Winds of Deception (Enigma Series Book 2)

by Tierney James

“O Negative. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Most people don’t know their blood type, Ms. Scott. How is it you do?”

  Tessa noted the tone of skepticism. “I’ve had three kids. My blood could be a problem to an unborn child. We also had a blood drive at my church two months ago. The Red Cross said I needed to make a point of giving often because of my blood type. The very next day I was called to the hospital to give blood to an injured child. So…”

  Dr. Kelley held up her hand. “Good enough, Scott.” She pulled the glasses down and started typing again.

  Chase looked from Tessa to the on screen doctor. “Mary Pat, can she do it without red tape and an act of congress?”

  The doctor wrinkled her button nose and shrugged as she tilted the glasses to the top of her head. “I don’t see we have a choice.” She smiled down at something on her hand held. “Ah. There she is. O Negative. The Red Cross keeps pretty good track of their special people.” Her eyes went to Tessa and winked. “Now listen to me. Get one of those paramedics over here and the two of you listen to what I’ve got to say. There’s a good chance we’ll be cut off before this is finished so I’m counting on that big brain of yours to remember what I’m going to tell you. That way if I lose the connection you guys can carry on until I arrive or reconnect.”

  “Thanks, Doc. You’re still the prettiest one on the president’s staff.”

  Dr. Kelley clicked her tongue in mock contempt. “So you say. Remember you still owe me dinner. I aim to collect when this is over since I now know you’re in town. Listen up. We’ve got a lot to do.”

  ~~~

  Amon stood in the center of the largest room staring at the metal door as it flew open. His man tried unsuccessfully to hold on to it as three men ducked inside. Two he recognized. They were men the speaker had enlisted to shoot the president. Apparently they met with resistance considering only two returned. He could only speculate as to the identification of the third man.

  It took two men to pull the door shut as water pooled behind them. Besides the sound of wind, water came like arrows through the high windows, pinging off rusted metal pieces forgotten by the previous occupants. The flatbed trailer at the side rested on flat tires.

  Amon wondered at the red, white and blue banners draped on the sides with the words Let Freedom Ring, Happy July 4th. There were other hints the building was a storage facility for parades and festivals: a dunking booth, popcorn stand, another enclosed trailer with food advertisements on the side. The speaker must have known the building would not be visited again for another year if all of this was for their Independence Day celebration. He felt a kind of amusement at the thought they were holding old warriors in a place that smelled of honor and freedom.

  Amon watched as the two hired thugs turned to brush the water from their clothes. The third man stood with head bowed, shivering. “Who is this?”

  “Jake Wakefield, the fifth USS Liberty man on your list.” The square jawed man had a smoker’s voice. His shaved head showed hints of a brown crown. A four o’clock shadow appeared on his face.

  Amon knew of Wakefield, had even spoken to him on the phone. The picture he’d seen did not match this disheveled man.

  The second man was taller, thinner than, and not nearly as muscular, as Square Jaw. There were colorful tattoos visible on his neck and hands. If someone at the hotel noticed the man he could be a liability.

  Amon walked over to Jake and extended his hand. “Mr. Wakefield, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Jake lifted his eyes to examine Amon’s face then spat on the floor rather than shake his hand.

  A smile spread across the Egyptian’s face as he dropped his hand. “Very well.” Amon noticed the old man’s upper ear had been grazed by a bullet and he’d taken a round through his right arm. “Tell me, Sir; are you on any blood thinners?”

  “Why? You wanna stick me and watch me bleed to death?” In spite of his confrontational tone Amon did not take offense. He proceeded to answer the questions. “No. I’m fit as a fiddle or at least I was ‘till these yahoos shot me.”

