Emergency Contact

by Susan Peterson

  “Oh, not in the least crazy, Doctor, I assure you. In fact, I have every intention of succeeding.” Flynn picked up the cigar burning in the ashtray next to him and took a long, leisurely puff. “This operation has been meticulously planned, down to every last detail. Even the timing of Tess’s arrival was carefully monitored.”

  He grinned smugly as he continued to boast. “The two of you gave us a few moments of concern, but in the end, everything fell into place.” He tapped the cigar on the edge of the ashtray, and the white ash dropped into the bottom. “It would seem that our diligence has paid off. Your good friend Dr. Bloom’s programming has been successful. Tess will carry out her assignment.”

  “And if she fails?”

  Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Did she look as though she might fail? Did she even glance at you with any degree of recognition or understanding of what you were trying to tell her?”

  Ryan didn’t answer. How could he, when deep in his heart he suspected that Flynn was right. Tess hadn’t known who he was. She’d been totally taken over by whatever brainwashing techniques had been used on her. All the time that he had tried to help her, the seeds had already been sown, the deadly intentions simply waiting to be activated. Neither of them had suspected the truth behind her capture at the center.

  “If for some reason she fails, then McCaffrey will take over and do the deed. Tess will still be implicated, and McCaffrey will see that she is wiped out in the chaos that ensues. Starling will be dead before the evening is out.”

  “And what happens then? You step forward to take his place as Rone’s running mate.”

  Flynn pulled the cigar out of his mouth and threw back his head, laughing with genuine appreciation. “How flattering that you think I’d even qualify for the position, Doctor.”

  “Hardly. I just can’t understand any other reason for your involvement.”

  “We’ve had a much more suitable candidate ready to take over, and it’s been a given that Starling would be off the ticket come fall. But it was critical to have him completely out of the voting public’s mind before they stepped into the voting booths next November. The man has gotten entirely too popular for his own good.”

  “You’re not afraid he’d simply become a martyr for the cause?”

  “I think we’ve taken care of that possibility with some very carefully targeted mudslinging. It’ll be released shortly after Starling’s death. By the time the nation is done recovering from the fact that Vice President Starling was assassinated by the daughter of the nation’s most beloved senator, we’ll have planted enough evidence to suggest that Starling was involved in some highly questionable money schemes—in addition to a sordid affair with Tess Ross.”

  “What makes you think anyone will buy your smear campaign?”

  “Oh, they’ll buy it all right. No matter what the public says, they love a good scandal. The information released will be supported with ironclad evidence. In the end, it will be a miracle if the public even allows Starling to stay buried in Arlington.” He crushed the end of the cigar in the center of the ashtray and stood up. “And now, you’ll have to excuse me. I have a party to attend.”

  Ryan watched him cross the room, his brain racing, wildly trying to figure a way out of the mess he’d stepped into.

  Flynn unlocked the door and stepped aside, waving one of the two men waiting outside into the room. Ryan slipped his hand into his pocket and touched his handkerchief, running his finger along the barrel of the plastic syringe he’d placed there earlier in the evening. It was loaded with a hefty dose of Thorazine. The syringe was his only weapon at this point.

  The security detail at the entrance to the ballroom had been waiting for him, to ensure that he wouldn’t make a scene in the middle of the hall. They had failed to pat him down and the metal detector hadn’t picked up the presence of the syringe. Now he had to figure out a way to use it effectively.

  “See that he stays here,” Flynn instructed, reaching into the pocket of his uniform and pulling out a gun. “Wait until the uproar inside the ballroom erupts and then take care of him. I’ve planted enough evidence in the room to implicate him in the assassination plot.” He glanced at Ryan, his expression slightly distracted as if his thoughts were already on the developing carnage about to occur two floors above. “Goodbye, Doctor. I could lie and say it had been a pleasure knowing you, but I won’t insult your intelligence. You’ve inconvenienced me more than you’ll ever know over these past few days. It will be good to see the last of you.”

