Special Ops Exclusive (20 page)

“Kirk,” Ferguson said warmly as he shook the secretary’s hand.

Two stone-faced agents stood a few feet away, keeping a vigilant eye on the ballroom and everyone in it. In fact, the whole room was swarming with agents, all boasting that same alert posture and hawklike gaze.

“Mr. Vice President, you remember my son, Nicholas,” Secretary Barrett said, gesturing to Nick.

“Of course. Pleasure to see you again, son.”

Nick reached out to shake the vice president’s hand.

Hmm. Firm shake, steady hand, dry palm. If Ferguson was nervous, he wasn’t showing any outward signs of it.

“I thought your father had mentioned you were out of the country,” the VP said with mild interest.

Yeah, because that was the lie you fed him.

Nick restrained the biting response, quickly reminding himself that Ferguson might not be guilty.

And yet something about the man was triggering his internal alarms. Ferguson was too poised, his expression too contemplative as he gazed at Nick.

“I was. I only got in last night,” Nick explained.

“I see. And did you enjoy your travels?”

Nick thought about this past year—the safe houses, the frustration, the rage...

He met Ferguson’s silver-gray eyes. “More or less.”

Next to him, his father took a small step forward and lowered his voice to a grave pitch. “Mr. Vice President, we were hoping to get a moment alone with you.”

The other man made a clucking noise with his tongue. “I’m afraid that might be difficult. I’m due to give a speech in less than an hour, and there are several people I have yet to speak to.”

“It won’t take long,” the secretary insisted.

Ferguson’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s this about, Kirk?”

“It’s a matter that would be best discussed in private, sir. My son has come to me with some very troubling news.”

Nick didn’t miss the spark of alarm that lit the VP’s eyes. Question was, was it genuine or false?

And if that was real alarm, what was Ferguson worried about? National security...or that he might be exposed?

“I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t of the utmost importance,” Nick’s father said in a coaxing tone.

Finally, the vice president nodded. “Yes, of course. I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”

He glanced at his Secret Service agents, gave a curt nod, and a moment later, their little group was heading for the door.

Two agents took the lead, stepping out of the ballroom first. The three men trailed after them while three more agents took up the rear. The entourage walked the quiet halls until they reached the office the VP used when he was at the White House; his day-to-day office space was located on the Naval Observatory grounds, which Nick remembered getting a tour of when his father first became the secretary of defense.

The Secret Service agents entered the office to make sure it was secure before allowing the vice president to enter.

“You and your men can wait in the hall, Alfred,” Ferguson barked at the lead agent.

The tall, silent man nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Ferguson didn’t make a move for the desk or the couch. He stood in the center of the room instead, fixing both Barretts with an impatient look.

“Well? What is it?”

“I’m afraid something very troubling, and slightly unbelievable, has come to my attention,” Secretary Barrett began. “Regarding the Meridian virus.”

Ferguson didn’t even blink. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific, Kirk.”

“How’s this for specific? Deputy Secretary McAvoy has admitted to being involved with the development of the virus—and he names you as the individual in charge of the project.”

Nick watched the vice president’s expression for any change, any indication of guilt, but the man had a phenomenal poker face. Nick couldn’t tell if Ferguson was surprised or angry or who knew what, at least until that carefully composed mask broke away and unexpected resignation filled those gray eyes.

With a heavy breath, Ferguson rounded the commanding mahogany desk and sank into the plush chair. He clasped his hands on the desktop and said, “I was afraid something like this might happen.”

Chapter 18

W
hen the cell phone on the bed started to buzz, Rebecca lunged for it with the speed of a professional athlete. She’d been alone in the motel room for the past hour, impatiently waiting for word from Nick, and now it had finally come.

“What happened?” she demanded rather than saying hello. “Did he confess?”

“Not quite.”

The sound of Nick’s deep voice caused her heart to splinter in yet another place, but Rebecca forced away the pain and focused on the aggravation she detected in his tone.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the vice president is denying all involvement.”

