Dark

by Aleatha Romig

  The cabin filled with clicks as seatbelts were unfastened and Keaton joined us. His face was unusually pale. “Marianne said to tell you that she will refuel and be ready to leave as soon as you return.”

  Sparrow nodded. “I don’t expect this to take long.”

  The Sparrow who drove Mason and me from the airport to the hotel filled us in on recent changes in logistics. The Sparrow tail on Walters had him in view. He’d spent the morning in the Hart Senate Office Building. His official calendar stated he had a meeting this afternoon regarding a coalition of Illinois donors.

  That would be us.

  Mason continued text contact with Sparrow as I did with Patrick. We may not all be in the same car, but we were on the same page.

  The car pulled up to the front beneath the flag-adorned awning of the Mandarin Oriental. An attendant in hotel uniform opened the back door and welcomed us as we stepped onto the sidewalk. He held the door as we entered. The floor within glistened and dark and light pillars held domes of ornate design and artificial light. We bypassed the desk and made our way to the VIP elevator, prepared that it took a special key to access the presidential suite.

  We’d received our keys in the car.

  I offered it to the attendant at the stand. “Presidential suite.”

  The older man nodded, slowly taking the key from my grasp as he looked from me to Mason and back. “Sirs, your names?”

  “We gave you our key,” Mason replied.

  The attendant went to his stand and brought a tablet to life. “We have been told that security is tight lately.”

  This imbecile had no fucking idea how tight the security was. “Phillip Kennington.” I nodded toward Mason. “And Joseph Swills.”

  The attendant searched his tablet. When he looked up, his eyes met mine. “I will need to see identification to confirm.”

  Mason and I both reached for our wallets. To say the Sparrows were always prepared was an understatement. We removed the fake identification cards from our wallets. Phillip, a.k.a. me, was from New York. Joseph, a.k.a. Mason, was from Miami. We could both rattle off our information as if we were underage college students ready to confirm our illegal ability to drink.

  The attendant spent what seemed an excessive period of time scrutinizing the IDs before he handed them back. “Hmm. I can’t find anything out of order.” Though I’d been the one to give the attendant the key, he handed it back to Mason. “Sir.” With his eyes straight ahead, he moved beyond the stand and activated the VIP elevator that would take us directly to the presidential suite.

  Once we were in the elevator, alone but probably being filmed, Mason handed me the key. I took it with a huff and placed it back in the pocket of my suit coat. I could mention that I’d never witnessed Sparrow, Patrick, or Mason having an extra layer of security before, but honestly, the hotel employee didn’t deserve more of my time or thought. His opinion didn’t affect my worth.

  We had more pressing matters.

  When the elevator opened, Mason and I stepped into another glistening tile hallway. Our only option to proceed was an entry, consisting of two grand doors with a plaque near the doorbell. It read Presidential Suite. I removed the key from my pocket and waved it before the sensor. The mechanism within clicked. Once inside we were in a small foyer with two options. There was a door to the right or double doors to the left. Before we had a chance to choose, the door to the right opened.

  “Welcome, Mr. Murray, Mr. Pierce,” Romero said as he led us into what appeared to be a bedroom—or that was what it normally was. The two beds within were pushed against the window, and in their place a large computer center had been created.

  Exhaling, I took in the welcome sight. As the man in the tower, the makeshift field command posts were something I didn’t often see. “Damn, I’m impressed,” I said as I walked around the setup. “You did well.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Murray. I didn’t do it alone.”

  Christian sat in front of multiple screens, his fingers on the keys, and earphones over his ears. I stepped behind his chair. “There he is,” I said to Mason.

  Mason came up behind me. As he stared at the older man on the screen walking along a sidewalk not far from the hotel, Mason’s countenance changed. He straightened his stance and the muscles in his arm beside mine tightened. “That’s him.”

  I looked around. “Show me the security for the suite.”

