Dawn

by Aleatha Romig

  She shook her head and standing on her tiptoes, kissed my cheek. “Don’t apologize for making the world a better place.”

  Images of barrels with acid came to mind. “I’m not sure some would agree with your assessment of our goals.”

  “If the world is safer so that Ruby can go back to school and not be afraid, then it’s a better place.”

  I wrapped my arm around Lorna’s waist and pulled her closer until her small breasts pressed against my chest. The bruise was still there, but not having Lorna near wasn’t an option I was willing to take. “I fucking love you.”

  “I love you, too. I still want to visit Anna.”

  Inhaling through my nose, I nodded. “Let’s deal with one disaster at a time.”

  “How do you know they’re not the same disaster?”

  “Because that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Exactly.”

  Reid

  Three days later, the cabin of the plane filled with the rush of outside air as the plane slowed until the wheels touched down with barely a bump. Marianne kept us moving until we came to a stop at hangar one at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. It was the area of the airport not seen by many, exclusive for VIPs and their private planes.

  I met my brother-in-law’s gaze as Sparrow continued his conversation on his phone. He wasn’t talking about what we were doing or why we were away from Chicago. Instead, he was dealing with a metaphoric fire at Sparrow Enterprises, having something to do with contractors maintaining the construction schedule and fulfilling obligations to investors. From the one side of the conversation I was hearing, Sparrow wasn’t happy, and the person on the other end of the call was getting an earful.

  When the plane stopped, I unfastened my seat belt and stood. Reaching for my suit coat, I shrugged it on, fastening the buttons. Our meeting required more than my normal blue jeans wardrobe. Beyond the windows, Washington DC was experiencing an unseasonably warm day. Unlike the clouds we’d left in Chicago, the sky in our nation’s capital was bright and clear.

  Keaton appeared from the aft of the plane. “Sirs, is there anything I can get for you before you deplane?” He tilted his head toward the opening door. “Your cars are waiting.”

  Without a closing salutation, Sparrow disconnected his call and slipped his phone into the inside breast pocket of his suit coat. “Tell Marianne to refuel. We won’t be here long.”

  Neither Mason nor I spoke as we each took our turn, ducking our heads to fit through the doorway. At the top of the stairs, I took a moment to scan the tarmac. Despite the claim of exclusivity, the airstrip was filled with planes in varying colors and sizes. I also took note of the insignias, many indicating visitors and dignitaries from around the world.

  Washington DC was in full legislative session as well as a popular tourist destination. This was the season that created full schedules for our lawmakers.

  As I descended the stairs a few steps behind Sparrow and a few before Mason, my lungs filled with the warm autumn breeze. Over time, breathing was less painful.

  Once again, we had a cover story for our visit to Washington DC. Sparrow’s assistant at his Michigan Avenue office had him booked for another meeting with Edison Walters, senior legislative aide. With an exasperated sigh, Sparrow retrieved his phone and read a text message. When he was done, he nodded toward the car, the one driven by Garrett, our Sparrow who had flown ahead to coordinate much of our schedule as well as the other Sparrows. “Ride with me,” Sparrow said as both cars pulled forward. “We have a few things to discuss before our meeting.”

  Granted, I was less experienced at our out-of-the-tower logistics, but after our last trip to DC, I knew the three of us riding together went against our normal protocol. The same unspoken recognition was in Mason’s gaze as almost imperceptibly, his head shook.

  Beside the fact this was against protocol, together we’d spent a great deal of our time over the last two days preparing for this meeting. There wasn’t much we needed to discuss that hadn’t already been said. Nevertheless, without acknowledging the second car, we all walked toward Garrett’s SUV.

  Opening the doors, Mason sat in the front seat, riding shotgun, while Sparrow and I sat in the back seat. It wasn’t until we were moving that Sparrow spoke. “Good call, Garrett.”

  His head shook. “Gut feeling, boss. I don’t have anything else other than he’s new.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The driver of the other car,” Garrett replied.

