Beyond Betrayal

by L. T. Ryan

  “Pleasure,” McCain said.

  Clarissa nodded, shifted her gaze to Beck. “Can I talk with you for a minute?”

  “Excuse us, Harold,” Beck said, stepping past the man toward a darkened corner of the roof.

  When Clarissa was sure they were out of earshot, she said, “What are you doing here? Checking up on me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She had the urge to smack the smug look off his face. “Why are you here, Beck?”

  “I could ask the same. You’re supposed to stay put at home.”

  “This is my home now.”

  “It’s mine, too.”

  She was taken aback by the statement. While not positive, she had a hunch that the condos in the building went for seven figures. There was little doubt that Beck’s salary wouldn’t cover such an expense.

  “It’s my sister’s place, and she’s away for two years. I’m staying here while she’s gone.”

  “What about your place?”

  “It all worked out kind of perfectly, actually. I had just lost my place in a divorce settlement.”

  Sensing the conversation taking a personal route, Clarissa changed the subject. “What should I expect tomorrow?”

  Beck shrugged while taking a drink. “He’s getting back from an overseas trip. That means lots of catching up. You’ll most likely sit outside his office most of the day. I believe he has one meeting that you’ll be dragged along to.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  Beck didn’t answer. He diverted his stare to a spot over her shoulder.

  “Is it him? Did he do something wrong?”

  Again, Beck did not respond.

  “Beck, this is ridiculous. If you feel I’m responsible enough to handle this post, then you should tell me what I need to know.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Clarissa.” He glanced around, perhaps suspicious that his raised voice had drawn eyes. “Next week we’ll all meet with you and ask you some questions. Then we’ll do it again.”

  “What about the pin you gave me to wear?”

  He smiled. “That was a lie, a psychological trick. It makes some people more risk-adverse.”

  She finished her wine and placed the glass on the wide concrete ledge next to her. The whole idea behind the assignment was convoluted now. She thought about asking if she could back out, but knew that was not an option. They wouldn’t let her. Even if she tried to run, they’d find her.

  “There you are.”

  Clarissa turned at the sound of Amy’s voice.

  “I carried that glass around so long I ended up drinking it myself.” Amy smiled. Even in the shadows, Clarissa noticed the woman’s face looked flushed. “Anyway, who’s your friend?”

  “Amy, this is…” Her voice trailed as she looked over her shoulder and saw that Beck had left.

  “Was is more like it,” Amy said.

  Staring into the darkness of night, Clarissa could only nod in agreement. Where had he gone? Did he even live in the building? Had the older man been a plant, part of the agency? Glancing around the party, she didn’t see either of them. Amy might know if either man lived there, but now Clarissa didn’t want to bring Beck’s name up. He’d taken off for a reason.

  “Let’s get you a refill.” Amy tugged at Clarissa’s arm.

  Relenting, Clarissa followed her across the rooftop. They stopped three times. Each time, Amy introduced Clarissa to residents of the building. She didn’t really see the point. By the time she got to know anyone, she’d be on her way to her next assignment.

  For the next hour, she stayed close to the bartender. Amy had drifted further away, caught up in conversations. Clarissa managed to get away after her third glass of wine.

  The bright stairwell offered no shadows to hide in. That didn’t settle her fears, as anyone could be waiting for her on the next landing. Once she reached the final one, a new source of worry set in. They knew where she lived, and they could be inside.

  Stopping in front of her door, Clarissa drew her P229. She pushed the door open slowly with the pistol aimed in front of her. It moved with her eyes. A reporter on the television covered today’s financial news. Clarissa couldn’t remember if she’d left the TV on. She had been watching a twenty-four hour news station, though.

  She passed through the living area and went to her bedroom. The door was shut. There was no light escaping from underneath. Instead of entering the room, she went back into the living room, opened the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. She stayed close to the wall, turning only when she reached her bedroom. The curtains were pulled back. Nothing appeared disturbed. If someone were in there, they hid in the closet or the bathroom.

  With her gun still drawn, Clarissa reentered the apartment and stepped into the bedroom. She used a flashlight she had retrieved from a kitchen drawer to illuminate the space. In sections, she verified it was empty. Then she checked the bathroom, and finally the closet, using the flashlight to separate clothing while keeping the SIG aimed at chest level.

  She nearly squeezed the trigger when her cell phone rang from within her pocket. She answered, sounding out of breath. Her heart beat in her ears.

  “Did you make it home okay?”

  She paused, recognizing the voice. “Beck?”

  “Yes. Are you back home?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “If you want a ride tomorrow, meet me at the same time in the lobby.”

  Chapter 17

  At five o’clock in the morning Clarissa lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling. The orange glow of streetlights filtered in through the curtains. The longer she kept her eyes open, the brighter the room became.

  Sleep had not come easy the night before. With so many things to consider, Clarissa found herself wanting to run. That would be pointless, though. Eventually someone would find her. And the ending would not be pretty. Her best bet was to do as told, and relay everything she saw and heard.

