Honor Reclaimed

by Radclyffe

  "Secret Service, get out of the way. Get out of the way," she barked as she pushed and shoved her way toward the double glass doors to the lobby of Blair's apartment building. "Secret Serv—"

  Several pairs of hands grabbed her jacket and dragged her away from the door as a wall of blue closed around her. Blindly, she reacted with an elbow strike that found a target, as evidenced by a grunt and a muffled curse. Then her back was slammed into the wall, followed by her head, and the world spun in a dizzying circle, trees and sky and sidewalk flashing by in an off-kilter parade before her eyes.

  "Commander. Commander!" A woman's voice shouted somewhere very close to her ear. "Ease up!"

  Cam struggled to find her balance, her head still reeling. She knew that voice. She blinked, tried to focus. Hara. Hara and Wozinski. Wozinski had her pinned up against the building with a beefy forearm across her chest. Hara, one hand restraining Cam's right wrist in a viselike grip, was waving off an angry trio of NYPD officers with her other arm.

  "Secret Service. We've got this," Hara yelled. "Back off. We've got this."

  "Let me go," Cam said in a flat, hard voice.

  Wozinski looked at Hara for direction, but she just shook her head and angled her body so that her back was to the cops who still stood muttering nearby. With her face very close to Cam's, she said, "If we let you go and you make a move for the front door again, those cops are going to haul you away, and we won't be able to stop them this time. We could use your help here, Commander. It's your call."

  "Is she alive?" Cam asked, her eyes boring into Hara's.

  "As far as we know, yes."

  "I want to talk to her."

  "NYPD has diverted all calls to their own channels. They're jamming cell signals in this sector. We can't—"

  Cam twisted her wrist in a move designed to break the strongest restraining grip, and got as far as dislodging Wozinski's arm from her chest before both agents drove their shoulders into her midsection again. Their combined weight forced the air from her lungs and her legs deserted her. Only the two bodies jammed against hers kept her upright.

  Hara continued speaking in a calm, even tone as if nothing had happened. "The NYPD is not taking any chances after what happened Tuesday. Right now, their antiterrorism team is running the show, and they're jittery as hell. If we want some control back, you're going to have to get it for us. Commander? Commander, are you getting this?"

  "Yes," Cam wheezed. "I'm okay. Let me go."

  "Okay, Greg, ease up," Hara said after a long look at Cam's face.

  Immediately, Cam felt the pressure on her chest lessen, and she was finally able to get a full breath. She coughed, and her bruised ribs protested. "Sorry." Ignoring the pain, she gulped in another breath and felt her head start to clear. "Fill me in. Fast."

  "We don't have much." Hara lowered her voice. "The chief, Egret, and Tony Fazio went up to the penthouse. Greg and I were detailed to the lobby. Waters and O'Reilly are on the rear door."

  Cam wanted to shout Tell me about Blair, God damn it! but her years of training kept her focused. She needed to know everything if she was going to take charge. And if Blair was in trouble, she wasn't going to let anyone else take care of her. "What happened up there?"

  "We don't know. The chief radioed a code red with orders to contain the building. While we were doing that, she must've called in a red alert to the NYPD, because the next thing we knew, we were overrun with uniforms and nobody's telling us anything."

  "Have you seen a command vehicle?"

  Wozinski pointed toward the northeast corner of the park. "Opposite side of the street, about halfway up the block. We couldn't get close."

  "I can." Cam rubbed her chest unconsciously, but the pain wouldn't abate. She welcomed it. It kept her head clear. "You two stay on the door. No one goes up to that penthouse unless I'm with them, got it?"

  "The only ones who have gone up there so far are the HAZMAT team," Wozinski said.

  "I don't care if the next one in is the president, I go too."

  Both agents visibly relaxed. Simultaneously, they said, "Yes, ma'am."

  Cam straight-armed her way down the street, waving her badge and repeating over and over, "Secret Service. I'm looking for Captain Stacy Landers." Landers was the head of the NYPD security division assigned to liaise with the Secret Service and to provide additional forces whenever the president or Blair made public appearances in the region. Landers' division was also part of the antiterrorism squad, and Cam knew she'd be heading up the operation. "Landers. Captain Landers. Where is she?"

