"You could look a little happier," Jordon told her as they moved from inside the domed structure housing Thomas Jefferson and his legacy to the American people to the new location.
Suzanne put voice to her questions. "Jordon, why didn't they use Japanese landmarks? These photos can't be designed for an American magazine."
"I just shoot 'em, ma'am," he mimicked a western twang. "I don't decide what people do with 'em."
"Be serious."
"You like Japan, don't you?" The question was rhetorical, since he didn't give her time to answer it. "I can't see why. You tower over most of the people in that country. You hate the food, and by the look on your face you couldn't care less about the clothes."
"Am I not giving you what you asked for?" She angered so easily these days.
"It's not what I'm asking for. It's that there's no life to you. I know how you photograph. What you're doing today is only technically correct. If I were interviewing new models, I wouldn't choose you. You're not in the shoot. When you're into it, I get fantastic pictures, and when you hate it—"
"It's obvious," she finished for him. He'd told her that before. This time she couldn't identify the reason for her bad mood. It must be this city. In Washington, at any turn, she could run into one of them. Here, they were just too close. It wasn't Jordon's fault. This was her job and she was good at it. She would do it well now.
"All right, Jordon. You have my word. When you get set up, I'll be there, totally." The faster she satisfied him, the faster they could complete this job and get back to New York.
She walked down several steps, looking at the bridge in the distance. Kneeling, she sat down on the marble steps, drawing her knees up and hugging them. She rested her chin on her knees and waited. Jordon's crew was efficient, but he left her to supervise them. It wouldn't take them long to move and get ready for the next take. Suzanne checked the sky. A startling mixture of blue-gray and violet streaked across the horizon. The distant Virginia landscape appeared to be mountainous. At times Jordon had used the clouds to give the illusion of mountains. That's what her life had been for as long as she could remember—an illusion.
She remembered when she and Sandra had experimented with their new cameras. They must have been fourteen and fifteen. Suddenly she frowned, remembering Sandra's pictures. They were perfect. Her sister had probably calculated the probability of light leaving the sun and traveling to earth, along with any infraction it might go through before finally bouncing off the subject and striking the film. As it was, Sandra's photos looked like postcards and Suzanne's had fingers or leaves or miscellaneous heads blocking the subject.
She was no good at taking pictures, but she was good at posing for them. She'd used some of the shots Sandra had taken in her portfolio when she went to New York and those, to her chagrin, had garnered her her first modeling assignment.
"Hello, Suzanne."
She looked up and blinked. Suzanne blinked again. She had to be dreaming. There wasn't enough sun to blind her, so she was looking at her sister. What was she doing here? How had she found her? What did she want? Suzanne would have sworn she couldn’t be recognized with all the makeup she was wearing and the clothes. But Sandra proved her wrong.
"You never call me Suzanne." She went to get up then remembered the restrictions of the costume. Sandra instinctively put out her hand. Suzanne looked at it, before deciding to accept the assistance. She got up, towering over Sandra, At least her height gave her a sense of control.
"I need a favor and I didn't want to anger you."
"Does this have anything to do with my noticing your name in the headlines of The Washington Post this morning?" She was rewarded by seeing her sister flinch. "Ah, sore point, huh? You're lucky no one was killed. Otherwise they could have you up on murder charges." She laughed. "Who would have ever thought you would be the one running from the law?"
"Suzanne, please don't judge me."
"It's Annie now. I thought I was Suzanne."
"Can't we get over the anger, Annie? We're sisters. Even if you try to ignore that, it doesn't change the fact."
For a moment the catch in Sandra's voice got to her. She hated it. Suddenly, she was whisked back in time, back to the cabin. John was alive and everyone was anticipating the summer wedding he and Sandra were soon to have. It was then that Suzanne had discovered the secret. She hated Sandra.
"Annie, we're ready."
"I'll be right there," she called over her shoulder. Jordon stood staring at them. "I have to go back to work. What is it you want?" she asked Sandra bluntly.
"I need some money. I can't go to the bank and get it myself. It would start a paper trail."
"In your predicament you can't afford that," Suzanne said, raising her chin and feeling the tassels swing.
"You know how to transfer funds. Send them around the world so the maze is so complex no one can figure out the origin."
"I'm sure that mathematical brain of yours can also do this. You could probably leave the damning information inside Fort Knox to really screw up the government." Suzanne couldn't resist the dig.
"It wouldn't look legitimate if I did it."
"How much money are we talking about?"
"Not much, about five thousand."
"That's enough for two tickets to Brazil. Of course you wouldn't have anything to live on once you got there, but then, they don't have extradition, so you and the senator would be safe."
"I'm not planning to leave the country, Annie. We just need some money to sustain us until everything is cleared up."
"You think there is a way of clearing this up?"
"Of course there is."
How typical of Sandra. Every problem had a solution. All she had to do was work at it hard enough and sooner or later she could unravel it.
