by Rose Beecham
“Your turn,” Jude ventured. “Are you CIA?”
Sandy give her an odd look. “Why would you ask that?”
“You don’t exactly blend in.”
“I’m not CIA and you’ve entered my home illegally,” Sandy said. “Why?”
“Because you purchased a few hundred pounds of plastic explosive in Debbie’s name.”
“That was a mistake,” Sandy acknowledged.
“Where’s Debbie now?” Jude asked.
“In Canada.” Reading something into Jude’s reaction, she seemed to take offense. “Do you really believe I would hurt her?”
“You already have. She has no idea who you are.”
Sandy lit a cigar. Contemplating the glowing tip, she said, “She knows all that’s worth knowing.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes.” Her face softened. Something philosophical and sad entered her tone. “Whatever you think, don’t ever doubt that. Or let her doubt it.”
“Be there for her.” Jude worked at the plastic around her wrists. “Then she won’t have a reason to doubt.”
“If I can, I will.” Sandy puffed on the cigar. “You looked in my personal files on Debbie’s computer, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, riveting stuff,” Jude said dryly. “My favorite was your galley of mullet hairdos.”
Sandy offered a cynical bow. “Did you enjoy aphid control or the stuff about the best boy bands?”
“Come on, Sandy.” Jude wasn’t getting anywhere with the restraints, which was the general idea. “I don’t care who you work for. Just give me a name so my boss can verify your status, and we’re done.”
“I can’t do that.”
“What’s the explosive for?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Sandy said pleasantly.
“You’re right. That’s a deal breaker.”
Sandy lapsed into silence for a few minutes. With a note of regret, she said, “It’s a problem that you’re here.”
“I’d be happy to leave. All I need is a couple of answers and we’re good.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Let’s make it that simple,” Jude wished she could stop the deafening pounding of her heart in her ears. It was making her headache even worse. “We’re two adults. We work for the same government.”
Sandy puffed slowly on her cigar. Seemingly to herself, she quoted, “Quis custodiet ipsos custodies?”
Jude translated, “Who guards the guards?”
With a tight smile, Sandy stood. “I have stuff to do before I leave. Who else knows you’re here?”
“Just my handler.”
“Get up.” She reached down and hitched Jude by one elbow.
“You could cut me loose.”
“Not a bondage fan?” Sandy jerked her toward the bed.
Jude didn’t resist this curious turn of events. She felt groggy and nauseous. Sandy arranged her so that she was as comfortable as possible with her arms secured behind her.
“What do you know about my mission?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
Sandy slid her fingers into Jude’s hair and angled her aching head so she could look into her eyes. “Sodium Pentothal?”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“What does the Bureau think I’m involved in?”
“NORTHCOM,” Jude said.
Sandy’s face showed no emotion. “Which project?”
“We’re not sure. All we’ve heard is rumor about a special op on U.S. soil.”
“Could have seen that coming,” Sandy said.
She released Jude’s head, then padded around the room, stuffing items into a duffel bag. For a while, she was out of sight, and Jude heard soft noises. When she approached the bed again, she had a needle.
“Don’t fight me,” she said. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
“What are you giving me?”
“A sedative. You’ll wake up fresh as a daisy.”
“Sandy,” Jude pleaded, “don’t do this. There’s no need.”
She watched the plunger move down the glass tube. Her mind began to fog almost immediately and her limbs flopped. Sandy cut the restraints from her wrists and rubbed her flesh to get the circulation going.
Jude wanted to speak but her voice drifted away from her. The last thing she remembered was Sandy bending over her, kissing her on the lips and saying good-bye.
*
Lone had parked her white Ford E150 van into the rear section of the parking lot nearest the Qwest Building in downtown Denver. It joined several others, all with the same cleaning company logo on the sides. Hers had a different logo, but on her trial run the only people who noticed that fact were employees of the cleaning company who almost mistook the van for one of their own. They knew better now.
From the top of the Qwest Building, the view along Stout Street and Eighteenth was sweeping, so the Secret Service had the building staked out well ahead of time. The MCI Building and the Marriott, where Cheney would be pressing the flesh for money, also offered desirable rooftops. These formed part of the Vice Presidential Security Zone, real estate occupied by sharpshooters who would report in to their command center constantly.
Various rooms in the surrounding buildings also formed part of the protective web. In one of these, in the former office of a recently bankrupted corporation, Lone had hidden the equipment she would need. Her MK-153 SMAW rocket launcher and Confined Space rockets, and her submachine gun. The leasing agent had been very helpful, mentioning that she could probably take her time making a decision since there was plenty of space available downtown and the owners were asking more than the market would bear.
Lone was pleased that she wasn’t going to be hiding in plain sight on a rooftop. She’d planned for either contingency, but this office suite only freed up two weeks ago, a long while after her first advance assessment. She’d expected a Denver fund-raiser sometime soon. Marilyn Musgrave’s shameful record had made her a shaky candidate for reelection, and she was an eager recipient of GOP largesse. She was also proud to be seen with the president and with Cheney, unlike most candidates worried for their political survival.