  Romero spent the next few minutes showing me all that they had installed from the computers. The entire suite was under surveillance. It wouldn’t matter if Walters and Sparrow wanted to conduct the meeting in the living room or dining room. There were cameras and recording equipment covering it all, as well as a rotating feed from the hallway and even the lobby on the first floor.

  “So you saw us coming before we arrived,” I said with a grin.

  “Yes, sir. We saw the asshole at the elevator too.”

  “He’s not worth our breath,” I replied.

  Romero smiled. “And he can spend the next three hours trying to figure out why Phillip Kennington is in the presidential suite.”

  “He obviously has nothing better to do.”

  “Mr. Sparrow?” Mason asked.

  Christian had removed one of the earphones and was listening to us as well as his feeds. He hit a few keys and we saw Sparrow and Garrett riding within an elevator.

  “Did they stop at the asshole’s entry?” I asked.

  “No, they came from the basement parking garage. We have access to this feed, but it’s blacked out on the hotel’s surveillance. When you all leave, there will be no record of Sterling Sparrow ever being in Washington DC.”

  Romero led us out to the entry and into the doors to the left. It was time to see in person what had been on the screens. I stopped at the threshold. The presidential suite was stunning. I imagined spending a week away with Lorna within a place like this.

  The three of us stepped into the living room. The windows lining the far wall looked out toward the Washington Monument. If it weren’t raining, we could open the French doors and enjoy an autumn day in our country’s capital. To the left, the eight-person dining room table was cleared, with the exception of a centerpiece, ready to be a conference table. To the right was a study, more intimate than the open living room for confidential discussions, and able to be closed off by a set of pocket doors.

  Of course, nothing was confidential with the way the Sparrows had this place wired.

  We turned as the doors behind us opened and Garrett and Sparrow entered.

  “Where is he?” Sparrow asked.

  Romero stepped around Sparrow and back to the control room before reentering the living room. “Mr. Walters just entered the lobby and he’s alone.”

  “This will be overwhelming,” Mason said. “Four of us, one of him. Let me greet him.”

  “He’s not here to meet with you,” Sparrow said. “You two” —he was speaking to Mason and me— “go wait in the study. I’ll greet Mr. Walters after Garrett answers the bell. Then, Garrett will go to the master bedroom and serve as backup. Christian and Romero will be in the computer room watching everything.”

  “There’s a monitor in the master bedroom, too,” Romero offered. He turned to me. “Here” —he pulled a phone from his pocket— “this is so you can hear and see from the study.”

  “It’s right...” I didn’t finish the train of thought as I examined the phone in my hand. “This is a monitor.” I’d said a statement, but there was a hint of a question in it.

  “Yes, it is already programmed. Turn it on and use these earbuds. You will hear everything as if you’re in here. The monitor is small, but it’s better than listening through doors and watching through the keyhole.”

  Sparrow nodded. “Good that’s taken care of. And there are also five more Sparrows in the hotel and more nearby. I’ll talk first and then bring the two of you in on the conversation.”

  Stress rippled off Mason in waves.

  “Mason,” Sparrow
commanded. “Go.”

  The two men stood at a crossroad staring at one another.

  “He’s on the elevator,” Romero said.

  “Go to the computer room,” Sparrow directed. “Garrett, answer the door and then disappear.” He turned his dark stare to me and Mason. Once Romero had gone and Garrett was in the entry behind closed doors, Sparrow came closer. His tone was low but harsh. “No matter how much power I allow you to have, I give the fucking orders.” His eyes were on Mason. “Now isn’t a good time to put that to a test.”

  When Mason turned to me, I nodded and lifted the monitor and earbuds.

  Sparrow took a seat on a long sofa near the window. Together, Mason and I stepped into the study. I reached for the pocket doors and pulled them shut as the sound of a doorbell rang throughout the suite.

  Reid

  My brother-in-law paced a few steps in the smaller room before going to the windows and peering out toward the National Mall. “We should have done this alone.”

  I wasn’t confident enough in either plan to agree or disagree.

