Defense Breach

by Lisa Phillips

  Kristine took a sip of her tea. “Perhaps you could email me whatever it is you want to know, and then I could get back to my work.”

  “I’m in a time crunch. I need to talk to you about a mantel clock that was in the one of the sitting rooms in the residence. A group of thieves have been trying to steal it all morning.”

  Horror washed over her face.

  “It was a fake.” That should make her feel better, right?

  She sputtered.

  “At least that’s what one of the hostiles claimed.”

  “Your exercise allowed one of my artifacts to be stolen?” She was as aghast as one of the guards at the National Archives would be if a tourist touched the Declaration of Independence with greasy nacho fingers. After they broke into the display case, of course.

  “No, it’s still there. But the thief claims it was a fake.” He didn’t really know where to go from here.

  Kristine pulled a cell phone from her purse and swiped at the screen. “I should have been informed. I should be the first one to know.”

  “I really am very sorry. It’s just what the hostile said, something about not bothering to sell it at a yard sale…” He figured sticking as close to the truth as he could was a good plan. “And since there’s a good possibility he wasn’t lying…”

  She glared. The sensation was like a rush of cold air. “This amounts to an accusation of incompetence.”

  “I assure you, that’s not my intention.” He swallowed, his mouth dry. “I don’t have much to do for the rest of the day except fill out reports. I was wondering about the clock. About how something like that might have been switched out ahead of time.” Never mind the fact that it had been done without the curator’s knowing about it, leaving a fake behind that Wilson was supposed to steal. “And what kind of person might want to take it.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “The most heinous kind of person, Agent Farrow.”

  “I assure you, this isn’t about putting your job at risk,” Grady reassured her. “I’m a curious person, and I love mysteries. What better than one that might have happened right under our noses?” He let that question hang in the air for a moment, and then said, “Was the clock maybe sent out for cleaning, or repair, at one time? It could have been switched then, and a replica sent back to the White House. You have records of that stuff, right?”

  He knew there were, but not where they would be. Right now he just needed her to think through the problem. Help him maybe get some ideas as to why it was chosen, out of all the items in the White House.

  “The mantel clock from the sitting room in the Residence?”

  He nodded.

  “That was from before my time, I’m afraid. I inherited the piece along with the Wentworth collection the previous curator acquired.” She shuddered. “Ghastly paintings, the lot of them.”

  Never mind that the previous curator had dropped dead of a heart attack in the Blue Room. Grady had actually liked the old man. “Where would the records from the previous curator be?”

  If it had been switched out for the fake some time ago, that meant an ongoing operation. Planning. Maybe even multiple artifacts from the White House had been exchanged for replicas and then sold on the black market.

  “The Archives. You’ll have to request copies of his records if you want to find out when the clock might have been switched with a—” she leaned forward and whispered “—fake,” then shivered and straightened. “Though I find that extremely hard to believe. I thoroughly vet every item in the White House. I have examined that mantel clock myself…”

  “But you weren’t trying to determine if it was genuine, right?” He tried to tread carefully now. “You inherited the clock and, after the Wentworth collection, you were probably glad you had a nice item already on a shelf. Maybe you didn’t look too closely at it.”

  Kristine sniffed. Took a sip of her tea. “Get out, Agent Farrow.”

  So much for her helping him. He heard a light giggle from the doorway and skedaddled before the curator could ask Grady who was there.

  He led a smiling Skylar down the hall, and they made their way outside.

  “What was that about?”

  He glanced around, scanning their immediate vicinity. “What?”

  “That lady, she’s the curator?”

  He nodded. “I figured I’d take the chance, try to get more information. Didn’t work, though.” He frowned.

  “You think this has to do with the clock being a fake? Wilson seemed pretty convinced it indicated this all might be a ruse to trap him. You really think that’s true?”

  “Could be.”

  “So Barnes just set him up, and Wilson fell for it?” She shook her head.

  “Guess we’ll have to ask him why when we find him.”

