"Nice to meet you face to face," Wilson said convincingly.
"You, too." Erastus gave him a toothy smile.
"I appreciate that you're letting me attend the state dinner with you."
"It is my pleasure," Erastus said. "Anything I can do to help you meet your president, I am happy to do." Erastus patted him on the back. "Come, let me introduce you to my associates."
Wilson followed him to a group of people from Gabon standing in a circle. Things were going according to plan. Now all he needed to do was get past White House security and let things progress as intended.
* * *
Uniformed Secret Service Agent Paul Wright studied the attractive thirty-something couple who identified themselves as Robert and Kristina Stephens. He was particularly focused on the wife. She had long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and a body to die for beneath the gold and purple gown. He could only imagine what the husband did with her behind closed doors.
Paul looked at her identification. Kristina Stephens of Fairfax, Virginia. He didn't recognize her or the husband from the usual celebrities who made it their business to come to the White House for events. But they obviously knew the right people to have been invited. He checked the names on his clipboard just to be sure. Yep, there they were.
"I hope you enjoy the dinner, Mrs. Stephens," he told her.
She smiled. "I fully intend to."
Paul watched as she passed through the magnetometers without incident. A moment later, her husband did the same.
* * *
"We made it," Elizabeth uttered triumphantly, hooking her arm under Harold's after they passed through security.
"Yeah, we sure did," he said. "Easy as pie as Robert and Kristina Stephens."
"Now what do we do?" She tempered her enthusiasm, realizing that getting to the president would still be difficult. Or so she presumed.
"Just follow my lead," Harold said smoothly.
Elizabeth did just that as she smiled radiantly before the journalists and photographers. She understood that it was a calculated risk to expose themselves, as the FBI was on their trail. But it would have aroused more suspicion had it appeared as though they were ducking the cameras. Besides, if things went according to plan, they would accomplish their mission before the Secret Service could put two and two together. If they failed, Wilson could still go after the president, assuming he got in. Together they were sure to succeed. If not, they would go out in grand fashion while keeping their message alive.
The couple moved further inside the tent and fit right in as guests at the state dinner, even managing to be photographed with the unsuspecting vice president, while in search of the host who would soon breathe his last breath.
* * *
Wilson made a concerted effort not to make eye contact with the Secret Service agent at the checkpoint. All he had to do was keep cool and everything would be okay. He watched as Erastus went through successfully. Now it was his turn.
The agent studied him as if he could see right through him. "Mr. Jaboo, you're with the Gabon contingent?"
"That's right." Wilson kept his shoulders straight. "Is there a problem?"
The agent glanced at the clipboard. "I don't see your name on the list."
Wilson froze for a moment. He couldn't let that stop him from getting inside. "It should be there," he said, glancing at Erastus, hoping he would back him up.
Erastus came over. "I can assure you that Mr. Jaboo is a valued member of our party," he said persuasively. "If his name was left off the list, it was merely an oversight."
The agent regarded Wilson thoughtfully. "Very well. You can go inside."
Wilson gave him a respectful smile. "Thank you."
* * *
Grant scanned the crowd for anything or anyone out of the ordinary. Actually, everyone at these affairs was out of the ordinary compared to his usual duties of protecting the president and his inner circle. But, in this case, someone who seemed too down to earth could be cause for concern. They were still operating on the assumption that those who had threatened the president were anywhere but at a heavily guarded state dinner. Yet they couldn't afford to let their guard down for even one second.
He put on a good front. With Genevieve on his arm, he almost felt like they were on a real date. The fact that she looked and smelled so good made it even tougher for him to ignore the chemistry between them that threatened to ignite had they been anywhere but at the White House and on duty.
"You see any potential trouble?" he asked her.
"Maybe, but not amongst the guests," she said playfully.
He smiled. "We'll have to work on that later. Let's just get past this dinner first and then—"
"And then there will be other occasions to work."
Grant agreed. "That doesn't mean we can't find the time to—"
"To see what might happen if we allow it to," Genevieve said.
"Exactly."
Just then, Grant was told through his earpiece that images of Harold and Elizabeth Lombard were being sent to his cell phone, as well as a picture of Wilson Jaboo, along with aliases the trio used.
* * *
Wilson stayed with the Gabon group just long enough to spot Harold and Elizabeth. They made eye contact with him and then proceeded with the plan. Wilson excused himself to go to the men's room. Once inside, he went into a stall and waited for the Secret Service agent who seemed to have taken a special interest in him. Sure enough, he came in and pretended to be washing his hands while looking around. Wilson flushed the toilet and came out, casually moving to the sink. He put on his best Gabon accent as if striking up a friendly conversation.
"I am delighted to have this great opportunity to meet your president," he told him.
The man was stone-faced. "Yeah, most people are."
Wilson, who was at least three inches taller and bulkier than the man he felt was with the Secret Service, made his move. After stepping away from the sink, he swiftly wrapped a muscular arm around the man's neck from behind and, before he could react, violently twisted, hearing it snap.