  “I want answers,” I said. “No matter if we get them or Sparrow does, I want to know why the Order took my wife and if she’s still a target.”

  Mason let out a breath. “And why they’re after my wife.”

  “I fucking want answers. Lorna got one. It’s our turn.”

  Mason’s gaze met mine. He’d learned the results of the rape kit from me, after I left Lorna. While it was reassuring that she hadn’t been raped, the fact she needed a kit to determine that coated both of our vision in crimson.

  I ran a test to compare the DNA from the pubic hair to Andrew Jettison. It took less than five minutes for the results to come back with a near percent match. The man who died six years ago recently bled and somehow shed pubic hair less than a week ago.

  Mason extended his hand, silently asking for the earbuds. Sitting on a two-person sofa, we both put the earbuds into place, and I switched on the small handheld monitor. The room beside us came into view on the screen.

  Garrett was leading Edison Walters toward Sparrow. For a man nearly seventy years old, Walters was formidable. There was no pretension in the other room. Walters didn’t need to pretend he was a mild-mannered legislative aide. Sparrow didn’t need to pretend that his only concern was real estate. They were coming together with complete openness, a translucency evident in the way Walters walked. He was a man of power.

  Sparrow stood, also a man of power.

  I hoped the conversation would yield similar unpretentious results.

  “Mr. Sparrow.” Walter’s extended his hand.

  Sparrow did likewise. “Mr. Walters.” Once they shook, he gestured toward the sofas. “Sit.”

  Walters stood taller. “Mr. Sparrow, there are few individuals who have access or the ability to request my presence, my real presence. Tell me what this is about.”

  “Who, not what.”

  “Who this is about,” Mr. Walters hesitated. “Is it Pierce? Is there a problem?”

  “A problem?” Sparrow repeated. “What sort of problem would you suspect?”

  Walters placed his hands in the pockets of his slacks and grinned. “You asked for this meeting. I’m sure you had a topic in mind.”

  Sparrow walked to the sofa and took a seat. “Thank you for joining me.”

  Silence filled the room until Mr. Walters took a seat opposite Sparrow.

  With a nod, Sparrow began talking. “It came to my attention...”

  As he spoke, I couldn’t help but think about how different this meeting would be if Araneae were still missing. One of Sterling Sparrow’s secrets to success both in real estate and elsewhere was his ability to negotiate. He had an innate sense of the other person’s thoughts and motives. It was similar to his aptitude at playing chess. He wasn’t one move ahead but four moves. In his mind, he had each possibility planned and countered before those strategies even occurred to his opponent.

  “...I want to know why the Order has decided to renege upon the agreement we secured regarding Mr. Pierce.”

  Walters sat taller. “The Order doesn’t renege. Mr. Pierce is no longer a part of any governmental organization, not a legal organization.”

  “Dr. Carlson, or should I say, Mrs. Pierce?”

  Walters sat for a moment, staring at Sparrow. “Mrs. Pierce. Yes, I remember learning that he married. What does...?” His question stopped. “Are you insinuating that the Order is in the process of anything regarding Sergeant First Class Pierce’s wife?”

  “Yes, I have reason to believe that is the case.”

  “She was...” Walters faltered a minute. “...I recall, a scientist. She was at the center of the debacle that brought us together the first time.” His expression became quizzical. “Part of our agreement was that she would discontinue her research on the compound and formula that she’d been studying in Indiana.”

  “That research was lost when she had to run for her life.”

  Walters shrugged. “A fair trade, I suppose.”

  “You tell me, Mr. Walters, is her life safe?”

  “As long as she abides by our rules.”

  “Then why was there an attempted kidnapping with her as the target?”

  Walters shook his head. “I can tell you with complete confidence that I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m sure you pay attention to the world news, Mr. Sparrow. You don’t have your head buried only in Chicago.”

  Sparrow sat taller. “I stay informed.”

