Word of Honor fr-7

by Radclyffe

  The smile on Dana’s face disappeared. “I’m afraid I really can’t—”

  “I haven’t agreed—” Blair interrupted.

  Lucinda glanced at her watch. “And I’m late for a meeting with the budget committee. Thank you all so much for coming.” She reached across her desk, grabbed a stack of folders, and walked out.

  Blair and Dana stared after her.

  “Son of a bitch!” Dana and Blair exclaimed simultaneously.

  Cam, wisely, said nothing.

  Chapter Four

  Dana took a deep breath and smiled ruefully at the first daughter. She’d seen her in photographs and on television before, of course, but she’d never met her in person. Dressed casually, with her hair loose and her temper showing, Blair Powell was even more beautiful than her media image projected. Dana had always admired her for her subtle disdain for political games and her tendency to be outspoken regardless of the party line. And the fact that she had become more candid about her sexual orientation in the last year had earned Dana’s respect. As a reporter, Dana had a healthy regard for the power of the press to make or break careers as well as sway public opinion. It was refreshing to meet someone so close to the seats of power who didn’t seem to care, although handling her press relations must be a nightmare for the White House.

  “Nothing personal, Ms. Powell,” Dana said, “but I’m not the right reporter for this assignment.”

  “Nothing personal, Ms. Barnett,” Blair said, “but this assignment doesn’t work for me either.”

  Dana laughed, then caught the steely expression on Deputy Director Roberts’s face. Dana wasn’t naïve, and even if she hadn’t just come back from the Middle East, she would have had a very good idea of just how precarious the state of national security was at the moment. Anyone who paid attention to the political scene, and Dana did, knew that Blair Powell had dropped from sight immediately after 9/11 and the White House had been very vague as to why. Now she was emerging in the midst of controversy. So much for maintaining a low profile, which Dana was willing to bet the White House and the deputy director would have preferred. She didn’t envy Roberts’s position in all of this, and she definitely didn’t want to piss her off.

  “I agree with your take on controlling the press by setting up exclusive coverage, Deputy Director,” Dana said. “It’s a good idea. My only point is—”

  “I think you’ve made your position clear,” Cam said flatly. “You apparently find contributing to Ms. Powell’s security beneath you.”

  Dana flushed. She knew, as did every other reporter in the United States—in the world, most likely—that Cameron Roberts had nearly died from a sniper’s bullet intended for the first daughter. Roberts might have taken the bullet because she was protecting her lover, but no one doubted she would have done it for anyone under her protection. She was a genuine hero, and one who hadn’t capitalized on her notoriety in any way. For just a second, Dana felt petty in her desire not to be cast as a celebrity reporter, and the discomfort stoked her temper. “There are half a dozen reporters the Chronicle could assign who would fit in better than me and who have more experience with this kind of thing. I’m a field reporter, for Christ’s sake.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Blair interjected, “because it’s not happening.” She looped her left arm through Cam’s and held her right hand out to Dana. “Like I said, nothing personal. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Same here,” Dana said.

  When the first daughter and the deputy director started out of the office, Dana hurried after them. It would have been nice to think the matter closed, but she knew things were never that simple where politics were concerned.

  “You were kind of hard on her, weren’t you?” Blair asked lightly as she and Cam left the West Wing.

  “She’s cocky,” Cam said.

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” Cam pulled her cell phone off her belt and punched in Paula Stark’s number on speed dial. “We’re coming out, Chief.” She glanced at Blair. “Ready to go home?”

  “More than ready.” Blair slowed in the lobby just inside the entrance to the West Wing and pulled Cam around to face her. “You don’t usually give up so easily.”

  Cam grinned. “Who said I was giving up?”

  Blair rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” She looked around to make sure no one was listening, but everyone seemed to be rushing to get to their destination and paid them no mind. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice out of habit. “I’m not having a stranger follow me around, recording my every thought and feeling, during one of the most important times of my life. God, Cam, I don’t even do that for a routine public appearance.”

  Cam settled her hands on Blair’s shoulders. “Nothing is routine anymore, baby.”

  “This is ours,” Blair said vehemently. She pressed her hand to Cam’s chest. “Ours. I’m not letting anyone take it away from us, not even Lucinda and my father.”

  “No one will. I promise.” Cam kissed her softly while a uniformed Marine guard standing nearby stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to them. “But the press are going to be all over us, and that makes Stark’s job ten times more difficult. Lucinda is right on this one, Blair. It’s the best way to control the flow of information and keep some distance between you and the reporters.”

  “No,” Blair said. “As far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed.”

  Cam said nothing, but her eyes took on the shuttered appearance they always did when she was holding in her temper.

  “And don’t think about pulling rank on me, either,” Blair snapped, the effort it took to keep her voice down making her tremble.

  When it came right down to it, Blair knew that what she wanted didn’t carry as much weight as what others decided was best for her. And one of those other people who had that kind of power over her was her own lover. She resented being made a bystander to her own life, and her solution to that in the past had been to assert her independence any way she could. Sometimes in ways that weren’t particularly smart, or safe. But now she had something that mattered as much as her own personal freedom, and that was her relationship with Cam. When the two things that mattered most to her were at odds, like now, Blair’s better judgment sometimes suffered in the wake of impotent fury. “I don’t want to fight about this.”

