Cloud Dust: RD-1

by Connie Suttle

  "You were married." Leo said it flatly.

  "Yes."

  "Will you tell us your name?"

  "No. My name—and my husband's name—aren't on the list of victims."

  "He is dead?"

  "Yes. I watched him die. They killed him in front of me."

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  "She didn't go into detail," Shaw said. "It was hard enough for her to tell us what she did."

  "Where is she now?" I asked.

  "I gave her something and Rafe is with her in their bedroom."

  "So she was married."

  "Yes. Still wouldn't give me her name. I don't know what she's protecting, but there's something there. The most horrible thing was the deaths of the children who were with some of the tourists. She said that five of the six terrorists were sociopaths and only wanted to cause pain and death. The sixth killed the other five at the end, then killed himself. I believe that was the plan all along, but the other five didn't know it. They thought their rescue was on the way."

  "That's crazy," I shook my head. "No wonder she wouldn't talk about it. Nobody would want to talk about that."

  "He thought she was dead, too, when he committed suicide."

  "So she was forced to watch all of them die."

  "Looks that way."

  "Fuck."

  "I think it's extremely important to Corinne that we find those who orchestrated that mess—as well as recent events. She and Rafe are convinced they're connected. You and I tend to agree with that assessment."

  "They're connected, all right. We still don't have verification on the location of the items taken from the Louvre, or whether the British crown jewels are resting beside them, but I don't doubt for a moment that the same one paid for all of it."

  "There's no lack of money to back Cutter's mad schemes, whatever those are," Shaw said.

  "Billions," I agreed. "Enough to entice anyone with the resources to pull off this kind of larceny and assassination. Those people in the Louvre? Collateral damage, to provide an excuse for the robbery."

  "And Corinne happened to be there. If she hadn't, we'd still believe that it was an act of terrorism only, and unconnected to the rest of this."

  "Is Rafe set up with identification?"

  "Several sets, with safe houses and drop box locations here and there. I think I'd worry more about him disappearing, except that he cares about Corinne."

  "He cares about Corinne. That's not a lie. He'd do anything for her, I think. I just worry about separating them."

  "She can't go—she'd be a liability."

  "They both know that. What I suggest, however, is to get any information or photographs we receive from him to Corinne, so she can tell us what she knows."

  "We've learned our lesson on that, I think. The President was shocked when she and Rafe pointed out General Baikov."

  "She'd be wise to allow Corinne to vet anyone who comes close to her for any reason."

  "I'll make that suggestion. All she needs is a photograph, after all."

  * * *

  Ilya

  Disturbing—her story. No wonder she was so reluctant to tell any of it. It opened wounds and she was ill prepared to deal with so much pain. I watch her sleep, now, surprised there have been so few tears through it all.

  No—Corinne shakes instead of weeping, as if she has decided that those who brought this evil upon her are not worthy of her tears.

  I agree.

  Like me, she has a score to settle. It may turn out to be that our scores are with the same one—or ones. Both of us, in our own ways, have promised ourselves that the guilty shall not go unpunished. There is too much blood and too many deaths to avenge.

  I love you, I murmur to her in my native language. She is asleep and cannot hear.

  It is the truth, however. Yes, I loved another in the past, just as she did. They are gone, now, and we have each other. We understand one another. Perhaps it is fate. Who knows? She moves beneath my hand. I soothe.

  * * *

  Corinne

  I slept eight hours. Eight hours I could have spent with Ilya. We skirted the issue of our visit with Dr. Shaw, unwilling to bring that pain back into our lives. Instead, by mutual, unspoken consent, we went downstairs to the kitchen and proceeded to cook.

  Somehow, James had performed a miracle and replaced most of what I'd had in my kitchen, including a bread machine. We had fresh bread baking, cookies in the oven, pot roast on the stove and were working on fresh green beans when people started wandering in.

  Fried chicken was added to the menu—we didn't have enough pot roast for all who showed up, but we ended up serving just about everybody at the villa that night.

