Cloud Dust: RD-1 (14 page)

"He's the one," I agreed, studying Ted Ryan's images.
"Paid by Cutter and Cutter's allies to bring down the house, so to
speak." I blinked as Ted Ryan, in front of a white wall, proclaimed that
the United States belonged to him and his constituents. He'd watched too many
terrorist videos, evidently, because he brandished an automatic weapon as he
spoke to the camera.

"Good luck finding me, you fuckers," he said at the
end. I got an unedited version of the recording—the news stations bleeped out
his profanity.

"The whole nation is terrified and every statehouse,
including the ones supposedly on Ted's list of approved bureaucratic vendors,
is covered in security and nobody is going in or out without getting X-rayed
and cavity-searched first," Auggie muttered.

"Do we have photographs of anyone else associated with
Mr. Ted Ryan?" I asked.

"Here." James leaned forward and handed me a second
tablet. I stared at three photographs.

"Yeah. All of these were in on this," I agreed,
handing the tablet back to James.

"After our meeting with the President, we have scheduled
appointments with medical personnel at the villa. Just to make sure nothing
serious is going on," Auggie held up a hand.

He didn't mention my fainting, but I knew Leo Shaw wouldn't
let that go without doing an MRI and who knew what other tests, just to make
sure my head was in one piece.

"What about Maye?" I asked.

"She's upset about Nick, evidently. Jeff has been trying
to calm her down, but she wants to go after him."

"Understandable," I said. "I have a question.
If Nick were pitted against Becker, who'd win?"

"Becker is a bull, while Nick is a tiger," Auggie
said. "I'd put my money on Nick."

"Rafe?" He'd been silent, listening to the
conversation and watching the video with me. He'd know whether Nick might take
Becker.

"Becker relies on brute strength. Nick uses his
head," Rafe replied. "Perhaps you'll tell me later what this is
about?"

"Sure."

"Good." He pushed a lock of hair behind my right ear
and offered a smile.

* * *

"Madam President, they're here." We followed the
President's aide into the Oval Office.

"Thank you, Will. That will be all," the President
rose to greet us as we trooped in. Will shut the door behind him when he left.

"Good lord, you look like you've been hit by a
truck," Amelia Sanders shook her head and pointed toward seats. We waited
for her to sit first, then took our seats with grateful sighs.

She was right—all of us had facial bruises, scrapes and scratches,
while I still nursed a bloody nose. James' wrist was probably broken, but he
was toughing it out until he could get an X-ray.

"If Rafe hadn't protected our backs, we'd be in worse
shape," August pointed out.

"Thank you," the President nodded toward Rafe.

"We wouldn't have the information we do if it hadn't been
for Corinne," he added.

"We already have someone working on the information you
sent on the woman, but so far, all we have is disconnected numbers, an
abandoned website and an e-mail address that has been canceled. We're still
doing research. Our attention, however, has turned to the disaster in
Sacramento."

"Tell her, Corinne," August nodded to me.

"Cutter paid Ted Ryan for this," I said. "James
has photographs of three others who were involved."

"Ted Ryan and his militia have been a problem for twenty
years," the President leaned back in her chair with a frown. "Long
before I took office. His biggest problem with me is that he thinks I should be
in a kitchen somewhere, doing dishes and cooking. His is a male-dominated
world," she added, "where women have no place in positions of
authority. He backed Cutter when Cutter ran against me in the last primary. The
FBI keeps track of his movements and his social presence online. He made no
secret of the fact that he'd never want a woman in the White House."

"He's a murdering creep," I said. "And I'm only
saying creep because saying what he really is involves the worst profanity I
can come up with."

"I tend to agree," President Sanders said.
"What can we do about Nick?" She turned back to Auggie.

"No idea. Corinne needs medical attention, as do Rafe and
James. I'll discuss this problem with Maye and them afterward and get back with
you, if that's all right."