She entered the offices of the defunct Verminax Corporation the easy way, by sliding a credit card in the door. From the window she watched police and Secret Service coming and going as they planned for tomorrow. First thing in the morning, buildings would be cleared and roads blocked off. Her space had already been cleared, but they would send someone back, just in case.
The protestors would assemble on the corner of Welton Street and Eighteenth at 10:00 a.m.. Lone had been interested to hear that a Disabled Persons organization intended to participate. Sidewalks jammed with wheelchairs would add something to the flavor of the chaos.
She rolled out her sleeping bag and removed a layer of clothing. She had eighteen hours to kill. Hopefully she would sleep through the night. She called Debbie and told her she loved her and that everything was under control. Then she thought about Jude Devine, drugged into inertia on her bed in Pariah. The detective-cum-FBI agent was probably awake by now. She have no idea what was going on. Lone hadn’t left a paper trail.
Lone chuckled to think that she’d probably been given a pass for a long time because they mistook her for a friendly. That was the great thing about Homeland Security. The left hand didn’t know what the right hand was doing.
*
“Where the hell have you been?” Arbiter demanded. “Jesus, I thought you were burned.”
“She’s in the wind,” Jude said. “And she’s not a friendly. I need that team in here ASAP.”
“You’re rock solid on her status.”
“She left me a note. But if someone in the alphabet soup thinks an assassination would be the perfect fake flag operation, she could be their shooter. Who the hell knows?”
“Okay, who’s her target?”
“That’s why I need the team,” Jude said. “It’ll take me days t
o make a thorough search here.”
“Where is she?”
“I called her girlfriend. She hasn’t seen her since first thing Monday morning. I was attacked Monday night.”
“Any injuries?”
“Nothing I want to discuss.” She’d found some Motrin in a first aid kit and her headache had abated a little.
“Nice work in the Hawke business, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Jude wasn’t going to run with the ball. “Call me when the team’s due.”
She climbed back down into Sandy’s bunker. In front of her, taunting her from the message board above the worktable, was the note Sandy had left for her.
Jude,
I don’t work for NORTHCOM. You’ll hear about my mission in a couple of days. Thanks for being a friend.
Lonewolf
*
When the van exploded, there was panic on the streets below. The protestors rushed the police lines, tearing through the yellow tape. Cops fired warning shots and tried to keep the crowd back from the Marriott. Lone could picture the scene inside the banquet room, Cheney in the middle of another salute to the heroes in uniform, hustled out and raced down the stairs to await his car. A quick escape from a side exit.
Lone removed the glass she’d cut, rested the rocket launcher on the window sill, and waited for the motorcade. She didn’t care which car she hit. If she got lucky, it would be his. If not, there was still enough time to get down onto the street. In her uniform, carrying a gun and looking like she was in an official capacity, who would stop her?
Like long black bullets, the armored limos glided along the artery below. They halted to a crawl as protestors poured into the security zone. City, county, and state police pounded down the streets, trying to drag people out of the melee. But they were far outnumbered and the situation went crazily out of control.
Lone checked her earplugs and took aim. She heard the whoosh and thunder as she fired. She scored a direct hit. Not waiting around to watch, she crammed her gear in a trash bag and headed for the fire exit. She took the stairs at a fierce run, making it out onto the street in less than ninety seconds. She dropped the trash bag and joined everyone else rushing toward the cars.
Members of the security detail had converged on one limo alone, their brief to guard the man inside. Lone lifted her MP5, but people scrambled in front of her, pounding the windows and yelling abuse. She ran to the front of the car and lifted the submachine gun again. But her arms were jolted and her aim went wild. Bullets sprayed. People shrieked.
Something hit her with tremendous force and she was down. Blood fountained from her neck. She felt no pain. She heard sirens. She tried to move but couldn’t. Debbie’s face passed across her mind, then everything collapsed into a dark spiraling abyss. She felt a hand stroke her cheek like a farewell caress. She sensed Madeline and Brandon close to her, talking to her. The noise and smells receded. The light behind her eyelids faded. And she surrendered to a stillness so blissfully peaceful she smiled.
*
Debbie stared at CNN. Breaking news. There had been an assassination attempt on the vice president’s life in Denver where he was at a fund-raising dinner for Marilyn Musgrave. Just looking at the screen, it was hard to tell what was going on, except that he’d survived. Thank God for that, Debbie thought.
The reporter was standing on the street with lights flashing all around him. Protestors with placards were milling round noisily. He described how the Secret Service had to chase the shooter across rooftops before
They switched to Wolf Blitzer in the Situation Room and he announced the story all over again. Her cell phone rang and Debbie snatched it up, expecting another update from Lone about the movers and the cats. She still couldn’t believe Lone had just deposited her by the lake and left almost immediately, promising to return in a few days.
“Debbie?”
“Jude, did you get my message?”
“No, I lost my cell phone.” Jude sounded tightly wound.
“Is everything okay?” Debbie asked.
