Conspiracy (Alex and Cassidy Book 4)

by Nancy Ann Healy

  “And me?” Fallon asked.

  “You two are going to find out what Petrov, Daniels, and Becker are up to,” Tate said.

  “Wait a minute,” Hawk held up her hand.

  Tate laughed. “You think Jane sent you to me as a parrot?” he asked her. “You know better than that,” Tate said.

  “I’ll kill her,” Hawk grumbled.

  Tate chuckled. “I’d like to see you try,” he challenged her. “I should think you two would fall right into sync with all of your common experience.” Both Fallon and Hawk looked at Tate in disgust. “Nothing to Toles yet,” Tate reaffirmed his position. “Let’s deal with reality before we send her reeling on some ghost chase.”

  “You should, at least, tell Jonathan,” Fallon said.

  Tate shook his head. “Krause and Baros are in France. Edmond…”

  “Are you telling me Callier knows?” Fallon demanded.

  “I’m not sure anyone knows anything, Agent Fallon. You have your directive. Let’s make sure we know what pieces of the puzzle we have before we try and fit them together,” Tate suggested.

  Fallon remained unconvinced. Hawk shrugged and looked at her new partner. “Guess we’ll be taking our coffee to go,” she said lightly.

  Fallon chuckled. “Fine by me. You are buying,” he told her.

  “Why me?” she asked.

  Fallon shrugged. “Guessing you make the bigger bucks,” he said.

  Tate watched the unlikely pair of partners head toward the counter and ran his hand over his face. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and scanned it slowly with his eyes. “Oh, Jane. I hope you know what you are doing.”

  ***

  “Alex?” a small voice called from the hallway outside of Alex and Cassidy’s bedroom.

  Alex looked up and smiled. “Hey, Speed. What’s up?”

  Dylan sauntered into his parents’ bedroom and hopped onto their bed while Alex sat in a chair tying her sneakers. “Are you going running?” he asked.

  “I was going to. Did you need something?” Alex asked. Dylan looked down and shrugged. “Dylan?”

  Slowly, Dylan looked up and met Alex’s eyes. “Can I go?”

  “Can you go where, Speed?” Alex wondered. Dylan shrugged again. “You want to go running with me?” she asked him. Dylan nodded. Alex watched her son carefully. He rarely asked to join her on a run. “It’s cold, Speed.”

  “Never mind,” he said.

  Dylan hopped off the bed and started to make his way out of the room. Alex stopped him. “Hey,” she said gently. “You can come with me if you want to,” she told him. Dylan looked up hopefully. “I just wanted to remind you that it’s cold. That’s all. Put on a pair of long underwear and a sweatshirt,” she told him. Dylan nodded and took off in a sprint down the hallway toward his bedroom, nearly tripping Cassidy on his way.

  “Where’s the fire?” Cassidy called after him.

  “Sorry, Mom!” he yelled back.

  Cassidy shook her head in amusement and walked into the bedroom. “Need some air?” she joked to her wife.

  Alex smiled. “Mm...Going to have to pass on the quiet time, though,” Alex said.

  “Huh?”

  “Dylan asked to go with me,” Alex explained. Cassidy nodded. “You don’t seem surprised,” Alex noted.

  Cassidy shrugged. “I’m not.”

  “Did something happen this morning when I was out with Mom?” Alex asked, wondering if Dylan had been scolded while she was out.

  “No. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Alex was puzzled. Cassidy reached for Alex’s sweatshirt and shrugged again. “I think he just misses you,” she said honestly.

  “Misses me?” Alex asked. “I’m home now more than I used to be.”

  “Umm…and you have someone else vying for your attention,” Cassidy said.

  Alex sighed. “You think he’s jealous of Kenzie?” she asked.

  “Maybe a little,” Cassidy said with a grin.

  “Shit.” Alex frowned. “Cass, I haven’t ignored Speed, have I?”

  Cassidy smiled broadly and kissed Alex on the cheek. “No, not at all.”

  “I don’t get it,” Alex confessed.

  “Alex, he’s always had you to himself. The minute you walked through the door, he was at your feet,” Cassidy said.

  “But…I still….”

