Life of Secrets (7 page)

That was the
positive side of her current personal ledger.

On the negative
side, a helicopter flew into view off to her left.

The sound of
gunfire was much more audible this time, even over the roar of the chopper's
rotors. There was a man in the open passenger compartment of the chopper,
firing warning shots in front of her with an assault rifle. The vehicle was
obviously equipped with a microphone and loudspeaker because she heard,
"This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Throw down your weapon and
put your hands in the air!"

She kept
zigzagging harder and faster, now left, now right, dodging shots from the
chopper.

Then, the
helicopter moved. As its rotors kicked up a spray of small stones, the aircraft
swept around and ended up directly in front of her, less than fifty feet away.

With the
chopper broadside ahead of her, she could see the FBI agent in full raid gear
kneeling in the open door, pointing an M-4 carbine at her. The loudspeaker
blared again.

"There's
no escape. We have you surrounded. Put your hands in the air. This is your last
chance to surrender."

The chopper's
move had happened so fast she hadn't had time to react; she was still sprinting
forward – right at the helicopter. Her run carried her closer as the
loudspeaker ordered her to freeze.

Instead of
freezing, she dove and rolled, a
manoeuver
that
carried her right under the copter. Alyssa experienced the surreal sight of
seeing the "FBI" logo painted on the bottom, right in front of her
face. Then she rolled out the other side.

She jumped,
grabbed the skid, and hauled herself up. Just as the shooter made the switch
over to her side, she climbed into the open cabin. Long experience with
helicopters had prepared her for the tiny quarters. They were always very small
vehicles, even the luxury ones. And in this case, very close to the target was
exactly where she wanted to be.

Before he could
bring his weapon to bear, she delivered a right cross to the jaw. She followed
that up with a kick that sent him tumbling out the open door.

At the last
minute, she grabbed the M-4 out of his hands, then watched him fall with a thud
to the rooftop only a few feet below them.

She swung the
rifle forward and sized up the two people flying the craft. The pilot, to
Alyssa’s delight, was female. So she pointed the M-4 at the co-pilot's head.

"Out!
Now!" She screamed at the top of her lungs to be heard over the engine
noises.

The man turned
around to stare at her in shock, eyes crossing over the barrel of the weapon.
He wasn't moving, so Alyssa put a bullet through the windscreen to drive her
point home.

Without further
ado, the co-pilot undid his straps, threw open his door and jumped down to the
roof.

The pilot was
in the process of doing likewise when Alyssa shouted, "Not you! Sit down
and get this thing out of here if you want to live."

The pilot
looked at her, stared at the carbine, and then pulled back on the cyclic stick
to gain altitude.

"Your
helmet! Take it off!" She yelled. Then, holding the rifle in her right
hand and cupping it under her elbow, she mimed taking the helmet off with her
left to make sure she got the point.

"It's got
a
mic
in it. I need it to talk to air traffic
control!" she shouted back.

"Exactly!
Take it off now or I blow you away!"

It was a bluff.
She really didn't want to shoot an FBI agent. From Alyssa’s perspective, that
would be the worst possible scenario. Committing murder on the way to proving
herself innocent of murder would not exactly work out. But from the pilot’s
perspective, her own demise was eminently believable. First of all, there was
the matter of the barrel pointed at her head. Second, she thought that this
person invading her aircraft had already murdered the man who most likely would
have been the next President; for someone who had done that, killing a lowly
FBI agent would not be a big deal.

She took the
helmet off and, getting the drift when Chambers did no more than wave the
barrel of the M-4 at the co-pilot's still-open door, she threw it out of the
chopper.

"Head
east," she shouted. "Straight and level, nothing fancy, put the
autopilot on and talk to me."

She watched
very carefully as the pilot complied, noting the location of the autopilot
switch when she activated it.

"Oh, and
one more thing," Alyssa added as the pilot turned back to look at her.

"I need
you to strip. Down to your skivvies."

Chambers eased the
Mercedes into the garage and let it idle for a moment, sitting and enjoying the
concerto on the stereo, letting it finish. The kids had been tough in her
lectures and seminars, Matt had been his usual self at dinner, and she was in
no hurry to move, except for the fact that there might be a drink in it for her
if she did.

Finally, she
went inside. From the garage, she entered the kitchen of her long, narrow
townhouse. Normally she would have kicked off her pumps and headed for the wet
bar after a day like this.

Chambers,
however, violated other people’s private space for a living. It had given her a
sixth sense for knowing when a space was not empty.

Her home was
not empty.

Silently, she
reached inside her blazer back and drew a subcompact 9mm from its holster,
amused at what the university administration would think if they knew. Rather
than kicking her shoes into the closet as usual, she eased them off to make
less noise. She stepped over to the door that led from the kitchen to the
dining area and living room and slipped her head around for a peek, without
even a little rustle.

Standing in
front of her picture window, staring out at the college kids walking by on O
Street, was a person whose silhouette she couldn’t fail to recognize. Rail
thin, straight as a flag pole, wearing a suit. Although she was seeing him from
the back, she knew it would be a three piece.

