Politics of Blood (Gray Spear Society Book 8)

by Siegel, Alex

  Seferis lowered the gun but didn't holster it.

  Miss Pickenpaugh nodded. "I had Mr. Felt and Mrs. Paz come so they could vouch for me. They know my work."

  "Oh?" Haley looked at Paz. "What is she talking about?"

  "Go on," Miss Pickenpaugh said. "Tell him about Mexico."

  "But...," Paz said in a timid voice.

  "Tell him now."

  Paz took a deep breath. "It happened four months ago. I have family in southern Mexico. Aunts, uncles, cousins. A drug lord kidnapped them and held them hostage. He was trying to gain influence over me."

  "What?" Haley's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me? This is a matter of national security!"

  "That part of Mexico is controlled by the cartels. The police won't go there. Even the Mexican Army stays away. I needed... a better option." Paz glanced at Miss Pickenpaugh. "Her people rescued my relatives and slaughtered the entire gang." Paz shuddered. "They were butchered like animals."

  Miss Pickenpaugh nodded. "I participated in that battle. Their leader was an uncivilized brute named Barragán. I cut off his head with these."

  She reached under the back of her jacket and pulled out a matched pair of machetes. Silver plating reflected the light like mirrors. The edges looked very sharp.

  Haley took three quick steps back.

  She examined the polished surfaces of her machetes. "Mrs. Paz needed help, so I helped her. One day, she'll return the favor."

  Seferis started to raise his gun.

  "Don't." Miss Pickenpaugh glanced at him. "I swear to God, you'll regret it."

  Haley was frightened but still curious. He needed to understand what was happening here. He didn't like it when important secrets were kept from him. It was also a matter of stubborn pride. Fear and intimidation were emotions that he always kept hidden from the world. He never backed down from a fight.

  "Just wait, George," he said. "Let's finish this conversation. Clarence, do you have a story to tell?"

  Felt was shivering. "Yes, sir, but you're not going to like it."

  "I guessed that much. Talk."

  Felt glanced at Miss Pickenpaugh, and she nodded with approval. Haley could hardly believe the FBI Director was taking cues from her. Who did this man think he worked for?

  "It's about Senator Herzog," Felt said.

  Haley had a cold feeling in his stomach. The senator had had a brutal car accident. He had survived, but he was horribly disfigured and paralyzed. He was still a senator but only because his constituents hadn't voted for a replacement yet.

  "The FBI discovered he was a child molester," Felt said in a quiet voice. "We identified hundreds of probable victims, mostly young girls. Some were just eight years-old. He didn't care if his victims became pregnant."

  Haley stared in dismay.

  Felt continued, "We knew we would never get a conviction. Herzog had connections all over Washington, and he was on the committees that controlled our budget. He even had a regular golf game with the Attorney General. The case was a political atomic bomb, too big for us to handle, so I asked Miss Pickenpaugh to help."

  Miss Pickenpaugh nodded. "I wanted Herzog to suffer for his crimes. He'll last ten or twenty years in his current condition, trapped in his own body, every day full of soul-crushing pain. My kind of justice." She grinned.

  Seeing that expression on her face magnified Haley's fear. It was like a death skull.

  "What are you hiding behind your sunglasses?" Haley said, "Let me see your eyes."

  She pulled off her sunglasses. Her pupils were much larger than normal and full of infinite darkness. They were holes leading to nowhere.

  Paz whimpered.

  "She just confessed to a major felony," Seferis said. "She crippled a United States senator! Please, sir, let me arrest her. This is getting ridiculous! She's a lunatic."

  Miss Pickenpaugh leapt and spun. Her small foot struck his face like a whip, knocking him down. She kicked his gun away and held the edge of her machete against his throat.

  Everybody in the room froze.

  "Mr. Seferis," she said in a tight voice, "I'm struggling to be diplomatic. The problem is I'm not a nice person. Not in the least. Under normal circumstances, I would've gutted you the first time you pointed your gun at me. You're very fortunate my bodyguard didn't turn you into a Popsicle."

