by L. T. Ryan
The lady went back to typing.
Clarissa took a step toward Julie. She knew where her assignment would take her. And now she’d heard that she’d have no restrictions once inside the White House. How was this possible?
“Stored in a database?” Clarissa asked.
“The cards track you as you go from room to room. Allows us to quickly identify anyone on camera, as well as helps us to know where you are at all times. It’s for your benefit and protection. God forbid, if something happens, you’ll be glad because we can practically rule you out as a suspect.”
“Are there any rooms without cameras there?”
Julie looked away and said nothing.
The only sound in the room was the women behind their desks tapping away at their keyboards and clicking their mice. After a few minutes, the lady asked Clarissa to stand on a square gray mat. Clarissa’s picture was taken. The woman returned to her desk, swatted her keyboard some more, then rose and handed the newly minted badge to Clarissa.
Julie instructed her to put it on, then led her down another hall.
While walking, Clarissa said, “Didn’t trust me enough to give me an alias for my first name?”
“Too dangerous. If someone called for you, and you didn’t respond, that could spell trouble for you. This way you’ll immediately answer any request made of you.”
“I’ve lived under presumed names for the better part of the last year with some of the most dangerous men you could imagine. I think I can handle this.”
“Too late, doesn’t matter.” Julie turned down a hall that ended at a counter topped with bulletproof glass. Her pace increased. Clarissa didn’t try to match it. There was nowhere else to go, so she’d catch up eventually. When Julie stopped, Clarissa did too, remaining five feet behind.
“Yes, Ma’am?” the guy behind the partition said.
“SIG Sauer P229, checked out under my name and assigned to Clarissa Weston.”
The guy punched a code into a keypad then stepped into another room. The door slammed shut behind him. Two minutes later he returned carrying a case and a DeSantis holster. The guy set the case on the counter, opened it and tilted it toward them. The P229 chambered for the .357 SIG looked bulky on its own. Combined with the holster, Clarissa wondered how she would conceal the weapon.
After the man closed the case, Julie reached forward and gathered it and the holster, then turned and walked past Clarissa. They traveled the halls without speaking until they reached Julie’s office.
“Do I have to use that holster in the White House?”
Julie sat in her seat. The cushion wheezed. “You’re not going to be armed inside. However, you’ll keep this weapon on you at all other times. You’ll enter through the Treasury Department building. A locker will be assigned to you. You’ll leave it in there. Make sure you wear a blazer or a windbreaker at all times. That will help with concealment.”
“What if I want to take a jog?”
Julie took a deep breath, looked up, and stopped herself before she began, apparently realizing by the look on Clarissa’s face that it had been intended as a joke.
Taking a serious tone, Clarissa asked, “Can you tell me about my assignment now?”
“Pretty simple, really. Your job will be to monitor. You’ll be introduced as a member of the staff, supervisory level. You’ll spend a few days getting to know everyone there, the housekeepers, chefs, and so forth. I want you to use and trust your instincts. If someone seems suspicious, you tell us. We’re not sending you in there with a target in mind. Everyone is fair game and should be considered both innocent and as a suspect.”
“But only the household staff, right?”
Julie smiled, paused, said, “Everyone, Clarissa.”
A rap on Julie’s door startled them both. Clarissa looked over her shoulder.
“Come in,” Julie said.
The door cracked open. Evan Beck stepped into the square room.
“Are you close to finished? I’ve only got an hour-and-a-half to spare.”
Julie nodded. “Clarissa, Evan is going to take it from here.” She pulled her desk drawer open and retrieved a cell phone. She set it on top of the case containing the SIG P229, next to the holster, and slid them across the desk. “He’s going to take you to your apartment.”
Evan glanced down at her. “You look different.” His tone and the look on his face did not leave her feeling as though it was a good look for her. “Anyway, are you ready?”
Ten minutes later Evan and Clarissa crossed the bridge into D.C. in his government-issued sedan. It was a far cry from the Infiniti coupe they had driven in the day before. They didn’t speak until they had passed the Treasury Department building.
Beck said, “You’ll meet me out front, tomorrow, seven a.m. Understand?”
She nodded and said nothing.
“If you are late, I’ll leave you on the street, and you’ll have to walk.”
This time she turned and caught his eye. “No, you won’t.” She had no problem calling his bluff.
He smiled, slightly. “You’re right, I won’t. But I will give you an earful, so make sure you are there at seven a.m.”
“Do I get a car?”
He shook his head. “You’ll walk.”
She searched her memory for apartment buildings nearby. There weren’t any she could recall. “Where are you taking me?”
He answered by extending his index finger over the top of the steering wheel.
Two minutes later he pulled up to the curb. Clarissa stared up at the building full of luxury condos. She had heard about the place, and knew that several athletes and famous people had resided in there at one time or another.
“You go inside, tell them your alias. They’ll escort you to your apartment. It is one that we lease out and put people in from time to time. No one there will think anything of it. Most of the people here will keep to themselves, so nothing to worry about there.” He glanced at the case holding her weapon. “There’s a suitcase in the trunk. Put that inside of it.”
