Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "I'm harder to kill than the Now move over." He waved with the gun. They all moved in the direction he pointed.

  "You, Colonel. Throw the gun over here. Nice and easy," he said. "Don't think my left hand makes a difference. Any funny business and I'll drop you first." His voice was men­acingly cold.

  Sam did as he was told. "I should have shot to kill," Sam said.

  "Lance, it's over. You can't get away with this," Sandra said. She drew his attention. He stood steady and dangerous. She knew he couldn't last long. Wyatt had tried to stand up at the cabin and he'd wobbled badly enough to fall over. It was only a matter of time before Lance came to the same fate. The blood looked thicker as it soaked into his tuxedo. His right arm was bleeding. He held the gun in his left.

  "Hand me the jewels," he ordered.

  "No," she said.

  He pointed the gun directly at her. "If I shoot this, Sandra, it will put a small hole in your chest, but it will take the back of your body and throw it into the next room. Now hand me the stones."

  "Lance, have you wondered what happened to the signal you thought would kill me?"

  For a second she saw panic in his eyes. It was quickly replaced with an evil stare. "I don't care."

  "You should," Sam told him. "We relayed it. Do you want to know where?"

  "You have lots of money," Suzanne joined. "I checked your finances and found very interesting data. I'm sure the IRS wants to discuss income and expenses with you."

  "Shut up!" he shouted. “I want those stones."

  "You have a private account in a Swiss bank," Suzanne went on.

  "It's been opened, breached," Sam went on. "You did it yourself. You pushed the button. Right now funds from that account are being electronically restored to the U.S. Treasury Department. Imagine their surprise when they arrive for work Monday morning, Desque, and find the generous deposit."

  "They're particular in Treasury," Wyatt taunted him. "They have to account for every penny. They can't let your kind of balance go without investigation."

  "I said shut up!"

  He was clearly shaken. "There's more," Sam told him. "Photographic documents of your illegal transactions are be­ing sent to the Treasury Department."

  "Drop the gun," Jordon told him. "You haven't a chance."

  Lance shook visibly. Sandra wondered if the blood he'd lost was making him weak. She remembered how weak Wyatt had been when she'd found him. Loss of blood would give him double vision and destroy his ability to hold on to the gun. If they could keep him talking, he might pass out.

  "Haven't I?" Lance answered Jordon. "Have you forgotten where we are? I'm on foreign soil. I have many friends here. You can't touch me, the government can't touch me."

  "Drop the gun, Mr. Desque."

  An unfamiliar voice had the entire entourage shifting the attention to the door. Two armed guards pointed guns at Lance. Behind them stood Prime Minister Nagano and Everett Horton.

  "Prime Minister," Lance began. "I wish to seek political asylum in the Empire of Japan."

  There was clearly a plea in Lance's voice.

  "Mr. Desque." The prime minister bowed slightly as he pro­nounced Lance's name, accenting the last syllable. "The United States does not have political prisoners. The Empire cannot offer you sanctuary against crimes to your own coun­try." He smiled and bowed again. "I wanted to bring President Horton here to assure him that Japan had recovered his prop­erty." He glanced at Project Eagle. "We wish for continued relations with the United States. Returning their property is a gesture of mutual friendship." He bowed slightly.

  Anger showed in Lancet face. His options had run out. Quickly he turned and trained me gun on the prime minister. Wyatt moved with lightning speed. He kicked the gun out of Lance's hand before it could go off. The guards fired, catching Lance in the chest. He staggered backward, fell against the wall and slid down it leaving a trail of blood.

  Chapter 24

  The Oval Office in the west wing of the White House had pale-yellow walls and a beige rug. The seal of the United States was woven into the rug that sat in front of the Resolute desk. Everett Horton had photos of his children on the credenza behind him. Casey's photo sat on the desk facing him.

  He stood when Wyatt wheeled Sandra into the office.

  "Welcome," he greeted, shaking hands with Jordon and Wyatt and kissing Sandra and Suzanne on the cheek.