  Haley had never seen anybody move like that, much less an old woman. She wasn't human. His weak heart fluttered.

  Seferis' right hand was creeping towards his belt. Haley realized he was reaching for another gun.

  "Go ahead," Miss Pickenpaugh said. "See what happens next."

  The hand stopped.

  "Let him up," Haley said, "please. There's no need for violence."

  "Only if he promises to behave and keep his mouth shut."

  "George, will you behave? I'd like to finish this conversation."

  Seferis stared at the woman with the gleaming blade.

  "Yes, sir," he said finally.

  Miss Pickenpaugh stepped back. He stood up and straightened his suit clumsily. There was a bright red mark on his cheek.

  "Why did you come here?" he said.

  She smiled. "An intelligent question! I came because your President's life is in great danger."

  "From you?"

  "No. My assignment is to keep him alive."

  He raised his chin. "That's the job of the Secret Service."

  "Then it seems we're allies," she said. "Mr. Felt, Mrs. Paz, thank you for coming. I really appreciate it. Of course, you won't mention this conversation to anybody. You're dismissed."

  The FBI Director and the Secretary of State rushed to leave the room. Haley felt even more vulnerable without them. The two men with Miss Pickenpaugh still hadn't moved.

  "Why am I in danger?" he said nervously.

  "We don't know yet," she said. "We just started our investigation."

  "Then how do you know it's true?"

  "We have a reliable source."

  "Really," he said. "I have news for you. I'm in danger all the time. It's why I have so many men with guns around me. It's why I live behind armor plate and bulletproof glass. It's called being the President of the United States."

  "This is different."

  "Why?"

  She walked over to him. Seeing those crazy eyes at close range reminded him of his mortality.

  "Because I'm involved," she said in a low voice.

  It was an insane situation. Haley was trapped in a room with a murderous lunatic with inhuman capabilities. Haley suspected her two friends were even more dangerous. They were huge men instead of an old woman. A small army of federal agents was just outside the door of the suite. A single cry for help would bring them in.

  Yet Haley remained calm. If Miss Pickenpaugh had intended to harm him, she would've done it by now. She wasn't asking for anything either. Usually, when people talked to him, they wanted something. Overwhelming curiosity and pride kept him from calling out.

  "Did you really cut off a man's head?"

  She nodded. "Like this."

  She leapt and spun with one machete stretched out. For a moment, she was a human helicopter floating in the air. She landed with the blade against the neck of the man with brown hair. The sharp edge was touching his skin but didn't draw blood.

  He didn't even flinch. It was a show of faith and courage that left Haley gaping in amazement.

  Miss Pickenpaugh slipped both machetes under her jacket. "I've decided I'm going to stay with you, Mr. President. It's the best way to keep you safe until we identify and eliminate the threat."

  "Ma'am?" The man with brown hair stared at her. "Is that a good idea? You'll be very exposed and vulnerable."

  "I have no choice." She shrugged. "I'll work on the inside while you work on the outside. Maybe we'll meet somewhere in the middle."

  "For the record, I'm not comfortable with this plan."

  "Wait a minute!" Haley said. "Do I get a say?"

  "No." Miss Pickenpaugh shook her hea
d.

  "I can't have a strange woman with me. This is the Democratic National Convention, and I'm the star of the show. The nation will be watching."

  "Don't worry." She winked. "I'll lurk in the shadows. I'll hardly be noticed."

  "That's not good enough!"

  Seferis was giving Haley a look that needed no words. The insanities were piling up.

  "You'll die without my help," Miss Pickenpaugh said. "If you want to live, you have to trust me. Actually, I intend to save your life whether you cooperate or not."

  He realized he had to make a decision. The rational choice was letting the Secret Service arrest these intruders. He just had to call for help, and fifty armed men would come crashing through the door. In fact, a security detail was supposed to be in the room already. Somehow, Miss Pickenpaugh had arranged to have them missing.

