“Are you in junior high?” Tessa pushed his hands from her hips. “I don’t appreciate being referred to as a commodity or a horse.” Her eyes darted to Chase who still glared at his partner.
Carter grinned. “Tell me you didn’t compare her to a horse, Chase. Did I teach you nothing at Monte Carlo last Christmas?” Carter refused to be ignored and placed his arm around her shoulders, making sure he never took his eyes off Chase.
“You’re a little early.” Chase’s tone grew frosty as he pushed Carter’s hand off Tessa’s shoulder, not realizing he’d dropped it against her buttocks with a squeeze.
Tessa gave Carter a shove and pointed a finger at him. “Excuse me,” she quipped.
Carter chuckled. “Come on, Tessa whata ya say we blow this place. Wait a minute. You’re my date tonight.” He reached for her hand and pulled her to his side, looking triumphantly at his boss. “Bet he forgot to tell you that.” He chuckled as he felt Tessa try to free her hand. Lifting it to his lips he kissed the palm of her hand, never taking his eyes from Chase.
Jerking her hand free Tessa turned bewildered eyes back to Chase. “I was about to get to that,” he said off handedly. “Since Carter appears to have established himself in the good graces of your friends at the airport he’ll be seated at your table. Together the two of you can watch for any signs that your uncle has breached security. Carter will relay any info at that point.” He nodded toward Carter. “He knows what to do if the president or the prime minister is in danger.”
Tessa frowned. She wasn’t so sure fighting off Carter’s unwanted attention during the evening would protect the president if he got into trouble. “Where will you be?”
The two men still locked stares as Chase spoke. “Close.” It was maddening how he was a man of few words. However, she knew better than to question him. He tired of her inquiries too quickly. “I’ll do my best to keep your uncle from getting his fool head shot off.”
Raising her chin in defiance, the captain refocused his eyes on her, sternly. Gone was the smoldering examination he bestowed on her moments earlier. All that remained was a cold indifference. Forced to believe he was as ruthless with a woman’s heart as he was with a loaded gun terrified her.
Brushing by Carter and opening the door, she looked back coldly, hoping to say something witty and clever to the man in charge, but nothing came out of her parted lips. With recklessness, he allowed his eyes to focus on that area of her mouth. The question arose in her mind; did he feel any guilt at all about taking advantage of her the night before in the alley?
~~~
Grabbing Carter’s arm as he started after Tessa, created a look of concern on the captain’s face. The former astronaut smiled down at the tight grip.
“She is so deliciously gullible.” He saw the concern leap into Chase’s eyes. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m all business tonight. Your little Grass Valley commando has nothing to fear from me.” Carter jerked his arm free then winked. “And neither do you.”
“Be alert. Those two friends of hers are noisy. Don’t let them distract you.”
“Got it covered, Chase. Relax. I want them out of the way too.” He took a step out the door. “After all, if this turns out to be a no brainer, I want those two occupied so Tessa and I…” he realized Tessa had moved a ways down the corridor. “Gotta go.”
He let out another soft wolf whistle as he cocked his head to watch Tessa walk away. With a quickened pace, he looked over his shoulder one last time at Chase who’d stepped out of the room. He slipped his hand in hers, tugging her to follow him.
Chapter 13
The waiter’s jacket felt a little too big when Jake slipped the last button into place. His black pants appeared only slightly different than the other men and women bustling in the kitchen. Their lack of attention worked to his advantage. He entered the walk-in refrigerator to retrieve the cartridges left in the cardboard box of pasta noodles.
Careful to keep his eyes on the door, he jammed his hand inside the box. The crisp noodles knocking against his fingers sounded like thunder to him. Even in a gallon size bag he could feel the cold touch of death when his hand pulled out three stocked magazines, each capable of ten shots. Dumping them into a deep pocket on the side of his pants, he managed to free the note he’d written earlier.
Looking over the words one last time, Jake rolled his eyes up toward Heaven, sniffing a renegade tear back against second thoughts. With shoulders pulled back, he laid the paper down on a shelf near a five gallon plastic container marked potato salad. Prying off the lid, he winced, feeling the arthritis in his hand activated by the incoming hurricane. The only thing inside was a rifle scope. This last component might not be necessary, but the voice on the phone insisted he take it.
Even the Israelis liked the plan, but couldn’t resist adding another element. Two masters. Two devils. Two ways to Hell.
Raising his pant leg, he slipped the scope in the strap fastened around his leg, aware of how cold it felt.
A bowl of pecans, still in their shells, caught Jake’s eye. He took a hand full and shoved them in his coat pocket. Flexing his hands to chase away the rising stiffness, he replaced the lid on the container. Comfort came with a touch to his chest knowing duct tape secured the wishbone weapon he brought along. He thought of his simple upbringing and how he’d first learned to hunt with such a simple tool. Now the hunt meant something more than knocking a squirrel off a sycamore branch.
He secured the note next to the empty container just as the door swung open. Startled, he faced two workers dressed like himself, a young man and woman, probably in their early twenties maybe younger, he guessed. They laughed seeing him slip on a cap. As they pushed inside he avoided making eye contact and exited, letting the door shut on its own.
