Oath of Honor
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wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
v
Lucinda answered her phone on the first ring. “Washburn.”
“I thought you might still be in your office,” Cam said.
“We’re two days from Christmas Eve—busy time around here.”
“I know. You got a minute?”
“Where are you?”
“Outside the door.”
“Come in.” Lucinda replaced the phone and got up. A muscle in
her back reminded her she’d been sitting too long. She rubbed it quickly.
Cam walked in, closed the door. She wore jeans and a black crew neck
sweater—unusually casual for her. Cam looked tired—her eyes were
clear, but dark circles shadowed her cheeks. Her always carved features
looked sharper, knife edged, and Lucinda realized she was seeing Cam
on the hunt.
“Sorry to show up unannounced, but I didn’t think this could
wait,” Cam said.
“You have something?” Lucinda asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Lucinda’s breath caught on a wave of excitement. They’d all
been casting in the dark for weeks, too many bits and pieces, too many
fragments of facts and non-facts to shape into a coherent pattern.
Directionless in the face of unseen enemies, she was left impotent and,
deep inside, afraid. She couldn’t afford to be afraid. Andrew refused to
be intimidated, to be deterred, and she needed a clear head and clearer
vision to see that he was safe. “Tell me.”
“I’ve requested field reports on anything that might remotely
be connected to a potential attack and run probability algorithms on
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everything I can think of,” Cam said. “Another aerial assault, dirty
bombs, a lone gunman, a group attack.”
The matter-of-fact tone in her voice chilled Lucinda to the core.
“As has Averill, I’m sure.”
“Right. And neither of us hit on anything with greater than random
probability.” Cam paced to the windows overlooking the gardens. Her
face in the cast-off glow of the walkway lights was marble smooth
and stone hard. “So I started looking at everyone who surfaced in
connection to suspicious events. I’ve got a flimsy…” She laughed and
shook her head. “Whatever is flimsier than flimsy, that’s the connection
I’ve got.”
“Any connection is something more solid than what we have
now.” Lucinda joined Cam by the windows, squeezed her arm. “You
are the best there is. I trust your instincts—I trust you with Blair and
Andrew. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Cam rolled her shoulders, blew out a breath. “One of the
technicians with regular access to a missing biocontagion at a Level
Four lab outside Atlanta is from Idaho. Went to a Christian college
there. So did Lieutenant Jennifer Pattee.”
“So you think they might know each other?” Lucinda struggled to
see a connection.
“On the surface—no. There’s a six-year age difference, which
means they weren’t in college at the same time.”
“Hometowns?”
“According to records, not the same.”
“What do you mean, according to the records? You don’t believe
the records?”
“Here’s the thing that made me look harder at the two of them—
they were both homeschooled before college.”
Lucinda paced around her desk. “Not so unusual in Idaho.”
“No—but another point of intersection and another point of
commonality. So I looked a little bit deeper—parents, siblings, other
possible connectors. And I didn’t find anything.”
“You’re right, that’s not much,” Lucinda said, disappointment
sitting like a hard weight on her chest.
“No, what I mean is, I didn’t find anything. Their families are off
the grid.”
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“No record of their parents or sibs?”
“None. For homeschooled kids to go to college, they have to show
GED or equivalent scores, SAT scores, and a personal affidavit.” Cam
slid her hands into her pockets, rocked on her heels. “That’s the starting
point for colleges, the beginning of a paper trail. But there’s no road
leading back to any place I can find.”
“Are you postulating we’re dealing with a domestic sleeper cell?
Americans raised to carry out some long-range act of terrorism?”
Cam sighed. “I think so—yes.”
“It’s pretty coincidental, but I agree, there might be something
there.” Lucinda shook her head. “What do you advise?”
“We need to put someone on her. We need to know more about
her, and we may not have a lot of time.”
“Put agents on her.”
“That’s my plan.”
“One of Blair’s?”
“I was thinking we could pair one from PPD and one from Blair’s
detail. An insider who won’t be obvious to the lieutenant, and one she
doesn’t know.” Cam grinned, a chilling, predatory grin. “One might be
a distraction and she’ll miss the other.”
“Fine, do that.”
Cam regarded Lucinda steadily. “I wouldn’t ordinarily suggest
this, but I don’t know what kind of timetable we’re working with
here. If there is any potential for a bioterrorist attack using the missing
specimen, it’s likely to be soon. We need as many eyes on this as we
can get.”
“What else?” Lucinda asked.