“Shocking.” She didn’t bother controlling her sarcasm. “Where are you now?”

“The West Wing. I’m out in the hall. My dad’s still talking to Ferguson, but the VP isn’t changing his story.”

“Which is?”

“That Fred McAvoy is the brainchild of this entire operation. Ferguson claims that the deputy secretary approached him about two years ago with the idea of engineering a biological agent that would be easier to handle in terms of contagion, and easier to release into a large population. Apparently McAvoy insisted that his contacts at D&M were confident that a successful waterborne virus could be engineered—typically, weaponized bioagents tend to be airborne, but McAvoy wanted to try something new.”

She raised her eyebrows, even though nobody could see her. “This sounds sketchy.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, Ferguson says that he unequivocally vetoed the idea on the spot and told McAvoy in no uncertain terms to drop it. Ostensibly, McAvoy went ahead with the project without authority.”

Rebecca pursed her lips, a rush of irritation rising inside her. “And of course we can’t challenge that story, because there’s no proof of the VP’s involvement aside from McAvoy’s word.”

“Yep.”

“What do
you
think? Is Ferguson guilty?”

“Yes,” Nick said without delay.

“You sound sure of that.”

“I am.” She could hear the frustration in his voice. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him rubs me the wrong way. It isn’t anything specific. His body language and facial expressions and even his words—they all seem sincere. But my instincts are humming, Red. Humming big-time.”

Red.
Her heart throbbed painfully at his easy use of that nickname. Lord, at least he hadn’t called her
darling
—she was liable to burst into tears if he did that.

And wasn’t that just pathetic? She was Rebecca Parker, for Pete’s sake. She’d never cried over a man in her entire life.

“I’ll go talk to McAvoy,” she said. “Maybe he can be persuaded to give us some more details about Ferguson if he knows that the VP is letting him take the fall for this.”

“Keep me posted. Dad and I are still here for the time being.”

They hung up, and Rebecca left the room and knocked on the neighboring door.

A lock clicked, and then Barrett’s bodyguard, a beefy man in his late thirties, appeared in the doorway.

“I need to talk to McAvoy,” she told him, entering the room without waiting for an invitation.

McAvoy was on the bed, and he glared daggers at Rebecca when she walked in. He was no longer bound and gagged, but one hand was handcuffed to the wooden headboard of the bed.

“You can’t keep me here like a prisoner!” he spat out. “This is a violation of my rights!”

Rebecca glanced over at Connor. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes alone?”

The bodyguard nodded. “I’ll be right outside the door.”

Once he was gone, she turned back to McAvoy and shrugged. “Fred, if I were you at the moment, I’d stop worrying about my rights and start thinking about saving my butt.”

Those sunken blue eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Vice President Ferguson has apparently decided to make you his scapegoat.”

“Bull.”

“It’s true.” She waved her cell phone around. “I just got off the phone with Nick. Ferguson claims that you approached him with the idea of experimenting with biological weapons. He’s pointing the finger right at you.” Genuine regret fluttered in her belly. “You’ll go away for a long time for this. If it even goes to trial.”

Fear flickered in his gaze. She knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking it, too. Cover-ups that ran this deep didn’t end in highly publicized court cases. They were swept under the rug—usually in the form of a dead body or two, and a clever frame job.

“He sold you out,” she said softly. “I think he’s going to order Secretary Barrett to turn you over to Homeland Security.”

McAvoy’s expression conveyed a flood of panic, but along with it came a flash of rage. “That bastard can’t put the blame on me. This was
his
doing.”

“It’s your word against his, Fred. Barring any actual proof of Ferguson’s involvement, I’m pretty sure President Howard will side with the veep over the dep sec def.”

“Good thing I have proof, then,” McAvoy replied in a smug voice.

She arched a brow. “Interesting, because you never mentioned this proof before.”

“I was saving it for my lawyer,” he muttered. “For leverage.”

