by Radclyffe
“No idea. What do you want me to do the next time she calls?”
“Find out what she wants, string her along. Arrange a meeting or something and get the money back.”
“You think she’s just going to hand it over?”
“I don’t care,” Russo snapped. “This is our chance to come out of this clean with no losses. It’s your job to figure out how to do that. And for Christ’s sake, don’t call me on this line again.”
He slammed the phone down and slugged back the rest of the scotch. He hated loose ends. Hooker might be able to take care of this one, and then there’d only be one left. Like his wife, Hooker was close to outliving his usefulness.
Chapter Six
Cam nodded to the agents already seated in the briefing room and took a seat next to Paula Stark, midway down the right side of the table. Tom Turner, the boss of the PPD, stood at the end of the table waiting for everyone to settle in. Evyn Daniels, the lead agent on the advance team, sat on his left side and the assigned shift leaders opposite her. As the room slowly settled, Tom stood and clicked on the remote for the projector. He was a tall, thin African American in his mid-forties, his demeanor serious most of the time, although when he relaxed, which wasn’t often given his duties, he was famous for his stories about some of the now-legendary agents when they were still young, green, and occasionally stupid. Cam liked and respected him, even though they’d been at odds a few times in the recent past. They’d aired their differences and agreed that above all, beyond any personal considerations or ego, all that mattered was the safety of those they were sworn to protect.
Beside her, Paula Stark sat straight and attentive, her dark suit crisp and pressed, her cap of dark hair recently cut, and her brown eyes intently focused on Tom. Paula had replaced Cam as the boss of Blair’s security detail. She was young, still shy of thirty, but experienced beyond her years and completely dedicated to her work. Cam trusted her with the most precious thing in her life—Blair’s safety. She tried very hard to stay out of Paula’s road in matters of Blair’s security, affording her the respect she deserved, even though they had begun as mentor and trainee. Paula was far beyond that now, a seasoned agent, bloodied in battle more than once. Cam couldn’t help but worry when Blair was soon to be put onstage in high-risk situations, but having Paula in charge helped. As if reading her thoughts, Paula leaned close.
“I’m meeting with Egret after this to review her itinerary. We’ll have everything squared away before takeoff in the morning.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Cam said, meaning it. Paula would do everything possible to assure Blair’s safety.
But they all knew what they prepared for was not the danger. The unknown was the enemy—the unexpected, the surprise, the illogical or irrational. Entire teams were devoted to anticipate what seemed beyond imagining, and the process never ended. Every day new technology or new weaponry or a new wave of fanaticism empowered their adversaries. No matter how well they prepared, they could never prepare enough when lives were at stake. So they would review the details, and review them again. As many times as it took.
“All right,” Tom said, pulling everyone’s attention to him. “Here’s the itinerary to date.”
A few dry chuckles sounded through the room. Everyone knew they’d be making adjustments on the fly once the trip was under way. Suboptimal but normal for this president. Tom laid out the stops, venues, and timetables planned for the eight-day, two-thousand-mile trip.
“The route follows Amtrak’s Southwest Chief commercial line from Chicago to Flagstaff. The tracks will be cleared for us forty-eight hours in advance of our next stop.” He put up a map and clicked on the red flags marking cities along the route and the distances from the train stations. “Twelve planned stops along the way in Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, and New Mexico.”
Tom handed the remote to Evyn Daniels. “Here’s where we stand with the advance.”
Evyn brought up a schematic of a train on the screen. “This is Thunderbolt. Twenty-five cars.”
“Jesus,” one of the agents muttered. “That’s a long parade.”
No one commented on the obvious. It was a very big, slow-moving target.
“We couldn’t get it down any smaller.”
“Maybe we could cut out the press cars,” another agent suggested with a hopeful note.
“Ah,” Evyn said lightly, “for this trip the president might consider them more important than us.”
“His campaign manager sure will,” someone shot back.
“Okay,” Evyn said, serious again, “here’s the present order of the cars.”
She reviewed the lineup of the cars, from the president’s working and private cars down through the USSS sleeping cars, press cars, dining, staff, cook cars, and special divisions: canine / EDU; CAT / ERT counterattack teams; fire rescue; communications; transport. She flicked the laser pointer. “Our command car is here and the medical car here.”
Wes Masters, the first doctor and head of the White House Medical Unit, frowned. “That’s too far from the president’s cars. And we need our base car moved too. Can you get us closer?”
Evyn glanced at Tom, who nodded. “Talk to me after—we’ll see what we can arrange.”
Wes nodded at her partner. “Good enough.”
“As noted,” Evyn said, “Eagle’s itinerary is not firm. Egret has appearances at every stop too. Simultaneous event coverage. Per usual, count on going OTR at any time.”
The lead agent handling vehicle movement and driver assignments said, “We’ll need to factor in time to refuel the backup limo and SUVs while the Beast is deployed on these off-the-record trips.”
“You’ll be refueling while the train is stationary. We won’t be carrying much in the way of fuel.”
“We’ll have to pull off-shift agents for that,” he grumbled.
“Can’t be helped.”