"Absolutely. If you need resources you don't have at the
moment, let me know. I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, Madam President."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Rafe insisted on waiting outside while they did the MRI. I'd
never had one done of my entire body, but they were doing one now. I thought
Auggie might have a stroke when somebody suggested taking a blood sample.

That was tabled, and I was glad.

A mild concussion was the diagnosis afterward, and I was given
medication for the cuts, scrapes and pain.

Rafe's elbow was sprained, so he was outfitted with a sling
and told not to use the arm for a few days. I didn't point out that he couldn't
do Krav Maga lessons like that.

James had a hairline fracture on his wrist, so he was the only
one who ended up in a cast. I felt sorry for him—it interfered with his typing.

"I'm not letting you have alcohol for a few days,
although we need a drink," Rafe muttered as he followed me into our shared
suite.

"That sucks."

"What would you like to do instead?"

"Stay away from mirrors. My whole face is purple."

"Let us rest and consider what we should do later,
eh?"

"Yeah. I'd like to lie down."

* * *

Nick

I can remember clearly the times Becker and I belittled
Corinne. Called her a worthless cunt—or worse. Becker's biggest problem with
Corinne was she refused to go to bed with him. I could see why, now.

Corinne turned out to be better than both of us.

Her note was still inside the envelope I pulled from my jacket
pocket. Also stuffed in the envelope was ten grand in small bills.

Just in case
, her note read. The envelope had been shoved
under my door at the villa the morning she left for the UK. Somehow, she
suspected what I was thinking.

The money would allow me to do what was necessary to track
Becker and his fucking handler, Gene. I had no qualms about naming Gene the
instigator in this mess, but Becker knew better. He knew what giving his blood
to enemies of the state might cause.

I cursed Cutter under my breath. As much as Gene was
responsible, Cutter made it all possible.

They'd taken an oath, goddammit. All of them.

I'd sat in a booth at a truck stop, having dinner when the
capitol in Sacramento fell. Somehow, I knew Cutter was behind it, I just
couldn't prove anything to anybody. I was back on the road, now, my backpack
hefted over a shoulder as I made my way into North Dakota. Rain pattered on the
hood of my jacket as I trudged along soaked back roads.

Maye said Corinne was capable of transfer. I wasn't sure of
that until now.

Nick
, her voice sounded in my mind.
If you want Gene
and Becker, they're with Cutter
. She even gave me a fucking address in
Utah.
They have guards
, she added.
Call for backup, unless you want
to commit suicide
.

I had no intention of committing suicide. I had friends, and I
intended to ask them for help.

* * *

Notes—Colonel Hunter

Corinne and Rafe were still asleep when I received the news.
Sometime during the early-morning hours, Ted Ryan and four others involved in
the Sacramento bombing had driven off the Ship Canal Bridge in Seattle, killing
all inside the white van. Two died when they hit the water 182 feet below the
bridge; the other three drowned before a rescue crew could get to them.

They'd been driving toward Canada. I suspected they had
someone waiting somewhere, to get them past the border. Ted Ryan wasn't the
brightest of people for sending the video claiming responsibility for the
bombing before he left the country, but Cutter had guaranteed safe passage,
somehow. It made me wonder if Cutter had used Ryan, then cut him loose.

"James, see if there were cameras on that bridge. I want
to know if this accident was no accident," I said.

"Right away, sir," James called from his desk.
"Do you suppose Cutter was attempting to divert attention to someone
else?" James asked after a few moments.

"Possible, but we know better."

"Because of Corinne," James walked into my office.
"If she hadn't given us a heads-up, we might be in the dark on this."

"True."

"Here," he handed his tablet to me after tapping for
a few seconds. "Camera images of the accident."

James and I watched as the van suddenly careened across four
lanes of traffic at high speed. The vehicle's front wheels ran up and over the
railing, with no braking evident. Then, the van teetered on the railing for a
few more seconds while two other vehicles pulled over nearby. Before any of the
other drivers could reach the van to help, Ted Ryan and his crew toppled over
the side and the van dropped into the water below.