  Skylar shivered. “I won’t mind if I never see that man again. It was like he could twist anything, say anything, and it would sound believable. If he’s been hiding the fact that he was a traitor all this time, then he had to have learned how to lie about everything.”

  They walked down the path and crossed the street to the command bus. This time it was even more packed with personnel. Each chair was occupied by an agent, busy at work. Half of them were on their cell phones.

  Someone noticed her, and within seconds the whole room had gone wired, everyone now on edge. Did they really think she might have betrayed them? She glanced aside, but Grady moved closer to her. Was she not willing to let them see whatever hurt was probably on her face? The clock on the wall indicated it was almost one in the afternoon. It had been a long day so far, but hopefully they wouldn’t have to endure much more.

  The intern rushed over. He pulled her in for a hug Skylar apparently hadn’t been expecting.

  “Uh…” She blushed and glanced at Grady.

  “Glad you’re okay.” The intern paused. “Also, sorry for thinking you were one of the thieves.”

  The rest of the agents didn’t look so convinced. At least the intern seemed to feel bad that he’d left her open to get abducted. Not that he could have done anything to stop Barnes. The guy wasn’t armed, and he wasn’t an agent.

  “Any word on Barnes?” Grady asked.

  “We’re still searching for him, and we need your help. The director said to tell you he wants you at a computer, so you can finish up ID’ing the thieves. That all right with you, Agent Farrow?” The intern glanced between them, including both in his question.

  Grady nodded. “I have to get patched up.” The look on Skylar’s face said she didn’t want him to walk away. He squeezed her shoulder. “You’re in a room full of armed agents. You’re safe.”

  She squared her shoulders and turned to the intern. “Let’s go.”

  Grady found Stringer and asked his friend to help him get his wound cleaned up.

  “You don’t want EMTs to do it?” Stringer waved him to a corner free of people.

  Grady shook his head, already unbuttoning his shirt. That would take too much time, and he wasn’t hurt badly.

  Skylar glanced over, and Grady gave her a small smile. She returned it. He didn’t know what her look meant, but he wanted to see more of it. There had been enough crazy today. He was ready for quiet. For soft conversation, maybe laughter.

  Between friends.

  The shoulder of his undershirt had a hole in it. Grady pulled it off. Agent Stringer touched a cotton bud soaked with antiseptic to the wound on Grady’s shoulder. He hissed at the sting but caught himself before he jumped out of his seat.

  “Baby.”

  “Watch it,” Grady shot back. An inch to the left and he’d have been shot on his vest. But, no.

  Stringer’s lips curled up. He was smaller, but bench-pressed more—a lot more—so Grady had to challenge him in other ways. “Hurry up so I can go help find Barnes.”

  “You mean so I can find him.” Stringer secured a bandage on Grady’s side. “It doesn’t look good. It’s probably infected. Badly. You’ll die, but not until later, of course. So n
o suspicion can be laid on me.”

  “I’ll leave a deathbed note so everyone knows your poor medical care killed me.” Grady shoved him away and hopped off the stool to go find a new shirt. His phone buzzed with a notification. “Let’s go.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stay?” Stringer whispered, motioning toward Skylar, who was talking to the intern.

  “Why?” He had a job to do. She’d had one as well, and Skylar had been amazing today even when things had gone crazy.

  Stringer just looked at him. “Dude, if you need me to explain it to you…” His words trailed off, and he shook his head.

  “Fine. I’ll go get this guy myself.”

  He didn’t wait for Stringer, he put his vest over the T-shirt he’d found and geared up. Skylar would be fine here. He didn’t need the distraction she posed right now. Not when he had decided attraction wasn’t real, and relationships didn’t last. He’d been convinced in the past that romance was real. He’d believed love was forever. His ex-fiancée had cured him of that affliction.

  Wherever Paula was, with the friend who was supposed to have been his best man, he hoped they were happy.