  The sounds of the city disappeared within the reinforced vehicle.

  “How new?” Mason asked.

  “Mr. Pierce, he’s been vetted, I can vouch for that. He came to us from Hammond. It’s that he wasn’t our first choice for this trip. We have a few men down with illness. I prefer to have our new men and women prove their capabilities in a less hostile environment.”

  Looking beyond the windows at the pedestrians and monuments, nothing seemed hostile. However, we understood Garrett’s meaning. Washington DC held more unknown variables than travel around and near Chicago.

  “Will you send me his intake information?” I asked, curious if I could find any oddity.

  Garrett’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Yes, Mr. Murray. I can get his file to you by tonight.”

  “Stay with this vehicle, Garrett,” Sparrow said, “and let the other driver know we don’t need him today. Romero is in the suite. Christian is overseeing the hovering Sparrows. Have the driver report to him.”

  Garrett nodded. “Yes, boss.”

  “There’s too much shit happening right now,” Sparrow went on. “We’re not taking any unnecessary chances.” He looked toward me and Mason with a smirk. “This just means that the two of you will have to miss the splendor of the hotel lobby and join me in the employee elevator.”

  “Well, damn,” Mason said. “I wore this monkey suit for nothing.”

  That wasn’t really true. Our attire was more for the man who called this meeting than for a show of wealth in the hotel common areas. Sunlight disappeared as Garrett pulled the SUV into the parking garage of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. As we’d done before, a flock of Sparrows arrived last night to set up and secure the hotel suite.

  Unlike any of our previous meetings, this gathering had been called by Top himself. He’d communicated through the private secure network of the Order. His message had gone to Mason, saying he had information and wanted to meet in person. The two of them worked out a date and time. That was two days ago. The birth of Edward Kelly along with the abduction of his sister caused us to delay the meeting until today. If there was good news to share, it was that the entire Kelly family was safe at home in the glass tower.

  With Mason and me on each side or in front and back of Sparrow, depending on where we were, we navigated our way to the back elevator. A Sparrow was waiting with the necessary access code to escort us up to the same suite we’d used nearly a month before.

  As we approached the double doors, they opened inward.

  “Walters just arrived,” Romero said as he reached for the second door to the suite. “He’s inside.”

  Sparrow’s neck straightened. “The meeting isn’t for another forty minutes.”

  “I’m aware, boss. I sent a text to Garrett, and he said you were on your way up.”

  Sparrow’s nostrils flared as his dark gaze came our direction. His voice lowered. “Well, fuck. Walters asked for you, Reid. And Mason” —he took a breath— “I know Walters has the ability to push your buttons. No matter what is said, my word is final.”

  It wasn’t exactly a rousing pep talk before a ballgame. There were no high fives or shouts of impending triumph. By arriving early, Walters was asserting his dominance in a game where mutual admiration was the only means to victory.

  Mason and I both nodded as Romero opened the second door leading to the suite.

  As we filed inside, Edison Walters stood, tugging his suit coat and straightening his shoulders. Each time we met, I
assessed his appearance, noting that he appeared older than the time before. Today it was more than wrinkles or gray hair. There was something in his composure that seemed a bit off even given my inexperience with the man.

  “Mr. Walters,” Sparrow said, walking toward him and extending his hand.

  Shaking his head and not accepting the customary handshake, Walters cleared his throat. “Senator Jackson will be expecting the donation to his PAC that was mentioned by your assistant.”

  Sparrow stopped, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath. “That isn’t the reason for this meeting. We’re here because you called us.”

  “My schedule has your name on it, Mr. Sparrow. That’s a precarious closeness to a known criminal that I’m not comfortable maintaining.”

  What the fuck?

  “Mr. Sparrow is a renowned businessman, Mr. Walters,” Mason said, emphasizing his name. “If your secretary incorrectly identified him as anything other than such, the problem is with your office, not Mr. Sparrow.”