  "Why didn't you invite me to dinner before?" August asked. He'd gone through a plate full of pot roast, mashed potatoes, gravy and green beans.

  "Uh, you're married, remember?"

  "Oh. That."

  "She's not coming, is she? Auggie, are you sure you're okay with that?"

  "Yeah. This is my work. Both of us get that."

  "But," I said.

  "No buts. This job is important, and I don't want to do anything else. End of story."

  "All right. I just hope it doesn't put a strain on the relationship."

  "What if I were stationed overseas? She wouldn't go there, either."

  "Okay." I patted his shoulder.

  "Want more bread?" Rafe carried a plate of fresh bread.

  "I'll take a slice." August helped himself. "I like home-cooked meals."

  "Me, too. That's why I wanted a kitchen," I said.

  "That's why I wanted a kitchen—and Corinne," Rafe grinned and put an arm around my shoulders.

  "Is that right?" I leaned back to look up at him. He kissed me in front of everybody.

  Chapter 11

  "General, this is quite unusual—the blood chemistry."

  Paul Cutter watched the biochemist hired to examine Becker's blood as he tapped the computer screen. The molecular biologist standing nearby nodded at the biochemist's words—Cutter knew he'd never seen anything like it, either.

  "You know I'm not interested in how different it is. I'm interested in separating the part of it that kills most other hosts. For research purposes, you understand. My colleagues and I are willing to pay handsomely for the results, and there's a bonus if we get those results within three months."

  "That may be difficult to achieve," the molecular biologist said. "Although we're willing to do our best."

  "I'd appreciate your best. Let me know if you need assistants or equipment. We have full funding for this project."

  * * *

  Corinne

  Rafe didn't want me to go to the airbase with him. I didn't want to cry in front of him. I ended up only sniffling a time or two as I watched him climb into the standard-issue, dark van. We'd said our good-byes in private earlier. James and August stood with me as the van drove away.

  "James will take over your self-defense instruction," August said as we turned to go back inside the villa. "Beginning tomorrow."

  "James?" I blinked at him. He shrugged and grinned.

  "He knows he won't get cookies if he's too harsh," August smiled. I hadn't seen him smile in days. "I expect him to be thorough, Corinne. I won't settle for pretending."

  "Yeah? I still have bruises from Rafe. He never took it easy on me."

  "He wants what I want, and that's you capable of fending off an attack."

  "You worry too much," I muttered.

  "I'll be waiting in the new workout room at ten tomorrow morning. That'll give you time for running and breakfast," James said.

  "Yes, drill sergeant," I said. "Am I supposed to salute, too?"

  "No. I'd have to teach you that, and I doubt you'd take it seriously anyway."

  "True." I hunched my shoulders. They were trying to take my mind off Rafe's departure. I sighed.

  * * *

  Two days later, after my self-defense class, running and we
ight lifting, my new computer arrived. James arrived with it, to hook it up for me.

  "I got a two-terabyte hard drive, the same wireless keyboard and mouse you had before and a huge, non-glare monitor that's easy on your eyes."

  That wasn't all—he'd ordered a new workstation, a comfortable chair and anything else I wanted, including a tablet, a laptop and a second monitor. I also had file cabinets for hard copies and research files.

  "You know I could have paid for this," I said while he hooked up cables.

  "I know. We didn't pay for the stuff that got blown up, so consider this your insurance payment. Besides, you need these new monitors for the photographs we'll be sending to you. All Colonel Hunter asks is that you study the photographs as soon as you can after we send them, and let us know if there's anything about them we should watch for."

  "I'll certainly do that. Will we get anything from Rafe?"

  "That's the plan, but it may be sporadic."

  I couldn't send messages; August already said that. I found myself hoping that Rafe wouldn't be gone long, but that was unlikely and impractical. Stay safe, I sent in Rafe's direction as I watched James work on my computer.

