The Value Of Valor - KJ3

by Lynn Ames

  “She isn’t sure. The ME is being particularly closed-mouthed about it. I asked Melanie if she could send me a copy of the autopsy report, but she said every copy made is accounted for and requires the sign-off of the ME. The best she could try for would be to get a peek at the report herself and relate the findings to me over the phone.”

  “It’s better than nothing.”

  Lynn Ames

  “Barely. We’d need the actual report if we wanted to prove anything.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Kate said.

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “What is it?”

  “She sounded really uneasy. Like she was scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I’ll buy her dinner when I get home, though.”

  “Good thinking, Romeo.”

  “Not that kind of dinner, gutterbrain. I think she was reluctant to talk over the phone. Perhaps she’ll tell me more in person.”

  “Mmm hmm. What exactly does this doctor look like?”

  Peter pretended to think. “Let’s see…five-foot-eight, nice body, long blonde hair, legs that go on forever, sky blue eyes…”

  “Well, it’s great that you’re willing to make a sacrifice for the cause by going out with her.”

  “I know. I’m selfless that way.”

  “USAir is now boarding Flight 7188 to Los Angeles. All first-class passengers, passengers requiring assistance, or those traveling with small children are welcome to board.”

  Kate sucked in a sharp breath. “Well, I guess this is it then, eh?”

  Peter put his hand in his pocket to hide the fact that it was shaking.

  “Yep, they’re calling your number.”

  Kate shifted from foot to foot. “You’re going to call me, right?”

  “You know I will, Spinmeister. I promise you, you won’t be alone out there, okay?”

  “Okay.” She paused. “How long do you think I have before they figure it out and come after me again?”

  Peter had been waiting for the question. “It’ll take them four hours to get to Flagstaff and back alone, unless they find themselves a plane. That doesn’t include the time they’ll have to spend up there trying to figure out where you might have gone after you made the last ATM

  transaction.”

  Kate looked at Peter’s mischievous grin. “You’ve got more in store for them, I take it?”

  “You bet. I haven’t decided yet whether you should head toward Colorado or Alaska.”

  “You’re evil.”

  “I can be.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

  Peter gathered her into his arms and squeezed tightly. “Always. Be safe,” he whispered in her ear, his voice choked with emotion.

  The Value of Valor

  “I will be. After all, if I don’t come back, Fred will weigh three hundred pounds.”

  “I think that’s just a little bit of an exaggeration, don’t you?”

  Kate laughed. “Not by much.” She gave Peter one more kiss on the cheek. “Give him a scratch for me, will you?”

  “You know I will. I’ll be in touch soon, I promise.”

  “You’d better be.” She broke contact first and moved toward the jetway. When she reached the ticket agent at the threshold, she looked back one last time and waved weakly, willing herself not to turn and run back to where Peter was still standing.

  Peter waved back, watching as Kate disappeared from sight. He sat down in the empty boarding area, put his head in his hands, and cried. He wept for Kate, knowing how scared and alone she felt; he wept for Jay, cruelly murdered for meaningless vengeance; and he wept for himself, for all that he held inside. He hadn’t told Kate the very thing he’d flown back to Washington to tell her in the first place: that he knew who had ordered Jay killed. He didn’t want to depress Kate further or distract from her focus. He also knew that if he told her, there was a good chance she would go to Southport and strangle David Breathwaite with her bare hands. He vowed that he would tell her as soon as this was over.

  Whenever that would be.

  Jay stopped just short of baggage claim when she saw a pay phone.

  She threw some change in the coin slot and dialed Peter’s number in Albany. After the fourth ring, knowing the answering machine was about to pick up again, she hung up. She repeated the same process with Barbara, getting the same results. It finally occurred to her that they were both probably en route to D.C. for Kate’s funeral.

  The thought of it made her sick to her stomach, and she ran to the nearby ladies room, where she threw up. When she could gather herself again, she washed her face, rinsed out her mouth, and walked back into the baggage claim area.

  She hesitated, then walked over to the hotel courtesy phones. Even if she had a key to her and Kate’s condo, she knew she couldn’t go back there—not yet. She shuddered. The very notion of returning to the home they had so recently bought together, furnished, and planned to share made her stomach roil yet again. She picked up the phone and dialed the phone number for the Marriott in Alexandria.

  Kate arrived in L.A. two hours before her flight to Auckland was due to take off. She purchased a ticket under her new alias, browsed a bookstore on the concourse, bought several mysteries to read on the plane, and made her way to the boarding gate. Despite the fact that she Lynn Ames

  knew her pursuers were probably still looking for her in northern Arizona, she took care to sit where she could see everyone coming and going.

  She cracked open the first novel, hoping to distract herself. She managed to read two paragraphs in twenty minutes. She sighed and closed the book, focusing once again on the situation at hand.