  He stepped into the hall and nodded at the other man to accompany him. He closed the door with an ominous finality. Ryan turned to face the man advancing across the floor toward him. He slipped his hand into his pocket, preparing to take down whatever stood in his way of getting to Tess in time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ryan slipped out of the room and locked the door behind him. He hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the knob and then gave the hall a quick check. Empty. He ran for the elevator.

  Behind him, the guard slumbered peacefully. Ryan figured he’d sleep until the morning. One less to worry about. He had no idea how many others waited for him two floors up.

  He pressed the up button and the elevator doors slid open a few seconds later. The interior was crammed with a group of women. From the sound of the laughter and chatter, it was obvious that they were revved up for an evening of fun. The smell of perfume and alcohol drifted out into the hallway.

  “Come on in and join the fun!” a sultry voice called from the back of the crush.

  For a second, Ryan considered waiting for the next car. He didn’t want to involve the women in whatever awaited him upstairs, but a woman in a slinky beaded dress and an abundance of flaming red hair grabbed his arm and yanked him into the elevator. He bumped up against her low-cut, well-endowed chest and murmured a polite apology.

  She laughed and slid one rounded hip against his upper thigh. “Don’t worry. We don’t bite.” She laughed, something low and wicked. “Not so it hurts anyway.”

  The group of all women laughed and the voice in the back added, “We’re on a fast car to the top. Hang on.”

  “Guess everyone’s in full party mode, huh?” Ryan said, forcing a false sense of amusement into his own voice.

  “You’ve got it, honey,” another woman said, breathing out enough fumes to make Ryan sure he could blow a Blood Alcohol Level above the legal limit all on his own.

  “Out with the old and in with the new, is my motto,” the redhead said. “That goes for my politicians, as well as my men.”

  The women all laughed again.

  “You look as though you’re in for a fun evening,” Ryan said. “Mind if I tag along?”

  “We’d be delighted, handsome,” the redhead said, pressing in closer and giving the blond woman on his other side a sharp look of disapproval. The blonde ignored her friend’s attempt to lay claim and leaned in closer.

  Ryan slipped a hand around both their waists and grinned. He’d found his cover. His way in. As the elevator door slid open, he patted his jacket and affected a look of distress.

  “What wrong?” the redhead asked, a red-lacquered, one-inch nail coming up to gently lift his chin.

  “I seem to have lost my invitation.”

  Her well-manicured hand slipped quickly into the front of his suit jacket to check the inside pocket. Her touch lingered, sliding out to caress his ribs and down along the inside edge of his cummerbund. “Nope, definitely there,” she purred in his ear. “The kind of invitation I prefer anyway.”

  Ryan turned a little to the left, disengaging himself from her roving hand before it got any lower. He covered his rejection with a gentle smile.

  Disappointment flashed in her green eyes—eyes that seemed somewhat dull and lifeless compared to another pair of green eyes Ryan had grown to love, a pair of eyes he was desperate to see again.

  “Guess I’m out of luck as far as getting into the celebration,” he said with a sigh.

&nb
sp; The blonde, smiling with secret amusement at her friend’s obvious strikeout, patted his other arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you through.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the rear of the car. “Right, ladies?”

  A chorus of feminine voices shouted their agreement. They had a mission and they weren’t about to fail.

  The redhead shrugged, but before she could say anything, the elevator door opened and the women surged forward, pulling him with them on a crested wave of perfume and hair spray. As they started down the hall, they surrounded him, calling to each other as they headed for the security checkpoint.

  In the middle of the group, Ryan studied the doorway leading to the terrace. He noted that the men manning the station were no longer Secret Service men, and the marine guard detail was also gone.

  In their place stood two rent-a-cop guards, looking slightly harassed and overwhelmed. Apparently Flynn wasn’t taking any chances. He’d effectively eliminated a possible roadblock to the planned assassination. Ryan couldn’t help but wonder what excuse he’d used to get the other men to vacate their post.