"Father.
What a pleasant surprise. Do you mind if I turn on a light?"

The elder
Chambers didn’t turn to greet her. He simply said, "As you wish," and
lifted the tumbler at his side. Noticing it, Alyssa’s eyes flicked over to her
bar. He’d gotten into her
Macallan
25, which she’d
been saving for a special occasion. Biting her lower lip in annoyance, she
poured some over ice in a tumbler, put her pistol behind the bar, and walked
over to stand beside and half a step back from H. Franklin.

She thought of
him as H. Franklin just then but didn’t dare say it out loud, as he hated being
called that.   In fact, she’d never used it aloud with anyone but Matt
and her mother. He preferred "Chambers" as a form of address, or
"Frank" from people who had earned the right to feel close to him.

With her he
wouldn’t answer to anything but Father.

She was his
daughter; she knew him well. He had come here for some purpose of his own, and
he would divulge it in his own time. Asking would only cause him to look down
on her for impatience.

Instead of
speaking, Alyssa held her glass to her nose and breathed in. Mac 25 was very
good scotch, and she didn’t intend to let the company spoil her enjoyment of
it.

"I want to
hire you."

She blinked.
She was instantly on guard. One did not speak of "hiring" a
professor. His words implied he knew about her other job, but he wasn’t
supposed to know. Alyssa was fanatical about who knew. She passed on many
clients who wouldn’t do business with her without seeing her face. She could
count on the fingers of one hand the people who knew her face and name and also
knew that she was a thief.

He didn’t say
anything more for quite some time. Alyssa’s mind raced through the
conversational strategies. Normally, if he left something unsaid, he would say
it later. Asking just made you look weak. But in this case, remaining silent
for too long might be taken as an admission.

"Really,
father? Some white paper you need for a client?"

"It was
never going to be kept secret from me, of course. Not for long. A Chambers
expects to succeed at what he does. I admire you for that attitude – for
believing you could keep it a secret. But I have more experience at being a
Chambers than you. You wanted to keep it secret, and I wanted to find it out. I
won."

There was no
point in denying. He had made it clear that he knew. The facts were on his
side. Lying would invite disdain.

So, she simply
kept silent and waited.

"There’s a
new young fellow running for Congress this year. Naive. Unrealistic. Thinks he
can succeed by doing right rather than doing what’s necessary to win. Not
unlike that Ken Wells fellow you kept out of Congress in your first job. Nice
work that."

The younger
Chambers absorbed the information without comment. Her father was communicating
the fact that he knew exactly how she’d gotten her start in business. He
intended to put to rest any lingering doubts about whether he really knew. He
was also trying to intimidate her by demonstrating his ability to find out what
she tried to keep hidden.

That might mean
he expected her to balk at the work he wanted done, and he felt he needed extra
leverage. Or, it might just be H. Franklin being his usual self.

The only safe
response was to keep silent. She sipped her scotch.

"His name
is Mike Vincent. He’s an upstart staffer who used to work for Lance. Now that
Lance is off to the Senate, this Vincent fellow wants the House seat. Normally,
of course, a man like that wouldn’t be able to get anywhere in real politics.
The consultants would eat him alive for a 20 percent commission, and the donors
would snicker at him as soon as his back was turned. But somehow he’s raising
enough to be competitive. Somehow, he might actually win. He’s got Rich West
coming in for a fundraiser, for goodness sake. West could be the next
President, and he’s raising money for some guy no one’s heard of."

This time,
Alyssa felt like she had the edge. Her father mentioned Vincent’s work for
Reeder in passing, without any kind of comment. He did not know that she
already knew Mike.

Of course, no
one but Mike knew that she already knew Mike.

"If
Vincent is going to go places, I need to get a lever on him. I need to know how
he can be controlled. I don’t like people running around in politics on whom I
can’t get any leverage. Senator West is like that. No leverage. Drives a man
half mad. I want to find out who’s helping Mr. Vincent," her father
finished. "Someone is keeping our young idealist afloat in very dangerous
waters. I want to know who and why. From that, I hope to deduce how to keep the
young fellow in line. How you find out is up to you. "

"One hates
to be so crass as to quote a fee to one’s own daughter. Nevertheless, you may
safely expect to be paid whatever you think reasonable."

Alyssa nodded
and said nothing. No Chambers ever mentioned a dollar figure aloud unless
wagering, and then only on horses, yachtsmen, or golf.

H. Franklin
Chambers tipped back his tumbler and polished off the scotch. He walked out her
front door and never did give any indication of how he’d gotten in.

Alyssa caught
the next flight back home so she could get to the fundraiser with Rich West. It
was like most such affairs. Outside a big hotel, the valet parking staff drove
cars back and forth while wealthy donors went in. Alyssa wore a red suit to fit
in. She allowed some untrained teenager to have charge of her Mercedes,
nervously watching as he drove it away. Walking through the front door of the
hotel toward the ballroom, she was flagged down by Matt Barr. He lurked outside
the party with a voice recorder at hand.