"Will you do it, Annie?"
She loved that pleading note in Sandra's voice. This time she needed her. She'd love to stick it to her, but what did it matter. She didn't have a chance of eluding the police for long. She wasn't as resourceful as Annie. She'd never been.
"Sure," Suzanne threw at her with a shrug of her shoulder.
"You will?" Sandra smiled. Relief showed in her eyes. She was so transparent. That's the reason she never got away with anything. Sandra just couldn't do anything but tell the truth.
"You and Wyatt Randolph must have been grown from the same bean pod."
"What do you mean?"
"You're so honest. Everyone knows he's a Boy Scout. His having anything to do with a top-secret defense project is ludicrous."
"How did you know about that?"
She didn't know about it, but Sandra didn't know that. Lance had met her at the door of the restaurant last night. She'd been waiting for Jordon to get the car. They decided to drive to Georgetown for a while. Lance mentioned a secret system, and if Sandra contacted her, she should let him know.
"Grow up, Sandra," Suzanne said. "You think you're the only person who ever talks to anyone. Even though I hate this city I still have friends here . . . and they talk."
"What have they said about Wyatt?"
"They haven't told me whether you're sleeping with him. Are you?"
Sandra's eyes opened wide. "I don't think that's any of your business."
Suzanne laughed out loud. She wanted to throw her head back, but remembered the headdress just in time. "Be careful, sister dear," she warned as her laughter cut off as quickly as it started. "You don't want to anger me, remember?"
"Annie, will you get me the money? You can go into Grandma's account. That way it wouldn't raise any notice."
Suzanne sighed. She didn't care about the money. She hadn't played the world financial markets in a while. It might be fun to set a trap, then close it in a fog of electronic chaos. It would be more fun to tangle Sandra and Senator Randolph in a maze of unexplainable transactions. A grin stole across her face.
"Where do you want it delivered?" she asked.
"It can't be delivered. I'll
have to meet you somewhere."
"Where?"
"I don't know. I'll call your hotel tonight and we’ll let you know." She turned to leave, then quickly turned back. "Thanks, Annie. I'll never forget this." She smiled and was gone.
Suzanne watched her walk down the steps of the Jefferson Memorial. Sandra was scared. Suzanne felt a tightening around her heart. The sensation must be new to her sister. She was positive Sandra had never been scared before. She didn't know what real fear was like. When she and Wyatt Randolph were caught, even having a senator for a father couldn't get her out of the trouble she was in. There was just one person who might be able to save Sandra and her lover—little Annie Boatwright. It wouldn't take more than a phone call from Suzanne to the right ear, but Sandra didn't know that.
***
The Pentagon was the world's largest office building when it was completed in 1943. The five concentric pentagons, or "rings," as they are called, cover thirty-four acres with floor space to accommodate twenty-five thousand military and civilian employees. Adjacent to the building, just off the busy highway leading into northern Virginia were the parking lots. With parking for ten thousand cars, minibuses run the thousands of employees and visitors back and forth to the many entrances of the famous facility.
Wyatt stared at the massive stone structure, deftly avoiding the minibuses. He wondered how he was going to get inside. He forced his steps to be casual, as if he was early for work and enjoyed the exercise of a leisurely walk. The Pentagon operated on a twenty-four-hour-a-day schedule, though not with a full complement of employees. Enough people were coming and going so Wyatt felt sure he wouldn't be conspicuous.
He wore the uniform and bars of a second lieutenant. When he got to the door he'd ask to speak to one of his friends— Colonel Sam Parker. He'd called Sam and was expected.
He neared one of the minibus stops. Then he saw it. By chance and luck he saw the silver clip of an identification badge lying on the ground in front of him. This scheme just might work, he told himself as he leaned down and picked up Colonel Efrem Riddenhouse's security badge. The colonel would be sorely reprimanded when he appeared for work in the morning without the proper identification. Examining the badge, Wyatt's knees suddenly grew weak at his good fortune. Efrem Riddenhouse must be a forgetful man. He'd written his identification code on the back of the badge.
During any other time Wyatt would have been glad to drop the tag off at the information desk where it could be returned. This was just too helpful a find, for he could gain access to the building without anyone knowing.
He thought of Sandra. She was probably wondering where he was, but it couldn't be helped. It was past time for her to call the phone booth they'd agreed upon. Their cell phones were traceable. Wyatt knew more people used cells than didn’t. Public phones were less used and could be under surveillance by those looking for him, but the chances were small that they’d be found that way. Their calls were short, just a check-in to make sure everything was all right.
Wyatt had what he needed for the time being. He couldn't stop to go back into Washington now and he couldn't wait until tomorrow. He stared at the ID in his hand. This ticket was good for only one night, and he had to redeem it while he had the chance. Sandra would have to understand.
Before he went into the building he'd need a colonel's uniform. Buying the khakis at the Army-Navy store had been a good idea. He had a handful of bars and leaves in his pocket. He didn't expect to need a major's decoration, but he was prepared for anything all the way to a four-star general.
