Cloud Dust: RD-1

by Connie Suttle

  * * *

  Corinne

  The fifth explosion at the castle was all over the news, but there were only two casualties—Alynne and her supervisor. Our presence in the same building was carefully edited from any newsfeeds, via instructions from London.

  Somehow, the bomb had been strategically planted in the lining of Alynne's purse to take care of her if she were caught and questioned. The information we had was quickly transferred to London and then to the U.S., while the source of the bomb was identified. Alynne, who was mostly innocent, would take the blame for everything. That news was already splashed across televisions worldwide.

  Copies of the business card was passed to other departments for further study while we piled into Rafe's latest safe house. It only had two bedrooms, so that could pose a problem.

  Yes, I was shaky. I hated that, but we'd had too close a call. Neither person in that office knew of the bomb, leaving me mostly blind to its presence. Rafe felt uneasy eventually, just as I did, so he acted quickly, shoving us out the door and onto the stone courtyard, where we were knocked flat from the blast behind us.

  "Cabbage, your nose is bloody and there are bruises everywhere," Rafe pointed out when we walked wearily into the safe house.

  "You didn't come out of it unscathed," I pointed out. "Nobody did."

  "Look, there are two bathrooms; who wants to go first? First-aid kits are in both," Rafe said.

  "James, why don't you go?" I said, offering one of the bathrooms. James had a nasty cut on his chin and his shirt was hanging in shreds from his right arm. "I can help with the cuts after you clean up if you want."

  "I'll take the help," he nodded.

  "Auggie, take the other one. You don't look so good," I said, nodding to him. "I still think you ought to have that cut on your arm sutured."

  "I'll find bandages," Leo offered. Of all of us, he'd been in the front and gotten the least of the blast. "Corinne, I'll take care of James after he showers; I'm worried about his wrist. Meanwhile, you and Rafe should let me know if anything needs attention."

  "I'm okay, I think," I replied. "Just shaky as usual. Rafe?" I turned to him, then.

  "I'm as well off as you—probably better," he said. "I just want a shower soon, that's all."

  * * *

  Ilya

  I'd landed atop Corinne, so she'd hit her head on the courtyard stones. That's where the bloody nose had come from. I'd shielded our backs, therefore it was our fronts that received the damage.

  "Cabbage, come into the kitchen; I'll clean your face," I offered.

  "Well, since you can see it and I can't," she shrugged.

  "Let me know if you need help," Dr. Shaw said as I led Corinne toward the small kitchen sink.

  "Now," I said, pulling a clean kitchen towel from a drawer and turning on the taps. "Let's see how bad this nose is."

  "I can't feel it," she said. "I'm too scared, I think."

  "Then I'll make an assessment and determine whether Dr. Shaw should take a look. You may not feel the full extent of your injuries until later, anyway." Placing my hands beneath her arms, I set her on the kitchen counter. When the water was warm enough, I wet the towel and began cleaning her face.

  "It's still bleeding," I said, wiping fresh blood away from her nose. "Here," I pulled a paper towel from the nearby roll and handed it to her. "Apply pressure while I clean the rest of this."

  "Okay, boss."

  "Yes," I nodded at her statement. "I am the boss right now. If you hurt anywhere, I expect you to tell me."

  "Do I get to be the boss when I clean you up?"

  "You can be as bossy as you like. Whether I listen or not is another thing."

  "Typical."

  "If typical involves my anger and concern after my cabbage is hurt, then yes, I am typical."

  "I feel the same way, you know," she pointed out. "I want to slap somebody down for what they did to you, James and the others."

  "Then I appreciate your concern and anger on my behalf," I said. "There is a terrible bruise on your forehead. I thought it might be mostly dirt. It is mostly bruise, instead."

  "I don't really feel it," she shook her head at me.

  "Hold still, my darling. Let me clean the rest of this. Then we'll let Dr. Shaw have a look."

  I wasn't expecting what happened next—her eyes filled with tears. "What is wrong? Did I hurt you?" I asked, pulling the cloth away.

