Room 1515

by Bill Wetterman

  The two cars turned left onto Old Auth and headed toward the Beltway. Felicia spotted two men climbing down a stairway from a construction platform under the bridge.

  “There! Try to take them alive.”

  #

  “Bloody hell, move your arse,” Morgan yelled as Dunn took his first step down from the platform.

  Dunn pointed toward the south. “The black cars are back. So long as there’s only two, I think we can pin them down.”

  Still eight feet above the ground, Morgan dropped the unit he was carrying and scrambled back up onto the platform.

  “They’re good targets from here,” Dunn yelled. “Keep them pinned in the car.”

  Shots rang out and glass shattered as the female rolled out her door and scurried back behind the vehicle. The other agent never made it out as machine gun bullets peppered the vehicle.

  “The black bitch made it out,” Morgan shouted. “Where did you stow the grenade?”

  “In the outside cuff of the carry bag.”

  “More crispy critters coming up.”

  #

  “This is Agent Lange. I’ve got a man down at the bridge by the Beltway and Auth.”

  The second car pulled in behind Felicia’s vehicle. The agents jumped out and returned fire. Felicia pulled her revolver from her vest. Heart pounding in her chest, she leaned around the rear fender and fired, as two other vehicles now pulled up farther back, and seven Herculeans were now on the scene.

  Felicia crawled around to the right side of her car to avoid being in the crossfire. She worked her way toward the passenger-side door on her belly. From there she had the best angle for accuracy. One of the two men on the platform unloaded his AK 47 at her while the other ducked back near the rear of the platform fumbling with the ammunition belt he’d pulled from a carry bag.

  He’s going to throw a grenade.

  #

  “Throw the grenade now” Dunn yelled and sprayed AK 47 fire down on his enemies. Several shots rang out and Morgan screamed as the grenade fell from his hands.

  “Mother Mary,” Dunn managed to blurt out before his thoughts ceased.

  #

  Felicia crouched low, aimed, and fired four shots at the man with the ammunition belt. An explosion shook the ground and the platform blew up throwing a cloud of wooden and concrete pieces into the air as it collapsed. Concrete from the underside of the beltway crumbled onto Old Auth Road revealing the rebar on the underside of the bridge. Then all was quiet.

  Felicia rolled up onto her knees and opened the car door. Help was too late for the agent inside. She looked down to see blood running along her arm from underneath her armpit. She dropped to the ground, as three other agents rushed the platform. Felicia whispered into her radio, “Any plan we had for taking those bastards alive has turned bad. Please send me medical aid, before I bleed to death.”

  #

  Van Meer’s cab pulled up at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. He rushed inside and purchased a First Class ticket to London under the name Steve Petrie. As he sat in the VIP Lounge, a passport picture of him as Lloyd Barker appeared on the television screen.

  “This is Stan Kaplan, CNN, broadcasting live,” the reporter said. “We’re circling over the intersection of Temple Hill and Kirby Roads south of Camp Springs, Maryland. Our information is sketchy at best, but it is reported that a helicopter has either crashed or been shot down near Andrews Air Force base at approximately 3:13 p.m.”

  The wreckage was visible. Van Meer could see the symbol of the President of the United States on the tail of the helicopter.

  “The photo in the left corner of your screen,” Kaplan said, “is of a man identified as Lloyd Barker. He’s a person of interest in the investigation of this incident. If you see this man, call 911 and report him immediately. Do not try to apprehend him alone. He is armed and considered dangerous.”

  Van Meer wasn’t armed. He chuckled to himself. Yes, he was extremely dangerous and an expert in hiding in plain sight. He got up, moved to the back of the lounge, and ordered a Heineken.

  An unidentified voice spoke on CNN. “We’ve just been notified that Hayden Lawrence, Director of Homeland Security, is ready to make a statement from his office in Washington D.C.”

  Red, white, and blue bars appeared momentarily on the screen. Then, a live feed from Andrews Air force base showed President Monroe and the First Lady waving to reporters at the foot of Air force One. CNN split their screen and Director Lawrence read his report. “This afternoon a special elite force thwarted a plot to assassinate President Monroe and his wife.”