  “Neither do I.” Cam tensed as they stepped outside under the portico.

  Blair noticed Cam automatically scan the grounds. Despite the fact that they were in one of the most secure locations in the world, Cam didn’t let down her guard. She never let down her guard. Blair wasn’t sure she would recognize her if she ever truly relaxed. Even as she thought it, Blair knew there was one time when Cam wasn’t thinking about danger, wasn’t thinking about guarding her, wasn’t thinking about anything at all. When they made love, when Cam gave herself to Blair, the only thing in her mind—the only thing that mattered—was what existed between the two of them. Blair was certain of it, because that was the way she felt too, and she desperately wanted to have that feeling for more than just the moments when they made love. Not just for herself, but for Cam. And if she had to stand up to Lucinda and her father and the whole goddamn world to get it, she would.

  “Dana! You’re back!”

  “Hiya, gorgeous.” Dana stepped around behind an old-fashioned gunmetal gray desk with dented file cabinets built into either end and kissed the silky-soft skin of the white-haired woman who guarded the door to editor-in-chief Clive Russell’s office with the ferocity of a gorgon. Rumor had it that Amanda Smith held more shares in the paper than half the board members, but preferred her role as secretary to sitting in meetings. Dana had a feeling Amanda had more power right where she was. “Thanks for arranging my ride back.”

  Amanda merely smiled as her gaze swept over Dana. “Bad over there?”

  “Bad and getting worse,” Dana said grimly. She had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of Afghanistan, and considering what she’d
been piecing together from her sources in the military and on Capitol Hill, Iraq was about to be added to the nasty mix.

  “Those pieces you sent back were horrifying.” Amanda touched Dana’s arm fleetingly. “And brilliant. As always.”

  Dana flushed at the compliment. Amanda had been known to skim a reporter’s copy and hand it back to be rewritten, declaring it a waste of Clive’s time. Only a rookie would ever argue with her. Dana eyed the closed door to Clive’s office. The lights were on but the blinds in the two huge glass windows facing into the newsroom were drawn, meaning he was unavailable. “I need to see the man.”

  Still smiling, Amanda shook her head. “Not now, you don’t. It’s budget time. Try him tomorrow around nine twenty. He’ll have a few minutes then.”

  “It’s important.”

  Amanda regarded her steadily and Dana held her breath.

  Dana never pulled rank, even though she was one of the senior investigative reporters and could pretty much call her own shots as to what she worked on and when. She was as much a team player as she could be, given that her nature was to be solitary. She’d gotten used to being alone as a child. She had no siblings and didn’t fit in with the other kids in her working-class neighborhood. After a certain age, the boys wouldn’t play with her and she had no idea how to play with the girls, whose games didn’t interest her. She couldn’t fathom the fun in playing house and pretending that she wanted to grow up to be something that felt completely foreign to her. She didn’t want to be someone’s wife or mother. She wanted adventures like those in the books she loved to read. She wanted to explore the world like the characters she pretended to be. And most of all, she wanted to know why—why the world worked the way it did. And the more she learned, the more she questioned. Her love of words and her endless curiosity led her into journalism, and here she was. Traveling the world and asking why.

  “You know I can’t do this,” Dana said, hearing the plea in her own voice.

  “Five minutes,” Amanda said gently. “Don’t make me come and get you.”

  Dana kissed her cheek again. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  Amanda chuckled. “Of course you do. Go on now.”

  As Dana walked to the door, she heard Amanda pick up the phone and murmur something. She knocked and a deep rumble that she took to mean come in emanated from the other side.

  “Hi, Clive,” Dana said as she entered the cluttered office. The evening edition of the Chronicle sat in the center of the huge oak desk. Stacks of papers covered just about every surface in the room that wasn’t already occupied with the computer, fax machine, television, phones, and other equipment that kept Clive connected to the world of information. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “Then why are you?” the big man behind the desk asked impatiently.

  Despite the hundreds of times she’d seen him, Dana was still taken aback by not just his size, but his presence. Clive filled the room even when he was sitting behind his desk. His close-cropped red hair was sprinkled with gray, but he looked younger than his fifty-odd years by a decade. The ex-college football player’s neck was almost as wide as his head and his shoulders bigger than her refrigerator. She’d known him long enough not to be intimidated by his appearance, but she never liked being on the receiving end of his formidable temper. Fortunately, since she never missed deadlines and always gave him more than he asked for, his ire was rarely directed at her.

  “I need a favor,” Dana said, hoping the fact that she never asked for one would make up for her going outside channels. “Some idiot pulled my name out of a hat and assigned me to do a celebrity personal for the next couple of weeks. I need you to get me out of it. Things are really heating up over—”

  “I’m the idiot,” Clive growled.

  Dana stared. “You? Why? Why would you do this to me? You know I’m not—”

  “The White House called, Barnett. You know, the place on Pennsylvania Avenue where the president of the United States lives?”

  She gritted her teeth. “I’ve seen it.”

