White Top

by M. L. Buchman

  “Hell of a way to go shopping,” Andi had remarked as they’d watched the video during the flight from Andrews. “Most people make do with just a shopping cart.”

  Miranda never got jokes, but as they walked into the devastation of the parking lot, she finally got this one.

  “Can you imagine motoring up and down the aisles of Walmart in a helicopter?” she whispered to Andi.

  “There would be teddy bears and toiletries flying every which way in the rotor’s downwash.”

  “Home electronics on the starboard side. Discount shoes on the port.”

  “At the turn, find special bargains for all your home-improvement needs. Oops, never mind, the tail rotor just destroyed them all.”

  They bumped shoulders and shared a laugh as they picked their way down one of the long lanes of pavement blown clear of all vehicles.

  She appreciated Andi’s humor, it mitigated facing such devastating destruction and death. The crews would still be removing bodies from the parking lot for hours.

  The two store entries looked as if they’d been engine exhaust ports, two great paths washed clear of all but the smallest debris.

  “What is wrong with you two?” Jon came up behind them.

  “Jon! You are the—” Andi stopped when Miranda rested a hand on her arm but Andi’s anger was obvious, even to her.

  “Major Jon Swift,” Miranda greeted him. “I—”

  “This is a disaster site. The Vice President has died and we don’t know why. Show some goddamn respect, if you know what that is.”

  Miranda started again, “I—”

  “You are wasting my time; we’re no longer together so I don’t have to do that anymore. I’m in charge of this site pending the arrival of General Jack Macy. Until then—”

  It had become clear that she wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise.

  Andi had dropped her knife into her palm, but Miranda decided it would be better if Andi, a retired captain, didn’t stab a superior officer.

  “Taz,” she called out. Taz was much better at dealing with these kinds of problems than she was.

  Jon’s gaze jumped over Miranda’s shoulder. “Not ag—”

  He was cut off by a sharp crack from behind her.

  Twin electrode leads flew past her right shoulder and plunged into Jon’s left one.

  He twitched once, then collapsed to the pavement. His body spasmed as he rolled in the debris. All he managed was a pained grunt through a locked jaw.

  Taz stepped up from behind her to look down at Jon as he continued to shake uncontrollably. She held her Taser, letting the weapon run its full five-second discharge. It made a horrific, Dr. Frankenstein kind of crackling noise as it did.

  “I was only going to ask you to talk to him. You’re better at dealing with military people than I am.”

  Taz simply smiled. “This is the best way to deal with them.”

  “You. Fucking. Bitch!” Jon grunted out.

  She pressed the Arc Switch on the Taser and a fresh five-second charge slammed into Jon over the electrodes embedded in his shoulder. He grunted loudly and spasmed again.

  “I didn’t know that,” Miranda answered once the second round of loud crackling had ended.

  “Trust me,” Taz smiled, then turned to Clarissa looking down at Jon in horror. “Isn’t that so, Director Reese?”

  Clarissa’s face was unusually pale as she replied slowly. “If you say so, Colonel Cortez.”

  “It Flores now.” Taz turned and smiled at Miranda. “Aw, she remembers me. I’m so touched.”

  Miranda began pulling out her notebook to check Clarissa’s expression.

  “Fear, Miranda,” Taz whispered loudly enough for anyone to hear. “Director Reese may have just peed her silk panties.”

  Andi snorted out a laugh from Miranda’s other side.

  Clarissa’s cheeks went red and her frown definitely matched Anger. She started to speak but Taz cut her off.

  “I haven’t deleted that picture, Clarissa. Don’t ever forget that,” Taz suddenly sounded as dangerous as an Air Force colonel.

  Clarissa’s jaw clenched even more tightly.

  “What picture?” Miranda wondered what it could be.

  “Doesn’t matter. As long as she remembers.” Taz ejected the spent Taser cartridge and tossed it onto Jon’s chest. Then she snapped in a fresh one and reholstered the weapon.

  “Don’t you forget either,” Taz stabbed a finger at Jon.

  Jon had recovered enough that he had no control of his body, but his look said he wouldn’t forget any time soon. Miranda could see that even without her emoticon guide.

  Taz hooked her arm through Miranda’s and turned her around. “Come on, Jeremy’s waiting for you to get started.”

  Out of nowhere, Andi’s elbow caught her in the ribs before Miranda could agree.

  “What?”

  Andi raised her eyebrows a couple of times quickly.

  Miranda tried it herself. It was awkward at first, but then she got the feel for it. If she were to do that to someone else, it would mean…

  “Oh, you’re reminding me of something.”

  Andi laughed. It was a very friendly laugh and made her feel better about laughing with her earlier despite the situation.

  It only took a moment longer to connect that Andi had been trying to remind her of something…

  Oh!

  “You can tell Jeremy to stop waiting. I said it would be his investigation, and it is.”

  “Jesus, Miranda.” Taz waved toward the massive wreckage. “The Vice President died in there. You think Jeremy’s up to that?”

  Miranda nodded.

  “As long as,” Andi looked around Miranda at Taz, “you’re helping him.”

  “Yes, that, too,” Miranda agreed.