  Melanie West and Casey Horton, who were already in the room, stood, too. Casey smiled widely. "How are your feet?" she asked Sandra.

  "The doctor says they should be completely healed in about two weeks."

  "Until then, I'd let this guy carry me around." Everett ges­tured toward Wyatt as he whispered in a voice only she could hear. She laughed.

  When they were seated and had been served cups of coffee, Everett said, "I'm glad everything turned out all right last night."

  "I am, too," Sandra said.

  "I also congratulate you, sir," Wyatt told the President, "on completing the trade agreement this morning between the U.S. and Japan. It’s something the country needs."

  "You'll never know how right you are, Wyatt."

  Wyatt did know. Nagano and Desque had been in each other's pockets. When Desque proved unable to deliver what he claimed without creating an international incident, Nagano pulled up stakes and threw Desque to the wolves.

  "It's over now," Everett said. "And we have you to thank for saving the country."

  Everett put his cup down and went to his desk. "I suppose I should get these signed and delivered." He picked up several pieces of paper and took a pen from the blotter. He sat down, the pen poised above the first page.

  "Mr. President," Sandra stopped him. "Before you sign . . ." She turned her wheelchair to look him directly in the face. He put down the pen and gave her his attention.

  "I thought you and I were on a first-name basis."

  "We are," she said. "When I talk to my friend. Right now I want to talk to the President."

  "Go on," he said, his voice changing to that of the strong, no-nonsense commander.

  "Project Eagle. The system. The stones. What are you plan­ning to do with them?"

  Wyatt came and stood next to her. He took her hand in his. Annie joined her on the other side and Jordon stood next to her.

  "I see you've all discussed this and have come to some conclusion." He looked at each one of them individually. "Well, who's acting as spokesman?"

  "I am, sir," Wyatt told him. "We've discussed the power of Project Eagle, the worldwide implications of a machine so strong no one has any privacy, any freedom to speak freely even in their own homes or on the streets."

  "What have you concluded?"

  "We agree with you, Everett," Sandra said. "As citizens of the United States, we think Project Eagle will turn the United States into a world dictator. It should never be activated."

  He came around the desk and stood in front of it. "What you're saying is you think we should destroy it?"

  "No, sir," Jordon took up the explanation.

  "Then what?"

  "We want to divide it."

  "I don't understand." He studied them carefully.

  "Sir," Wyatt started. "Chip had some good uses for the project before it became a weapon. We suggest those remain. The rest should be divided for safe-keeping."

  "I take it you," he spread his arms, encompassing the group, "are to be the holders of the pieces."

  "No," Annie said. "If we kept them we could be picked off one by one until we gave them up."

  "Then where do they get stored?"

  Sandra looked at Wyatt with a smile. He returned it. Jordon's face broke into a grin and Annie's dazzling smile teased the Commander in Chief.

  "We thought, Mr. President," Wyatt said, "the space shuttle would be the best place."

  Casey Horton broke into laughter. The group looked at her. She joined them, but didn't stand with Everett. She took the space next to Jordon Ames. Melanie, too, left her position and came to s
tand next to Wyatt.

  "Are you two joining this mutiny?"

  Casey nodded. "I think it's a wonderful idea."

  "We'd put the stones in the next satellite to be launched. Since no one will have all the pieces, and since an orbiting satellite is impossible to compromise, the stones will be safe and the earth will be rid of a machine that could enslave the world."

  Horton took the suggestion and weighed it. It was- better than the ones his advisors had come up with. The military wanted it back and wanted to go into mass production. The FBI wanted sole access to it. The State Department wanted a joint program for all areas and Senator Rutledge wanted it destroyed. Everett was in favor of its destruction. He knew the power it could command and he knew that kind of power was both heady and corrupt.

  "Everett, I think they've got the best solution," Melanie West said. "I stand with them."

  Sandra smiled and looked up at the President. "Everett?" she said.

  "You know, Sandra, I asked Casey once for her opinion of you. She said you'd make a great President. I think I'm going to have to agree with her."

  "Thank you, sir."

