“This shouldn’t take more than a minute. I’ll just need your signature on a few forms. The office is down the hall. If Dr. Taylor gets out before we finish we’ll see him walk right by.”
“Of course.” She went with him, the two Secret Service agents Cal had had meet them at the hospital following close behind.
The administrator stopped at the door of a small office that held only two chairs and a desk. The agents checked the room over then moved back to wait by the door.
“Please, take a seat. I hope you are all right. I saw what happened to you on the news. Crazy world, this is.” The man walked around the desk and plopped down. He pulled a few sheets from his clipboard and passed them to her. “If you could fill these out—I’m just going to need credit card authorization.”
She fished he card out and read off the numbers while he typed.
The printer next to her spit out one page after the other, about half a dozen in total. The guy grabbed them up when he was done on the computer. “Let me make some copies.”
He pushed aside a panel and walked through a door on the opposite wall, but didn’t go far. She could hear him moving around in there. She could hear a copy machine come to life, whirring and clicking.
The picture on the desk caught her attention. Another man with a small child. Maybe a brother and nephew. Or life partner. On second look, the office was rather feminine, with more pictures—cats—and a small pink vase among the many knickknacks. Maybe he shared the office with someone. It wasn’t any of her business. She clicked on the pen and turned her attention to the forms she was supposed to fill out. She made quick work of them and was done by the time the man stuck out his head from behind the door.
“If you’re finished, you can just pass those to me and you’re free to go,” he said, then disappeared again.
“Thank you,” she said, even though he’d left the room. She grabbed her purse as she stood and then took the papers to him.
He was fiddling with the settings on one of the copiers in a small room that opened to his office on one end and to a hallway on the other. A second copier was going full force already with some giant job he’d just started, spitting out one sheet after another, filling the small room with noise. The place looked like a supply closet, save for the gurney by the wall that held a large roll of black plastic.
A body bag. She turned away when she realized what it was.
The other machine caught her eye again. The pages coming out of it were blank.
“I think you put the originals in backwards,” she said without turning.
“I think everything is as it should be now, Congresswoman,” he said and pressed against her in the small space as he moved forward.
And in that instant, as she felt the pressure of his body on hers and heard that voice close to her ear, low like that, she recognized it.
The man in her attic.
She opened her mouth to scream, but his hand was over it already. He punched her in the side with the other hand before she could twist away.
Not punched. She looked down confused and saw the handle of a blade sticking out, felt a sudden sharp pain that took her breath away. She went down fast, the noise of her falling swallowed by the whirring of the machine next to her.
The last thing she registered was the wet sound the knife made as it was withdrawn.
DANNY LOOKED DOWN the empty corridor and moved forward, both his anger and his fear tightly suppressed. He was in commando mode. No room for emotions, only precise, faultless execution. He would not stop, not feel until he accomplished his mission.
It was early evening, the visitors gone, and the hallways of Walter Reed Hospital were deserted except for the occasional nurse coming off or going on duty.
His knees seemed to be made of jelly. A temporary weakness, he hoped. Man, having his stomach pumped had been rough. His throat felt raw. He ignored that and the slight dizziness, courtesy of the poison his body had already absorbed by the time the ambulance had gotten him to the E.R.
His mind was focused on a single thought: Somebody took Kaye. She’d been taken with two Secret Service agents waiting just outside the small office where she was supposed to sign paperwork. For him.
They had made the worst possible mistake—underestimated the enemy. She had to have been followed to the hospital from home. Then once they got here, the enemy had improvised. The man was good, whoever he was.
Where was she? And what had they done to her?
There had been blood on the floor of the room from which she had disappeared. Hospital security cameras had picked up an unauthorized transport of a body through the parking garage. He put the picture of the still body bag on the gurney out of his mind.
He had promised her he would keep her safe, damn it.
He passed the nurses’ station, walked on until he found two older women stripping sheets off a bed in an empty room and stuffing them into a laundry cart. He flashed them his most charming smile. “Hi, I’m Brady White with the Secret Service. Congressman Cole is waiting for me, but I think I got lost. It’s my first time here.”
One of them smiled back shyly, a short stocky woman with gray hair that was cut into a boyish style. “He’s one floor up. I’m going that way anyway. You can come with me.”
“That would be extremely helpful,” he said and followed her.
“Bring me a coffee, too, would you?” the other woman called after them.
“Of course.” Rosa, according to her nametag, yelled back without stopping. She moved as if she had someplace to be, her shoes clopping on the floor. “He’s just one floor up. You were close,” she told him.
He nodded, putting on a grateful and relieved expression.
The key in these situations was not to ask anyone in charge. A nurse would have known the security procedure. Housekeeping, whom most everyone ignored, were happy to show someone they thought important that they knew everything that went on in the building.
He made small talk while they rode the elevator.
“Sorry,” he said as he bumped into her when the elevator stopped and they stepped forward to get off at the same time. “Please, go ahead.” He smiled as he slipped her ID tag into his back pocket.