  “I know,” Cassidy said. “He knows. He just needs a little time with you to himself,” Cassidy said. “You know, he has always had me. You also know that Chris was not around much.”

  “Shit…Cass…I don’t mean to dote on Kenzie so much. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to spend time with Speed. It kind of seems like he has had other things to do,” Alex said honestly.

  Cassidy arched her brow and snickered. She enjoyed watching Alex and Dylan from a distance. Mackenzie had added a new dimension to their family. Both Dylan and Alex were enthralled with the baby. Dylan loved his baby sister. There was no denying that. Alex lit up like a Christmas tree every time she looked at her daughter. That was a fact. Cassidy understood that despite the affection they both had for the newest addition to the family, there was a bond between Alex and Dylan that went far beyond description or explanation. Alex was Dylan’s hero. Dylan held Alex’s heart. Alex could not have loved Dylan more if she had given birth to him herself. They had grown used to each other’s undivided attention. And, both were just a tiny bit jealous of the wrinkle Mackenzie caused in that equation. It was endearing beyond measure to Cassidy.

  “I think, maybe you two should take the car, take a run in the park and then go pick out some Lego project you can immerse yourselves in this afternoon,” Cassidy suggested.

  “What about you?”

  “Kenzie and I will find something to do. Maybe I will talk to her in French all day,” Cassidy winked.

  “She’s struggling with cow, Cass. French might be a stretch,” Alex laughed.

  Cassidy shrugged. “You go do your Superhero thing. I will worry about our daughter. I will even make tacos for dinner.”

  “I see. You are just setting us up so Speed and I will have to do the dishes.”

  “Another reason I am grateful I married a butler,” Cassidy cracked. She kissed Alex gently. “Go get the Dark Knight, Alfred. I’ll see you back at the manor later,” Cassidy said as she headed out the door.

  “Yep. She’s got us pegged, Speed. We get tacos and dishes,” Alex said. “Maybe I can convince her to let me give her a lesson in billiards tonight,” Alex laughed.

  ***

  “Mr. President.”

  “Ambassador,” President Strickland greeted Paul Daniels. “You’ve been busy.”

  Daniels smiled. His perfect white teeth knitted tightly together, concealing little of the contempt he held for the man across from him. “Simply doing my job, Mr. President.”

  “Diplomacy?” the president asked sarcastically.

  “Diplomacy has many faces,” Daniels replied.

  “I’m not sure most people would agree with that assessment—not if they knew what you were referring to,” Strickland said.

  “War has always been at the heart of diplomacy, Mr. President.”

  “And terrorism?” Strickland asked. “Does that hold one of the many faces you refer to?”

  Daniels offered the president a sardonic smile. “The goal of diplomacy is to secure a strategic advantage. That remains the same in peace and in war,” Daniels said. “An adept diplomat makes alliances and uses whatever tactics necessary to secure the end goal—strategic advantage. I do not see that as terrorism.”

  President Strickland’s forehead wrinkled in consideration. He nodded and changed the course of the conversation. “What of Petrov?”

  “He and Becker will deliver,” Daniels said.

  “Have you determined the target?” the president inquired.

  “The targets were determined long ago,” Daniels said.

  President Strickland endeavored to remain stoic. “Targets?”

>   Daniels' lips curled again. His smug smile turned the president’s stomach. “Mr. President, a simple assault or strike on an embassy in a foreign country will not suffice. Look at my good friend Ambassador Matthews’ death. Mourning, grieving, disbelief and anger immediately erupt in passionate displays,” he said. “Then? It dissipates into nothingness. We solved the problem of one man’s interference. Nothing more. People do not live there. Secretaries and dignitaries in a foreign land, even children....That is removed from people’s reality. It’s nothing more than a five-minute scene from an action movie,” Daniels said. He noted the president’s discomfort. “What? You are the leader of the free world,” Daniels laughed. “Did you think that was preserved through banquets and speeches? It’s sustained by an economy, not only of money—of blood.”

  President Strickland nodded. “American casualties?” he asked.

  “Difficult to project. Substantial.”

  “And, the Russians?”

  “Measured.”

  Strickland forced a smile. “When can I expect delivery?” he asked.

