by L. T. Ryan
Jordan watched McCormick until the vice president looked away, then he cut his stare toward Clarissa and smiled. She couldn’t place it, but something about the man disgusted her. She continued forward, staying a few paces behind McCormick. Though there was an exit next to his office, they turned and headed toward the main residence. Outside the Cabinet Room they descended a flight of stairs. From there they went into the Secret Service office, entering the tunnels Clarissa had used.
The purpose, she figured, was because they wanted as little time exposed as possible. The vice president’s schedule was not made public, although there were things that occurred quite often. The way she understood it, they’d have the meetings in different places to throw off those that might be making plans.
No one spoke during their walk. Everyone moved with purpose. They took a different route than she had earlier, and she wondered where they were going. Perhaps they had an underground network that led from the White House to the House of Representatives building, and other places. After all, everything was within a mile or two. Some faces had to be seen in public. Others did not.
Her thoughts were proven correct ten minutes into their walk. Five minutes after that, they emerged into what she presumed was a deliberately empty office inside the Cannon House Office Building. Clarissa was instructed to wait with Jordan while McCormick conducted his meeting. What was her purpose, she wondered, if she couldn’t be involved in the meeting? Did any of the Representatives’ aides join them? She had no idea how she was going to win enough of McCormick’s trust to find out whatever it was that Beck, Polanski and Banner wanted her to find out.
In the narrow hallway off the main atrium there was no avoiding Jordan’s stare. She waited until the sounds of chatter and passing footsteps died down.
“What?”
He shrugged and said nothing.
“Then quit staring at me.”
He laughed at this. “Or what?”
Were they at recess in the schoolyard? Clarissa shook her head and stared down the hallway. Let him stare, she thought. She only had to put up with it for a few weeks. She’d never see the guy again after that.
“Who are you?” Jordan said after a few minutes of silence.
She shrugged and said nothing.
“Why were you with Beck?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Jordan pushed off the wall and took a few steps toward her. “I did, but he didn’t tell me anything.”
“Not my problem.”
Jordan rubbed his chin. “Just kind of odd, you know. Normally, we’re informed well ahead of time. But in this instance, they sprung you on us.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back into the wall. “Take it up with your management, I guess. I’m only doing what I was asked to do, fill in for a woman on maternity leave. Surely you guys had to know someone was coming.”
Standing in the middle of the hall, hands at his side, Jordan looked down at her. In any other scenario, Clarissa would have readied herself for an attack. But here and now? That wasn’t going to happen. If she ran into the man on the street, though, she’d have to be prepared to strike first and fast.
Whether Jordan kept up his staring act, Clarissa wasn’t sure. She spent the remainder of the time staring at her phone and pretending to text. In reality she did nothing with it other than swipe through screens and catch up on the news, which left her feeling depressed more than anything else. He left for a few minutes, disappearing down another corridor, then returned without speaking a word to her.
The doors next to her opened. Jordan straightened up. Two agents stepped out. McCormick’s voice boomed as he said goodbye to the House Republican leadership. He appeared a few moments later. He glanced down at her.
“Let’s get some lunch,” he said.
“Sir, we should get you back to the office,” Jordan said.
McCormick waved him off. “Get a car out front.”
One of the agents left, presumably going for the car. Clarissa wondered if they had reserves at every building.
They walked through the HOB, Clarissa next to McCormick, the both of them surrounded by the team of Secret Service agents. Where would they exit? Not through the front, she thought. Too easy to be spotted. Her sense of direction was mixed up, and it wasn’t until they exited the building at the corner of New Jersey and C Street that she regained her bearings. Looking out over the street, something caught her attention. An object or reflection or something from the top floor of the building across the street.
And then the shots rang out and her body hit the ground.
Chapter 19
“He’s been hit! He’s been hit!”
The words passed through Clarissa’s mind like molasses traveling up a tree. Her shoulder stung. So did the side of her face. She felt warmness spreading across her cheek. Her mouth tasted like copper. She traced her tongue across her teeth. They were all there. But her bottom lip had hit the concrete and was, at the very least, cut. Maybe split.
She didn’t recall any pain when she heard the shots. Someone hit her and drove her into the ground. That person lay on top of her now. A human shield, she presumed. She opened her eyes to blinding light. Her sunglasses laid on the ground a foot or two away from her face. Her left arm was pinned and she was unable to free it. She wanted to scream out. Jordan yelled first.
“McCormick’s down. Two shots. Get the damn car here now.”
Clarissa maneuvered her head to get a look at the vice president. He lay with his back to her. A crimson pool formed around his head. It didn’t look like his chest rose. She recalled stepping out of the building, the soles of her shoes hitting the concrete sidewalk. The sun reflected against the building behind her, warming the back of her head. She had turned her head right, looking up New Jersey. Then left, down New Jersey the other way, then up and down C Street. There hadn’t been anyone waiting for them. Where was the car? Why hadn’t it been outside?
