As requested, the vice president and chief of staff were already present, as was the president. Daniel Molineaux and Tom Fogarty rose while John Andrews came around from behind his desk to shake Luis’s good hand.
“We heard you took a bullet in Prague, Ambassador Esteban.”
“A bullet,” Luis drawled, “and almost a saint.”
“Come again?”
“It’s of no importance now. We have more pressing matters to discuss.”
“So Nick said. Please, have a seat.”
He gestured to the chairs and sofas grouped around a low table. Claire took the seat beside Luis, Nick the chair opposite the president. That left the VP and the chief of staff side by side on the sofa.
The silver-maned Dan Molineaux had served in Washington too long to show either undue curiosity or impatience. Tom Fogarty, on the other hand, unleashed both.
“We had to cut the president’s press conference short and put a follow-on meeting with the Congressional Budget Office on hold to fit you in, Dr. Cantwell. I hope whatever you uncovered in Prague is worth it.”
“We think it is,” she replied coolly.
The president was more concerned about his daughter than the press conference or the adjustments to his schedule.
“Start at the beginning,” he instructed Claire tersely. “Don’t leave anything out. I want to know exactly what happened over there.”
She’d expected Lightning to take the lead but a nod from him confirmed this was her show. Collecting her thoughts, she complied with the president’s demand.
“As you know, sir, we met with the archbishop of Prague the day after we arrived in the Czech Republic. Unfortunately, Cardinal Tuma couldn’t pinpoint with any accuracy the root cause of Stacy’s nightmares.”
The president’s jaw worked. “That’s what Nick told us.”
“However, the cardinal’s assistant did confirm Stacy’s great-grandfather was from a town about an hour outside Prague. It’s called Sedlec.”
The name didn’t register with the president. He shook his head and Claire continued.
“Father Milosec gave us directions before we left the palace. On our way out was when we had a close encounter with a falling saint,” she added dryly. “St. Benedict, to be precise.”
Andrews looked taken aback, his chief of staff confused. The vice president, Claire noted, showed no reaction at all. After so many decades in Washington, the man had learned well how to mask his thoughts.
“I mention Benedict only because the individual who deliberately dislodged the statue from the roof of the archbishop’s palace also made a visit to Sedlec some months ago. He and his partner, Ed Porter.”
“Porter?”
“The man who attacked Luis and me outside my condo.”
That sparked reactions from all three men. The president swore, the VP’s eyes narrowed, and the chief of staff stiffened.
“Are you implying this is some kind of conspiracy?” Fogarty said incredulously.
“I’m not implying anything,” Claire shot back. “I’m stating a fact.”
“Jesus!” Fogarty shook his head. “What proof do you have?”
“Dawson signed the register at the church. That’s not his real name, of course.”
“I don’t get it.” The president shagged a hand through his hair. “What were these guys, Dawson and Porter, doing in the Czech Republic?”
“We suspect they were digging into the same thing Colonel Esteban and I were, sir. The source of your wife’s—and subsequently your daughter’s—nightmares.”
“The hell you say! How would two thugs like these know Teo had nightmares as a child?”
Claire’s eyes hardened. So did her voice. She was Cyrene now, ice calm and tasting blood. “We asked ourselves the same question and put an entire team at OMEGA on it. They found a reference to Mrs. Andrews’s childhood sleep disturbance in the medical history she completed your first year in office as governor.”
The president’s brows snapped together. “Aside from the fact that medical histories are supposed to be protected by privacy laws, I still don’t understand Porter and Dawson’s role in all this.”
The tension swirling through the room was like a living thing, sinuous and all-pervasive. Claire felt it in every nerve as she leaned forward.
“You need more of their background to make the connection, sir. Dawson served in the British army during the first Gulf War, went mercenary in the second. That’s where he hooked up with Porter. The two joined forces and hired themselves out as personal bodyguards for a series of Iraqi officials.”
She kept her attention focused on the president, yet her every sense was attuned to the two men on sofa opposite her.
“While in Iraq, Dawson and Porter came to the attention of certain officials in the Department of Defense. They flew the men back to the States at least twice for secret meetings, at which time they were issued a charter that allowed them to operate outside the rules of engagement constraining both our military and the CIA.”
“Outside, how?” the president asked sharply.
“Dawson and Porter evolved into a two-person hit squad. We believe they’re responsible for three assassinations in Iraq and two in Syria. They’ve since widened their area of operations. Interpol thinks they may have struck in Paris and Amsterdam, as well.”
Andrews swore and whipped his attention to his second in command. “You served as secretary of defense during some of that, Dan. Did any hint of a private death squad ever reach your ears?”
The snowy-haired politician’s gaze shifted from the president to Claire. Their eyes met, held. She broke the silent standoff with a low warning.
“Tell him, Mr. Vice President, or we will.”
He regarded her for another few seconds without so much as a flicker of emotion. Then he acknowledged the link with a dip of his head.
“I met with them, John. Both times. As OMEGA has obviously uncovered. But there was no charter issued by me or anyone in my office. What they did, they did on their own.”
A low hiss escaped from Luis and Nick’s jaw went tight, but they let Claire deliver the coup de grâce.
“I expect Porter and Dawson knew you would disclaim any knowledge of their activities if or when they were caught, Mr. Vice President. That must be why Dawson recorded his conversation with the head of a lobby representing the NRA on March second of this year.”
Claire dropped the bombshell without taking her eyes off Daniel Molineaux.
“In that conversation,” she continued, “the lobbyist claimed the strict gun controls President Andrews wants to implement would strip individual citizens of the right to bear arms.”
“So?” The VP shrugged. “The president is well aware of my more conservative views on the issue of gun control. We’ve agreed to disagree on this matter.”
