Cloud Dust: RD-1

by Connie Suttle

  "I have news," General Safer walked up to our table. We'd met in a private corner of the cafeteria, but still visible to anyone who came inside. I recognized him, even before I'd been informed that he was currently in charge of the Program.

  When the President replaced General Edwards, Safer would go back to his former position of second-in-command. Meanwhile, he had news. All of us at the table quieted, waiting to hear what it was.

  "The President just named a new Secretary of Defense, who will be placed in charge of the Program."

  "Who?" Carol White, Kevin Harvey's handler, asked.

  "General Paul Cutter," Safer deadpanned.

  * * *

  Corinne

  "One last thing," Dr. Shaw said before draining his coffee cup. I'd gotten up and made coffee for both of us in my kitchen, while we talked. I liked having our session there, instead of going to Dr. Shaw's office downstairs.

  "There's a last thing?" I asked.

  "The President named a new Secretary of State."

  "It's Cutter, isn't it?" I mumbled, staring at my fuzzy slippers.

  "It's Cutter. I'm surprised you know about him."

  "You can't turn on the television and not know," I muttered. "He's a nightmare. Please tell me he won't be in charge of the Program."

  "I can't tell you that."

  "Dr. Shaw, the virus has been introduced. Be ready for the consequences," I said.

  "What do you mean? He's charged with preserving national security."

  "In his mind, that has nothing whatsoever to do with what we are," I snapped.

  * * *

  "Corinne?" August walked in after barely tapping on the door outside the kitchen. He and Ilya/Rafe found Shaw and me at the kitchen island, having our debate about General Cutter, asshole extraordinaire. Cutter was army, so Shaw was doing his best to defend him.

  I wasn't buying the load of excrement the good doctor thought to sell.

  "Corinne, I wanted to introduce—properly—Rafe Black, the newest addition to the Program," August announced.

  "Any more coffee?" Rafe asked immediately.

  "Look, I figure you got enough in the cafeteria, but if you think it's necessary to break the ice, then sure, we have coffee. Caf? Decaf? I don't have anything that went through an animal first, so if that's what you want, you're on your own."

  "There's something you should know," August nodded toward a barstool, silently telling Rafe to sit. "Corinne, here, writes the Sarah Fox mysteries. If you don't behave, she'll kill you at least twice in her next book."

  "How did you escape your handler?" I ignored August and pointed my question directly at Rafe.

  "Why do you want to know?" he asked, his voice cool, his face expressionless. That probably came in handy in the spy business when dealing with difficult people. I figured all the women in the Mansion were already signing up for nights with Rafe. He was attractive in a rough sort of way—tall, with dark hair, darker eyes and an air of command about him.

  "Looking for pointers," I replied, setting a cup of full-caf in front of the former Soviet spy. "Want cream and/or sugar?"

  "Neither. I don't intend to drink much," he shrugged.

  "I thought so."

  "Tell me," he said, "what do you think of the Five? Does it irritate you that they call themselves the Five instead of the Six?"

  "Really?" I huffed. "Why would I want to be associated with that bunch of prejudiced jerks? Why do you want to know? Have they excluded you already, too?"

  "Corinne," August warned. "Shaw and I are here, remember, and others may be listening."

  "Really?" I said again. "Like I don't know already that every moment of every day is under microscopic scrutiny?"

  "I," Rafe cleared his throat, "just wanted to drop by and apologize, for earlier and for later."

  "Later what?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

  "For when I knock you to the floor on multiple occasions during your lessons."

  "Oh, for cripes' sake," I tossed up a hand and slid off my barstool. "Auggie, did you hear that? He's going to kill me. Look, why can't we not do this, and just say we did?"

  "Auggie?" Shaw seemed interested, suddenly.

  "We're not buying monogrammed towels," I snapped at Shaw. "If I call him Auggie, it's because he deserves to be irritated."

  "You really write the Sarah Fox mysteries?" Rafe asked.

  "What? That was five minutes ago. Are you slow or something?" I asked, shaking my head at him.

