by D S Kane
“Greenfield, we need to talk. I just received my first National Intelligence Estimate. I need explanations for several of our initiatives. Especially for those involving contractors. The ones never reported to Congress.”
Greenfield gulped, almost choked. “Uh, yes, sir. Can we meet face-to-face for this? Just me with you?” The very thought of doing this nauseated him, but he knew it would be better if the only notes were the date and time a meeting took place from the secretary’s log. The phone log would list the start and end time, and even that was more information than he cared to leave.
“All right, Gil. I can call you Gil, can’t I?”
He could feel his blood pressure spiking. “Certainly, Mr. Vice President-elect. When and where?” The lame-duck President was still very much in office while being tried for treason, but his official duties had been taken over by his Vice President. And with the President-elect now dead, no one seemed to know where or to whom to turn when a decision was needed. He sighed while waiting. For the first time in almost eight years, he hated his job and couldn’t wait to tender his resignation.
In a deep south drawl, the voice on the other end droned, “Tomorrow at the Mandarin Oriental. In the Presidential Suite. Two in the afternoon.” The phone clicked off.
* * *
The phone at the suite in the Mandarin Oriental rang, jarring her. Coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup and she put down the tablet she’d been reading. “Valerie Mastoff. Who’s calling?” Her mouth formed a large “oh.” She sat on the bed. “Yes, I understand. Well he’s not here right now. Meeting with his Chief of Staff until 9:30. Of course I’ll tell him. Do svidaniya.” She looked at the alarm clock at the bedside: 9:22 a.m. She plucked a pad and a pen from the night-table drawer and wrote a quick note.
But less than a minute later there was a knock on at the door. “Come,” she said.
A Secret Service agent opened the door and Amos entered. He looked tired. She pecked his cheek. “You had a call. Someone from Russia, must have thought you were here, and said he represents the Russian president. I wrote his name down: Nikita Tobelov. His number’s also on the paper.” She handed it to him.
He was still confused. Tobelov’s first call had preceded that of the Russian President. How could the man know his superior would assign him to Mastoff? What was going on? Mastoff smiled at his wife and left their suite, surrounded by four agents. “I’m going to the lobby to use a pay phone.” He marched to the elevator. “The call is private and personal, so leave me some space.”
The lead agent nodded. In the lobby they spread out around the phone booth, three feet in front of its closed folding-glass doors.
He sat on the leather seat and dialed the number. “Mr. Tobelov? Amos Mastoff. I understand you’re calling on behalf of the Russian President. What specifically did Vladimir Pushkin want us to discuss?”
“You requested status and location of several old suitcase nuclear devices of a tactical nature. I was instructed to cooperate. The six weapons are in a warehouse in Vladivostok near the wharf, awaiting pickup by the United Nations Nuclear Disarmament Commission in two weeks.”
Mastoff frowned. Okay, this wasn’t going to work the way he’d hoped. “Mr. Tobelov, that’s not soon enough. I don’t want to wait any longer than three days at most. I can have our own Nuclear Emergency Support Team team there in two days. They can pick up the devices and give you a receipt. They’ll deliver the weapons to the UN.”
“Uh, my President is not likely to let you just simply have them, usurping his good publicity for personal delivery to the UN. The publicity is worth much to Russia.”
Bingo. “Just how much is it worth?”
“Two hundred fifty million Euros.”
Math wasn’t Mastoff’s strong point. “How much in US currency?”
“Three hundred sixty-seven million. Have your NEST people bring the currency with them in suitcases.”
“Not safe.” Mastoff worried the suitcase carriers wouldn’t live long enough for a receipt. “We have a secure money-transfer system. Give me your bank account information.”
He heard Tobelov smother a curse in Russian. But the man complied.
Mastoff sighed with satisfaction. Project SafePay had earned its first dividend. He smiled as he opened the doors to the phone booth. The agents moved in tandem to surround him, guiding him to the elevators. Phase One complete.
CHAPTER 13
December 27, 10:46 a.m.
