Shattered Lies

by Kathleen Brooks

  Valeria gripped his shoulder for balance as she took off each shoe. Grant attracted women who wanted to be rescued. Women with the girl-next-door looks and shy voices. Women who felt safe with him and women he felt safe with since they never asked for anything from him. Certainly never a woman who would shoot someone between the eyes. A woman who would demand everything from him because, while Valeria would deny it, she wanted love. He knew that because it was what he wanted deep down, too.

  “Here you go,” Valeria said, handing him the shoes. No batting eye lashes, no simpering, so fawning over being rescued. That wasn’t Valeria’s style. For the first time, Grant felt as though he’d found his equal in every way.

  Grant reached for the knife on his belt and set the shoe on a rock. He bent over and with a strong swing he chopped off the heel to one shoe, then the second. “Not the most comfortable but better than trying to walk on stilts.”

  Valeria slipped them on and tried them out. “Thanks, Grant.”

  Grant felt as if he’d been handed the world. He had a feeling she didn’t say that word often. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go.”

  * * *

  “Where are they?” Lizzy asked as she scanned the sky from their stolen helicopter.

  “They’re flying southwest toward Mexico. They’re south of the small town of Ocotillo,” Dalton replied as they flew across the western base of the Peninsular Range near Palm Grove.

  “I see it,” Lizzy said, scanning the map of the area and looking closely at the GPS coordinates from the tracker on Sebastian. “They’re about twenty-five miles ahead of us. They’re over someplace called Jacumba Wilderness Area near the border.”

  “If they get over the border, we’ll never be able to get to them. Manuel has protection everywhere.”

  “Wait,” Lizzy said, keeping her eyes on the GPS signal. “They’ve stopped.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know,” Lizzy said, pulling up an image of the area. “It’s nothing. It’s a small mountain range about a mile from the border. Okay, he’s on the move. They’re moving into the mountains. They’re going slowly, so they must be on foot.”

  “They’re trying to sneak across the border. We might be able to catch them.”

  Agonizing minutes passed as Dalton flew closer to the targets. They ate up the miles as Lizzy readied a parachute. If they were in the middle of the hills, the helicopter may not be able to land and there was no way she would let that stop her.

  “Lizzy!” Dalton yelled into the headset. “Where’d they go?”

  Lizzy looked at the map on the phone. They were gone. There wasn’t even a blip of a signal anywhere on the map. “They were just there,” Lizzy said, pointing at their last location. “They can’t be gone.”

  “Do you think they found the tracker?”

  “They could have. Let’s find out.”

  Dalton nodded his head as he headed for the last location.

  16

  Birch grimaced as he was moved to the wheelchair. It was the first time he’d been allowed out of the hospital bed, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the White House. The hospital was quiet this late at night—or this early in the morning, depending on how you wanted to think of it.

  The cleaning crew had just left, leaving the halls smelling of antiseptic. The white floors and walls glowed under the artificial light as the staff lined up to say goodbye. The staff was minimal with only two nurses and a couple doctors that had been treating him. However, the army of Secret Service agents ruined the calm of the moment. Six agents flanked him as Dr. Wilson, his personal White House physician, pushed his wheelchair to each person. Birch held out his hand and shook the doctors’ hands and then the nurses’. “Thank you for such excellent care.” Birch wasn’t given long to say goodbye as his agents kept him moving.

  Ahead of them, Humphrey pushed Tate, but Birch couldn’t see them through the wall of agents there to take them home. He knew Humphrey was there because of his constant history lessons on different presidents being admitted to the base hospital.

  What a pair he and Tate made. Both banged up and in wheelchairs, although Tate would be moved to crutches soon since her shoulder injury was healing faster than expected. They would have to talk to the media soon. Her undersecretary had been handling all the press since the bombing, but the people would need to see the president to know he was capable of governing the country. While work had been handled, he was isolated at the hospital. Meetings were delayed and instead of a steady flow of people coming and going, it was just he and Humphrey getting things done. He’d need to meet with members of Congress, his cabinet, and the world leaders he’d had to reschedule. This was the last calm before the storm.