  Square Jaw gave the old man a shove to the floor then a kick to the hip. A painful moan escaped Jake’s mouth as he grabbed the elbow he landed on.

  “Do anything like that again and I’ll have to reprimand you,” Amon said coldly to the captor.

  “I don’t answer to you,” he came back sarcastically.

  Amon’s eyes went to his own man still standing at the door. “Pity. You would be a lot better off if you did.”

  Square Jaw snickered, running his hand across his hard face then the top of his head. “Well I certainly don’t take orders from any Arabs. Right, Mick?”

  Skinny Tattoo Man nodded as his eyes started a scan of the room.

  Amon sighed and shrugged helplessly. “Again, you’d be better off if you did.” He nodded to his man at the door. Stepping aside to assist Jake, two shots popped from a silencer, dropping both men with gunshots to the back of the head.

  Jake jerked his head around at the man guarding the door to see him lower his weapon and straighten into an almost attention stance. Dumbfounded at the turn of events, Jake let Amon pull him to his feet and felt him dust the grime from his clothes.

  “Not to worry, Mr. Wakefield. We will attend to your wounds. They do not look serious, but this is a dirty warehouse and I don’t want you getting an infection. Since you aren’t on blood thinners I’m assuming your heart is in good shape and I don’t need to secure medication for you in that regard.” Amon began maneuvering him to a small side room as he looked over his shoulder at the door man. “Get someone to help you take out the garbage.”

  Another Egyptian saw to Jake’s medical needs as Amon brewed coffee for his newest captive. After Jake drank the black liquid he stood on his own accord, although a little wobbly as his old knees made an arthritic pop. Two more Egyptians entered the room and escorted him away. He sloshed through pools of water that poured down from a leaky ceiling. The smell of mildew reached his nose as he noticed a rat scurry into darker areas of the building.

  A ribbon of flickering light formed beneath a door that his guards unlocked. They stood back for him to enter but did not offer any words or threats. Jake watched them as he stepped inside the room flooded with candle light.

  “Look who’s here.” A chorus of old familiar voices bounced off the walls. “Is that really you?”

  Jake found himself surrounded by his shipmates from the USS Liberty. “Hell of a mess, huh guys?”

  They smiled and patted his shoulder, careful to avoid his injuries. They all spoke at once, asking questions and retelling how they came to be prisoners.

  Something moved in the corner of darkness causing Jake to stiffen. He spread out his hands as if by doing so would protect his mates. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  The man stepped out into the dim light sporting a bandage over his left eye and a bruise on his cheek. In a shaky voice he spoke. “I’m Jim Gault, the Speaker of the House. I’m afraid we’re in a lot of trouble.”

  Chapter 22

  The crew of the USS Liberty formed an arc to look at the Speaker of the House. He took two steps forward hinting at a limp to his left leg. Dropping his hand down to touch it did nothing to alleviate the pain. Pointing at a chair one of the men quickly pulled it out and helped the speaker sit down with a thud. He offered a weak smile.

  “I’m…” the speaker began.

  “I know who you are, Mr. Speaker,” Jake mumbled somewhat confused. He looked at his mates. “Why is he here?” His eyes settled on the speaker who appeared to be a little out of sorts, maybe even a little confused.

  Mike Strafford nodded toward the politician. “He’s the one that got the ball rollin’ for our hearing. It appears the Israelis aren’t too keen on that. Hired those fellas out there to stop us.”

  Jake glanced at his friends then sat down to look eye to eye with the speaker. “Who are they?”

  “Egyptians. They’re pretending to
care about you so if we’re found you’ll say you were treated well.”

  Jake adjusted his hip to lift off the hard chair. A throbbing began making its way down his leg where he’d taken the kick. “No. I meant who do they represent? Muslim Brotherhood, Al-Qaeda, who?”

