“So what do you want to do?” Ned asked. “Which one do you want to follow?”
* * *
Abrianna felt eyes on the back of her neck as she marched toward the bus station. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t detect anyone in the crowd paying her any attention. She turned back around, told herself that she was imagining things. But the feeling returned, and before long, she was turning around every third step.
Deciding to change direction, she dashed across the street, but halfway across, she heard, “Abrianna.”
She jumped, spun.
A horn blew a fraction of a second before the front end of a car plowed into her. She bounced onto its hood, smashed into the windshield, and then rolled off and hit pavement, where she lay, knocked out cold.
* * *
Kadir sprung up from his cot, panicked and disoriented. Heart racing, he looked around his cramped cell with a desperate need to do something. On his feet, he rushed the metal bars, yelling, “Hey! Guard! I need to make a phone call! Hey!”
Inmates in the surrounding jail cells snickered. “Oooh. He needs to make a phone call.”
“Hey!” Kadir shouted, banged on the bar until an angry line of guards in riot gear storm-trooped toward him.
Kadir’s hands came up in surrender. “I don’t mean any trouble,” Kadir said. “I need to make a phone call. I think my girl is in trouble.”
More laughter.
The guards made an intimidating line in front of his door.
“Really, guys. I need to make a call.”
“Open cell C-165!”
“Guys . . .”
A buzzer echoed throughout C-block. When the bars slid open, the aggressive guards charged inside the small space, clubs swinging. Kadir went down on the third strike. From the concrete floor, he attempted to protect himself, but after a dozen blows, he was knocked out cold.
27
The private and prestigious Lynnwood Club in Fairfax, Virginia, was the playground of Washington’s political and financial elite who were bored with more conventional sports and couldn’t resist indulging in their most deviant desires.
Cargill Parker, president of the Lynnwood Club, welcomed an old business associate in his private quarters on the top floor of his lavish club. He was dressed in a burgundy and black brocade robe with a monogramed P stitched on the left breast pocket. In his hands, he carried two brandy snifters, with the same calligraphy letter in the center. “Mr. Jeffreys.”
Zeke accepted the offered brandy. “Thank you, Mr. Parker. I appreciate you taking this meeting on such short notice.”
“You have information about my daughter?” he asked, moving toward a mahogany secretary.
“Yes. I have to apologize for my ignorance. I’ve known Abrianna for a couple of years. I had no idea that she was your daughter until I happened to see you on a news clip the other day.”
“Well, it’s not like there is a strong family resemblance, so I can see why my pale skin could have thrown you off,” Cargill joked. “She’s my adopted daughter.”
“Yes, sir. Still. Seeing how long we’ve done business together, I feel some kind of way about it.”
A corner of Cargill’s lips hitched higher than the other. “If you’re seeking forgiveness, then you have it.” He opened a top drawer on the secretary. “Cigar?”
“Uh, no, sir. That’s won’t be necessary.”
“Are you sure? Montecristo Number Two, the best.”
Zeke caved. “I guess one wouldn’t hurt.”
“Excellent.” Cargill waltzed back over and offered the box of cigars to Zeke.
“Thank you,” Zeke said, taking the cutter and then accepting the small blaze of fire from Cargill’s monogrammed lighter.
Zeke found the older gentleman’s calm demeanor unsettling, and even though not much in this world scared him, there was something about Cargill’s calculating green eyes that creeped him the hell out, too. He also knew what kind of sick bastard the billionaire playboy was behind closed doors. It wasn’t hard to guess why Abrianna had run away from home.
Cargill sighed after exhausting the small talk. “So. Where is my daughter?”
“Currently, I . . . don’t know.”
Cargill transformed into white marble before Zeke’s eyes.
“But . . . she was at my place a couple of weeks ago,” Zeke added. “An uninvited guest, but she was there.”
Cargill’s interest returned. “Oh?”
“Yes. I, uh, don’t want to dance around the subject, but you do know the type of business that I’m in and, like I said, had I known that you were her father, I would have brought this information to you sooner.”
“Are you trying to tell me that my daughter was in your employ?”
“I, uh, yes, sir.” Zeke swallowed and waited for the man’s reaction. To his surprise, the older gentleman smiled and sipped his brandy.
“And how was she?”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who doesn’t test the product before putting it out on the market. I’m asking whether you found my beautiful daughter up to snuff. I’d be disappointed if she or any of her training had fallen by the wayside.”
This cold muthafucka here. Zeke toked on his cigar and, after blowing out a thick toxic cloud, he answered, “I unfortunately hadn’t had the pleasure of testing the new product. She’d only been in my employ for one night.”
“Ah. So she was working for you the night the congressman was killed? Your name was missing in the paper.”
Zeke didn’t respond.
“Okay. So you don’t know where Abrianna is now?”
“No. But I’m fairly confident that I can find her.”
“Oh?”
“I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
“And since you’re here, what is it that you want from me?” Cargill asked.
“I need to know if there’s a reward.”
Cargill smiled. “Absolutely.”
