I was surprised when you called. You’ve been MIA since . . .” She wrapped her arms around his chest and kissed him then put her head on his chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady.

“Yeah, I had some work to do,” Grace said.

“You don’t get any time off after something like that?” she said.

“Usually just getting right back in is the best therapy,” he said. “I try not to think about ops after they’re done, when I do the reality of some of the situations can really hit you. You don’t think about the danger you’re in at the time.”

“Tell me about it,” she said. “What was the scariest part?” She moved him through the house towards the living room.

“I’d never say scary, but when I think back I guess what was probably the trickiest was when we were approaching Graham’s house out near Charlottesville. There were Secret Service agents there, armed and ready to protect him. We came in totally off script and unexpected,” Grace said. “I’m surprised Agent Foster didn’t shoot me in the middle of the field.”

She pulled away and looked at him. “I have dinner almost ready.” She turned and walked through the living room and into the kitchen in the back of the house.

He sat down on the sofa. “This feels a bit more like a date than we’re used to,” he said.

She answered from the next room. “Is it weird?”

“Nah, I like it,” he said. “Been a long time since I went on a date.” He looked around the room. There was no television but several nicely framed art prints hanging on the white walls above the light green chair rail and wainscoting below it.  The wide planked dark cherry hardwood floors were shining without a hint of dust. Everything was in its place and perfect.

He stood up and looked at the prints then to the corner where some more casual photos were framed. His eyes settled on one of an adult co-ed soccer team in their black shorts and red jerseys. He scanned the faces and stopped when he got to her.

“You play soccer?” he said.

“I used to,” she called back from the kitchen. “Hard to find the time anymore.” She came into the room behind him. “Let’s sit down, that’s ancient history.”

“Aren’t you a hot little one in your shorts and soccer shirt,” he said. “The shin guards are kinda turnin’ me on.”

“I still have them upstairs, want me to put them on?” she stood and motioned towards the stairwell.

“Who’s that guy beside you? He looks familiar,” he said. “Wait a second, is that . . .?” He looked closer. “That’s Agent Foster. I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Is he the one from Graham’s house?” she said. “I never put it together, but, yeah, I guess it’s the same guy. Now let’s eat, foods getting cold.”

Grace looked down the row of faces in the photograph and stopped again, letting his eyes rest on the narrow face at the end of the line with a thin beard and moustache. He heard a drawer open behind him and turned around.

Amanda Paulson stood with a Glock 42 aimed at him from ten feet away. “Why, Grace?” she said. “Why couldn’t you just stop working?”

“What the hell, Mandy,” Grace said. “I was just asking you about soccer.”

“We both know you weren’t,” she said. “You saw the photo of Foster there and somehow in that twisted mind of yours tied everything together. I don’t know how, but you did.”

Grace looked over at the photo and back at her.

“True, it was kinda weird seeing Foster there, but it was more shocking to see William Whitlock in the photo,” Grace said.

Amanda stretched her arms longer and gritted her teeth, her right forefinger already on the trigger of the pistol.

“Does this mean you’re not going upstairs to get your shin guards?” he said.

“What did it?” she said.

“Everything out in Charlottesville made no sense; the SEAL trying to kill me, only one Secret Service agent dead from a shootout. Once Graham and William were suspects, it really confused me, until I realized it was a cover. There was never any threat against them, but it threw any suspicion against them away,” Grace said. “I had a feeling about Foster when I was there. He was too easy to push over. No self respecting Secret Service agent would let some gang of thugs come out of the woods and take their asset out from under them without a fight. I also didn’t buy that they were radio silent. I saw his radio on a different frequency before we left when he had no reason to change it from the secure channel we’d already communicated on. And I knew that Graham or William couldn’t have pulled this off alone. I told Arrington I thought there had to be someone in the intel community involved.”

“Why’s that?” she said.

“Someone had to know the ins and outs of the security details, have access to the secure phones everyone carries, access their records to know who could be threatened,” Grace said. “And Neurotomy, the college kids making the phone calls. That was your baby, wasn’t it?”

She cocked her head. “Why do you think that?”

“We’ve gone through their data,” Grace said. “They had access to all of the employee files for every agency they needed. Only someone high up could have arranged that. Tell me, what was Foster to gain?”