  * * *

  Ilya

  The streets of Dublin, narrow and crowded at night in the Temple Bar district, was where I stood when I received her message. Corinne. I missed her and found myself shoving the ache away. I had a lead on Mary Evans and was determined to track her down. If she didn't want to reveal what she knew, I think Corinne might be useful in that respect. The American President did say that she'd provide anything needed in my search.

  My needs could include Corinne and her talents.

  My lead was a man—one who'd barely been in the photograph I'd seen of Mary Evans speaking with Baikov. The man looked to be a stranger. Corinne never pointed him out—she couldn't see his full face. I was learning things about her, although we'd never discussed them.

  She had to see their faces clearly to do what she did and to know what she knew.

  This face was blurred and partially visible. I recognized the location in the photograph—a hotel near Temple Bar on Fleet Street. While I didn't expect to find Mary Evans standing on a sidewalk again, I could track down the man in the photograph who, as it turns out, drove a cab. He'd driven Mary Evans to the designated meeting place and then waited nearby to take her away again.

  Armed with a computer-enhanced image, I intended to track him and his cab down. Ignoring brick-paved streets and square-cut, stone sidewalks between shops and buildings, I cautiously looked about me, studying every cab that drove past.

  * * *

  "I'm not sure why we're here, actually."

  President Amelia Sanders studied the one who'd spoken. Three scientists sat in chairs before her, wearing expressions of curiosity and confusion.

  "Because I couldn't reach Richard Farrell," the President said.

  "He's probably in a tent at the South Pole," another spoke. "That's what I heard three weeks ago. You realize we only have partial information. Richard is the only one," he stopped speaking when the President raised her hand.

  "One of the recipients is, shall we say, running amok on the outside," the President began. "I want to know—as much as you can tell me, anyway—what the full liability of that might be."

  "Not good," the neurobiologist mumbled. "It depends upon whose hands he falls into, and what their goals may be."

  "Think worst-case scenario," President Sanders replied. "While Dr. Farrell won't appreciate having his vacation with the penguins interrupted, I'm sending someone after him."

  * * *

  Corinne

  "Cori," August laid a folder on the kitchen island next to me. I was making a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner, with tomato soup. Everybody else was lined up at the makeshift cafeteria over the garages.

  "I thought you were going to send me digital images."

  "This is how these arrived, and it was faster to run them down here than to wait for James to scan them."

  "Gotcha. Where did they come from?" I dumped my grilled cheese onto a plate and lifted a photograph.

  "Rafe."

  "I'll look now. Want a sandwich?"

  "Got ham?"

  "Yeah."

  He ate a club sandwich while I studied photographs Rafe had taken in Dublin.

  "This looks familiar," I said, selecting one of the eight-by-tens and holding it up.

  "He says it's a cab driver."

  "Yeah. I can see that. This guy was only partially in that last photograph, wasn't he?"

  "I wondered if you'd notice that."

  "I'm noticing now."

  "What can you tell me? Anything?"

  "He's not above taking money for not-so-legal activities."

  "Will he tell where he picked up and dropped off Ms. Evans?"

  "He'd better. Just be warned, he may not live long afterward."

  "Will that be a bad thing?"

  "Not necessarily. He has some blood on his hands."

  "You think someone is watching him?"

  "I can't say for sure without seeing them."

  "Got it. I'll make sure the information is passed along."

  "Thanks."

  * * *

  Ilya

  "I don't squeal."

  The cabbie spoke through swollen and split lips. I'd had to work him over after catching him—he didn't want to cooperate.

  "Fair enough. I'll just kill you and toss your body into the Liffey. I'm sure nobody will be surprised that you ended up there."

  "Wait," he mumbled. "If I tell you, will you let me go?"

  "Sure. I'll let you go," I said. "Just tell me about the woman."

  * * *

  Corinne

  "Cori, can you give me a reason to arrest this guy and keep him in jail?" August was back, only this time, he stood behind me as I sat at my computer and scanned the latest chapter in my book.

