“Is that why I feel heat? Is it because Omega Tribe is surrounding the injury?”
Yes. Our clustered members are producing warmth. Do not be concerned.
“Okay. Glad to hear it.”
Zander touched my arm. “Did I hear you talking to Gamble about my mom and dad?”
“Yes. I had an idea, and Gamble was willing to put it into play. He’s going to ask the President to order the commandant of White Sands to pick up your folks and keep them hidden on the missile range.”
“I can’t see an officer refusing a Presidential order. That’s great thinking, Jay. Thank you.”
Zander and I stared at each other, our expressions subdued, maybe a little bleak. We hadn’t foreseen the President’s assignment blowing up like this and endangering those we love.
I wondered if Zander had snapped to the ongoing ramifications. Would we have to start over? Create new identities and new lives? Leave our families behind?
I was first to speak. “The situation is spiraling out of our control. I think the only way we can ultimately keep our family safe is if we take out those who are threatening them. Evidence is important to getting convictions in a court of law, but not as important as stopping this coup. I think we have to change our strategy and go all-out on the offensive.”
“Yeah, but on the offensive against whom? Danforth is obviously not giving the orders—this mystery woman is. Who is she, and why haven’t the nanomites been able to identify her?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. Did you notice that Danforth never calls her by name? She calls him Lawrence, but he never addresses her. She has to be Danforth’s caller who uses a phone once and then throws it away—which tells us she is very savvy and very careful.”
“All those hours with Danforth, and we haven’t an inkling of who she is.”
“The nanobugs recorded their conversations and snooped through Danforth’s digital data, but that didn’t provide them with an image of the woman they can ID.”
Zander pondered our dilemma. “But we did glimpse part of a face—just for a moment—on the other end of the video call when we were rescuing Trujillo. Did anything about that face ring a bell?”
Zander had touched on what had been nagging at me in my subconscious mind. When I called up my remembrance of the partial face, it was tinged with faint familiarity, but it frustrated me.
“Something’s bugging me, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Maybe the nanomites can help us?” Zander suggested. “They may have better recollections than we do.”
“Nano. Bring up Trujillo’s rescue, when we took out her captors.”
We stepped into the warehouse, and the nanomites replayed what they had “heard” and “seen.” Their take was more complete than what I had noticed—you know, while I was preoccupied with zapping the crud out of Trujillo’s captors.
The nanomites played back the audio of our attack: We heard us breaching the mess hall, heard the crackle of current building and the loud ‘snap/pop’ of bolts shooting from me to stun Trujillo’s interrogators, first the man and then the woman. Soon after, the nanomites showed us the digital feed they’d captured from the video chat: A partial image—one side of a face—appeared for an instant within the tablet’s screen, before the image was replaced by a hand slapping a laptop lid closed.
The nanomites “rewound” and zoomed in on the half face: It was a woman whose features appeared to be a mix of ethnicities, her one visible eye an unusual color.
Zander did not make the third connection—how could he have? But I did, and it hit me like a fist punch to the sternum, stealing my breath away.
A serpent’s head rose from the mist, its golden eye fixed on me. While I watched, the serpent’s image slid over the woman’s face, eye upon eye. A perfect match. The same color.
Every nerve in my body screamed, and my jaw clenched so hard I had trouble speaking.
“Sh-she-she . . . it’s her. The head of the snake!”
Chapter 30
ABE EASED HIS LATE-model Chevy into a space that wasn’t truly a parking slot. The Sea-Can shipping container alongside DCC’s fellowship hall had just enough room behind it for Abe’s car, but the container, used for storage, hid them quite well.
“Cain’t git out this door,” Emilio whispered. “We’re too close.”
“I know, son. When I get out, you scoot over here and come out my side, okay?”
Emilio hadn’t said a word since they’d thrown their few things into Abe’s car and backed out of the old garage. He realized how shook Abe was when he clipped the wall of shrubs between his and Mateo’s properties in their rush to get away.