220 East Kirke Street,
Chevy Chase, Maryland
Sam Tyler sat on a stool at the table in the kitchen of Cassie’s house. The jeans and tee shirt he wore were Wing’s and were too short and too wide for his tall, thin body. Around him, mercenaries packed satchels with weapons and ammunition. He tilted his head with concern. Something was going on. He worried, wondering what it was. The short Asian hacker hurried by him and Tyler raised his hand. “Wait. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Uh, most of the mercs are going on assignment for a few days.” Wing looked up the stairs toward the room he and Sylvia shared.
“Who’ll be here protecting me?” Tyler felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise with winter static. But maybe it was fear.
Wing touched the big man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll have one here with us. Sylvia Orley. She’s a hellion.” Wing smiled. He started toward the staircase when the landline phone rang. He walked to the island counter space and picked up the receiver before the second ring started. “Wing here. You want to speak with who? Uh, well, who are you?” He listened. “”Uh, you talk to me, first. William Wing.”
Three thousand miles away, the woman continued speaking, louder now. Tyler could clearly make out her words. “My name is April O’Toole. I’m an investigative reporter and I know about Mr. Tyler. Listen, if you won’t let me talk to him, then I was hoping you could get him a message. Tell him I know who’s hunting him.”
Tyler heard the words coming from the receiver and held out his hand. “Gimme. Let me. Please.”
But Wing shook his head and moved further from the other man. “What’s your message? Tell me who. Can you also tell me why?” He removed a pen from his pocket and found a small pad of paper on the kitchen counter. “I beg your pardon? You what?” A few seconds later, he shook his head and said, “Thanks for the warning.” He shook his head as he replaced the receiver.
“What warning? Who was that?” Tyler felt near panic. “Tell me. Now.” He rose and paced the kitchen, shaking his head. “You promised I’d be safe here. Now, all the soldiers are going away. And someone apparently knows I’m here!”
“Calm down, Sam. Let me think.” Something was obviously bothering Wing, something larger than Tyler’s fate.
Tyler stopped pacing and faced William. “Maybe, if you tell me, I can help.”
Wing shrugged. He tapped his finger against his lips a few times. “Yeah. You’re right. I need help. You’re the only other person here with skills that might solve the problem.” He sat at the kitchen table, and Tyler sat down across from him. He handed Sam the note.
He read the large block print:
U.S. VICE PRESIDENT ELECT ASKED FOR SAFEPAY UPDATE. DON’T KNOW WHY.
Now they knew the who of the problem: Amos Mastoff.
* * *
Sharon Marconi parked her car across the street from Ann’s school in the same exact parking place where Achmed Houmaz had left his, four months ago.
She’d been waiting almost three hours for the little bitch to break for lunch. But lunch was ending and Ann hadn’t shown herself. Was she even at school?
Sharon knew Cassie’s mercenaries had seen her photo, thanks to Lester Dushov. But all she’d need is one shot. One shot, one kill: just as she’d been taught at the US Army sniper school so many years ago when she tried and failed to become a Ranger.
Stepponi had been her instructor before he’d been her lover. A tear formed and fell. She remembered Louis, the touch of his lips, his fingers inside her. She wa
rmed. Then looked back to the school’s entryway. Where the fuck was that little bitch?
When the black Ford Escape Hybrid rolled into the space behind her, she saw it in the rear-view mirror. Just one woman in it. It looked like an agency car, and that made its driver one of the family bodyguards. She’d found that tantalizing bit of information on the Internet.
She could see the lone passenger, the driver. A woman. She checked her Glock, chambering a round. When Ann left the building, Sharon would kill the bodyguard first and then the girl.
* * *
When Ann’s history class ended, she left the classroom with a smile. The B+ was her best grade ever. She entered the hallway and found Charles Breckenridge, the senior she’d been seeing as a tutor. Well, mostly as a tutor. She’d had sex with him one time, the day they met. He’d been waiting for her. “Look what I did!”
He smiled, seeing the grade, and hugged her. “I helped.”
They walked towards the school’s entryway, holding hands.
Since Achmed Houmaz tried killing her a few months ago, she become careful about leaving the school and was watchful of the cars parked in front. As they neared the doors, Ann peeked through the glass. Seven cars. She immediately recognized the black Ford with Sylvia Orley behind the wheel.