“Captain Masters seems to think Jennifer Pattee expressed more
than a professional interest in her. Masters might be the best person to
give us early warning.”
“She’s not a trained agent.”
“No, but she’s a navy captain. She’s smart, she’s steady. We use
what we have.”
“Individuals like this—extremists, fanatics—their goal is to make
a point, no matter the cost. If we thwart their operation, they may opt to
make an even bigger statement.”
“I know. And that’s a risk—and if what I suspect about Pattee
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is right, and she realizes we suspect her, she could become volatile,
unstable. That’s a recipe for disaster, but I think we have to take the
chance.”
Lucinda nodded. “It has to be voluntary. The captain has to
agree—I won’t order her to do this.”
“Do you think you’d have to?”
“No, I don’t think we need to order her. Will you see to it?”
Cam nodded sharply. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”
“And, Cam, I know this will be difficult, but don’t bring Blair in
on this right now. We need to keep her at a safe distance.”
Cam’s jaw tightened. “She might not forgive us for that.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“She’s mine to worry about.” Cam walked to the door. “And mine
to protect. Good night.”
“Good night, Cam.” Once the door closed, Lucinda sagged behind
her desk and pressed her fingertips to her eyes. She picked up her phone
and made a call. “I’m sorry, were you sleeping? I need to see you. No,
I’ll come there.”
Lucinda turned out the lights and stepped outside through the
French doors and started for the residence. She thought of all those
who would sacrifice everything to serve and protect, and of how many
times she had asked for that sacrifice. More times than she could count,
and probably many more to come.
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chapter twenty-eight
At 0430, Evyn got the text from Cameron Roberts telling her
she needed to be at a briefing at 0600. She’d been asleep an
hour. When she got home from Wes’s, she was still wired, her body
still humming. She’d come out of her mind with Wes barely touching
her, but the orgasm was already a distant memory and her body craved
more. More of Wes. Adrenaline, that’s all it was. When she got amped
up during a tense training exercise or something heated up out in the
field, she always got a sexual buzz. That’s all it was. Adrenaline.
Whatever she called it, the burn in her blood was enough to keep
her up channel surfing, with Ricochet sitting nearby, watching her
warily. He didn’t seem to trust her mood, because he wasn’t in her lap
or draped around her shoulders, where he usually perched while she
chilled out. He was probably smart not to get too close because she
wasn’t chilling out. She was too uncomfortable in her skin to unwind.
She finished the one beer she allowed herself, but it didn’t settle her
enough to sleep. Finally, exhaustion won out and she stretched out
where she was on the couch and fell asleep in her clothes. She dreamed
of running through a tangled forest, breathless, lost, pursued by a
faceless menace coming ever closer. Roberts’s text had awakened her,
saving her from what she feared she might find—the pursuer was her
and she was running from herself.
Now, after a quick shower and two shots of espresso, she was
walking through the West Wing in her least wrinkled pair of black
trousers and her last pressed white shirt. Staffers hurried by, already
looking harried. She settled in the briefing room. There wasn’t any
coffee—must have been a very hastily assembled meeting. A minute
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later the door opened and Paula Stark walked in followed by a young
agent she recognized from Blair Powell’s detail, but didn’t know
personally.
“Hey,” Evyn said, nodding to Paula. Their details often overlapped
when the first daughter was traveling with POTUS. She liked Stark—
she was on top of things without being super territorial.
“Hi, Evyn. This is Randy Block.”
Evyn leaned over the table to shake hands with the new guy. “How
you doing.”
“Fine. Good to meet you.” Block looked like a typical college
jock—fair-haired, blue-eyed, strong jaw, good shoulders. A lot like
Gary, a wholesome, all-American guy. She wondered what was going
on and if Stark knew something she didn’t. But she wasn’t about to
ask. The door opened again and she expected Tom to walk in. She
barely managed to keep quiet when Wes sat down across the table from
her. “Morning,” Wes said, glancing around the table. She was wearing
charcoal pants, a crisp pale blue shirt open at the throat, and a matte
silver bracelet on her right wrist with some kind of intertwining pattern,
subtle, understated. Sexy. Her gaze passed over Evyn’s face in the same
friendly but distant fashion in which she regarded everyone else in the
room.At precisely 0600, Cameron Roberts walked in. “Morning,
everyone. Thanks for getting here on such short notice. I think the only
one needing introductions is Captain Masters, the new chief of the
White House Medical Unit.”
Stark and Block introduced themselves to Wes and they all shook
hands. Evyn wondered why Tom wasn’t there.