But now Emilio turned his pinched face to Abe and asked, “Abe? We gonna be all right?”
“I want to tell you everything is going to be fine, Emilio, but I can’t. What I can tell you is that the Lord sees us, and he will help us if we call on him. Right now, I feel the need to call on him. Do you want to pray with me?”
Emilio nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Abe took Emilio’s small brown hand in his gnarled and much larger black one. “Lord, you see us here. Zander says bad men are looking for us. We know they only want us to get at Jayda and Zander, so’s they can hurt them. Lord, we are asking in Jesus’ name that you hide us—hide us in the cleft of the Rock, Christ Jesus; hide us under the shadow of your wings; hide us, Lord, like the nanomites hide Jayda! We put all our trust in you, Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” Emilio echoed, more relaxed. “What do we do now?”
“We get out of this car and keep our eyes peeled. Zander said he was making arrangements for someplace we can hide.”
Abe and Emilio left the car and peered around the Sea-Can. The morning was early, and the parking lot was empty. However, minutes later, they heard another car approach. Abe pulled Emilio back, but the boy had glimpsed the car.
“That’s Izzie,” Emilio stated with confidence.
“You sure?”
“Yup.”
Abe peeked around the container and saw Izzie step from her vehicle. He whistled and waved her over. Pulled her behind the Sea-Can with them.
“Abe? Emilio? You, too? Do you know what’s going on?”
“Some,” Abe answered. He had to be careful, because Izzie was unaware of the nanomites, unaware of Jayda and Zander’s abilities or their assignment in D.C. Explaining the danger without explaining the “why” would be problematic.
“Well, what are we doing here?”
“Right now, we’re waiting and hiding.”
Izzie put her hands on her hips. “Waiting for and hiding from what? I’m supposed to be at work right about now.”
Abe put her off. “Zander is sending someone. We’re waiting for them.”
She dug her phone from her purse. “Well, if I don’t call in, I could get in trouble. Lose my job.”
Abe’s hand closed over hers. “I’d wait a little longer, if I were you, Miss Izzie. In fact, could I prevail upon you to turn your phone all the way off? Power it down and pull the battery?”
“What? Why? Can you tell me that?”
“Not . . . exactly. Just trust me, please.”
“Yeah,” Emilio echoed. “You gotta trust us.”
The boy was so serious that Izzie laughed—then she stopped. “You and Zander are seriously freaking me out.”
Abe nodded. “I’m sorry, but this is important.”
He tipped his head toward Izzie’s phone.
Huffing, she powered it off. “There.”
They lapsed into a tense silence, although Izzie fussed to herself and shot worried looks at Abe from time to time.
They had been behind the shipping container for thirty minutes when another vehicle rolled into the parking lot. Abe hushed Emilio and Izzie and kept them from peeking to see who had arrived.
Doors opened, and two people got out. A rough voice called, sotto voce, “Abe? Abe Pickering?”
“That’s Dr. Bickel,” Emilio whisp
ered loud in Abe’s ear.
Abe rubbed his ringing ear. “Thank you, young man.”
He stuck his head out from behind the container. Dr. Bickel and another man were scanning the parking lot. No other cars or people were in sight.
“You two wait here,” Abe ordered. He stepped away and let himself be seen.
“Abe!” Dr. Bickel’s relief was evident.
Abe shuffled toward him. “Zander send you?”
“Yes. Do you have Emilio and Izzie? We need to get going right away.”
“Going where? And who’s your friend?”
Bickel looked uneasy. “Better you don’t know his name. I’ll tell you where we’re going when we’re on the road. Come on. We need to hurry.”
Abe whistled, and Emilio and Izzie appeared.
Dr. Bickel’s companion popped the trunk. “Whatever you’ve packed, put in here.”
When Abe and Emilio put their bags in the trunk, they saw two bulging backpacks already there.
