"She sure did, Madam President. General Safer can't get over it, either."
"Keep me informed. This could turn out better than we thought."
"Yes, Madam President. It sure could."
* * *
"You know she won't say anything. She never talks about it." Shaw met me for dinner, as requested. "You're telling me she went right to the guy, without even sizing anybody else up?"
"The minute she saw him, she stopped me. Safer knew something was up, so he stopped, too. The guy knew he was made, so he stood and pulled his weapon."
"If he were involved with something deeper, he knew he had to die before we arrested him," Shaw agreed around a mouthful of steak.
"Nobody has anything on this guy. He's a spook."
"No money trail?"
"None to follow. Not yet, anyway. Picture's sent everywhere. Nobody knows him."
"Did Maye walk right past him and not pick anything up?"
"That's what I hear."
"It may be a good thing he's dead, then."
"We all worry about that—that somebody knows. So far, we've been safe."
"I worry about what will happen if ninety-five families find out their relatives didn't die in combat."
"We had nothing to do with that, and you know it. Those were volunteers. The life insurance payouts given to the families weren't refused, either."
"No comment."
* * *
Corinne
Waking up in the afternoon after sleeping all day after staying up most of the night before always leaves me groggy and nauseated. I wouldn't have awakened when I did if there hadn't been a knock on my door.
Shuffling toward my front door and silently cursing whoever stood on the other side, I peered through my peephole to see who it was.
Colonel August Hunter. He didn't look happy.
"Who pissed in your Post Toasties?" I asked when I opened the door.
"I don't eat Post Toasties."
"Shredded Wheat?" I asked innocently.
"This isn't about breakfast cereal."
"Then come in and tell me what it is about," I waved him in. Yes, I was dressed in pajamas and a robe, which wasn't exactly military issue. Colonel Hunter ignored my dress and walked inside my suite.
"I just got word," he began, "While I was downstairs having a late lunch with Doctor Shaw."
"What word is that?" I asked.
"That we'll be getting a new resident soon," August muttered.
"Great. Didn't I tell you that? I thought I told you that," I said trying to comb fingers through my hair. It likely looked as if birds had nested in it. Condors, maybe. I didn't have a mirror to check.
"Corinne, will you stop and listen for a minute?"
"I'm listening."
"They want to put him in the suite next to yours, because he likes to cook. You'll be sharing your kitchen with him, looks like, since it's the only one available to a resident. They'll install a connecting door in the next few days, and they'll put up something sturdier between your living space and the kitchen, so you can lock yourself in. The kitchen is the only thing you're expected to share."
"No. That's not acceptable," I snapped, immediately angry. "It's one thing to be hauled here without being given a choice in the matter. It's something else to share any space with one of the others. You know how they all feel about me." I tossed up a hand, as if that might make a difference.
"Corinne, the decision wasn't mine to make. I objected when I heard, but that didn't sway the ones in charge."
"So they don't even know how things will turn out with him and already he's getting perks? Typical," I huffed. "When have they ever given me perks? Want to answer that?" I rounded on August, as if he could wave a hand and make things different for me.
"I know," I held up a hand. "Neither of us has a choice in this. Thank you for voicing your concerns. When will the wrecking crew arrive?"
"Thursday."
"Fine. Will he be sharing my groceries and kitchen gadgets, in addition to insulting me every chance he gets?"
"They didn't say. I assume that's true."
"Will the smell of borsht be permeating my office?"
"I don't know."
"You know," I pointed a finger at August, "Every time I think things can't get any worse, they always do."
"There's more," August winced.
"Oh, joy. Please—do tell."
"He's an expert in Krav Maga."
"Great."
"Corinne, they'll ask him to take over your lessons."
"Just to keep him busy, huh?" I shook my head in disbelief. "If he's occupied with obliterating the least important person in the building, maybe he can't get into too much trouble?"
"I think they want you to help keep an eye on him."
"No. There are enough people in this building watching what everybody else does. You don't need my help for that."
"Corinne, I'm asking you to do that. With that special insight you seem to have, maybe you can let us know if he's on the level or not."
"Wow. There go my plans of avoiding him altogether."
"There's something else."
"Lemmings have invaded the White House?"
"Cori."
"Okay."
"You're expected to go to meetings with the Five from now on."
"Auggie, say it ain't so."
Chapter 4
Ilya
"We'll allow leeway on your new name—within reason. Nothing Russian—that should be obvious."
"I'm from Ukraine." That should have explained everything to the dolt sitting behind the desk, but it didn't.
"Nothing Ukrainian, either."
Fucker. "Rafe," I said. "Rafe Black. That will do."
"You sure? You won't be able to change it, once it's entered in your dossier."
"I don't intend to change it."
He lifted an eyebrow but tapped the name on his computer anyway. "We'll have legal documents sent to you at the Mansion. Is there anything else?"
"You say I'll have a kitchen available?"
"Yes, but you'll share it with another resident."
"I prefer not to share."
"It's that or no kitchen at all. Those are your options."
"I hope he stays out of my way."
"She will likely stay as far away from you as possible, if the rumors are true."
