by L. T. Ryan
He turned and walked back the way they had come. He turned a corner and disappeared from sight. She leaned forward and placed her ear against the door. No sound escaped the room.
“You won’t hear anything,” a woman said.
Clarissa straightened up. To her right she saw the woman approaching. The lady was older, around fifty-five. She had on a black skirt, white shirt and black blazer. Her hair was long and pulled back. Brown and gray were at odds with one another. She carried a laptop bag in one hand, a green folder stuffed with files in the other.
“You must be Clarissa,” the woman said, looking her up and down. “You had dark hair in the picture I saw.”
“It had been dyed to match—“
“It doesn’t matter, Clarissa.” The woman reached past her, turned the handle and pushed the door open. “Go on in.”
Clarissa glanced around the room before entering. A twelve-foot long wood table was placed in the center. There were four leather chairs to a side, and one at each end. There were no windows. Each wall had two wide screen televisions or monitors. A fake plant had been placed in each corner of the room. Ambiance. Nice touch.
She stepped inside. It was fifteen degrees colder than the rest of the building. She glanced up. There was a vent in the ceiling on each end of the room. She walked to the other side of the table until she felt no draft, pulled out a chair in the middle, then sat down.
The woman placed her bag and the folder opposite Clarissa. She walked to the other end of the room and opened a cabinet. Clarissa noticed a black coffee maker. The woman pulled it out, along with a tin can. She set both on top of the counter. Thirty seconds later, the sounds of percolating coffee could be heard. She eyed a stack of brown paper cups and a dish of to-go creamers.
“Do you know why you’re here?” the woman asked, returning to the table.
Clarissa shook her head.
The woman looked away as she sat down.
After a few moments, during which there was no response, Clarissa asked, “Do you?”
The lady’s gaze cut back to Clarissa. Her thin lips took on the shape of a smile. “Why else would I be here?”
Clarissa waited, but the woman did not expound upon her answer. What was the point of asking the question in the first place? She decided to let it go. They’d have to tell her at some point, whether the woman liked it or not.
When the coffee finished brewing, Clarissa rose and poured herself a cup. The older woman waited until she had finished, then poured one for herself. She stood in front of the coffee machine, sipping from her cup. It seemed as if the lady would do anything to avoid having a conversation with her.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy. Clarissa felt tense, nervous. Despite the temperature, sweat beaded up on the back of her neck at her hairline. Her palms were coated. She wiped them on her pants a few times.
There was a bang against the door, then it opened. A man entered the room. He glanced in Clarissa’s direction and gave her a slight nod. He looked the same age as the woman. He had no hair on the top of his head, but sported a gray mustache. His bushy eyebrows drew her gaze away from his eyes. Following him in was another man about the same age. He had a different air to him. His shoes were built for comfort, but not action. His suit had the appearance of costing a thousand dollars more than anyone else’s in the building. There was something different about him.
Behind the man stood Sinclair. He looked the same as the last time she had seen him. Thin, pale, evil. Though, she couldn’t recall seeing him in a suit before.
Sinclair walked to the far end of the table and sat down. He smiled at her. She returned the gesture.
“Glad to see you made it here okay,” he said.
“Yeah, well, you had those bases pretty well covered, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “You’re a wild card, Clarissa. You always will be.”
“So what am I doing here? The way I hear it, if I know what I’m doing, I can get into the White House from this building.”
The other man cleared his throat. “We don’t take those kinds of threats lightly around here. This may not be our building anymore—”
Sinclair lifted his right arm. “I’ve got this, Banner.” He looked at her. “Please, Clarissa, take this seriously. There is something going on and we all feel that you can be helpful in solving this.”
She leaned toward him. “When did you get cozy with the Treasury Department folks?”
“You don’t know everything about me,” Sinclair said.
In part, she took that as a challenge. For now, though, she let it go.
He continued. “And you never will. Besides, these folks aren’t part of the Treasury Department. Isn’t that right, Banner?”
“Nope, they cut us loose back in ‘03. We’re part of the happy Homeland Security family now.”
The older woman cleared her throat, and asked, “Are we ready?”
Banner said, “Waiting on one more person.”
On cue, the door pushed open and a man she recognized stepped in.
Chapter 8
“Sinclair,” Banner said. “Have you met Evan Beck?”
Sinclair rose, extended his hand toward the younger man. “Yes, of course. You were coming in as I was going out.”
Clarissa had never heard any mention of Sinclair working in the Treasury Department. She couldn’t picture the man doing so, either. What was he talking about?
Beck nodded at Sinclair, smiled at Clarissa.
“Good to see you again,” Beck said.
All stares were fixed on the man. He glanced at Clarissa. She held out her hands and mouthed the word, “Why?”
Why hadn’t he told her what was going on if he knew all along? Had he been instructed not to? Did they fear that whatever they were about to ask her to do would have caused her to run the night before?
Of course, all that assumed that he did know what she was doing there. He might be as much in the dark as her.
Beck walked past the other end of the table toward the cabinets on the opposite side of the room. He poured a cup of coffee and took a seat. He kept his focus on Clarissa. She glanced around the room. They all stared in her direction now.
