The capitol building was a mess; Ted Ryan and his cohorts had orchestrated the bombing so the dome would fall, leaving a gaping hole in the building. The whole structure was considered unstable, and I wondered if they'd be able to save much of it.
The Sacramento Police and Fire Chiefs joined the President and the Governor as we approached the front steps—those were still intact, leading the way to a gaping ruin.
* * *
"I don't care what she looks like, that's her," Cutter pointed at the woman following the President.
"The witch?"
"Yes. That's her."
"As far as I'm concerned, there are two witches there. You know where a woman's place is, and it isn't the White House."
"I can't get close to her; she'll recognize me," Cutter sighed. "I'd love to take her out, though. There's no way she and the others should have survived in London."
"The death of the Secretary of State should have sealed the deal," Cutter's companion agreed. "You should be on your way to the presidency. Instead, you managed to lose the source and you're on every watch list the FBI, CIA and NSA have."
"The house was burning and Becker was dead. What did you expect me to do?" Cutter whined.
"Take the fucking body with you."
"Hey, there's no need for that," Cutter held up his hands as he stared at the gun his companion pulled from a jacket pocket.
"You're of no use to us."
Cutter didn't have time to protest before he was shot three times in the heart. "Don't worry, we'll take care of the witches. That's our job," his companion stepped over Cutter's body and headed for the door.
* * *
Corinne
Madam President discussed the rebuilding of the capitol while Cutter died in a motel room in Canada.
Auggie, Cutter just died, I said. That was a blow. He had information I needed, and now it was impossible to get it.
"Who?" Auggie was beside me quickly while Rafe carefully watched everybody around us.
"I don't know," I whispered. "All I know is that he was shot. Probably because he was a liability and didn't haul Becker's body with him when he ran out of the house in Utah."
"Can you tell me where to send the authorities to collect him?"
"Verbena Motel on the outskirts of Chilliwack, British Columbia," I said. Auggie stepped away and pulled out his cell. The President cut her eyes in our direction for a moment before going back to the Governor's conversation.
* * *
"Auggie, he hadn't been there longer than five minutes," I attempted to defend myself during the drive to the memorial service. He wanted to know why I hadn't told him immediately where Cutter was. The truth was complicated. I needed connections, and dead people generally don't reveal needed information.
Everything Cutter owned in the U.S. had already been searched, with no results. What he had that I wanted was in his head. I needed names and images, and I didn't have those. I didn't expect Colonel August Hunter to understand that.
Cutter's death left me with Mary Evans and General Baikov. I no longer had a link to those in the U.S. who were involved. No matter who they were, though, they had money. Enough to kill a Vice President in an attempt to take over the White House.
The President sat across from Auggie, Rafe and me, a solid frown on her face. As pissed as Auggie was, she may have been more so. I had to work to fight down a panic attack.
"We will discuss this later," Madam President said as the vehicle swung into the parking garage of a hotel. Police and guards swarmed the building as we climbed from the car and walked toward waiting elevators.
Rafe hadn't said a word the whole time, so I waited for his ass-chewing, too.
* * *
The service lasted three hours. I was grateful nobody shot at us during that time. Nobody spoke as we loaded into the vehicle to drive to the Governor's Mansion for the private meeting. I had a feeling Auggie and I were destined for a private meeting, too.
I wasn't wrong.
"What the fucking hell, Corinne," August exploded the moment the door shut behind us.
"Sometimes I do know stuff," I said, attempting to control my trembling. "But I have my reasons, Auggie."
"You will not call me Auggie during this meeting. You lost that privilege the minute I learned you withheld information." His anger beat against my bruised emotions, making me want to cower away from him, and I certainly didn't want to point out that I'd withheld information from the beginning. He was pissed about many things and I was receiving the brunt of his fury. Anything else I said would only make it worse.
"You knew where Cutter was in Utah, didn't you?" he snapped. "We wondered how Nick was able to track him so easily. You gave him money and sent him straight to the location. If you'd told me, we could have brought all of them in—Becker included, and yet you take matters into your own hands."
I had no excuses he would listen to, and I'd already said I had my reasons. I remained silent and worked to keep my breathing even. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, I repeated to myself.
"I'll have a talk with the President and we'll discuss your punishment on the flight home." August stormed out of the room, leaving me breathing raggedly and slumping in my chair.
* * *
Rafe didn't sit with me during the flight to D.C. I figured he was pissed, too—I could tell him where General Baikov was, no problem. What I needed was Baikov's information, and a dead Russian General did me no good whatsoever. Rafe intended to kill him the moment he found him, and that would cause another source of information to evaporate.
I worried that all my resources would end up dead and my leads would die with them. Fear and exhaustion plagued me during what felt like the longest plane ride of my life.
* * *
Confined to quarters, my computer was taken away and Rafe moved himself out of my suite. The worst of those punishments was Rafe's defection—he hadn't even given me a chance to explain. No, I wouldn't have told him everything, but he hadn't told me everything, either.