  "Oh, God, Ilya, where have you been all this time?" She wrapped her arms around my neck and sobbed.

  * * *

  Corinne

  Why can one gentle word of endearment make you fall apart? "I'm so sorry," I sniffled and attempted to pull away.

  "No," he said, running a hand down my back in a soothing caress. "Don't be sorry. We've had too many brushes with death lately. Your reaction is understandable."

  "This is such a horrible mess." I leaned away successfully, then. "Come on, let's look at you, now. Any particular place to start?"

  His left elbow was bruised where he'd landed on the stone courtyard, and ought to be X-rayed. I didn't say that as I cleaned dirt and grit away from his skin. Both of us looked as if we'd been tossed off a moving motorcycle, front-first.

  "The President is shutting down this operation for now," August walked into the kitchen holding up his cell phone. "She's calling us back. Nick has disappeared."

  * * *

  The flight home wasn't comfortable—even cleaned up we looked as if we'd been in a brawl and come out losers. "I'm sorry," I patted Rafe's hand.

  "I will track him eventually. And her, too. I hope they know I'm on their trail," Rafe growled softly.

  "Any idea where Nick is?" August settled onto the seat across the aisle and pointed his question at me.

  "He's hunting Becker," I said.

  "To join him?"

  "To kill him."

  "I thought they were friends."

  "That was before Becker and Gene got Preston, Vance, Carol, Ken and Kevin killed. Every time I saw him after the Mansion bombing, he looked like a pressure cooker about to explode."

  "So he's hunting on his own," August dropped his head against the seat back with a sigh. "This isn't good."

  "He could get himself killed," Rafe said. "Cutter has too many resources at his disposal."

  "Nick knows how to survive in the wild," August sighed. "I have no idea where he'd start looking for Cutter, though. We've received no intel on his whereabouts from the moment he started running."

  "Is the President prepared to call him an outlaw yet?" I asked.

  "I don't know. She wants a meeting when we get back."

  "Auggie," I half rose in my seat. The only thing keeping me from crawling over the seat in front of me was the seatbelt and Rafe's hands. Cutter was watching the carnage; he wanted to see the capitol in Sacramento fall, so he'd arranged for a view nearby. The explosion happened on the lowest level, in the middle of a wedding reception, bringing the dome down on top of two hundred guests.

  I'll watch you die with pleasure, you bastard, I sent to him just before I fainted.

  * * *

  "Cabbage, your nose bled while you were out."

  I woke propped against Rafe's chest, a cold, wet cloth held against my face.

  "Did Auggie get the news?"

  "He did."

  Rafe and I were in the back of the jet, near the bathroom. Rafe had taken the entire row of seats for us, so he could stretch out and hold onto me at the same time.

  "How many?" I asked.

  "Are you sure you want to know? Someone is already taking responsibility—he sent video to the national news organizations."

  "Cutter's paid monkey, no doubt," I said. "Do we have photographs of him?"

  "I believe Colonel Hunter is waiting for Dr. Shaw's approval before he shows you anything."

  "Then his approval can't come soon enough."

  * * *

  "Ted Ryan," Auggie handed his tablet to me so I could watch the video. We drove toward the villa
in the back of a limousine the President sent to pick us up at the air base.

  "He's the one," I agreed, studying Ted Ryan's images. "Paid by Cutter and Cutter's allies to bring down the house, so to speak." I blinked as Ted Ryan, in front of a white wall, proclaimed that the United States belonged to him and his constituents. He'd watched too many terrorist videos, evidently, because he brandished an automatic weapon as he spoke to the camera.

  "Good luck finding me, you fuckers," he said at the end. I got an unedited version of the recording—the news stations bleeped out his profanity.

  "The whole nation is terrified and every statehouse, including the ones supposedly on Ted's list of approved bureaucratic vendors, is covered in security and nobody is going in or out without getting X-rayed and cavity-searched first," Auggie muttered.

  "Do we have photographs of anyone else associated with Mr. Ted Ryan?" I asked.

  "Here." James leaned forward and handed me a second tablet. I stared at three photographs.