  “Six hostages were rescued a week ago from a rogue ISIS camp. Three weeks before that, a Russian informant was saved from an attempt on his life.” Mr. Walters went on. “A month ago, there was a failed assassination attempt on a crowned prince.”

  “You failed?”

  “No, Mr. Sparrow. The prince will be needed in future negotiations on some yet-to-be-discussed diplomacy issues. The assassin failed. The Order doesn’t fail—we succeed. If Mrs. Pierce was meant to be kidnapped, she would have been.”

  “My wife and the wife of a trusted member of my team were taken.”

  “My condolences.”

  “They have been returned.”

  Mr. Walters stood. “While I am flattered that you assume anyone willing to come against you could only be the Order, we did not and have not prioritized the Sparrow organization. I may not agree with the business you do—”

  “Nor I yours,” Sparrow interrupted as he stood, “or the way in which you recruit.”

  “Then we can agree to disagree. As I was saying, despite my personal dislike for organizations that work outside the law, you serve a purpose in your city and beyond. The Order has no urgent or imminent concerns with your business dealings; however, it is wise to remember that you made yourself a blip on our radar.”

  “Apparently, we have the same radar screen. It is ironic that you would draw an invisible line at legal legitimacy.”

  “My point, Mr. Sparrow, is do not waste my time again. The Order has much more pressing matters. However, if Mrs. Pierce would decide to go public with a pharmaceutical, a decision that would not be in the best interest of the republic, we would notice. I suggest she use her talents in other means, such as working at your wife’s institute.”

  “Fuck,” Mason whispered, ripping the ear bud from his ear. “That was a threat.”

  Before I could stop him, Mason was up and opening the study doors. With his feet planted shoulder-width apart, he addressed the man across the room, “Top.”

  Gray eyes came his way. “Sergeant.”

  Sparrow took a step back, his displeasure at our interruption well-masked. “Of course, please join us.”

  Walters looked between Sparrow and Mason and me. “Is this it or will more doors open?”

  “This is it, sir,” I said. “My name is Reid Murray. My wife was the other woman kidnapped. She was physically assaulted. We have evidence that led us to the Order. It wasn’t an assumption that we warranted your attention. Our goal is to work
in parallel—we could say on the fringe of perceived legality. The Order has its focus as we do our own.”

  The man walked closer to me, tilting his head to the side. “You look...” He scanned me up and down. “Murray is a common name.”

  I wasn’t certain where he was headed, but I had a goal. “Sir, I need answers about a soldier that fits the profile of the Order’s recruits.”

  “Yes, your diction is similar.” He shook his head as a smile came to his thin lips. “May I ask your parents’ names?”

  “Top, we need to know—”

  Mr. Walters waved Mason’s direction. “Of course, it won’t be difficult for me to learn.”

  I scanned the room. All eyes were on me. “My father’s name was Rendell and my mother was LaDonna Murray.”

  Top nodded and turned to Sparrow. “Perhaps we could learn from you, Mr. Sparrow. You do surround yourself with the best, or at least the son of one of the best.”

  My train of thought derailed. “You knew my father?”

  “I did. Lieutenant Colonel Murray is a hero, son, a patriot in the true sense of the term. You should be proud of his dedication to the republic.”

  “He was part of the Order?” I couldn’t believe I was asking this.

  “Things operated a bit differently back then. Mr. Sparrow’s concern with our recruiting was different. The formula didn’t exist.”

  My mind spun.

  Did my father not die in the Gulf War?

  Did he choose the republic over his family?

  Before I could form questions, Mason drew his attention. “Top, we have recent DNA evidence that led us to a man who served in the army. According to military records, he died six years ago. His DNA was found last week. Even you must admit that sounds like a possible soldier in the Order?”

  “And what is this to you, Sergeant? I understand Mr. Sparrow and Mr. Murray.” He turned back to me. “Did you ever consider serving your country?”

  “Yes, sir. I did two tours in Iraq.”

  “Branch?”

  “Army.”