  The women pushed forward, surrounding the guards with their chatter and gaiety. Several of the women flirted outrageously, reaching out to drape their arms around the men and distracting them with flattery, flashes of long, bare limbs beneath elegant gowns and whispered invitations to sneak away and join them for a drink.

  The two men didn’t know what hit them. They craned their necks trying to take everything in, their expressions softening.

  Two of the women stepped through the barrier, and as one of them passed Ryan, she slipped him her invitation, covering it with a quick peck on the flustered guard’s cheek.

  Ryan stepped up behind her and breezily waved the invitation at the guard who was watching the woman saunter away. She paused at the doorway to the terrace to flash the guard a final grin and a wave. The distracted fellow ran the metal detector over Ryan, not even bothering to check the invitation. He waved him through with barely another glance.

  Ryan moved through the standing, cheering crowd. The noise was deafening, pressing down on him and making it seem impossible that he’d ever find Tess among them.

  He strained to see over the heads of the people in front and alongside him. No one he recognized. Just a sea of excited faces, the glitter and gleam of the women’s jewelry almost blinding in its brilliance.

  Overhead, the lights had been dimmed, a single spotlight focused on the center of the dais. Jacob Starling had moved up to the podium, his ruggedly handsome face beaming out at the crowd. A large American flag, the stripes and stars waving in a breeze, had been projected onto a huge video screen behind him.

  A woman Ryan recognized as the vice president’s wife moved up to stand a step behind her husband. Her carefully coifed hair and elegant gown spoke of wealth and years of breeding. She stared in the direction of her husband, her expression an example of wifely adoration. A smile touched her lips.

  Starling glanced over his shoulder at her, as if he had noticed for the first time that she’d moved up to join him at the podium. He shot her a look of appreciation. And as the TV camera projecting their image onto dual screens on either side of the dais moved in for the close-up, not a single person in the audience missed him mouthing the words, I love you.

  The crowd went wild.

  Mrs. Starling mouthed the words back to him and the crowd cheered even louder. This was American royalty at its best.

  When Starling turned back to the audience, his confidence and ease with being on the stage in front of such a huge crowd was evident. These were his people. His most ardent supporters. He was in his element.

  He leaned forward, his lips almost touching the microphone, and his deep voice boomed out over the terrace. “I don’t think coming home has ever felt as good as it does tonight. At this moment. At this time. And in this very place.”

  Another wild cheer went up from the audience.

  “—And I can’t think of a better group of people to be in front of than all of you.”

  The cheers got louder.

  Starling smiled broadly, and the power of that famous smile seemed blinding in the glare of the spotlight. Lights danced and glowed about the back of his head, giving off a visible halo effect.

  Ryan couldn’t help but think that the effect was an omen. A sign of what was to come.

  He pushed through the crowd in front of him, weaving in and out of the people, trying to find Tess. Mrs. Starling had told her to sit with them up on the dais, but Ryan hadn’t seen her anywhere in the row of people sitting behind the long table draped with red, white and blue banners.

  Starling held out his arms as if to embrace the crowd and a light breeze drifted across the terrace. “How is everyone this fine evening?”

  The audience erupted into a joyful chorus of responses. Their shouts were positive and playful, and Starling’s image on the screens grinned wildly, his charming and handsome appeal engaging.

  Ryan could almost understand the ultraright’s fear of the man. He would be unstoppable. Unbeatable. A greyhound running effortlessly for the ultimate prize—the total support and dedication of the American people.

  Starling launched into a speech about the past three years. He talked of his frustration, his disillusionment with the current administration’s policies and his disappointment at not being able to make a difference.

  Around Ryan, the crowd quieted, listening to their vice president’s tale of woe. Their murmurs of agreement spoke of their sympathy for their crown prince’s predicament.

  Ryan knew the vice president was positioning himself for his announcement. And from the sizzle of excitement electrifying the room, the crowd knew the big moment was coming, too. Tension, thick and heavy, hung over the terrace. If the announcement wasn’t made soon, the room would implode all on its own.