“Beck?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“What’s all this about?”
“Polanski gave you the run down, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, and it reeks of bullshit.”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you anymore than she has.”
“If all you wanted to do was watch people, you could do that through all the surveillance footage. It doesn’t make sense to pull me away from London to do this.”
Beck said nothing.
Clarissa waited for a moment, deciding whether to pursue her line of questioning. The man sitting across from her stared directly ahead. His lips were clamped shut. Deciding to leave it alone for now, she reached for her door handle and exited the car.
Chapter 12
The man at the front counter was quick about getting Clarissa her apartment number and the key. He didn’t attempt to make small talk. He only looked at her twice, when she walked up and as she stepped away. After a short elevator ride, she stepped onto the fourth floor, glanced up and down the hall to get her bearings, then located the door with 4F stenciled on it.
She stuck her key into the lock and turned it the wrong way. Before she corrected herself, the door behind her opened. Clarissa spun and faced a woman roughly five years older and a couple inches shorter. Pushing past the lady was a young boy, somewhere in the neighborhood of eight.
“Hi,” the woman said, tucking a strand of long brown hair behind her ear. “You must be the tenant of the week.”
Clarissa reached for the woman’s outstretched hand. “Clarissa.”
“Amy,” the woman said. “And this little guy is Adam.”
Clarissa smiled at the boy.
“How long are you in town?” Amy asked.
“In town?” Clarissa spun a story in her mind. “Not sure yet. I’m doing some consulting, and it is going to be a week-to-week kind of thing.”
Amy glanced down at
the suitcase on the floor. “I can see you’re getting settled in, and I’ve got a huge stack of errands to run. Tomorrow night we’re having a little social thing up on the roof. Why don’t you come as my guest?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ll probably be pretty—“
“I’m not taking no for an answer, Clarissa. I’ll knock on your door around nine-thirty. You better be ready.” She flashed a smile then reached for Adam’s hand. “Okay, we’re off. Talk to you tomorrow night.”
Before Clarissa could respond, the woman had turned and jogged halfway down the hall. Her son had to sprint to keep up, his feet barely touching the paisley carpeting. Strange, to say the least, thought Clarissa. She normally presented herself in a way that resulted in people leaving her alone. Yet Amy seemed to welcome it. Perhaps she’d forget, and Clarissa could go on with her business. Of course, she could simply not be at the apartment. But Amy had said she would be over around nine-thirty. Clarissa would have to stay out most of the evening to avoid the woman.
Deciding to put off worrying about the invitation until the next day, Clarissa unlocked her door and entered the apartment. The first thing she noticed was the million-dollar view. She presumed the apartment had the price tag to go with it. The furnishings were high end and modern. There were identical white leather couches facing each other. They had wide seats and low backs. Rather uncomfortable looking. A short metal and glass coffee table had been placed in between the couches. The glass top was barren. A modern-looking lamp stood behind the couch furthest from her. A sixty-inch flat panel TV hung from the wall above the white, sleek fireplace. On either side were built-in bookcases. The floor, like the fireplace, looked to be actual marble, white with streaks of silver.
She turned to her left, facing the kitchen. The appliances were stainless steel. The fridge was extra-wide. The stove had six burners. Everything looked new.
“So this is home,” she muttered to herself, dropping her bag and setting her purse on top of the kitchen island. She opened each cabinet, pulled out the items within and inspected the shelves. She moved into the living room, checked under the couches and their cushions. She ran her fingers along the edges of the television, and underneath the shelves of the built-in bookcases. She flipped the coffee table over and inspected the frame. She found nothing. But that did not ease her concern that there wasn’t a camera or some sort of listening and recording device hidden in the condo.
She continued into the bedroom. It was nearly as big as the living room. A king-size bed was positioned at one end, and an eight-drawer dresser at the other. Past the bed was a sliding door that led to a balcony. She ignored it for the moment, and proceeded to take the sheets off the mattress, checked every dresser drawer, and inspected the closet. Again, she found nothing.
The view through the glass door was expansive. She opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, which stretched from her room to the living room, where there was another door leading inside. From her perch, she looked to the southeast. A stretch of the Potomac River flowed past. Three small boats floated away from her. The sun hovered high in the sky still. She imagined the view in the morning when the sun came up over the forest beyond the river, then trickled light through the buildings adorning the city’s skyline. Soon enough, she’d see it for real.
Chapter 13
Clarissa’s cell phone rang at ten till six in the morning. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered anyway. It was Beck. He told her she had forty minutes to get ready if she wanted a ride. She figured that would be better than walking on her first day, so she rolled out of bed, showered, started a pot of coffee, and dressed. By the time she left her room the second time, the coffee was close to ready. She poured a cup and checked the time. She had fifteen minutes to spare.
The sky beyond her balcony had begun to fade from deep blue to red and orange. She carried the hot mug across the room and stepped outside. A cool, crisp breeze blew into her face. She didn’t smell the city. Instead, the air felt clean. Three large trucks rolled past on the road below. Early morning joggers pounded the concrete on a route that carried them past her building. From four stories up she heard their footsteps climb up the brick exterior.