  Miranda glanced at Andi when she couldn’t interpret Taz’s grimace.

  Andi just shrugged. She must not know what it meant either.

  Whatever it was, it looked very uncomfortable, like she’d just bitten into a lemon.

  37

  Clarissa offered Jon a hand up when it became clear that he wouldn’t reach his feet any other way.

  “Thank you,” his voice was rough.

  She didn’t answer, her throat was so dry that she probably couldn’t.

  Today was not a day she needed to be reminded of the various threats to her career. Colonel Taz Flores’ photo of her when she was much younger and running a torture center at a CIA Black Site would not play well with today’s mild-mannered, politically correct rhetoric. Being reminded of her powerlessness, her vulnerability—so close on the heels of Clark’s and her plans’ deaths—was such gut-wrenching agony that she couldn’t even puke though she felt the need to.

  She’d stayed at the CIA, trying to back-trace to the origins of the chatter that the cyber twins had uncovered—until the President had suddenly returned to Andrews Air Force Base without any warning.

  Neither he, nor anyone else aboard the E-4B Nightwatch had contacted her once during the six-hour gap. She was the head of the CIA and was working the problem of the attack on the Vice President, yet nothing!

  Well, she’d fix that.

  A report that an NTSB team was departing Andrews aboard an Air Force helo gave her an idea. She’d had them reroute to pick her up, and rushed up to her office to change.

  Neither the comfortable pantsuit she’d been wearing, and wrinkling through the long night, nor a funereal black would do. She’d dressed in a red power suit with a black silk blouse that made her pale complexion and white-blonde hair particularly stand-out.

  The suit shouted I’m important and I am busy at the business of the country. With her long legs, it was also short enough to make sure that it grabbed any man’s attention.

  Now it was time to be front and center at Clark’s death site. There was more than one way to get the goddamn President’s attention.

  And to start?

  She was wasting her time helping a lowly Air Force
major to his feet.

  She hadn’t counted on the NTSB team being Miranda Chase and her Chinese sidekick. Ready to pull a knife on her? Clarissa would destroy the puny woman for that. Though she’d forgotten about Colonel Taz Cortez-Flores-Pain-in-the-ass recently joining Miranda’s team. The reminder of that incriminating photo had been a rude shock.

  Wait!

  Clarissa spun to look for Miranda, but she’d already disappeared into the clutter of a fresh round of ambulances.

  Most of Miranda’s team had already been here when their helicopter arrived. Yet Miranda and Andi had been on the helicopter from Andrews despite normally being stationed out of Seattle.

  Why Andrews?

  Goddamn the bitch to hell!

  Clarissa had been shut off from the President for the last six hours.

  And, in order to arrive at Andrews, Miranda must have been on the President’s plane traveling from the G-7 meetings in Victoria, BC. How did that lame excuse for a woman do it?

  There’d been another important fact mentioned, too…

  What was it?

  Not by Miranda or Taz. No, it had come from—

  She spun to face the Major who’d been on their helicopter flight and then tasered.

  “You were screwing Miranda Chase?” That was it.

  What was his name? Swift!

  Jon Swift looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Then he shuddered. So he had been fucking Miranda. How bizarre that anyone could want to.

  “Lousy?”

  “No,” Jon began the impossible task of setting his clothes to order. There was dirt on his uniform, soot all down his back from where the parking lot pavement had been scorched by fire, even black stains from sun-softened tar. “She was great.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “She’s kinda broken but I was okay with that. However, every time I tried to help Miranda to be even halfway normal, Taz was all over my ass. That woman is a damned psycho.”

  Clarissa knew for a fact that she wasn’t; the woman was lethally sane.

  Jon winced as he bent over to retrieve his briefcase. “Christ I hope the news services didn’t see that.”

  Clarissa asked why, not that she cared about this little man anymore.

  “If Drake saw that, it’ll be the center of every family reunion for as long as I live.”

  “Drake?” It wasn’t a common name.

  “Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Drake Nason.” He made another attempt to dust off his pants. “He’s my uncle. Has a real penchant for telling stories at family events.”

  “Um, your hair.” She hadn’t been planning to bother telling him that his hair was in total disarray, looking exactly as if he’d just been electrocuted.

  Imagining Drake Nason being anything other than a dictatorial, tin-soldier stiff was hard to imagine.

  But if Jon Swift was his nephew, he was about to be her new best friend—at least until she’d see if he could achieve the near impossible and get her on Drake’s good side. Drake and President Cole were tight and, if Drake recommended her as the next Vice President, maybe she could still get there.

  She knew she was flailing if she was betting on such a long shot but it was the best she had at the moment.

  “Come with me.” She turned and began to walk away.

  “But the crash is that way.”

  “You dear, naive boy.” He looked to be about her own age. She hooked an arm through his and guided him away from the crash. “The news cameras are this way. And they’re just dying to hear from the Second Lady.”

  38

  HMX-1 was the largest aviation squadron in the entire Corps, and McGrady had called them all in. They were ready at HMX-1’s Quantico hangar by the time the C-17 had delivered him and his helos back across the country.

