Control: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 38)

by Robert J. Crane

  “She moved before the shot!” Phinneus drew a bead on another target, a Secret Service agent on top of the nearest hangar. Slow pull on the trigger...

  Boom. The agent dropped his rifle and hung over the edge of the building.

  Now...about that president...

  Phinneus brought his scope back down. Nealon had dropped, taking Gondry down with her, behind the press corps, but those little cowardly ferrets were scattering now, fleeing in all directions or just plain hitting the tarmac. Where was...?

  Ah-hah.

  He drew the crosshairs up, putting them on his target, and...

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Sienna

  The cover I'd chosen when taking the president down in my tackle was one of necessity – the press corps. We were standing in the middle of a damned tarmac, empty space and concrete all there was for a hundred yards in either direction laterally, and it was twenty or so behind me to the nearest hangar.

  Whoever the sniper was, they were to my left, at the far end of the runway. If I could get the president behind one of the hangars – or in a hangar – we'd be under cover and their game would be over.

  My strategy formed in my head before three seconds had passed. I was laying atop the president, sheltering him under my body. Two Secret Service agents were shouting around me, tugging on my arms, trying to get me up.

  A warm spatter of liquid splashed across the back of my neck, and I knew what had happened even before the Secret Service agent dropped on my legs. The sniper had got him.

  “Time to move, sir,” I said, kicking the agent's body off my legs. The press corps was scattering like a bunch of seagulls under the gunfire, which was a smart move. Bullets were indifferent to their target, after all, hitting whatever got in their way. I had dropped Gondry behind the press because they were the only thing between him and the wide open lanes of fire from downrange, but it wasn't an optimal solution, especially now that they were breaking apart, screaming, running, panicking, but also – thankfully – herded by the rope line strung between us and them.

  “What's happening?” Gondry asked, sounding very disoriented.

  “Sniper in the woods,” I said, wrapping an arm around his waist and hauling him to his feet. “Nine o'clock.” I said this not just for his benefit but for that of the Secret Service agent next to us, who looked like he wanted to rip the president away from me and bolt for it. “I'm moving the president to safety,” I said, before he could protest.

  He started to nod, but a second later, the agent's head exploded, painting the president's jacket in dark crimson.

  Didn't matter. I was already moving.

  I sprinted, the president tucked under my arm like an unwieldy, bigger-than-me toddler. His shoes dragged on the tarmac, my shortness inadequate to keep his much taller frame entirely aloft. He let out a wheezing sound as I pounded along at meta speed, sprinting at thirty or forty miles an hour for convenient cover.

  Another shot rang out, and the bullet whizzed past the back of my head. I didn't hear the sickening thud of it slapping into flesh, so I counted myself – and the president – lucky, and slowed a second, veering hard left.

  The next gunshot blew by in front of me, missing the president's head by less than a foot. My arms were aching from the unwieldy nature of the carry. Secret Service snipers were returning fire, but it wasn't suppressing the sniper at all. Whoever they were, they were firing back furiously.

  And accurately.

  “It's the same shooter that killed Bilson!” Gondry screamed from under my arm. “Now they're after me!”

  “Maybe,” I muttered, veering hard back toward the hangar. I'd pulled my one little trick in dodging, but I had to get the president under cover. This sniper was entirely too good to dick around with. I put everything into my run, snugging the president hard beneath my arm like a way, way oversized football. I tucked my head down, locked eyes on the corner of the hangar, and poured it on–

  Another shot lanced through the back of my jacket, skimming my shoulder blades like someone had swung a razor across my back. I ignored the stinging shot of pain, the fresh trickle of wetness as salty sweat dripped into the fresh wound.

  The sniper was getting closer with each shot. Veering wouldn't work. It would only carry me backwards.

  “Hold on, sir,” I said, and dropped on my next step, dragging the president down with me as a shot went over both our heads, missing me by a foot, maybe.