  Finally, she got close enough to pound a fist on the closed door of the black armored van that bristled with satellite antennae. A face appeared at the small rectangular- bulletproof glass window for a second and then was gone. A voice over the intercom next to the door instructed, "Hold your ID badge up to the camera, please."

  Cam faced the video camera lens mounted above the door and held her ID next to her right cheek so that her face and the image on her badge were visible. Ten seconds later, the door slid open two feet revealing a giant of a man in a SWAT uniform. He wasn't smiling. "Come on in, Agent Roberts."

  Three men and a woman were crowded into the narrow central aisle, clustered around a bank of video monitors that showed both limited views of both the exterior and interior of Blair's building as well as an aerial shot of the roof relayed from one of the helicopters Cam had heard circling overhead. The woman, a redhead in a tan jacket and slacks, looked over her shoulder at Cam. Her green eyes flickered for an instant with compassion, then went hard.

  "Commander."

  "Captain," Cam said, leaning over to peer at the monitors receiving images from the surveillance cameras placed throughout Blair's building. There was no view of the interior of the loft because she herself had ordered the video cameras removed from Blair's living space to protect her privacy. The rest of the building seemed eerily deserted. She hadn't expected to see Blair, but still the disappointment was like a knife cutting through her. She wanted to tear the van apart. Procedure. I have to follow procedure if I want to get to Blair. "Status?"

  "Egret's security chief radioed a red alert fifty minutes ago," the captain of the NYPD antiterrorism squad reported. "Apparently they ran into some kind of foreign substance up there. We're assuming it's a chemical agent."

  "Casualties?" Cam gripped the edge of a metal bracket securing the monitors to the side wall of the vehicle so hard that the edge cut into the skin of her palm. Her mind rebelled at the possibilities. Cyanide, ricin, sarin. Oh my God.

  "None reported. We've shut down the building's exhaust units and the Public Works people are isolating the outflow from this grid into special holding tanks." She stopped abruptly and pressed two fingers to the earpiece cradled in the shell of her right ear, tilting her head as if to improve the reception. After a moment, she muttered, "Roger that, sir. Yes, sir, I have that," into her throat mike. She looked up at Cam, her expression grim. "That was the president's security adviser. I've been ordered to hold our HAZMAT unit outside the apartment until a team from Fort Derrick gets here."

  "USAMRIID?"

  "Yeah. They're already in the air. ETA twenty-five minutes."

  It only took another second for Cam to make the connection, and then her stomach twisted. The U.S. Army Medical Research and Materiel Command located at Fort Detrick, Maryland was the only facility in the Department of Defense with a BSL-4 laboratory. What the hell do they think is up there?

  "Open a line to the loft. I want to talk to Blair. Now."

  *

  Blair jumped when the portable phone on her breakfast bar rang, staring at it as if it were alive. The last time she'd tried it, for what must have been the fiftieth time, it had been without a signal. None of their ceil phones or radios worked either. That couldn't be a coincidence, or an accident. They hadn't heard from anyone in almost thirty minutes, and being kept in the dark as to what was happening really really pissed her off.

  She snatched up the
phone and snapped, "Blair Powell. Who the hell is this?"

  "It's Cam, baby. You okay?" Cam tried desperately to keep the tremor from her voice.

  "Hey," Blair said gently, her temper instantly soothed. "I'd be great if somebody would tell me what the hell is going on."

  "You're not hurt? You're not sick in any way?"

  "No. We all seem to be all right." Blair moved to the other side of the loft from where Stark and Fazio paced in tight circles, their useless cell phones clutched in their hands. "Where are you?"

  "Right out front with Stacy Landers. Can you tell me what happened?"

  "We were moving my canvases," Blair explained, "and there was a plastic bag stuck between two of them. We didn't see it there, and when we pulled the frames apart, whatever was in the bag spilled out."

  Cam was struck by a wave of dizziness and braced a hand against the ceiling of the van to steady herself. "Spilled out or blew into the air? Do you remember?"