  * * *

  Ilya

  Truthfully, I expected someone who'd hide in a corner the moment I reappeared. I certainly didn't expect what I found. After speaking with her for only a few minutes, I learned she was just as adept at assessing others as I was. I found it disconcerting, too, that she could read me just as easily.

  "Is this talent you have for reading people part of your writing ability?" I asked. Yes, I'd read Sarah Fox's novels. All of them. I wasn't going to divulge that information. Let her think I disapproved of her talent. That would keep her unbalanced and easier to unsettle. Vulnerable people could be manipulated.

  "You're not a spy, here," she pointed out. For the first time, I blinked first. "Auggie, did you show him any pictures of the guy who killed the Russian Ambassador?"

  I turned quickly in Colonel Hunter's direction. I hadn't gotten that news. "He's dead?" I asked.

  "Here." Colonel Hunter drew out his cell and scrolled through photographs before settling on one. "This one killed the Ambassador. Know who he is?"

  * * *

  Corinne

  He knew. I know he knew. He shook his head anyway. August pocketed his cell with a sigh. "Just wanted to check," he said. "Thanks."

  "No trouble," Rafe replied. Yes, he could lie with the best of them. I wasn't fooled for a minute. "Is he dead, too? The one in the photograph?"

  "Yeah."

  "Too bad you didn't get information from him, first."

  "What makes you think we didn't?" August asked.

  "He's fishing," I said. "Now he knows for sure."

  "Cori," August warned.

  "Yeah." I slumped in my chair.

  * * *

  Ilya

  I was beginning to see already what it had taken them more than five years to find—Corinne Watson was dangerous. I'd perfected the craft of reading people and situations after years of practice. She had it naturally. To me, that meant it could be the least of her talents. That concerned me. Did they not see that she was concealing what she was?

  While I considered keeping my mystery to myself, I began to worry that I might not unravel hers and I really wanted to solve that riddle.

  "When do you have breakfast—or coffee?" I asked her.

  "Usually around seven-thirty," she replied. I cut her off before she could ask what my schedule was. "I'll see you then," I said. "We'll avoid future surprises that way."

  "Wait," she said as I waved and walked toward the door. Colonel Hunter watched me go, a deep frown on his face.

  * * *

  Corinne

  The asshole didn't even wait for me to tell him that I wanted quiet time for myself in the mornings, to consider what I wanted to write during the day. He intended to interrupt. Likely, he knew it would unsettle me—that was his game plan, after all.

  Ilya Kuznetsov, I thought at him, you're a real jerk.

  * * *

  Ilya

  I heard her—as plainly as if I'd been standing next to her, and began my mental list of what it was, exactly, that Corinne Watson was capable of doing.

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  I'd only known Rafe for a few hours and disliked him already. His handler, too, was an unknown to me. It made me wonder if General Cutter was making his presence known already.

  "James, get me everything you can find on Dalton Parrish," I said the moment I walked into my office.

  "Right away, sir."

  Fifteen minutes later, James was back and setting a flash drive on my desk.
r />   "Tell me," I said, fingering the tiny file.

  "Worked as General Cutter's assistant in the past," James reported.

  "Corinne was right," I muttered. "The virus has been introduced."

  "Corinne is starting to scare me," James said.

  "That makes two of us."

  * * *

  "We can't barge into the President's office and tell her she made a mistake," Shaw said.

  We'd chosen a familiar haunt away from the Mansion to have our discussion—a small, nearby park devoid of bugs and listening devices. Thankfully, the Hound was still at the Mansion, or he might have heard what we said.

  "Look, we both know Cutter was one of her picks for the Vice President's position when he ran for the presidency—as a conciliatory move after she won the nod at the primaries. The polls showed Flint was a better fit, so Cutter backed out. He's been kissing presidential ass for a while," I shook my head. "He's been retired from the military for eight years, in case he got the nod for Secretary of Defense. He was just waiting for this to come along so he could continue to rub us the wrong way."

  "How long did Parrish act as his assistant?"