  “What are you – ahhhhhhhh!”

  I bent my knees as I came down, into a squat. The president nearly kissed tarmac, legs and arms dragging the pavement as I ripped us under the shot. When I hit the bottom of my bend, I sprang back up with all the power in my legs, but pushing forward in a hard leap.

  Spring-loaded, we shot through the air only inches from the ground as a bullet skimmed the back of my left calf.

  We flew behind the cover of the hangar and I tilted my body to land on my back, jerking the president close to me in a tight hug. I skidded against the tarmac, ripping apart my already shredded jacket and blouse, but taking the full impact of the road rash on my own skin. I felt it form in real time as we came to a halt some thirty feet from where I'd started the leap.

  “You all right, Mr. President?” I asked. Gondry was splayed out across my body like a lover. Which...ew.

  President Gondry looked up at me, his eyes wide, but a strange, even calm in his voice. “Thanks to you, Agent Nealon.” The footsteps of Secret Service agents thundered around us, replacing the sound of gunfire, which had gone silent. “Thanks to you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Phinneus

  “You want to talk about it?” Veronika's voice was puckish, amused.

  Phinneus was not.

  “No, I don't want to talk about it,” Phinneus said, tossing the rifle at her. Veronika didn't say anything, just slid the rifle into the case, offering it back to him once she'd sealed it closed. “Let's go.” He pulled down the ski mask that had perched atop his head to keep the perimeter cameras from getting a snap of his face.

  They hopped the fence – easy for a meta, impossible for a human, clearing the barbed wire in a solid run and jump. “Lots of older guys experience diminishing results as they age,” Veronika said, and her lip was a twisty line as she tried to hold in her laughter. “It's totes normal, Phinneus.”

  “That was all Nealon,” Phinneus grumbled. The car was parked right there. They'd need to keep the masks on until they ditched the car. “She's damned impossible to work around.”

  “Tell me about it,” Veronika said, steering the car onto the freeway from the shoulder. The motor rumbled and whined, trying to match the pace of traffic.

  Phinneus looked sidelong at her. “You think this new boss of ours is going to want us to take another shot?”

  She pursed her lips under the mask. “He doesn't seem the quitting sort.”

  That made Phinneus smile. “Good. I'll call him first, then we can meet up with Bonner. I've already got another idea.” He didn't like to leave things unfinished.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Chapman

  Jamie's phone started ringing the minute he got out of his meeting on Capitol Hill, and he yawned. He didn't recognize the number, but that was by design. He was supposed to get a call right about now to let him know how things had gone – in code, of course.

  “Hello?” Jamie tried to make himself sound dull, uninterested. It was quite the opposite.

  “Hello,” Phinneus's gruff voice came from the other end. “There was a complication. A certain lady of your acquaintance who you're not friendly with.”

  Jamie's brow furrowed. “A certain FBI agent?”

  “That'd be the one.”

  Jamie gritted his teeth. “I was given certain assurances.”

  “It ain't over yet. Just need to reload.”

  Jamie stared out over the spectacle of the capitol, people buzzing back and forth like little bees, but with much less productive pollination – at leas
t for his purposes. Their noise was like a buzz to him, too, irritating. “Do you need help?”

  “If it weren't for your 'friend' I'd say no. But I'm guessing she's going to be around for a while, so...yes.”

  Jamie massaged his forehead. “The idea behind a conspiracy is that it stays small. Deniable.”

  “I have some people I can call, but they won't be here immediately.”

  Jamie tried to force a smile. “I want this done now.”

  “I understand. But you also want it done correctly, yes? We're laying this one awfully quick. Quick means more room for errors. Which means I like to have Plan A, Plan B, Plan C and so on, all the way to triple Z.”

  Jamie froze, phone warm at his ear. “Do you have a Plan B? Now that Plan A has failed?”

  “Yep. But I'm starting to develop the rest, too, if you're willing to bankroll it.”