“What?” she asked. “Am I supposed to know what’s going on here?”
No one spoke. The older man and woman glanced at each other. Sinclair smiled. Beck stared. She felt her cheeks burn.
“Banner,” Sinclair said. “Why don’t we get started?”
Banner took a seat. He pointed at himself. “As you heard, my name is Banner. This here,” he pointed at the woman, “is Polanski. You’ve met Beck. And, obviously, you already know Sinclair.” Banner glanced toward the other man. The guy nodded at Banner, then shifted his gaze back to Clarissa. Banner said, “This is Senator Patrick Hogan. He’s on a few committees and subcommittees. Things we really can’t get into here. I’m sure you understand.”
Clarissa nodded, said nothing.
“Anyway,” Banner said. “He’s here to observe and sign off.”
Polanski spoke next. “I’ll get right to it. We have a mole. Someone has leaked vital information to an outside group that can use that information to hurt one of our interests. Problem is that we don’t know who the leak is. But we do know the only place the information could have come from is within the walls, halls, and rooms of the White House.”
“Which part? Who would do this?” Clarissa asked.
No one responded.
“You don’t know? Or you can’t tell me?”
“A little of both,” Banner said, meshing his fingers together. “The point is, we need you in there to do nothing more than observe for a few days, a week, something like that.”
Clarissa leaned forward. She placed her forearms on the table. “Do you know who it is I’m to observe?”
Polanski said, “We don’t. If we did, you wouldn’t be here right now.” She glanced at Sinclair. He nodded. She added, “You are going to be in a position that you’ll have access to everyone and every
thing that happens in the building.”
“Does President Rhodes know about this?” Clarissa asked.
Banner, Hogan and Polanski looked at Beck. The man shook his head, said, “The President has not been made aware yet.”
Clarissa studied Beck for a moment. He’d shaved the shag off his face. His hair looked an inch shorter. While the other three looked worn down by life and their job, Beck was clean cut and crisp. Who was he that he would deal with the president directly? Part of the Secret Service? She shifted her gaze to Banner, then Polanski. Who were any of them? Other than Senator Hogan and Sinclair, she knew nothing about the others in the room. She figured they would give her a sideways answer if she asked, so she didn’t.
“There are some things you’ll need to change,” Sinclair said. “Hair style, color, length—”
“I know the drill,” she said. “I’m not opposed to any of that. I’m still not sure this is the job for me, though. I’m used to working in more hostile conditions. I don’t see how I’ll be an asset in a building as heavily guarded as the White House. I mean, doesn’t the president have around twenty or so agents nearby at all times?”
“Ms. Abbot,” Polanski said. “If this isn’t stopped, you’ll be square in the middle of the most hostile conditions you can imagine.”
Banner said, “And the truth is, you don’t have a choice. You try to walk out of this room without agreeing and you’ll never see daylight again. We can hold you here as long as it takes. And if it takes too long, and you know what I mean, you can forget going back to the life you used to lead.”
The life she used to lead. Clarissa nearly laughed over the thought. She focused her energy on the tone of their words.
“You’re threatening me over this?” Clarissa asked, glancing at Hogan. She expected him to look shocked. Appalled, even. He didn’t, though. And she found that didn’t surprise her. All along she had suspected that people in government knew more than they let on.
Sinclair stood and held out his right hand. “Let’s just take a moment here to calm down.” He turned toward her. “Why don’t you and I take a walk?”
“I think I’d like that.”
She rose and walked around the table, toward the door. Beck followed her with his stare, and smiled. She looked away. Sinclair opened the door. It glided silently on its hinges. She stepped through the opening. The hallway warmed her bare skin. They walked to the end of the hall without speaking. Sinclair led her to a stairwell. They made their way to the ground level. Another corridor led them to a door that opened up to a courtyard. Thick concrete interspersed with square sections of grass lay out in front of her.
Shadows indicated that the sun stood behind the building. Clarissa stepped out into the shaded area. It was hot, humid, and still. Whatever breeze there was had been blocked by the walls, just like the sun. She paced along a line, alternating her steps from concrete to grass and back again. Sinclair remained by the door they exited through. She turned and walked toward him, stopping five feet away from the man.
Sighing, she asked, “Do I have a choice?”
He shook his head. “Afraid not.”
“What did they offer you to make this happen? And why me?”
He took the accusation like a spear to the heart. “Offer me? Why you? They asked me if we had anyone skilled enough to pull something like this off. They wanted a chameleon, and you, though still wet behind the ears, are one of the best I’ve ever seen. This is a huge opportunity for you, Clarissa. Don’t you see that? This could be your ticket out of danger’s lair and into a higher level position.”
“No one is going to bring me into their organization.”
Sinclair stepped forward. “I brought you into mine.”
“I’m not like you, though, am I? I’m not CIA. Contractor. That’s what my badge says.”
