"Early on, when an incorrect dosage was given to a volunteer. It has to be carefully calculated."
"You have the calculations for those in the Program?"
"I do."
"Will you forward them to me?"
"Of course. Those who didn't ingest the drug are sequestered and are being given excuses as to why the bodies of their loved ones must be cremated—I believe the story is that others might be poisoned if the body remains intact."
I cursed at Richard's explanation. "What have they done with the drug survivors?" I asked. I wanted to blame the lies on the FBI, Homeland Security and the CIA, but ultimately, the President had to give permission. She'd left me out of those decisions.
"Three died before transport arrived," Richard answered my question. "I wasn't told where they were taken after that."
"You asked, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Fuck."
"I agree wholeheartedly."
* * *
Corinne
When I woke, Ilya was up and gone already. He'd slipped away after I'd fallen asleep.
Shuffling toward the kitchen, I found Auggie, Rafe, James and Leo having dinner. I'd slept all day, almost. We now had a table, chairs, a portable island and Chinese takeout.
"Beef and broccoli?" I asked.
"Here." Auggie shoved a carton toward me. "Rice," Rafe offered another carton. I took both and loaded a paper plate. Rafe poured a plastic cup of wine for me.
"I hope we get wineglasses soon," I said, spearing a chunk of broccoli with a plastic fork.
"I'd like cutlery that doesn't break," Leo said.
"I agree," I said. "Plastic belongs at picnics. With the ants."
"Every city and town in the country is now prepared to guard their water supply," Auggie offered while I ate. "I'm worried they'll find another way to introduce the drug."
"Nick and Maye?" I asked.
"On their way," Auggie said. "They were having a sparring match when the food arrived, so they went to clean up, first."
"Somebody say food?" Nick walked in.
"There's plenty, help yourself," Leo said.
"Corinne, are you eating my broccoli-beef?" Nick pretended offense.
"I didn't eat all of it," I complained. He shocked the hell out of me by giving me a hug. "Thanks for the early warning," he said before pulling out a chair and filling a plate. "Since I didn't say that before."
"No problem," I shrugged.
"Hey, Corinne," Maye walked in and went straight for the kung pao chicken.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm good. I've lost two katanas in two bombings, but those can be replaced. What do we have to do to catch the creeps responsible for Montana?"
"I need to see their faces," I sighed. "Or have somebody tell me who they are."
"Baikov?" Auggie asked.
"Baikov doesn't know. What Baikov has is possible information on the ultimate jerk behind all the other jerks. The ultimate jerk can tell me who else is paying him to get what they want, or who works for him to make all the evil happen. Mary Evans could have given us something. She probably knew the ultimate jerk's minions were gunning for her the minute she got caught. She decided not to talk anyway."
"You think he'll find somebody else to do what she did for him?"
"Yeah, and that worries me. He and or she likes the ones who don't have an ounce of humanity in them. That's what I've seen in Mary Evans' eyes every time—cold, calculating cruelty."
"If he's so hard to find, how do these people contact him to begin with?" Nick asked.
"I think he contacts them," I said. "With the Internet and the media, it isn't hard to see who might want something. How tough would it be to send someone—say, Mary Evans or somebody like her—to make suggestions?"
"That's frightening," Leo shook his head.
"There's something else you should know," I said.
"What's that?" Auggie asked.
"James, look up Claire Fabre and Jean Caillot," I said. "Their obituaries should show up from six years ago in Paris."
"Yeah," James nodded. He tapped on his tablet for a moment. "Here it is—says they were killed by burglars in their apartment. Says they worked for the Louvre until a few months before their deaths, but they'd quit shortly after the terrorist attack there."
"They were in on it, and got killed for their cooperation," I said. "Probably had a Swiss bank account or something set up, which evaporated the moment they were killed. It doesn't say they were working anywhere since they left the Louvre."
"Corinne, you've been a busy girl, haven't you?" Auggie blinked at me.
"It's amazing what you can do with an alias and free Wi-Fi at the library or at a coffee shop. I've been particularly motivated lately, but my Internet access has been limited."
"Why are you telling us this now?" Maye asked.
"Because I trust everybody here," I said. "Do you remember Ted Ryan?"
"I can't get him and the Sacramento bombing out of my head," Leo replied. "Why?"
"Because he couldn't wait to brag about what he'd done. He wanted the world to know. I think the ones responsible for Montana won't be able to stop themselves from bragging either," I said. "I just worry about what else they might do before they start bragging."
* * *
"Honey, there's something you ought to know," I told Ilya the moment we were alone in our suite.
"What's that?" his arms curled about me and he pulled me close.
"It's about the drug. You know they call the Program Cloud Dust."
"I do. I wondered why."
"Me, too. I think I may have an answer, but it's scary."
"Tell me, then." He led me toward our bed and we settled upon it. "I'm sure you're familiar with reported incidents in 1969 and 1986 in Russia," I began.
* * *
The deaths in Montana may as well have happened on another planet. So many bodies were either unrecognizable or missing. Family members were shown in news reports, holding signs with photographs of loved ones who would never come back to them.