  “All I care is that you get the job done anonymously.”

  “Noise level doesn't bother you?”

  What was that supposed to mean? Oh. Level of collateral damage. “You can be as loud as you like, as long as the cops don't show up to my party.” Sure, the phone was encrypted, but better safe than sorry.

  “I understand completely,” Phinneus said. “I'll call a tight circle of trustworthy friends and start spinning up alternatives immediately.” He really leaned into that last word for some reason. “You mind sending me one, maybe two of yours who dislike our mutual friend?”

  “Yes, just induct them delicately,” Jamie said. “And sooner is better than later, so get on it.” He looked up at Tyler Bowen and Captain Frost. “You want a shot at Sienna Nealon?”

  “Hells to the yes,” Bowen said.

  “Absolument,” Frost said, smiling.

  Chase Blanton stood back, watching through thinly slitted eyes. “But not me?”

  “Someone's got to watch my back,” Jamie said with a tight smile, then shifted his attention back to Frost and Bowen. “Call Phinneus and figure out where he wants to meet you. He'll get you clear on what's going on along the way. And boys...?” He put a finger across his lips. “Keep it quiet, will you? She's still nominally with the FBI, even though we all know she's corrupt as hell.”

  Chase fell in beside him as he headed for the car. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head. “You don't approve?” he asked at last.

  “I don't care about Nealon living or dying,” Chase said. “I wanted to kill her myself last I saw her.” A ripple of uncertainty fell across her face.

  “Does it bother you to think of her being killed?” Jamie asked, wondering if maybe he should have kept this quiet in front of her. The buzz of the capitol business went on around him, but he focused in on her, not these other annoying peasants.

  Chase thought about it for a moment. “I'm not sure, but I'm not going to drop a dime on you, if that's what you're worried about. If it bothers me, I'll manage it because you're right – she's dirty, somehow.”

  Jamie had to control his smile. “How pragmatic.” And he gestured ahead, toward the waiting car. “That is an attitude that will serve you very well with me.” He felt his face tighten. “Because I'm all about eliminating the dirt around here.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Sienna

  “Any sign of the sniper?” I asked as the Secret Service agents glared at me – or at least, they glared, and I happened to be there. They'd just had a terrible day. Five agents down, the president nearly taken out, and they hadn't even been the ones to save him. Their professional pride had definitely taken a hit.

  “We found his spot,” Agent Ron Ross said. He was a tall man with a scowl, which was an apt descriptor for all the Secret Service agents in the area right now, at least compared to my 5' 4” frame. “No shells.”

  “A pro, then,” I said. I was still sweating in the May heat. We were stuffed into a hangar, the big bay doors closed, but there was either no AC or it wasn't on. Secret Service was thoroughly sweeping the area, but I suspected they weren't going to find shit. Whoever had shot at the president knew what they were doing, and when the plan had fallen apart, they'd fled before the Secret Service could even get to them.

  “The shooter was a mile away,” Agent Ross said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Sound familiar?”

  I shrugged, keeping a wary eye on the president, who was being attended to by medics. He seemed fine, other than being dragged around and flung through the air by me. “It does seem like something out of my current case, yeah. But there's got to be more than one shooter on the planet who can make a shot at a mile.”

  “There are,” Agent Ross said. “But not that many. You believe in coincidences?”

  I let out a small sigh. “Not really. But I hate to jump to conclusions and tie this to Bilson when it could be a copycat.”

  “A copycat with a rare skill.” Ross peered at me suspiciously. “You sure you don't want to take a little leap on this one?”

  “Let's just wait for forensics,” I said. “We've got the bullet from Bilson's death and several from this. Compare them and we'll know if it's the same gun.” I looked down at my sleeve, which was shredded, threads rubbed bare from one of my landings. “Man, I need to talk to the FBI about giving me a clothing budget. What's the plan here?”