  The speaker shook his head. “I thought they represented a group that wanted a smooth transition to a new government since the Muslim Brotherhood were forced out. When I started this whole process they reached out to me.”

  Jake adjusted his arm where he’d been nicked by a bullet. His ear stung with the tightness of the bandage. Noticing that the speaker began to tap the table with his index finger displayed an impatient irritation.

  “So who are they if they aren’t a terrorist group?”

  The speaker touched his face and frowned deeply. “I now believe them to be an off shoot of the Islamic Liberation Organization.” He waited as if wanting them to pummel him with questions, but they remained quiet, taking Jake’s stoic lead. “You will appreciate this.” He edged closer as if he were letting them in on a big secret. His voice became a whisper causing the men to cock their ears or bend down closer. “After the Six Day War in 1967 the ILO formed. They were an off shoot of the Muslim Brotherhood. Their main goal was to overthrow Arab regimes that practice a loose form of Islam. They believed those regimes should be forcibly ousted.”

  “Never heard of them,” Mike Strafford snapped as if he were being lied to. “You fellas?” He looked around at the shaking heads of his friends. Only Jake remained glued to the speaker’s tale.

  “Why is that important?” Jake asked matter-of-factly.

  “They attacked a military academy in 1974 killing eleven. They hoped the attack would bring about a mass uprising, much like the recent Arab Spring. The then President Sadat managed to capture and execute many of the members. The only other time our government has heard from them is when they kidnapped a group of Soviet students on holiday in Giza. Since they were Soviets we didn’t get involved. That event appeared to cause them to go underground.”

  “So why now? Why here?” Jake cocked his head as his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  “The CIA believed that the group decided to change tactics and become more involved in governmental positions. They were absorbed into many factions of Egyptian politics. Slowly over the last three decades they’ve managed to infiltrate the highest positions of government in hopes of putting someone into power that would bring their dream of an Islamic state to reality.”

  Mike Strafford pulled out a chair and sat down next to the speaker. “They had their chance with the Brotherhood. Tough nuts is what I say.” The others nodded in agreement.

  “They wanted the Brotherhood to fail. In their opinion the Brotherhood had begun a watered down approach to Islam and Israel. They’re ready to take over as soon as elections are held.”

  “I can’t see why taking us would benefit them.” Jake heard Carl Robbins speak as if confused.

  Jake bit his lip then spit a trickle of blood to the floor from a loose tooth he’d sustained in his kidnapping. “I know why. The Israelis admit to what they’ve done and the president comes clean on the cover up as well. Everybody gets a pat on the back, smiles and hugs to the Israelis for admitting they’re a snake in the grass. We get our medals and recognition. In two weeks all is good with the world.”

  The speaker leaned back in his chair and eyed the old warrior with caution. “Exactly. Egypt wants the Americans to be outraged and unforgiving. Kill the president and blame the Israelis, and Egypt keeps their funding and their standing goes up in the world. Poor Egypt.”

  “Kill the president!” Carl thundered. “That’s insane.”

  Jake watched his friends begin a confused chatter before turning his eyes back to the speaker. He was struck by the smug look of victory on the politician’s face. “Settle down, boys. Nobody going to kill the president.”

  The speaker looked pained as he spoke. “Before they started hitting me I heard one of them tell the leader the president had been shot.”

  Except for Jake, the news sent the men into a frantic discussion of what would become of the country and them. “Now boys, being shot isn’t the same as being dead.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mr. Wakefield.” The speaker shook his head in despair.

  Jake stood to ease the pain in his hip. He bore a thin smile as he looked down at the speaker. “How’d you know my name was Wakefield?”

