by RJ Blain
Kyle chuckled. “I didn’t know it was possible for a human to turn that shade of red. Interesting.”
“The video,” I blurted, pointing at the screen. “Make it move.”
“You want to ask him to play it, dear.”
When I got the First Gentleman on the mat, I would beat him within an inch of his life and pray the Secret Service would put me out of my misery. If they didn’t, maybe I could drag him to the President and offer her her husband along with a gag. “Please play the video,” I begged.
Kyle pressed a button on the keyboard, and the figures on the display resumed motion. Watching, I waited until the moment the Secret Service agent stepped through the doors into view. “This one. His head is ducked, he’s tense, and he’s moving like he’s expecting someone to notice him, and he doesn’t want anyone noticing him. All the other Secret Service agents are, as you say, attentive. He’s not checking his blind spots, he’s not looking around. Amateur mistake.” I scoffed and wrinkled my nose. “Someone could come up behind him and startle him halfway to the next state.”
The man who caught my attention headed in the direction of the stairwell leading to the upper floors. When he vanished from the camera’s view, I gestured at the other Secret Service agents entering and leaving the building. None of them had approached or bothered my quarry. “He’s someone they know, someone who they probably think is upset about something for whatever reason. I don’t think he’s upset. I think he knows he’s doing something wrong.”
“Stairwell camera, Kyle, matched to when he entered.”
Kyle tapped a bunch of keys. When he finished, a new image appeared, and I recognized the stairwell to the second floor, the timestamp reading seconds before the man was supposed to appear.
No one showed up. The screen remained still and undisturbed for a full half minute before the door opened and someone headed for the stairwell—someone who wasn’t the correct Secret Service agent; the suits matched, but the man’s hair color was a little lighter than my quarry’s brown.
“That’s not the same man,” I pointed out.
“Kyle?”
“The timestamps are the same,” he mumbled, tapping the keys. “I’m in the right place in the video, sir.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Wig?” I suggested.
“Possible. But how could he hide without the camera seeing him?” The First Gentleman pointed at the door, which was visible in the corner of the display. “That makes no sense. If he put on a wig in the lobby, someone would have noticed.”
“I can check the other lobby cameras.” Kyle turned to one of the other keyboards and started typing, and the rest of the displays lit up, showing timestamps matching the central display. I leaned over Kyle’s shoulder, wondering how he was making the system work. When I drew a little closer I noticed another set of displays, small and discreet, situated above each keyboard, featuring a great deal of text in each one.
The other cameras confirmed the Secret Service agent going through the doors without stopping.
“Care to explain, Kyle?” the First Gentleman demanded in a growl I expected from a wolf or bear instead of a rabbit.
“I don’t know what’s going on, sir.”
“How could you have missed this?”
Kyle grimaced. “There are more than fifty cameras in the National Archive. I want to know how they did it—and what he was trying to hide.”
If I was looking at the culprit, I knew exactly what he was hiding. “The maintenance ductwork entry in the second or third floor stairwell. Try third first; it’s less obvious than the second floor entry. Does that doohickey only show the time?”
“No, I can display the full date, too.” Kyle tapped on both keyboards, and the timestamp changed to show the date as well.
It took me a moment to spot the difference in the stairwell camera. “Last year. That one is dated last year. Same date, same time, just a year earlier.”
“So, where’s the real video?” The First Gentleman leaned forward, squinting at the central display. “Can you pull up the video from that date? Is it possible the files were switched?”
“Checking.” Kyle spent a long time typing and referencing one of the smaller screens beneath the primary displays. “Bingo. Whoever had access knew enough to swap the videos, but not enough to hide his tracks. All the stairwell videos were modified an hour after the theft was discovered, sir.”
“Let’s watch the third floor video, shall we? Let’s see if he used that access to the ductwork.”
I shifted my weight from foot to foot, waiting while the tech worked on his keyboards. It took several minutes, but he put images on four of the displays. When he made them play, I watched and waited, holding my breath.
Sure enough, the Secret Service agent appeared, and his entire posture had changed; he carried himself with the attentive alertness of the agents in the lobby, although he did spend a great deal of time checking the stairs above and below for witnesses. Just before the fourth-floor landing, he opened a panel, which revealed the metal plates I recognized from my trips into the maintenance ducts. Within twenty seconds, the man was inside the shaft and had replaced the main wall panel.
“Who was that?” I asked, fearing I already knew the answer.
For a long time, Kyle and the First Gentleman stared at each other in silence.
Finally, the First Gentleman replied, “That’s Edmund Fitzgerald Adams, the second-in-command of the Secret Service, husband and partner of the head of the Secret Service, Abraham Adams.”
Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. Always.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The videos confirmed the Hope Diamond’s theft. Edmund Fitzgerald Adams entered the tunnel in plenty of time to infiltrate the Starfall stone’s chamber, and he left an hour after the crime’s discovery. When he emerged from the tunnel, I spotted the tell-tale flashes of light and dark miasma leaking out of his suit pocket.
“There,” I said, pointing at the discoloration. “The Hope Diamond’s in his pocket.”