  He looked over at the president. “We have to get him back to the White House immediately. Marine One is outside the doors. We're deploying a canopy tent from door to door to cover the president's entrance and exit. No one will have a clear shot at him during the transit.”

  “Good call,” I said, standing up. “Probably a good idea not to move him via ground right now.”

  “We rarely do,” Ross said. “Andrews is too far from the White House for safety's sake.”

  I nodded. “I guess I should leave you guys to it.”

  “Thanks,” Ross said. “We're just about ready anyhow.”

  “What's going on?” The president's voice reached me. He'd raised it just to be heard, and was looking right at me and Ross with pronounced intensity.

  “We're going to move you now, sir,” Agent Ross said. “We'll be going back to the White House on Marine One as soon as they're done prepping.”

  “But you're coming, right, Agent Nealon?” Gondry's voice held an air of brittleness that you never wanted to hear from the President of the United States.

  I exchanged a look with Ross. “Ah, well...I'm not Secret Service, Mr. President.”

  “You just saved my life, Agent Nealon,” President Gondry said, ripping the blood pressure cuff ball out of the hand of the medic working on him. “Do you think they'll stop after one try?”

  “Sir, attempting to kill the president isn't something one tries with great ease,” I said. “They need opportunity, see. The Secret Service is going to move you via helicopter back to the White House. You'll be under cover the entire time and–”

  “Yes, I understand the precautions,” Gondry said, taking another step toward me, blood pressure cuff hanging off his arm, swinging like a pendulum. “But those are vestiges of a bygone age. Why can't some flying meta just come right up to the door of Marine One and rip it off, then send me plummeting to the ground?” His eyes were wide, wild. “Or send a blaze of fire at me, wiping my chopper out like they did that town in Minnesota?”

  My stomach turned over. For a man who looked crazy, he was making a certain amount of sense. “Well, sir, I'm not sure there's much I could do in those cases that the Secret Service couldn't.”

  The president crossed to me, put a shaking hand on the tattered remnants of my sleeve. “Please, Agent Nealon. Come with me.” He licked cracked lips, and swallowed visibly, Adam's apple moving as he did so. “Protect me.”

  I caught a look from Ross, who looked like he was caught between being abashed at the president finding immense fault with his job duties, but also wanting to do said job. “We have room on the chopper,” Ross said, only slightly strangled and with more dignity than I'd have been able to muster under the circumstances, if I were in his posit
ion.

  What was I supposed to say to all this? It was a request from the president himself, after all. My boss's boss.

  But more than that, it was a plea from a man who'd just been shot at and brushed against death, missing it by mere inches. His eyes were fixed on mine, wild, worried, as they should have been.

  What could I say to that?

  Only one thing.

  “Yes sir,” I said. “Of course I'll go with you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Julie

  “MOMMMMMMY!”

  The high-pitched voice hit the decibel level of a siren as her kids slammed Julie Blair in the midsection less than a step inside the door. First one, then the other, thumping one to each thigh, little arms wrapped around her middle.

  “Hey,” Julie said weakly, feeling a little faint as she walked into the house. “How's it going?” She was speaking in mommy voice, which was a little higher pitched and sweeter than her usual voice.

  “We missed you,” Noah said, looking up at her between his mop-top bangs. He desperately needed a haircut, clearly something that had not popped up on Dom's radar yet. She smoothed them back to frame his face a little more flatteringly.

  “She was only gone for a couple hours, stupid,” Paige said, showering her brother with scorn.

  “We don't call people stupid, Paige-y,” Julie said. Dom was lingering behind them, arms folded. He had a look on his face that she recognized immediately. “Okay?”

  “Yes, Mommy,” Paige said, the picture of little remorse.

  “I need to talk to your dad,” she said, “Can you guys go play?”

  They said okay, but abashedly, reluctantly, and off they went to the other room. Dom just waited, arms folded, until their happy voices receded into the other room before asking, “How'd it go with the lawyer?”