Muddled in conspiracies and threats by every three-letter agency that existed, as well as committees and subcommittees of the House and Congress, Barry was exhausted by the alphabet soup and the pressure. He was standing on a catwalk that straddled two very large, boiling cauldrons. One wrong step, one more failure . . .
The US needed this assassin dealt with, yet they couldn’t touch this. Everyone on the Hill wanted answers about who had killed the kindly former vice president. So Barry had taken a risk. One he felt certain would pay for itself a hundred times over.
His phone rang. Barry snatched it from the cradle, spotting the caller ID. “Where have you been? They’re breathing fire down my neck! And you’re a day late.”
“And one rogue short.”
Barry fell against the desk. So Vaughn MacIver hadn’t secured the target. The former SEAL commander had a pristine record, a fierce one. He succeeded where few did. That was why Barry handpicked him. That was why Barry went forward with this desperate mission. “What went wrong?”
“He smelled us coming.”
“How did you let that happen?”
“He’s good, sir. And I expected that, but . . .”
“But what?”
“It’s just that I know this guy—not personally, but this type of soldier. Their instincts are razor-sharp. They get the job done no matter the cost or length of time it takes to complete the mission.”
“Yes, I thought you were that type of man, MacIver. That’s why I tapped you!”
“Tox Russell is in a league all his own. I can’t explain how he knew we were there. Most of the villagers didn’t know. He walked into the trap and shouldn’t have walked out, but the instant he entered, things changed.”
Barry cursed under his breath. When he had to come clean with all this, Hamer would eat him for lunch—and Galen would have the leftovers for dinner.
“I knew coming down here . . . that if he beat me,” MacI continued, “I’d come home in a box. Probably in pieces.”
Barry closed his eyes, willed the torrent of anger churning in his chest to stay behind the dam. He had to think. Had to plan.
“But I’m alive.”
“I’m not seeing this as a benefit.”
“It’s not,” MacI said. “It’s a warning.”
Hackles raised, Barry tilted his head. “Come again?”
“It’s a warning, sir. From him.”
Barry stilled, his mind racing.
“Next time, it’ll be on his terms. His game.”
Barry peered out his window overlooking the Mall.
“Tox Russell is coming, sir. He’s coming for you.”
3
— Day 2 —
Washington, DC
The view from the Truman balcony inspired Galen Russell, who sat facing the Washington Monument. Splendor and power were his. But they felt empty without his wife Brooke. She’d been at his side since his first run for Congress and his swift rise on the political tide that swept him right into the Oval Office. But then she’d died—murdered the month before the inauguration.
Voices pushed aside his solitude and thrust him into another busy working day. He glanced at his watch. “Ever punctual, Barry.” He lifted his coffee cup. “You can be late, you know. I won’t fire you.”
Hands in his pockets, Barry nodded and stood at the rail. “Sir, we need to talk.” The forty-three-year-old had grayed early, even though Barry had weathered the DC storm like a pro. In fact if it hadn’t been for his chief of staff, Galen probably wouldn’t have survived the insanity. Yet here he was—shaken.
“Barry.” Galen joined his chief of staff at the rail, bracing himself. “What’s wrong?”
Barry hung his head. “I’ve tried a million ways in my head to come at this, but I”—he huffed and tightened his lips—“I’m just going to come clean and tell you the truth.”
Galen tried to laugh, but it came out more air than laugh. “Good. I’d hope you’re always honest with me.”
“He’s alive.”
“Who’s alive? Lammers?”
“Tox.”
As if struck with a baseball bat, Galen jerked back. Images of a face, one not unlike his own but younger and more intense—raw and edged in fury—crowded his vision. “Cole? Wh–what do you mean?” Legs rubbery, he dropped into the chair. “How can he be alive?”
“What I need you to understand,” Barry began, his tone placating, “is that things were complicated. Messy.”
“Things were—” Another revelation whacked Galen over the head. “Wait a minute. You knew he was alive?”
Frustration or guilt, maybe both, pushed Barry’s hazel eyes down. “You were running for president. What happened, you had to be protected from it. You were told what you needed to know.”
Galen stiffened. “What I needed to know? I’m the president! I need to know everything.”