She moved to push open the door but stopped stock-still, her jaw dropping. The car in front—wasn’t that the woman who’d tried killing her? She’d seen the photo of the woman in the paper. Oh shit!
Charles saw her expression. He touched her shoulder. “What’s the matter, baby?”
“Charles, I just remembered. There’s something I have to do before we leave.” She pulled her cellphone from her backpack and dialed Lee’s number. “Daddy, I’m in trouble, and so is Sylvia.”
“Where are you?”
“Inside the doors of the lobby of the school. I can see that woman, Sharon Marconi, sitting in a parked car out front. Sylvia’s in the car behind her and she doesn’t know.”
“Okay. Stay inside the building. Find someplace to hide. I’ll fix this.” And the call terminated.
Charles stood by, a worried expression on his face.
She pushed him away. “You better leave. It’s gonna get ugly in here. Soon.” She shoved his shoulder. “Go! I have to find someplace to hide.” She looked out the door one more time, and as she watched, Marconi exited the car. Ann gulped as the woman walked toward Orley’s car, reaching into her coat. It was a gun! She couldn’t let this happen. She burst through the doors, screaming, “Sylvia! Gun!” And having captured Marconi’s attention, Ann dived back behind the door a moment before a bullet shattered the door’s window.
Ann ran through the halls.
* * *
Sylvia’s hands turned to fists, as she grew impatient. The spoiled brat should be here by now. Her cellphone vibrated in her pants pocket. She drew it out and pressed the button to accept the incoming call. “Oui?”
“It’s Lee. Ann recognized the woman in the car in front of you. It’s—”
The door at the school’s entryway burst open and she could hear shouting. She raised her head. Ann was screaming and pointing toward the space just behind her car. Orley heard the pop and turned her head as she saw Ann dive back behind the door.
Sylvia reached for her gun when she heard another pop. She saw the window on the driver’s side of her car explode, followed by the briefest hint of pain. Something pounded against the side of her head, and she felt a bright flash extinguish her vision, along with her entire world.
* * *
Ann sprinted down the hall toward the lobby’s fire door. She descended to the basement and threw open the basement door. The chemistry lab was the place she hated most. Its smells drove her crazy. Even worse than the biology lab next to it. She didn’t mind the physics lab, but she could think of nothing there to help her. She needed the chem lab. It contained things that she knew how to make explode. Her best chance of survival. She wondered how much time she had.
The lab’s door was locked, but she remembered Cassie using bump keys to pop a lock. She’d bought her own on the Internet and always carried them with her. In seconds she had its door open. She darted inside, locking the door behind her. She needed a weapon. Something powerful enough to combat a gun. Something that could work from a distance to reduce her enemy to dust. Where was the substance that had drawn her here?
* * *
Holding her handgun, Marconi walked calmly from the Ford and up the steps into the school. Behind her, the limp body of Sylvia Orley lay on the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street, a bullet hole in the side of her skull. Marconi hadn’t bothered to check the body. Kill shots. Dead for sure.
Behind her, students, parents, and teachers screamed in panic and a few were calling on their cellphones. Probably 911 calls. She moved fast up the steps and through the school’s entrance. The authorities would never arrive in time to keep her from blowing the little bitch to hell. She’d find Louis’s murderer even if she had to kill everyone here. Where could she have gone? She heard the distant wail of police sirens and upped her pace, trotting down the halls from classroom to classroom. All empty. Shit! This floor of the building was empty.
Then she saw the stairs. Must be in the basement.
* * *
Ann found a mirror in her purse, along with an LED needlepoint flashlight with a thirty-foot range. Marconi would try the labs—chemistry, biology, and physics—before moving on to the gym.
Ann left all the Bunsen burners turned on full-blast, but extinguished their flames. Before she left and locked the door to the chem lab, she positioned the mirror where it was clearly visible through the lab’s window into the basement hallway. She locked the door to the lab and searched for a place in the hallway where she could hide. Somewhere that would offer her protection.