"Karma really is a bitch," James shook his head as
we watched the video a second time. The video had been posted by a Seattle news
station, and all the national news programs were showing it, along with
photographs of the bombed capitol building in Sacramento.

"Too bad Cutter wasn't in the van with them," James
mumbled as numbers of the dead in the Sacramento bombing rose from the estimate
given the night before.

"Let me know when Corinne and Rafe show up in the kitchen
for coffee. I want to speak with them," I said, handing the tablet back to
James. "Get me a copy of that video, too, and put it in a file."

"Yes, Colonel."

* * *

Corinne

"We'll have coffee; that ought to wake you up," Ilya
kissed my temple.

"Something needs to wake me up," I sighed. "I'm
not sure I can move." All my aches and pains had come to call that
morning—my body had stiffened and complained during a restless night.

"Come along, moving will help," Ilya claimed as he
sat up on the edge of the bed.

"Right."

Dressing that morning turned into an agonizing chore, as arms
refused to accommodate coordinating sleeves. Eventually we wore enough to walk
downstairs, which became an uncomfortable trek of uncooperative muscles.

"Cori, didn't you take your pain medication?" James
waited in the kitchen for us, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Not on an empty stomach," I said. "I have it
with me." I pulled the small bottle from my sweater pocket, the pills
rattling against plastic as I shook it at him.

"I'll get milk," James offered and slid off his
barstool to walk to the fridge.

"Thank you."

"I beeped Colonel Hunter; he wants to see both of
you," James said, handing a small glass of milk to me. I took my pill
while Rafe made two cups of coffee.

"Does he want eggs?" I asked, shuffling to the
proper cabinet to get a skillet.

"He's had breakfast, but he might want coffee,"
James said as Auggie walked into the kitchen.

"I do want coffee," he said, sliding onto a barstool
next to James'. Rafe made a third cup and placed it in front of him.

"Ted Ryan and his bombing buddies died after driving off
a bridge in Seattle last night," August said pleasantly, as if he were
describing the weather instead of five deaths.

"Gee, that's too bad," I muttered, setting the
skillet on the stove and heading toward the fridge for eggs. "Honey, do
you want eggs and bacon or an omelette?" I asked Rafe.

"Omelette. Let me help."

He chopped ham, onions, tomatoes and mushrooms while I beat
eggs and added milk.
Honey
, I sent in his direction,
you are amazing.
I've never had a man who knew his way around the kitchen before
.

I poured eggs into the skillet, and he followed shortly with
enough meat and vegetables to make a nice omelette. Two omelettes turned out to
be enough for all four of us—Auggie decided he was hungry after all.

"How's the pain?" Dr. Shaw asked as he wandered into
the kitchen twenty minutes later.

"Okay," James answered first, holding up his
cast-covered wrist.

"Medication's helping," I said. "Want anything
to eat?"

"Just coffee. I had breakfast earlier," he said,
turning the coffee pod carousel and choosing the coffee he wanted.

"Coffee?" Maye walked in.

"Have a seat, I'll get it," Leo offered.

"You guys don't look so good," Maye said, nodding to
us.

"You should see the other guys," Rafe grinned.

"Will we be sent after Nick?" Maye asked Auggie, her
frustration over his absence evident in her voice and expression.

"I haven't gotten a call from the White House yet,"
August said. "This is a tough decision, Maye. Surely you realize
that."

"I know. I just feel powerless and angry. Angry that
Kevin and Ken are dead. Angry that Becker is more of an asshole than anybody
suspected. That Gene is leading him down the wrong path. That Nick felt he had
to take matters into his own hands."

"We all feel that way," Leo said. "It's
understandable. Would you like an appointment this afternoon, so we can talk
about it?"

