Pandora's Box

by K. C. Blake

  Madison turned on one heel and stalked from the conference room. There were too many people in the hallway, other agents, people she knew. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation. She stepped inside a vacant room and closed the door behind her. She sagged against it. What now?

  She could bury her father with a soiled name, demand a polygraph to prove her own innocence, and play it safe in order to hold onto her job. Or she could rattle a few cages around town until the truth came out. She knew deep down her father wasn’t guilty of treason. Even though she’d seen him aim the gun, she knew there was a reasonable explanation behind it. Her father must have been trying to save the president from some unknown threat, perhaps someone at the ball.

  Raised voices interrupted her quiet thoughts as people entered the room next door. Her eyes fell on the partially open door that connected the two rooms. She froze as she recognized the president’s voice.

  “Well, it’s official now,” President Malcom Law said. “There’s a conspiracy taking place here. First homeless people try to kill me and now an old friend shoots at me? I want the names of those behind it, and I wanted them as of yesterday! Is that clear, Tyler?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tyler replied. “It would help if I had a list of your enemies.”

  Madison moved toward the voices. She took careful steps. Her hands touched the interior wall. She tilted her head sideways, rested her head against it and listened.

  The first lady’s laughter floated through the open door. “Tyler sweetie, you have no idea what you’re asking. Why don’t you make a list of people who don’t want to kill your father instead? It would be shorter.”

  “Vivian,” the president’s voice rose in warning.

  The first lady ignored it. “Think of all the poor trees that will give their lives to make that long, long list.”

  “Vivian, not in front of the boy!”

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to cancel your appointments for the next few weeks,” Tyler said, sounding tired. “Make yourself a scarce target.”

  “Out of the question,” the president said. “I will not run and hide from these cowards. The Secret Service will continue to protect me and I think the CIA and FBI can handle the job of finding the people responsible. You really should think about returning to the Navy, son.”

  Madison tensed, listening for Tyler’s response. Would he leave?

  Did she care?

  The door behind her opened. It was DeMarco. He started to say something but she shook her head firmly, cutting off what he would have said. He heard the president’s voice. His expression hardened. Madison motioned for him to leave. She followed him out into the hallway.

  “What the hell were you doing, Maddie? Eavesdropping on the first family is never a smart thing to do. In your present position, you can’t afford to get caught doing anything that can be pegged as disloyal.”

  She sighed. “I didn’t know they were in the next room, Marc. I just wanted to be alone to gather my thoughts. Okay?”

  “Let me drive you home,” he offered.

  “No, thank you.” He would have argued with her, but she didn’t give him the chance. “I need to be alone. Seriously. Please respect that.”

  He nodded and took a step backwards, his hands going deep into the pockets of his black trousers. She walked away.

  Once she hit the street, her shoulders sagged under the weight of her father’s apparent betrayal and resulting death. As she walked down the sidewalk in the chilly night air, she vowed to find the truth. No matter what it cost her, she was going to find out why her father had pulled a gun tonight.

  ******

  After a quick stop at her apartment to change from the sexy dress to casual slacks, Madison went to work to clear her father’s name. She felt more like herself in her street clothes with her hair secured in a tight ponytail.

  The real CIA headquarters was not in the Langley, Virginia building with the giant logo on the lobby floor and well-dressed operatives who looked more like bankers than spies. That was simply a symbol for the people, a showplace. No, the actual building where the good stuff was housed and the agents secretly planned their missions was located on the low-rent side of WashingtonDC. A CONDEMNED sign had been hung on the rickety building long ago to turn visitors away.

  Madison entered through the alley door. A camera in the corner of the large empty room slowly swung to focus on the elevator. After a five second hesitation, it journeyed back to its beginning position. Madison raced to the elevator. She ticked the seconds off in her head, painfully aware she only had twenty before the camera found her. She grabbed the black gate, ignoring the Out of Order sign, and jerked hard. The gate slid to the side with a loud clang. She darted in with time running out and shoved the gate closed again.

  The camera’s eye turned in her direction.

  She leaped sideways. Her back hit the wall hard, jarring her slightly. Once the camera looked away, she stepped to the center of the elevator. Madison jumped in the air like a cheerleader performing her show-stopping number and did the splits. Her feet banged against both sides of the elevator. She glanced up. The trap door remained just out of reach. Gritting her teeth, she gyrated upwards, using her hips and thigh muscles to propel herself closer. She gained another few inches.

  She punched the metal sheet out of her way, grabbed the sides, and hoisted herself up through the opening. Fortunately one of her training maneuvers while working for the CIA had been to break into headquarters without getting caught. Her superior had figured if agents could get by his trained people and a heavily armed security team, they could handle anything foreign governments could throw at them.

  She’d been one of the few who’d actually managed to get inside. However, this time if she got caught, the director of the CIA would have her jailed. No pats on the back or congratulations.

  The elevator shaft was dark, but Madison knew where the metal ladder leading to the CIA’s secret home base was located. She reached out a blind hand, sliding her feet carefully along the top of the elevator until her fingers closed on a cold steel wrung. She climbed down the ladder set in a deep groove beside the phony elevator.