  "Uh.. .a little of both, really. What's going on, Cam?"

  "We're not sure just yet. Who actually broke open the bag?" Who had the most exposure to whatever was in it?

  "Fazio—-he was unpacking some of the crates for me. Why?"

  "Stark and Fazio are both all right too?"

  "Yes. We were instructed to move as far away from the problem site as possible without leaving the apartment. That was over half an hour ago, and that's the last we heard from anybody. Why are we being kept up here?"

  Cam hesitated and then realized that the truth was the only choice. Blair could handle anything from her except a lie. "We have to assume that substance—the powder, whatever it is—-is potentially harmful. We can't move you until the potential contamination is contained. We're bringing in a team now to do that."

  "There's a HAZMAT team here somewhere, I heard them talking to Stark on her radio before we lost contact with everyone. Why aren't they in here decontaminating us, if that's what we're waiting for?"

  "Washington is sending up a special team," Cam said. Her shirt and jacket were soaked with sweat, despite the fifty degree temperature outside and the powerful air-conditioning unit in the van that ran at full power to cool the electronic equipment. The inactivity was making her crazy. She wanted a firsthand look at the situation. She wanted to see Blair. "They'll be here any minute."

  "Yeah, yeah. Any minute. I'll bet." Impatiently, Blair strode to the windows and looked down to the street. "God, there's five times as many people down there now as there were twenty minutes ago. What aren't you telling me?"

  "We're all pretty much waiting on this team to arrive, baby. As soon as they touch down, I'll come up with them."

  "That's grea—" Blair stopped her restless route around the perimeter of the room, her eyes narrowing. "They're coming from DC. So someone either knows what this is or thinks they do, because they don't want the local people handling it. Just who are these people, Cam?"

  "USAMRIID."

  Silence ensued while Blair searched her memory for an association to the familiar-sounding name. "Wait a minute, isn't that part of the bioterrorism response unit?"

  "Yes."

  "So," Blair said thoughtfully, reaching behind her to grip a chair back. She suddenly felt light-headed, and the feeling frightened her. "What are we talking here? Ebola? Some kind of plague?"

  "I don't know, baby," Cam said in frustration, hating the note of fear she'd heard in Blair's voice for the first time. "I'm waiting to find out, the same as you."

  "I don't want you coming up here," Blair said sharply. I won't have anything happening to you. Not again.

  "I'll come up with the containment team. I'll be perfectly saf—"

  "No. " Blair saw both Stark and Fazio glance at her in alarm and she waved them off, mouthing, It's okay, when they started toward her.

  "Listen to me, Blair. I need to see you. I need to be sure you're all right. I'm coming up."

  "Cameron, think. My security chief is stuck in here with me. I've got no one on the outside who knows anything about me except Lucinda, and she's not capable of running the ground show. I need you healthy so that you can handle my security while they sort out whatever this thing is. If you get sick, or they even think you are, you won't be any use to me. Think, sweetheart. I need you out there, not in here." Don't come near me. I won't have you die because of me.

  "We don't even know there's anything dangerous up there. I'll be well protected."

  "Cameron, if you don't do this for me, I'll have Stark tell Stacy Landers to keep you away from here altogether."

  Cam swore vehemently. The four NYPD officers hanging on her every word pretended not to notice. "Blair, don't do that."

  "Promise me you won't come up here." She waited, the silence ringing hollowly between them. "Cameron. Promise."

  "All right," Cam finally said. "Unless I get clearance from the USAMRIID team."

  "Fine, but I want to hear it from their team leader." Blair let out a sigh. "Stark is waving to me. She wants to talk to you. I've got to go. I love you."

  "I love you." Cam's throat was so tight she could barely speak. "I'll see you soon."

  Stark took the phone from Blair with a nod of thanks. "Commander. I felt given the circumstances I had no choice but to—-"

  "It was a good call, Chief," Cam said. "Blair—all of you, you're all right?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Any word yet on what we're dealing with?"

  "Negative. You'll just have to sit tight until the biohazard team from Fort Detrick has a look."