28
Abrianna woke to sirens ringing in her ears. Pain was the second thing that she noticed. Her body drowned in it. She wanted to cry out, but she couldn’t get her lungs to expand for enough air. What the hell happened?
“She’s waking up,” someone said above her.
“Hey, lady. Are you all right?” a man asked.
“What kind of question is that?” a woman snapped. “Did you see how hard that Mercedes hit her? It’s amazing that she’s still alive.”
At the woman’s words, Abrianna recalled the car horn as well as someone calling her name—only it seemed like it was in her head rather than on the street. That didn’t make sense. She closed her eyes again and fell through a vortex of pain. Before she knew it, she was roasting in unrelenting heat. Her head filled with Avery’s maniacal laughter. She wrestled to get away, but she was spinning over a flame that scorched her inside and out. Sanity was a distant memory, and torture became her master.
When she woke again, she was lying in the back of an ambulance, a mask strapped across her face, but whatever was streaming through, it wasn’t oxygen. The people hovering above her were dressed like EMTs, but something was wrong.
Get up! Abrianna attempted to move and drew the attention of the two attendants.
“Relax, Ms. Parker. Everything is going to be all right,” one man said, pressing her back down on the gurney. “You were in a bad accident, and we’re going to get you to the hospital.”
“No.” She shook her head and tried to push back, but she was weak, hot.
“We’re going to need something stronger,” he told the other attendant.
“No.” Abrianna went to rip the mask off, but her arms were strapped down. What the fuck? With as much strength as she could muster, she yanked her right arm and ripped it out of the leather band.
“Fuck!” The guy went to hold her right arm down when she yanked her left one free.
“Hurry with that injection!”
“No, no, no,” Abrianna
repeated, but she doubted if they heard her through the mask.
The female handed over a huge syringe. “Here you go.”
Abrianna’s eyes widened. The image of another syringe in the hands of a madman flashed in her head. Terror seized her, renewing her push to get up.
“She’s fucking strong! Help me hold her down so I can inject this shit.”
The female attendant leaped to take hold of her arms.
Abrianna glared at the dripping needle as it came closer to her arm. A scream ripped from her throat.
The male attendant roared as he stabbed his own right eye and the female flew back and crashed against the back door. Before Abrianna could stop screaming, there was a loud bang. The van swerved wildly, tossing Abrianna off the gurney. She crashed among the medical equipment. There was no time to get to her feet before the vehicle rolled. The interior light went out. She attempted to latch on to something—anything—but nothing was anchored. It was like being inside of a human dryer, around and around. It went on for forever, and when it stopped, it still felt like it was rolling.
The silence lasted only for a few seconds before gunfire rattled off outside of the van.
What the fuck? Abrianna sluggishly pulled herself up, rummaged around in the dark, trying to figure out which way was up. All the while, the gunfire sounded close. Gun. She patted herself down to see if she still had it. She did. The Tiffany blue .45, it was still holstered at her back. Heart pounding, she started to move. Two steps in, she tripped over the male attendant and cut her hand on something.
In the midst of the gunfire, a hammering on the vehicle came from her right.
“Bree! Are you in there?”
She froze. “Ghost?”
More gunfire.
“Bree!” The door wrenched open, and it was Ghost looking like a giant merchant soldier in body armor and rocking an assault weapon.
“In here,” Abrianna said, relieved to see the big lug. “What the hell is going on?”
“Can you move?” He climbed into the bed of the van, turning on a powerful light clipped to the side of some sort of eyewear. It was enough light to make out the two bodies sprawled across the roof of the van.
Ghost grimaced at the guy with the hypodermic needle in his eye. “Goddamn.”
“Fuck him,” Abrianna said, accepting Ghost’s hand to make her way over to him and then hop out of the van. She was instantly surrounded by Ghost’s crew. “I don’t understand what’s going on or what you’re doing here.”
“What does it look like? We’re rescuing you. The question is what in the hell does T4S want with you?”
“Yo, Ghost,” Roger yelled from the top of the hill. “I’m picking up traffic on reinforcements. We have to get out of here, man.”
“Got it.” He grabbed Abrianna’s arm. “Can you climb?”
“I-I think so.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
They took off up the hill.
Pain ricocheted throughout Abrianna’s body as she attacked the steep incline. Sweat streamed from her scalp to her rubbery legs, gluing her clothes to her body. Her heartbeat and breathing drowned out every other sound around them. Despite being on the verge of what had to be a heart attack, she willed herself to keep pace with Ghost.
Near the top of the hill, a loud buzzing swept across the back of her skull. Abrianna glanced over her shoulder and back down at the overturned ambulance to see a guy taking aim at them from the window of the overturned van. On instinct, she spun, firing off her blue .45. Her first bullet missed her mark by millimeters, but the second and third bullet exploded the gunman’s head and pitched him backward to slump into the cab.
“Nice fucking shooting,” Ghost praised, having spun around too late so he was left without a target.
“Boss!”
“We’re coming,” Ghost yelled. “C’mon.”