"Is she part of the Program?"
"Yes, although she seldom participates."
"By her choice?"
"By her talent. She has little, according to my records."
"Her name?"
"Corinne."
* * *
Corinne
I eyed the new connecting door distrustfully, as if something might pop through it at any moment. Realistically, I knew I'd probably be introduced first, but that didn't keep my fear at bay while I checked on pot roast and vegetables.
Pot roast would last me two or three days, if I made sandwiches. That left more writing time, and with the impending Russian invasion, I could avoid seeing him as much as possible if I didn't cook so often.
Until he started beating me into a floor mat at the gym while pretending to teach Krav Maga.
August let me see the heavily redacted dossier on him, since we'd share space. I learned his original first name, too—Ilya. Common enough, and safe enough, since I didn't officially have a last name to go with it.
I heard he spoke English better than most Americans, with no trace of a Russian accent, and that he spoke many more languages—fluently. No surprise, since he was a spy. No wonder the Russians were experiencing palpitations.
Rafe Black was his new name. I'd see how well it fit him. No photographs were included in any of the information I'd been given, so I had no idea what he'd look like. It didn't matter; I intended to stay out of his way behind the new, steel door that divided my office and sleeping quarters from the kitchen.
* * *
Ilya
I didn't need the bulletproof vest I w
ore. My talent appeared to be shielding—good enough to stop bullets. They'd been afraid to test anything stronger against what I had. I could protect anyone standing near me, too—up to four feet. Past that, they died. Obviously, I'd only protected mannequins during the testing. That was a shame; I wouldn't have minded seeing a few doctors and scientists riddled with bullets.
"Here's the entrance to the tunnel," my companion, Dalton Parrish, announced. They'd named him my handler. We'd see who did the handling.
The tunnel was perhaps a quarter mile long, and the entrance lay beyond a guarded gate. Once we'd driven past the tunnel, I saw the Mansion.
It was impressive, but I'd stayed in better.
"Your quarters are on the third floor," Dalton informed me as I lifted my duffel from the trunk of the vehicle. "My suite is next to yours, but not connected."
"Good," I said.
"Uh, when do you want to meet the others?" He didn't know whether my last response meant that I was glad he was next door or glad his suite wasn't connected to mine. I let him worry about it.
"Tomorrow," I said. "That will be soon enough." Hefting the bag over a shoulder, I walked toward the nearest entrance.
* * *
Corinne
"He's here, so you may hear something next door if you're in the kitchen," August said. "He said he didn't want to meet anyone until tomorrow, so we're delivering a meal to his suite for tonight," he added.
"Thank God." I slouched onto a barstool and let my forehead drop to the island. "I can eat in peace tonight, at least."
I didn't add that I wished they'd put a sign on the connecting door, or some other way to let us know the other's preferred cooking schedules. I shoved that thought away and lifted my head to blink at August. He was frowning at me. No surprise.
"Corinne, I expect you to keep me informed," he said.
"August, if there's anything worthy of informing you about, you'll hear it from me, first. Okay?" I figured the new guy's brand of toothpaste wasn't important to national security.
"Okay."
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
"Corinne's scared to death," Shaw informed me.
"Did she tell you that?"
I'd met Shaw in the coffee shop at his request; he'd seen Corinne the day before. "No, she didn't say it. I asked a few questions—how she felt about sharing space with a stranger, that sort of thing. It wasn't difficult to draw the logical conclusion."
"I don't blame her for being frightened. He's taller now than he was before, and looks even tougher, if that's possible."
"You've seen photographs?"
"Yes. I kept those away from Corinne."
"That was probably a mistake. The first time she walks into her kitchen for coffee and finds him there, she'll have a panic attack."
"We're making arrangements to introduce him to her and the others in a controlled setting," I argued. "So she won't have panic attacks. I'm hoping for a kitchen schedule, too, to keep the peace."
"Best laid plans, Colonel?" Shaw lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
"Probably. I don't know what will happen when he starts training her in Krav Maga."
"Don't let him hurt her. This isn't fun and games, you know, and beating on her for the pleasure of it will garner a complaint from me to the President."
"When are you scheduled to meet with her?" I asked, ignoring the threat. I figured the President wouldn't be happy if somebody broke Corinne—she was her new toy.
"Next Wednesday, right after Corinne's appointment."
"Convenient. You can yell at Rafe if he hurts her," I said.
"You know that's not the way things work. Those sessions are private and shouldn't bleed into the others."
"Yet you and I discuss," I began.
"I discuss with all the handlers. That's their job—to see that their assets don't get out of hand, or receive what they need to thrive. If they'd asked, and they didn't, I'd have suggested leaving Rafe and Corinne separate, and building a second kitchen."
"We were given enough money for a few doors, nothing else," I huffed.
"Corinne would have paid for a private kitchen," Shaw shot back. "You know that. Are you asking her to help keep an eye on him?"
"That's not common knowledge," I hissed. "Keep it to yourself."