  Maybe Peter was right—she should try approaching the problem like a good reporter. She sorted through the available facts. They knew the partial answer to who was behind the scheme, but they might never know all the players. They had discovered at least one facet of the endgame—

  open the Communist countries to capitalism to exploit those markets.

  The first step was already under way, based on the order Wheeler gave to the CIA station chief. China was the first target. Okay, that takes care of the who, what, why, and where. As for the when, Keith had said his boss gave them a three-month window in which to work, with the rebellion beginning in April.

  What evidence did they have? A dead president; the CIA station chief’s notes—which had no doubt either been destroyed or safeguarded by this time; Keith, whose body might never be found; phone records tying the vice president to the CIA station chief; a phone call between Wheeler and Hawthorne; and the information that Kate had gleaned thirdhand from Keith. Without the autopsy results proving that the president was murdered, they didn’t have much that would stand up in a court of law.

  As Kate finished her musings about the Commission and the plot, a stray thought occurred to her. “Damn!” She pounded her fist on her leg.

  In all the excitement, she’d forgotten to ask Peter the outcome of his trip to see the detective in New York City. Wouldn’t he have told her if he’d come up with a lead in Jay’s death? She pondered that for a moment. Not if he was afraid it would distract her from the matter at hand. “Damn it all!”

  By the time Peter turned the key in the lock at his place, it was after midnight. Fred barked on the other side of the door, and Peter hurried to get inside so he wouldn’t wake Barbara.

  “Shh. Shh, buddy. I see you.” Fred danced in and out of Peter’s legs, his tail wagging furiously. Peter knelt down and gave the dog a long hug.

  “That’s from your mama, buddy. She can’t wait to come home to you.”

  “How is she?” Barbara asked as she walked into the living room.

  “Hey.” Peter walked over and gave Barbara a hug. “She’s okay.”

  Barbara raised an eyebrow, and Peter shrugged.

  The Value of Valor

  “She’s scared, she’s depressed, she’s lo
nely, and she’s being hunted by some very dangerous people. Under the circumstances, I’d say she’s doing about as well as can be expected.”

  “You found her based on what I told you?”

  “You said someplace hot and dry.”

  “That was all you needed to know?”

  Peter laughed, “It was enough.”

  “Where is she now or shouldn’t I ask that?”

  Peter debated whether or not to share everything with Barbara. The information could make her a target, too. On the other hand, the more people who knew, the harder it would be for the Commission to keep their plan under wraps.

  Before he could answer, Barbara said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s not about whether or not I want to, it’s a matter of your safety.”

  Barbara digested that for a moment. “Oh. You think they might come after me?”

  “I think they’ll do whatever they think is necessary to find Kate at this point.”

  “D-do you think they know about me?”

  “I’m sure they do, just as they know about me. Did you use your credit card to buy the airline ticket to get here?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you can be sure they know you’re here.”

  Barbara’s face blanched. “Th-they do?”

  Peter nodded. “The good news is that I rented this condo under another name, so I doubt they’ve been able to figure out your exact location yet.”

  “Yet.” Barbara swallowed hard. There was another moment of silence. “Peter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t think I want to know where Kate is.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Okay. Trust me that she’s as safe as she can be given the circumstances.”

  “I do trust you. It’s me I don’t trust. I want to know that no matter what, I’ll never jeopardize our Kate.”

  “You won’t.”

  “What’s the game plan?”

  “Collect evidence and catch the bad guys. Then bring Kate home.”

  Barbara laughed. “Sounds easy enough.”

  “Piece of cake.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lynn Ames

  “Is there anything I can do to help? Other than watch Fred, I mean.”

  “Actually, I think the fact that we were taking good care of him was the most comforting thing to Kate.”

  Barbara chuckled. “Figures.”

  “Thanks for being here, by the way. If you hadn’t been, I would’ve missed her phone call, and who knows what might have happened.” Peter was not unaccustomed to danger, but the idea of Kate being out there all alone and without any resources other than her wits made him crazy.

  “She’s not here. I told you she wasn’t.” Lorraine slammed a coffee mug down on the table at the hotel in Flagstaff where they had stopped for the night.

  “Shut up.” Steven paced around the room, a finger in one ear, a satellite telephone in the other. “Yes, yes. I understand. Right.” He hung up the phone. “She used a credit card to buy gas in Colorado. She must be driving through the night or else she flew to Denver and rented a car.”

  “She didn’t have enough time to drive to Denver. I think we have to consider the possibility that it’s all a ruse.”

  “The woman is in public relations, not espionage or subterfuge. How do you figure she managed to fake two ATM withdrawals and one credit card transaction?”

  “She’s also very bright and has friends. What about Peter Enright?”

  “What about him?”

  “There’s very little information available about him other than that he worked for the New York State Department of Correctional Services for years and is an independent consultant with an expertise in weapons and technology.”

  “So?”

  “So I suspect he’s more than what his dossier says on paper. He travels often to Washington and was seen several times in the company of the president.”

  “We’re tracking him.”