  Ryan pushed his way through a tight group of people. Few people were sitting at tables. Most stood, craning to see the figure standing on the dais.

  Ahead of him, near the front of the room, the group shifted and parted for a brief second. Ryan caught a flash of red and a glimpse of white-blond hair.

  Tess!

  But before he could move, the crowd shifted again and the red vanished. He slipped between a cluster of people ignoring their sharp glances of disapproval and murmured comments of annoyance. He pressed on.

  He reached the spot a few seconds later, but there was no sign of her. The ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach tightened. He needed to find her. Now.

  Above him, Starling had swung into a rousing speech of no one being left behind. Of all citizens having a place at the table as they moved comfortably into the new millennium.

  He searched the crowd and found Flynn, standing off to the side of the room. His posture was relaxed. Confident. But then he spied Ryan and he stiffened. He turned and gestured curtly to two men standing beside him. The two men’s attention immediately focused on Ryan.

  They started across the floor toward him, but they were as hampered by the unruly audience as he was. The crowd had whipped itself into a frenzy. People were yelling and stomping their feet. More than a few shrill whistles ripped through the air.

  The noise on the terrace had reached a crescendo, almost crushing in its intensity. The sound pounded against Ryan’s eardrums, sending his blood rushing like wildfire through his veins.

  In front of him, a man shouted something and then stepped back. In the space of that single second, he saw Tess again.

  She stood about thirty yards from him, a sea of bodies separating them. She didn’t see him. Her head was tilted back to watch Starling and the video screens. She was close enough to the dais that the glow from the spotlight bathed her face in its warm glow. Her beauty was breathtaking.

  But it was who stood behind her that sent panic through Ryan.

  Towering over her, his body pressed close to hers, stood Ian McCaffrey. His hand lay on Tess’s shoulder, his tanned fingers standing out in stark contrast
to the ivory whiteness of her skin.

  He leaned forward to press his mouth to the curve of her ear. Ryan felt his stomach tighten with dread.

  Tess’s stare was fixed and vacant. She seemed to have no reaction to McCaffrey’s whispering. But as Ryan watched, she opened her clutch purse and stuck her hand inside.

  Icy shards of fear raced through Ryan’s veins. Oh God, he needed to get to her. Needed to stop her before she was forced to do something she’d regret for the rest of her life. Something that would surely destroy her.

  She withdrew her hand from her purse, and the glow from the light glittered on something metallic in her hands. Ryan knew what she held—a gun.

  She lifted the weapon with two hands and the crowd around her pressed in, oblivious to what was happening. The roar of voices built, the clapping and stomping of feet became unbearable.

  Starling’s own voice, amplified by the microphone, was barely audible above the yelling. The crowd had gone wild with excitement.

  Ryan stood on tiptoes and cupped his hands. “Tess!”

  She froze, the gun dropping to her side, hidden in the folds of her dress.

  Across the floor, McCaffrey raised his eyes to met Ryan’s. Anger flashed within the depth of his eyes like summer lightning gone berserk. His message was clear. Interference from Ryan would not be tolerated.

  He spoke urgently in Tess’s ear, and Ryan somehow knew that McCaffrey was using a word or key phrase to trigger something in Tess, to force her to respond to his commands. The roar of the crowd got louder, pressing in on them. Ryan struggled, pawing his way through the sea of bodies, trying to get to her.

  Tess’s gaze roved over the crowd as if searching for him. Her eyes were confused. Dazed. But they were no longer vacant.

  She was fighting, trying to get out from beneath the conditioning of the seductive pull.

  He could only hope that his yelling to her had triggered something. Some memory. Some feeling. Something to interrupt the flow of evil feed into her brain.

  McCaffrey straightened, seeming to realize that he’d lost his command over her. She was ignoring him, distracted by the crowd. He reached inside his own jacket and pulled out his own weapon.