"Not a problem," Shaw shrugged. "Just keep her safe, got it? I hear things, Colonel Hunter. I hear Corinne may be a lot more useful than you ever thought she'd be."
"The President doesn't want that spread around, and she doesn't want to alarm Corinne," I snapped.
"If she didn't want to alarm Corinne, she should have left her alone and found someone else to teach her Krav Maga."
"Point taken."
* * *
Corinne
"There's a formal breakfast meet and greet scheduled in the morning," James handed a note to me. "You and the Five will be there to meet the new guy."
"I'm not looking forward to it." I stood on one side of my doorway while James stood on the other, delivering the formal invitation to breakfast Friday morning.
"I know. I noticed you haven't written anything the last two days."
"It's difficult to write while you're mopey and depressed," I pointed out.
"Cori, you can't leave the book hanging like that."
"Wanna bet?"
"Please?" he wheedled. "I'd ask for cookies, too, but that would be too much. I'll settle for the end of the chapter."
"I can't make any promises, James," I said, leaning my head against the doorframe. "Not only does he get my kitchen, he gets to beat on me, too."
"If he's any good at all, that won't happen."
"Look, if he wants to impress the others, all he has to do is join in and bully the weakest member, or don't you remember that from high school?"
"Cori, what are you really worried about?"
"That the others will come to watch, and he'll hit harder because of it."
"It's only three days a week."
"Yeah."
* * *
Ilya
The best way to size anybody up, as they say in America, is to catch them off-guard. I intended to size up Corinne Watson before we were introduced. That's why I was in the kitchen quite early, sipping strong, black coffee and waiting for her to arrive.
Big mistake.
* * *
"Not the best way to make your presence known," Dalton shook his head.
"If you'd given me sufficient information, this could have been avoided."
"I didn't have Colonel Hunter's permission."
"Where is he, then? I'll talk to him myself."
"Stay put." Dalton held out a hand. "We're in enough trouble as it is, and this is just our first day."
"Hmmph," I snorted. "How was I to know she'd have a panic attack? You told me she wasn't very talented. I expected her to be military, at the very least, and prepared for things like this."
"Look, a big part of her file is redacted, so even I don't have access. If you get information, you may have to get it from her. Colonel Hunter is so mad he could breathe fire over this."
* * *
Corinne
"Why, Dr. Shaw," I muttered. I opened my eyes to find him leaning over me. "Whatever are you doing here?" I added.
"I believe you know why." He grimaced and straightened beside my bed. "You really need to handle surprises better than this."
"Did you see him?" I pulled myself up and leaned against my headboard. "He looks like a mountain."
"He's six-four. That's not a mountain."
"Says you."
"It appears you're feeling better," Shaw said, his voice dry.
"Look, just, well, never mind." I rubbed my forehead.
"I think he's willing to work out a schedule, or at least knock," Shaw said.
"Great."
"The meeting with the others went well."
"I imagine Becker is in his pocket already—Becker's never made me have a panic attack."
"Let's
not add wild speculation to this debacle," Shaw said. "I have enough paperwork as it is."
* * *
Ilya
Becker and Nick are pigs masquerading as humans. Maye is an ice queen with telepathic talents. Kevin and Ken are tech geeks with acquired physical abilities.
All of them are sent out regularly on assignment; sometimes outside the country. I wasn't surprised that their handlers were with them; Dalton insisted on being with me when I met with the Five at breakfast.
I wasn't stupid enough to ask why they were called the Five and not the Six. To them, Corinne didn't count. I understood that—up to a point.
It wasn't difficult to determine that something was happening with Corinne—latent talents or such—because she'd only been brought to the Mansion recently, after being on the outside for more than five years.
That spelled one thing to me—she'd suddenly become more valuable. Whatever the talent was, it wasn't common knowledge. The Five thought her just as ineffective as they'd always imagined.
I'd gotten an earful, too, from Corinne's handler about PTSD, which Corinne has. I didn't interrupt the rant, although I knew more about the illness than he did. I'd seen too many—soldiers and spies—formerly strong and resilient, suddenly fall because of the affliction. Where I came from, a spy with PTSD didn't live long. They were too much of a liability.
It intrigued me, too, why they'd given Corinne—a civilian—the drug. Perhaps we were more alike than I wanted to think. Information can be quite valuable, and I figured Corinne held something they wanted.
Just as I did.
"I hear you're gonna teach Corinne Krav Maga," Becker snickered as I studied the remains of my breakfast. The eggs, toast and ham I'd consumed. I've never liked hash browns. Those stayed on my plate, untouched.
"Are you an expert?" I refused to blink as I turned to him, lifting an eyebrow in speculation.
"I'm good enough," he growled. Easy to anger, that one.
"Maye's the expert," Ken intervened. Peacemaker.
"I'd like to see you take her on," Nick said. Instigator.
"I just arrived," I said. "I'd like to settle in before anyone attempts to bloody me up."
"I believe it's my choice whether I bloody anyone or not," Maye lifted her cup of tea gracefully. Deadly—no doubt about that. Curly red hair? The best disguise I'd ever seen.
Cloud Dust: RD-1 Page 4