  Cameras focused on late arriving media personnel.

  “Over the past several months, we have been speculating that an attack on Marine One was being planned. Today, that attack was executed, but the helicopter shot down was an unmanned decoy.”

  Van Meer muttered an obscenity under his breath. U.S. intelligence had figured out his plan. But they couldn’t have known until yesterday. Only then had he received the go from Reed. He bowed his head as the video feed changed to the location on Old Auth Road. Wreckage beneath the bridge could be clearly seen.

  “Fortunately,” Director Lawrence said. “Two mobile units dispatched to look for the launch site were within close proximity when the missiles were fired. Our elite forces swarmed the area, and in the ensuing battle, two of the terrorists and one federal agent were killed.”

  “How far reaching is this operation?” a reporter asked. “Are other nations involved?”

  “We’re aware of three terrorists teamed up in this operation, two are dead, and one is on the loose. As far as other nations involved, that’s classified. I can tell you that no organization has yet claimed responsibility.”

  “Here’s to you Morgan. Here’s to you Dunn.” Van Meer toasted his comrades and finished his beer. He glanced at his watch, grabbed his ticket, and left the lounge area. He was in an unpredictable business. Sometimes you win—sometimes not.

  #

  “Is Felicia going to be all right?” Peacock asked. “I need to go to her.”

  “Your question should have been: ‘We have unmanned helicopter technology capable of deploying a decoy so large?’” Ursa scrunched up his face.

  “I’m sorry. I forgot—mission before people, right?”

  Ursa nodded. “Now back to your question. If Felicia is alive, you’ll see her as soon as possible. If not, you go back to Room 1515. You do not shed one tear. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  She did understand. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t, except when she was with Arthur. If Felicia died, Peacock would speak good words at her funeral. If she was alive, she’d like to compliment her partner on her good work.

  “I’ll tell her I’m proud of her. Flattery will go a long way toward assuring her loyalty to me.”

  “You’re learning,” Ursa said. “I’m proud of you.”

  He’s toying with me.

  “I have another question,” Peacock said, not responding to Ursa’s use of the word proud. “Did I see the first mission of a classified military helicopter?”

  Ursa smiled. “Yes, and hopefully its last.”

  #

  The picture on Van Meer’s passport appeared different from the one he’d used entering the country. He’d shaved the mustache and dressed like a rich businessman. Still, he couldn’t change his facial structure. A suspicious and well-trained Homeland Security agent could recognize him.

  Time to hide in the open.

  Van Meer headed toward the security checkpoint observing others in the line. A lady in front of him struggled with controlling her children. She couldn’t follow the check-in procedures and tie shoes at the same time.

  “You look like you need help,” Van Meer said. “Where are you traveling?”

  “I’m taking my kids to see my ex.” She grinned, and he felt a connection. “He’s in London. Then I’m going sightseeing. And yes, they’re a handful, and I need another pair of hands myself.�
��

  “How about mine?” Van Meer corralled the littlest of the three. “What’s your name young man?”

  “Bobby.”

  “Bobby, let me help you with your shoes.”

  Van Meer untied Bobby’s shoes and pointed to the screening area. “Do you see those mean looking people at the security checkpoint?”

  “Yes,” the little mop-haired boy answered.

  “They’re looking for bad guys. Give me your ticket. I’ll see you get by them without being arrested.”

  “Okay.” The little boy’s blue eyes widened. He gripped Van Meer’s hand and headed off to his adventure. Hans Van Meer wasn’t pulled aside for a more thorough pat down.

  #

  Van Meer woke early. His companion for a week in London still slept—her children safe with their father.

  “Alas my love I do thee wrong,” he whispered to her and kissed her cheek. He left a thousand pounds and a note telling her to buy as many memories as she could. He’d showed her London and the English countryside. He’d screwed the daylights out of her with no complaints. Now he would slip out of their hotel room early in the morning, grab the Chunnel train to Paris, and drive to Delft. There he would slip back into obscurity until called by Reed for his next assignment.