Both Kyle and the First Gentleman leaned towards the screen, squinting to spot the stone’s presence. I frowned, wondering how they missed it.
“There’s definitely something there, boss,” the tech agreed. “Damn, you have good eyes, ma’am.”
“So what happens next?” I asked, glancing in the direction of the doors.
“First, I do some creative shuffling of staff. We know who took the stone. What we don’t know is why, and I need to know.” The First Gentleman shook his head and sighed. “Runs Against Wind, can I trust you with something very important but potentially dangerous?”
“What do you need, sir?”
“I want to borrow Agent Randal for a while. In exchange, I’ll assign you Edmund’s husband, Agent Adams. Look sharp, listen, and see if you can figure out anything. Be careful; I need to know if Abraham is acting odd, too. Kyle, I’m going to need an unregistered ear piece and pin. Put her equipment on a private channel. Record everything from the pin. We can’t afford to go through the traditional channels.”
Kyle grimaced, rose from his stool, and went to the wall across from his displays. At a single press of his hand, a panel popped out of the wall, and my eyes widened. Behind it, a narrow door led into a closet, which was filled with computer equipment, shelves, and so much tech my mouth dropped open.
When he returned, he held a black box with a clear plastic lid. Looking inside, I recognized the communication units the Secret Service used. “It’ll take five minutes to set up, sir. I can rig it to a private channel, but if you want any range outside of Charlotte, I’ll need to do some work on our towers—or bring in a mystic.”
“Got a mystic you can trust with something like this?” the First Gentleman demanded.
“I know a girl. It’ll cost you.”
“What will it cost me?”
“She wants to join law enforcement.”
“If she pulls this jo
b off without a hitch, I’ll recommend her to Dawnfire. Surviving the interview process is her problem. If she does well, I’ll have Gentry bump her application. No free rides, but I can give her a chance.”
“A chance is all she would ask for anyway, sir.”
“Done. It’s both your necks if this gets out, Kyle. Don’t make me remind you of that fact.”
“Understood, sir.” Kyle inserted part of the ear piece into one of his keyboards and went to work, leaving me and the First Gentleman to watch in silence. With a few keystrokes, he took over the primary display, and it filled with jumbled letters, numbers, and odd characters. I couldn’t make any sense of what he did, but the First Gentleman made a satisfied sound.
According to the display’s clock in the upper right corner, the process took Kyle five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When he finished, he unplugged the ear piece and offered it to me. “It’ll be too obvious if you keep it in your ear, so put it in a safe place where you won’t lose it. When you need it, you’ll press the button and talk. Hide the pin in your clothes; the microphone is sensitive enough it should pick up your voice and anyone speaking to you. Under your collar is ideal, if you can. The battery will last three days.”
“If we’re not done in three days, I’ll steal a replacement battery from someone in my detail,” the First Gentleman murmured.
“Good. Now, if you have any problems, ma’am, you can use this to notify us.” Kyle grabbed the pin out of the box, turned it around, and showed me a pair of switches. “The black one turns the pin on and off. The red one sends an emergency signal. It can’t directly pinpoint your location, but if it can reach one of our towers, it can relay a message you need help.”
“Towers?”
Both men grimaced, and Kyle mumbled. “I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned the towers. Sorry, sir.”
“She has a way of making people say what they don’t intend to. Not a problem, Kyle. We have a network of radio towers, Runs Against Wind. It’s limited to Charlotte, Richmond, and a few nearby locations, but it lets us relay important messages with the help of a few clever mystics and radio signals. It’s not perfect; Starfall magic can—and does—interfere with our signals, but it’s gotten to the point we gamble with it during emergencies. The pins are the only thing we use the towers for right now.”
“So what good does this pin thing do, then, if it isn’t reliable?”
Kyle chuckled, grabbed the empty box for the comm set, and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “Once the pin is activated, if a tower catches the signal, we know an agent is in trouble. The pin’s signal is specifc to the pin’s identifier, so we can tell who’s in trouble by matching the pin’s identifier with its wearer. Part of my job involves monitoring the network for those signals. When the signal hits, I know which tower caught the signal, which means I know the agent is within a two mile radius of the tower. Results in a big search area, but better than nothing.”
“Okay. What do you want me to do if I learn something?”
The First Gentleman frowned. “Make something up. Use something dealing with your white feather. It’s common knowledge in the Secret Service we have an interest in the feather and the Cheyenne tribe, so no one will give it a second thought, and it’s a legitimate reason to ask for an audience with me. Let’s keep this private, all right? No use worrying my wife, not yet at least.”
The First Gentleman’s wife already knew, but I’d let her reveal her secrets when the time came. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, if you’ll come with me, I think I have some very important errands your Agent Randal is uniquely suited for. I do hope you’ll forgive my unexpected theft of your detail, Miss Runs Against Wind.” The First Gentleman marched to the door, stopped with his hand on the knob, and stared at me.
“Of course, sir.”
“I’m expecting good things from you. Don’t disappoint me.”