"Hey
Lyss
, how’s it going?" He stood a little too close.
"Can I talk to you for a few?"

"Of
course, Matt, what’s up?"

"It’s a
pretty big deal, having someone like Rich West come in to campaign for an
unknown like Vincent, right? Can you say that in a way that makes it sound
academic, for the analysis quote?"

She laughed.
"Tonight I’m actually just another Chambers giving money to a politician,
Matt, not really on the job."

"Really?
Why? Are you as gaga over Rich West as everyone else?"

She shrugged.
"Not to speak of. It’s just Chambers life. H. Franklin wants a family
presence here."

"What do you
mean by ‘not to speak of?’"

She patted his
arm. "Don’t quote me tonight, Matt. Have a good time."

The party
itself was a little glitzier than usual because of the presence of the
celebrity Senator. Rich West was a big deal in politics. Everyone was talking
about him for the next Presidential election. Some were saying there was no one
else to talk about.

What no one
knew is why he picked an unknown House candidate from a small state to support.
Not that long ago, Vincent had been a newbie communications director on someone
else’s Senate campaign.

Remembering
that meeting with Vincent, Alyssa was mostly amazed that it had worked out. The
two of them really had kept each other’s secrets. It made her vaguely curious
about meeting him tonight. But not curious enough to bet her life on it.

"Are you
really Alyssa Chambers? You have to be. The resemblance is too strong."

She turned
around to see Senator Lance Reeder beaming her a thousand-watt smile that
stopped at his eyes. His eyes looked more like a wolf sizing up a meal. There
was really nothing special about him other than his smile and his eyes. He was
an ordinary man in late middle age collecting some extra weight in his midriff.
His brown hair was thinning and graying. His suit was expensive, his posture was
good, and of course there was that smile... and those eyes. His breath smelled
strongly of alcohol.

Also, there was
what Alyssa knew about him. She remembered her first job; she remembered her
last conversation with Mike Vincent. As a consequence the man’s smile had no
effect on her.

"Have we
met?"

"No, but I
knew your mother. You look so much like her you could be her. Well, you could
be her from 20 years ago anyway."

She felt her
temper rise at once at the very thought of this man’s eyes on her mother.
"Goes through women like an alcoholic through bourbon," was what
Vincent had said.

She reminded
herself,
Dignity… grace… you’re a Chambers… You’re here to do a job…

She held out
her hand.

"Yes, I’m
Alyssa Chambers. A pleasure to meet you."

He took her
hand. Whatever followed was not a handshake. It took all her willpower not to
jerk her hand back. She looked around for Matt – he would embarrass her if he
saw someone caressing her hand that way.

"Lance
Reeder."

"How did
you know my mother, Senator?"

He accepted
wine from a passing waiter, drank from the glass in a way that was more
guzzling than sipping, and said, "Please, call me Lance."

Alyssa forced
herself to smile but couldn’t manage any pleasant words. She waited for him to
say more and pondered the concept of a hard straight punch right to his solar
plexus.

A womanizing
drunk telling me about how he knew my mother…

Her hands
balled into fists, and she had to consciously uncurl them.

"We were…
friends," he slurred. "Well, you know, your whole family. I’ve known
your father for a long time. You can’t help it if you want to go anywhere in
politics. You have to know Chambers."

The attempt to
recover made obvious what the first words might only have hinted at, and Alyssa
quickly switched from reminding herself about dignity and grace to planning how
to get the man out of everyone’s sight so she could assault him.

"I’ll
never forget that car crash," he mumbled.

Alyssa wasn’t
sure if he meant to say it aloud or if the wine was causing his thoughts to come
out of his mouth.

And what did he
mean about a car crash mentioned in conjunction with her mother? Her mother
died of a stroke from drinking too much…

Gritting her
teeth, she forced her mind back to the task at hand. Why was money and support
lining up behind an unknown, untested candidate?

"So why
are you here, Senator?"

He shrugged,
slurring his speech as he replied.

"
Besh
party
goin
' on in the state
tonigh
'.
Wesh
is a big deal.
Vincen
'
usha
work for me. Pick
ya' reason."

"Yeah, but
you’re a serious player. None of those are reasons for you to throw your weight
behind someone in the primary."

His reply took
the form of a question.

"
D'you
know D.W. Tilman?"

Chambers wasn’t
keen to admit how she knew of Tilman – especially since the acquaintance was
not mutual. Tilman had never seen her face. She settled on, "I seem to
remember he worked for your campaign once."

"Yeah, but
he’sh
off to
bigger'n
better things now. Went
ta
work at the National
Committee headquarters in D.C., and now he’s
pullin
'
strings on a Presidential campaign. He’s
linin
' guys
up behind Vincent. Not sure why. They both worked for my campaign once."

Chambers
nodded, pleasantly reminded of the advantages of talking to drunk people. It
was a lot easier to get information. She made as graceful an exit as she could
from her conversation with Reeder and went off to gather more information.