  Now if her luck would hold. Her next obstacle would be a night security guard. Madison silently prayed the guard’s routine hadn’t been altered.

  She held her breath and waited.

  She didn’t have to wait long. The sound of jingling keys reached her ears and she smiled. Soft footsteps receded down the hallway until they faded completely. She glanced at her watch. The guard would return in fifteen minutes. Madison crossed the hall to a huge steel door marked with an intimidating red Keep Out. Attached to the wall beside it was a small metallic box with three rows of glowing numbers.

  The CIA changed the code every week like clockwork, but Madison knew the secret to the code. As long as a ten digit number was punched in, even if it was the wrong number, the deadly lasers crisscrossing their way through the forbidden corridor between the lobby and innermost areas would shut off for thirty seconds. If she ran as fast as she could she could make it. She had to make it. If the lasers turned back on while she was in the long blinding white hallway, they would cut her to shreds.

  Taking a deep breath, Madison punched in a random number. She jerked the door open. No time to waste. She couldn’t afford to hesitate for a half a second. It could mean life or death. Her finger hit the last number. She raced down the well-lit tunnel, her legs pumping hard and arms swinging. The end seemed to get farther away instead of closer. She lost count of precious seconds.

  The lights flickered, signaling the lasers return.

  Madison jumped in desperation, her hands stretched out to cushion her fall. She hit the floor hard and rolled forward, executing a sloppy somersault. She came up so fast she lost her balance and fell backwards. A red line hit the edge of her hair, sizzling a few strands. She tilted her head to the side, saving her face from a serious burn. Now she was feeling lucky.

  Madison jumped to
her feet.

  She went down another hallway until she reached the double doors at the end. There was a fingerprinting security system connected to the wall. She pulled a small spray bottle from her jacket pocket. It was filled with an experimental thickening agent. Aiming the nozzle at the fingerprinting screen, she pushed the pumping mechanism down three times, coating the screen evenly.

  Hopefully there would be enough oil left from the last agent’s finger to get a good print. The clear liquid thickened the oil left behind until it turned in to a messy blue goo. She put the bottle away and pulled out a tape dispenser. Then she wrapped one finger in the tape, careful not to crease it. When she was finished, she pressed her finger against the screen.

  Her reward was an audible click as the door unlocked itself.

  Madison went straight to a computer in the back of the room, as far away from the main entrance as she could get.

  The place was eerie at night, not a single soul in sight. She turned on the computer and the large room flooded with a bright green glow. She glanced around the office, nervous, but it remained deathly quiet.

  Unfortunately Madison knew the situation could change in the blink of an eye. A guard could find her or an agent could return for some forgotten item. She had to work fast.

  She typed in her father’s security code. She wasn’t sure where to begin, so she typed in her father’s final words.

  Pandora’s Box.

  At first nothing happened, and then a short sentence appeared on the black screen. 0 files found. Madison shook her head, muttering to herself that the computer had to be kidding. Why would her father mention it if it meant nothing? So she tried something else.

  She broke into her father’s email account. Her father had trusted her with the password, her own name, several months ago. Once she was inside the account, she scanned a long list of emails. There were a few from her, some from the director of the CIA, and a mountain of useless advertisements, dreaded SPAM. Quite a few old ones were from a man she hadn’t heard her father mention in years: Dr. Elias Grainger.

  Madison clicked on an email from Grainger. While waiting for it to come up, she glanced at her watch. Not much time left. Soon the guard would make his way back to her. If she was going to find something, she needed to find it quick.

  The computer screen began to pulsate. Green light snapped on and off in quick succession. It was like being a movie star, surrounded by flashing camera bulbs as the paparazzi clicked off a thousand pictures. She wanted to look away from the computer but couldn’t. Her thoughts began to wander. She couldn’t focus on the task at hand.

  What was she supposed to be doing?

  Her eyes widened. She couldn’t close them, couldn’t blink. Sudden unknown terror closed in on her. She felt the hot breath of something deadly on the back of her neck. It was horrible. She wanted to scream like a banshee, but she couldn’t make a sound.

  Not a sound.

  ******

  “Did you hear me, lady? Do you want another drink?”

  Madison blinked rapidly and looked up, stunned to find a man with a tray of drinks hovering over her. Her ears opened slowly, letting in the sound again, and the noise grew louder and louder until she could barely stand it. Frowning in confusion, she scanned the room quickly, taking in everything.

  She was in a dark, seedy bar with a handful of customers throwing some serious liquor down their throats. No one seemed to care what anyone else was doing. They were each drowning in their own private pain. Accept for the five people in the corner who were having a raging party.

  “Do you want the drink or not?” he repeated.

  She glared down at the empty glass in her hand. Nodding once, she handed the empty glass to the waiter and eagerly accepted a new one. She needed a drink. What had happened to her? She remembered being at CIA headquarters, working with the computer. Then nothing.

  The bar guy started to walk away, but Madison grabbed his arm.