“This is need-to-know,” Roberts said as if reading her mind, “and
I won’t be giving you much in the way of details.”
Evyn sat still, keeping her shoulders relaxed, preventing the
tension curling around her spine from showing in her face or body.
She’d learned years ago to school herself, to never give away anything,
but it was hard with Wes only a few feet away. She had what she
wanted—an impersonal, cordial working relationship, and she hated it.
She hated that Wes would walk into a room and not seek her out first,
not connect with her in a way she didn’t connect with others. What the
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fuck was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be satisfied with the way
things had always been? Why did she want things now that she’d never
wanted before? Why did Wes Masters make her yearn?
Wes looked over at her as if she had been broadcasting her
thoughts, and Evyn quickly looked away. She wasn’t certain she could
hide what she was feeling from Wes, and she didn’t want her to know
she regretted the night before. She regretted walking out. She regretted
letting Wes think she could walk away without bleeding inside.
“We need surveillance on an individual we suspect might have ties
to a domestic terrorist group that is planning an attack on POTUS.”
None of the agents moved, but the air suddenly vibrated. Evyn’s
skin tingled and her heart rate had picked up. Her groin tightened as
her senses went to full alert. Wes hadn’t moved either, and she seemed
completely composed. Why was she here? This was a security matter.
“We suspect the individual may have access to a biocontagion or
may be a contact for someone else who does. This is where Dr. Masters
comes in.”
The muscles at the angles of Evyn’s jaws clenched, and she had to
force her teeth not to grind. What was this about? Wes wasn’t trained
for this.
“The individual in question is Lieutenant Jennifer Pattee, a
member of the White House Medical Unit.” Roberts opened her
laptop and brought up an image of a woman who looked enough like
Jennifer Pattee to be her sister. “We have reason to believe she may
have connections to this woman—Angela Jones, although we doubt
that’s her given name. Jones is an employee of Eugen Corp, a private
laboratory doing viral gene research. They’ve reported an inventory
discrepancy in their Level Four lab which we believe may actually be
a stolen specimen.”
“The nature of the specimen?” Wes asked.
“Our understanding is it’s an engineered virus—a mutant form of
an avian flu virus.”
“What do we know of its properties?”
“Not very much,” Roberts said. “The lead investigators are
stonewalling us because their work is preliminary and unreported at this
point. They don’t want information being disseminated prematurely,
but the transformed avian virus is apparently much more highly
transmissible than the natural avian virus.”
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“That’s a problem,” Wes said. “The avian flu virus has a high
mortality rate, but it is not easily transmissible between fowl and
humans, an
d not transmissible from one human to another.”
Roberts nodded, her expression grave. “They won’t come out and
admit to this, but we believe this variant has been aerosolized and is
transmissible between humans.”
Wes frowned. “Then you have an agent with the potential to kill
vast numbers of individuals.”
Evyn shook her head. “This seems pretty complex for an
assassination plot.”
“On the surface, yes,” Roberts said. “There are faster and more
direct ways, none of which we need to enumerate here. But while
assassination by gunfire is horrifying and dramatic, the public doesn’t
see a single act of violence as a personal threat. However, the release
of a biological agent capable of killing scores or even more places the
danger directly on the public itself. People will be terrified.”
“And consequently,” Paula Stark said softly, “the government will
be distrusted and destabilized.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know the lieutenant very well,” Wes said. “I can’t say that
I’ve seen any particularly suspicious behavior from her.”
“Nor would we expect you would have.” Roberts clicked off the
computer and pushed it aside. She addressed Wes directly. “If what we
believe is true, these individuals have been trained since childhood to
carry out specific acts of terrorism after achieving positions of power
and trust. If indeed the lieutenant is part of this conspiracy, she’s not
going to reveal anything or do anything suspect until the attack itself is
set in motion.”
“What’s the goal of surveillance?” Evyn asked.
“We need to intercept her when she receives the agent. Failing
that, then we have to prevent the release of the contagion.”
“I can adjust our schedules so I’m on duty with Lieutenant Pattee,”
Wes said. “Of course, that’s only going to be ten or twelve hours a
day.”“Yes, do that,” Roberts said. “In addition, Captain, given that
the lieutenant has expressed a personal interest, you might be able to
observe her in less guarded circumstances.”
“What?” Evyn stood before she could stop herself. She looked
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from Roberts to Wes and then back to Roberts. “The captain isn’t
trained for undercover work, which is essentially what you’re asking
her to do. Whatever information she might gain isn’t worth the risk to