"Yeah. Colonel Hunter, will you let me know the minute
you get an answer from the President?" A silent plea clouded Maye's blue
eyes as she blinked at August.

"I'll come to you first," he promised.

"Thank you."

Chapter 13
 

Corinne

We heard the helicopter approaching from a distance. I'm sure
half the villa's population was staring out windows as the chopper landed on
the helipad behind the house.

The Vice President and two guards stepped out of it and met
August, Jeff, Leo and several others on the back patio. They were locked inside
Auggie's office for an hour.

The Vice President flew away again after that. Then, the knock
came on our door. James was outside when Rafe answered. "Colonel Hunter
wants to see you in his office," he said. Rafe turned and motioned for me
to follow.

* * *

"I've been named Director of the Program, or what's left
of it," August announced when Rafe, Maye and I were called to his office
for a short meeting. What he didn't say was that he'd be appointed Secretary of
Defense in a few days, too, following Congressional approval.

That wouldn't make Cutter happy at all.

"Congratulations," I said. "You deserve that
and more."

"Corinne, that means a lot to me," he said, his dark
eyes shining. "Would you mind having dinner with me tonight, so we can
discuss what to do about Nick? The President can't make up her mind on this, so
I'd like your help."

"If you want. Just me, or Rafe, too?"

"Just you, if you don't mind."

"All right."

* * *

"I didn't know they did this," I said, turning in a
circle to take in the private dining room located over the sunroom at the back
of the villa.

"Started just before we left for Scotland. Isn't
completely finished yet, but it makes sense, doesn't it?" Auggie said.
"People can have private dinners without the noise of the cafeteria and
everybody else listening in."

"Yeah."

We waited to begin our conversation after drinks were served.
Champagne flutes were set in front of us, along with water goblets and a basket
of bread.

"I didn't know you liked champagne," I said as it
was poured for both of us. "I can only have a sip—concussion, you know."

"I know. This is in celebration of my new job," he
said. "Since my wife can't be here," he lifted his glass in a toast.

"More power to you, Auggie," I clinked my glass
against his.

"Now," he said when food was placed in front of us
and our waiter left. "What do you know about Nick, and what should we do
about it?"

"Nick is doing just fine," I said. "He wants
Becker and Gene, but if Cutter happens to be in the way, it'll be too bad for
him, too."

"This isn't something he can do alone, even if he does
manage to find them."

"Auggie, sometimes things aren't what they seem on the
surface. You know that."

"I sure know you turned out to be more than a pretty
face."

"I don't know whether that's a compliment or not."

"It's neither, and it's a little insensitive," he
acknowledged. "Will you tell me what you know about Nick, or is that
something I don't need to know right now? I'm worried about the fact that he
has no cash or credit cards."

"Auggie, he has money," I admitted.

"How?"

"I gave it to him."

"What the hell?" August dropped his butter knife and
stared at me.

"He was about to explode. I knew that. I slipped an
envelope of cash beneath his door before we flew to Scotland. I worry about him
feeding himself, just as much as you do."

"He still has to find Gene and Becker."

"He'll find them. He knows what to do, too, when he
does."

"He can't do this alone."

"Auggie, this is where you'll have to trust me, okay? I
think Nick will be all right. You know," I watched as he lifted his butter
knife, then frowned at the smear of butter on the white tablecloth for a
moment.

"I know what?" He turned his eyes to me, then.

"I think Maye needs a project to keep her mind off
Nick," I said, although that wasn't what I'd been about to say.

"Shaw says the same thing." He took another pat of
butter and placed it on his roll.

"Do you think she could work at the Smithsonian without
drawing too much attention or punching too many people?"

"Why?"

"I think somebody may target it, next."

Auggie thought for a few seconds before speaking. "Somebody
wants the Hope Diamond, then?"

"Possibly."

"I don't need possibly, Cori. I need facts."

"They want it. I know that for sure."

"You think Mary Evans may be here in the States?"

"It's possible."