  He went back to his desk and picked up his phone. A sec­ond later he said, "Marsha, get me Daniel Carmichael at NASA. I need to know when the next shuttle goes up."

  ***

  Amid the celebration that took place after Everett made his decision, the doors opened and Bradford Campbell Rutledge came in. Sandra saw him first. She stiffened in her metal chair. Her hand began to shake and she placed her glass on the sofa table. Finding Wyatt next to her, she took his hand.

  "Brad," Everett called. "I'm glad to see you."

  Brad came forward. Sandra's heart beat fast. Her hands were suddenly cold. She looked at Annie. Color had drained from her face.

  "I'd like to propose a toast," the President said. "To Brad Rutledge, who in the past couple of weeks has had to lie to his family." Everett's gaze was trained directly on Sandra. "He's been the informant, investigating the Undersecretary of Defense. Under my direct orders, Brad has been able to tell no one what his assignment was, thus hurting his family and putting his daughter's life in peril." He raised his coffee cup. "Here, here."

  Sandra didn't drink. She looked at her father. Tears clouded in her eyes. He'd been working for the President. He wasn't a traitor and she'd doubted him. Water spilled down her cheeks. She felt guilty. How could she ever face him?

  "Sandra," he kneeled in front of her. "Can you forgive me?"

  "Forgive you," she said. "Dad . . ." Then she was in his arms, hugging him. "Forgive me, Dad. I doubted you. I thought you were trying to sell the stones. I never thought—"

  "It's behind us, Sandra. We each doubted the other. I said things about Senator Randolph to get you to leave him. I wanted you safe, and while you were with him there was noth­ing I could do. I beg your forgiveness . . . and yours, too, Senator."

  Sandra moved back and looked at Wyatt. She held her breath. The two men she loved most in the world stood in front of her. She wanted them to be friends.

  "I can't very well hold a grudge against my future father-in-law," Wyatt said.

  Again the quiet before the storm. Suddenly, everyone was hugging and kissing, congratulating her and Wyatt and asking if they'd set a date.

  Annie was the only person who hung back. Sandra knew she hated their father. Yet, when she looked at her sister, what she saw was fear. She'd rarely ever seen the emotion in An­nie's eyes.

  "Annie, what's wrong?"

  Jordon stayed near her. He whispered something Sandra couldn't hear.

  "I'm scared," she answered.

  "Why, Annie?"

  "I can't tell him."

  "Hello, Annie," Brad addressed his oldest daughter.

  Sandra looked up to see her father and her mother.

  "Mom," she said. Her mother reached down to hug her.

  "I hear you know," Melissa said.

  She was talking to Annie. "Will somebody please tell me what's going on?"

  "Annie discovered who her real father was," Jordon an­swered her question. Brad and Melissa Rutledge looked as if they were about to fault. "It's all right," Jordon assured them.

  "I know about the birth certificate," Annie said. "I found it a couple of months before Sand got married. I thought you'd chosen Sand and left me to live in poverty. She got the ad­vantages and I got nothing."

  "Annie, that birth certificate—"

  "I know," she interrupted her father. "My real father's name was Curtis Pittman. He was from Atlanta."

  "How did you find out?" Melissa asked her.

  "I have a friend," Jordon answered, "who's an investigator. He told us. And Jordon found Curtis Pittman's diary. Every­thing is recorded there."

  Brad stared at Jordon for a long time.

  "I'm sorry, Dad. I said some terrible things to you . . . and to you, Sand."

  Tears looked as if they were imminent. The sisters hugged, the parents hugged. All the pain and fear seemed to heal and they stood together.

  "We better get out of here," Wyatt suggested. "After all, the man," he pointed at the President, "has a country to run. And I'd like to visit my office and go home."

  "You wouldn't want to leave without these," Everett said, holding up several sheets of paper.

  Sandra accepted hers. The last few weeks had been a night­mare and this one sheet of paper made it all right. With this she could resume her life.

  By order of the President, it began. Everett Horton had by executive order issued her a presidential pardon.

