Cloud Dust: RD-1

by Connie Suttle

  "No—to the last question."

  "Dead then." August shook his head.

  Nick, who sat nearby, wore a stone-faced expression. Preston was his handler.

  "We heard from Jeff; he's on the way now with James," August said. "There's an office upstairs, but the equipment is outdated. That'll either be fixed in the next week or we'll be moved again before then. Safer's talking with the President now—he says he should have waited to send Dalton out of the Mansion. This likely put Cutter on alert."

  "Cutter's involved in this?" Maye asked.

  "It's likely. All his personal files and belongings are gone—his home was searched earlier. It's suspected that he was involved in Dalton's death, too."

  "Why would he do that?" Nick asked.

  "Because Dalton wouldn't cooperate, most likely, so Cutter convinced Becker and Gene to do his dirty work instead."

  "What does that do to the Program?" Rafe asked quietly.

  "It could blow up in our faces," August said. "Only one or two know everything there is to know about it. The rest of us only know what we need to know to do our jobs. With Becker in enemy hands and available for testing, somebody could backtrack and produce the same results in others."

  "He was pissed because he wasn't going on assignments like he was before," Nick offered. "Becker, that is."

  "He's placed all of us in danger," August said. "He was presented with what he saw as a better deal after Safer told Gene the other night that he was useless. That set the wheels in motion."

  "Where does that leave us?" Nick asked. "We're two men down, and those two men could help track enemy movements through cyberspace."

  "Auggie, I know you may not think this is important right now, but we still need those photographs I asked for," I said. My fingers twisted nervously together as I asked, and I wouldn't have asked if I didn't feel it was important.

  "I'll see what I can do," August sighed. "You understand that the President's mind is on other things, right now."

  "Yeah."

  * * *

  "Cabbage?" Rafe's arms were around me the moment the door shut behind us. We stood inside his new apartment, both of us feeling as if we'd been dropped onto an alien landscape. Nothing there belonged to us, and the day's events had ensured that we were on unsteady ground.

  "Oh, God, Ilya," I mumbled against his chest. The chessboard was shifting around us, in movements too swift and blurred for us to comprehend or counter.

  "Corinne?" Dr. Shaw's voice came after the knock on Ilya's door. I moved away from him and Rafe called for him to come in.

  "She could use a sedative, I think," Rafe said before I could stop him. "She's been shaking for hours."

  "Corinne, I do have something with me. It'll relax you, that's all," Leo Shaw said. "You can eat something while it takes effect, then lie down and rest. There's pizza on the way," he added.

  "But what if I," I began.

  "Cabbage, trust me. Nothing will happen while you rest. I promise," Rafe said.

  "Fine."

  "Yes, it will be fine. Doctor, please proceed." Rafe waved Leo forward.

  James walked in with a box of pizza two minutes after Dr. Shaw gave me the sedative. I think I fell asleep before I finished my second slice.

  * * *

  Ilya

  She fell asleep against my shoulder, a half-eaten slice of sausage pizza still in her hand. "Thank you," I nodded at Leo Shaw, who'd joined James, Corinne and me for pizza. James and Leo looked exhausted to me, but I didn't want to point that out. Corinne was my primary concern.

  "No problem. James, take enough pizza with you to fill you up—I believe we have bedrooms waiting across the hall." Shaw nodded to James, who rose stiffly.

  "I have pain medication," James waved off Shaw's offer of more. "I'll take it before I lie down."

  "Good. Good-night, Rafe." Shaw led James out of my room and shut the door.

  "Now, let's get you to bed," I whispered against Corinne's hair. "We will worry about these bastards tomorrow."

  * * *

  Corinne

  One of the reasons I hate sedatives so much is that I always wake feeling groggy, with a foggy slime confusing my brain. It takes hours to dissipate, while I wander about like a zombie shopping for groceries; nothing looks familiar or seems appropriate.