  "Four years. The information I have says he's in Cutter's pocket, all the way, although he's been working in other departments for the military."

  "Captain Dalton Parrish, here to spy on everything," Shaw sighed. "Everything will go right back to Cutter."

  "What has the President told him already?" I snorted. "We'll be lucky if we're not shipped to Alaska."

  "Or shoved onto a submarine," Shaw agreed. "I hate those things."

  "What about the President's upcoming conference at Camp David?" I said. "She'll want Maye and Nick there, for sure."

  "I hear she may take all of them," Shaw said.

  "If that's the case, she'll ask for Corinne, too. And the Russian."

  "I hate Camp David," Shaw muttered.

  * * *

  "We have information."

  "What information?" Dmitri lifted an eyebrow. He was acting as the Soviet Ambassador until someone else was appointed.

  "Just a conversation," the informant shrugged. "But the Russian was mentioned. I believe you know what that could mean."

  "I'll make contact immediately," Dmitri said and nodded his dismissal.

  * * *

  Corinne

  "You won't be smiling if I lose my coffee all over you," I said.

  Rafe/Ilya was still grinning (the bastard) as he stared down at me. I was flat on my back, with his arm pressed against my throat. At least I wasn't gasping for breath, and I would have been if he'd pushed harder.

  "You think I haven't gotten worse than that?" he said before leaning back and letting me up.

  "I hope it was unpleasant every time," I said, struggling to rise. He didn't offer a hand.

  Just as I'd feared, all five of the Five had shown up to watch my beating. I had no physical defense against this man. He knew it. They knew it. I knew it. "I'll bet you beat up kittens in your spare time," I rubbed my left hip—I'd landed on it after the last attack.

  "I like cats," he responded, stepping back.

  "That doesn't mean I'll like you any better," I snapped, "just because we both like cats."

  "I expect you to go through those exercises we did earlier every morning. I don't care how sore you are," he said. "We're done today."

  "Thank God," I muttered and walked stiffly toward the door.

  "God had nothing to do with it. You should thank me," he said. I heard the Five laughing as I left the gym.

  * * *

  "I can't walk. That's how my lessons went," I said. Dr. Shaw arrived shortly after I got out of the shower, just to see how my beating had gone.

  "We need to discuss the list," he said, taking a seat at my kitchen island and nodding when I offered coffee.

  "You know how I feel about that," I said. Moving my arms felt like moving lead weights as I dropped a coffee pod into the brewer and hit the button. I figured I wouldn't be able to move anything later in the day, but didn't point that out to Dr. Shaw. I'd take ibuprofen and hope to get through it.

  "Corinne, we know sex can relieve stress, as well as offering other benefits. You've ignored this as long as you've been in the Program. I think it's time you did something about it."

  "Who's asking now?" I huffed, handing the fresh cup of coffee to him. I noticed my hand wasn't particularly steady as I did so.

  "Dalton Parrish has added his name to the list. You know just about any male with breath in his body here at the Mansion is on that list."

  "I don't want Dalton Parrish. That should be clear enough. If I don't take any of them, then none of them can be offended. Right?" I stuffed another pod into the brewer and shoved a thumb against the button.

  "Corinne, if somebody you do want isn't on that list, you can add your name to their list," he said.

  "Nope. Not going there, either." I figured part of Becker's animosity toward me had to do with the fact that I'd ignored his name, just like all the others. The sad truth? We were only allowed to get close to somebody associated with the Program. If we wanted somebody from outside, that was considered a security breach. Dr. Shaw saw the need for intimate contact among the survivors of Cloud Dust, and had no trouble hooking the others up.

  I was the one who balked.

  I had my reasons.

  "Dr. Shaw," I said, "I want to go to bed with somebody who cares about me, and not some warm-blooded dildo. We've had this discussion before. I hope we don't have it again."

  Chapter 5

  Corinne

  The first meeting with all seven of us present came three days later. General Safer arrived to deliver the news.

