Room 1515

by Bill Wetterman

  “Funny you should mention that, old boy,” Reed said. “I’m at quite a loss. Lytle hasn’t answered my texts or emails in the past two weeks. No one had seen or heard from Martin. Dunn and Morgan are dead. Only Van Meer lives in good communication and in good health.”

  “That’s because I trained Van Meer. Can you trust Lytle?”

  “In my business, you can’t trust anyone.” Reed furrowed his brow. “The Sons of Tiw are growing in numbers. I’ve replaced Morgan with another team leader. Are you telling me I have to replace Lytle?”

  “What do you know about Lytle’s relationship with Claymore?”

  “What relationship?”

  “I swear on the Bible, Thomas. If you’re lying to me, I’ll kill you.” Pendleton pulled a gun out of his desk drawer and pointed the barrel at Reed’s head. “What do you know about Lytle and Claymore?”

  Reed lurched and vomit flew from his mouth as he fell to his knees. “I swear. I don’t know anything except I can’t reach Lytle.”

  He brushed some curd and liquid off his pants. “I need to wash my hands. Please, I don’t know anything.”

  Pendleton motioned him away, and Reed raced whimpering to the bathroom. When Reed returned, Pendleton pointed him back into his chair. “I believe you. That’s lucky for you. Lytle tried to murder Laverna and endanger me.”

  “What?” Reed paled. “I may have planted that seed.”

  Pendleton raised his gun.

  “Hear me out. Only a few people have my private number. Hercules called it.” Reed pulled out his cell. “I’ve changed numbers, locations, and contact information. I told Lytle that you had the number, and Laverna had access to you. You know I voiced that concern to you, and you told me to bloody bug off.”

  “He must have gone to Claymore with his suspicions.”

  “No, I think Claymore went to him with hers. She must have. I didn’t pursue it with anyone else.”

  “Things are going to change.” Pendleton lowered his gun and placed it back in his drawer. “I’ll handle Claymore. I’m doubling my security team. Lovey’s doubling hers. This is about power and control. Claymore wants it. I have it, and I’m not giving it up.”

  “What about the American satellite program?” Reed asked. “What about the Plan B assassination attempt?”

  “I’ll handle the Russians and the satellite program. You and Van Meer take care of Plan B. How long before you can put our inside man in place?”

  “Less than a year the way things stand.”

  “Fine, continue your work.”

  Reed stood up to leave.

  “One more thing,” Pendleton said. “I want the names and contacts of every member of The Sons of Tiw. I want the training doubled—the quality as well. And Thomas . . .”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Stop in the loo. Get some towels. Clean the floor and yourself off.”

  “Right you are. Luckily the floor’s wood, or I’d be sporting a hefty cleaning bill.”

  “Right you are.”

  #

  Grace Claymore sulked in the dark of her bedroom, her head propped up by two pillows. Her husband slept soundly in the adjoining room, his snoring as irritating as his body odor. What had she seen in him all those years ago? A rare memory brightened her spirits for a flicker of time. He’d been quite a catch, but her success over time had spoiled him.

  Pendleton demanded to see her in the morning—demanded. The man had grown in power faster than even she expected. Blinded by a treacherous wife, his power might doom her mission to destroy Iran. She had to act. She’d sent Lytle for Arthur’s own good. But Lytle was nowhere to be found. No news came to her, and news would have come if he’d been successful.

  A rumbling in her spirit said she’d made a fatal mistake. At least Pendleton was meeting with her. She didn’t have to concern herself about being knifed and gutted in her sleep. Or did she? If not her death, what punishment awaited? She reached over and turned on the light, grabbed a notepad, and made a list of powerful people who disliked Pendleton. Nausea caused her to push back against her pillows. Only two names were on the list, Charles Monroe and Li Ziyang. Neither could be of immediate help.

  Pendleton had been shrewd. He’d lined up the money, the heads of nations, and the spy networks, convincing them his plan would work. She’d unwittingly helped him. She picked up the phone and called Belington.