The roar of a large engine approached, drowning out Jordan’s voice. Brakes squealed. The scent of rubber and asphalt and her own blood filled her nose. The weight on her back lessened. She felt someone’s breath on her face.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded and said, “Yeah,” but her words were garbled.
The man rose off her. She felt his hands reach under her arms, and he pulled her to her feet. Her head spun. The blood that had pooled in the back of her mouth and throat choked her. She coughed, then spat red onto the sidewalk.
A crowd gathered across the street. Sirens approached from all directions. The oldest of the agents opened the back door. The one who pulled her up shoved her in the car. He joined the rest who lifted McCormick and placed him inside, laying him on the floor. Two of the agents gave him CPR.
Jordan seated himself across from her, staring. He did not smile now. Blood covered the sleeves of his white shirt. He no longer wore his jacket. She didn’t see it on the seat next to him. She glanced over her shoulder and saw it bunched up on the sidewalk. She turned back around. McCormick’s vacant eyes stared up at her. So did Jordan. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he sat down.
And she knew why.
She was the odd number here. They’d all been placed and swore an oath to protect the men they served. But Clarissa, who had been sitting in the hall tapping away at her phone, was not one of them. The expression on Jordan’s face only served to cement the idea in Clarissa’s head. He blamed her, and it wouldn’t be long until he pushed that thought up his chain of command.
Clarissa’s mind went from trying to figure out what had happened and into survival mode. She considered opening the door and jumping out. Then what, though? They knew where she lived and most likely knew where she’d run. Not only would they be after her, so would the FBI, Sinclair, the NSA, and a half-dozen agencies most people hadn’t ever heard of.
Before she could come to a decision, the car stopped. She glanced at the figures standing next to the passenger side of t
he car. They were dressed in scrubs, and she saw a gurney behind them. The door swung open. The agents in the car assisted with moving McCormick from the vehicle to the waiting gurney. The lead doctor began barking orders. He looked the most senior there with tufts of silver hair poking out from under his cap. There would be no delay. They were taking McCormick straight to surgery.
Clarissa slid across her seat to join the four agents standing next to the car.
“Don’t move another inch.”
She looked in Jordan’s direction. He had his SIG out and aimed in her direction.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I could say the same to you,” he said. “Or, better yet, what did you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“How did anyone know that McCormick was there?”
She said nothing.
“Give me your phone.”
She didn’t move.
“Now,” he shouted.
One of the men outside the car looked back. She thought he was going to help. Instead he slammed the door shut. The driver had exited the vehicle. Clarissa found herself alone with Jordan. She clutched the phone tight in her hand. The only thing Jordan had was his weapon, and he wouldn’t use it on her. Not here.
He held out his free hand and repeated his request.
“Screw you,” she said. “Take me back to Beck.”
Jordan rapped against the passenger side window with his knuckles. The door flung open. One man leaned in. Another stood close to him.
“Take it from her,” Jordan said.
Clarissa lunged to the other side of the vehicle, but with nowhere to go, the men overtook her and pried her phone from her hands. As they let up, she heard another vehicle pull up beside them. The door next to her was flung open. Someone reached in and grabbed her by her arms. She didn’t get a good look at them. They said nothing as they pulled her hands behind her back and held her wrists in place. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to see a reflection in the window her face was mashed up against.
“I’ve got her phone here,” Jordan said.
“Want to ride with me?” a man asked. She didn’t recognize the voice.
“Sure,” Jordan said.
“Help me get her in back.”
She was yanked back, and Jordan pulled the door open. As the man behind her pushed her forward, Jordan grabbed the back of her head and forced it down. She flew into the back seat, face first. The door slammed shut. She managed to get her foot in at the last moment. The back of the car was dark. The windows were heavily tinted. There was a mirrored barrier window between the front and back seats. The glass was smoky. She saw a ghost of her own reflection staring back.
The car pulled away from the hospital and whipped around a corner, causing her to slide across the seat until the door stopped her. Through the tinted window, she kept track of the streets as they drove past. It seemed that they drove in the direction of the White House. A few blocks short, they turned again, headed toward Virginia. Her mind raced in an attempt to determine their next stop.
The Pentagon? The Secret Service office in Northern Virginia? Langley?
The Potomac looked like black ice as they drove over it. From there, she estimated another five to ten minutes until they reached their destination. What would happen there was anyone’s guess. She couldn’t help feeling as though she was a prisoner. Thirty minutes passed and they were still driving. They’d exited the highway several minutes prior. The roads here were deserted and lined with trees. The only other military or government instillation she could place at this distance from D.C. was Fort Belvoir, and the Secret Service had nothing to do with the base.
Clarissa’s mind went to the place she had been avoiding since she left the plane in Boston. Tears spilled down her cheeks at the thought of what was coming next. They were taking her to a place where there would be no record left behind.
Chapter 20
The car turned onto the remnants of a dirt and gravel driveway tucked between several tall pines. The vehicle bucked and swayed, rolling slowly and crunching the ground underneath. She pressed her face to the window to get a view of what laid ahead. The glass felt cold against her cheek. All she saw were trees.