  Walters reached for his phone. “I will assume you haven’t seen the news coming from Chicago.” After pulling up the story he wanted, Walters handed his phone to Sparrow. “This coming to light the day of my meeting with you is unfortunate.”

  Sparrow read the news brief. With each passing second, an icy chill of emotionless composure emanated from his being. I knew Sterling Sparrow well enough to know that his lack of display was hiding a fury within.

  His chin rose. “You’re right. I hadn’t seen that.” Sparrow handed the cell phone back to Walters. “When did this story break?”

  “Thirty minutes ago,” Walters said. “I came over here immediately.”

  “I can assure you that story has no bearing on our meeting nor is it accurate.”

  I was usually the person with the information. I was the one who scoured the internet and news feeds. Being on the outside, literally and figuratively, as the one without knowledge and uncertain as to what they were discussing was not a place I enjoyed inhabiting.

  My phone within my breast pocket vibrated. From his reaction, I believed Mason’s had too. My skin crawled with the desire to check my phone, to know what was being said, yet that wasn’t our role. Instead, Mason and I remained silent and still.

  “The donation, Mr. Sparrow.”

  “You’ll have it after we receive the information we want.”

  Reid

  Walters put his hands in his pockets and took a few steps to the French doors. “Son, this is a fickle town.” He turned. “I suppose Chicago is the same.”

  “Hardly, Mr. Walters,” Sparrow replied. “You see, Washington DC changes direction depending upon the wind. For two or four years it will blow one direction and then it changes, sometimes for good and other times for worse. Chicago has been under steady leadership for nearly the last decade.”

  Walters’s lips curled. “I believe the government on a city level also has its changes.”

  “Yes, it does. I’m not talking about the government. I’m talking about me.”

  “Very good, Mr. Sparrow. As I was saying, this city is fickle; I am not. The men and women who come here, or I suppose to your city, want to put their fingerprints on our country. Here, those individuals are simply the show that is Washington DC. They’re the acts that keep the news media ratings high. Whether they are for the people or against is inconsequential as long as the buck stops with me.”

  Sparrow nodded. “I strive for the same. That article that you saw is only loosely based on truth. I’ll have ten retractions as soon as our conversation is over.”

  “You believe you hold that much power?”

  Sparrow took out his phone, sent a text, and put it back in his jacket pocket. “I do. The retractions will be out before we’re done.”

  Walters nodded.

  “Chicago,” Sparrow said, “isn’t the only city that has a similar power structure. I have counterparts throughout this country in cities large and small. We are the ones who make the tough decisions. Now if we’re done with this philosophical discussion of power, who holds it, and who wields it, we’re ready to hear what you have on Andrew Jettison and Stephanie Morehead.”

  “Both of the agents you named are deceased.”

  “So was I,” Mason said.

  Walters nodded. “Let me rephrase. Jettison and Morehead worked on the same team upon their inclusion into our agency. At that time, they were assigned new identities. As you’re aware, Morehead was given an unusual assignment. Rarely do we deploy agents into a long-term mission.” He looked at Mason. “The orders are to usually get in and get out, as I’m sure to which you can testify.”

  Mason nodded.

  “In the meantime, Jettison served in a more traditional role.”

  “As for Morehead, you’re aware that she decided to forget her pledge to the Order and to serving the republic to pursue financial compensation beyond that which was granted to her.”

  “We’re aware,” Mason said, “that Morehead double-crossed the Order.”

  “We were also told by you,” Sparrow said, “that she died in the house fire on the ranch in Montana.”

  Walters took a deep breath as his finger curled near his chin. “Hmm. Did I say that?”

  “You said,” I began—I’d recently reviewed the audible tapes of that meeting, “and I quote ‘we planned on apprehending her as she left the country. Instead, her body was discovered by our team.’”

  “Yes, Mr. Murray. I do believe that was what I said.”

  “She’s alive,” Sparrow said. “And so is Jettison.”