  "Coffee." Rafe placed a paper cup in my hands. It took half the cup to realize I was drinking a Starbucks vanilla latte.

  "Uh, thanks," I mumbled eventually. He led me toward a seat in the common area, where August, James and Leo waited for us. Maye, Nick and Jeff arrived moments later.

  "We'll be moving tomorrow," August announced, once everyone was present. "I have people working on our new residence, now. They won't know anything about who's moving in, they're just making it habitable. The old staff—what's left of it—will arrive just before we do. While I don't have to worry about clothing or personal items, the rest of you do. James will be helping with that. Corinne, I hope you had your books backed up somewhere. Everything in your suite was destroyed."

  "I have everything backed up," I said.

  "I have her things backed up, too," James said.

  "Look, at the moment, the enemy doesn't know that any of you survived. We're going to keep it that way," August said. "In fact, Safer and the President are the only ones who know for sure that you survived the attack at the Mansion. We'll let the enemy believe that they killed the Program for now."

  "How will we explain our presence at the funeral yesterday?" Maye asked.

  "We banned cameras inside the chapel, and your entrance and exit with the President and Vice President was under cover and not recorded. Only those inside the chapel may have seen you, and it's likely they thought you were a part of the Secret Service."

  "Let's hope it stays that way for a while," Rafe said.

  "James has a laptop; give him lists of personal items you'll need in the next three days, including clothing sizes. We'll have someone take care of that until we can do a better job. There's a food delivery on the way, so start making your lists now."

  "I already ordered replacements for a lot of your stuff," James whispered to me as the others rose to walk to their apartments. "Since all the requests and orders have to go through me for approval anyway. Got stuff for Rafe, too."

  "Lotion, underwear, mascara, bath soap and jeans?" I asked.

  "All that and more, in the brands you like."

  "Good. I didn't have any lotion after my shower," I sighed. "Thanks, James. You're awesome."

  * * *

  We weren't informed of our destination when we walked out a back door and climbed into dark vans for the drive to our new residence the following morning. Rafe insisted that I stay with him both nights, but we used our time together to sleep. Neither of us felt up to sex, and I was grateful he didn't ask.

  Virginia Beach, away from the water and in a wooded area, was where we ended up, at a huge, Mediterranean-style villa that would house all of us easily. While it wasn't as large as the Mansion, the grounds were smaller, gated, and would be easier to patrol.

  There was only one large kitchen on the first floor, however, which disappointed Rafe and me. Our assigned suite was on the second floor, with a balcony. Yes, Auggie put us together. At least there was a sitting area and a study, so I could have space to write.

  "You don't mind this?" Rafe asked as we walked through the suite together, deciding where we wanted things.

  "No. Do you?"

  "No. I want this. I would complain if they separated us." Those words came with a tight embrace and warm breath against my neck. I love his accent when he sets it free. Then, he is Ilya and not Rafe, just as he wants it.

  "They'll set up a cafeteria kitchen in the apartment over the garages," James walked in, breaking up the embrace. "Sorry," he apologized.

  "Where will they set up the common dining area?" Rafe asked, pulling away.

  "Probably in the library downstairs. It's empty. Colonel Hunter says you can cook do
wnstairs in the kitchen if you want, but others will probably use the space, too. At least until the kitchen over the garage is operational."

  "James, what about Kevin and Ken?" I asked.

  "They'll uh, be buried in Arlington. By order of the President."

  "Oh."

  "We're not allowed to go," he added. "For safety reasons. They're officially burying you, Rafe, Maye and Nick, too."

  "In case Cutter and his associates come looking?"

  "That's the idea. From now on, if you go with the President or any other official, you'll be disguised."

  "Joy."

  "It'll probably be a wig, contacts and dark glasses, but you never know," August walked in and stood by the large window in the sitting area. "This is a nicer view than the one I have."

  "August, does your wife know?" I began.

  "The President says she can live here if she wants. If she doesn't, she'll have to stay with her mother. It's too dangerous for her at the house."