“Smart,” she had to concede, “but that evidence would’ve made things a heck of a lot easier for Secretary Barrett when he went to confront Ferguson tonight. Now it might be too late.”

Again, he shot out, “Bull. You’re Rebecca friggin’ Parker! You can help me.”

“How?”

“Expose that son of a bitch Ferguson! Put it all on the air!”

“Exposing him means exposing you, too,” she pointed out.

Bitterness hardened his features. “I’m already going down for this and you know it. But if I go down, I’m taking Ferguson with me. I’m not his scapegoat. Help me take him down, Parker.”

She paused. “What kind of evidence do you have?”

“Transcripts and recordings of nearly every conversation I had with Ferguson about Project Aries. Emails, phone calls, memos. I saved it all.”

Her brows shot up. “That was risky.”

“It was necessary.”

“Where is all this proof now?”

“The safe in my study.”

Rebecca sighed. “You kept the evidence at your house? Isn’t that Amateur 101?”

“I work for the DoD, Ms. Parker. Believe me, I made several copies of everything I have. Some are in various safe-deposit boxes, one is with my lawyer, but the copy in my safe will be the easiest to access at ten o’clock at night.” He cocked his head. “So? Will you help me?”

She didn’t need much time to think it over. Nick and his father were at the White House at this very moment, getting nowhere with Ferguson and with absolutely no way to weasel the truth out of him. But if McAvoy really did have proof of Ferguson’s wrongdoing, then Rebecca could deliver it to Nick and they could use it to get a confession from the VP. Or heck, they could just hand over the proof to President Howard himself and let
him
clean up this mess.

Nick ordered you to stay put,
a singsong voice reminded her.

Indecision had her hesitating again, but not for long. Screw Nick’s orders. This was to help
him,
darn it, and it wasn’t even that dangerous a task. She’d take Connor along, and they would simply drive over to McAvoy’s house, grab the proof from his safe, and then Connor could drop her at the White House and head back to the motel with McAvoy.

Easy as pie. Safe as a home-run hitter.

She met McAvoy’s expectant gaze. “Yes, I’ll help.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but it’s time for me to get ready for my speech,” Troy Ferguson announced, injecting a note of regret into his voice.

But inside, he did not feel regretful. Oh, no, he was seething. He hadn’t wanted to attend this gala in the first place, but any deviation from his regular schedule might be construed as suspicious, so he’d forced himself to put on a happy face and work the ballroom.

Kirk Barrett had a lot of nerve springing this on him at a White House event. Ferguson would have the man’s job for this. Yes, somehow in the near or distant future, he would make sure Barrett paid the price for his insolence. Both of them, he thought, as his gaze moved to the younger of the two men.

Nick Barrett had been the biggest headache of all this past year. Of all the military units that could have been dispatched to that village in Corazón, it just
had
to be Barrett’s. The son of one of Howard’s most trusted advisers.

Ferguson hadn’t wanted to eliminate the younger Barrett. He hadn’t wanted to put Kirk through that. Truth was, he’d always considered Kirk an ally; they both placed the same value on national security, even though Ferguson hadn’t necessarily been able to voice his support over the years.

So yes, he hadn’t wanted to kill the man’s son. But now he feared he might need to take out the father, too.

“We’ll discuss this in more depth after the gala,” he told the secretary of defense. “I’d like to bring President Howard into the discussion, if you don’t mind.”

Both Barretts looked startled by that.

That’s right, you bastards. Didn’t think I’d do it by the book, huh?

Their surprised expressions only intensified his ire. Clearly his explanation, in which he’d blamed the whole Meridian virus fiasco on Fred McAvoy, had convinced neither father nor son.

But Ferguson was confident that his tracks were thoroughly covered. McAvoy would take the fall for this and now it was just a matter of riding out the impending media storm until this Meridian crap eventually died down.

“I think that’s a wise idea,” Kirk said with a nod of approval. “The president needs to be brought into the loop.”