  “Then you probably also know that we try to be accommodating when the chief of staff over there asks us for a favor,” Clive said sarcastically.

  “I get that part,” Dana said. “I understand politics, even though it’s not my favorite game.” She ran her hand through her hair. “But Jesus Christ, Clive. Me?”

  He regarded her impassively.

  Dana narrowed her eyes, searching her mind for what she was missing. Then she shook her head in disgust. “Obviously sleeping on the floor of a transport plane jarred something loose between my ears. It’s about me being a lesbian, right?”

  “That wasn’t mentioned.”

  “It didn’t need to be.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and turned in a tight circle, wishing there were room to pace. She should be more bothered that she’d been chosen for an assignment for no other reason than the fact she slept with women. Then she thought of the society reporters and couldn’t help but laugh despite her irritation. “Wouldn’t Priscilla Reynolds just love this assignment.”

  The corner of Clive’s mouth twitched, as if he were actually about to smile. Priscilla prided herself on being the first to know everything that was newsworthy about everyone on the Hill. Rumor had it a lot of her information came from pillow talk, and she was unabashedly outspoken about her aversion to gays and lesbians. On the rare occasions when Dana and Priscilla ran into each other, Priscilla acted as if Dana had a contagious disease.

  “A newspaper doesn’t turn down an offer for exclusive coverage, especially not when it’s something this big.” Clive passed a sheet of paper across the desk. “This is a preliminary guest list.”

  Dana scanned it. It was shorter than she might have expected, but despite the public announcements regarding the event, she suspected that the president’s daughter wanted as much privacy as possible. She recognized quite a few of the names. One stood out and she raised an eyebrow. “Emory Constantine? The stem cell researcher?”

  Clive nodded. “The elusive Dr. Constantine. The one who doesn’t give interviews and has almost as many security guards as Blair Powell. Since the attack on her in Boston last month, the Johnson Foundation has been locked up tighter than Fort Knox. There’s a story there, and I want you to get it.”

  “There’s talk that the foundation is doing more than just basic biological research.” Dana handed the list back to Clive. “As in biological warfare.”

  “If they are, no one’s talking about it. Maybe you can change that.” He rolled his massive shoulders. “Dr. Constantine apparently likes the ladies.”

  Dana snorted. “Well then, I sure as hell don’t qualify.” She folded her arms. “And I don’t get my stories in the bedroom.”

  “I don’t care how you get the story. Just get it.” He pointed to the door. “Now get out. I’m busy trying to figure out how to pay your salary next year.”

  “Have you factored in a raise?” When Clive placed both hands flat on the desk as if he were about to get up, Dana backed toward the door. “I’m going.”

  “Make sure you get your ass on a plane to Manhattan.”

  “Yes, boss,” Dana muttered as she let the door close on her last hope of reprieve. “Crap.”

  “Here you are, dear,” Amanda said, holding out an envelope. “Your itinerary and tickets. You’re expected at Ms. Powell’s in the morning.”

  “Pretty sure I’d be going, weren’t you?”

  Amanda smiled beatifically. “Of course. You were my first choice.”

  Crap.

  Matheson walked carefully along the narrow rows between the plain white headstones, leaving his son’s grave behind. When he reached the banks of the Potomac, the hallowed ground of Arlington Cemetery stretching out behind him, he stared across the water. The Lincoln Memorial and the White House stood opposite him just beyond the river. Symbols of freedom and national pride, now tarnished by those who had forgotten what had made the country great. The most powerful nation on Earth made i
mpotent by laws enacted to protect the unworthy, financially and morally bankrupted from supporting the weak, the ignorant, and the debauched. It was time to return to power those who rightfully deserved it, to reward the sons of those who had built this great land. When he showed the people the mockery their leaders had made of their heritage, when the pretenders were unveiled as nothing more than puppets for perverts and thieves, the true patriots would rise again. And he would have justice.

  Chapter Five

  As the plane touched down at Teterboro Airport across the river from Manhattan in New Jersey, Cam noted the two hulking black shapes with bright halogen eyes idling on the tarmac. She couldn’t see beyond the tinted windows of the Suburbans, and she considered how easy it would be for someone to intercept the assigned vehicles on their way to the airport and replace them with identical vehicles filled with hostiles. That would, of course, assume a break in communication had gone unnoticed somewhere along the approach route. How long would it take to make the switch? Thirty seconds? Would a burst of static and less than a minute of patchy radio communications signal to anyone back at the command center that something had gone wrong? Could Blair walk unsuspectingly down the stairway from the plane and directly into a fusillade of bullets?

  “Just sit tight for a second,” Cam murmured to Blair and unbuckled her seat belt.

  “Cam?” Blair called after her, but Cam had already edged her way up the aisle.

  “Who do you have on the ground?” Cam asked as she dropped into the seat next to Paula Stark.

  Stark folded the week’s itinerary she’d been studying and slid it into the inside pocket of her navy blue blazer. Without the slightest hesitation, she replied, “Phelps, Edwards, Ramsey, and Wozinski. Problem, Commander?”

  “I don’t want Blair to disembark until you’ve verified the identities of everyone in both vehicles.”

  Stark regarded Cam steadily. “That’s standard procedure.”