  As he looked at her, the choice became less obvious. She was the most astonishing person he had ever met. He was an excellent judge of character, and her intentions seemed genuine. She could've killed him already if she had wanted to.

  "You don't know anything about this threat?" he said.

  "Only that it is legitimate," she said. "We'll get to the bottom of it soon, and then you can go back to your normal life. I have my most reliable man on the case." She glanced at her companion with brown hair.

  Who is he? Haley wondered.

  "Ma'am," the man said, "I should get going. I have a lot to do. Do you still need me?"

  "I'll be fine." She waved her hand towards the door. "You're dismissed."

  He bowed slightly and left the suite.

  She looked around. "This is nice. I won't mind staying here for a few days. I'll sleep in the other room, of course."

  Haley followed her gaze. The suite had a large main room with a formal dining area and an entertainment section. Two bedrooms branched off on the sides. The kitchen was separate. The color scheme consisted of whites, yellows, and light browns.

  "I didn't give you permission to stay," he said.

  She snorted derisively.

  "Who the hell do you think you are?"

  She didn't answer him.

  She walked over to George Seferis and stood before him. The Director of the Secret Service stared back confidently. The red mark on his cheek was turning into a nice, little bruise.

  "I can tell you and I will have a problem," she said. "I know what you're thinking. You intend to raise hell as soon as you leave the room."

  "That's my job," he said.

  "No, your job is to protect that man over there." She pointed at Haley. "You won't accomplish that objective if you get in my way. If you force my hand, I'll have to switch to plan B."

  "Which is what?"

  "Moving him to a secret location, one you won't know about."

  Seferis raised his eyebrows. "You're actually threatening to kidnap the President right in front of him?"

  "I'm threatening to save his life by any means necessary. But I'd like to avoid such disruptive measures, so I need you to swear you won't give me any grief."

  He shook his head.

  "You doubt my resolve?" Miss Pickenpaugh said.

  "I think you're full of shit."

  She took a gray phone from her pocket. It was much thicker than a normal phone, and the metal covering looked like armor plate. She dialed a number and put the phone to her ear.

  "Hello," she said. "What's the authorization code for the ICBM's? I need the one the President uses. The World War Three code. Text it to me. Oh, send me the combination to his safe in the Oval Office while you're at it. Thank you."

  She stared at the display on her phone. After a moment, she nodded.

  She walked over and showed the message to Haley. He saw lines of numbers and letters in black and white.

  "That's right," he whispered.

  "It would be in everybody's best interest if Mr. Seferis did as he was told."

  Haley felt renewed fear. This woman had access to information that was beyond top secret.

  "George," he said, "swear an oath."

  "Sir!" Seferis said.

  "I believe Miss Pickenpaugh is being honest with us."

  "She could be a terrorist."

  "If that were the case," Haley said, "I'd already be dead. Clearly, she can do whatever the hell she wants. I might be too tired to think clearly, but I trust her. Promise me you'll cooperate. That's an order."

  "But..."

  Haley stared at Seferis.

  "I promise," Seferis said finally.

  Miss Pickenpaugh smiled. "That's excellent. You may leave now."

  "Hey!"

  "Just go," Haley said.

  Seferis snarled and stormed out of the room.

  "Boreas," Miss Pickenpaugh said. "Wait in the hall. I want to have a private conversation."

  The giant man with gray hair nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He left in a more dignified manner.

  She smiled at Haley, and this time, the expression was warm instead of frightening. "My real name is Ethel. As you just heard, my bodyguard is Boreas. That's a secret you can't share with anybody else. We're very careful with names in my organization, but I feel I can trust you."

  She grabbed a small trash can from the corner of the room. She picked up the pieces of the broken coffee mug and threw them away. She was so quick her hand was just a blur. He couldn't believe his eyes.

  "How can you move so fast?" he said.

  She shook her head. "I can't talk about that."

  "Are your friends just as fast?"