  "Yeah. All of these were in on this," I agreed, handing the tablet back to James.

  "After our meeting with the President, we have scheduled appointments with medical personnel at the villa. Just to make sure nothing serious is going on," Auggie held up a hand.

  He didn't mention my fainting, but I knew Leo Shaw wouldn't let that go without doing an MRI and who knew what other tests, just to make sure my head was in one piece.

  "What about Maye?" I asked.

  "She's upset about Nick, evidently. Jeff has been trying to calm her down, but she wants to go after him."

  "Understandable," I said. "I have a question. If Nick were pitted against Becker, who'd win?"

  "Becker is a bull, while Nick is a tiger," Auggie said. "I'd put my money on Nick."

  "Rafe?" He'd been silent, listening to the conversation and watching the video with me. He'd know whether Nick might take Becker.

  "Becker relies on brute strength. Nick uses his head," Rafe replied. "Perhaps you'll tell me later what this is about?"

  "Sure."

  "Good." He pushed a lock of hair behind my right ear and offered a smile.

  * * *

  "Madam President, they're here." We followed the President's aide into the Oval Office.

  "Thank you, Will. That will be all," the President rose to greet us as we trooped in. Will shut the door behind him when he left.

  "Good lord, you look like you've been hit by a truck," Amelia Sanders shook her head and pointed toward seats. We waited for her to sit first, then took our seats with grateful sighs.

  She was right—all of us had facial bruises, scrapes and scratches, while I still nursed a bloody nose. James' wrist was probably broken, but he was toughing it out until he could get an X-ray.

  "If Rafe hadn't protected our backs, we'd be in worse shape," August pointed out.

  "Thank you," the President nodded toward Rafe.

  "We wouldn't have the information we do if it hadn't been for Corinne," he added.

  "We already have someone working on the information you sent on the woman, but so far, all we have is disconnected numbers, an abandoned website and an e-mail address that has been canceled. We're still doing research. Our attention, however, has turned to the disaster in Sacramento."

  "Tell her, Corinne," August nodded to me.

  "Cutter paid Ted Ryan for this," I said. "James has photographs of three others who were involved."

  "Ted Ryan and his militia have been a problem for twenty years," the President leaned back in her chair with a frown. "Long before I took office. His biggest problem with me is that he thinks I should be in a kitchen somewhere, doing dishes and cooking. His is a male-dominated world," she added, "where women have no place in positions of authority. He backed Cutter when Cutter ran against me in the last primary. The FBI keeps track of his movements and his social presence online. He made no secret of the fact that he'd never want a woman in the White House."

  "He's a murdering creep," I said. "And I'm only saying creep because saying what he really is involves the worst profanity I can come up with."

  "I tend to agree," President Sanders said. "What can we do about Nick?" She turned back to Auggie.

  "No idea. Corinne needs medical attention, as do Rafe and James. I'll discuss this problem with Maye and them afterward and get back with you, if that's all right."

  "Absolutely. If you need resources you don't have at the moment, let me know. I'll do what I can."

  "Thank you, Madam President."

  "You're welcome."

  * * *

  Rafe insisted on waiting outside while they did the MRI. I'd never had one done of my entire body, but they were doing one now. I thought Auggie might have a stroke when somebody suggested taking a blood sample.

  That was tabled, and I was glad.

  A mild concussion was the diagnosis afterward, and I was given medication for the cuts, scrapes and pain.

  Rafe's elbow was sprained, so he was outfitted with a sling and told not to use the arm for a few days. I didn't point out that he couldn't do Krav Maga lessons like that.

  James had a hairline fracture on his wrist, so he was the only one who ended up in a cast. I felt sorry for him—it interfered with his typing.

  "I'm not letting you have alcohol for a few days, although we need a drink," Rafe muttered as he followed me into our shared suite.

  "That sucks."

  "What would you like to do instead?"

  "Stay away from mirrors. My whole face is purple."

  "Let us rest and consider what we should do later, eh?"

  "Yeah. I'd like to lie down."