  “Yes,” Belington whispered.

  “I need your help.”

  “Grace, it’s three in the morning.”

  “Thomas, it’s critical. Pendleton demanded I meet him tomorrow morning at his office. I fear treachery.”

  Silence greeted her.

  “Thomas?”

  “I’m sorry Grace. I received a call from MI6 last night. I was told if you called to tell you you’d best do as Pendleton suggests. Apparently, Professor Cline is closer to Pendleton than he is to you, and Pendleton now funds the code operation.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Belington’s whisper was almost inaudible. “A black sedan and two men in trench coats outside my door are reason enough. Good luck tomorrow, Grace. I hope things work out.”

  #

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Indeed, I’m deadly serious, Madam.” Pendleton leaned, both hands on his desktop, smiling at his prey. “The headlines tomorrow will read Grace Is a Disgrace.”

  “But I’m innocent. I’ve never maneuvered the financial markets for my personal gain. I’ve never benefitted from inside information.”

  “Ah, but the facts say you have. Every member of the W.F.C. will vouch for the accuracy of the data.”

  Grace Claymore stared at him. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Have you talked to Lytle, lately?”

  His words hit her smack in the face. She was political toast. He could see her wince, confirming her guilt.

  “He failed then?”

  “We don’t need to say anymore. Tomorrow, you’ll resign for health reasons. If you do, no headlines will run. You’ll receive a pension and a yearly check for a half million pounds courtesy of the W.F.C. and the equivalent in Euros when we consolidate currencies, until money doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I only wanted . . .”

  “Grace, I lost four bodyguards and almost lost my wife.” He knew her intentions, and for an instant, he felt pity. But pity vanished as quickly as it had come. “She, by the way, is innocent. Goodbye.”

  Claymore weakened before his eyes. A ghastly pall drained her face.

  “You know your way out.” Pendleton turned and left, whistling “God Save the King.”

  He exited his building and slid into the backseat of his chauffeured Bentley. Pendleton called Sir Jarvis Franks.

  “Franks here.”

  “Listen carefully.”

  “Arthur, is that you old boy?”

  “I need three of your best men transferred to my personal protection team.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir. But I can’t jump up and do that.”

  “Tomorrow, Prime Minister Claymore will be resigning—health problems. Graham Lodge will become your boss. Milton Roger’s cousin Gray and I are very close. Get ahead of the game, Jarvis.”

  “You’ll have them within the week, Sir.”

  “Good.”

  He hung up and prepared to dial Lovey. He had to be careful how he worded things with her tormenters listening in. Tormenters they were. They played on the disaster that ruined her life. They trapped her into doing their bidding. One day, he’d rescue her. One day he’d destroy the Ursas, both Major and Minor, but not today.

  “Lovey,” he said as she answered.

  “Darling, I miss you.”

  “I know sweetheart. You’re always on my mind.”

  Pendleton cleared his throat, a signal for her to pay close attention.

  “Our little problem is resolved.”

  “Really? Wow, I’m impressed.”

  “You’ll understand more tomorrow. I’
ll see you soon.”

  #

  Day 688

  He must have talked to Claymore.

  Peacock folded her cell phone and dropped it in her purse. She waved Felicia over to the front desk of Room 1515. Ursa’s plan was to fully train Felicia and remove Peacock from her assignment when the fetus was four months along. His take on the situation was that women aren’t sexually attractive pregnant. Peacock begged to differ, but said nothing.

  She gave Felicia the schedule book. “I’m going up to my room. Ursa’s coming up to see me. You’re to work on your own for the rest of the week.”

  “I’ll never replace you.”

  “No. You’ll run the show with your own style.” Peacock smiled. “If ever I’m killed, my recommendation to Ursa is to retrain you to take my place.”

  Felicia’s jaw dropped open. “Thank you.”

  “If you knew the half of it, you might not thank me. But you’re the best.”