  The sterile white was broken up by silver doors of the elevators at the end of the hall and the few posters of smiling soldiers and doctors that hung on the walls. The elevators were on lockdown, but two of the four were open for him by the time they reached them. Tate went into one, while he and his wall of agents went into the other.

  It was strange to ride down the elevator in complete deafening silence. He’d grown accustomed to Humphrey’s lectures. Birch found them soothing, especially when the situation was as tense as it was now—moving a president someone had attempted to assassinate. But now it was all business. The agents had hands on their guns as two kept an eye on the ceiling and the others formed a barricade between him and the door. Birch didn’t think anyone breathed as they rode down to the garage.

  It seemed like an eternity of listening to blood pounding in his ears before the door opened and the agents exited with guns drawn and cleared the area. “We’re all clear, sir,” the lead agent told him, holstering his gun, and Dr. Wilson moved to push him out of the elevator and over to the presidential limo nicknamed The Beast.

  The garage was musty and humid, even with the cooler night air. It felt strange to Birch to feel non-air conditioned air and to smell something other than medical cleaner and sterilized air. He couldn’t wait to get into the car and back home. He was tired of being watched as if he was about to die, and he was ready to get back to work.

  His doctor stopped the chair as two agents helped Birch stand. His legs ached, but the energy coursing through them as they were finally used again made him want to run around the garage. Instead, he shuffled his way to the car and slowly lowered himself to the leather seat. His legs may have wanted to run, but his ribs did not.

  “How are you feeling?” Tate asked from her seat next to him when the agents shut the door.

  “Good. I’ll be up and moving soon. My legs want to, so I think I’ll try the bike later today. How are you doing?”

  Tate smiled. Even without a speck of makeup on, she was stunning. Her light pink lips tightened with annoyance, though. “I can’t wait to get the pins out of my leg. They’re irritating. I can see and feel them under my skin.”

  “It feels strange going back to the White House, doesn’t it?” Birch asked as he looked out the window. He reached and took Tate’s hand in his and squeezed. They were alive, and they were ready to fight.

  “It seems as if it’s been months when it’s only been days,” Tate said, summing up exactly what he felt as they pulled into the White House entrance.

  The parade of agents began again as they were moved to the residence where his butler, Gene, looked both relieved and worried. “Sir,” the older man in his tux said, stepping forward as some of the agents broke away to search the entire residence even though police dogs had probably just left, “it is so good to have you home. We’ve all been so worried.”

  “Thank you, Gene. It’s good to be back. You didn’t have to stay up for us, though. Go get some sleep. In a couple hours we’ll be all ready to go for the day.”

  Gene shook his graying head and cleared his throat. “Absolutely not. When they called to prepare us for your arriva,l I insisted on being here. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you right now, sir. And you too, ma’am.” He looked at Tate and smiled warmly.
“There’s a piece of chocolate cake in your old room and a hot bath with something special in it to help with your aches.”

  Tate practically started drooling. “You’re the best, Gene. I hope we tell you that enough.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, bowing his head briefly. “There is also a bath waiting for you, sir. I know it must feel good to get out of the hospital. Is there anything you’d like, sir?”

  “Not right now, but I want a real breakfast and not that stuff they forced on me at the hospital.”

  “It’s all clear, sir,” an agent said, stopping in front of them. “We’ll move to our regular posts. Call if you need anything.” Birch thanked the agents and breathed a sigh of relief when they were finally gone.

  “Gene,” Dr. Wilson said, “could you take Tate to her room while I get the president in bed, and then, Tate, I’ll be down to help you get in the bath.”

  “Of course,” Gene said, taking Tate’s chair from Humphrey.

  “See you soon, Tate. Goodnight, Gene. I’m heading out.” Humphrey smiled as he pecked a kiss to Tate’s cheek.

