"I like the dark gray and the navy pinstripe," I said after Rafe slipped into several suit coats.
"We'll get both," James said.
"We have to hurry," I said. "They're getting closer. We may have time to run through the dress department, but that's it."
"Who?" Rafe turned to me, then.
"I don't know. I just feel them coming closer."
"To the dress department, then." James led the way downstairs, where the women's clothing was.
I felt as if I were suffocating as I lifted skirts, blouses and jackets off racks and raced toward the checkout. James paid and we headed toward the mall entrance.
"In here," I grabbed Rafe and James' hands and led them into a tiny shop not far away that sold women's lingerie. Pulling them behind a large display sign hanging in a window, we watched as three men walked past. They looked as if they were ready for a golf outing. Two of the three appeared to be identical twins. I released a shaky breath.
Right behind them came some of those who were guarding us. They knew, just as I did, that these three were looking for us. "Go," I hissed. We took off, moving as quickly as we could out of the store without being obvious. Two of our discreet guards caught up with us near the entrance to the parking garage, and they stayed with us until we were safely inside the car.
The driver took off without a word, the screech of the vehicle's tires scraping against my nerves as he drove us away from customer parking. James received a call on his cell halfway back to the Mansion; August was on the line. James put the call on speaker. "We have one of them in custody," August said. "The other two are dead."
"Who?" Rafe asked.
"We have no information, and we're having trouble with identification at the moment," August replied. "Did you get a look at them? Recognize anyone?"
"No, but that's no surprise," Rafe responded. "If I'm the target, they wouldn't want me to recognize a potential shooter. Two of them were twins; I could see that clearly."
"What about you, Cori? Did you see any of them? Know anything about them?"
"One wanted me. The twins wanted Rafe," I said.
"Are you holding up?" August asked—he'd noticed the quaver in my voice.
"I didn't collapse on the floor, but it may be because Rafe and James were holding me up."
"I can have Dr. Shaw waiting for you," August offered.
"No, Auggie. I'll get through this, I think."
* * *
Shopping bags were dumped inside Auggie's office as we walked in. He already had photographs spread across his desk. I lifted one of them—it was of two bodies, both shot from close range. The twins were obviously dead.
"These two were after Rafe," I repeated, handing the photograph to a frowning August. "The other one was definitely after me."
"What can you tell me about him?" He handed a photograph of the third man to me.
"Auggie, his mind is a mess," I said. "I'm not getting much at all from him. It's like he had orders, and that's all he could remember."
Chapter 9
Notes—Colonel Hunter
James and Rafe took Corinne back to her suite while I examined the photographs again. I had information from our team, too, concerning the shootings. They'd occurred in a maintenance area between the department store and a nearby hotel; the two dead men got off several rounds before ours took them down.
Getting the third man was a fluke—he'd stumbled and lost his footing. It was easy to take him after that. The incident was handled discreetly, with locals guarding the area until vans arrived to remove the prisoner and the bodies.
Forensics was working on the bodies while the prisoner sat in an interrogation room. I hoped he wouldn't end up like the pilot—dead in an apparent suicide. What I'd discussed two hours earlier with the President and General Safer was that I was being followed, too, so my wife had been sent out of town to visit her mother.
Most of us scheduled to ride in that helicopter were targeted. What we didn't know was why. I suspected the Russians were after Rafe, but how had they learned of his existence, or what he even looked like now?
Corinne? How could anyone know about Corinne? She was only now showing her talents, after all. It led me to believe that information was leaking from the Mansion, but how, and through whom?
"Colonel?" James was back.
"James?"
"I want to do anything I can to find out who's doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Releasing information on Cori and Rafe."
"Add me to that list," I said. "They're following me, too."
"What about Dalton? He was supposed to be on that chopper."
"No idea," I shrugged. "But it bears a closer look."
* * *
Corinne
"I was hoping we'd have time to do lunch while we were out," Rafe said, opening the fridge and searching for the package of sliced roast beef.
"Lunch out may not be on the itinerary anytime soon," I said.
"Want a sandwich?" he asked, setting the roast beef, mayonnaise and a tomato on the island.
"Maybe half a sandwich. More than that might make me sick. I feel queasy."
"Then I'll make half a sandwich for you."
Ilya, I thought at him, we have to start paying attention to the ones who refuse to show me their face.
"Want lettuce, too?"
"Yeah."
* * *
Ilya
Things were quiet around the Mansion for the rest of the day and into the following morning, when Nick and Maye, who were scheduled to go with the new Vice President to the former Vice President's funeral, went out to buy clothing.
Nick was hit in the arm with a bullet, while Maye barely escaped injury. We had a meeting Sunday night, after Nick was released by the medical unit upstairs. Corinne's and my shared kitchen was the venue of choice.
"It appears that the entire Program is targeted, and not just parts of it," General Safer announced. I wondered that he was here instead of Cutter for this meeting, but didn't comment. It was on my list of things to inquire discreetly about, however.