In the distance, the sun blinked through the furthest trees. It would still be a few minutes before its rays hit her balcony, and she knew she didn’t have the time to wait around.
Clarissa went back inside. She found a travel mug in the cupboard, dumped the remainder of her coffee into it, then topped it off with steaming hot brew from the pot. She left the ceramic mug on the counter and tugged on the refrigerator door handle. The fridge, which had been stocked, offered her several quick to-go options for breakfast. She settled on a green apple.
A glance at the microwave clock told her she only had five minutes. Who knew if Beck would wait one second longer than the forty-minute deadline he gave her? Clarissa decided not to push her luck. She holstered her P229 and untucked her shirt to cover the bulky weapon. With her mug in one hand and the apple clenched between her teeth, she exited the apartment. Though the hallway was empty, she had a feeling in her stomach that she would run into Amy. Fortunately, the woman was nowhere to be found.
Clarissa walked quickly down the hallway and reached the elevator lobby. There was a man with a head-full of thick gray hair waiting there. He had on a dark blue suit and expensive leather shoes. He glanced over his shoulder at her, then looked away without acknowledging that she stood there. A ding announced the elevator’s arrival. The wide doors parted. No one stood inside. The man entered without offering her the opportunity to go first. Clarissa looked down at the panel and saw that he had pressed the lobby button. She leaned back into the corner and waited for the initial lurch to signal their downward journey.
Twenty seconds later, the doors parted again, revealing a dim lobby that had yet to come to life. A sleepy man propped his chin on his fist behind the counter. He glanced her way for a moment, then looked straight ahead. Long night, she presumed.
“Right on time.”
Clarissa turned left and saw Evan Beck standing by the front door. Faux-lantern lights flickered behind him, casting a shadow across the front of his face. It made his eyebrows look thick and his face unshaven. It’s how she imagined him looking during his bathroom fight at the restaurant.
“Military brat,” she said. “Not a good thing to be late in the house I was raised in.”
Beck nodded, perhaps in agreement. She thought about asking if his experience growing up was the same, but decided against it.
“You’re all set?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“Got your pistol holstered?”
She nodded, following him outside.
“I’ll walk you through the routine this one time only. After that, you are on your own.”
“Is this a weekend position, too?”
He stepped over an empty water bottle that had been discarded on the sidewalk in front of the building. “Yes, seven days a week until we are finished.”
“We? So you’re involved in this, too?”
Beck remained silent for a moment. They walked in stride toward his vehicle, parked half a block away.
“You could say I’m involved, but not directly.”
That didn’t help, but Clarissa expected as much.
They said nothing during the drive to the Treasury building. Clarissa studied the few faces she saw on the sidewalk. The early birds and go-getters walked at a brisk pace while morning joggers threaded past them.
As Beck pulled into the garage, he said, “If you ever plan on walking, go in through the front door. Your badge will get you past security without any problems.”
Nothing was ever without problems. “And what if there is one?”
“Then call me, and I’ll handle it.” He looked over at her. Presumably, he knew that she was going to mention that she didn’t know his number. “It’s in your cell’s contact list. Everyone you need is in there.”
She swung her
door open and placed both feet on the ground. Rising, she reached into her pocket and wrapped her hand around her phone. It was her only link to anyone who could help now. She had no idea if they were monitoring her personal line. She had to assume they were, and that if she placed a call to Sinclair, they would know. And until she knew more, she couldn’t risk that.
Beck walked past the front of the car and headed toward the stairwell. Clarissa jogged to catch up to him, passing between two black government sedans. He led her up two flights of stairs. He had her scan her badge over a card reader. The light changed from red to green and the lock gave an audible click. Beck tugged the door open and waited for Clarissa to pass through. She stepped into a hallway she hadn’t seen before. He pointed toward the security desk, manned by two guards. They looked different from the guards she had seen the day before. Although the two men were younger, they had more of an aggressive appearance. It appeared as though they were more than rented badges. These guys could take down a threat.
After they passed through security, Clarissa wondered why he’d taken her that way. “Isn’t this area only for Secret Service?”
Beck shook his head. “Certain staff members come this way. Not only is this our office, but it provides a secret, secure entrance to the White House. It is better that some of the staff, not all, come this way. You’ll be one of those people.”
She nodded, assuming that entering in public would raise her profile.
“In this case, the fewer people to see your face, the better.” Beck extended his left arm. “This way.”
They stopped by his office. Beck sat behind his desk and checked his computer. Clarissa noted that the surface of his desk was bare except for a large stack of yellow notepads.
From his office, they traveled up a flight of stairs, coming to a stop in front of the ladies’ locker room. He handed her a piece of paper and told her that it contained her locker assignment and code. She was to store her weapon inside the locker and wear the outfit provided for her. Her first instinct was to decline. Beck had seen the code, and so had whoever gave it to him. On top of that, the clothes could be bugged. Not could. Probably were.