  Daniels chuckled. “Even I am not privy to that,” he said. “Over time. That is best to shift perception. Best you receive the news as it unfolds.”

  Strickland bristled. “That is not acceptable. I need to be….”

  “You need to show the world your shock and horror, Mr. President. Surprise is your ally in that endeavor. I’m sure the admiral agrees. ”

  “Where?” Strickland demanded.

  “Everywhere, Mr. President. One at a time. That is how you change perception. How you wage a war. Not all at once. One incident at a time that creates anxiety.”

  “Where?” Strickland pressed.

  Daniels smiled. “Where they will least expect it.”

  ***

  “Jonathan,” Eleana placed her hand on Jonathan Krause’s arm. “It is possible that he knows nothing,” she said.

  Krause turned to the woman beside him. His faint smile portrayed his skepticism clearly. He desperately wanted it to be true, even to be possible, that Edmond Callier would prove to be as in the dark as the rest of their group. That was not only unlikely, Krause understood it was unreasonable to entertain the notion at all. Callier’s close relationship with Admiral William Brackett, with Anthony Merrow, and with his own parents was all the proof he needed. Krause shook his head. Brackett was a wild card, Merrow and Nicolaus Toles were dead. They all knew something. They had built this alliance they called The Collaborative. If Callier didn’t know anything concrete, at the very least he had suspicions he had not shared.

  “I wish that were true, Eleana,” Krause sad sincerely. “You don’t know how much.”

  Eleana nodded. “Then let’s go. Promise me one thing?” she asked. Krause looked at her expectantly. “Let me talk to him before you press him.”

  Krause nodded. Eleana had no illusions walking into her father’s villa. Edmond Callier would be forthcoming one way or another. Krause hoped her presence, if not her tactics, would prove effective.

  ***

  Alex slowed her pace so that Dylan could meet her stride as they ran through the park. “You okay, Speed?” she asked.

  Dylan nodded. Alex smiled at the quick puffs of cold breath that hovered above him in short succession. She was tempted to stop their run and let him catch his breath for a moment. Alex saw a familiar sparkle in Dylan’s eyes when he looked up at her—determination. She kept her pace even and continued forward. She suppressed a chuckle at the boy beside her as his arms pumped more furiously than was necessary to propel him forward. A few more yards and she would slow them to a walk.

  “Are we stopping?” Dylan asked through his panting.

  Alex leaned over and placed her hands on her knees. “Yeah. It’s hard to breathe in the cold sometimes,” she said. Dylan mirrored Alex’s actions as she spoke. “You feeling okay?” she asked him. Dylan nodded.

  Alex suspected he would never have confessed to the cramp she was certain he was feeling in his leg. His stride had become a tad wobbly and the way he bit his lower lip had not gone unnoticed. She was quite impressed with her son, not because of his speed and not because of his endurance, because of his perseverance. Part of it, Alex understood, was Dylan’s desire to impress her. More than that, it was Dylan’s nature to want to do his best. He pushed himself. While he was athletic, Dylan was also less adventurous than Alex. Alex had been a daredevil as a child. Dylan was a bit more reserved. That didn’t surprise Alex. Both of Dylan’s parents were more reserved than she was. Cassidy and John Merrow were also two of the most determined and committed people Alex had ever known. They were also two of the most intelligent and caring people Alex had ever met. Dylan was his parents’ son.

  Alex saw a little of both Cassidy and John Merrow in Dylan every day. Most days, it warmed her heart. At times, it made her heart just a touch heavier. She missed John Merrow. There was a great deal she wished she could ask him now. And, Alex could not deny that a part of her missed being a part of Dylan’s life—missed seeing him born, seeing him walk, or hearing him talk for the first time. Sometimes, she would watch Mackenzie do something and find herself wondering when Dylan had done it for the first time. Did he throw his peas? Did he twirl Cassidy’s hair? Did he laugh like Mackenzie? Did he like his first bath or did he cry? Alex simply didn’t know. She could ask Cassidy, and sometimes she did. More often than not, Alex kept to her silent pondering. It felt strange to ask. She hadn’t been there. She was here now. Watching Dylan straighten up slowly, Alex realized that she had been missing him too. He had friends to play with, homework to complete, and his own interests. Slowly, he was beginning to need both Alex and Cassidy less. Alex had stepped back, thinking that was what her son needed. Maybe it was. She still needed time with him, even if he sometimes needed to go his own way.

