by Scott Blade
He stood up from the couch and walked out of earshot of Mrs. Rowley. He kept walking until he was well down the hallway, past the kitchen. He said, “Where the hell is she?”
Lane said, “We don’t know. Not far from the veterinary clinic. But it doesn’t matter.”
“And why is that?”
“Calm down. If she goes to the police, you can handle it.”
Graine said, “How am I supposed to do that? I’m not a magician!”
“Figure it out! It won’t matter soon anyway. Call Rowley. Tell him he has to do it as soon as they land. Nothing can interfere.”
Lane hung up the phone.
Chapter 43
GRAINE HADN’T BEEN IN THE SECRET SERVICE, but he’d been around long enough to have some friends in the FBI and on various police forces throughout the country. He had made plenty of friends back when he was in the Army, and one guy came to mind.
He hadn’t talked to him in a couple of years, but Special Agent John Silverti was a longtime FBI agent and close to retirement, so close that he had a retirement party starting at the end of the workday. This was his last week.
Graine searched through the phone contacts on his regular cell phone, found the number, and dialed it. The phone rang, and a husky smoker’s voice answered.
“Doug?”
“John. How are you, old friend?”
“I’m okay. How’s it going? I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
Graine said, “I know. I’m sorry for not calling sooner. And I’m especially sorry for not calling you after Liz died.”
Silence on the other end.
Graine said, “I’m a terrible friend.”
Silverti said, “No, not at all. This is a nice surprise. What’s up?”
“Listen, John, this isn’t a social call. I need a favor. It’s a matter of national security in a way, but not in a tell your boss kind of way. It’s more of an embarrassment.”
“I’m listening.”
“You remember Gibson Rowley?”
“I never met him, but yeah, the director of the Secret Service isn’t a secret in my circles.”
“Well, it involves his daughter.”
Silverti said, “You probably need a different agent. I don’t handle national security. I don’t have the clearance for anything like that.”
Graine said, “Just listen. She ran away from home. She’s not in any danger. Just a rebellious teenager sort of thing. It’s a private matter, and Rowley prefers to keep it that way.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“The word from one of her little friends is that she ran off with this college kid. In a band. You know the type?”
Silverti said, “Sure. I got daughters. Hell, I got a granddaughter now.”
Graine pretended to care, saying, “Seriously, we’ll have to catch up soon. But let me tell you about this. It’s time sensitive.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“I need you to put the word out that she’s got some story made up about what really happened to her. But the truth is we already know she was with this guy and they got into a fight and she ran off. The Secret Service has already talked to him.”
“Whoa. The father—the Director of the Secret Service—hauled him in because he ran off with his daughter? That’s a scene I’d pay to see. Bet the kid was scared shitless.”
Graine said, “You’ve no idea. But listen. She’s still out there. We think she’ll go to the cops and tell some bullshit story to explain why she ran away to begin with.”
“What kinda story?”
“You know, teenager stuff.”
“What, like she was kidnapped or something?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“I get it. So you want the cops to act like it’s serious?”
Graine said, “Yeah. Exactly. Just have them bring her home. We’ll handle it here.”
Silverti said, “DC is a big place. I can’t control every cop in the district.”
“No problem. I know exactly what precinct she’ll be near.”
“Well, for an old friend, I can see what I can do.”
Graine smiled and gave him the information.
A minute later, he congratulated Agent Silverti on his retirement and texted Lane. Then he walked outside the house and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He lit one and took a couple of drags from it. He held it between his lips, pulled his cell phone out, and dialed Rowley.
The phone rang, and Rowley picked up. The quality of the connection was far from good, but it was audible enough.
Rowley said, “You got word about Cameron? Did Lane take the deal?”
Graine said, “He took Cameron.”
Rowley interrupted and said, “That’s a brave kid! I feel bad that we even asked him to go along.”
Graine said, “Gib, I’ve got some bad news.”
Rowley swallowed hard and said, “Doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not. I’m sorry.”
“What is it?”
“We never really talked about this out loud, but we all thought it. We asked ourselves what if this was an inside job?”
Rowley said, “What happened?”
“It’s Cord. He fooled us.”
“What? What did he do?”
“He’s the inside man. He’s been working with Lane and the other terrorists this whole time.”
Silence fell over the phone line. Rowley said nothing.
Graine said, “It was Cord who told us about Cameron. Remember? He was just trying to get a bonus for his pal. And it gets worse.”
Rowley remained silent.
Graine said, “Because we trusted him, we let him deliver this innocent kid to his death.”
Rowley made a noise on the other end, stunned.
“And Lucas is dead. Cord killed him at the meeting, and then he handed Cameron over like he was nothing.” Graine said. “I know. I was there. I saw the whole thing. I barely got away with my life.”
Rowley said, “No! No! It can’t be.”
“I’m sorry, Gib. I’m so very sorry, but if you don’t put a bullet in the president as soon as you land, they’ll kill Raggie.”
Rowley didn’t respond with words. He threw the phone against the wall of the cabin. The glass screen cracked and the plastic fragmented with the impact.