He took the gun from his holster and dragged the agent into the stall. Suspecting they were on to him, Wilson didn't wait around to be cornered. He went back out, ready to go down in a blaze of glory. But not before the president went down.
* * *
"There's been a security breach," Genevieve told Grant. "The Lombards used the aliases of Robert and Kristina Stephens to get in."
Grant frowned. "How the hell did they slip past the checkpoint?"
"Somehow they managed to get on the guest list." Genevieve could only imagine that all hell would break loose as a result. "The belief is that neither of them had a firearm since they passed through the magnetometer, but they're both still thought to be major threats to the president and his guests."
"Dammit," Grant cursed. His eyes were already ahead of his feet in search of the couple. "We'd better nail them."
"We will," she said confidently, enjoying the adrenalin rush she got whenever the danger level went up a few notches in the course of their duties.
They began communicating with other Secret Service agents and undercover law enforcement personnel as everyone turned their attention to tracking down the dinner crashers, even if, technically speaking, they had apparently received an invitation under false pretenses.
Inside the Blue Room, Genevieve spotted a leggy blonde in a gold and purple gown about to approach the president in the receiving line. Though she could only see her profile, it was enough to convince her that the woman was in fact Elizabeth Lombard pretending to be Kristina Stephens. She got a good look at the tall, dark-haired man beside Elizabeth and identified him as Harold Lombard. He had one hand in his pocket as though brandishing a weapon of some sort.
"There they are," Genevieve said, pointing.
"I see them," Grant responded. "Whatever they have in mind, we need to stop them now." He reached for his sidearm, a SIG Sauer P229 pistol.
They rush
ed toward the president who was greeting guests along with President Matlala. Genevieve watched as Elizabeth shook the president's hand. Then she quickly pulled a steak knife out of her purse and drew her arm back, clearly planning to stab the president.
Not thinking twice, Genevieve lunged forward, flying into the air. At the last moment, she grabbed Elizabeth's hand, twisting it away from the president before the knife could make contact. Genevieve's momentum carried her and the would-be assassin to the floor, where she landed on top of Elizabeth. The two struggled before Genevieve was able to subdue and handcuff her. She had no time to gloat, realizing that was only half the battle.
"Put your hands up and get down on the ground!" Grant ordered Harold Lombard, aiming his gun at him.
Ignoring him, Harold went after the president, attempting to hit him in the face with both fists, which the president managed to dodge by angling his neck back and bobbing his head. Grant fired two shots at Harold, hitting him with both as he went down.
Agents pounced on Harold and Elizabeth as Genevieve rolled off her. Other agents quickly surrounded the president and began ushering him out of the room.
At that moment, shots rang out. Genevieve was still on the floor, but she could see a man shooting haphazardly and people scrambling. She recognized him as Wilson Jaboo, the Lombards' crony. She went for her purse on the floor and took out her weapon. In spite of being in an awkward position, Genevieve didn't want to wait for someone else to take him out. She fired at him once, hitting him squarely in the chest. Other agents followed up with several more shots as Wilson crumpled to the floor.
Grant helped Genevieve to her feet. "Are you all right?"
Her head was still ringing after hitting it on Elizabeth Lombard's shoulder during the fall, but she was comforted by the warmth of Grant's arms. "I think so."
"I'm getting word now that the shooter, Wilson Jaboo, took out an agent earlier. Apparently he managed to infiltrate the premises under an assumed name by cozying up to a group from Gabon."
"Could there be more assassins here?"
Grant shook his head. "Doesn't look like it." He still had his arm around her waist, as if holding her up. "Good job spotting Jaboo and preventing what might have been a monumental disaster. I'm sure the president will have something to say about it."
"Any other agent would've done what I did," she said modestly.
"I'd rather put my trust in you."
Genevieve's lashes fluttered. "Is that so?"
"Any complaints?"
All she could hear was the rapid beat of her heart. "None whatsoever."
# # #
THE PHONE CALL
The phone rang three times before Jennifer Lane decided that her husband Peter was not going to answer it. She thought that odd, considering it seemed like he was always on the phone talking to business acquaintances practically from sunup to sundown. What was different this time?
They were in bed, both reading books, which seemed to be the preferred bedtime activity of late next to sleep.
The phone went silent just before the call went to voicemail.
Jennifer looked at Peter's handsome profile, marred only by the glasses that hung haphazardly on his nose. "Why didn't you answer it?"
He shrugged. "Figured they'd leave a message if it was important. Obviously it wasn't."
She had no reason to disagree, though his logic seemed to be selectively applied.
The phone rang again.
Peter made a halfhearted attempt to reach for it, but Jennifer had already leaned over him and lifted the phone from his nightstand.
"Hello."
"Peter?"
The breathy woman's voice sounded strangely familiar, but Jennifer couldn't quite place it. "Can I tell him who's calling?"
"Peter," the woman said again with a heavy sigh.
Jennifer looked at the Caller ID. It indicated the number was private and the caller unknown.
"Who is it?" Peter asked.