  Dr. Wilson pushed Birch into his bedroom and helped him get ready for the couple hours he was going to sleep. A bath sounded good, but so did sleep. “How about a shower, Doc?”

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Dr. Wilson, who was in his late fifties with a full head of light brown hair and the body of a huggable grandparent, led Birch back into the bedroom. “Oh, let me help!” Humphrey jumped up from his seat and took Birch’s other arm.

  “Thanks, Humphrey. What are you doing here? I thought you left.”

  “I figured I’d just sleep in my office tonight, but I got a call I thought I should talk to you about.” Humphrey sat on the chair on the other side of the room as Dr. Wilson made sure Birch was reclining comfortably.

  “I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to help Tate and then head to bed myself. Call if you need anything. You can get up and around now, just slowly and carefully. Rest, move, rest, move. And ice. I’ll have Gene bring some to you. Good night.”

  “Night, Doc. Thanks,” Birch called as his doctor left, closing the door behind him. Humphrey was across the room, so Birch had to turn his head slightly to the left to look at Humphrey. “So, what call did you get?”

  “A very worried Alex. Some hacker named Rock Star, whom I think Alex likes, found a wire transfer from Sebastian to Roland Westwood that went through an hour ago. A wire of $1,000,000. She’s trying to follow it, but it’s being transferred and broken up all over the world by Roland.”

  It hurt more than the physical pain he was in. His best friend had betrayed him. “Tell Alex to notify the group to apprehend Sebastian immediately and hand him over to Jason for questioning.”

  Humphrey grimaced. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “I’m sure. I can’t show him mercy, and right now Jason is the only one who isn’t going to show mercy to my best friend. They may not mean to, but they would subconsciously do it out of fear of upsetting me. And check in with Jason. Let’s see if Sandra is talking yet.”

  “Will do.” Humphrey went to stand, but Birch stopped him. He felt the smile tug on his lips.

  “So, you think Alex likes this hacker?” He felt as if he and Humphrey were parents talking about their teenage son. The whole group felt that way about Alex.

  “Oh yes. His voice changed when talking about her. I asked him and he replied with an embarrassed and shy ‘dude.’” Humphrey smiled.

  The door opened, partially shielding Humphrey from view as Gene came in with ice packs and a plate of food. “Dr. Wilson said you needed these.” Gene walked into the room, not seeing Humphrey, and handed the packs to Birch. He set the plate on the nightstand. Large chunks of apple filled the plate. Birch’s stomach rumbled.

  “I guess you did want a snack.” Gene held up the plate and Birch took a slice and popped it into his mouth. Gene set the plate down and picked up a pillow Birch had thrown on the floor.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Birch said between chews as he reached for another piece of apple. He went to swallow and everything went black as the pillow Gene held was smothered over his face with such force that he couldn’t breathe. His ribs burned with pain as he struggled. He clawed at the pillow suffocating him, but then the pressure was gone.

  Birch ripped the pillow from his face, spit out the apples, and dragged in big gulps of air. His vision had been blurry, but it refocused onto Humphrey holding Gene tight in a chokehold. Gene was kicking and fighting, but Humphrey had his face set and a solid hold. His left arm was behind Gene’s head and anchored to his right bicep as he dragged Gene backward. Gene lost his footing and ended up on his ass where Humphrey used his now-heightened advantage to leverage his arm and send Gene into unconsciousness.

  “What the hell?” Birch gasped as he stared at Humphrey who wasn’t even breathing hard.

  Humphrey dropped his hold and straightened his pink and green striped bowtie. “I think we found our White House mole.”

  “Gene was here when I planned our date night. Why? Why would he do this?” Birch had thought of Gene as a friend. Sandra, no. She’d always been hostile toward him. But Gene had always been someone to talk to after a long day. Someone who cared how he was. Birch knew all about his family . . . well, at least he thought he did. Had Gene been lying this whole time?

  “Thank you, Humphrey,” Birch said, slowly moving to stand. “You saved my life.”

  “I’m glad I was here. In your weakened state . . . Do you want me to call the agents?”