  He rejoiced ever so slightly that he was considered a friend by both Pendleton and Reed. They’d made him a multi-millionaire. He enjoyed playing both the diplomat and the spy. Sad though, the loss of Morgan. Morgan was the best boots-on-the-ground man for these kinds of missions. But someone would step up and take his place. Someone always did.

  Plan B most certainly would become the next big adventure. Maybe Reed would include him. Maybe not. Placing a double agent on the staff of the president was more in Reed’s line of work. The maneuvering would take time. More time than either Pendleton or Claymore wanted. But that wasn’t his problem. The air was brisk. The sun shone bright, and Hans Van Meer had lived to fight another day.

  Chapter 28

  Day 660

  “God, I’m thankful the bullet hit where it did.” Felicia raised her right arm up a little and pointed at her armpit as she waited to be released. “Unless I raise my arm so a guy can see my scar, I’m still drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “Will you ever be able to raise your right arm up over your head?” Peacock asked. “All those bandages seem ominous.”

  “The bullet destroyed a couple of lymph nodes, a lot of fatty tissue, and hit an artery that almost killed me. Long range I’ll be fine except for some numbness.”

  A crammed duffle bag held everything she’d brought to the hospital. One of Ursa’s people had already carried the duffle bag out.

  “Let’s walk down to the sitting area and wait for your nurse to bring the wheelchair,” Peacock said. “I’m sure you’re eager to get out of here.”

  “More than eager, the boredom’s killing me.”

  We’re so alike, Peacock thought. The girls working Room 1515, at least those advancing in their assignments, were all high energy, high intelligence, easily bored women. In a world still dominated by predator-men, the use of sexual charms was as effective as their ability to kill. Herculean women excelled in both.

  She helped Felicia out of her room and waved to the nurses’ stations to let them know where they’d be. The two walked down the hall to the sitting area.

  Hospitals irritated Peacock, drab colored walls and grouchy people with a smell of antiseptic tossed in. Once she had the opportunity, Felicia sprawled out on a couch. Peacock found a comfortable chair and took in a deep breath. “I need to talk, and I need to be able to trust you.”

  “You can trust me, Lovey.”

  “I thought I could trust Daphne. Could I?”

  “I understand. Look, if I betray your trust, you’ll kill me like you did her.”

  “I’ll trust your logic.” She looked across the room at Felicia and focused on her face. “I think I’m pregnant.”

  “What?” Felicia shot straight up. Her eyes opened wide. “Okay, now I don’t want to hear this. I think I might have pulled out a stitch,” she said and rubbed her arm.

  “Who else can I share this with?”

  Felicia’s face softened. “Does Ursa know?”

  “I’m not crazy. I’ll tell him when I’m sure. I’ll tell him when I have a plan to put with the news.”

  Something inside her had prompted her to tell her secret. She didn’t understand why. But then she couldn’t explain her love for Pendleton either. Maybe she needed a girlfriend, a person to confide in who would understand. Felicia was a Herculean like herself. She was growing in confidence and skill. Before Pendleton, Peacock could have cared less about friendships. Now she needed one friend. What better person to bare her soul to.

  “God, Lovey, in our work no telling who the father is.”

  “It’s Arthur’s baby. I stopped taking my pills the day Magnus trained me on the Aero. I’ve only had sex with Arthur since then.”

  “Okay.” Felicia bit her lower lip. “I’d take a D.N.A. test. What harm would that do? You’re sure you’re sure?”

  “I’ve missed a period and my test kit turned a bright positive twice. I don’t want to panic yet, but I’m ninety-nine percent certain.”

  “Why did you stop taking the pills? You planned this didn’t you?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Her reasoning went beyond complicated. The day she met Pendleton she’d toyed with the fantasy of having children. Why? She wasn’t sure. Maybe so her family-line wouldn’t die out. Once she married him, she burned to produce a son, a brilliant combination of the two of them. Ego? Yes. But something else she didn’t understand drove her.