Faked autopsy reports abounded, all orchestrated by the U.S. government. All the victims would be cremated, too—the excuse was that the poison in their bodies could cause problems. Family members would receive an urn with their loved ones' ashes, after the government was done with the investigation.
I felt sick—the television was turned on in our brand-new cafeteria and it was inevitable that I'd see all of it. So much of it was speculation and lies, and at that moment, I wanted to strangle the President plus the heads of the CIA, FBI and Homeland Security.
"Cori?" August asked as I made my way out of the cafeteria without eating.
"Going to the other one. The one without a television in it," I said.
"Rafe?" he asked.
"Sitting in our suite mulling over the price of good Scotch," I lied. "He should be out in a few." Actually, Ilya was in our suite, thinking about the information I'd given him and drawing his own conclusions as to who was involved and what they'd accomplished afterward.
"I'll come with you," Auggie offered. "I don't want to see that shit, either. It's disturbing."
"Yeah."
Rafe leaned in to kiss me when he found Auggie and me morosely silent as we drank coffee in the smaller kitchen.
"I know it's a mess, cabbage," he murmured. "It isn't your fault."
"None of it is," Auggie leaned back and stretched. "You'd have done something about it if you'd had proper information. I understand your reasons now for letting Cutter go as long as you did—he had information we desperately need. We have to find the ones responsible for this and do it soon."
Auggie had no idea he and Rafe were discussing different topics. I didn't enlighten him. "Have you eaten?" Rafe interrupted the conversation while walking the few steps to the fridge and opening the door to study its contents. He shuffled things around, looking for something suitable to eat.
"Didn't feel hungry," I admitted.
"I'll make eggs and toast. Colonel Hunter, do you want anything?"
"I'll have the same," Auggie grunted. "I'm not too hungry, either."
* * *
Madam President's personal cell phone rang, with the First Gentleman's caller ID in the window. "Graye?" she answered the call.
"Oh, I'm not Graye," the electronically enhanced voice said. "But I can deliver the next election to you if you want it."
"Who is this?" President Sanders demanded.
"I can give you the election by handing you those responsible for Montana," the voice went on. "I want something in return."
"What the hell would that be?" Amelia Sanders asked.
"I'll send a photograph. I want both. Alive. I'll call back in two days. I can't guarantee what may happen between now and then. Think about my offer and give an answer in two days, Madam President."
The President stared as a photo arrived on her cell. It was of Corinne and Rafe, taken during the meeting at Camp David.
* * *
Notes—Colonel Hunter
"What do you suppose will happen in the next two days?" I'd never seen the President so distraught. It was understandable—the one Corinne sought was also seeking her. He'd learned of her importance, likely through General Cutter. Rafe, too, was on the agenda, and I figured it was the Russians—Baikov in particular—who wanted him.
"If there's another Montana, the entire country will go crazy," I acknowledged. "What concerns me is that he'll be betraying those responsible for Montana, therefore, there's no guarantee he won't betray you, too."
"There is no good way out of this," the President shook her head. "I'm trading lives for lives if I concede, and potentially more lives if I refuse."
At least she didn't mention her presidency, or the continuation of it in this conversation. Corinne could determine the President's sincerity, but I didn't want to frighten her with this. Not yet, anyway. "Have you attempted to track the call?" I asked.
"Of course. It's untraceable, according to at least three agencies."
"Did anyone record it?"
"Of course not."
"Not good."
"He didn't even say not to try, or not to talk to anyone about the call. What is that supposed to mean?" she flung out a hand and stood to stare out a window at the White House lawn.
"It probably means he's so confident now that he's taunting us with it. He's destroyed two secure locations. Killed the Vice President. Stolen who knows what from some of the most secure places on the planet. Made attempts on many important lives, and would have succeeded, if not for Corinne."
"This means that Cutter received information from Dalton, then passed it along to his backers, who handed it to this murdering thief."
"That is the most likely scenario, yes. Information is often more valuable than gold, and information on Corinne—who wouldn't pay any asking price for that kind of talent?"
"We had it in our backyard for six years and didn't even know it," Madam President's shoulders sagged. "Corinne was wise to hide it, I think."
"The ultimate question, in my opinion, is what Cutter's backers want, other than a desk in the Oval Office. Why go to the trouble of killing an entire town, when there are other ways to get what they want?"
"Perhaps it's a way of exposing the Program."
"By using it against the people? They just killed twenty times what we have, and none of those volunteered. Besides, it was your predecessor who created the Program, and then insisted that it continue, even when so many," I stopped. "He's in this, too. I'll bet money on it."
"He appointed you to the Program," the President pointed out.
"I'm not naïve," I said. "He appointed me because he was pissed at the Joint Chiefs, since the Joint Chiefs never liked me. Not even for a minute. You see he assigned me to what he considered the most worthless of the survivors."
"Does he know that's changed?" She turned and lifted an eyebrow.
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "If he and Cutter had regular conversations, then it's likely. If that didn't happen, he may be out of the loop unless he's connected to Cutter's backers. If he's connected to Cutter's backers, then he's in this just as much as they are."