  Peacock passed the guards and strolled out to the elevator.

  “Change of plans,” Polaris said. “Take the elevator down and walk outside. A limo will be waiting to pick you up.”

  “All right,” she said. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you ever rebel? Did you ever question what we’re doing?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “And?”

  “And, it does no good. If you’re looking for a black or white world, there is no such thing, only win or lose.”

  She pushed the doors open and walked outside. The brisk air didn’t change her mood, if depression was a mood. The limo waited. The right-side back passenger door slid open. Ursa’s smile greeted her as she entered. “You look stunning.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Testy, testy, what makes you think I want anything?”

  “It’s been two weeks since Malibu, and I haven’t heard from you.”

  “I’m a busy man.” Ursa put his arm around her and gave her a playful squeeze. “You’re over two months pregnant. Both you and I need to plan your next assignment from here.”

  “You mean you are going to tell me, and I’m going to obey.”

  “That’s another way to put it.” Ursa removed his arm. “We’re on a timetable. John Sherman, the head of the president’s security team, will be reorganizing Monroe’s personal protection team December 1st. Our estimate of your delivery date is October 31st. That leaves a month for retraining.”

  “For what?”

  “To head that team.”

  The words, head the team, peaked her interest. Her husband had tried to kill Monroe. Guarding him would pit her against Pendleton’s plan. But she wouldn’t directly have to spy on Pendleton. She’d promised him she wouldn’t. Ursa had promised as well. But what good were Ursa’s promises?

  The limousine turned in at the White House gate. Oh my God, she thought. I’m going to meet the president.

  “You understand, Peacock. What I did and said to both you and Pendleton was only business. I’m fond of you, and I want to keep you alive.”

  She nodded. Yes, he needed her talents. She’d acknowledge him that much.

  They left the limousine and were escorted through the White House by a bulldog-like man in a black suit with a graying crew cut.

  “John Sherman,” the man said and extended his hand. They stopped in the hall outside the waiting area to the Oval Office. “The word on you is that you’re a natural-born killer. Is that correct?”

  “No,” she replied. “I’m cold. I’m calculating and efficient. Life made me this way.”

  He smiled. “Honest response. How should I address you?”

  She glanced at Ursa.

  “Her cover name is Laverna. You can call her Lovey.”

  That was Pendleton’s name for her. She bit her lip.

  “It’s not normal for me to bring in an agent from outside the Secret Service,” Sherman said, his hazel eyes studying her. “But your record of achievements in Hercules qualifies you for this detail.”

  An aide stepped out of the waiting room door and escorted the three into the Oval Office. President Monroe was bent over watering a fichus plant with his back towards his guests and didn’t speak at first. Presidents arranged the Oval Office to suit their own personality. Monroe had removed the sofas and large tables. He had showcased the oval rug installed by President George W. Bush. Four comfortable armchairs with fabric matching the rug were set in a circle around the presidential seal.

  “Don’t mind me,” he finally said. “Sunlight and proper care can make these plants flourish. It’s an art.”

  Six fichus plants framed the windows behind his desk. The president looked older than on television—taller too. When he straightened up, he looked down on Peacock who was close to six foot herself. “So this is the young lady I’ve heard so much about.”

  “Ursa wishes her to be called Lovey,” Sherman said.

  As though she was a golf club or a fishing rod, she was being admired for her performance, but unable to speak for herself. There was no offer of a handshake. The president motioned to all three to sit. She was seated between the two men facing Monroe. The president studied her and said, “Thanks to your intelligence work, our enemies failed in their first attempt to assassinate me. Your next job will be to help John Sherman keep them from succeeding with another attempt.”

  “Explain my job to me, Mr. President.”

  “Once trained, you will be one of three agents assigned to my personal protection. When on duty, you will always be within twenty-feet of my person. He pointed to an agent standing inside the door they’d walked through a moment ago. “John will instruct you once Ursa releases you to my service. I understand you’re pregnant my dear.”