~~~
The young man waited for the door to close as he reached for the black haired girl with the pierced tongue. The push of air forced a piece of paper to fly up off the shelf as she stood on tip toes and kissed his neck before latching onto his ear with her teeth.
He laughed, pushing her aside to grab the paper before it floated to the floor and turned it over in his hand. Reading the words, he cut his eyes over to the girl with raised eyebrows.
“What does it say?” She tried to take it from him only to have it lifted higher, out of her reach.
Looking at it again, he read. “It says ‘stop me’.” His frown made her pause. “Do you want me to stop?”
The breathy laugh sounded soft and inviting. “No way,” she said reaching under his jacket to fumble with his zipper.
Tossing the note aside he lifted her onto a stack of boxes and pushed her legs apart. “We better hurry.”
~~~
The Speaker of the House waved his security detail off which was no easy task. They usually made some comment about it being their job or it didn’t follow protocol. The ritual of leaving them outside in the cold, rain, scorching sun or any other weather outside of their control, amused him. He would remain in his chauffeur driven Mercedes until the protection detail walked in and looked around before posting a guard at the rear and entrance of the establishment he visited. They knew of the threats on the president, thus taking extra care with the speaker. Being driven around Washington pleased him as did having extra care taken on his behalf. By tomorrow this kind of treatment would become routine.
Never a thank you, happy birthday or let me buy you dinner passed the speaker’s lips. He sensed their disdain for him which made it all the more enjoyable when he had them stand outside in the rain on a night like tonight.
“I won’t be long. Just dinner.” He dusted off a few raindrops that blew under the umbrella his protector offered when he got out of the car.
“Yes, sir.”
Walking inside the pub the speaker pointed at the bartender who nodded toward the back. “Your usual, Mr. Speaker?”
“Make it a double, Charlie.” He smiled. Now a good bartender was an artist worth rewarding and he often did with a gene
rous tip. “Send that little red headed waitress over too, would you? I’m starving.” He winked.
The bartender motioned for a waitress as the speaker moved toward the back corner to his usual booth, bathed in a small votive of light.
The booth was empty. Before he scooted across the seat, the speaker glanced around the restaurant to see if anyone familiar sat alone. No one did. The room was in such low light he was unrecognizable. This both annoyed and relieved him. The D.C. public became immune to seeing protection details. This was more of a local place. Tourists caused a great deal more speculation and gawking. With the approaching hurricane only two other tables remained occupied.
The bartender brought his drink and a menu. “I’m sending Susie home, Mr. Speaker. She’s scared half out of her mind. Probably close up early. I’ll take care of you. The cook is leaving in an hour so you’ve got time.”
The speaker watched the bartender hurry away then flinch as a flash of lightning lit the street, followed by a table rattling rumble. The man glanced back at the speaker just as he downed the drink in one gulp. Because he was a good customer and often brought high profile people to dine, there wouldn’t be a hint of canceling the order. The bartender moved to the door, then nodded at the Secret Service agent standing outside. He knew better than to invite him inside.
The speaker’s cell phone vibrated in his inside pocket against his chest. A fleeting memory of Carmen the night before surfaced. He hoped it would be her. One corner of his mouth turned up then straightened when he saw the number.
“Why aren’t you here?” he managed to say through clenched teeth.
“The president is on the move and I couldn’t get there before streets were blocked off. The ones available were flooded. You should leave.”
“The men?”
“Ready. Wait for my call.”
“I have a new burner phone.” He gave him the number. “Use it if I’m needed.”
Satisfied he disconnected as the bartender returned casting an apprehensive eye to the street outside the plate glass windows. “Never mind, Charlie.” He slid out and threw two ten dollar bills on the table. “Gotta get those boys,” he pointed toward the man standing under the awning outside, “out of this weather.”
The two man detail turned the speaker over to the driver who was part of the security team. Horizontal rain competed with the silence inside the Mercedes until it reached the speaker’s Brownstone in Georgetown.
Assuring the detail he would not leave his home until the hurricane passed, he let them activate his security alarm. For an extra touch, he handed over the keys to his vehicle so his driver believed he’d stay put. Since he refused to drive himself to any function, they believed him. No visitors were expected.
“This weather is giving me a headache. I’ll read over a few papers then I’m going to bed. That little number last night kept me up way past my bedtime,” he chuckled at the solemn faced Secret Service agent as he double checked the alarm.
“Yes, sir,” he managed to say in a monotone voice that irked the speaker.
He dead bolted the door as they left, noticing they paused long enough to try the door and eye the street both ways. They could be so intrusive at times. Their snub at his choice of after work activities made it all the easier to mistreat them at every possible opportunity.
If security wanted better treatment, they should have gone into another line of work, he reasoned.
The speaker gave himself a glance in the mirror and noticed his crow’s feet were a little more pronounced tonight. Frowning, he sniffed at the thought of getting older and moved toward the hall door that led to the garage. From the corner of his eye, he watched the door knob turn on its own then open with the speed of a three toed tree sloth.
The Egyptian took a step inside the foyer and surveyed the rooms he could examine from his position.