“I’ve packed some nonperishable foodstuffs, so we need to consolidate,” Dr. Bickel said. “We’ll each take one bag. Abe, can you fit Emilio’s things into your bag? Will he be able to carry it?”
“Depends on how far.”
Dr. Bickel studied Izzie’s duffle. “Izzie, I need you to transfer two sets of clothes and a toothbrush from your bag to one of mine.”
“What? I’m supposed to leave the rest of my stuff?”
“If you want to eat for the foreseeable future, you’ll leave the nonessential items you packed.” Dr. Bickel’s tone left no leeway for argument.
“But . . . I mean, how long will we be gone?”
“Until the danger has passed—and we need to prioritize food over ‘stuff.’ That’s all I can say.”
Dr. Bickel softened. “I’m sorry, Izzie. This has to be hard for you.”
“I-I’m scared.”
Emilio slipped his hand into hers. “We’ll be okay, Izzie.” He looked up at her, confident in his assertion.
“Hurry now,” Dr. Bickel urged them. “Rearrange the packs so we can get going.”
“What about the rest of my stuff?”
“Leave it in your trunk,” Dr. Bickel said.
Another five minutes passed as they reorganized the packs that each person would carry and put the residual items in either Izzie or Abe’s car. Then Dr. Bickel gestured them into the back seat of the car his friend and lab technician, Rick, was driving. As they pulled away, Dr. Bickel’s eyes were busy, scanning for danger.
“Can you tell us now where we’re going?” Abe asked.
“Somewhere safe.”
Izzie’s voice cracked. “But safe from what?”
Dr. Bickel turned a little in his seat, so he could answer her. “Do you remember that I was on the run for about six months and then captured and held prisoner after that? It was in the news.”
Izzie’s eyes grew worried. “I, um, sort of.”
“Well, there’s a lot I can’t tell you, Izzie, because it’s . . . classified. What I can say is that the same group of people who hunted me then are hunting us right now. For the next little while, I’m going to ask you to trust me and do exactly as I say.
Dr. Bickel cranked his neck around further. “Abe, the first part will be arduous for you—it will be hard for me, too, but likely harder on you. Emilio and Izzie? You are younger and stronger. You may need to help us. Can you do that?”
“I’m tough,” Emilio boasted. “I can help.”
Izzie didn’t respond. She was still and silent. Close to being traumatized.
Dr. Bickel turned to Rick. “You have my letter to HR, right? Be sure to say you found it on your desk. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen me since yesterday, you didn’t know I was taking unannounced leave—and you’ve never laid eyes on our passengers.”
“What passengers?”
Rick turned east from San Mateo onto Gibson and queued up in the line of cars entering the Air Force Base. He showed his base pass to the airman and was waved through. Once on the base, he maneuvered his car south until he reached Pennsylvania where it bent east. Two miles later, the road dead-ended at a checkpoint.
“Have to say I’m glad this isn’t a manned checkpoint any longer,” Rick said as he swiped a co-worker’s “borrowed” keycard and the gate opened. He drove through and followed the road as it wended around a domed mountain, a mountain surrounded by two walls of high chain-link fence.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Bickel signaled Rick. “Stop here.”
Rick stopped in the road. He and Dr. Bickel scanned the patrol roads below them and the road ahead and behind.
“It’s midmorning,” Rick said. “Most of the employees who use this road have already arrived for work.” He popped the trunk. “Say, how will you know how long to stay hidden?”
“I’ll step out of the mountain every evening and check my text messages.”
“Got it. Text me when you need a ride.”
“Everyone out,” Dr. Bickel ordered. “Grab your designated pack. Quickly now.”
Abe and Emilio moved to obey; Izzie got out and blinked in the sunlight. Dr. Bickel grabbed her pack, set it on the road, and slammed the trunk lid.
As soon as he did, Rick pulled away from them, leaving them alone on the road not far from three rocks, one as tall as Izzie, the other two, one upon the other, just shorter than the first.