"Then I'll talk to the President and see if we can't get
Maye into the Natural History Museum at the Smithsonian."

* * *

"What did you talk about?" Ilya asked when I got
back to our suite after my dinner with Auggie.

"About Maye and the Hope Diamond. I think that's Mary
Evans' next target. I'm amazed that she can get into the country with every
department in existence looking for her, right now."

"She's done this before," Ilya frowned. "Many
times. Perhaps she will arrive via Canada. Or Mexico. Or by private
yacht."

"I just want her caught," I said. "I'm hoping
Maye can do that. Ilya, I'm worried about Auggie."

"Why?"

"Well, first off, Cutter will be pissed. That'll paint a
bigger target on Auggie's back. Second, I don't think his wife is gonna like
being married to the next Secretary of Defense."

"He will receive that promotion as well?"

"I think that's the plan," I said dryly. "He's
not telling anybody, but I figured it out. Keep it quiet, please, until the
official announcement is made."

"I will."

"I really, really want a drink right now," I said,
flopping onto the sofa in our sitting room. "I only got a sip of Auggie's
champagne at dinner, to celebrate his promotion."

"How about a trip to the hot tub instead? For your muscle
aches?"

"That would be nice."

* * *

We found James sitting in the hot tub when we arrived, his
cast-covered wrist held out of the water and propped on the slate floor
surrounding the spa.

"So, found a way around not getting it wet?" I
smiled at him.

"Yeah."

"Want a towel beneath your wrist before I get in?" I
asked.

"Would you?"

"Sure." I grabbed a towel from a stack next to the
door and brought it to him. He lifted his arm while I placed the folded towel
beneath it.

"Much better," he sighed as Rafe held out a hand to
help me into the spa.

"Those stones are hard," I agreed and took a seat between
James and Rafe. "Water is nice, though. I think I ache all over."

"Did Colonel Hunter talk to you about your pay?"

"What pay?"

"He wants to set up an account for you—the others draw a
paycheck that they spend through me or through finance. Until now, you didn't
get anything—you've supported yourself for the most part, except for a few
expenditures here and there."

"I know. I really don't need more money, James," I
said.

"But that's not right. Colonel Hunter wants to name you
as a special consult, with an official pay grade and everything."

"But," I said.

"I've already set up the paperwork and the President
signed off on it."

"Wonderful. Can I build a separate residence in the
backyard of this behemoth, too?" I asked. "I really want a beach
house, but that's not in the cards."

"That probably won't happen. Colonel Hunter has asked for
a new facility somewhere to house the Program."

"He's probably right to do that," I agreed with a
sigh. "But I hate being fenced in and confined."

* * *

"Thank you for being here so late," President
Sanders offered Dr. Richard Farrell a seat in the Oval Office.

"I didn't have much choice. Your minions were
particularly persuasive, Madam President," he replied. "Which one is
on the loose?"

"There are two on the loose, but only one of them is with
my less than savory opposition," Amelia Sanders responded. "Becker
has defected, and Nick has taken it upon himself to track him."

"What do you want to know?"

"What Becker in the hands of an enemy might do to
us."

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether they want to reproduce the Program, or if
they merely want to kill ninety-five percent of the population instead."

"How quickly could they do both?" President Sanders
did her best to mask her growing alarm.

"Not long, if they get on the right track. The drug is
dangerous. You read the dossier when you took this office, I assume?"

"Yes. If the Program had begun during my term, I would
have canceled it early on. The risks were just too great."

"I understand that. I also understand that Cutter may
have been informed of this long before you offered him the position of
Secretary of Defense."

"Because he was friends with the previous
President?"

"Yes."

"Then why did they appear to butt heads at every
turn?" the President asked.

"For obvious reasons. I was never fooled. If you'd
contacted me beforehand, I could have told you that."

"I have one in the Program who could have told me the
same thing, I think," she muttered. "I just didn't know to ask at the
time."