  “The President will not be flying in a Marine Corps helicopter until we can certify them safe. We will be going over every system in every bird until we find out what happened during the Vice President’s flight.”

  The silence in the big hangar was deafening. There were usually tool noises, chatter, systems checks, and the like.

  Now there was only silence among the hundreds of Marines crowded into the center of the hangar.

  “If it was mechanical, then something got through our White Side security.” And if it wasn’t, that meant he had a traitor in the house. “I’m ordering both white and green sides to fully inspect every aircraft, every supply on every shelf, every part. As soon as this meeting is over, we’ll be notifying our teams at Anacostia and Andrews as well as those stationed at every single supplier.”

  The men and women lined up inside the hangar remained dead silent at Parade Rest. Not a single movement in the ranks.

  “Our sum total of information includes three words: poison, air, generator. You will not assume the source was in the emergency air system. You will start there, but you will not assume it was a poison. You will not assume anything. I don’t care if we have to take every single one of these birds down to scrap metal. We will find the problem that killed the Vice President, Major Jones, and her crew. We will trace back everything and verify everything right down to the metal grade on the bolts on the lavatory seat cover.”

  McGrady stared at the gap where the VH-92A should be. At the empty spot where Major Tamatha Jones would normally stand. None of her fellow pilots had shifted to fill in that space.

  “You will only work in teams of two or more. I want double eyes on everything.”

  Which didn’t fool anyone; they weren’t idiots, they were Marines. They knew it meant to trust no one.

  “Your families will be notified. All three bases are now on full lockdown until this is solved. Cots and food will be provided. I want cause, source, and fix within forty-eight hours. Master Sergeant Whalen and I will be proceeding to the crash site. We’ll keep you posted. Make me proud, Marines. Dismissed.”

  “Oorah!” echoed off the hangar’s hard metal.

  Then everyone scrambled to get to work.

  Whalen stepped up and snapped a salute.

  “What is it, sergeant?”

  “Just wondering what transport I should arrange?”

  “A goddamn helo.”

  “One of ours?”

  McGrady felt the knife plunge square into his gut as he looked at the lines of helos arranged in the big hangar.

  He wanted to rage in the poor man’s face. But it wasn’t Whalen’s fault that he was the unit’s top mechanic on the day HMX-1 failed its mandate. However, while it was definitely his own fault that he himself had been the commander when it happened, he wasn’t going to take it out on his crew. He took a deep breath and held it until he felt he could talk normally.

  “No. Borrow a bird somewhere.”

  “Yes sir.” he saluted and turned to go.

  “Whalen, do me a goddamn favor and at least make it a Marine Corps bird.”

  “Never crossed my mind not to,” he smiled. He actually smiled amidst all the disaster. There was a reason he liked having Whalen as his crew chief.

  “Carry on, Marine.” It was the highest compliment he knew how to pay.

  39

  “We have a problem,” Senator Hunter Ramson kept his voice down even though he was the only one in his office and the door was closed. The burner cell phone felt slick in his palm.

  “Isn’t that why we pay you? To solve problems.”

  “No. You don’t pay me—”

  “Would you like to preview the notice we could issue to the Securities Exchange Commission for insider trading, based on the pre-announcement information we have provided to you in the past?”

  Hunter tried again. “You don’t pay me to solve problems. You, ah, assist me with my investment strategy in exchange for early knowledge of legislative issues that may impact your future sales. Would you like me to paint a picture for the press of precisely what you do to obtain Congressional approval of foreign arms sales contracts for your weapons?”

  There was a glum s
ilence on the line.

  “Good. We understand each other.”

  He received a reluctant grunt of agreement over the phone.

  “This time your people crossed way over the line. I’m in a position to kill the type of legislation that concerns changes to arms sales strategies. Did you think I couldn’t do it this time as well?”

  “No. You’ve proven you can do that.”

  “Good. So what the hell were you thinking?”

  His contact sighed deeply before continuing. “It wasn’t us. At least not directly.”

  “Then who—” And Hunter knew.

  And if they decided that he wasn’t serving them well enough?

  He swallowed hard but couldn’t seem to clear his throat.

  “Yes,” his contact continued. “Now we have the same problem. What are you going to do to solve that?”

  Holy Christ! He had no idea.

  40

  “Terence!”

  Andi jumped at Miranda’s shout. Miranda never shouted. It was loud enough to be heard over the roar of a departing air ambulance.

  “Mirrie!” The Director of the NTSB Training Center cried just as loudly.

  She rushed away from the team. The director wrapped her in a bear hug. For the first time in Andi’s experience, Miranda returned the hug without any hesitation.

  Andi had only met him once, as he’d dragged her from class and shipped her out to Groom Lake to join Miranda’s team on no notice. On that occasion he’d been the stiffly polite and slightly terrifying head of the training center—an elegant African American with hair gone past gray to white. As much of a legend at the NTSB as Miranda herself.

  “I’m so glad they called you! Now that the absolute best is in charge here, this old man can go home and put his feet up again,” Director Terence Graham declared.

  Andi was close enough to hear him whisper to Miranda. “Don’t take that seriously. I’m here to help for the duration.”