  “My point is that he may already have made contact with Kyle and helped her.”

  “There’s no record of him anywhere near Arizona.”

  Lorraine bit her tongue in an effort to keep from telling Steven what a moron she thought he was. “A man with the kind of resources Enright has wouldn’t necessarily leave a trace.”

  “We have to stick with the evidence we have.”

  “One of us should be looking into other possibilities.”

  “The Viper has ordered us to stay on her trail.”

  “My point precisely. We’re not on her trail.” Lorraine planted her palms on the small table that separated her from Steven.

  The Value of Valor

  “We leave for Colorado in two hours. I suggest you get some sleep,”

  he hissed. “You too, Paul.”

  The sound of the door as it slammed behind Lorraine echoed loudly in the quiet of the room.

  “Albert Park, please.”

  “American, eh?” the cabbie asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Is it that obvious?” Kate smiled at the young man, who looked something like a California surfer.

  “’Fraid so, love. The good news for you is that we like most Americans ’round here. We’re a pretty friendly lot.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “You on vacation?”

  “Um, sort of.”

  “Well, you’ll love it here, that’s for sure.”

  Kate smiled at him in the rearview mirror, grateful that everything she read about Kiwis respecting privacy seemed to be true.

  “Here you go, love, Albert Park.”

  “Thank you.” She reached into her pocket, fishing for her wallet.

  “Damn. I only have American money, is that okay?”

  “Brilliant, love.” At her blank stare, he translated, “That’s great. I love American money.”

  “Here you go.”

  “Enjoy your stay.”

  She stepped out into the bright sunshine and squinted, trying to get her bearings. She spotted a beautiful, majestic oak tree and found herself drawn to it. Its arms were as big as most tree trunks, and for a fleeting moment, she was tempted to climb it. She laughed at herself, remembering all the times her mother had yelled at her for climbing trees in her good clothes.

  She sought the shade of the tree, surprised at the heat of the New Zealand summer. She leaned her shoulder against a branch and surveyed the area. Young couples reclined on blankets on the grass, business people enjoyed their lunches on the benches that lined the park, and children ran around what appeared to be a circular path.

  She pushed off the tree and followed the kids. She walked at a leisurely pace, stepping off the path several times to get out of the way of fast-moving children. After several hundred yards, she saw it—a clock.

  The face was made of grass, the hands and numbers fashioned out of beautiful flowers.

  She walked around until she was at 7:00 and sat on the bench without looking down. She casually stretched her arms over the back of the bench and tucked her feet under it. There! She kicked something with her heel.

  Lynn Ames

  It felt like a backpack. She looked around. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her. She reached under the seat, pulled out a navy blue backpack, and set it on the seat next to her.

  For a moment, she simply ran her trembling fingers over the rough material, grateful beyond measure for Peter and his network of contacts.

  She unzipped the main compartment, peering inside to find several pairs of jeans, two pairs of shorts, some T-shirts, a shiny new pair of hiking boots, a pair of sneakers, some athletic socks, underwear, and two sports bras. She rezipped that compartment and unzipped the smaller pocket. In it, she found a satellite cell phone, a compass, maps, a gun, and a set of car keys.

  She wrapped her fingers around the phone, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Several tears leaked out and r
olled down her temples.

  “Thank you, Peter. I can’t tell you what it means to know I’m not alone out here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She took the phone out and powered it on, pleased to see that it had both battery power and signal. She palmed the car keys, zipped the small compartment, and stood, taking a last look around. Nothing seemed amiss, and no one seemed to be watching her. Satisfied, she shouldered the pack and strolled through the park until she found Wellesley Street. It took only a couple of minutes before she found the car.

  Across the way, an unassuming businessman folded his newspaper, packed up his lunch, and followed her. “I’ll give you this, Skydiver, she certainly is a looker. No wonder you’re willing to die for her.”

  Peter sat across the dinner table from Dr. Melanie Anders. She was everything he’d described to Kate and more. She was beautiful, intelligent, and capable; and at the moment, she was scared to death.

  “Look, Peter, I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, I can’t help you.”

  “Tell me what happened when the president died, Mel. Take me through it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I promise you, no one will hurt you.”

  “It’s not that.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t allowed in the room.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “God, yes. I’m usually the one in charge of maintaining the chain of custody—making sure nothing happens to the body after death and before the autopsy.”

  “And this time?”

  “Dr. Taggart—the ME—cleared the room. No one was allowed in.”

  The Value of Valor

  “Is there a written protocol that describes what’s supposed to happen in a case like this, where a president dies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the protocol followed in President Hyland’s case?”

  Melanie shook her head miserably. “No,” she whispered. “Not only that, but it was made very clear to me that asking questions or talking about the case would be severely frowned upon.”

  He reached across the table for her hand. “Who threatened you?”

  “N-no one.”

  “Come on, Mel. This is me. Who threatened you?”

  “I have to go.” She tried to pull away from him.