"Your health is suffering for it," he said. "Staying up so late."
"Really? Got a medical degree, too?" I sniped.
"I've done some reading."
"I'm sure you have."
"Natural remedies are available to help you sleep. You don't need those drugs that Shaw offers."
"I don't take those drugs that Shaw offers."
"Colonel Hunter said you didn't."
"You've increased my intake of ibuprofen."
"I know. You could go to the whirlpool. That would help."
"The whole Mansion shows up there."
"And that is a problem because?"
"I'm an introvert."
He laughed. It wasn't a horrible sound. "Do you own a swimsuit?" he asked when he stopped chuckling.
"It's five years old and I've never worn it. Moths may have eaten it; I haven't checked."
"You could go in naked."
"While everybody in the Mansion has probably seen me naked, I don't want it to be voluntary," I said.
"You make me laugh," he said.
"Sure. Every time you toss me to the floor, you're grinning."
"Get your swimsuit, lightweight. We'll go to the spa."
"Where's your suit?" I demanded.
"I'm wearing it under my jeans."
"Of course you are."
"You should call me Rafe," he added.
"Of course I should."
* * *
Complete proof that everybody listened to everything going on in the Mansion waited for us when we arrived at the huge hot tub connected to the gym. Even James was there, grinning like a fool and scooting over so I could sit next to him.
Rafe the rat sat between us.
"You stopped in the middle of a paragraph," James said, forcing me to lean around the mountain sitting next to me so I could reply.
"I stopped for lunch. Which he ate," I poked Rafe in the ribs.
"You had more. I wouldn't have eaten all your tinned soup." He took my fingers from his ribs and set them in my lap.
"Really?" I made a face at Rafe. At least six women lined the other side of the spa, and all of them ogled him. James, who was fit enough, looked like a ninety-pound-weakling next to Rafe. All six of those women will serve you soup—at the same time, I thought in his direction.
At least hot, bubbling water hid my hand as I poked him in the ribs a second time. He covered it by turning to James and asking how he might get access to my books as I wrote them. James offered to send him what he had. I slapped a wet hand against my forehead. Rafe laughed.
* * *
Running three miles at six in the morning was bad enough. What made it worse was that a light rain fell as I ran. Becker lapped me twice, just to prove he could. The last time he passed me, one of his hands snaked out and shoved me. Waving my arms helplessly when he knocked me off balance, I fell in rain-soaked grass and mud with a splash and a grunted oof. Muttering obscenities, I struggled to rise while Rafe ran right past, his steady stride slurping up mud and flinging wet droplets about him. I watched him run for a moment before pulling myself from the slop I'd landed in.
* * *
Ilya
I ran at a steady pace behind Becker, content to let him have the lead. He was happiest thinking he was in charge of every situation. I allowed him his fantasies—until he shoved Corinne into the mud.
That's when I caught up with him.
Waiting for an opportunity, I held back until he was prepared to pass one of the brothers, then burst between them, making sure Becker went down. I smiled as he shouted names in my direction.
* * *
Corinne
"Are you packed?" Rafe drank coffee as I walked into the kitchen. I was still sore, but the whirlpool sessions helped. Today was the day we were heading to Camp David. I didn't want to go. At least I wasn't expected to run or have a Krav Maga lesson.
"Yes," I grumbled.
"You're not dressed to go."
"It's a Freudian slip."
"Looks like a bathrobe to me."
"You're so funny," I mocked. "I want coffee first, so I can be wide awake and miserable, instead of half-asleep and miserable."
"Corinne?"
August had arrived.
"Auggie, please sit, have coffee and tell me everything that I'm doing wrong today," I waved toward a barstool at the island.
"You, Rafe and the others will attend the meetings with the President. Rafe will be within four feet always, while you will be nearby, watching the others and taking notes."
"Physically taking notes?"
"That's what Cutter said."
"Cutter. Joy."
"Cori."
"Yeah."
"Rafe?" Dalton Parrish walked through the door connecting Rafe's quarters with my kitchen.
"Dalton." Rafe sipped coffee and didn't look up. Dalton repeated August's words to Rafe, and then to me. His eyes wandered over me, too, as if he'd never seen a rumpled woman in her bathrobe before.
"Coffee?" Dalton asked. I made coffee for August, Dalton and me. I drank in silence while the others talked—we'd be flying in helicopters to Camp David. The choppers would arrive shortly, so I didn't have a lot of time to get ready.
"Corinne, get in the shower," August said when I'd finished half my coffee.
"Fine." Taking my cup with me, I wandered toward the door leading into my suite. I took my time, too. That's why the chopper blew up before we left the Mansion, instead of after we were inside it.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
Burning debris was strewn across the yard and guards were everywhere, with more on the way. It took a while to determine that the pilot was involved—he'd taken off running seconds before the chopper exploded.
He sat in an interrogation room inside the Mansion while another chopper was ordered for us—the President was waiting, although she'd been briefed. James stood with us as we watched a fire crew put the last of the fires out—singed and blackened grass littered the lawn in front of us and the unpleasant scent of burned fuel, rubber and metal hung about the Mansion.