“God, you are a stubborn woman.” He shook his hands in front of him while staring up at the sky. “Things change when you do something like this. The people that have the ability to make things happen will do it for you. Look, I’m not going to go into a bunch of bullshit about honor and doing the right thing for your country. You know who I am and how I operate. But you need to consider doing this for yourself. How long do you think you can last playing the games I place you inside? Don’t you want something more for yourself? To be more than bait?”
Clarissa remained quiet for several seconds. She avoided Sinclair’s piercing stare. A fraction of a breeze blew down. It did little to cool her off.
She asked, “Who is the target?”
Sinclair shook his head.
“You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?”
He took two steps, stopped in front of her. “I honestly don’t know.”
She didn’t believe him. Still, she nodded, said, “Thank you.”
“Are you ready to go inside?”
He had already turned around when she responded.
“Are they serious, Sinclair?”
“About what?”
“I’ll never leave the building if I don’t do it?”
He looked back at her, nodded once and glanced away.
“And there’s nothing you can do to stop them?” she asked.
“Nothing, Clarissa. Like you said, you’re only a contractor. Might as well not even exist. Who would miss you, anyway?”
She felt anger claw its way through her body. He’d never talked to her like that, even at the time of their first meeting. She balled her hands into fists.
“That’s their take on it, Clarissa. Not mine. I’d miss you, and I know there are others who would, and probably do right now.”
She had hardened herself to the point of never thinking of those people, and she didn’t break now. She couldn’t afford to. Instead, she closed her eyes and pulled humid air in through her nose. She exhaled even warmer air out. It cascaded over the middle of her upper lip.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said.
They returned the way they came, down a hall, through the stairwell, down another hallway. She took in more on the way back. Going down, things had been new, unseen. Now she counted the doors between the exit and the stairs. She took note of the number of stairs between floors. On the top floor, she memorized the names on the wall plaques. Not all rooms had one, and she doubted that the ones she saw corresponded to the actual person in the office. Probably memorial names for the room itself.
How many had died in the line of duty since the inception of the department?
Clarissa glanced toward the end of the table when they reentered the meeting room. Beck had left. So had Senator Hogan. Banner and Polanski remained. Neither of them acknowledged her. When both she and Sinclair sat down, Banner rose. He walked to the back of the room, rose up on his toes and sat on top of a filing cabinet.
“What’s it going to be?” he asked.
That was the question she’d asked herself over and over again since the moment she stepped into the hallway. The day had not gone as expected. And now, for everything they said they would do to her if she didn’t accept, she still wanted nothing to do with the job. All but one thought kept her from trying to walk out. She made eye contact with Sinclair. He nodded and gave her a slight smile. She knew what she had to do.
“I’ll do it.”
It wasn’t the fear of being locked up. There was only so long they could get away with it. They couldn’t hurt anyone who meant anything to her. Her parents were gone. There were no siblings. Her friends were out of her life. In the end, she wanted a new start. A chance to be something more than anything she’d been in the past.
Chapter 9
Polanski smiled briefly and nodded at Clarissa, then pulled a stack of papers from the folder she’d set in front of her on the table. The loose stack made a sound like wind through dead leaves while they were being shuffled and straightened. The woman stared down at them, thumbing through and scanning each document for a few seconds before moving to the next.
Her lips moved as she read each file. They moved too quickly for Clarissa to determine anything the woman mouthed.
Banner hopped off the filing cabinet. The metal piece of furniture groaned as his weight shifted away. He, too, smiled and nodded, walking across the room toward Clarissa. His gaze diverted away from hers. Sinclair shifted in his seat. Banner continued past Clarissa, and placed a hand on Sinclair’s shoulder.
“Thanks for bringing her in,” Banner said. “I think she’ll be great for the job.”
“Just get her back to me in one piece,” Sinclair said. “She’s a natural.”
Clarissa leaned forward, letting her elbows knock against the table. “I’m sitting right here. No need to talk about me like I’m out of the room.”
Banner continued on as if she hadn’t said anything. “That’ll be the end of your involvement, Sinclair. I’ll send daily updates. Outside of that, you needn’t worry about anything. She’ll be cut off from communicating with you until the operation is over.”
Sinclair nodded, seemingly unaffected by the news. The guy had a way of acting as if nothing ever bothered him.
“Wait a minute,” Clarissa said. “I’m his direct report. Why can’t I have contact with him?”
Polanski rapped her knuckles against the table. “Ms. Abbot, we’re going to brief you on the details, after that you’ll understand the whys of this. For now, let me say that starting tomorrow you’ll be under amazingly tight scrutiny, the likes of which you’ve never seen before.”
“Ever lived inside a terrorist’s compound?” Clarissa said, then immediately regretted it.
Sinclair leveled her with a stare, and said, “Of course, she didn’t mean what she just said.”
“Of course,” Polanski said. “Anyway, that’s none of our concern. The only thing we care about is getting Ms. Abbot ready for tomorrow.”
The sound of heavy breathing filled the space. Gazes passed from one person to the next. Clarissa watched Banner. He stared at the far wall. She looked at Polanski. The woman rubbed the knuckles she’d knocked against the table a moment before.
Sinclair stood and walked toward the door. “I’ll be going now.”