I had two weeks of solitary confinement in my rooms to consider my actions, as August and Madam President put it. Well, she wasn't getting my vote ever again.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
"Let's look at this from a logical standpoint," Shaw said. "You'd just gotten the notification from your wife's lawyer, you were secretly pissed that Corinne gave money to Nick to track down Becker, you learn she could have told you more about Cutter, including where he was, and you exploded."
"The President supported me the whole way," I blustered. Was I beginning to feel guilty?
You bet.
I felt responsible for the breakup between Rafe and Cori, too. I couldn't fix that; I'd lost it and told him she could see where Baikov was. His face went dark immediately and I knew I'd done the wrong thing.
Shaw was telling me what I already knew.
"We need her help," Shaw went on. "Face it, she's saved your life, the President's life, the sitting Vice President's life and the Prime Minister's life. Do you think for a moment that she wouldn't have told you if the President or anyone else was in danger? She didn't see the Sacramento bombing because she'd never seen Ted Ryan before he posted his video on the Internet. She has to see them, or haven't you figured that out, yet?"
"Stop," I held up a hand. "Look, I already feel like a bastard. You don't have to rub it in."
"She refuses to talk to me, now. I can't get to her. Right now, nobody can. She isn't talking and if what James tells me is true, she isn't eating, either."
"Fuck. Look, what's the word from Maye? Do we have anything?"
"There's a huge crowd of school kids scheduled for a tour at the museum tomorrow. It would be just like our quarry to hide in those numbers," Shaw observed. "I've already asked Maye to be extra careful and look for adults."
"Good. Keep me posted." I left Shaw's office as quickly as I could.
* * *
Ilya
Colonel Hunte
r called a halt to Krav Maga lessons while Corinne was confined to her quarters.
Just as well, I might have done inadvertent harm. Angry couldn't begin to describe how I felt. She could have given me Baikov's location after seeing his photograph. I could have taken the fucker down immediately.
She'd withheld that information, just as she'd withheld information on Cutter from Colonel Hunter. If Corinne didn't know before that she was playing with fire where Baikov and I were concerned, then she knew it now.
James refused to spot me while I lifted weights.
I didn't care. I could take care of myself.
* * *
Corinne
There was so much that so many people didn't know. I hunched my shoulders as I walked down a sidewalk in Silver Spring. Getting out had never been a problem, no matter how well Colonel Hunter imagined his villa was guarded.
Nick would get back the following day. Maybe he could tell them when they were in danger; I was currently out of the business. Auggie and Ilya had played their hands; I'd played mine. I still held cards, too, while their hands were empty. There was one last thing I had to do before I dropped out of sight.
Maye, I sent to her, Mary Evans will be disguised and in a wheelchair tomorrow.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
We had to break down the door—she'd moved a heavy dresser in front of it. I had no idea how she could get past the cameras outside her windows after that. It wasn't difficult to determine actually—the soldier watching those feeds had fallen asleep.
I played the images back twice—she'd crawled through the window as if it were something she did every day and walked—yes, walked—off the property.
Nobody stopped her.
I thought Rafe would go crazy when I told him. I'd never heard him curse in his native language, but I'm glad I didn't understand anything he said. At least he didn't have to tell the President that Corinne had gone AWOL.
That was my job.
"I was angry. So angry with her," Rafe slammed his fist onto the kitchen counter. That's where I'd found him, brewing coffee. "Now she is outside without help." He cursed again.
"And she has vital information."
"You know they will kill her if they learn of this."
I was just as sure as Rafe was that Cutter had pointed her out to whomever he was serving. He knew the Program was still alive—he'd shot at Nick, after all. He'd called Corinne a witch. His cronies had that information, just as they had information on everyone else in the Program.
Cutter had gotten killed for his trouble—his body had already been transported back to the U.S. by Canadian authorities. He'd served a purpose, but after Becker and Gene died, that purpose died with him. Somebody, somewhere, had Becker's blood and enough information to do whatever they wanted.
"We have to get Cori back," I fumed.
"Where would she go?"
"I don't have a clue."
"Perhaps the beach? She said she wanted a beach house."
"Which one?" I shook my head at Rafe. "Never mind, I'll get everybody I know to start looking for clues. She has no money—that I know of. Wait, where the hell did she get the money she gave Nick? Everything she had was destroyed in the Mansion."
"I am beginning to believe that Corinne is smarter than all of us."
"And three steps ahead," I snapped. "James," I shouted while I headed for the stairs and the second floor.
* * *
Corinne
One of my lawyers has offices in Silver Spring. All my e-mail correspondence with him is read by James or someone else in the Program.
I wasn't at his office because of that.
I was at his office for something else.
He'd never laid eyes on Sarah Fox or Corinne Watson.
"Ms. Dane?" the receptionist stood. "Bryan is waiting for you in his office."
I didn't just write as Sarah Fox. I also wrote other books—as Carol Dane. All those books I'd written as Carol Dane had been done at the library, on a laptop I kept at a storage facility. I no longer had a key to the storage facility—it had been destroyed in the Mansion bombing.
Bryan Kellogg, one of my lawyers, had a key, along with an envelope full of other things in case I needed them.