  Epilogue

  Sandra stood looking through the window. Grass rolled away from the cabin like an emerald carpet. The trees were thick with leaves and she could barely see the road. She stood here often, thinking back on the day Wyatt had come into her life.

  He was asleep. She'd awakened early and come to the win­dow. They didn't get to the cabin much with his work in Con­gress, but when an opportunity opened they'd run off to the mountains. Everett began calling it the Pocono Senate.

  "What are you doing there?" Wyatt asked. "You can’t even see that road."

  She turned around. Wyatt sat on the steps. It was one of the memories she had of him. The first time he came down­stairs, that's where he'd stood.

  "I know it's there." She went and sat next to him. He put his arm around her and cradled her against him. "I love this place."

  "I love you," Wyatt said. He kissed the top of her head. "You know what I remember most about the cabin?"

  She shook her head and looked at him.

  "That table over there." He pointed to the polished wooden table where they usually ate. "When I woke up that first day after I'd come downstairs, I was on the sofa. You were sitting at the table. Your hair had been in a ponytail, but you'd pulled it loose. The light made a halo around your head and I knew I was in love with you."

  Sandra couldn't speak past the lump in her throat. That had been eight months ago. She reached up and kissed him. He gathered her close and passion took hold of her.

  "Thank God I found you," he whispered against her mouth.

  "You didn't find me," she contradicted. "I found you."

  Wyatt lifted his mouth and stared at her. "You're not going to start that again." He lifted her onto his lap and kissed her cheek. "I came looking—"

  "For my father—"

  "And found you."

  Wyatt stood up with her. He carried her up the stairs to the bedroom they shared. He lowered her to the floor. Sandra saw passion darken his eyes.

  "Wyatt, we don't have time for this." His mouth touched hers as she spoke. "We have to get to the wedding rehearsal. Jordon and Annie will be waiting." He kissed her again. Her insides melted.

  "We'll get there. You can drive." Wyatt moved the strap of her nightgown and kissed her shoulder. "It's your helicopter."

  "We'll be late," she murmured.

  "It'll be all right," he said, as he nipped the skin under her ear. "They were late for ours." He lifted his
head and looked at her. "What do you think they were doing?"

  "Wyatt, they weren't late for ours. Ours is tomorrow," she reminded him.

  "In that case they can't start without us." He took her mouth.

  Sandra went up on her tiptoes, forgetting everything except the man she loved. She returned his kiss with all the fervor that gripped her. His hands took her waist and spanned it. Her arms climbed about his neck. She melted against him. His arms tightened, fitting her to his shape and devouring her mouth.

  Wyatt made her feel alive. After eight months, when men-lives no longer ran from minute to minute, when the press no longer hounded them for stories, she still loved being with him, learning the little things the made him happy, learning how to take his pain away, and sharing in everything the was him.

  She liked telling him her secrets, having him there when she needed someone to talk to or someone to hold in front of a warm fire.

  Wyatt removed her gown. It pooled at her feet. He stared at her. She should be used to him by now. It had been eight months since they'd left the Oval Office. Yet, she felt like it was their first time. Her breath came in short gasps and her breasts rose and fell in anticipation of his touch. Warmth poured over her as his hands moved deliriously over her skin.

  He ran his hands up her back and into her hair. Her body aligned to his from shoulder to thigh. "Will you marry me, Dr. Rutledge?" He spoke as he angled her face to kiss her mouth.

  "I am marrying you, Senator. Tomorrow."

  "Good," he said, his voice low and intoxicating. "I need a wife and I've picked you." He lifted her and laid her on the bed. He joined her there. She came alive when he touched her. Her skin burned, glowed, melted under his hands. The world shrank, became only two people, her and Wyatt.

  He looked at her. In his eyes she'd always be beautiful. She moaned as his body covered hers, moaned as he entered her. Like mirror images they fit together perfectly. Wyatt slipped his hands around her. He worked them over her hips and lifted her to meet him as he joined himself with her, combined his hard thrusts with her soft folds.