Dr. Bickel hung Izzie’s backpack over her shoulders. “Let’s move,” he ordered. He started toward the three rocks, jogging as fast as his spindly legs could carry him.
No one followed.
“This . . . this is where you hid before? In the mountain?” Abe called. “We have to climb? All the way up there?”
“Safest place for us—once we get inside. Hurry, now,” Dr. Bickel urged them. “A car could come along at any time. If we’re seen, the Air Force will arrest us.”
He ran back, grabbed Izzie by her arm, and pulled her toward the sloping flanks of the mountain. Emilio joined him, took Izzie’s other hand, and urged her ahead.
Abe, the last to start, grumbled. “Too old for this nonsense. Ain’t climbed a mountain in two decades.”
Nevertheless, he shuffled across the road and began the laborious trek up the hillside.
SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE, Frank Friese, standing in front of the American flag in the chamber of the House of Representatives, raised a single sheet of paper and began to read.
“The Senate, by a vote of eighty-six yeas to nine nays, having confirmed the nomination of Simon A. Delancey of the State of Alabama, to be Vice President of the United States, and the House of Representatives, by a vote of three hundred eighty-seven yeas to thirty-five nays, today having confirmed the nomination of Simon A. Delancey of the State of Alabama, to be Vice President of the United States, the proceedings required by Section Two of the Twenty-fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution have been complied with.”
To anyone who knew Friese, his voice was tight, his demeanor stiff and indignant. Robert Jackson, President of the United States, knew Friese well enough to recognize that Friese was as disgruntled as a politician could afford to be in front of cameras.
The little weasel hoped someone else would be reading today. A smile traced Jackson’s lips. No, you didn’t manage to worm your way into the West Wing, Friese.
Jackson stood behind Simon and Winnie Delancey. The aging Senator was nearly overcome with emotion; his wife gently patted Delancey’s arm. Tears swam in her brown eyes as they smiled with unfeigned happiness into each other’s faces.
“The chair now requests the Chief Justice of the United States to administer the oath of office to the Vice President.”
The Chief Justice of the United States stepped up to the microphones upon the lectern, and Winnie Delancey lifted the Delancey family Bible. Jackson thought it looked too big and too heavy for her.
The Chief Justice intoned, “Raise your right hand, Mr. Delancey, and place your left hand on the Bible, and repeat after me: I
, Simon Andrew Delancey, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”
I SPENT THE DAY ON the sofa in Gamble’s safe house, recuperating. Zander left midmorning to sneak into our apartment. He brought back clothing, toiletries, a box of power bars, and the envelope of money Gamble had given us.
“Anyone watching our apartment?”
“Yeah, but they were easy to get past.”
He went out again at noon to bring in a hot meal for us. “Guess we’re back to cash and carry, huh?” he quipped.
I sighed. “I was lying here thinking what a mess our lives are. My job at the NSA is shot, and you can’t go to Celebrate Recovery tomorrow evening.”
“At least we’re messed up together?”
He was trying to put a happy spin on our situation, but all I could think was, “Oh, goody. More running. More hiding. Thought I was done with that.”
Grrr!
Zander cleared his throat. “I’m glad you reminded me about CR. I need to call Tom and Becky and let them know I can’t be there for the foreseeable future.” He put his hands on his head. “Crud. Everyone’s going to think we’re total flakes—and I don’t want to lie to them.”
“No need to lie, sweetie. We’re in the middle of a family crisis that you can’t talk about.”
“Uh . . .”
“If all this—me getting shot, us running for our lives, Abe, Emilio, and your sister and parents hiding—if all this doesn’t constitute a family crisis, then I don’t know what does.”
Now it was Zander who sighed. “Good point. I just . . . I hate to miss the meeting. God is doing some really exciting stuff.”
I placed my hand on his cheek and gently rubbed his jaw with my thumb. “I know, love, and I’m so sorry. On the other hand? I’ve seen enough ‘exciting stuff’ lately to hold me for a while.”
Deep State Stealth Page 33