  “Mom suggested we spend the day together,” Alex said as she resumed a slow pace forward.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It is cold, though,” Alex observed.

  “Yeah, and not enough snow,” Dylan griped.

  Alex laughed. Dylan loved to go sledding and skiing. It was certainly cold enough, but there was barely a sporadic dusting of snow on the ground. Alex was not a skier. Dylan loved it. Cassidy’s parents had a cabin in Maine that he loved to visit. The last two years had not seen much time for winter sports. “Hasn’t been the best winter for sledding,” Alex agreed.

  “Or skiing.”

  Alex nodded. “You’ll be doing that soon,” She reminded him of their upcoming trip to the cabin. “What about if we build something together instead?” she suggested. Dylan brightened. Alex put her hand on his shoulder. “What do you say we hit the store before we head home?”

  Dylan nodded. “Can we stop for hot chocolate first?” he asked hopefully. Alex pretended to consider the request for a moment, amused by the pleading look in Dylan’s eyes. “Please?”

  Alex smiled. She could tell that Dylan was not quite ready for their outing to end. In truth, neither was she. “Hot chocolate it is, Speed.”

  ***

  “Edmond,” Jonathan Krause greeted his old friend.

  Edmond Callier embraced his daughter with a smile, released her and then promptly turned to pour two glasses of scotch. He turned back toward Krause and handed the younger man one of the two glasses. “A vote santé (to your health),” Callier raised his glass as a toast.

  Krause set his glass on the table beside him without as much as a sip. He regarded the older man intently, his eyes clear and his focus sharp as a razors edge.

  Callier took another long sip, set down his glass and pressed his lips together tightly. He released a heavy sigh and offered his daughter a reassuring smile before turning his attention back to Krause. "Qu'est-ce que vous voulez savoir? (What is it that you want to know?)" Callier asked.

  “Whatever it is that you have failed to tell me. What is it about Claire’s ghost?” Krause replied.

  Callier nodded and closed his eyes momentarily
as if to gather his thoughts. He shook his head.

  “Papa,” Eleana urged her father emotionally.

  Edmond Callier looked at his daughter and smiled softly. He took a deep breath and turned to Krause. “Etes-vous sûr que vous voulez cette réponse? (Are you sure you want that answer)?” he asked pointedly. Krause’s only response was a stoic gaze. “ Très bien. Peut-être que vous devriez vous asseoir. (Very well. Perhaps you should sit),” Callier suggested.

  “I’m fine,” Krause responded.

  Callier smiled knowingly at Krause’s deliberate response in English. It was an unspoken rule in the world that Callier and Krause called home, a measure of respect to speak in the native tongue when a guest. Krause’s statement was clear. Krause was here for information. Callier’s response would dictate the younger man’s role—ally or adversary. “Chasing ghosts is usually a futile endeavor, Jonathan,” Callier said. He noted Krause’s unwavering expression of stolidity and took another deep breath. “I do not know if the ghost exists, Jonathan. It’s a legend that has existed many years, long before either of you were a part of any of this,” he began.

  Eleana looked to Krause. His demeanor remained impassive. She noted the slight twitch in his temple and understood that he would not be deterred in his mission. “Papa,” she turned to her father. “S'il vous plaît. Papa. Nous devons savoir. Vous devez dire à, Jonathan. S'il vous plaît. (Please. Papa. We have to know. You have to tell Jonathan. Please),” Eleana urged her father.

  Edmond Callier moved to his daughter. He took Eleana’s face in his hands. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Il aura besoin de vous maintenant. (He will need you now),” he told her. He kissed her cheek and turned back to Krause. “Many years ago, there were five of us who made a pact. A pact not unlike the unspoken agreement you have now with Alexis and this small group. An agreement that we would—that before all else, we would protect our children. That was our vow to one another.”

  “Continue,” Krause said.

  “We lost one of our five sooner than any of us expected. The details do not matter now. Not long after his death, stories began to surface. Stories of an American ghost. A man haunted by some past who saved a young girl.”