“No.” Chin tucked, Barry held his gaze resolutely through terse brows. “Not everything. Plausible denia—”
“Don’t. Don’t handle me.” His thoughts jammed with a million different scenarios, with the unbelievable, jarring truth that his brother hadn’t died in prison. Galen couldn’t think past it. Couldn’t process information. He wandered back inside, through the Yellow Oval Room to his private sitting room, seeking shelter. From what, he didn’t know. But he felt naked. Exposed. Everything he knew to be true suddenly became fluid and false. The man he’d trusted as his closest ally had kept a major truth from him. “Tell me. Everything.”
Hesitation thickened the air.
“My anger’s rising fast.”
With a sigh, Barry nodded. “Tox had an agreement. Do a job, leave the country, and nobody would bother him again.”
“An agreement with whom?”
“Department of Defense.”
Galen couldn’t shake the shock. “You told me he was dead.” The funeral. The memorial with—“My parents . . .” He’d never forget his mother’s raw, palpable grief that had infected the family for the last three years.
“That’s what everyone needed to believe. He did a mission, and—”
“What mission?” Galen turned to Barry. “What did you have him do?”
Long silences had become Barry’s trademark in the recent days.
“Barry,” he said in warning.
“Al-Homsi.”
Galen leaned forward. “Amir al-Homsi?” He recalled the news footage of the massacre . . . the roar that disturbed American-Syrian peace talks. His gut churned, imagining his brother— “Tox killed him?”
Why was he so surprised? His brother was an elite operator. Nausea roiled through Galen. If someone found out his own brother had killed al-Homsi . . . The DC machine had pegged al-Homsi as the rising star, catapulting him into the senate and priming him for a vicious run against Galen in the next election. “You realize what they’ll say when the media finds out?”
“Nobody will find out.”
“They will!”
“They won’t because Tox is dead as far as they know. And we’re keeping it that way.”
“They always find out, Barry. Look at my life!” He lifted a signed baseball from a credenza and fingered it. “They always do. Somehow.”
“He was a US soldier neutralizing a terrorist.”
“On US soil!” Galen threw the ball at the wall. His wicked curve made it narrowly miss Barry’s ear. “My brother killed a senator on American soil.” It didn’t matter that the citizenship of that particular American citizen was invalid, that his father was the head of a massive extremist cell in the Middle East. Al-Homsi had been a plant, groomed to take power and cripple America.
“Intel made it irrefutable that al-Homsi was a danger to our country.” Barry sighed. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”
“Which one? The one to kill an American citizen—”
“A phony American citizen.”
“To the people, he’s American. That’s how they’ll see it.” Galen bit back a curse and retrieved the
ball from the hole it’d created in the wall. “What a disaster.” He wiped his face, suddenly exhausted. All this time Barry had known. Had kept that secret. Had . . . “Did you put him on that mission?”
“I was your campaign—”
“No.” Galen flung around, pointed the ball straddled between two fingers at Barry. “No more lies. You knew about that mission, knew what Tox would do and that he’d disappear.”
Barry, a slick negotiator and skilled politician, held his gaze firmly. “Sir, I think we have more important things to worry about.”
So Barry had put Tox on the mission. Galen scoffed. “Like what? My re-election campaign—which is flagging—will collapse when this comes out.” He threw his arms wide, his pulse pounding against his temples. “What could be more important than me going down as a thug who murders potential opponents?”
“Killing al-Homsi wasn’t about you. It was about this country. Al-Homsi had plans—”
“I represent this country,” Galen snapped. “It was my—”
“Would you shut up and listen?” Eyes that normally remained placid stared back with a startling wildness.
Galen jerked straight. A hyper-focused beam suddenly seemed to shine on the man before him, slicing open weaknesses and flaws Galen had overlooked for too long. Alarms clanged against his already stoked panic. Why was he telling Galen this now? “Wait. What’s wrong?”
“I stirred a nest.”
“What nest? What do you mean?”
“We set a trap.” Barry pinched his mouth tight. “Laid fodder for Tox to believe Evie was kidnapped.”
“Evie?” The only light left in Galen’s world after Brooke’s death. Disbelief choked him. “You used my daughter?”
“It was the only way. We both know his triggers are family—”
“How? How did you use her?” Rage surged.
“We made him believe she was in danger.” He quickly shot up a staying hand. “She never was.”
“I would kill you myself if any harm came to her.” A thousand thoughts swirled through Galen’s mind, trying to slog through the quagmire his chief of staff had dumped on him. But it was a smart way to get to Tox. He didn’t give a rat’s behind about Galen or their father, but dangle Evie out there . . .
Mom. She would be beside herself to know her hot-headed son was alive. “So . . . you have him?” Temptation to look around the room, straining for voices in the hall, tugged at him.