The brakes made a high-pitched sound as the car came to a stop. She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. In a way, her breakdown minutes before had helped to ease her tension. She couldn’t stop them from whatever action they were about to take. But she could defend herself. And to do so, she had to have a clear head.
The partition between her and the two agents lowered. The first thing she saw was Jordan’s pistol pointing at her. He peered at her from behind it, facing her, perhaps with one knee on his seat. The man driving the car opened his door and stepped out. Through her window, she watched him draw his P229 and hold it at his side. He’d lowered his window prior to stepping out, presumably to monitor what happened inside the vehicle.
“This is how this is going to work,” Jordan said. “You’re going to turn in your seat so that your back faces the door. Then you’re going to place your hands behind your back, interlocking your fingers. When my partner opens the door, slide back until he tells you to stop. He’ll place a pair of handcuffs on you, then escort you inside the house.”
She looked past Jordan at the unassuming building behind him. The wood siding hung off in clumps. The porch sagged in the middle and one corner was gone. The supports were crooked. She saw a hole in the roof and wondered how many squirrels and raccoons and possums lived in the attic.
Jordan gestured with his gun. She turned in her seat and placed her hands behind her back as instructed. With her thumbs she traced the section of her pants where her pistol would have been. If only she’d questioned the decision for her to remain unarmed.
The door behind her opened. A gust of cool wind blew in, lifting her short hair off her ears and forehead. She caught the scent of mildew and dead leaves.
“Slide back,” the man said.
She did as instructed until reaching a spot where his outstretched fingers poked her like twigs. With one hand he grabbed her right wrist. She bit her lip to keep from acknowledging the pain his grip caused her. The cold steel wrapped around one wrist, then the other, effectively entombing her. This was not the plan she needed to hatch. There’s still the walk, she thought. In the open, a new set of rules came into play.
Secured by handcuffs, the man pulled her back by her collar. She did not resist, gliding across the seat until it no longer supported her. She twisted her body so she landed on the ground on her left side. If something had to break, it was better it be on her non-dominant side. The wind momentarily left her lungs. By the time the man pulled her from the ground, she managed to pull in a small amount of oxygen.
Something cold covered her cheek. She twisted while being pushed and caught a glimpse of herself on the car’s windows. There must have been a puddle where she hit the ground, because the side of her face, shoulder, and part of her shirt were covered with mud.
Jordan exited the vehicle and made his way to the front while facing her with his weapon drawn and aimed. He glanced from her to a spot past her right shoulder, giving away the location of his partner.
She glanced around, looking for an escape route. With Jordan at the front of the vehicle, running behind it was the most logical plan. But she couldn’t look back without giving away her intentions. The shock of the situation interfered with her reasoning and memory. She couldn’t recall what the area had looked like when they arrived.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jordan said. “I’ll shoot. Maybe I hit you, maybe I don’t. But don’t think I won’t because I’m afraid of hitting Cooley. We show up to work every day prepared to die.”
Clarissa tensed and straightened. The cuffs tightened as her arms pulled away from each other. Cooley’s hand hit the middle of her back, propelling her forward. She stumbled, caught herself, and began walking toward Jordan. He back
ed up, never taking his stare or weapon off her. Instead of the men leading her to the house, they moved to the left of it. Jordan waited for them to reach him, then they continued on, with him maintaining a distance of six feet from Clarissa. It was obvious they were treating her as a threat. One they knew little about.
One they were wise to distrust.
Behind the house was a clearing twenty feet deep. The ground was littered with red and yellow and brown leaves. The trees were thick beyond the yard. Clarissa couldn’t tell how far back they went before reaching a road.
They positioned her so she stared at the woods. She heard a lock clink, then a chain dragged through something metal. When they turned her around, she stared into a dark opening where wide cellar doors had been moments before.
Cooley holstered his weapon on his left. He grabbed her by her left elbow, leading her toward and down the cellar stairs. With her hands behind her back, and his weapon on the other side of his wide frame, she had little chance of taking his weapon. She could throw her body and send both of them careening down the steps. But with six to go, she risked injuring them both with little chance for gain on her part.
The cellar doors closed, blocking the bright sunlight. Jordan came down the steps behind her. Her eyes adjusted to a yellow flood of light from bulbs inside wire cages mounted to the ceiling. The area in front of her was small and square. A splintered wooden door sat in the middle of the far wall. It didn’t look like anything that would keep anyone out. Jordan passed her and crossed the room. He used his body to shield his actions from view. A moment later he stepped back and pulled the door open.
Cooley started forward, pulling her with him. She stepped into a room that looked nothing like the surrounding property. It felt like walking into a tin can, a roomy one. There wasn’t much in there. A desk in one corner with a laptop computer. A steel table mounted to the floor filled up the center of the room. There was an eyebolt on one end of the table, and one on the floor below it. It didn’t take a stretch of her imagination that those were used to secure a prisoner.