Checking his watch, he removed the bars and pinned the leaves into his collar. He had about an hour to get to the phone booth before she called again. He wasn't going to make it
The real test was in front of him. The next minibus was headed his way. It was too close for him to walk away from its approach. He would have to board it and hope he wouldn't be stopped before he found out what secrets Chip had on his computer.
Wyatt's heart pounded and sweat broke out on his forehead. He checked his uniform, making sure his jacket was open and the leaves of his uniform visible. The entry doors to the Pentagon looked miles away. He could be stopped before he even made it the far. The driver could ask who he was, require identification to board the bus, look with special attention at the photograph of bald, red-faced Efrem Riddenhouse and notice his own face and the badge didn't match. A hundred disasters ran through his mind.
Stiffening his back, he moved forward. Men were still out to kill him for the diamonds and he needed to know why. Sandra had said it. If you're going to die, at least know the reason why. Her voice came to him, light and musical. He wished it was for her that he had to keep going, but her father was behind this. Proving it to her would mean anything between the two of them would die before it could live. He already wanted her more than he ever wanted any other woman. In time she would come to accept her father's part and go on with her own life. He knew she had the strength to overcome that, but she would never forgive him. He'd tear her comfortable world apart, and because of him she would be an innocent victim in the fallout that inevitably would occur.
"Colonel," the civilian driver nodded. Wyatt kept his head down but the man had barely looked at him as he stepped into the bus and took a seat. He only saw the leaves on his collar. Taking a seat away from the driver's line of vision, Wyatt sighed with relief. He was on his way. The first step had been taken. Wyatt had been to Chip's office several times. He remembered a maze of corridors and hoped he could repeat the trip alone. He'd have to enter the code and then run the ID card through a machine. If that went well he'd be in. There would be no going back once he entered the building. Either he got what he was looking for or soldiers with rifles would have him cornered and he'd be led away in handcuffs. He almost laughed. That was if everything went well. If it didn't, he only hoped he'd have the chance to be led away cuffed. His second alternative involved blood, toe tags, and body bags.
***
"What's going on?" Sandra muttered as she replaced the receiver after her fifth call. Every hotel and motel in the city seemed to be full for the night. She'd already checked out of the place where they'd spent the last night and the desk clerk had mentioned they were expecting a tour bus at any moment. This was January, not April when the cherry blossom festival brought thousands of tourists to the city. Why were there so many people occupying hotel rooms?
Sandra sat at the train station on North Capital Street. It was convenient and private. Union Station had been restored in recent years, and it was a hub of activity for the capital. It still had the old wooden telephone booths where a person could sit in privacy and talk. The forty-watt bulb over her head provided illumination for the thick Chesapeake and Potomac Telephone directory that rested on the small shelf. An array of coins lay under the mirrored surface of the phone. Using her finger she ran it down the list and picked another motel. She dialed the number and waited for someone to answer.
"I'm sorry, we are completely booked for tonight and the rest of the week," she was told after inquiring about a room. "We might be able to book you if you call after six tomorrow."
What were they going to do? It was getting late and Wyatt hadn't answered when she'd call the appointed number. They'd been separated for three hours, the longest they had been apart since she found him bleeding in the snow. Suppose he'd been caught. Was he in jail? Was he dead? She shivered.
Going to see Annie alone had been a mistake. Although they needed the money if they were to continue, she should have had Wyatt go with her. At least she'd know where he was and if he was all right. She dialed the memorized number he should have answered, but only the relentless ringing continued in her ear. Wyatt was missing.
"Damn," She slammed the phone down, "Wyatt, where are you?" She admitted she missed him. Before he'd come into her life she'd been doing little more than existing. Even now, when her life was in so much turmoil, she felt more alive than she had since John's death.
Sandra sat staring at her fingernails. They were short and unpainted. She peeled at the skin about her index finger wondering what her next move should be. Grabbing a coin, she dropped it in the slot and dialed her father.
"Michael, this is Sandra." She tried to keep the rising panic out of her voice. "Have you found my father?"
"Just a moment, Ms. Rutledge," he said formally.
Sandra chewed her lower lip, pressing the black instrument closer to her ear as the seconds stretched out.
"Sandy, are you all right?"
"Dad!" She almost cried at the familiarity of his voice. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I need to talk to you."
A minor hesitation preceded his reply, "Of course. Are you sure you 're all right?"
"I've been with Wyatt Randolph. He's said some terrible things about you and I need you to clear them up."
"Where are you?"
Sandra looked through the glass of the phone booth. The cavernous structure reached three stories into the sky. A glass skylight arched upward like a bubble umbrella. Suddenly, she wasn't sure of her own father. Had Wyatt undermined her this badly? Outside the booth she heard the garbled announcement of a train arriving. She covered the mouthpiece until it ended.
Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1) Page 44