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We set the trap.” Barry shrugged. “He came. Just like we knew he would.”
“But he got away.” The possibilities of what happened in that engagement with his brother seemed infinite.
Nodding, Barry scowled, his knotted brow hovering protectively over a dark secret. “I think we ticked him off.”
“You’ve ticked me off.” But there was something . . . something his chief of staff wasn’t saying. “I can’t believe my brother agreed to kill al-Homsi, leave the country.” Galen shook his head. “That violates every code of conduct and moral—” He stopped. Locked gazes with Barry. “What did you promise him?”
“His freedom.”
Galen snorted. “Cole? No way. He had his head so far up his backside with that stupid military code of honor of his, he wouldn’t care what happened to him.”
Barry shifted. “It was for his team.”
That Galen could believe.
“We wiped the slates clean for the men with him at Kafr al-Ayn, declared Tox dead, and he would never be heard from again.”
Galen felt sick. “He was a legend, Barry. You knew that.”
“He’s been out of commission for the last three years.”
“No.” Galen snickered. “That would be true if he had really been dead. But he’s been hiding, and I’d wager honing those skills.” He returned the signed baseball to the credenza and stood behind his desk. “You can take the dog out of the fight, but you’ll never take combat out of Tox’s veins.” Rubbing his jaw, he slumped into his leather chair. “Your trap blew up in your face. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
Barry again broke eye contact.
“You idiot.” Galen huffed, shaking his head. “Tox has that name for a reason—he’s toxic. To everyone around him.”
“As you said—a legend. And we need that legend.”
“What was it this time? The news conference—”
“To respond to Ambassador Lammers’s murder.”
Revelation coursed through Galen. He eyed his friend for a long time, still angry that he’d kept such a colossal secret. He’d read the intel report on the ambassador. “Tox is the man you were bringing in for the black bag.”
Barry nodded. “Word came down that the US could not be implicated—as you know—so in an effort to protect you and this administration, it seemed best to use someone already dead, someone familiar with the terrain of assassins. Lammers was a warning. A warning to anyone thinking about working with you, sir. Against our allies.” Barry’s chest heaved and he let out a long breath. “We needed Tox’s skills to stop this. We needed him.”
“And you tried to trap a wild animal, and that animal outfoxed you.” Thoughts swirled and coalesced into one sharp dagger. “You used Evie and now you think he’s coming here.”
Barry nodded.
Galen turned away, trying to put distance between himself and Barry. Between himself and this nightmare. Tox. Alive. Why couldn’t it be Brooke who was really alive? Evie would—
“Evie.” A crazed panic stabbed him. He lifted his phone and dialed. The call went to voicemail. His gaze sprang to Barry’s as he hit redial. Same thing. “She’s not answering.” What if something really had happened to her? “If my daughter is in danger because of this—”
“He wouldn’t. Tox may be deadly, but his core values won’t allow him to hurt you—”
“You just admitted he acted as your assassin once already. Obviously his core values can be compromised when the triggers are right.”
Down the hall, a door clicked open.
Galen rushed into the long, narrow corridor of the second-floor residence. Evie trouped toward him with two Secret Service agents. Relief and anger collided, exploding through his veins. “Why didn’t you answer my call?”
Evie scowled. “Because I was two minutes from seeing your face?”
“When I call, you answer.” Calm down. Calm down.
She grunted. “I will be so glad when I’m on that plane headed to London in five days and”—she checked her oversized watch—“four hours, thirty-three—two minutes.” Her phone chirruped. She frowned as she looked at the screen. Then frowned deeper. “What the . . . ?”
“Language,” Galen warned.
But her face had gone pale. Her eyes confused, tormented. “I got a text.”
“You get hundreds every day.”
She looked at him, her lips parting, quivering. “But not from a dead uncle.”
Galen snatched the phone. Bile shot up his throat at the words: SEE YOU SOON.—UNCLE COLE
****
Look for Conspiracy of Silence by Ronie Kendig, available December 2016 at your favorite bookstore or by visiting www.bethanyhouse.com.
About the Author
Ronie Kendig is an award-winning, bestselling author who grew up an army brat. She’s penned over a dozen novels, including THE QUIET PROFESSIONALS series and the BREED APART series. She and her hunky hero hubby have a fun, crazy life with their children, a Maltese Menace, and a retired military working dog in Northern Virginia.
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook Website: www.bethanyhouse.com
Facebook: Bethany House Twitter: @Bethany House
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