Things like credit cards, cash, keys and banking information.
All registered to Carol Dane.
"Here are the things you requested," Bryan smiled and handed a large manila envelope to me. He'd tried to ask me out before. I always said no. I didn't intend to change my answer.
"Thank you for this," I held up the envelope and smiled back.
"How was your trip to France?"
"Enlightening," I said.
"Let us know if you need anything else."
"I will. Thanks again."
* * *
A cab dropped me off at the storage facility. I waited until he drove away to walk to the unit I rented.
Opening the garage-like door after pulling off the lock, I set the lock inside the unit and nodded.
The car was registered to Carol Dane and draped with a car cover. Flipping the cover back, I revealed the front bumper of my silver Mercedes. In the trunk was a laptop and enough cash to do me for a while.
I laid my envelope on the car's hood and pulled the rest of the cover off before piling it in a corner. Then I found the car keys inside the envelope, tossed the envelope on the passenger seat and climbed in.
The car started right up.
So many things needed doing, before I allowed myself the time and a corner somewhere to weep my heart out.
* * *
"Miss Dane, we hardly expected you to arrive unannounced," the desk clerk breathed. He was a fan; that was easy to see.
Carol Dane owned a condo on Myrtle Beach. The transaction had taken place in written and e-mail correspondence two years earlier. A third, local attorney had taken care of everything else, and he had no idea that Carol Dane was fiction, just as Sarah Fox was.
"Everything you sent is in boxes, and the furniture is still wrapped in plastic," he admitted. "Since we didn't know what you wanted done with it."
"Are the washer and dryer hooked up and ready to go?"
"All the appliances should be ready for use."
"Then you've done a spectacular job," I smiled at him. "Thank you. Oh, one more thing—this is a writing retreat for me. I'd appreciate it if nobody knew I was here."
"You got it," he said, grinning back. "I'm just so excited that you're finally here."
"Me, too," I said.
I thought he might follow me into the elevator to the top floor where my condo was, but he didn't. I rode up the elevator, clutching my purse, the laptop bag and the manila envelope. I had to hold it together until I got inside my condo. Then I could cry as much as I wanted.
When I opened the door, boxes were everywhere. Yes, Carol Dane had ordered everything online I thought I might need, and left instructions for the deliveries to be left inside the condo. I just hadn't realized how much room those boxes would take. Some were stacked atop one another.
I shut the door behind me and locked it. I couldn't even sit on the sofa against the wall without pulling heavy, dusty plastic off it first. Somewhere in the boxes was a vacuum and cleaning supplies.
Those would have to wait. I headed straight for the bathroom, sat on the edge of a huge whirlpool tub and let the tears fall.
* * *
Maye
A sea of school-age children shuffled past me, few of them appreciating their surroundings as they were led through the Smithsonian's Natural History Museum. Weary teachers and a few parents listened as well as they could to the docents explaining what this article or that artifact actually was, all while carefully watching third and fourth-grade students poke, tease and giggle as they made their way past priceless treasures.
So far, none of them had been in a wheelchair. More were coming, however; the next group had been dropped off and were being herded into the building. Holdi
ng back a sigh, I watched as a sparring match occurred between two boys before a teacher broke it up. Deliberately I shut out their mental accusations that the other boy had started the fight.
The target wasn't in this group.
Stepping into an alcove and adjusting the camera strap around my neck, I waited for the next batch of children to arrive.
* * *
Ilya
"James, did she have any friends on the outside?" I asked. He and I sat in the kitchen, morosely consuming coffee. I watched as James picked at a bag of microwave popcorn, chewing kernels absently while he considered my question.
"Her old neighbors in Arlington," James shrugged. "She made cookies for them and watched their cats when they went out of town."
"Do you have access to a vehicle?"
"Yes," James offered a hesitant answer.
"Good. You drive. We will question these neighbors."
"But Colonel Hunter," he protested.
"Is busy," I said. "We will go. Immediately."
"I guess it's better than sitting here," he agreed.
Ten minutes later, we were driving through the gate at the villa in a small, black car that had an excuse for an engine in it. Someday, I intended to have my own transportation again. I had no idea at present when that day might come.
"Hello?" The word was a question, and failed to encompass a much larger statement—one that said I don't know you. While Eric Borden didn't appear frightened by James, he was terrified of me. We stood on Eric's porch, which was as narrow as the three-story house it fronted. It was nearly identical to the empty one next door—the one Corinne had called home for five years. I wished she'd chosen to go there; it would have made things easy.
She was much too smart for that.
"We were just wondering if you've seen Cori—Corinne, lately," James said. "We're old friends and having a hard time catching up with her."
"She's in France," Eric said, stepping back and attempting to shut the door. I laid a palm against the door, stopping its momentum.
"You have heard from her," I narrowed my eyes at Eric, watching as the fear in his eyes increased.
"I just, I, I," he swallowed with difficulty.
"Tell me," I demanded. "She is in danger, and anything you say may prove important."
Cloud Dust: RD-1 Page 19