Ferguson approached the door and rapped his knuckles on it to alert his guard that he was ready to go.

Alfred opened the door. “Mr. Vice President?”

“Please ask one of your men to escort Secretary Barrett and his son back to the ballroom.” He extracted a set of cue cards from the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “I’d like a few moments alone to go over my speech.”

The secretary left the office first, but the younger Barrett lingered, those thoughtful brown eyes focused on Ferguson with such intensity that he experienced a genuine tug of discomfort.

“Mr. Vice President,” Nick Barrett murmured, then nodded and slid out the door.

The moment he was alone, Ferguson pulled out his secure phone and called Carraway.

“We’ve got a problem,” he snapped when the former army captain picked up.

Carraway had been a friend of Ferguson’s brother, another former military man who worked in the private sector now. Carraway had left the army several years ago and now ran a profitable soldier-for-hire company that Ferguson had made use of on more than one occasion. At the moment, however, he was not at all pleased with the caliber of Carraway’s soldiers.

“You were supposed to post a guard on McAvoy’s house and keep an eye on him when he returned from China.”

“I did, but the Barretts must have gotten to McAvoy before you ordered the watch detail. My man said there hasn’t been any activity at McAvoy’s house for the past twenty-four hours.”

“Kirk and his goddamn son have him hidden away somewhere,” he muttered. “I want you to find McAvoy. We can’t have him running his mouth anymore. Post a couple more men on his house. I’ll send some agents to the Pentagon under the guise that I want to be briefed on McAvoy’s trip. If he’s locked up in federal custody somewhere, I’ll know. But if he shows up at his house, it’s your job to take him out. Understood?”

“Understood,” Carraway said briskly.

Ferguson disconnected the call. Damn it. This situation had suddenly become even more precarious. He needed to tread carefully from this point on. Placate Barrett and his son. Play dumb and horrified when they brought Howard on board.

And make sure Fred McAvoy couldn’t cause any more damage.

* * *

“We’ve got company,” Connor announced as they approached McAvoy’s house.

Rebecca glanced out the car window but didn’t glimpse anything that set off her inner alarms. “Are you sure?”

The bodyguard nodded. He drove right past the house and parked several doors down, almost in the exact spot where Nick had parked during their last visit.

“Wait in the car,” Connor said in brusque voice, unholstering his gun before he’d even unbuckled his seat belt. “Let me see what we’re dealing with.”

Rebecca experienced a sense of overwhelming déjà vu as Connor disappeared into the shadows shrouding the residential street. Last time she’d been here, Nick had slunk off to disable the gate, and then the two of them had gone to confront McAvoy about his role in all of this.

This time, McAvoy was in the backseat with his wrists handcuffed behind him, and Nick wasn’t with her.

In fact, after tonight, Nick would never be with her again.

Ignoring the clench of pain, she peered out the window in hopes of figuring out what Connor was doing, though she didn’t doubt that the man was perfectly capable of handling himself. She’d discovered during the car ride that not only had he been a DoD agent for ten years, but he’d also been Delta Force at one point and a heavyweight boxer at another. Needless to say, she had the utmost confidence in Connor’s ability to take care of himself.

Sure enough, when he returned five minutes later, there wasn’t a scratch on him. Didn’t look like he’d even broken a sweat either.

“What happened?” Rebecca demanded.

“I took care of our little problem.” His expression revealed nothing.

“Who was he?”

“Mercenary.”

“Are you sure?” she said sharply.

Connor nodded. “He wasn’t military. Certainly not government. Definitely a merc.”

She didn’t ask him how he’d “taken care” of the mercenary, but she had a pretty good idea.

In the backseat, McAvoy spoke up uneasily. “Hurry up,” he said as Connor slid into the driver’s seat. “If they sent one man, they might send another. Especially if this one doesn’t check in soon.”

The man had a point, and Rebecca was feeling anxious herself as Connor drove in reverse toward the gate, which was still gaping open from Nick messing with the wiring. They drove right through it and parked by the front door.