  "The President's meeting at Camp David is next week. All of you will go. Your handlers will advise you of your assignments before then."

  "I hope my assignment is writing in my bungalow," I sighed.

  "Cori," August warned.

  "Yeah."

  * * *

  "You will run with the rest of them, instead of on that pathetic treadmill," August informed me as we walked toward my suite after the meeting.

  "That's outside," I said.

  "Along the perimeter of the wall. They run at least five. I'm willing to let you do the usual three," he said.

  "There are insects out there," I complained.

  "And fresh air."

  "In this town? Seriously?"

  "You don't get enough sunlight. Dr. Shaw commented on it recently."

  "I'm sure he did." At that moment, I was hoping he hadn't discussed my sex life—or lack of same—with August. "I can build a sunroom onto my suite," I suggested.

  "It's spring," August pointed out, ignoring me. "The air is warmer. Get new running clothes if you need them; you've only ordered groceries since you got here."

  "You know I'll need them," I grumped. I ran in old sweats. Totally unattractive ones, too.

  "Get them ordered today. And ask Ginny to order a suitable wardrobe for next week."

  "I'm not wearing dresses."

  "You will if you have dinners with the President."

  "Please say I won't have dinners with the President."

  "Dr. Shaw says you refused Dalton Parrish. You know we could use information," August began.

  I slapped a hand over my eyes. Shaw did discuss my sex life with Auggie. "I'm not prostituting myself for anyone," I hissed. "Get the hell away from me." I ran toward my door, leaving Colonel August Hunter stewing behind me.

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  "I told you not to say anything," Shaw said, slapping the saltshaker onto the cafeteria table.

  "We have an opportunity to find out what that asshole knows, and she balks," I stuttered.

  "He put his name on Maye's list, too. Maybe Cutter wants the same thing."

  "Good luck on getting anything from either one of them," I said. "What did Maye say?"

  "That she'd break his neck before she'd have sex with him."

&
nbsp; "I tend to believe her when she says that," I agreed. "Anything new on the Russian?"

  "Nothing unusual. We talked about his time in prison. He had an easier time of it than some of the others—privileges and such. Still wasn't getting medical care, though. They wanted him dead."

  "Tough bastard."

  "No doubt. The Five showed up for the first three Krav Maga lessons with Corinne. That's been whittled down to two."

  "The bullies?"

  "Of course."

  "You think they'll lose interest? Corinne has bruises everywhere. She won't even look at Rafe when they're not sparring."

  "Is he still showing up for breakfast?"

  "As far as I know. Dalton said she wasn't talking then, either."

  * * *

  Corinne

  I sat at the kitchen island, preparing to eat a quick bowl of chicken noodle soup for lunch while I considered the prospect of having my future breakfasts in the cafeteria. He walked in. I hadn't spoken to him in days.

  "I wanted lunch," he said, taking the seat next to mine and pulling my bowl of soup toward him.

  "Oh, dear God," I sighed and dropped my head on the island. I listened, my eyes shut, while I heard sounds of a spoon clinking against the bowl and slurping noises. I waited until he was finished before rising from my seat and elbowing him in the ribs.

  He'd taught me the move—I just hadn't used it until then.

  While he got his breath back, I made myself another bowl of soup.

  "You're still here?" I asked as I set the bowl on the island and took my seat.

  "Thinking about taking that bowl, too."

  "You think so?"

  "I could."

  "I know." I allowed my shoulders to sag.

  "I won't take your lunch. Eat," he nodded toward my bowl. "I'll find crackers for you." He rose and shuffled toward the cabinets. In a few seconds, I had a sleeve of crackers and a glass of orange juice in front of me.

  "You're going to run with the rest of us tomorrow morning. At six."

  "Six is too early," I moaned, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.

  "If you didn't stay up until two working on that goddamn computer, you'd get up earlier."

  "It's easier to write then," I said, opening my eyes and staring into his. They were quite dark. I'll bet you're responsible for quite a lot of panty moisture throughout the Mansion, I thought at him. He chose that moment to turn his head away.