The speaker walked into the kitchen as he tossed his London Fog raincoat onto one of the barstools at the breakfast bar. “I need a drink.” He opened the cabinet, taking down a bottle of Jack Daniels before reaching for a crystal glass on a cherry wood shelf. “Care to join me?”
On quiet feet, the Egyptian followed him, stepping away from any windows that could reveal his position. “I am Muslim. I do not drink. You know that. Why do you always ask? Is it because you are becoming old and senile? Or do you wish to mock me with your American attitude toward anything Middle Eastern?”
The speaker chugged down his drink and snarled at the dark skinned man lurking in the shadows. He needed to find a way to end their relationship as soon as possible. The promises he made might come back to haunt him.
“No disrespect, Amon.” He sat the glass down a little too abruptly causing it to flip over, spilling ice onto the floor. He didn’t bother to pick it up, instead threw a dish towel over it. The maid could clean it up tomorrow. By that time he’d have a great many people at his beck and call.
“In this country it’s courteous to offer a beverage to a guest.” His smile narrowed while he eyed the Egyptian. “Let me change into something more appropriate and we’ll be on our way.”
~~~
Amon nodded as his gaze followed the speaker from the room. In that moment when lights flickered and wind drove rain horizontally into the windows, he recognized what a blunder he’d made in throwing in with the Speaker of the House. The man was greedy and arrogant; a dangerous combination when dealing with an American politician.
A branch knocked at the kitchen window as his thoughts raced to the warehouse where the four old sailors from the USS Liberty waited for the rescue that would never come. Were there leaks now that the storm had intensified? Did the dampness hurt their aging bones?
Two of them popped nitroglycerin tablets fairly often while the others tried to remain calm and comfort their friends. They spoke in hushed voices of the Wakefield man; wondering where he was and if he were in the same dire predicament. One man, a former Marine, encouraged the other three to be prepared to escape when the opportunity presented itself.
Even though the speaker insisted they be tied up, he could not carry out the order. The containment area was not that large. Where would they go? Providing them a chair and a small table would be more than enough. Amon rebelled and gave each of them a thin blanket. Although extremely hot this time of year, Amon knew that old ones sometimes got cold. It would be a small comfort to old warriors, just like his grandfather who spoke of the Six Day War in 1967.
Their voices carried through the shabby walls meant to contain them. Speculation as to the reason for their capture ran amuck at first. With the sudden appearance of their armed guards bringing food and water twice a day, the old military men began to realize their capture had not been random. Although the guards kept their faces covered with handkerchiefs, the dark skin exhibited on hands and throat remained visible. The tongue of their captors sounded foreign; Middle Eastern. They were intelligent enough to make the connection.
Amon remembered how their rambling turned from 911, to the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and finally to their forgotten war in 1967. He’d stood at the door listening to their stories of that day so long ago. They knew Israel deceived the U.S., their friend and ally. That treacherous act nearly drove the world to nuclear war between the Americans and the Russians.
With all the discord going on in Egypt these days and the demonstrations outside the American Embassy, many Americans objected to money going to prop up the fragile Egyptian economy. Unlike America, his people would never give money to a country who openly claimed to hate Egypt. Yet the American politicians continued to believe money could buy loyalty.
Egypt now resembled just another Middle Eastern country that couldn’t protect itself from internal strife and discord; radical Islam verses the desire to be free.
The speaker suggested they should shed light on the truth. Egypt’s status would rise in the eyes of the world. History implied the Six Day War had been a result of Egypt’s aggressive posturing. Many died at the hands
of the Israelis. His grandfather escaped only to watch as his comrades were slaughtered.
What would become of this folly? Taking these frail men of a forgotten war against their will, to shame his enemy, seemed fanatical even to him. Killing these Americans and planting evidence to implicate the Israelis, if it worked, would haunt him. The end result of shaming the Israelis and killing the American president might just start another war; one that would level Israel once and for all. Or would it backfire to destroy his country?
~~~
“Ready?” The speaker appeared wearing his slick navy jogging suit. He zipped up the jacket and walked to the window in the living room to check for his security detail.
Although he’d told them to go home he doubted they’d obeyed. A dark sedan across the street appeared to be empty. His eyes went to the row of new condos constructed from old brownstones that had been slotted for demolition. One belonged to the Secret Service to watch over him during times like these; probably a one man operation on a night like this.
“Where did you park, Amon?”
“In your garage.” Amon moved to the hall, eyeing the surroundings with contempt. Luxury beyond necessity grated against his upbringing.
“Fool. How are we to leave?” Although his voice sounded calm, there was no mistaking the irritation.
He opened the door that led into the garage. “Your babysitter has already been taken care of, Mr. Speaker. Make sure your home security is as it should be in case anyone checks on you.”
“Go ahead. Forgot my raincoat. Be right there.”
Amon nodded and disappeared into the garage as the speaker hit the button for the garage door to open.
Jim walked back into the kitchen. He looked around admiring his home before moving to the espresso machine that arrived just yesterday. The review labeled it the best. The speaker demanded nothing less. There hadn’t been time to remove it from the box.
Winds of Deception (Enigma Series Book 2) Page 14