  "No, but they have other capabilities."

  She had already finished cleaning up. She sat on a couch and leaned back.

  He sat on a chair facing her. She had a thin face with sharply defined cheek bones. He preferred women with a little more meat on them, but she wasn't unattractive. As a younger woman, she had probably been very beautiful.

  "Are you some kind of assassin?" he said.

  "I'm not an assassin. I don't work for money. I haven't been paid in over thirty years. But I do kill people occasionally."

  He furrowed his brow. "How many people?"

  She just stared at him. Even though she was silent, he got the impression it was a significant number.

  "How big is your organization?" he said. "What do you call yourselves?"

  "Let's not talk about me." She shook her head. "I want to know about you. I read the background report, but mere words and numbers can't capture a man's essence. Who is Roy Haley really?"

  He felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. "Actually, I'm too worn out to continue this conversation. I intended to use this time to rest, and now I'm even more tired than before."

  "That's right. You have a heart condition. Is there any kind of treatment?"

  "Yes, but it's risky, and it might not help much. Surgery will have to wait until I'm out of office. I get by well enough as long as I don't push myself too hard."

  She made a sour face. "Oh."

  "What's wrong?" he said.

  "I don't like this heart condition. You need to be healthy and strong."

  "What are you going to do? Reach into my chest and fix my heart?"

  She just stared at him with those disturbing eyes. She was more than just strange. She was unnatural.

  "It was a joke," he said.

  "Ha, ha." She smiled without humor. "Go to bed. Sleep. I'll just sit here and make some phone calls. There are always burning issues that need my attention. If anybody tries to bother you, I'll decapitate them."

  He stared back.

  "It was a joke," she said.

  "Very funny." He got up.

  He hesitated before leaving. He was entrusting his life to an unapologetic killer, yet he felt safe. It made no sense at all. He had the eerie sensation that he had just stepped through a doorway into a world with different rules. He went to the bedroom. He hoped the situation would make more sense after he slept.

  * * *

  Smythe was standing on the floor of the United Center. The Chicago Bulls
and Blackhawks played their games here, but both teams were in their offseason now. The Democratic National Convention had turned the arena into a gigantic television studio.

  A huge stage occupied the west end. The set was just a wooden podium and a few chairs on a field of pure blue. A darker blue velvet curtain hung in the background. Nothing would draw attention away from the person giving a speech.

  The seats were normally a dull reddish-brown. Colored plastic sheets had been draped over the backs to give them a much livelier appearance. The bottom sections were blue, the level above was white, and the topmost sections were red.

  Flags and bunting were hung everywhere. The overabundance of red, white, and blue embarrassed Smythe. He was as patriotic as any American, but this was overkill.

  Rows of additional seating were on the arena floor facing the grand stage. The folding plastic chairs didn't look very comfortable, and he was glad he wasn't a delegate. He would hate to sit on those hard seats and listen to repetitive speeches for hours on end.

  Smythe turned to Sheryl. Both legionnaires wore the cheap, blue suits of FBI agents. A thick packet of badges and credentials had allowed them to pass through the blanket of heavy security around the United Center.

  "Have you been here before?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I'm not into sports. It's a very big building."

  "Yes. We won't have time to see everything."

  She looked around and frowned. "Let's start with the stage. It's the most obvious place to plant a bomb."

  "Sure," he said.

  They started walking.

  Other people were moving through the arena. Many were clearly federal agents performing an inspection. The regular police were located in the parking lot outside.

  A small army of technicians was working on the light and sound system. Hundreds of extra spotlights were clamped to the rafters far above. Big concert speakers were mounted on steel poles. Studio quality television cameras occupied strategic locations all around.

  "It's going to be quite a show," Smythe said.

  "I'm jealous," Sheryl said. "When I was a magician, I never had a gig like this. My biggest audience ever was maybe two thousand."

  "That's not bad."

  "Now I have no audience at all." She sighed.

  "But the magic is real."