  "Fort Detrick? Oh man." Stark turned away from Blair and Fazio and cupped her hands around the phone. "In today's briefing there was a report about that team investigating a bioterrorism attack in New Jersey. They suspected anthrax."

  Cam closed her eyes, but she could still see the white powder blowing in the air.

  Chapter Sixteen

  T he dial tone that severed Cam's tenuous connection to Biair sounded as ominous as incoming shell fire. And this was an enemy Cam could not fight—not with force or skill or even her formidable willpower. This time she would have to rely on others to do that, and the prospect left her feeling helpless and impotent. Her fingers clenched the phone as the stifling air in the van closed in around her. A rush of anger and frustration filled her head, momentarily clouding her reason and fracturing her control.

  "God damn it," she said as her fist struck the inside wall of the van with enough force to send a tremor through the vehicle. She didn't feel the pain as the skin split over her knuckles and a small fissure cracked in a bone in her little finger. She tossed the cell phone onto the narrow counter in front of Stacy Landers and pivoted toward the double rear doors, intent on reaching Blair. Someone behind her must have signaled, because the officer in the SWAT uniform blocked her way with an agile sidestep that she would have thought impossible for him to make, considering his bulk. "Step aside."

  Her voice was once again modulated and calm. But her face was cold as death. From somewhere in the van, Captain Landers said, "I'm sorry, Cam. But you'll have to wait it out down here with the rest of us. There's nothing you can do up there now."

  Perhaps it was the use of her first name, or the fact that Cam already knew that Landers was right, but she checked the movement that would have driven her shoulder hard against the SWAT team officer's chest. "I need some air."

  "Good idea," Landers said. "Let her by, Lieutenant Maxwell."

  "Yes, ma'am," the man said and smoothly shifted out of Cam's path.

  She shoved open the rear doors and jumped down to the sidewalk. Immediately, she was surrounded.

  "What's happened?" Renee demanded, her fingers clamped around Cam's forearm. "Has someone been wounded up there? Why the fuck won't they let us up? What about our people? What about Blair, Paula?"

  Although the questions were reasonable, the tone of Savard's voice sent a warning signal that dissipated the remaining haze of Cam's anger. The FBI agent sounded as if she was about to crack. Cam took a close look at her, and what she
saw made her shake off Savard's arm and point to the far side of the vehicle. "Let's talk over there, Agent."

  Felicia and Valerie, standing nearby, moved to follow, but Cam shook her head and indicated they should wait. Both women looked impatient and concerned, but they accepted her orders. On the far side of the van, out of range of prying eyes and intrusive cameras, Cam said, "Let me fill you in, Renee."

  "Paula? What about Paula? Is she hurt?"

  "Paula is fine. I just talked to her. There's been exposure to an unknown substance, and they went to red alert status. SOP. We're waiting on a special decontamination team right now."

  "I want to talk to her." Savard's speech was taut with tension and fear.

  Cam shook her head. "You can't. You know the procedure. The longer lines are open, the more likely that transmissions will be intercepted and the greater the chance we'll have a media leak. In situations like this where the use of a biowarfare agent is a possibility, we could have widespread panic. Mass evacuations, civilian casualties. We can't risk it. You'll have to wait"

  Savard's eyes flicked to the apartment building across the street, but what she saw were the Towers coming down and, everywhere, the devastation. The defenselessness and horror was suffocating. Gasping, she whispered in a tortured voice, "I can't."

  "Yes, you can," Cam said quietly, placing both hands on Savard's shoulders and lowering her head until their eyes met and held. Her tone was firm, yet gentle. "You and Felicia and I are going to do whatever needs to be done to take care of the situation. Paula is counting on you to handle this, and so am I. This isn't like Tuesday, Renee. We're going to have a chance to fight back."

  "I can't take it." Savard's gaze wavered as she opened and clenched her hands spasmodically. "I can't lose her. I can't. I just can't."

  "I know."

  Suddenly, Savard jerked, and her tormented eyes widened. Her pupils, dark passageways to her own personal hell, flickered wildly. "Oh my God. Blair? Is she—"