  Birch shook his head as he slowly walked toward his closet. “No. Call Jason.” Birch grabbed a handful of ties and belts, and when he made it back into the bedroom, Humphrey was already on the phone with Jason.

  “The tunnels. See you then.” Humphrey hung up and grabbed the belts. Gene was already stirring as Humphrey trussed him up and used a tie as a gag as Gene lay on the floor.

  Gene groaned as his eyes finally blinked open. Birch watched as realization that he was trapped set in. The man freaked out. He was screaming behind the gag, tears streaming down his face as he fought the ties at his hands and knees.

  “Why?” was all Birch asked. Gene looked up at him, his eyes pleading with him. “Go ahead, Humphrey.”

  Humphrey helped Gene to sit up and then pushed down the gag far enough for him to talk. “They made me. It was my debt to pay. They would kill my family. And because I failed, my girls—oh God, my girls are dead!”

  Humphrey and Birch shared a look over Gene’s head. “Who made you do it?” Birch asked as he held onto one of the bed posters.

  “I don’t know!” he cried. “I . . . I . . . I have a weakness. I’m addicted to drugs. I can’t stop. I was arrested right after you were sworn in, and this man shows up at the jail. I knew I would be fired. Decades of working in the White House gone, just like that. And this man, he tells me he can get me out of jail and make the arrest files disappear as if they never existed because they wouldn’t exist if I agreed to his proposal.”

  “And you didn’t ask who he was?” Birch asked in disbelief.

  “Of course I did. He said he was representing an interested party. He was clean-cut. Maybe forty-five years old. Five feet ten inches. Dark brown hair, stylish glasses, expensive suit. And he was there with cash in his briefcase. He claimed he was my lawyer. I asked what I had to do and he said I just had to keep my ears open and call this number to report what was going on at the White House every day. If something out of the ordinary was happening, like your date or Tate moving in, then I was to call immediately. I would call, leave a message, and that was it. I put two and two together after the bombing.”

  Gene began to cry again. His nose turned as red as his bloodshot eyes. “It’s all my fault those people are dead.”

  “Yes, Gene, it is,” Birch said quietly. “Then what?”

  “They must know I couldn’t handle it. As soon as reports came in that you were alive, I received a phone call.
They were with my daughters. Rebecca is twenty-two and Stephanie is twenty. They’re in Mexico for a vacation together. Sisters’ trip, they called it. I got a picture of them lying on the beach. They told me they would kill them if I didn’t kill you.”

  “Where are they now?” Birch asked.

  “They’re still in Mexico. They leave day after tomorrow. If I hadn’t killed you by then, they die. When I heard you were coming back tonight . . . I don’t care if you kill me, just save my girls. Please!”

  “Gene, I’ll get your girls. And you’ll live, for now. Where’s this phone you use to talk to them?”

  “We’re not allowed to have personal phones on us, so it’s hidden in the locked cabinet in the staff room. I’m the only one with the key.” Humphrey moved and felt his pockets until he found the keys.

  “I’ll give this to someone to look it over after I deliver Gene.” Birch nodded and knew he was talking about Alex.

  “I won’t be safe. They’ll kill me as soon as my name pops up on the jail register,” Gene sighed, but sounded resigned.

  “You’re not going to jail. You’re going to disappear. No one will know where you are or what happened to you until I want them to. Gene, a bit of advice. Tell the man you meet everything you know.” With a nod of his chin toward Humphrey, he put the gag back on Gene and tied a blindfold over his face before dragging him from the room.

  17

  Dalton set the helicopter down near the last location of Sebastian’s GPS. The half moon lit up the desert, but not nearly enough to see if someone was waiting to kill them. He looked around and saw nothing. No lights. No movement. Nothing.

  “I don’t see anything,” Lizzy said as she scanned the area.

  “Me either. Let’s get out and have a look around.” Something wasn’t adding up, but Dalton couldn’t figure it out. A helicopter full of people didn’t just disappear like that.