The president looked up along with everyone else.
Rowley got up and headed to the bathroom. He spoke to no one.
All Graine heard through the speaker of his phone was the repeated alert sound from the cell phone company saying that the connection had been lost, and then the line went dead. The screen on his phone said, Call Dropped.
He pocketed the phone and smiled.
Chapter 44
CAMERON HAD MADE IT BACK WITH CORD’S SUV. He helped the agent into the passenger seat and buckled him in.
Cameron said, “They moved Lucas. I’m not sure where.”
“Bastards! We gotta get back at them!”
“First, let’s make sure that Raggie is home safe. Did you call Rowley?”
“I tried, but the line’s busy,” Cord said.
“Try again.”
“I will. Let’s get going.”
Cameron nodded and got in the driver seat. He put the SUV in drive and hit the gas. They sped off through the subdivision and out onto the main road. They drove through a small strip with stores, gas stations, and some light traffic. They found the interstate and pulled onto it.
Cord said, “I’ll call the house. We’ve got to warn Mrs. Rowley.”
Cameron said, “No! Graine is there. Call the cops. Ask for an APB. We better have them pick Raggie up first.”
Cord nodded and dialed.
He got the local cops. He gave them his Secret Service badge number and told them it was an emergency. Cops were trained to keep their mouths shut when they heard that. Secret Service calls were treated as national security orders.
The officer took a minute to check out Cord’s name and ba
dge number. After that, he confirmed Cord’s identity and connected him to his watch commander, who took his instructions. Cord told him to put out the APB for Raggie. He told him she was important and should be brought straight to a police station. She was to wait and not leave with anyone until he got there.
When Cord got off of the phone, he said, “Okay, done. At least we don’t have to worry about her.”
Cameron said, “You forgot to give them this number.”
“Shit! I don’t know what it is anyway. We’ll call them back later and check. We know she’ll be safe and out of their hands. I’ve got to get through to Rowley now. The president is scheduled to land in twenty minutes.”
Cameron said, “Call him again.”
Cord dialed Rowley’s cell again and waited. No one answered. He put the phone down and stared out the windshield at the freeway. He said, “Hit that switch on the other side of the steering.” He pointed at a black switch.
Cameron hit it, and the SUV’s emergency lights flashed on. Bright blue rays flashed across the blacktop.
“Hit the gas. We need to get to the Rowley’s house!”
Cameron said, “Call someone else in the Secret Service. Tell them about Rowley.”
“He won’t hurt the president. Don’t worry.”
“Sean! Don’t be an idiot! He still thinks his daughter’s life is in danger! You’ve got to warn your guys! Tell them to take him into custody!”
Cord stayed quiet and stared ahead.
Cameron said, “Sean!”
“I can’t. What if he knows about her already? He won’t do it! He’d never do it!”
Cameron stayed quiet.
Cord looked torn and desperate. He looked as much like a man stuck between a rock and a hard place as any man Cameron had ever seen before in his life.
Cameron said, “I know he’s your friend, but you gotta do the right thing.”
“Even if I had someone to call, how do we know we can trust them?”
“There’s no one else.”
“How can you be sure?”
Cameron said, “You can’t have that many corrupt agents. That’s a damn impossibility. I bet that one hundred percent of your guys are on the straight and narrow. And zero percent are corrupt.”
Cord said, “How can you be sure?”
“Trust me. Graine isn’t an agent. He’s a lowly detective somewhere in the middle of Missouri—not a state known for its honest police departments. Police corruption is a part of life. And that’s a failure of the executive branch as much as it is for the local counties who hire these guys. But if I know anything about politicians, you can bet your ass they’ll take care of themselves first. And you don’t get better politicians than presidents.” He paused. “The Secret Service is clean. Besides, I know a little something about how hard it is to even pass the entrance exam.”
Cord nodded then said, “I can’t call anyone. There’s no one to call. Not on Air Force One. Only two people have working cell phones because of security—the Chief of Staff, and he isn’t on Air Force One, and the Director of the United States Secret Service.”
Cameron said, “What about the president? Surely, he has a cell phone?”
“I don’t have that number. I don’t rank high enough for that privilege.”
“What about the pilot? Have him turn the plane around. Rowley can’t shoot the president if they don’t land.”
Cord said, “The pilot? Do you know who the pilot of Air Force One is?”
Cameron shook his head and checked his side mirrors. He moved over into the left lane and around an ambulance that was driving slow in the right.
Cars turned their blinkers on and moved to the shoulder. Some faster than others. Some of them drove slowly, trying to give the appearance of driving safely. From his experience as a sheriff’s son, Cameron knew that about ninety percent of drivers did this when they saw a police vehicle flashing its lights behind them because they didn’t want to get in trouble. This was something that pissed off a lot of officers on duty. They were trying to get to a crime scene as fast as possible, and the rules of the road were eating away at their time.
Cameron said, “No.”