  “They are no longer part of the Order.”

  “You let them go?” Mason questioned. “After what Stephanie Morehead did against the Order?”

  “No, Pierce, I didn’t.” Walters pushed his hands back into his pockets. “Morehead was injured in the fire at your home. As I said, her body was discovered. She was not, however, deceased.” His voice rose. “After the betrayal that she’d shown, I demanded that she be returned to one of our training sites.” He turned to Sparrow. “The Order has soldiers in the war for this country. Betrayal is treason. Dying was too easy. She was nursed back to health. Considering her burns, it was a painful recovery.”

  Mason stiffened beside me.

  “She came through,” Walters continued. “Her memory was of our soldier, our agent. She did and said all the things that make a repentant soldier. She and Jettison were reunited on a mission. It was her first assignment back. I had my reservations, but I’m certain you know how difficult it is to recruit competent soldiers. And when I considered the resources we’d already used making her what she was, I wanted to believe she was true to the Order.”

  “What happened?” Sparrow asked.

  Walter’s head shook. “The mission involved infiltrating a stronghold. There was an explosion. It wasn’t fire this time. The escape tunnel collapsed. According to our operatives, the two of them as well as one other were buried under tons of rubble.”

  “When you met with us last time,” Sparrow said, “you knew that Jettison was alive. We told you we found his blood.”

  “I wasn’t sure,” Walters said. “Now I am. I have never asked for anyone else’s help in a matter of the Order.” His neck straightened. “I’m not doing that now. I’m offering our intel to you in an effort for both of our organizations to work together to rid us of these rogue operatives.”

  “Your intel?” I asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Murray, Morehead and Jettison were not the only ones we lost on that mission. There was another, named Lawson. All three were reported buried and deceased in the rubble. Over a year ago, Lawson was located stateside, hospitalized as a John Doe, and suffering from delusional episodes. The Order found him and has since relieved him of his mental incapacity.”

  “Now Lawson is really dead,” Mason clarified.

  “Yes, Pierce, he is. You see, his delusions weren’t figments of his imagination. No one survives who tells our secrets. A red flag came about when
he named a deceased terrorist. Think of it as someone admitting to killing Hoffa. To the good fortune of the medical team, he wasn’t believed.

  “After our last meeting, I went back and read through the entirety of Lawson’s file. It was incredibly comprehensive. With the information I gleaned, I have come to the conclusion that the three of them, Lawson, Jettison, and Morehead, planned their demise because of one particular connection they shared.”

  “What was that?” Sparrow asked.

  “It’s noteworthy to mention that all three received the same medication Pierce received,” Walters said. “And even upon Morehead’s recovery from the fire, she had no recollection of her life before the Order. It’s my theory that her interest in you” —he turned to Sparrow— “is not you or Chicago, other than to cause problems, diversions, and interruptions. You welcomed Pierce back after he was granted a release from the Order few others have obtained. That makes you her enemy.

  “It was discovered too late that she was in DC recently. You see, Morehead has an unacceptable flaw for an agent of the Order. She wants recognition. The Order isn’t about the individual but the republic. I believe the continued woes you’re facing are because she wants to be appreciated for her ability to disrupt your world. You mentioned that your wives had been given a pharmaceutical similar to what” —he turned to Mason— “your wife created?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a calling card. Morehead worked closely with your wife for years on that formula. She wants you to know it’s her.”

  “You said that Laurel was to stop her research,” Mason said. “It sounds as though Morehead isn’t following that order.”

  Walters nodded. “One of her many transgressions.”

  “How does this connect to Jettison?” I asked.

  Walters turned to me. “It is my assessment that Morehead’s motivation is twofold. The first is her crusade.” He turned to Mason. “She has deep-seated resentment regarding your wife. In her mind, your wife escaped her plan. Even more motivating than her need to complete what she began by killing your wife, Morehead and Jettison want to learn how you did it.”