"Colonel?" James said, nodding toward the back entrance, near the helipad. He wanted to talk.
"Let's go," I said and followed him toward the Mansion.
"Do you think Corinne," he began before I held up a hand. He and I both knew—Corinne was never late. She'd dragged her feet today.
"We'll have this conversation later," I said. "What's the ETA on the second chopper? Do we have an inspection crew ready?"
"Yes, sir. And we have experts coming to examine the wreckage."
"Good. I want to be informed if they find anything."
"I'll keep you in the loop. Who would do this?" he added.
"That's what I want to know."
* * *
"Our first attempt failed. We will try again."
"See that you do," the voice crackled over the secure line. "This problem must be eliminated."
"Agreed."
* * *
Ilya
This looked familiar—I'd seen others die the same way. Dmitri could be behind this. How had he found the information? Had someone discussed me while Dmitri's watchdogs were listening?
It angered me that they'd killed Ambassador Bespalov; he'd secretly arranged to get me out of prison. I wouldn't reveal that information—his wife still lived in Novosibirsk. I was likely involved in her husband's death; I didn't want trouble to visit her, too.
More than anything, I wanted to know what the pilot had to say, but held back from asking. Dalton stood nearby, watching closely, keys clicking sharply on his cell phone as he tapped a message. My guess was that General Cutter would receive the message.
Corinne wasn't far away, so I turned toward her. She was pale, but not as frightened as one might think. Did she see this coming?
I wouldn't be surprised.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
After the second chopper was gone over twice and decla
red free of explosives, the pilot was searched carefully for weapons. We loaded in four hours late. I had texts from one of the President's aides, telling me the meeting scheduled that morning was postponed.
Madam President really wanted Corinne and Rafe there for some reason. Corinne didn't like flying in a helicopter; that was easy enough to see when she sat between Rafe and James. Dalton reached over to help buckle her in when he saw her hands shaking, but she managed to get it fastened on her own. Rafe helped her adjust the headset so she wouldn't be deafened by the noise.
That's when I learned Rafe had my phone number. She's not used to this, he texted.
Then she'd better damn well get used to it, I texted back. Lose my number or I'll get your phone privileges revoked.
They all had special issue phones for this trip, but only for use within the group. All other numbers were blocked. I thought Corinne was the only one with my number. Obviously, I was wrong.
Dalton provided your number, at the behest of General Cutter, came the reply.
Then fuck off, unless it's important, I returned.
You got it.
* * *
Corinne
Rafe and Auggie were having a textual tussle. I wanted to roll my eyes. I didn't—I was too busy trying to ward off a panic attack. Dr. Shaw was on one of the first two helicopters and long gone before ours exploded on the lawn.
I wasn't looking forward to this trip, not least because the French Ambassador would be there. No doubt, an incident that happened six years earlier would be brought up, as it was a sore spot between him and the President.
Priceless paintings from the Louvre had been burned after a section of it was taken over by terrorists. Tourists—visitors to the Louvre on that fateful day—died while nations watched artwork that had survived for centuries turn to ashes in a matter of minutes.
One of the terrorists, who'd reportedly committed suicide with the rest of the attackers, was American. That was enough fuel for the French President and the French Ambassador to condemn the involvement of a U.S. citizen.
It didn't matter that twenty-six of the thirty-nine tourists' deaths were also American. French nationals, Swiss, German and British citizens died, too. Thirty-nine deaths attributed to eight terrorists, who'd committed suicide after killing the last of their hostages.
French forces stormed in shortly after.
Nothing has been the same, since.
I drew a shaky breath.
No need to bring up that debacle now—I'd likely hear enough about it after I arrived at Camp David.
Corinne, if you need help when we arrive, ask for it, August texted me. I didn't have the phone I'd been given in my hand, so I pulled it from the small purse I carried when I felt it vibrate.
If I get the help you're suggesting, I'll be out for the rest of the day, I texted back. I'll deal with this the best I can.
I'll have Shaw on standby.
Right.
What's wrong? That came from Rafe.
You know, I'd like to say mind your own business, but that will only intrigue you, I texted back.
Have you tried meditation?
With hopeless regularity.
I'm sure most of our conversation could have taken place verbally, if we didn't have the sounds of the helicopter vibrating our bones as well as our eardrums, and if our ears weren't covered in protective gear. Therefore, texting worked as the next best thing. I just had no desire to continue our conversation.
I was grateful when the chopper set down and we were allowed off it.
* * *
An hour later, after a quick lunch, we were ushered into the meeting room. In addition to the French Ambassador, the British Prime Minister was there with his interpreter, the German Chancellor had come with his interpreter, and the acting Russian Ambassador had also come.
All of them were frowning.
I wanted to hold up my hand and say "all my fault," after which I would be escorted from the building and allowed to write in quiet confinement.
That didn't happen.
Several things concerned me about that meeting—it was an extension of what had been discussed at a recent G-8 conference. Terrorist threat levels were on the rise for some reason, and everyone wanted everybody else's information.