The First Gentleman managed to steal Randal within twenty minutes, making a special request for information dating prior to President Adams’s first election. At the same time, I got the feeling he elevated my rank with the Secret Service by requesting Abraham Adams stand in as Randal’s replacement until he could return to duty, hopefully later in the evening.
To ensure I’d have plenty of time with my target, the First Gentleman summoned Simmons, too, concocting a laundry list of documentation Randal would need from the National Archive and stating he worked best with his long-time partner.
It took Abraham Adams ten minutes to appear following the First Gentleman’s summons; the man resembled his sister so much something in my chest tightened. While his face had a squarer jaw, thicker eyebrows, and a mouth prone to frowning, their eyes were the same, sharp, taking in every detail, and focusing on me with open suspicion.
“You called for me, sir?”
“This is Runs Against Wind. She’s a person of interest, and I require both members of her detail for some sensitive work. I only want experienced, trusted agents with her, and you were the first person to cross my mind. I’m sure you understand her situation, probably better than I do. Can I trust you to be her guard for the day until I’m finished with her agents?”
I marveled at the First Gentleman’s ability to lie so well; even knowing the truth, I couldn’t detect any signs of his lies in his speech or mannerisms. He met his brother-in-law’s stare without wavering, and the pair even offered each other what likely counted as grins in the subdued, professional world of the Secret Service.
“Of course, sir. I’ll make arrangements for someone to fill in for me. Ma’am, will it affect your schedule if we’re here for thirty more minutes to attend to matters?”
“Agent Adams is the man in charge of organizing the Secret Service,” the First Gentleman informed me.
“It’s no problem at all, Agent Adams.”
“Excellent. If you’ll come with me, please?”
While I wanted to cast a scathing look at the First Gentleman, I followed my mark through the National Archive, settling into my job of observing. Although the possibility existed Abraham Adams had nothing to do with Edmund Fitzgerald Adams’s theft of the Hope Diamond, I doubted it.
I also doubted the First Gentleman’s reasons for wanting to keep the President in the dark on the situation. The possibility the First Gentleman wasn’t aware of the President’s suspicions crossed my mind, but I wondered what else was at play.
Did he, like her, want to prove Abraham’s innocence, even at the cost of his husband? Or, like the President, did the First Gentleman want to limit the amount of damage the pair could cause, taking advantage of my history to accomplish it?
The First Gentleman knew I carried a Blade Clan weapon. It wouldn’t take much for him, who likely knew my mother, to start adding things together and discovering the truth. Once again, I felt like I was working on a puzzle with too many pieces, none of which fit together quite right.
“I apologize for the shifting of your detail, ma’am. I understand it can be quite disconcerting to have habits—and staff—change unexpectedly.”
I stared at my mark, startled by his attempt to start a conversation. “I’m getting used to it.”
“From my understanding, you’re a new shifter, too. That’s a lot to adapt to in a short period of time.”
The trick to getting close to a target involved appearing nice and friendly, portraying innocence to mask my true nature. “I’m managing. Everyone has been very considerate. I really appreciate the help.”
“Not many do. I was under the impression you’re a determined young lady who does exactly what you want, something fairly problematic for your detail.”
I winced. “I’ve been informed of the error of my ways. I do look forward to returning to work, however.”
“Ah, yes. You’re a courier, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“You do long hauls, slow-transit. It’s unusual meeting a courier who doesn’t run the relays.”
“I enjoy the freedom to
pick and choose my contracts, sir. Relay riding is dangerous work.”
“So is riding solo. We use couriers often. Perhaps, once you no longer require a detail, you might be interested in doing a run on behalf of the Secret Service?”
With a hundred and one legitimate reasons for the Secret Service to require the assistance of a specific courier, I couldn’t risk making any assumptions. “I’ve no idea how long I’ll require a detail, sir. That said, once I’m free to return to my duties, I’m available for requested contracts through the courier network.”
“Oh, I don’t expect you’ll need a detail long. Folks like you, caught up in situations due to bad time, don’t tend to have a detail for more than a few days. You’ll have a detail long enough for interest in you to wear off, which doesn’t take very long when dealing with people in the upper government. You might be cut loose as early as tonight if everything remains calm. I could help make that happen if you’re finding a detail a little more suffocating than you enjoy.”
Alarm bells, the type reserved for when I realized someone wanted my life to end in a hurry, went off in my head. Maybe the President had ulterior motives for wanting me close at hand, but I believed my initial impression she meant to keep a close eye on me, which didn’t involve cutting me loose anytime soon, not when she needed me to do her dirty work for the sake of the government at the cost of her own family.
I stuck to the truth and the complete truth so my mark couldn’t catch me in a lie. “I thought it’d be for a while.”
“They always make it sound like that. I wouldn’t worry about it. What’s on your schedule today?”
“I think I’m expected at the mayoral palace for dinner. Agent Randal and Agent Simmons were managing the details.” It took every scrap of will to force my tone to turn wry when I really wanted to let loose and snarl and roar my frustration for the world to hear. “Apparently, I’m supposed to be resting. I’ve been recovering from a cold. At least my throat doesn’t hurt much anymore.”