  The thought that she was being set up crossed her mind a time or two. Not in the sense that someone was out to frame her for an act, but rather that the information she would pass on would be used for someone’s gain, whether financial or political. And there were four people she had to assume could benefit. Banner, Polanski, Beck and Sinclair.

  In her mind, it would take a lot to get Sinclair to turn. Perhaps not on her, but on his dedication to the Agency and the country. She questioned how well she knew the man, though. Perhaps he had lied to her all along. Everything up to this point could have been a set up. Training.

  Beck also confused her. She wanted to trust him, believe him, but the way he showed up everywhere left her uneasy.

  When it came to Banner and Polanski, the woman concerned Clarissa most. Of course, by the time she considered those two, she realized that it was all or none. If one was in this for gain, then all four were. They worked together.

  She waited in the lobby five minutes before Beck showed up. While waiting, she fixed the pin she had been given to her shirt an inch above her heart. Beck exited the elevator and motioned for her to follow him to the parking garage. There would be no timely curbside pick-up today.

  A half-dozen times she opened her mouth to say something, and a half-dozen times she closed her mouth without a word. Could he be trusted? Truthful? Until she had some idea of what was going on, she wouldn’t be able to tell.

  They parked in the Treasury Department parking garage and followed the same procedure as the previous day. Beck escorted her from the Secret Service’s office in the West Wing up a flight of stairs and then to the far end of the building.

  “McCormick’s not in yet,” Beck said. “When you see him, give him your name. He’s aware that you’ll be here.”

  “Beck?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What am I supposed to do for him?”

  Beck shrugged as if he hadn’t given it any thought. “Whatever he asks, I suppose.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Every
job she’d ever held, from working in a seedy bar, to the assignments Sinclair had sent her on, had always had a goal at the very least. She was not used to being told to wing it completely. Although, at times, she’d had to on her previous assignment.

  Beck walked away. His hard soles echoed off the tiled floor and faded as he descended the stairs. Presumably, he returned to the Secret Service office. Would he spend the rest of his day watching her? Someone had to be. There’d be no way they would leave a woman like her alone with one of the most powerful men on the planet.

  Looking around, she took a seat behind the empty desk. The chair was straight and rigid. She’d have to swap it out if the job required her to stay at the desk all day.

  With McCormick’s office behind her, she stared at the closed door of the Chief of Staff’s office. What went on inside the room? Her cheeks grew hot over her embarrassment of recalling little about how the government functioned. What if McCormick put her on the spot? She’d look like an idiot and was going to have to come up with a diversionary tactic to avoid any questioning. Of course, that assumed that the man would pay any attention to her.

  After an hour of sitting and staring, she straightened at the sound of several people approaching. The possibilities of who it was narrowed to two as the group neared. Two men in dark suits appeared. They fixed their stares on her. Behind them, she saw the vice president, flanked by two additional agents.

  “Name?” the man nearest her asked.

  “Clarissa Weston,” she said. “I’m filling in as Vice President McCormick’s assistant.”

  She couldn’t tell whether her answer satisfied the men. None of them had pulled their P229s. Perhaps she was in the clear.

  McCormick stepped forward. Standing a few feet away, she realized he was much larger than he appeared on television. She also understood why she never saw him close to the president. McCormick appeared to stand around six-and-a-half feet tall. Even if the president was above average height, the vice president would tower over him. Not only that, McCormick was younger and considerably more attractive. Not good when you are trying to look like the most powerful man in the free world.

  “About time they gave me a proper assistant.” McCormick looked down at her, smiling. He extended his hand. Clarissa noticed one of his security detail grimace at the gesture. McCormick nodded as Clarissa reached for his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Weston.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Come on into my office and I’ll fill you in on what I’m going to need from you.”

  Rising, she heard someone else approaching. One of his security detail turned. A dull ache washed over her stomach at the site of a fifth agent joining them. It was Jordan, the man who’d creeped her out the day before inside the main residence. She’d sensed the tension between Jordan and Beck, and it had left her with an uneasy feeling about the guy.

  Just a feeling, she reassured herself. The man would not be tasked with working inside the highest profile residence in the country, hell, the world, if he hadn’t been properly vetted first. He might not be the kind of person she wanted to associate with, but that did not put the guy in the same league as the bastards she routinely had to deal with while working with Sinclair.

  Jordan gave her a look, then fell into place with the rest of the detail. These guys looked as though they could handle anything. She figured they wouldn’t bat an eye if she removed her shirt. At least not with McCormick around.

  The vice president ignored Jordan. He walked to the first of two doors leading to his office, waiting for Clarissa to enter before moving to the next. It placed her uncomfortably close to him. His cologne was overbearing at the distance. She fought to keep from choking on the fumes. She hoped that it would fade as the morning progressed.

  The man stepped forward to the next door. His brown hair was lined with silver and had been cut perfectly, hanging a centimeter above his collar and sitting on top of his ear. She guessed his age to be forty, give or take a few years. He was still fresh-looking. By the end of the administration that would no longer be the case.