  Okay, so that wasn’t true. But he was trying to make the best of the whole thing. Trying not to dwell too long on how he’d obviously failed in some way. Done something. Or not done enough. Why else would she have dumped him for his friend?

  “You’re thinking about her again.”

  Grady ignored Stringer and headed for the door.

  “Paula.”

  “Stringer…”

  “Is this like word association?” He heard the smile in his friend’s voice. “Because I could keep going.”

  “It’s not a game. It’s my personal life.”

  “And it was a year ago, dude. Time to get on with things.”

  Grady sighed. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”

  “Dating?”

  “I’m not signing up for one of those online things.”

  “That’s not what I’m suggesting,” Stringer said. “Although—”

  “No.”

  Stringer sighed. “Brooding isn’t going to get you to the next season.”

  “The calendar does that.” Grady spun back, right before the door. He was ready to get out of this box. Buses were fine, but not filled with people. He was getting claustrophobic crammed in here like sardines in a can.

  “I mean the next season of your life. One that’s hopefully a whole lot happier than this one. Because, I gotta say, looking at your hangdog face all day is getting old.”

  But a new relationship wasn’t the answer to his restlessness, right? He hadn’t wanted a rebound. “No one told you to be here.”

  Stringer lifted his free hand, rifle hugged against his chest. “I’m just saying.”

  Grady pushed open the door with his free hand and they stepped outside. “I know what you’re saying.”

  He did. That was the problem. No one was fooled by his “moving on” talk, or the fact that he’d changed nothing about his life since Paula had called off the wedding.

  Wallowing clearly wasn’t working for him—or anyone around him. Grady walked between cars and they headed to the entrance that led into the small parking structure under the West Wing. It was a quick exit for the president, or any of his staffers, when they needed it to be. Or a private entrance for visitors.

  Barnes had killed a guardhouse agent and fled. Would they find any evidence to point to where he’d gone?

  Commotion back at the bus brought his attention around. Wilson was being escorted from Command by the director and a group of agents. Probably so he could be taken to a more secure location where he could be questioned.

  Grady and Stringer walked back over. Extra cover in getting the man to the transport vehicle probably wasn’t a bad idea.

  Skylar stepped out behind them.

  Gunfire erupted across the parking lot. The reaction was instantaneous. Except by Skylar, who didn’t duck quite fast enough. Grady ran over, slammed into her and got her out of the line of fire.

  They hit the ground. He rolled to displace the force, then covered her as bullets hit the pavement all around them.

  ELEVEN

  “We’re taking fire!” Director Tanner yelled into his radio. Grady scrambled to a crouch, his rifle tight against his chest, and got Skylar up against a car, out of the line of fire. She had no weapon. He’d have to cover—

  A bullet hit the car window above and tempered glass sprayed on them. She screamed, and he covered her again, tenting his body over hers and praying neither of them got cut by broken glass too badly.

  Two vehicles away, a gas tank exploded. What on earth? The ball of fire whooshed into the air. Was this more than one sniper?

  “Find cover,” the director yelled to an exposed agent.

  “Come on.” They had to move or else they’d be sitting ducks. It wouldn’t take long for the shooter to find a better angle. Right now he seemed to be aiming randomly, but an agent was down and another man lay dead on the pavement.

  Wilson.

  Had Barnes taken out the leader of the thieves, or his former partner? Wilson was the one who could thoroughly implicate him in any wrongdoing. This wasn’t good. Not when his testimony would be needed for a conviction.

  “I want men on that shooter. Now!” his boss yelled. The man wasn’t known for his calm demeanor under stress, but everyone else’s ears were probably ringing like Grady’s.

  The director was right, though. They needed to get the shooter in custody before more people were hurt. Agents were dispersing, headed for the point of origin. Agent Stringer was already gone, probably hunting the gunman as well. It was where Grady would be if it wasn’t for Skylar being unarmed in a gunfight. Grady didn’t want to check the roof of the building he thought they were coming from. He’d risk getting shot in the face for his trouble.