"If he's one of Cutter's backers, that's a problem," Madam President sighed. "You know how they all feel about a woman in the White House."
"I remember the attack ads," I said. "Clearly. He didn't come out and endorse Cutter, because he didn't want to alienate the women voters. His cronies endorsed Cutter, however, even after you'd been selected as the nominee at the convention."
"They pressured me to drop out of the race. Kept telling me I didn't have a chance against the opposition, when a man would," she shook her head. "Colonel Hunter, what the hell is going on? I realize that every president faces the prospect of wars, assassinations and every other difficulty you might imagine, but this time, the situation is jacked up—as if another level has been added to the game and we're scrambling for instructions on how to play it."
"Things began to change when the Program was introduced," I said. "I know what all the sci-fi novels and comic books are about, but this is reality and we don't have anybody who can swoop in and save the day. Without names or images, Corinne can't point to anyone. Without that information, the others can't do anything to protect us. Hell, we're scrambling just to stay alive on most days."
"I'm making the announcement tomorrow—that you're the new Secretary of Defense," Madam President sighed. "I realize that may paint a target on your back, but I'm getting pressured by both sides to make the call."
"I understand. I'll let Cori know. Do you want me to talk to her about this newest threat? It's likely she'll know about it anyway."
"Go ahead and tell her. Rafe, too. They need to know that somebody is after them."
"Thank you, Madam President."
* * *
Corinne
I knew the minute we walked in Auggie's new office. Madam President had been approached. She'd been offered the next election, in exchange for Rafe and me.
Fuck.
For now, she was saying no. I worried that her decision might waver in the next few days.
"You know he'll do his worst, just to convince her," I said before Auggie had a chance to talk.
"Perhaps someone will include me?" Rafe asked quietly.
"Corinne was right," Auggie said. "The one behind all this does approach people. He offered the President the next election and the ones behind the Montana massacre—in exchange for both of you."
"The ones responsible for Montana didn't make a very good deal with their benefactor, then," Rafe observed. "Obviously they forgot to include provisions—such as avoiding capture or prosecution for their crimes."
"Or, maybe they're just so megalomaniacally rich they think they're above all that," I said. "The ultra-wealthy sometimes fall into that trap. Generally they're correct; their money does cover a multitude of sins."
"Cori, I don't think that's a word," Auggie pointed out.
"Megalomaniacally?"
"That's the one. James," Auggie shouted. James appeared within seconds.
"Get photographs of all the wealthy people in the U.S.," Auggie said. "Give them to Cori. We have killers to catch."
* * *
"We have new orders and a new batch of the drug," Death reported.
"I wasn't aware that our people could move that fast," Famine said.
"It came from higher up," Death said. "We have enough to kill ten thousand or more."
"We won't get into the next water supply so easy," Conquest pointed out.
"This batch isn't designed to go in the water supply. It's in mist form and can't be seen by the naked eye. The drug can be inhaled and still work. It's genius, actually—ours were toying with the idea, but they said it was a long way off. We have it now, courtesy of our benefactor."
"We pay for that," War said.
"We donate. He told us at the beginning that money clears the way with the un
cooperative. We have a mission, and we can afford the donations."
"Ten thousand people? Do we have likely targets?"
"I have several—marked on this map," Death said, tapping a key on his computer. A map of the United States popped up, with several locations circled. He then pulled up another window on the screen, listing events.
"I like this better," Conquest grinned as he pointed out a specific event. "We can offer our congratulations with an air event they can't refuse. Not only will we achieve our objective, it will be recorded."
* * *
Corinne
Rafe thought a Krav Maga session, followed by weight lifting and a run would help. While I normally suck at Krav Maga, I was so distracted I got mangled. Rafe didn't intend to hurt me and truthfully, I wasn't really hurt but he did amazing acrobatics to keep that from happening.
"Maybe we should just run," I said as he lay on top of me. "If I trip, it'll be my own fault."
"You're too distracted," he rolled to the side and rose with an easy, graceful movement. I felt like a slug attempting to stand on its tail when I got up.
"I have no idea why," I replied with a hint of sarcasm. "You know something else will happen before he calls back."
"I'll be happy to hand myself over—and deliver my version of justice."
"Which brain are you thinking with?" I asked sweetly.
"I can protect both of us," he said.
"I'm getting a headache," I responded.
"Then let's go to the kitchen and get something to drink with your aspirin."
James was already there when we arrived, taking a coffee break. "What are we going to do, Cori?" he pleaded, as if I had answers for everything.
"Honey, I don't know," I sat beside him and rubbed his back. "I have a feeling the enemy is about to flex his muscles big time, just to see how we'll react."
"How many do you think he'll kill this time?" Auggie walked in. "Madam President will make the announcement tonight that I'm the new Secretary of Defense," he added. "I want you and Rafe with me at the press conference."
"I'd prefer not to wear the wig," I complained.
"I believe that disguise is compromised already," Auggie muttered as he popped a coffee pod into the brewer. "I honestly don't care if you dress in jeans, although the President will likely complain."
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