  “How long have I been here?” she asked.

  “Wow, lady, you must be blitzed.” She glared at him, and he added, “A couple hours.”

  “Did I come in alone? Or did someone bring me in here?”

  The bar guy sighed. “Geez, lady, you came in alone, ordered one drink after another, and downed each of them like a sailor on leave.” He pointed at the pool table in the corner. “You played a couple games with some guy over there, rubbed against him until I thought the two of you would be leaving together. Then when he put his hand on your ass, you snapped his finger.”

  Conversation finished. Madison turned away from the bar guy and focused on her missing memory. Why was her memory a total blank? And how had she gotten to the bar without knowing she’d even left the CIA underground building? Could it be the shock of losing her father? Or something more sinister?

  She swallowed half the vodka in her glass before glancing at her watch. She’d lost two hours. Her vision blurred, and the world tilted just long enough to roll the gallon of alcohol she must have consumed with the late lunch she’d inhaled on her trip home from Boston. She and DeMarco had grabbed some cardboard tasting food from a convenience store halfway home. She quickly covered her mouth and prayed she wouldn’t puke.

  “I need a word with you.”

  Madison’s head snapped up, startled by the husky voice. She was about to give the intruder a few choice words of her own, but the sight of Tyler in snug faded jeans melted everything else from her mind. It had been a long time since Madison had felt the intense heat of instant chemistry. She knew she shouldn’t act on her desires. The situation was far too complicated. He was the president’s son for starters.

  But it didn’t hurt to look.

  He sat across from her without waiting for an invitation, ordered a beer from the passing bartender while removing his jacket, and shoved it in the booth’s corner. His green eyes finally settled on Madison’s face. He compressed his lips into a thin line as if looking at her fueled his anger.

  She held a quick hand up. “Before you say a word I want you to know that my father is not a traitor. I don’t care what it looked like tonight. There’s no way my father would have killed your father in cold blood.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and desperately held her emotions in check. Crying was a game best played alone. “My father was a great man. He served his country through the military, FBI, and the CIA without a thought for his own life. In fact, he personally saved the president two years ago. Why would my father try to kill him now?”

  “Relax. I agree with you.” Tyler’s breath left his mouth in a heavy sigh. “That’s why I’m here talking to you. I believe your father was set up somehow. Blackmailed maybe.”

  Relief flooded Madison’s system and the fight left her spirit limp. She finished her drink, sought the bartender’s gaze, and waved the empty glass around. It nearly slipped from her fingers. She set it down fast. Too fast. The bottom of the glass hit the table hard, making a loud clink, but outside of Tyler no one seemed to notice.

  He reached across the table, covered her hand with his own and added, “Honey, I think maybe you’ve had enough.”

  “I haven’t even begun to drown my problems.”

  The bartender set a freshly opened bottle of beer in front of Tyler. He glared at her before putting another glass of vodka next to her hand, the hand Tyler had captured. His callused thumb caressed the back of her hand, causing a shiver of awareness that tingled from her fingers to her toes.

  Madison snatched her hand away, removing it from the table completely. It was safer in her lap. Men like Tyler Law should come with a warning label: too sexy for a girl’s peace of mind.

  “You’ve heard the rumors about me, haven’t you?” she asked.

  “Rumors?”

  “Regardless of what they’re saying, sleeping with me is not an initiation into the ranks of the Secret Service.” She concentrated on each word, desperately trying not to slur them together and prove him right. “DeMarco and I had a semi-serious relationship.
We enjoyed a secret affair that ended about two years ago, around the same time I joined the service. It didn’t work out. No big deal.”

  There was more to it than that, but it wasn’t any of Tyler’s business. She wasn’t going to go over everything that had transpired between Marc and her.

  Tyler shrugged. “Everybody has a past, and I don’t listen to rumors. I like to base my opinions of people on what I see, not what others tell me.”

  She went down to the next name on her list, ignoring his protest.

  “After DeMarco and I broke up, I was feeling a little insecure about my femininity. Doing what I do for a living attracts a lot of nasty comments. People seem to think a woman can’t be hard and in control on the job, be tough, carry a gun and still be soft when the situation merits it.” She shrugged carelessly. “I guess I was kind of doubting my ability to capture a man’s attention and hold it for more than five minutes. So I got drunk one night, very drunk, and I went to bed with Chavez.”

  “Chavez?” Tyler made a face, sending her into a fit of giggles.

  “I told you I was drunk,” she said between bumps of laughter. “It only happened once and I’ve regretted it every moment since. Makes for a difficult work situation. Chavez and I can barely look at each other now.”

  “What about Walker?”

  So he had heard the rumors?

  She laughed harder. Her stomach hurt, and tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t stop.

  He finally asked, “What’s so damn funny? Did you sleep with Walker or not?”

  If Madison didn’t know better, she would think he was jealous. The mere thought of Tyler wanting her killed the laughter.

  “Not,” she said. “Walker is the last guy I would ever climb into bed with. After he found out about my one-night with Chavez, he started coming on strong. I turned him down, of course. Several times.”