  ~~~

  A hushed silence filled the hotel kitchen as agents stood guard on all exit doors. Only the sound of a hurricane beating against the building made any kind of impression of danger lurking outside. Darkness broke in pools of random light given off by flashlights or small candles taken from the banquet room. The two metal tables that had been used as food prep islands now looked like hospital gurneys as a man and woman lay atop them. The kitchen staff had been ushered to the banquet hall. Earlier, paramedics set about sterilizing the stainless steel tables before gingerly lifting the president to its surface.

  President Austin had been unconscious for over thirty minutes when he came to, looking startled and confused. He whispered John Elliott’s name and was reassured that his agent was being looked after. Chase stepped forward and bent over the bare chested president, examining the wound on his neck. Dr. Kelley had warned removing the bullet could be disastrous. Leaving it in place could cause enough pressure to stop the bleeding. If he made it to the hospital, a full work up could be done to determine if the bullet should be removed or left as a souvenir. The bullet that hit his lower arm had been a quick fix and required no more attention since it passed straight through.

  “Mr. President, we’re going to be giving you a transfusion soon. Are you up for that?” Chase’s voice, although made of steel, sounded low and comforting even to the most powerful man in the world.

  He nodded and licked his lips. “How?” The weakness in his voice alarmed the paramedic and made a sign to get started.

  Tessa lay on the table next to him. They were practically shoulder to shoulder with a tube running between her arm and his. The pressure cuff on her arm hurt but she knew necessity demanded it to be there so her blood would flow. She gently touched the president’s hand with her cool fingers causing his head to turn slightly.

  “Mrs. Scott.” There was no surprise in his voice. “Are you a member of my political party?”

  Tessa squeezed his hand. “I am today, Mr. President.”

  The president tried to smile before slipping into unconsciousness.

  Staring at the ceiling bathed in shadows that appeared to move like giant ghosts, her thoughts flew to home, her kids and even Robert. She wondered about the new neighbors, the grass being mowed and whether or not she paid the electric bill before leaving.

  Was she thirsty or hungry? Did she eat her dinner with the dashing Carter Johnson playing footsie with her under the table? The vague memory of pinching his leg as hard as she could merely encouraged him to lean in to her and try to nibble her earlobe.

  Were her friends Shelly and Kate still with their soldier dates? Did they wonder where she was? Would Carter tell them they had a romantic tryst in her suite?

  How much blood could she give without dying? Would they drain her like government vampires? Did her uncle lie bleeding in some rain swollen ally, dying from a combination of a gunshot wound and drowning?

  Tessa felt a feathery touch on her face as tangled curls were moved aside by a calloused index finger of Chase. A year ago she would have flinched at his touch. Now she could do nothing but crave his warmth. One corner of his mouth turned up in a grin as he pulled a stool to her side. Before he sat down he checked her vitals then laid his hand gently on her cheek.

  “You look like a raccoon.” Tessa hated seeing that black circles formed under his eyes.

  He smiled. “How’s my girl?” Sitting unevenly on the stool made him look as if he’d do battle at any minute.

  “A little scared of needles, but I guess I’l
l make it.” Tessa didn’t realize she was batting her eyes again.

  Chase chuckled as he rubbed a spot on his chest. He took a white tablecloth from Zoric who nodded to Tessa. “I’m going to put this over you, Tessa, so you don’t get chilled.”

  She smiled at him, enjoying the way he accidently touched her with a sensual kindness.

  “Needles, huh?” Tessa made a pouting mouth at his sarcastic comment. “You’re hunted down by two hit men, a favorite uncle threatens to kill the president, you get caught in the cross fire meant to kill the president and in the process you save him not once, but looks like a second time.” The grin faded. “And I guess the fact that I nearly knocked you senseless was unnerving as well.” His voice hinted at remorse.

  Tessa extended her hand and opened her palm. “Chase,” she whispered. He snatched her hand as if it were a lifeline and squeezed. She pulled his hand and laid it over her heart. “So sorry. Forgive me. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Chase slid off the stool and leaned down over Tessa, bringing his face inches from hers. His lips came close to touching hers. With lips trembling, she dared not speak in fear of losing control. In the last year she’d grown stronger, fighting the impulse to cave at the slightest sign of danger. The experiences a year earlier somehow cloaked her in a thin veil of bravery she knew could easily be shattered. Her training into the world of national security left a lot to be desired.

  “I never meant to trick you, Chase.”

  “There is something you can do to get back in my good graces.” Chase squeezed her hand then touched her hair.

  Tessa nodded, trying to avoid looking at his wide expressive mouth forming a half smile like a hungry wolf. “Anything.”

  “It has to do with Spider Man house shoes and flannel pjs.” His chuckle made Tessa’s smile widen until she too laughed low and soft like lovers do.

  “I’m saving that one for when I steal the launch codes, Chase,” she spoke good naturedly.

  This brought a laugh from deep in his throat as he stood up straight and tall only to bend back down when he’d finished. “So I guess that’s a ‘no’.”