"Who? I wasn't aware of any of them having that sort of
talent."

"Then you should update your files. Corinne Watson can
probably tell you what you had for breakfast yesterday, and what you'll have
for breakfast tomorrow, most likely. All she has to do is see your face."

"Corinne Watson? Are you sure?"

"She's been one hundred percent accurate so far,"
President Sanders said.

"A latent talent," Dr. Farrell mused.
"Interesting. I'd like to see her, if you don't mind."

"I can arrange it whenever you like."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'll see to it."

* * *

Corinne

"We're having visitors," August announced as Rafe
and I walked into the kitchen. It was Thursday morning—I only knew that because
the calendar on my desktop said so.

"Your food order arrived half an hour ago. James put it
away for you," August added. "What is the likelihood of getting a
fresh breakfast? I'll help."

"That depends on what you want," I said, covering a
yawn. "Coffee, first."

"You should probably repeat your message about the
visitors in ten minutes," Rafe said behind me. He steered me toward the
coffeepot, just so I wouldn't be confused as to my original destination.

After I got started on my first cup of coffee, we put eggs,
sausage, toast and juice together. "Who's coming?" I asked.

"Dr. Richard Farrell," August said. "He has at
least six degrees listed after his name. I don't remember half of them."

"Makes it hard to print business cards," I said.
"Maybe he should have stopped at three. To save money and paper. Why is he
coming?"

"To talk to you. The President gave permission."

"Really?" Yes, the word was flat and sarcastic as
opposed to upbeat and excited.

"Corinne, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't revert to old
habits," August said. "He'll be here with a military escort in two
hours."

"My outfit for meeting people with at least six degrees
is in the laundry."

"Cori."

"Yeah."

* * *

Notes—Colonel Hunter

"She writes the Sarah Fox novels," James explained
to Dr. Farrell as we walked toward the sunroom at the back of the villa. I'd
instructed Corinne to wait there for our arrival.

Dr. Farrell's escorts—two Navy men, were standing guard near
the helicopter.

"A novelist? I admit I don't read fiction," Farrell confessed.

"That's all right," James said. "You asked
about her; that's what you haven't heard yet."

"I'll be interested in what she has to tell me," Dr.
Farrell said.

"It would be wise not to push too hard in that
respect," I said.

"For what reason?"

"There are two possible outcomes. She could have a panic
attack, or she could attack you verbally. Either way, you won't win the
fight."

"Interesting."

* * *

Corinne

They wouldn't allow Rafe to be with me. I had to meet this man
on my own. I'd hoped Auggie and James might stay for the questioning. I knew
that wasn't to be the moment he entered the sunroom.

Dr. Richard Farrell studied me for a moment while August
nodded in my direction before turning James around and marching away.

"Corinne?" He lifted an eyebrow at me.

"Well, I see the Program had eight survivors before two
were killed," I said.

"Tell me," he took a seat on one of the cushioned
rattan chairs decorating the sunroom, "why you didn't display that talent
early on?"

"I was in mourning. Do you not understand that
concept?" The other eyebrow lifted to join the first. "Besides,"
I added, "nobody needed to know six years ago. They need to know,
now."

"They never told me who you were, before. It's the only
hole in my knowledge of the Program."

"It will remain a hole. I'm not telling you or anyone
else."

"You sound so defensive."

"I have a right to be. I didn't volunteer. You knew that and
administered the drug anyway."

"You were dying."

"I know. Somebody wanted information, or they wouldn't
have ordered you to give it to a potentially unwilling participant. They had
six days to get you to Paris. They were waiting to see if anybody needed it,
weren't they?"

"That was the previous administration's decision."

"Yes it was, wasn't it?"

"You don't trust them. The previous administration."

"Not even a little."

"Good. I don't trust them, either. That's why I was in
Antarctica, until the President sent someone to collect me."

"I'm not surprised that the opposition wants you," I
said. "You ought to be careful."