Splinter Self

by S L Shelton

  He nodded. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Thanks…but wait until—”

  “I know. No signal until after we land.”

  Kathrin leaned over and whispered. “Who do you think attacked them?”

  “Not sure. At least one guy who attacked the accountant’s convoy…your convoy, was Russian.”

  “Russian?”

  I nodded. “Spetsnaz…sometime in his recent past.”

  “Russian Special Forces?”

  “It was a Russian Special Forces tattoo. I didn’t have time to check IDs on the rest of the bodies.”

  She leaned against me wrapping her arm through mine. A confused expression spread across her face as if trying to solve a difficult math problem.

  After a second, she looked up at me. “I feel like we’ve come across Russian military before, but I can’t remember.”

  I nodded. “Some of the Russian mob guys in Amsterdam.”

  Her brow creased again like my reminder meant nothing to her. “Amsterdam?”

  I patted her leg. “Trust me. I know exactly how you feel, not being able to remember things. I have the same problem.”

  She smiled and nuzzled my neck again. “I’ll be so happy when this is over.”

  “Me too, sweet girl…me too.”

  After she dozed off again, I got up and walked to the cockpit.

  Seifert looked up as I entered, his face lit only by the dials on the dash. “We’ll be landing in a few minutes.”

  “Any problems with air traffic control?”

  Earl looked at me over his shoulder then returned his attention to his GPS. “This ain’t my first time, youngster. I’ve been flying in and out of the US without a flight plan since you weren’t even an itch in your daddy’s sack.”

  “So, no problems then,” I said.

  Seifert looked up and smiled. “There must have been a little slippage with our shadow after we crossed over. Air traffic control radioed our doppelganger and asked if he saw another aircraft off his wing.”

  “Happens all the time…’specially over the water,” Earl snapped. “It shows up like a ghost echo then disappears. Like I said, nothing to worry your pretty little head over.”

  “Okay. Thanks for the report.”

  Earl scoffed. “Don’t need you hangin’ over my shoulder.”

  I ignored Earl’s bitching and returned to the cabin. Kathrin had fallen over against my bag, taking up both of the seats. Rather than disturb her, I sat next to Mark, moving his bag to the floor before joining him.

  “How long?” Mark asked.

  “Just a few more minutes.”

  Mark nodded. “Any problems?”

  “We showed up as a ghost on the tower screen for a few minutes. Earl says it happens all the time.”

  Mark looked at me. “What do you think?”

  “I think we can’t hang around after we land. We’ll need to find a couple of vehicles right away and get moving.”

  “Got some place in mind?”

  I nodded. “Earl said he has part of a warehouse on the waterfront in Gulfport. He uses it as a maintenance hangar and for hiding stuff he’s not supposed to have.”

  “Any idea what an old codger like Earl might have that he shouldn’t?”

  I chuckled. “He’s friends with a senior CIA officer, has a seaplane slip on the Gulf Coast, and a warehouse nowhere near his home address…you do the math.”

  “Dodgy shit.”

  I nodded. “Dodgy shit for sure. But he’s good at what he does. We can hole up there for a few hours and see what we can get out of Goughin.”

  “Do you want me to handle interrogating him? It seems like you’re a little distracted.”

  A surge of anger worked its way up my chest, but I tamped it down quickly. “I’m fine. But if you want to do it, go ahead.”

  He nodded. After a moment a silence, he leaned close and whispered. “Did you find out where she’s been?”

  I shook my head. “She doesn’t even remember the Russians in Amsterdam. I’m not sure if she’s repressing it or not. I’ll keep trying.”

  He nodded. “It would be nice to find out before we take her into the Op.”

  My anger bubble back to the surface. “I’m not leaving her behind. If you’d rather she weren’t with us, say the word and we’re gone.”

  He seemed genuinely surprised by my response judging by his “who, me?” expression. “Settle down. I’m not saying we should ditch her,” he said then bumped my arm with his elbow. “Besides. I’m not taking responsibility for this shit show. If it goes down in flames, I want your name on the marquee.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “Thanks.”