“Are you watching TV?”
“Yes, isn’t it terrible?”
Jude was quiet for a long time, then she said, “Debbie, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. There’s been a serious incident involving Lone.”
Debbie sat very still, her blood pumping like ice in her veins. “Is she all right?”
“No.” Jude was having trouble speaking. “I’m so sorry. She’s dead.”
Debbie got up. She dropped the phone and staggered to the bathroom, cold sweat running off her face and down her back. She threw up into the toilet, then sat down on the cold tile floor, shaking violently. She had no idea how long she stayed there. When she crawled back into the living room on her hands and knees and picked up the phone, Jude had hung up and a text message was waiting.
It read You’re not alone. Come back to Paradox.
Chapter Twenty
“What are you doing here?” Jude asked.
Mercy’s expression was one Jude couldn’t remember seeing before, a mixture of naked desire, tender amusement, and sadness so profound it silenced her.
“I’ve been waiting for you. I heard about your hairdresser’s girlfriend.”
Jude’s head pounded. Words floated just out of reach, tantalizing her with their potential. If she could just summon the right sentence, she would be completely in control. Staunch. Stoic in her sense of duty. Untroubled by doubt.
“Invite me in,” Mercy said.
Jude released her hold on the door and marveled that she could stand upright without its support. She stepped to one side. Mercy walked past her, smelling of damp mountain air and beautiful skin.
“Where’s Elspeth?” Jude asked.
“Don’t.” Mercy slid her jacket off and dropped it over the back of a chair. “Pour me a Scotch, Jude.”
“You could have just left me a note.” Jude took two glasses from the sideboard and poured a shot of Talisker and a dash of water into each.
“A note. Yes, very appropriate,” Mercy said with cool irony.
Jude tapped their glasses. “Here’s looking at you.”
They both drank. Mercy sat down at one end of the sofa and crossed her long slender legs. She was dressed for work in a plain coffee-colored shirt and dark brown tailored pants.
“Did you come straight from the office?” Jude asked inanely, like this was just another day and they were going to chat politely for a few minutes, then Mercy would leave.
“When I heard the name announced, I had a feeling you might need me..”
Jude finished her drink and set the glass down on the sideboard. “Thanks for coming.” She pretended to be preoccupied, putting the bottle away. “I don’t want to seem rude, but I’d rather be alone.”
“Liar,” Mercy said softly.
“Let me rephrase. I’d rather not be with a married woman.”
Mercy placed her glass on the coffee table on front of the sofa and said, “What if it was over?”
“You looked very married the last time I saw you.”
“Appearances can be deceptive. We both know that.”
Too drained to stay standing, Jude sank down at the other end of the sofa. “I don’t have the energy for this. Please, just go.”
Mercy removed the bobby pins from her hair and shook it out of its tight chignon. She sagged back against the deep cushions, eyes closed. “Here’s what I’m thinking. When Elspeth gets back from Poland, I’ll tell her things have to change.”
“She’s in Poland?” The pieces fell into place.
“They needed to capture the pathos of an Eastern European village for her new film, but they didn’t want to be too far from a decent hotel.”
Jude propped her head in her hands. “Pathos? I could show her pathos, right here in Colorado.” Her shoulders shook. She started laughing and couldn’t stop. “What do you think? Too real?”
“Jude.” Mercy reached out, then let her hand fall.
Jude gazed down at
the curl of her fingers, the soft hollow of her palm. Anger dragged at her heart like an anchor.
“Is that what you saw in her?” she demanded. “The safety of illusion? Is that what you need—an exile from death and ugliness?”
Jude could almost understand. Like her, Mercy needed to escape. For a while they’d escaped together, into one another. But Jude had always wanted something more real. Was that why Mercy rejected her?
Jude lifted her gaze at the sound of a strangled breath.
“Stop.” Tears shimmered in Mercy’s eyes. “You win, okay?”
“It’s not a competition.” Jude stood up. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Pacing to the window, she said, “You really hurt me.”
“I know.” Mercy got up and joined her.
They stared out into the black oblivion for a while.
“I wish it was snowing,” Jude said.
“Yes. Everything is new. Starting over clean.” Mercy slipped her hand into Jude’s. “I’m sorry.” She drew closer, insistently lifting Jude’s hand to the home between her gossamer breasts. “I love you.”
She seemed vulnerable. Younger. Her eyes were bright with emotion. Her mouth parted and the wet pink line beyond her faded lipstick emerged just enough to draw Jude closer.
“I love you, too,” Jude murmured. Their lips brushed with each word.
Mercy’s heart accelerated beneath her hand. She said, “I missed you so much I thought I would die.”
Jude slid her tongue delicately beneath Mercy’s upper lip. As their mouths flirted, she said, “Stay with me.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Jude walked her backward across the living room and into the hallway, helplessly kissing her. Tugging at her clothes. Aching for her with a burning, gut-wrenching hunger like nothing she’d ever known. A wild creature strained inside her, the darker self Mercy had always invited.