He was good. Damned good. He had to be sweating under his pinstriped suit and silk tie, but no one could have guessed it to look at him. That’s what years in Washington did for a politician, Claire thought as she plunged the knife in.
“In the same conversation, this lobbyist claimed you personally suggested Dawson and Porter as the right men to engineer President Andrews’s resignation.”
“What?”
The president went rigid with shock and dawning fury. From the corner of her eye, she saw his shoulders square and his fists bunch. Her own hands clenched tight as she unraveled the last strands in the sick plot.
“OMEGA found the recorded conversations in a safety-deposit box leased in one of Dawson’s aliases. Also in the box was a memo noting the make and serial number of the iPod Dawson purchased at the lobbyist’s direction. The one the lobbyist said you intended to substitute for Stacy’s.”
She leaned forward, her eyes stabbing into his.
“What’s on that iPod, Mr. Vice President? Subliminal messages? Frightening images embedded in Stacy’s favorite music videos? You might as well tell us. We’ll find out anyway when her Secret Servic
e detail delivers the iPod, as we’ve requested.”
The silver-maned politician’s gaze made a slow circle of those around him. From Tom Fogarty, who wore a stunned expression and was leaning sideways over the arm of the sofa, as if to distance himself from the man, to Lightning to Luis to Claire. Finally, he met the narrow-eyed stare of the man he’d battled so fiercely in the primaries.
“The iPod contains a miniature receiver tuned to a single, shielded frequency,” he admitted in a stony voice lacking its usual resonance. “Porter tested it the first time in Cartoza. He booked a room in the hotel across the square from the presidential palace and used the shielded channel to send subtle, frightening messages when Stacy was asleep.”
“You son of a bitch!”
John Andrews lunged out of his chair. Fogarty yelped and flung himself sideways as the president hauled back a fist and slammed it into his vice president’s jaw.
Two hours later, it was all over but the shouting.
That would come, Fogarty predicted, as soon as the media got wind of the bizarre scheme. He departed the president’s office with the White House counsel and a still somewhat stunned press secretary, to put together a draft statement.
That left Lightning, Luis and Claire to accompany the president when he went to inform his daughter of the plot. The teen watched with mounting confusion when the chief of White House security confiscated her iPod and dropped it into an evidence bag.
“What’s going on, Dad?”
“Sit down, Stacy, and I’ll tell you.”
With a bewildered look at the other three, she perched on the edge of the sofa. Her jaw sagged as her father described the bizarre plot. When he’d finished, a flush of healthy anger stained her cheeks.
“Where did Mr. Molineaux and his dorky friends get off, trying to use me to make you resign? I hope they all go to jail. For a long, long time!”
“They will,” Andrews promised, tugging on a hank of her hair with a hand showing bruised knuckles.
She savored the pleasure in that promise for several moments, before voicing a new concern. “You’re going to get me another iPod, right? I want an iPod Touch this time.”
“We’ll talk about that later. Right now, don’t you think you should thank Dr. Cantwell and Colonel Esteban for everything they went through on your behalf?”
Seeing the worry wiped from the teen’s eyes was thanks enough for Claire. Luis, however, had a special request.
“It’s because of you that I have finally convinced Claire to be my wife. You will come to our wedding, yes?”
“Yes!”
Chapter 13
With Maggie Sinclair’s help, Claire managed to pull off the relatively small wedding she’d envisioned. No mean feat, given that the president, his daughter, their Secret Service details and every OMEGA agent not currently in the field attended.
The location helped foster the illusion of intimacy. Maggie and Adam had offered the use of their MacLean, Virginia, home. With its lush landscaping and latticework gazebo, the backyard provided a setting fragrant with the scent of roses and gardenias. Its wide flagstone terraces also allowed for banks of white folding chairs to seat guests.
Luckily, the weather cooperated. Bright June sunlight filtered through the leafy maples shading the yard as the guests mingled on the terraces prior to the ceremony. In addition to the OMEGA crew, the D.C. diplomatic corps was well represented, as were Luis’s friends and relatives. His brother had flown up from Cartoza with his lively young family. Luis’s great-aunt, Tia Maria, accompanied them. The feisty ninety-two-year-old came into the room where Claire was dressing to offer some blunt advice on handling her husband-to-be.
“He is not like other men, that one. He will demand much of you, in bed and out.”
Her mouth curved. “So I’ve discovered.”
Tia Maria’s shrewd eyes raked the bride’s face. “I know you have loved once and lost. Luis will help heal the pain of that loss.”
Claire bent to brush her lips across the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “He already has,” she said softly.
That thought stayed with her during the final moments it took for Maggie to pin a spray of lilies of the valley in Claire’s upswept hair, and adjust the short, lace bolero jacket that topped her sleeveless, ivory satin sheath. It was still there when the music swelled and Lightning offered his arm to escort her out onto the terrace.
Luis was waiting on the steps of the gazebo with his brother beside him. As always, Claire’s stomach fluttered at the mere sight of his impossibly handsome face. Then his silky black mustache tipped up in a smile that filled every corner of her mind, and he stepped forward to tuck her arm in his.
“Te adoro, mi esposa.”
The murmur was for her ears alone. Claire took care not to press too closely against his still-bandaged ribs as she answered straight from her heart.
“Te adoro, my husband.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4488-1
SEDUCED BY THE OPERATIVE
Copyright © 2009 by Merline Lovelace
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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*Code Name: Danger
*Code Name: Danger
*Code Name: Danger
**Holidays Abroad
**Holidays Abroad
**Holidays Abroad
†Time Raiders
Seduced by the Operative Page 14