  "This is ridiculous," I shook my head. "You shouldn't be chased out of your house."

  "It's fine—I can visit her now and then. She'll still see me about as often as before," August shrugged. "That's if she doesn't come."

  "You think she won't?"

  "She's not fond of how the government rules my life," August grimaced. "If she comes, she'll be confined to the building unless we can get her out secretly. She likes to shop, so there's a big negative, right there."

  "Sorry."

  "Not your fault. I signed up for this, you know."

  "Someday, you'll have to tell me that story," I said.

  "I'll consider it. Furniture is on the way. Hopefully we'll have beds by nightfall."

  "I hope so, too. I'm not fond of sleeping on the floor."

  * * *

  "We need a new Secretary of Defense," the President pushed a list of names across her desk toward the Vice President. "Anybody you want to add to this list?"

  The Vice President, who'd formerly been the Secretary of State, studied the names. Five were listed. "Where do you think Cutter is? Are you going ahead with the plan to say he left the position for personal reasons?"

  "For now. We know why he's on the run, but the country doesn't. He still has plenty of supporters, and if we cry foul without him there, they'll accuse us of all sorts of trickery."

  "Or worse. He was hoping for the VP slot, wasn't he?"

  "I believe that's true. We dodged a bullet on that one."

  "We paid for it, too."

  "Yes, we did."

  "Too bad Safer is retiring. He's the best fit, but he doesn't want it."

  "He wants to go fishing and spend time with his family."

  "I have no problem with that. Look, Amelia, will we be able to keep them safe—the ones who saved my ass in London?"

  "Two of them are dead, Jon. In the bombing."

  "Fucking hell. Which ones?"

  "Kevin and Ken. To keep the others safe, including the ones with you yesterday, we're officially burying all of them except Becker in Arlington."

  "They're in that much danger?"

  "We're in that much danger, too. Think about it—get us and them out of the way, the country is ripe for the picking. Somebody tried to kill me yesterday, remember? If Cutter wasn't in on that, I'll eat my desk with salt and pepper."

  "I know. The whole thing is preposterous. When did Cutter become such a liability? It happened right under our noses."

  "Cutter's been on the fringe for a while. I hoped offering him the Secretary of Defense position would settle things and bring him around. That didn't happen."

  "So, he has Becker, now?"

  "And his handler. I have no idea what he intends to do with both of them, but we're already preparing for the worst."

  * * *

  Corinne

  Our beds arrived sometime after midnight. Until then, Rafe and I had settled in a corner of our bedroom and tried to nap as comfortably as we could. That didn't really work so well.

  When the furniture arrived, I was grateful for the army of government employees who unloaded and placed all of it while the villa's new residents watched in bleary-eyed satisfaction.

  I just hoped none of them recalled us afterward, or broke their oaths not to disclose any of it.

  "Now we go to bed," Rafe said after we'd placed clean sheets and a blanket on the mattress.

  "Yeah. Please don't wake me up in the morning."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  * * *

  I'd been waiting on the photographs of Mary Evans. I had mixed feelings about them the next day. Rafe was with me as we looked them over in August's new office. James had barely gotten the computer hooked up—at least he had a hook-up. Mine was scheduled for the following week.

  "This one," Rafe and I pointed to the same man simultaneously. I had no idea he was looking, just as I was. Not only for a connection, but also for revenge.

  This one wasn't pulling the strings, but he wanted something from the puppet master—through Mary Evans. "What does he want, and what is he willing to pay for it?" I blinked at August.

  "This is the one I hunt. The one most dangerous to your government," Rafe informed our handler. "He will stop at nothing to get his way."

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  "This was part of the deal," I told Shaw. "Rafe gave valuable information to us in exchange for medical care and the drug, and we agreed that we'd allow him to hunt this fucker down if he survived and the target was located. We didn't expect him to survive, or to be as useful as he is."