  The thick door swung open and McCormick stepped into his office. He didn’t look back. Clarissa assumed she should follow, so she did. McCormick continued around his desk and took a seat. He jutted his chin toward an empty chair opposite him, then looked down at his scheduling calendar. She had figured most people would use an electronic method of keeping track of their day.

  “This is the only way I know for sure,” McCormick said, glancing up with a smile. “My schedule. They change the damn digital one so often I don’t know what end’s up.”

  She returned his smile and said nothing.

  “You don’t want to hear about that, though. Let’s talk about why you’re here.”

  “I was hoping you could fill me in on that, sir.”

  “None of that sir, stuff. Call me Don.” He looked over her shoulder toward the door. “When we’re alone.”

  This time she didn’t smile. The tone of his voice left her wondering if she’d be calling out for help at any time.

  “I know the real reason you’re here, Clarissa.”

  Her heart beat against her chest. Consciously, she kept her breathing steady and fought against the burn in her cheeks.

  McCormick continued. “And I’m not happy about it.”

  Chapter 18

  Clarissa’s stomach knotted and her lungs deflated. No matter how hard she tried to suck air in through her mouth, it didn’t happen. She grew dizzy. Her heart could have broken a rib or two, it beat so hard. It felt as though she’d been hit in the gut. Here she was, alone with McCormick, and he knew why.

  Outwardly, she showed no signs of concern except for slight blushing. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop her cheeks from burning.

  McCormick didn’t take his gaze off her. He sat five feet away, stoic. It seemed as though minutes passed, but in reality it had only been seconds. He opened his mouth, looked away a brief second, then rose.

  She stiffened. He could have anything inside his desk, including a weapon that he could use on her. The Secret Service worked for him. They’d corroborate any story he told, especially without being in the office. Instinctively her gaze darted to the corners of the room in search for a camera. She saw bookshelves, framed pictures of McCormick with dignitaries from around the world, artwork, but no cameras. They were hidden if they existed.

  They had to, though. Right?

  McCormick lifted a hand, pointing his long index finger at her.

  “Look, I don’t know what they told you about me, but it’s not true. I’m a good man. I’ve never done any of those things the media accuses me of. I guess it doesn’t matter whether you believe me, because my wife does. And that’s all I really need.”

  The pressure on her head and chest and stomach lifted. She didn’t quite understand what McCormick was talking about, but it certainly had nothing to do with her being placed in the room by the Secret Service. Or maybe it did, but not in a threatening fashion. Clarissa didn’t know exactly why she was there. Could his suspicion be the purpose? She didn’t keep up on current events as well as she should, but somewhere in her mind she recalled an article or news report that claimed infidelity on McCormick’s part. She wondered if there had been additional complaints.

  McCormick continued. “I don’t know about Rhodes, but there are others in the party who are concerned about me rising to power over the next year or two. They think I’m a lock, and that scares the shit out of them. So if they think they can just send you in here and get me to do something stupid, then screw them.”

  “I never believe what I read in the papers, sir,” she said. “And I’ve got no idea what you are talking about right now. I’m here to assist you in any way that you need for the next few weeks until your regular assistant is back on the job.”

  McCormick leaned back, eyed her. “Why haven’t I ever seen you before?”

  “I was in England.”

  “Why?”

&nb
sp; “Because that’s where I worked.” She knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the question, and eventually she’d have to provide an answer. Hopefully by that point Beck could give her a solid story to use.

  McCormick smiled, looking past her toward the door as it opened. The bottom of it brushed against the carpet, making a whooshing sound. Clarissa half-turned her head and saw Jordan standing in the opening.

  “What is it?” McCormick asked.

  “We need to get moving.”

  “Why?”

  “Your meeting.”

  “That’s in half an hour.”

  “We have to take the long route.”

  McCormick’s eyebrows pinched together and his lips drew thin and tight. He nodded slowly, exhaled, and said, “You know best. We’ll be out in a minute.”

  The door shut, but didn’t latch. Clarissa studied the man opposite her, his concern making her worried. “What is it?”

  McCormick shook his head. “Routine precautions, that’s all. Hell, might even be a training thing for them. We’ll take a secure route over to the meeting at the Cannon HOB.” He looked like he was going to be sick while saying it.

  “What meeting?”

  “You sure you’re really my assistant?”

  Clarissa forced a smile. “First day on the job.”

  “We’re meeting with the House Republican Leadership.”

  “Bet that’s a fun one.”

  “Nothing is ever accomplished. They want what they want, and we don’t want to give it to them.”

  “And vice versa.”

  He had been moving things around on his desk and stopped after she spoke. “I suppose so. No matter what you think, or what you hear, we all want what’s best for this country.”

  Clarissa had a dozen things she could have said. Instead, she smiled. No point in upsetting the guy.

  They both rose and left the office, her in front. She felt naked without the P229, especially since they were leaving the relative safety of the White House. She assumed that the House Office Building would be safe, and they’d have their escort. Still, she worried over not being able to take care of herself.