  "He killed his wife. She's buried in a wooded area," I said.

  "Can you tell me where?" August suddenly held his breath—hoping, I'm sure, that I could tell him exactly what he wanted to know.

  "Let me pull up a map on my other monitor—may as well justify the expense, huh?" I said and typed in the information needed. It only took a few seconds, after which I pointed to a spot not far from the American Ambassador's residence.

  "Are you fucking kidding?" he hissed.

  I switched to a satellite version of the map and enlarged it as much as I could. "There, in these trees," I said.

  "Can you print that map for me?" August was all business, suddenly.

  "Yeah." I printed the image, made a circle on it and handed it to him.

  "I'll get on the phone right away. If this is true," August walked out of my suite, mumbling to himself.

  * * *

  Ilya

  The cabbie was arrested by the locals the moment he walked out of the old warehouse. I'd let him go, as promised. The Garda was instructed to ignore the rope burns on his wrists and ankles, and the bruises and swelling on his face.

  Corinne had come through for us, in a way I couldn't begin to understand. The body of the man's wife was found almost immediately; he hadn't hidden it very well. She'd been missing for five months. He said she was visiting relatives in Northern Ireland.

  Somehow, my Cori had seen right through that. The information I received from the cabbie would send me to Edinburgh, and I had a flight scheduled the following morning, with a short layover in Manchester. That left little time to gather my things and get out of the safe house.

  * * *

  "Look, we need something to divert attention from our camp," Cutter explained.

  "I have a target in mind already." Ted Ryan was more than pleased that Cutter approached him, and even happier that Cutter offered to provide funding and equipment for the endeavor. His militia needed new weapons and ammunition; working for Cutter provided a way to get those things.

  "What's the target? I need to inform my associates."
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  "How about the capitol building in Sacramento?"

  "You think you can pull that off? That would certainly be a coup," Cutter nodded with enthusiasm. "You have no idea how much I despise those people."

  "We'll get it done. I'll need two million up front, though, and a quick trip for me and my boys to Canada immediately after."

  "You got it."

  * * *

  Ilya

  Half of Edinburgh Castle was destroyed by several bombs while I was in the air over Scotland. The news that the crown, first worn by James V and housed at the castle, had been taken during the bombing greeted me upon landing.

  Nearly a hundred tourists were dead. More were wounded. I cursed the fact that I hadn't gotten on Mary Evans' trail earlier, and cursed those in the American government who'd held the photographs back from Corinne and me. If we'd been given that information only a few days earlier, this might have been avoided.

  Cutter was tied to this somehow and that only reinforced my idea—and Corinne's, that everything was connected. Someone was at the heart of all this, handing out favors in exchange for huge price tags or other favors in return.

  I had to get to Mary Evans, if she were still in Scotland. Grabbing the duffel I'd brought with me, I made my way out of the airport. The first thing on my list was to contact those I knew in the states to see if they'd gotten information on Mary Evans when she landed in Edinburgh two weeks earlier, and whether there were any hits at hotels or on public cameras. The second thing on my agenda was to enlist Corinne's help. If anyone employed at the castle were in on the bombing, she'd be able to tell from their photographs. I merely needed the photographs to begin with. Therefore, I contacted Colonel Hunter to begin the process.

  * * *

  Corinne

  Ninety-six people were dead, most of them tourists, in the Edinburgh Castle bombing. More than sixty others were in local hospitals. Rafe was somewhere in the city; August brought photographs of castle employees and many of the tourists who'd died.

  The CIA was working to get other photographs from Scottish authorities. It was my duty to look through those August brought to me on a flash drive.

  "Auggie, do you know how awful it is to see photographs of people who've died?" I asked, forcing my way through photograph after photograph.

  "I'd think you wouldn't see much," August said. I sat at my computer, going through information while August sat next to me, watching the images go by as I examined them.