  “I won’t have an abortion, and I’m not quitting Hercules. So I guess I’ll hire three or four nannies.”

  “No, Ursa will put your baby with Herculean caregivers. You’ll rarely see the baby. You’ll be on assignments.” Felicia stretched, glanced around, and yawned. “The painkillers are working. We’d better strategize, or I’ll fall asleep.”

  “Arthur’s mother might raise the baby.”

  “Lovey,” Felicia said, “I don’t know what arrangement you and Arthur have. To keep up impressions, she has to think you’re raising her grandchild.”

  “Or, we have to give her a good reason why I’m not able to care for the baby.”

  She had the desire to have a child. But Ursa needed her to detach from outside obligations while on assignment. “I’m not meant to raise children. I want to nurse for a few weeks, then get back to work. My job won’t allow much more. But my children will get to know their mother. Arthur doesn’t have the time to raise children. His mother’s the best choice.”

  “So you’re talking children, not child.”

  “Between assignments, maybe. I’ll work it out with Ursa when the time comes.”

  She expected to hear Felicia tell her she was crazy. Instead, her friend said, “I’ll help out any way I can.”

  Felicia’s eyes closed. In the depths of Peacock’s soul, she knew she’d lied about not being meant to raise her children. She desperately wanted to, but Ursa would not understand.

  #

  Twice during the flight to Beijing, Pendleton threatened to return to London. The Chinese leadership, furious with him for the financial maneuvering that almost bankrupt them, had planned to send a lower level official to greet him at the airport. Pendleton made his position clear. He would be met by Hui Ming, President of the National Peoples’ Congress, and none other.

  “It’s not that critical,” Rogers said, as the jet circled over Mongolian airspace waiting for a response from the Chinese. “He’s scheduled to be in the negotiations.”

  “It’s extremely important. I must establish myself as an adversary to be respected. Throgmorton was met by a Vice Premier of the State Council.”

  “The Chinese respected Eric’s age.” Rogers folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his seat. “That’s why you bought me. Isn’t it? You wanted to s
how my grey hair to them.”

  “Ming will meet you,” a member of his staff called out from the business center on Pendleton’s plane. “General Secretary Li Ziyang sends his assurances.”

  “Acceptable, let’s get this negotiation going.”

  Pendleton landed at eleven in the morning Beijing time, accompanied by Milton Rogers, European Union Commission President, Irene Finn of Ireland, and four W.F.C. staffers. Ming greeted them on the red carpet and escorted them to their accommodations. Two days of meetings in the Zhongnanhai area, Beijing, lay ahead. The W.F.C., the E.U., and the Chinese leadership would discuss the financial future of non-Russian Asia behind closed doors.

  As he unpacked his suitcase, taking an occasional glance at the Forbidden City from the twelfth floor of his hotel, his phone rang. “Yes.”

  “Arthur, Van Meer here. The news isn’t good. They were expecting an attack on Marine One. My teammates died.”

  Pendleton’s face flushed. “A hedge of angels must surround Monroe. We couldn’t defeat him politically. We couldn’t kill him with Plan A.”

  Van Meer sighed.

  “Things were going swimmingly until Dusseldorf, ole boy,” Van Meer said. “Think, Arthur, who’s the joker in the deck? Someone found Reed’s cell-phone number. Someone contacted him, blew up his van, and entered his house. That person got the information that led to our plot being uncovered. There are no angels guarding Monroe. Think on that.”

  #

  An emotional turmoil long ignored plagued Peacock when she learned about her pregnancy. Maybe she was going insane. She had to confront her past. She rented a compact vehicle on the Saturday after Felicia left the hospital and drove off, not sure if her resolve would help her or hurt her in the long term. Peacock headed west and then southwest toward Pembroke, Virginia, the place of her birth.

  She couldn’t go home by way of the route where her family died. Instead, she drove to Radford and backtracked. She’d almost enrolled in Radford College. The money left to her was enough to cover the cost. But she loved the thought of working in a hotel. Hotels never closed, and she could earn a good living with thousands of unimportant people she didn’t need to get close to.