All of them discussed potential targets—public transportation, water supplies, government facilities and so on. The French Ambassador brought up the attack in Paris six years earlier, but the others considered that an anomaly.
Why would terrorists attack another museum?
During that meeting, which lasted four hours and would continue into the next day, I watched several people. I noticed Rafe watching the same people. I had four hours of rehashed conversations to mentally consider what—and how much—to tell August.
* * *
We met over dinner—all of us. I didn't want to tell everybody there what I knew. Rafe was holding back for the same reason. "I didn't get much," Maye offered. "Pretty much what they were thinking is what they were saying. They're all afraid they'll be targeted next."
"The French Ambassador is pissed; I could smell it all over him," Nick said.
"He's mad because of that stupid museum debacle. Who cares if a couple of paintings got burned?" Becker huffed.
"Thirty-nine people died there," Ken reminded Becker. "Most of them Americans."
"One of the terrorists was American. The French Ambassador tries to make it look as if he were in charge," Maye said. "I doubt that's the case. His profile points to his being a follower, not a leader."
"I believe he wanted to commit suicide and appear a hero to his adopted religion," Rafe said quietly. "Colonel Hunter, I'd like a private word with you when we're done, here."
"What about?" Dalton began.
"A private word," Rafe insisted.
"Can I be there?" I asked. "I think Rafe and I may have something similar to say."
"You think so?" Rafe lifted an eyebrow and gave me a skeptical frown.
"I think so," I said, toying with my fork. We had prime rib sitting in front of us; I'd barely touched mine, although it was quite good.
"Then we'll talk after dinner," August agreed. "The three of us. Privately." He challenged Dalton to disagree. Captain Dalton Parrish didn't argue with Colonel August Hunter. Sometimes, rank really did have its privileges.
* * *
"The British Ambassador's interpreter isn't who she says she is."
"She's a spy-for-hire."
Rafe and I attempted to speak at the same time the moment the door closed behind August. He'd chosen a small meeting room in our shared bungalow for the private conference. August didn't display shock often, but he wore a concerned expression now.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he sputtered.
"She's—well—she's wormed her way into that position for a reason," I said. Rafe stared at me as I offered that information.
"I was about to say the same thing, only I can say that I've seen her before, and disaster always follows close behind. Somebody wants information, and she's getting it for them," Rafe sighed.
"Let me talk to some of the others. You'll both be on call, tonight, in case I can get a meeting." August stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.
"That went well," I muttered.
"You know we'll have to talk to the President tonight," Rafe said.
"Yeah."
* * *
"I don't know what her real name is," Rafe answered the President's question later. It was nearly midnight; Rafe's and my exposition of the interpreter in question had raised some eyebrows and caused a flurry of investigations. "I've never seen her use the same name twice."
"I'd doubt your information, if Corinne hadn't pointed her out as well," Madam President shook her head.
"I understand your reluctance to believe anything I say," Rafe acknowledged. "That doesn't alter the fact that this woman, who currently uses the name Mary Evans, is quite adept at changing identities and national
ities—as the situation requires."
"How do you know so much about her?" the President asked.
"Because she was hired by the Soviet government on at least two occasions. I have nothing but contempt for her."
"This changes things," the President flung up a hand. "Look, I've got several agencies investigating her background—photographs, information, you name it. What I have so far shows she's really good—otherwise, she'd never have been hired by the British government."
"As you see, other governments have hired her," Rafe said. He was suggesting that the British government hired her for their own purposes.
"I don't believe for a minute the Prime Minister knows about her," I snapped, causing Rafe to turn swiftly in my direction. "You said she was gathering information for somebody. It's not the British government."
"If we grab her now, we'll never know what she's up to, or who hired her," August pointed out. "Besides, what would we charge her with? All we have is information that we can't substantiate." He jerked a thumb in Rafe's and my direction.
"Look, I'm having her phone tapped, and we'll have someone checking phone calls, in and out. We'll set up somebody to follow her and report on every movement from now on. I don't want to alarm the Prime Minister if we can help it," the President said before turning to me.
"Corinne," she said, "Is there anything you can give me to get the French Ambassador and his President off my back?"
I froze. Rafe now stared at me. August shook his head and looked away. "No, Ma'am," I lied. The panic attack came immediately afterward.
* * *
I don't know how Rafe found his way into my bedroom the following morning, but he was there with a cup of coffee in his hands. Surprisingly enough, he offered the cup to me.
"You were there," he stated baldly as I worked my way into a sitting position and accepted the cup.
"Go away. Thanks for the coffee."
"I figure there are people out there who'd pay seven figures or more to know you survived that attack."
"Are you one of them? Plan on selling that information to the highest bidder?" I asked, handing the cup of coffee back to him. "Go away. I have enough worries without you adding more."
"I understand that. Perhaps better than you know," he said, handing the coffee cup back to me and sitting on the bed. He ended up leaning against the headboard beside me and staring at the wall in front of us. "How much do you think someone might pay to have information on my continued existence?"
Cloud Dust: RD-1 Page 6