Cam listened as Evyn worked through the rest of the advance—where safe houses were located along the train route, which hospitals would be used for emergency evacuation, where the local law enforcement and field office agents would meet the motorcades when the president left the train for his scheduled appearances, the motorcades’ primary and secondary routes. Out of habit, Cam searched for holes in the planning, not really expecting to find any. She didn’t. Evyn Daniels was a superior agent and destined to be a boss before long.
“Anything else?” Evyn said.
Phil Virtucci from the canine division said, “Every time Eagle leaves Thunderbolt, we’ll have multiple primary sites to surveil—Thunderbolt, the motorcade, his destination. Lot of ground for the dogs to cover in a short amount of time.”
“One team will stay with the train and the other accompany POTUS in the motorcade,” Evyn said. “Locals will be working the public sites.”
Virtucci grunted. Canine teams were only as good as their handlers, and while most local teams were excellent, many communities were just phasing in the new divisions.
Stark said, “What about Egret’s appearances? We’ll need dogs then too.”
Evyn nodded. “We’ll be using locals for that too.”
Paula frowned but nodded. “All right.”
“Aerial surveillance?” someone asked.
The aerial security boss outlined timing and extent of the no-fly zones along Thunderbolt’s route and over the presidential appearance locations, the satellite image coverage, and ground-to-air defenses.
“We’ll also be employing local evac birds in case of a medical emergency,” Wes Masters said. “We can handle anything in the medical car until evac arrives. A full team will travel with both Eagle and Egret.”
Turner reviewed the shift assignments again, advising the teams they’d be sharing sleeping quarters when off-shift. That brought a few grumbles from the agents, who preferred assigned sleeping quarters.
“Can’t be helped, if we want to keep this train at some reasonable length,” Turner said, sympathetic but unbending
. “Any other questions?”
No one had any. The trip was an unusual one. Some of the agents had never been detailed to a train trip before, but in the end, the various moving parts were all the same. The difficulty with evac routes was a challenge, but they’d have local agencies and their own agents from regional field offices backing them up along the way for the entire trip.
As the agents began to move away from the table, Stark turned to Cam. “His itinerary is a matter of public record. There’s no way to vary the route once we get started.”
“That’s the problem with rail travel,” Cam agreed. “You’ve got one route and not much you can do about it. But should we run into any difficulty, we’ll evac by motorcade or air, so we’ve got alternative routes that won’t be public knowledge.”
Stark grimaced. “Still leaves us out in the open in the middle of nowhere. Some stretches there’s nothing around for a couple hundred miles.”
“That’s why we tried to talk him out of the train idea. But…” Cam shrugged.
“Yeah.” Stark straightened. “Well. That’s what we get paid for.”
Cam rose and they walked out into the hall together. “How’s Renée?”
“She likes the counterterrorism unit,” Stark said of her FBI agent partner. “Anything that keeps her in the action keeps her happy.”
“I get that,” Cam muttered.
“Anything new on the other investigation?” Stark asked quietly.
Stark was one of the few people Cam trusted completely, and because she was responsible for Blair’s safety and Blair was a logical secondary target, Stark was read in on everything that posed a security risk to the president. “Making a little progress, but nothing substantial yet.”
Stark looked around to be sure no one was nearby. “Do you have the same feeling I do? That something else is coming?”
“Yes,” Cam said quietly. Stark had good instincts and she wasn’t surprised Stark felt it too. The gnawing unease that portended trouble.
“And I guess there’s no way Egret would stay—”
“Not a one,” Cam said.
“Okay then,” Stark said firmly. “Game on.”
Cam nodded. “Game on.”
*
Dusty waited with the other agent handlers for the boss to show up and begin their briefing. Atlas was in the kennel. She’d pick him up and take him home after dinner. Dinner with Vivian Elliott. Part of her didn’t really believe any of it was real. She had to stop herself from checking her phone to see if Viv’s number was still there. She glanced at her watch instead. Getting late. Maybe she should call Viv and tell her things were running long. Maybe Vivian would change her mind. Maybe she’d decide she’d gotten all the information she needed for her article. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
“Hey, Nash, how did the interview go today?” Willy Chu, a small, energetic agent with a crop of black hair perpetually in his eyes, dropped into a chair beside her.
“Fine,” Dusty replied. Willy was easygoing and never seemed ruffled by anything out in the field. Dusty got along with all her fellow agents pretty well, but she wouldn’t exactly say she was friends with any of them. They were there to do a job, and most of them were closer to their dogs than each other. If she had to name one who was closest to a friend, she’d have to say Willy. They’d started at about the same time and often shared the same shifts. Spending hundreds of hours together naturally led to conversation, and somewhere along the line Willy had surmised Dusty’s second choice for companionship after Atlas wouldn’t be one of the guys.
“I was glad they pegged you to do it,” he said, “until I saw the reporter. Tough duty.”
“Not really. She knew a lot about the dogs.”
Willy gave her a sad look and shook his head. “Did you talk about anything besides Atlas?”
“No, not exactly. You know, she was here about the dogs.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Definitely a wasted opportunity having you do that interview.”