  He chuckled. “Seriously though, you’ve done a damn good job. I don’t think anyone else could have pulled it together like you have.”

  I started to feel better until the cold irony of his glare hit me. Tit for tat. He was mocking me the way I’d mocked him.

  “Fuck you, Gaines. I ought to break your nose again just for spite.”

  He laughed.

  I glared at him with stone-cold eyes. “You think I’m kidding?”

  He grinned. “Yeah. I do.”

  A grin slid across my face that I couldn’t stop. “Thanks, man.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  **

  11:45 p.m. — Interstate 81, South of Woodstock, Virginia

  NICK HORIATIS rubbed his eyes and stared at the line of taillights ahead of him. He’d been driving the RV they stole for nearly seven hours. The growing pressure against his bladder and the ache in his back told him he didn’t have many more miles left in him.

  Ahead of them, two vehicles stayed within five miles, scouting for problems that might force them to detour. Behind them, another vehicle kept watch on their flank, lagging back by no more than a mile.

  “Are you ready for a break?” Michael Casey asked as he walked forward.

  Nick nodded without taking his eyes off the road as Casey called one of his agents forward to replace him. He set the cruise control, then moved aside so the agent could take his place. “We have about a third of a tank left. That’ll easily get us to sixty-six,” Nick said as he stretched his back. “There are plenty places to stop along the way to refuel.”

  The agent nodded then turned off the cruise control.

  Casey nodded Nick toward the rear of the RV where the President had been since they’d left West Virginia. The hard landing in Daniel Boone National Forest had ruptured his Achilles tendon. In addition, the F-15 had popped flares near the President while he was in free fall. Serious, though not life-threatening burns now covered the president’s side and back.

  Nick followed, glancing at the three reporters, sleeping on couches behind the driver’s seat. Cammy Cortez had managed to evacuate nine reporters and four crew service members before Air Force One crashed into the ground. But the rogue F-15 pilot had strafed the open chutes, killing all but three reporters and two crew members. Sadly, Cortez had not made it to a chute before the plane went down.

  Nick stopped at the bathroom, then was greeted by Casey holding a fresh cup of coffee as he exited.

  “Thanks. How’s he feeling?” Nick asked as they passed through the narrow hallway between the kitchenette and the bedroom.

  “He’s in pain. He won’t let us give him any morphine though.”

  “Can you blame him? We’re in the middle of a hostile takeover. Morphine makes you not give a shit about anything.”

  Casey nodded. “I’m not sure about this course of action.”

  “Neither am I. But I’ll tell you one thing, we won’t last out here on the road another two days if we don’t do something.”

  Casey stopped Nick at the door. “If it looks like we can’t guarantee his safety, we need to abort.”

  “I can hear you through that door,” the President said. “It’s not soundproof like the one on Air Force One.”

  Nick opened the door, smiling. “With due respect, the door on Air
Force One isn’t soundproof anymore.”

  “Truth,” the President said, then winced as he turned to see them better.

  In the corner, Petty Officer Boller sat watch. Nick smiled and nodded to him. “Crow, how ‘bout you go grab yourself some coffee and give us a minute.”

  “Aye, aye,” Boller replied and left quickly, stretching on his way out.

  The President looked down the hallway as he left. “How’d he get that name…? Crow?”

  Nick shrugged. “It’s a sniper thing. They like naming themselves after birds and eyes and such.”

  The President nodded, then looked at Casey. “I heard what you said out there, Mike. There is no way to guarantee my safety. In fact, I’m not sure safety is even a consideration at this point.”

  “Sir, I have to—”

  The president raised his hand, smiling like a parent explaining a difficult reality to a child. “If I can’t get law enforcement to intercede in this crisis, there is no way to fix it. I need my Attorney General.”

  “The AG signed off on the investigation shutdowns, sir.”