  "A high-ranking officer in the Russian military is the target?" Shaw shook his head in disbelief. "This is a suicide mission for Rafe—admit it. It will kill Corinne to take him away."

  "You think I don't know that? She's a hundred times better off if he's in the picture. The truth is, all the trouble we're having from the Russians? This guy may be behind it." I tapped the photograph lying on the table. "He's advising their President, and his advice isn't good for us or any of the surrounding countries."

  "This places him in Ireland three weeks ago. What the hell was he doing there?" Shaw asked.

  "Talking to Mary Evans. We know what happens if she's around."

  "People are targeted and important things are stolen?"

  "Exactly. I don't know who she's working for—Corinne was disappointed that we didn't have anything on that, but we do know that she's working on a deal with this asshole."

  "Cori asked me to investigate whether Cutter may have had contact with this woman." I studied the image of Mary Evans—that was her name until we learned her real identity.

  "That could explain a few things," Shaw muttered.

  "It could. I'm sure he had his eye on the VP's office, so there's the possibility that he was involved in the former VP's death. It makes sense, especially when the bastard took off running after the Mansion was destroyed."

  "If you can't get what you want one way, then look for an alternate route?" Shaw lifted his eyes to mine.

  "That's what I'm worried about."

  "I'm worried about what they all want. Do you think any of them are working together, or whether the one who's getting everybody else what they want has an agenda of his own, and isn't only interested in making money?"

  "You're assuming it's only one person. What if it's more than that? We still don't have identification on those who attacked Corinne and the others. No fingerprints, no ID—these assassins didn't just drop from the sky."

  "Still no leads on the one who killed the VP, either," Shaw pointed out. "We can't identify any of the men who attacked the President's limo. If others were there, they disappeared without a trace."

  "Then, in the middle of all this, Rafe will be sent to track a Russian General; the President has already cleared it. I don't like this. He's walking into a trap."

  * * *

  Corinne

  "When?" I hugged myself—I couldn't help it. Rafe was going to track a Russian General and get
information if he could.

  "I leave for Ireland in two days."

  "No," I moaned.

  "Cabbage," he began.

  "I understand. I do. I just don't like being without you."

  "You haven't had me that long."

  "Honey, you're better than the best chocolate I ever had," I said. "And I'm addicted to chocolate."

  "Ah. Where's my feisty, insulting cabbage?" His arms went around me and I closed my eyes with the pleasure of his warmth.

  "In a depressed funk," I mumbled against his shoulder.

  "Your appointment with Dr. Shaw is ten minutes away. Shall we go together?"

  "That's scary."

  "No. He will see both of us. You will tell things you have never said. He and I will hear those things."

  "See previous statement."

  "We have two days, cabbage. Let us make the most of them."

  * * *

  "You're both here?" Leo Shaw looked surprised. He should.

  "Yes. Corinne will tell us a story," Rafe said, putting me on the spot. I wanted to kick his ankle. I didn't.

  "What story is that?" Leo settled deeper into a new, leather chair behind a new, cherry-wood desk. His office was on the villa's first floor, in what should be a private study.

  "Corinne will tell us things about the terrorist attack in France," Rafe pulled me onto the sofa and sat beside me. He'd wedged me between the sofa arm and his body, so I couldn't escape easily.

  "What things?" Leo asked, his voice deep and even. He used the same voice to convince his patients that it was safe to tell him anything.

  "Where do you want me to start?" I stalled. Any way you looked at this story, it would be painful.

  "Start at the beginning," Leo said.

  "The beginning? Well, when my husband and I walked into the Louvre that morning, it was the first time I saw the woman who calls herself Mary Evans."

  Rafe stiffened beside me. "You saw her before?" Leo kept his voice even.

  "Yes. She was going out the door, carrying a large plastic bag and a tote—both from the museum gift shop. I know now that original paintings and the crown were inside her bags."

  "They'd already been replaced?" Rafe asked.

  "Yes. I didn't know that then, of course. I know it now."