They hustled to the top of the hill, where Abrianna took in the carnage of dead bodies in black littered on the street and hanging out of square-shaped utility vehicles.
“This way,” Ghost ordered, racing toward an open-doored van.
Once they dove inside, Wendell stomped on the accelerator and burned rubber with the doors swinging.
29
Nervous, Tomi settled into the guest chair of her favorite evening cable show, The Filibuster with Joy Walton. Joy was an old school, hard-hitting journalist who regularly made news by pinning politicians down and knocking them off talking points. People either loved or hated her, and Joy didn’t care which side of the pendulum you were on.
“And we’re back,” Joy told her audience. “Joining us this evening is Washington Post reporter Tomi Lehane. Her blockbuster story has not just the country talking, but the whole world. The President of the United States and the chief justice colluded to murder the House speaker of the United States. Congratulations and welcome to the show.”
“Thank you. I’m happy to be here.”
“Where to begin?” Joy laughed. “First, how did you land this incredible story?”
“Actually, it was plain . . . luck. Abrianna Parker reached out to me.”
“Luck? You’re being modest, aren’t you? You and Ms. Parker do share a history.”
Tomi sighed. “Yes. But as you also know, Abrianna and I hadn’t seen each other in years . . . so it’s simply that I was the only reporter she knew.”
“Well, I’ve read the article, seen the pictures, and listened to the recorded confession online; the one question that I’m dying to know the answer to is when the public will get to meet this mysterious Abrianna Parker?”
“Ahh. That’s a good question,” Tomi admitted.
“Do you have an answer?”
“Yes. Soon.”
* * *
The Bunker
Abrianna sat alone in the bunker’s break room while Ghost and his crew gathered in the armory room, undoubtedly discussing whether they believed her not knowing why T4S, a powerful paramilitary force, had ordered her extraction in broad daylight. She did take exception to the word extraction. Last time she checked, hitting someone at full speed would meet any justice department’s legal definition of attempted murder.
She kept replaying the scene in her head, or at least what she remembered. It frustrated her because she couldn’t pinpoint anything other than her being paranoid before foolishly dashing across a busy street. The rest of it she didn’t understand herself.
She pressed a hand against her forehead and sighed. It was no longer scorching hot, and her brain didn’t feel like it was turning into scrambled eggs.
Abrianna heard Ghost’s distinctive heavy footstep slap against the concrete floor. She straightened up in the tacky orange plastic chair and swept her curtain of sweat-drenched hair back from her face.
Ghost entered the room and stopped.
She waited with the back of her head buzzing, but she refused to turn around and face him.
At long last, Ghost moved from the door and over to the counter. “Care for some coffee?” He opened the cabinet and removed a red can of Folgers.
“No. But I could use some water.”
He nodded and shifted direction to the refrigerator. “Here you go.” He set the bottled water in front of her and returned to the coffeemaker.
Abrianna waited, but he was in no hurry to start the conversation. She snatched up the water and twisted off the cap.
When she was in the middle of chugging, he said, “There’s a lot of shit that isn’t adding up.”
Instead of commenting, Abrianna drained the rest of the bottle and then smothered a belch behind her hand.
Ghost turned with an arched brow.
“Excuse me,” she demurred, grinning.
He shook his head and poured coffee into his “Ghost in the machine”–inscribed mug before joining her at the table. “T4S is a private paramilitary security firm,” he began. “They get to do all the fun things that the Constitution won’t allow the federal government to do. They are part intelligence and
part private military with black budgets that could fund several countries. You follow me?”
“So far.”
“My, uh, guys and I here are dedicated to exposing the real police state that the western world hides in plain sight. That means monitoring firms like T4S while slinking beneath the grid.” He paused long enough to taste and savor his first sip of coffee. “The best way that we keep tabs on what happens is that we, as you know, float in and out of their complex systems without detection. I’m one of the best, hence my name.” He pointed to his mug again.
“Ghost in the machine.” She smirked.
“Right. So imagine my surprise this afternoon when you were mentioned by name, which is inexplicably bizarre and something that I’ve never seen them be so sloppy to do.”
She sat staring at him, wondering if she’d missed a question in there somewhere. To be safe, she shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You know what I can’t figure out about you?”
“What?”
He cocked his head. “You sure do heal fast.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I’ve known you for what? A month and some change? And in that time you’ve been shot, hit by a speeding car, and tumbled down an embankment in the back of a fake ambulance, and look at you. Besides being a bit sweaty, you’re the picture of health.”
She stared back at him.
“You don’t find that odd?”
“Trust me. I don’t feel like the picture of health. Far from it.”
Silence drifted between them.
“Kadir asked me something a few weeks ago.”
She lifted a brow.
“He asked me what I knew about telekinesis. Do you know what that is?”
Abrianna sipped her water, not answering.
Ghost continued. “It’s the ability to move objects through mind power. Still not ringing any bells?”
At her continued silence, he went on. “Kadir also said that at that party you guys crashed, you slammed a man against the side the house without laying a finger on him. Do you remember that?”
“This is nonsense,” she protested, shaking her head.
Collusion Page 14