  “I don’t care…we need him,” the President replied. “And I’ve known Payden for going on thirty years. If he’s slipped, then I’m friend enough to try to help him up.”

  “And if he doesn’t want ‘up’?” Nick asked.

  The President looked down, his mouth bent in a sharp frown. “Then you’ll have to do what you have to do.”

  “Sir?”

  The President looked up. “If he makes a move to betray us, you’ll have to stop him.”

  Casey stood there, staring.

  Nick broke the silence. “We’ll do what we have to, sir. But if you can’t get through to him, we’ll need a backup plan.”

  The President nodded. “I’ll make a list of others in a position to help that I’m fairly certain haven’t betrayed us.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Casey said. “But you should get some rest now.”

  They left the room and waited until Boller went back in. After the door closed, Casey turned to Nick. “We’re not enforcers. If this goes bad, there’s not much we’re gonna be able to do to stop it.”

  “Leave that to us. If the AG can’t be brought around, we’ll find a way to detain him until we can get to someone who can help.”

  Casey shook his head. “Goddamn it. How did we get here?”

  “By not paying attention. Too many people have looked the other way as more and more money got poured into the political process. After a while, it all blends together and no one knows where the money’s coming from. The perfect camouflage for dirty money is dumping it into the same reservoir as the legal money.”

  “Still, there are lines that had to be crossed.”

  Nick walked away. “How can you tell where the line is when the ground is covered in cash?”

  sixteen

  Monday, May 9th

  2:15 a.m. — Earl’s Warehouse/Hangar, Gulfport Harbor, Gulfport, Mississippi

  While Seifert, Martinez, and Earl took the plane out to moor, the rest of us moved our equipment and prisoners off the dock to the warehouse. I helped Kathrin hobble across the narrow concrete apron around the structure, carrying half of Storc’s equipment on my other shoulder.

  No one spoke, and aside from the scuffing of unsure feet—Kathrin’s and our prisoners’—the only sound was of the plane and the small launch in which Martinez would ferry Earl and Seifert back to the dock. The black sacks over Braun’s and Goughin’s heads had surely kept them trapped in their own thoughts since yesterday morning, lifted only a few times to give them food and water. We’d even kept the hoods on while they went to the bathroom, just uncuffing their hands so they could drop-trou.

  I walked in and surveyed the space. It wasn’t until I lowered Kathrin into a folding yard lounge chair that I realized we weren’t alone. I pulled my SIG and waved Storc to stay back as he came through the door.

  “What?” Storc asked.

  “We aren’t alone.”

  “You have such a spooky way of doing that,” came John Temple’s voice from the darkness. “I was even holding my breath.”

  I flipped the overhead lights on and stared at him, sitting in his wheelchair in the open door of the hangar office. Freshly shaved and wearing a new suit, he looked like he’d just flown in for a wedding.

  I holstered my weapon and walked toward him. He leaned over to see behind me, then his brow shot high. “Holy shit! Is that Kathrin?”

  I nodded as I arrived in front of him then pushed his wheelchair backward aggressively before closing the office door. “I need to hear two things from you, without evasion or gaslighting me,” I said firmly enough that he’d know I wasn’t playing around. “Why did you take BeauLac in, and why are you here now?”

  He put his hands up defensively, turning his head sideways and backing away as I angrily leaned in with each word. “Okay, okay. I fucked up with BeauLac. That was stupid. I admit it. With a member of Combine in hand and half our fighting force getting derailed to protect the President, I thought we could get everything out in the open and shake the traitors out.”

  “Bullshit. You had Beverly Martin lockdown the Consulate. You were baiting a trap.”

  He lifted one eyebrow in apparent admiration. “There’s always more than one goal in a move that bold…you know that.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to give the appearance I was too agitated to placate. “Why…no, how are you here right now?”

  “I’ll answer both questions. I’m here because my team is here. And I got here with a little smuggling assistance from the State Department and Penny.”