Jennifer wondered the same thing with more than a little curiosity as she handed him the phone. "It's for you."
He put the phone to his ear. "This is Peter."
She watched the muscles in his face tense as he said, "Jennifer who?"
Her first thought was that he didn't know any other Jennifers. But clearly the caller knew him.
Peter's thick brows knitted. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Jennifer certainly found no humor in the idea that her husband might be having an affair with her namesake.
"Since my wife is right here beside me, you obviously aren't her. Now do us both a favor and don't call this number again," he said angrily. Peter disconnected, but held onto the phone.
Jennifer eyed him. "What was that all about?"
"Hell if I know. Some woman, obviously high or something, was trying to impersonate you, I think."
"You didn't recognize her voice?"
"No. It could've been anyone."
"But not just anyone would have our private number."
Peter frowned as the phone rang again. He hesitated.
"Answer it!" Jennifer insisted. "Let's see what else this mysterious woman has to say. Or would you rather I spoke to her?"
"Why don't we both listen in, just so you'll know I have nothing to hide."
Jennifer wondered if she had overreacted. She shot that down, knowing her husband had strayed once before. She had forgiven him after he promised it would never happen again.
Had he lied to her?
Peter put the call on speaker.
"Are you there, Peter...?" the caller gasped.
"Who the hell is this?"
"Jennifer..."
He rolled his eyes. "My wife?"
"Yes, it's me..." the woman said.
Jennifer cocked a brow. She met her husband's blank stare. Was this some code he and the woman had cooked up to try and cover his tracks?
"This is ridiculous," Peter snorted. "You're not my wife!"
"Why are you saying that?" the caller asked. "I don't understand."
"You and me both. Look, did Bob put you up to this or what?"
Bob Foxworth was Peter's best friend and the one who Jennifer knew had helped her husband hide his previous infidelity.
"I've been in an accident..." The woman moaned eerily, causing Jennifer to shudder. "Carlson's Canyon... Lost control of the car on rain slick road... It overturned..."
Carlson's Canyon was about ten miles from their house in Lake Pearl, California. Over the years, it had developed a bad reputation for its winding roads with no guardrails and rugged landscape that, while breathtaking, could also be a death trap for anyone unfortunate enough to run off the road in the wrong spot. Carlson's Canyon had already claimed four lives that year. Jennifer wondered if the woman really had been hurt. Maybe delirium had set in, causing the misidentification.
Peter held no such sympathy. "Look, whoever you are, whatever your problem is, it has nothing to do with me."
Somehow Jennifer found solace in his hard stance, even as suspicion gripped her like a fever. Was he truly in the dark about who the caller was? Or was this just a clever act by a clever man trying to cover his bases?
"Please, Peter...help me—" The woman's voice grew weaker.
"I can't," he said, disconnecting the call.
Jennifer stared at him. "You think it was a crank call?"
"I have no idea. Who knows what was going on in her head?"
"Maybe we should call 911?"
"And tell them what? That a woman claiming to be you says she's been in an accident? I don't think so."
The strange call left Jennifer shaken. What if the woman really had been in an accident and needed help? Had Peter, in his attempt to disassociate himself with the caller, been overly callous and indifferent to her pleas—no matter how bizarre?
Admittedly, Jennifer had serious doubts about the authenticity of the caller's plight. For one, she'd indicated the car accident was due to a wet road caused by rain. Problem was they
were in the middle of a summer stretch where it had not rained in more than a month. The forecast called for dry weather for at least the next seven days.
That brought Jennifer back to her initial suspicion. She glared at her husband. "Are you having an affair with that woman?"
"No," he said sharply. "I can't believe you'd even ask me that."
"Can't you? What am I supposed to think? A woman calls you at night on our private number with some cockamamie story. And you act like it's just someone who happened to pick our number at random. I'm not buying it."
"So what do you want or expect me to say? That I engineered the call just to hurt you again? I wouldn't do that. I'd never hurt you again."
"I wish I could believe you." Jennifer met his eyes, trying to erase the painful memories of discovering her husband in bed with another woman. How could she be sure it wasn't happening all over again?
"You can. I swear to you, Jenn, there is no other woman in my life. I can't explain why she called or how she got this number. Maybe it was just a sick joke."
Jennifer's instincts told her there was more to this than a sick joke. But could she trust those feelings? Was the frightening sound of the caller's anguished voice getting to her?
Jennifer looked at her husband. "So what if she was telling the truth about the accident?"
"Then someone's bound to find her sooner or later," he said.
"But what if they don't?" Jennifer didn't know what she hoped to achieve with this conversation of what ifs. Should she really be concerned about something that probably hadn't even happened? But what if the woman was in trouble and help didn't arrive until it was too late? Could she ever forgive herself?
"It's not up to us to save the world," Peter said. "I say we let it go."
"But maybe she called you for a reason."
"And what reason would that be?"
"I don't know. You tell me. I just don't think she asked for your help out of the blue."
EDGE OF SUSPENSE: Thrilling Tales of Mystery & Murder Page 8