A janitor’s closet was positioned between the labs and the gym. She picked its lock. She could see the mirror she’d placed on a table in the lab, about thirty feet away. She tried aiming the flashlight at it and was able to hit her mark. It glowed back at her. She moved behind the closet door, cracking it open so she could watch. Soon.
Ann heard footsteps coming toward her. She watched Marconi approach. Marconi tried the physics lab first, shooting the gun into the door handle to blow off the lock. Ann gulped.
Seconds later, Marconi reappeared, more angry and impatient, walking fast toward the biology lab’s door. Ann heard another gunshot and in less than a minute she saw an enraged Marconi scream an obscenity. Marconi stomped impatiently toward the chem lab. “I know you’re in there, you stinker. I’m gonna to gut you. Nowhere you can hide.”
Ann flashed the needlepoint light toward the mirror, blinking it on and off twice. It caught Marconi’s attention, now focused clearly on the window in the door. As Marconi drew the gun level with the lab door’s handle, Ann silently closed the door to the janitor’s closet. But before it even sealed, she heard another gunshot that mushroomed into an explosion. The closet door slammed shut and Ann saw a bright flash even through the door as she was thrown into the janitor’s shelves. She bounced hard onto the floor, blinded and deafened. Shelves of detergent and supplies fell on her. She felt pain in her left arm and right leg. But she was alive.
Ann pushed herself up gingerly and staggered to the door. She steadied herself and opened it. No fire. The sheer force of the explosion had blown out the flames. All three labs had ceased to exist, their walls blown asunder. She limped toward them, massaging her damaged left arm. She scoured the floor briefly for evidence of Marconi’s corpse but found nothing. No matter, the woman could never have survived. Just no way.
She staggered to the place where the gym’s doors used to be. There used to be an exit to the outside here, but everything was dark. The lights had blown. She walked blindly, touching walls to guide her. It took minutes to find an exit outside, but the time seemed more like hours.
When she reached the black Ford Escape, Orley wasn’t there. Ann saw blood
on the front seat. It was covered in shattered glass from the driver’s side window. Her jaw dropped, and her legs got wobbly. She felt her knees hit the sidewalk. Someone touched her shoulder, spoke to her, but the explosion had left her deaf and she couldn’t make out the words.
Ann asked, “What happened?” She couldn’t hear her own words. She hoped it was a temporary thing.
She focused her attention on the teacher’s lips to see if she could understand what he was saying. Something about a woman being shot and taken away in an ambulance.
Must be Orley. She felt tears clouding her vision. She couldn’t hear herself sobbing. Now Ann knew why ghosts haunted her mom.
CHAPTER 14
December 27, 11:46 p.m.
Georgetown University, Washington, DC
Wing was breathless by the time he reached the information desk in the emergency room. Perspiration stuck his shirt to his back. He spoke so fast the station nurse shook her head and asked him to repeat himself. “Her name’s Sylvia Orley.” He bent his back and dropped his hands to his knees for support. “Where?”
The woman in white held up one hand while her other hand pounded some keys on the computer. “She’s just out of surgery. Not yet in recovery. Probably being moved through the halls or the elevator.”
“Yeah, yeah. Where’s recovery?” Why was she taking so long to answer his simple questions? “Please! Now!”
“Are you family?” The woman said every word as if it was a pleasant summer afternoon and she was asking if he wanted some lemonade.
“Yes. I’m her husband.” He wasn’t a good liar, but this was urgent. Even as he said the words, they suddenly seemed just right. He suddenly felt as if he’d missed doing something he should have. His jaw dropped.
“Third floor, take a left off the elevator.”
He was gone in a flash, hoping his revelation wasn’t too late.
They wouldn’t let him into the room where she lay twenty-five feet away, unmoving, hooked to machines.
William stood with his hands on the glass wall, watching. Tears streamed down his face. He whispered, “Don’t die, Syl. I, uh, I… Oh, God.” His voice stopped wavering and became strong. “Syl, I love you.” It was the first time he’d ever said the words. He’d never before been close to someone who might die a violent death. Hackers hardly ever put themselves in harm’s way. But she did, and for one of Cassie’s family.