  I turned and ran to the office door, yanking it open and then scanning the warehouse for signs of Penny Rhodes—one of my instructors at the farm and John’s daughter, though that wasn’t common knowledge.

  “She’s gone already,” John said, wheeling close to me. “She was just my ride.”

  “And she just said, ‘Okay, Dad, here you go. See you later,’?”

  “Where’d you find Kathrin? How is she even alive?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  John laughed and shook his head. “No. Penny’s as stubborn as you are,” he said, plastering on his charming face—I’d seen that one before, too. “Well…maybe not quite as stubborn as you are. But I reminded her that you might still want to kill her.”

  “And you didn’t tell her Mark Gaines would be here?”

  “Mark is here?” he said in mock surprise. “Well damn, she would have wanted to see him.”

  I shook my head. “I’m going to put you on the cheapest bus I can find and send you back to DC,” I snapped, walking out of the office. “I don’t have time to decipher your spy puzzles.”

  “What spy puzzles?!” he yelled at my back. “I screwed up. You were right, I was wrong. Thank god I didn’t fuck things up so bad that you couldn’t complete the mission…is that what you want to hear?”

  I turned and stared at his shaking red face. Nice try, John. I see you under there. I walked back toward him and he wheeled backward, giving me space to enter the office again.

  “How’d you know where we’d be?” I asked.

  John shrugged with an apologetic smirk on his face. “You used my guy for transportation. How’d you capture the accountant?”

  I’d known Earl had contacted John as soon as I saw him sitting there in the dark. But I wanted him in answer mode—it’s best to start with the easy questions.

  I sat down on the ratty, threadbare sofa in the corner of Earl’s office. “We didn’t capture the accountant.”

  John’s brows shot up. “What?” he looked out the window into the hangar, nodding toward Mark, Whalen, and Ensign Thompson putting the two-bagged prisoners in seats. “Then who are they?”

  “Oh, we have them…Braun and Goughin,” I said, looking over my shoulder toward them. “But another team captured them. Blew the fuck out of Via Israel in the process.”

  John’s brow creased,
and a confused frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Who?”

  “We’re still working on that.”

  He nodded. “Maybe once we have Combine pinned down, I can help.”

  “You, John?” I asked, irony coloring my tone. “Like you helped with BeauLac?”

  His cheeks turned bright red. “I told you I’m sorry about that. What do you want? A blood sacrifice?”

  I reached out my hand. “Give me your phone.”

  He rolled his eyes as he reached into the side pouch of his chair. From inside, he pulled out a flip phone and handed it to me.

  I put it in my pocket and extended my hand again. “And the one under your seat.”

  A flit of panic rippled across his face in a microexpression. He stared at me for several seconds before reaching over the edge of his chair and pulling the second phone out.

  “It’s clean,” he said. “I haven’t used it.”

  I smiled as I tucked it into my pocket. “Okay.”

  He watched me expectantly for a moment, then opened his hands in question. “We done here?”

  I stood. “Yep. All done.”

  “Good. Now tell me something…are Nick and his team okay, or did he go down with the President?”

  “Nick is fine…and so is the President.”

  Shock, followed by genuine relief registered on John’s face and body. “Holy shit,” he said, breathless. “That’s the best fucking news I’ve heard all year.”

  I nodded. “And hopefully in a few hours, we’ll have what we need to get him back to the White House.”

  “Do you think President Trembly and Combine are gonna just let that happen?”

  I shrugged. “If they don’t, it’ll be over a lot of bodies…and out in the street. Not just car accidents and heart attacks.”

  John breathed out what seemed to be a sigh of stress. “We’re all on the line here. If it goes south, we all go south with it.”

  “I know. Storc’s already working on an exit for us.”

  John tipped his head sideways. “All of us?”

  “Well, sure. If you want. There’s no shortage of cash.”

  He lifted one brow and smiled. “So, I’m still on the team?”