  * * *

  Nick

  I can remember clearly the times Becker and I belittled Corinne. Called her a worthless cunt—or worse. Becker's biggest problem with Corinne was she refused to go to bed with him. I could see why, now.

  Corinne turned out to be better than both of us.

  Her note was still inside the envelope I pulled from my jacket pocket. Also stuffed in the envelope was ten grand in small bills.

  Just in case, her note read. The envelope had been shoved under my door at the villa the morning she left for the UK. Somehow, she suspected what I was thinking.

  The money would allow me to do what was necessary to track Becker and his fucking handler, Gene. I had no qualms about naming Gene the instigator in this mess, but Becker knew better. He knew what giving his blood to enemies of the state might cause.

  I cursed Cutter under my breath. As much as Gene was responsible, Cutter made it all possible.

  They'd taken an oath, goddammit. All of them.

  I'd sat in a booth at a truck stop, having dinner when the capitol in Sacramento fell. Somehow, I knew Cutter was behind it, I just couldn't prove anything to anybody. I was back on the road, now, my backpack hefted over a shoulder as I made my way into North Dakota. Rain pattered on the hood of my jacket as I trudged along soaked back roads.

  Maye said Corinne was capable of transfer. I wasn't sure of that until now.

  Nick, her voice sounded in my mind. If you want Gene and Becker, they're with Cutter. She even gave me a fucking address in Utah. They have guards, she added. Call for backup, unless you want to commit suicide.

  I had no intention of committing suicide. I had friends, and I intended to ask them for help.

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  Corinne and Rafe were still asleep when I received the news. Sometime during the early-morning hours, Ted Ryan and four others involved in the Sacramento bombing had driven off the Ship Canal Bridge in Seattle, killing all inside the white van. Two died when they hit the water 182 feet below the bridge; the other three drowned before a rescue crew could get to them.

  They'd been driving toward Canada. I suspected they had someone waiting somewhere, to get them past the border. Ted Ryan wasn't the brightest of people for sending the video claiming responsibility for the bombing before he left the country, but Cutter had guaranteed safe passage, so
mehow. It made me wonder if Cutter had used Ryan, then cut him loose.

  "James, see if there were cameras on that bridge. I want to know if this accident was no accident," I said.

  "Right away, sir," James called from his desk. "Do you suppose Cutter was attempting to divert attention to someone else?" James asked after a few moments.

  "Possible, but we know better."

  "Because of Corinne," James walked into my office. "If she hadn't given us a heads-up, we might be in the dark on this."

  "True."

  "Here," he handed his tablet to me after tapping for a few seconds. "Camera images of the accident."

  James and I watched as the van suddenly careened across four lanes of traffic at high speed. The vehicle's front wheels ran up and over the railing, with no braking evident. Then, the van teetered on the railing for a few more seconds while two other vehicles pulled over nearby. Before any of the other drivers could reach the van to help, Ted Ryan and his crew toppled over the side and the van dropped into the water below.

  "Karma really is a bitch," James shook his head as we watched the video a second time. The video had been posted by a Seattle news station, and all the national news programs were showing it, along with photographs of the bombed capitol building in Sacramento.

  "Too bad Cutter wasn't in the van with them," James mumbled as numbers of the dead in the Sacramento bombing rose from the estimate given the night before.

  "Let me know when Corinne and Rafe show up in the kitchen for coffee. I want to speak with them," I said, handing the tablet back to James. "Get me a copy of that video, too, and put it in a file."

  "Yes, Colonel."

  * * *

  Corinne

  "We'll have coffee; that ought to wake you up," Ilya kissed my temple.

  "Something needs to wake me up," I sighed. "I'm not sure I can move." All my aches and pains had come to call that morning—my body had stiffened and complained during a restless night.

  "Come along, moving will help," Ilya claimed as he sat up on the edge of the bed.

  "Right."

  Dressing that morning turned into an agonizing chore, as arms refused to accommodate coordinating sleeves. Eventually we wore enough to walk downstairs, which became an uncomfortable trek of uncooperative muscles.