“Turn left at the end. Last room.” The woman pointed down one of the hallways. “There’s another agent out front. You can’t miss it.” She paused. “I can walk with you if you’d like.”
“That’s not necessary. You’ve been very kind. Thank you.” He smiled again and turned from her, moving down the hallway slowly, allowing her time to walk down another corridor and pass out of sight.
When she was gone, he grabbed some soiled scrubs from another laundry cart—looked like it was housekeeping time on every floor—stepped into the nearest empty room and pulled the green garments over his clothes, clipped Rosa’s ID on his breast pocket and turned it sideways as if it’d gotten brushed aside. He grabbed a clipboard from the end of the bed, tucked it under his arm and went on to meet his target.
No time to go through the proper channels and ask permission. Not when every minute could mean the difference between Kaye’s life and death.
The Secret Service man by the door barely spared him a glance. He was there as a formality. The congressman hadn’t been under any kind of threat. And Danny had picked his time well, the end of the shift; the man was tired and ready to go.
A few more steps and he was in, face to face with the congressman.
He sat on the edge of his bed and noted his gray complexion, his sunken eyes. “I don’t work for the hospital.” He pulled the call button, which the man was about to push, from his reach with one smooth movement.
“Relax. I’m not here to hurt you.” He lifted his hand, ready to clamp it over the congressman’s mouth if he decided to call for his guard. “I’m here about Kaye Miller,” he said.
Cole turned even paler. “Has anything … happened to her?”
“You tell me.” He pinned him with the same look he used to int
errogate terrorists.
Cole looked away. A few moments of silence passed. “I’m sick. Look, I don’t know who you are.” He breathed unevenly. “Leave.”
“I don’t think you’re a murderer,” Danny said.
“Oh, God.” Cole shrank into his pillow. “Is she dead?” He took in air in short gasps.
“I’m really hoping that she’s not. But she is missing. Why don’t you help me find her alive?”
Cole struggled to sit, not quite succeeding. “I didn’t do anything.” Gasp. “I don’t know anything. This is outrageous.” Gasp. “Who are you?”
What was he trying to do, kill himself? Danny pushed him back onto the bed. “Stay still. All you have to do is talk.”
The man wheezed. “You’re wrong. I’m seriously ill. You can’t think I had something to do with this.”
He could have made him talk quickly, as distasteful as he would have found strong-arming a sick man like that. For Kaye, he could have done anything.
“Who has Kaye Miller?” he held back for now.
“I don’t feel good.” Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead. “Please. I need a doctor.”
“How did you know that the congresswoman was in an accident?”
The man stared at him for a few seconds. “I can’t … remember. I think she told me. No, maybe Marge told me. I don’t know.”
The monitor he was hooked up to showed rising blood pressure and heart rate. Damn it. He wasn’t faking it. Did he have information? Was there enough suspicion to justify what Danny would have to do to make him talk?
There wasn’t. All they had was Cole’s voting record. Not enough to risk killing the man. Danny swore.
“I was never here,” he said and tossed the call button back to him before he walked out of the room.
The guard at the door didn’t even look up from the magazine he was reading. Danny couldn’t blame him. He’d spent his own share of time on mind-numbing guard duty where his presence had been largely a formality. Now he loved the SDDU because their missions never lacked action.
And action was exactly what he needed now. He had to find out who had Kaye, then he had to go and get her back.
If Congressman Cole wasn’t involved, then who? Danny strode down the hall. They had precious few leads. The only other man who had jumped out at him from the records was Congressman Brown.
He had bet on Cole. Who knew why he’d gone into the ladies’room? What he would have done if that aide hadn’t shown up? His instincts bristled at the man, but even he could be wrong. Cole certainly didn’t look in good enough shape to orchestrate multiple assassination attempts. That left Brown. The Capitol Hill parking tag pointed to someone in politics and these two seemed the most obvious. Not that he would ignore the rest. Sylvia was running all background info for the whole of Congress and all Capitol Hill employees, making a list of everyone with the slightest connection to Kaye Miller. Unfortunately, getting comprehensive and usable results would take a while, and Kaye had already been missing for three hours. She could be anywhere by now.
Danny walked outside and flipped open his cell phone. “Hello, Sylvia. Could I ask for a favor?”
“Always, and now more than ever,” she said. “The Colonel mentioned you were working on finding Kaye. He’s out of his mind with worry, drilling her Secret Service detail right now. The agency is using all their available resources to find her.”
“I’ll bring her back.” He would find her or die trying.
“What can I do for you?”
“I need an exact location on Congressman Brown. Kaye mentioned that he’s in New York for his mother’s funeral.”
To her credit, Sylvia asked no questions. All she said was, “It shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”
KAYE FELT dizzy and weak, slowly becoming aware of the darkness and the plastic that was suffocating her. She clawed against it, registering the sounds and movements of a vehicle. The scene at the hospital came back in a rush, the man who’d called her into the copy room.