Cord said, “Calling the pilot is out of the question. First of all, I’d have to call the Pentagon and have them radio him. In theory, this should be an easy thing to do. But the guy who pilots Air Force One is an Air Force general, and when the commander-in-chief is onboard, the Air Force see it as their job to guard him. Our powers are diminished in their presence.”
Cameron said, “Cut the bureaucratic bullshit! You’re the Secret Service!”
“I know that. And I’m not saying we shouldn’t try it. I’m just saying that in ten minutes, it won’t happen. They’ll have landed before I’m done fighting with my Pentagon colleague about passing on the message. National security is often rivaled by bureaucratic hamstringing.”
“So what the hell do we do?”
Cord said, “Trust Rowley. I’ve known him for twenty years. He’ll do the right thing—the patriotic thing—before he succumbs to his own desires. He’ll sacrifice his own life and Raggie’s, too, before he’ll hurt the president.”
Cameron said, “Do you really believe that?”
“I do.”
Cameron looked down at the cell phone’s clock and said, “Five minutes till we find out.”
Chapter 45
RAGGIE STUMBLED AROUND BAREFOOT IN THE DARK. She’d managed to make it a couple of miles away from the clinic, and Max had followed her the whole way. Walking around in unfamiliar neighborhoods in the more questionable areas of Washington DC wasn’t her idea of an ideal situation, but it was light years better than being back in captivity.
She had passed a few guys earlier, and they looked even more questionable than the neighborhood. One of them had called out to her in a not-so-friendly tone. “Hey, girl. Where ya goin’?” On the surface, it sort of sounded like a question from a concerned citizen, but its meaning was more like “Hey girl. Why don’t you come over here and follow me into a dark alley for a couple of minutes?”
He wasn’t the type of person that was going to help Raggie, so she pressed on. The only reason the guys didn’t follow her was because of Max. He barked at them in a tone meant to warn. It said, “Stay away!”
Raggie thought that when this was all over, she’d definitely keep him.
She walked on, feeling more dehydrated than she’d ever been before—even more than the first day she was in the hospital after the shark attack. That was different, though. She hadn’t actually been deprived of water back then. It was the drugs that had made her feel dehydrated. This time, she hadn’t had any water for twenty-four hours.
Raggie walked on and turned onto another street. She didn’t know where she was, but she figured if she headed toward the brightest lights, she’d eventually come to a more civilized part of the city.
After another five minutes of walking, she ended up at a gas station. It had bars on the windows and was more than rundown. But it was promising because there was a police car parked in front of it. She walked into the gas station and saw a cop paying for coffee. He was a middle-aged black guy with ears so big they looked like mushrooms sprouting out of his head. He looked at her with concern and asked, “Ma’am. Are you alright?”
She walked up to him with Max trailing behind. The door swung shut behind them.
The store clerk said, “Hey! No dogs, girlie!”
The cop repeated himself.
Raggie saw the grave concern on his face and realized she must look like someone who had just awakened after sleeping in a dumpster.
Raggie said, “Help me.”
The cop left his coffee and said, “What’s wrong? Is someone after you?”
She said, “I was kidnapped.”
He grabbed her shoulders and stared at where her hand used to be. He said, “Are you injured?”
She shook her head and said, “My arm was already like that, but the guys are still o
ut there. They’re friends of my dad.”
The officer said, “Come with me.”
He took her by her one hand and led her out into the parking lot. He opened the back door to the patrol car and sat her down. Max jumped in after her, and the officer didn’t question it. He closed the door and sat in the front seat. He spoke into the radio and got headquarters on the line. The night watch commander explained to him in radio codes and cop talk that Raggie didn’t comprehend that the FBI had already informed them about this girl.
A moment later, the police officer received information on who she was and a message on his console computer requesting that she be taken back to her house and back to her parents. It informed him that this was a special favor for the FBI, and that was more than enough information for Officer Daftshaw. At the age of forty-three, he was a lifelong cop. Twenty-one years on the force qualified him as a professional. If he’d been in the military, he could’ve retired already, and that was a thought that plagued him to this day. He often wished he’d gone into the military instead.
Back in the 1990s, he’d had the choice, but he didn’t want to get injured and thought soldiers had a much higher probability of being shot by the enemy. Of course, the joke was on him because his second year on the streets, he’d been shot in the leg by a woman. Sometimes, he still felt pain in his right thigh, especially when it was going to rain.
After Officer Daftshaw read his message, he looked out of his window at the sky. Not a cloud in sight, but his leg was aching something awful. He thought for a moment and changed his mind just a bit. Something nagged at him. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. He decided it would be prudent to call Raggie’s parents just in case. The father was Secret Service, and certainly he’d want a phone call immediately. Their home number was listed.
Daftshaw turned back to the Raggie and said, “I’m going to take care of you, okay? Don’t worry—everything’s been sorted out.”
Raggie nodded.
Daftshaw said, “I’m going to step out and make a phone call. I’ll be two seconds.”
Raggie said, “I need to call my dad.”
“Okay. Let me talk to him first, okay?”