  “Due the end of October, Mr. President.”

  “I understand the baby will be raised by Arthur Pendleton’s mother.”

  Did the whole government freaking know?

  “Yes, that’s the arrangement.”

  “Six months into the assignment, you will change responsibilities. You’ll supervise my protection team and report directly to John Sherman.”

  “So the team reports to me, and I report to Sherman.”

  “Correct.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Your husband is a dangerous enemy. That’s why you’re married to him.” Now Monroe reached out and shook her hand. “Your service in that regard is highly appreciated. Your actions protected me.”

  Monroe got up and walked back to his desk. He appeared deep in thought. He sat on the edge of the desk staring straight at her, as though he wanted a slightly different view. “Can you protect me again?”

  “Mr. President. Yes, I can.”

  “Would you die in my defense?”

  “That’s my training. Yes.”

  “How many people have you killed?”

  “By myself, eighteen. As part of a team, twenty-six, Sir.”

  “Is she telling the truth?” the president asked.

  Ursa grinned. “She’s modest, Mr. President.”

  Monroe opened his hands outward. “My people are Muskogee Creek. I’m at least seventy-five percent Creek, twenty-five percent Scotch-Irish. In ancient times, killing eighteen of the enemy single-handed would have earned you great fame and a large feathered headdress—if you were a man.”

  “I don’t need a headdress, Mr. President.”

  “You’ll report to John Sherman on December 1st.”

  Monroe rose indicating the session was over. Sherman pointed to the door, and they exited Monroe’s office.

  “Am I getting a feathered headdress?” Peacock asked.

  “No,” Sherman responded.

  #

  With less than seven months before giving birth, Peacock wondered what she’d be doing with her time. As they left the Oval Office and returned to the limousine, Ursa answered that question. “How soon before Felicia can work unassisted?”

  “She’s ready now.�
�

  “Monday you’ll report to Central Command. You’ll be working with Magnus helping with training five hours a day. You’ll be undergoing psychological reorientation three hours a day.”

  “Why the reorientation?”

  “After your behavior with Pendleton, you shouldn’t even have to ask.”

  “Will Doctor Kolb be there?” A chuckle told her Kolb would. “I hate her.”

  “So do I. She’ll be there nonetheless.”

  Chapter 35

  Arthur Pendleton and Milton Rogers climbed out of their limo in front of the Palace of Westminster. Pendleton turned full circle admiring the clock tower, the Thames, and Westminster Bridge. The decision to select Rogers’ cousin, Graham Lodge, as Prime Minister was a foregone conclusion. Number 12 Downing Street sat empty. Claymore and her husband traveled to their Sussex villa immediately after her resignation speech with a huge lorry following them. The villa, located near the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity in Chichester, was ample for her retirement.

  Pendleton mused that the worst part for Claymore in all this was her estrangement from Belington.

  During her short address, Claymore had said, “I’ve sent my request to step down to the king. He has graciously granted it. I will leave it to His Majesty and this esteemed body’s recommendation to appoint a successor.”

  Pendleton entered the joint session of Parliament behind Lodge who received a standing ovation. The media threw questions at Lodge regarding his popularity, which he dismissed out-of-hand. The only question directed at Pendleton was, “I understand Mrs. Pendleton is expecting. Is that correct?”

  “Right on,” he said. “I’ll let you boys know when we’re sure it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “Why do we seldom if ever see her?”

  “She’s a private person. Enough said.”

  Pendleton and Rogers sat in the section reserved for prominent dignitaries allowing Lodge to grab his moment of stardom. Lodge was nominated and a letter of recommendation drafted and sent to the king. Within the hour he was unanimously elected, and gave a short speech, which Pendleton had written. The King returned a letter of his own approving Lodge and appointing Milton Rogers, himself a former member of the House of Commons, to the position of Chancellor of the Exchequer, the most powerful financial office in Britain.