Cutter was furious that the President hadn't moved him into the VP's slot, and I imagined that we had Corinne to thank for that. Cutter would have been a huge mistake in that position, and would likely hurt Amelia Sanders' bid for reelection the following year. I didn't want to speculate on what might happen if the President was killed or incapacitated with Cutter in the Vice President's position. That could become extremely dangerous.
I wasn't about to ask Dalton about any of this—he attended the meeting reluctantly and sat at the table next to Kevin, with little expression on his face as he listened to Safer with the rest of us.
I figured that Corinne would let August know if anyone in our kitchen was involved in the leak of information, so I wasn't overly concerned at the moment. The other thing I surmised was that all cameras and listening devices in the kitchen had been blocked or deactivated temporarily, so the meeting was as private as any meeting inside the Mansion could be.
"Both our attackers are dead," Maye said. "Is there anything new on their identification?"
"We have nothing so far, and that concerns me," Safer acknowledged. "How can five unidentifiable gunmen show up so quickly? They carried no ID, no credit cards or anything else that might help, and their fingerprints aren't in any database."
"Has the one in custody talked, yet?" Nick asked.
"No. Hasn't spoken a word, as far as I know. Wrote a note, asking for an attorney."
"So he's taking the fifth to the extreme?" August asked.
"Looks that way."
"Did you take his belt away?" Corinne asked.
James snorted at Corinne's question.
"Yes. He no longer has anything left to hang himself, unless he gets creative with his clothing."
"Are we still set to attend the funeral next week with the President and Vice President?"
"Yes," Safer confirmed. "I don't believe I need to tell you how vit
al it is that both come away safely."
"You don't have to tell me that," Maye huffed. "Will there be plenty of protection surrounding the chapel?"
"We've increased it as of today," Safer said. "Every man checked out beforehand, and Secret Service is guarding all doors."
"You don't think it's only the Program being targeted, do you?" August observed.
"Not after the Vice President's assassination, no," Safer said. "We had no rumblings on that one. We've been digging deeper and listening more carefully since then."
That meant the NSA and every other agency was on high alert. So far, the Vice President had been assassinated, the British Prime Minister and the U.S. Secretary of State targeted, and possibly other officials in foreign countries. That's what the meeting at Camp David was about—potential terrorist attacks in multiple countries.
"What about the G-8?" I asked. "Are all those countries potential targets?"
"We're looking into that, and other agencies are busy with all the information that's been supplied so far. That's not our concern. Our concern is keeping the Program safe, and then keeping the President, Vice President and other highly-placed officials safe."
"What will you do if the Program is exposed?" Nick asked.
"Likely move it; send it underground and let it sit dormant for a while, to throw off conspiracy theorists," Safer said. "We don't need that. Now, we may have a leak already; that's what concerns the President and me. If you see any unusual activity, or if anyone asks questions better left unanswered, let August know. He'll contact me, and we'll make sure the President gets the information."
"Since when did Hunter get to take point?" Gene Little, Becker's handler, demanded.
"Since he's been more useful than you ever were," Safer snapped. "He does investigative research and stays in contact with me and the White House continually, while you twiddle your thumbs and watch Becker play basketball. It's your job to listen and take orders, just as Colonel Hunter is expected to do."
The division in the ranks is widening, I heard Corinne's voice plainly in my mind.
She was right, and likely knew it wasn't a good thing. Since I had no knowledge of Safer's previous interactions with the Five, I didn't know if Becker's handler had gotten dressed down before. I'd have to investigate that, in addition to the other things on my list.
Corinne sat next to Colonel Hunter, while I'd taken a position against the wall near the door. I wanted to watch all of them. Study them. I was in danger, just as they were, but I wondered if we were being targeted as a whole or individually, from different directions. Corinne and I needed a private place to talk; I just wasn't sure where that might be.
* * *
Corinne
I wanted that talk Rafe suggested once—in a safe, non-bugged place. I'd have to go looking for it. He might know things I didn't, and vice-versa. August, too, was on my list of private conversations, and that might be another problem.
Safer had painted a target on Auggie's back, by snapping at Gene. Gene let Becker do whatever he wanted—consequently, Becker would be on Gene's side if Gene wanted somebody pounded or embarrassed.
Auggie, we have to talk, I sent in his direction. He dropped his chin in a half-nod, indicating he'd heard me. Do we have those photographs of Mary Evans? I really want to look at them, I added.
We hadn't gotten anything yet—the agencies who'd taken the photographs were busy tying them up with bureaucratic red tape, to keep them out of anyone else's hands. Maybe the President ought to get in on that. I needed those photographs and soon.
"If there are no other questions?" General Safer asked. He was done and ready to leave.
Nobody raised their hands, so Safer left with three handlers—Vance, Preston and Carol—hot on his heels. They wanted a private word I could tell, and didn't want to talk in front of the rest of us. Gene, a sour expression on his face, pulled Becker out of the room shortly after.
"Cori, I want you and Rafe in my office. Now," August said and headed toward the door. Rafe waited while the others, Dalton included, shuffled out of the kitchen before he shut the door and hauled me toward Auggie's office.