  The director rose from his crouch. “Men on the west—”

  A red mark spread out from the center of the director’s chest, and he dropped to the pavement.

  “Two shooters!” Grady’s radio burst to life, multiple voices calling in a second shooter. “We have two shooters. Everyone off the street! Get these people out of here!”

  The command bus was too obvious a place for them to hunker down. They’d be better off just getting out of Dodge. Like in this old car.

  “Get in,” he told Skylar, figuring he’d have to hotwire it. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Another shot came, this one farther away. Then a second from the original shooter’s direction.

  Grady squeezed off two shots in response, and got a look at the roof then. Barnes raced along the wall at the top of the low building on the north side of Pennsylvania Avenue. Grady’s next two bullets chased him. He shifted his gun to track with the man’s movements.

  A shot pinged off the rear quarter panel of the car.

  The engine fired up. “I did it! Come on, Grady. Let’s go.” Skylar was in the driver’s seat, hunkered down so she could reach the wires under the steering wheel.

  Agents on the roof in pursuit would get Barnes. The rest would get the second shooter. Grady’s priority was keeping himself and Skylar alive long enough to help provide the Secret Service with what they needed to prove Barnes was a traitor.

  The man had disappeared from the roof now. Grady jumped in the driver’s side as Skylar scooted over to the passenger seat. He shoved the car in Drive and shot away from the curb, sideswiped a parked car and straightened out. He burst through the barrier at the end and turned right.

  He drove with one hand on the wheel and passed his gun to Skylar, then handed her another clip. “Reload for me.”

  He braked to avoid hitting the car crawling in front of him. Traffic, seriously? He didn’t need this right now.

  Skylar ejected the clip onto her lap and the back door opened.

  Barnes dived into the seat before Grady could react and pointed a weapon at the back of Skylar’s head. “Hand me the
gun.” He turned to Grady. “Drive.”

  “This isn’t going to win you any favors. Just get out, Barnes.” Traffic moved forward. Grady moved with it, and then said, “We aren’t going to help you escape the Secret Service, so just go.”

  “You will when I shoot both of you and dump the car.”

  “That’s hardly going to convince anyone this was all a mistake.” Seriously, what was the man thinking? “Do you have the real clock?”

  He needed something to distract him from the fact that there was a gun to Skylar’s head. Again.

  “Pretty sure that ship sailed when I shot at the team,” Barnes shot back. “Cat’s out of the bag now. There’s no stuffing it back in. Might as well make the best of it. Clock or no clock.”

  “So you don’t have it.”

  Barnes huffed. “The clock isn’t even the point.”

  Grady wanted to ask who else he’d been working with. Like Kristine? There had to be more people involved they didn’t know about, and he didn’t like surprises. Especially ones that came at the end of a loaded gun. Barnes had to have had a plan to get away.

  Skylar said, “I can’t believe you’d throw away your career like this. Destroy lives you’ve sworn to protect, and for what?”

  They couldn’t be very good thieves—or have a sophisticated operation going—if they hadn’t realized it wasn’t a valuable item. Could Barnes really be so dumb? Maybe Wilson had been duped, as he’d seemed to think happened? Maybe this was all nothing but a double cross between Barnes and Wilson that had gone wrong. Get Wilson arrested. Barnes would be free, no suspicions. He could take what money he’d already earned and split.

  Maybe that was why the clock wasn’t the point.

  It was a theory, but one Grady had no proof of. And now wasn’t the time to work it out. Saving their lives came before evidence collection or figuring out Barnes’s motives.

  Grady gripped the steering wheel, racking his brain for ways to get out of this. Whatever it was, it was going to have to be drastic. “You wanna get yourself in deeper? Be my guest.”

  Skylar shot him a look.

  He didn’t know what to tell her either. He was supposed to have protected her, and yet here she was. In the line of fire. Again. Barnes had bested him so many times today it was getting seriously frustrating. Grady didn’t have time for anger that would cloud his judgment.