She desperately searched for an opening and found it, pushed a finger through the small hole at the top of the zipper and worked it down a few inches. She gulped a quick breath, then another as she tried to move around in the dark. She couldn’t straighten her legs. A trunk. She was locked in the trunk of a car that was taking her God knew where.
She wiggled her fingers until the opening was wide enough to fit her hand through, then she grabbed the zipper and pulled it down as far as it went, pushed the bag off her head and shoulders.
The trunk was small and smelled like exhaust. She felt around, looking for the release on the locking mechanism, found it and pushed against the piece of metal, but nothing opened. If she could see … Wasn’t there a light in here somewhere that activated when the trunk was open? Quick. She might not have much time.
Blood rushed in her ears; her heart pounded. Deep, slow breaths. Don’t give in to panic.
She dragged her hands across the top of the trunk over her head. Nothing there. Where was that light? She tried to remember her own car. Should have paid attention to these things.
Think.
But focusing her brain wasn’t easy, fear gripping her tighter and tighter.
Ouch. She rubbed her thumb over the pad of her index finger. What was that? She felt the roof again, carefully, and found a small piece of sharp metal—probably the end of a screw. She had to be careful with that.
Her side pulsed with pain at every move, but she kept going. The light had to be here somewhere. In the back corners, she remembered suddenly and moved her hands in that direction, hoping it would be the same in this car.
She could hear the radio up front, some twangy country music. Then a man sang. She couldn’t make out the words.
Who was he and what did he want with her?
Waking up in a body bag left her less than optimistic.
The car slowed and rattled, the sounds of the road changing to that of gravel crunching under the tires. A dirt road? Where? How long had she been out?
She kept up her search of the trunk, came across some kind of lever and pulled it. Something shifted behind her. The back seat—one of those that were split in two, one side folding down for storage.
It opened only an inch or two, and she didn’t dare push any farther. A narrow strip of light came through from the cab. Was the man alone? So far, she hadn’t heard another voice.
Kaye held her breath, desperate for a way out. Could she make it to the inside of the car, grab the man from behind and force him to stop? That might have saved her if they were in a busy area with others around, people who could come to her aid.
The gravel crunching under the tires gave her little hope. They were out in the country somewhere. Even if she could somehow get out of the car, he would recapture her. She was injured—she hoped to God it wasn’t too bad. He had a knife. He might have other weapons as well—a gun. Maybe he had used the knife at the hospital only because it made the least noise.
She pushed the body bag down her legs and freed them. Whatever happened next, she would need as much mobility as possible. She needed a plan.
The car slowed.
She needed a plan now.
Pain screamed in her side as Kaye moved her arm so she could look at the dial on her watch in the narrow shaft of light that filtered through from the car to the trunk. A little after seven in the evening. She’d gone to the hospital with Cal around three, spent an hour or so waiting before she’d been tricked into that office. Her kidnapper had had a good three hours of travel time. Where were they? The vast woods of Virginia came to mind.
She had to crawl through to the car without the man noticing her somehow and gain control of the vehicle. Once she had a chance to think about it, she realized there was no other way. She had little illusion about what would happen once he reached his destination. He was going somewhere to get rid of her body.
She took a couple of deep breaths, flexed leg muscles that had gone numb. Her side felt wet a
nd sticky; whatever wound he’d inflicted was still bleeding. The longer she waited, the weaker she was going to get.
But before she could make her move, the car rolled to a slow stop. Somebody outside was talking. The driver responded then moved on before she could decide whether or not to call for help.
They didn’t go far after that. The car finally came to a halt and the motor turned off. The vehicle rocked as the man got out and slammed the door behind him.
Fear stole her breath. He was coming for her.
She listened for his footsteps. As soon as he was far enough from the driver’s-side door, she’d push forward, press down the locks. If he’d left the keys in the ignition, she was as good as free. If he hadn’t, she still might find his cell phone, or tumble onto the secret of hot-wiring. Looked easy enough in the movies. Pull some wires, touch them together.
But the man didn’t walk toward the trunk as she’d expected. His shoes crunched on gravel, growing fainter and fainter as he walked away.
Now.
She pushed the seat forward inch by inch, ignored the pain in her side and crawled through the gap, keeping her head down. She was in the middle of the woods, in some kind of a rustic compound. Wooden huts and storage buildings loomed ahead. Nobody around that she could see.
She turned her attention to the interior. The ignition was empty.
She climbed over the seats and checked the glove compartment. No cell phone.
Okay, where were the wires?
Voices carried in the silence of the night, coming from somewhere to her left. She ducked.
“He told you not to go back, Bobby.”
“Got the job done, didn’t I?”
“Damn lucky. If you’d messed up now, Ben would have shot your ass off.”
They were coming closer.
Kaye moved over to the passenger side, reached for the door. She slid out silently. The woods were less than twenty yards ahead.
She kept close to the ground and made a dash for it.
God, moving hurt.
She kept going. She had to get as far away from the place as she could. Find a road, a town, a phone, someone to help her.
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