* * *
"We're having trouble getting the photographs you wanted," August said immediately when Rafe and I took seats inside his office. James was outside at his station, making sure we weren't interrupted. "The President may have to cut through this bureaucratic bullshit," he went on. "Nothing I've done has moved those assholes any faster."
August was cursing—that meant he was really pissed. He wanted answers just as I did, and neither of us were having any luck. He couldn't come out and tell them why he wanted the information, so his requests were going through channels. It also told me that Cutter hadn't asked for the information on Auggie's behalf—his requests wouldn't have met with brick walls.
"You may be wondering why I haven't involved the Program Director in these requests," August said, echoing my thoughts. "I have an answer. Corinne, I feel you need this information, although it may upset you."
"What information?" Rafe asked.
"It's on this flash drive," he pulled a small drive from a locked drawer and slipped it into his computer. "This is a recorded phone conversation from a few days ago."
Rafe and I listened—it wasn't difficult to determine that the conversation was between Dalton and General Cutter. I thought Rafe might explode when Cutter called me a witch. He wasn't talking in generalities, either. He meant a bona-fide, spell-weaving broom-rider. In his few, ultra-conservative brain cells, that meant one thing.
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. When he actually said those words to Dalton during their conversation, I drew a shaky breath.
It mattered not that the King James Version of the Bible was written after the Inquisition was in full swing, or that the term witch was misinterpreted and may have meant a poisoner of either sex. For those like Cutter, the Bible was God's word, spoken directly into King James' printed verses.
"I've already discussed this with the President," August said.
It didn't matter; I was shaking anyway. Cutter wanted me dead. Was that why he hadn't shown his face to me—afraid I might be able to tell?
Fucker.
"Corinne, the President is removing Dalton as Rafe's handler. I'm taking over for him until another handler can be found, if it proves necessary. I figure Safer is handing him his walking papers now. We don't need a handler spying on somebody else's ward with the intention to harm, and we certainly don't need a Program Director who wants a member of the Program dead."
"What does the President intend to do?" Rafe asked, a chill in his voice.
"Cutter will be asked—discreetly of course—to step aside and retire permanently."
"When will that happen?"
"Next week, after the funeral. We don't need more than one thing at a time cluttering up the media."
"Who's in line to take his place?" I asked. While the word witch and the threat that followed sent a chill through me, the fact that Cutter would be asked to step aside sent a bigger chill down my spine. This wasn't a man who'd happily accept a request to step aside and retire. Trouble would come of it—I just wasn't sure what form it would take. Cutter was more than dangerous—to all of us.
"I don't have an answer," August replied. "I think the President intends to be much more careful choosing the next Director. She wanted to throw Cutter a bone, since he has so much support throughout the country."
"And perhaps turn Cutter aside from running against her in the next election?" Rafe asked.
"It has happened before," August agreed. "If he'd stopped at naming him Secretary of Defense, then we wouldn't be having this conversation. Since Hugh, his predecessor, was also Director of the Program, the President thought it made sense. It didn't, and most people involved in the Program understood that. We need someone a little more open-minded than Paul Cutter."
"Auggie, you know there'll be trouble to come of this," I said.
"I'm afraid of
that, too, but we can't let him keep the job. Not with that attitude. The President was really pissed when she heard this conversation, and it took place right after the two of you saved the Prime Minister and the Secretary of State. Dalton contacted Cutter to spill everything he knew about that rescue, and Cutter responded to your act of heroism by calling you an offensive name and making implied threats."
"He's not getting a Christmas card," I muttered. "I think Dalton was only following orders," I added.
"Dalton took an oath when he came aboard, to protect the Program and all involved. He didn't do that. He knew what Cutter's response would be. He'll be reassigned, so stop worrying about his sorry ass." August shook his head at me, as if he couldn't believe I'd stoop to defend Dalton Parrish.
"I think he meant well; he just got caught up with the wrong person," I said.
"Corinne, stop giving that bastard any sympathy," Rafe muttered.
"There's something else," August said.
"What?"
"I'm leaving the bugs and cameras inside your suite—including the kitchen—turned off, Cori. They'll be active outside your windows and the outside door, but you'll have privacy inside your suite. I know that having no privacy bothers you, so the President ordered it done. From now on, you'll have to contact James through traditional means to tell him the cookies are ready."
"Are you kidding?" I stared at August in disbelief.
"Not kidding. The President appreciates what you've done for the country, and this is her way of rewarding you."
"Then please tell her thank you for me," I whispered.
* * *
I felt numb as Rafe and I walked out of Auggie's office. No bugs inside my suite? I didn't know how to react. That meant, perhaps, that Rafe and I could have a private conversation.
First, though, I needed a drink.
"Want wine or the hard stuff?" I asked the moment we walked inside our kitchen and shut the door.
"Scotch?" he lifted an eyebrow.
"I have some Macallan here somewhere," I said, scooting my step stool toward the fridge. I always kept the good stuff in the cabinet over the refrigerator. "Here." I handed the bottle down to him. "Twenty-five year. I love Macallan. It's hard to find Macallan Amber, though. I like it, too."
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