“I don’t know,” Dusty said, shrugging. “I guess I could cover anything I forgot at dinner tonight.”
Willy drew up short. “No. Really?”
Dusty grinned, an odd surge of satisfaction shooting through her. “Really.”
He whistled and clapped her on the shoulder. “Take it all back. You done good.”
Dusty laughed and settled back as Virtucci came in. It felt good, better than good—great—talking about Viv. Thinking about her, even when she wasn’t around. Looking forward to seeing her again. She remembered the little smile Vivian had given her right after she’d put her number into her phone. As if something had transpired between them that pleased her. She wanted to put that smile back on Viv’s face again. She wondered if she’d be able to, without Atlas to help out.
“All right, everybody, listen up,” Virtucci said.
Dusty jerked her attention back to the briefing. She didn’t think about Viv again for forty-five minutes as Virtucci outlined the itinerary, the shift assignments, and the provisions for the dogs on the train. She and Atlas were working the middle shift to start, and their assignments were split between traveling with the motorcade and securing Thunderbolt when they were stopped. Both high-threat situations. Whenever Eagle was en route, whenever the train or vehicles were stopped, they were targets, either for long-distance attack or potential explosive placement. She’d be busy. That was good, she liked being busy.
When he was finished and all the questions were answered, the briefing broke up. After seven. Maybe it was too late for Viv. Probably would be. They all needed to be up and out early for the flight to Chicago. She stepped into the hall and made sure no one was around before tapping in the number Viv had given her. One ring…
“Hello?” Viv’s voice was bright and a little breathless.
Maybe.
“Hi, this is Dusty.”
“Hi. Are you done?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry it’s so late. I should have called sooner.”
“No problem, I’ve been working. Are you hungry?”
Dusty realized she was, although the stirring in her stomach wasn’t hunger. The tight, twisting sensation was excitement. “Sure.”
Viv laughed. “Well, that’s good then. Shall we meet somewhere?”
“I need to feed and walk Atlas. Then I’ll be ready to leave.”
“All right. What’s your favorite food?”
“I don’t think you want to know that.”
“Please don’t say McDonald’s.”
“Like I said…”
Viv groaned. “Seriously?”
“Why don’t you pick. I’ll eat anything.”
“Sushi?”
“Even that.”
Viv laughed again and warmth spread through Dusty’s chest.
“You mean it?” Viv asked.
“Sure. Yeah. I can do it.”
Viv named a restaurant not that far away.
“Thirty minutes?” Dusty asked.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Viv’s voice had gotten low and husky, and the warmth spread. Dusty swallowed hard. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter Seven
Viv debated between taking a table at the window and one farther back in the darker corner. A light snow was falling outside, and the scattered flakes drifting through the muted lamplight was a nice view—kind of warm and sensual. On the other hand, they’d have more privacy away from the customers moving through the restaurant and the passers-by on the sidewalk glancing in the windows. And here she was, dithering about atmosphere when she’d just met the woman and didn’t even know if this was a date. She almost snorted at her pathetic attempt to fool herself. Of course it was a date. She knew it, even if Dusty didn’t. Yet.
“I think the one in the back,” she said decidedly.
“Very good.” The manager plucked two menus from a stack at the end of the sushi bar and led her through the narrow aisle to the table.
“Can I get you anything while you wait?” he asked.
She knew the menu and the wine list by heart. The restaurant was close to the White House and a favorite place for the press corps to grab takeout or a fast sit-down meal. She ordered her usual glass of white wine.
“One moment,” he said and disappeared with practiced efficiency.
A waitress returned far less than a moment later with her wine. Viv sipped, surprisingly content just to relax and wait. She didn’t even bother taking her phone out of her pocket to check her mail. She chose instead to enjoy the swirl of expectation building along her spine, something she rarely experienced. She wasn’t averse to dating, she just didn’t have the time or the inclination to make time for the few people who had caught her interest in the last year or so. She’d been dating a gallery owner steadily before she’d gotten the White House press assignment. Back then she’d been hustling to win a slot on a regular column, and she’d taken whatever story assignments had come her way. Since there weren’t all that many, her hours were fairly regular. Once she’d caught the White House beat, her work hours doubled overnight and her schedule descended into total chaos. She canceled dinner dates, had to jump out of bed in the middle of the night—occasionally in the midst of intimate moments, and finally missed one too many art openings or evenings at the theater. Her lover delivered an ultimatum that had been as unexpected as it had been unfathomable. Choose between her job and her relationship. She’d been too shocked to do anything more than say she was sorry, but there was no way she could give up her job. She didn’t add: not for a relationship that was nothing more than pleasant. Pleasant wasn’t something she had time for any longer. Pleasant was undemanding companionship, good conversation, a shared meal, a mutually satisfying evening in bed. Pleasant was nice but not critical, and ultimately expendable.
She sipped her wine, savoring the woodsy flavor and the warmth that stirred in her middle. Warmth that was only partly due to the wine. She was looking forward to the possibility that a meal with an interesting woman presented, anticipating the discovery, the surprise, the excitement. Things she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Things she hadn’t realized, until just this moment, she missed.
