Cloud Dust: RD-1

by Connie Suttle

  "Dante Dolsen," I whispered as I stared at his image. "Dead."

  "Francis Pike," I went to the next photograph. "Dead."

  "Karl Graham," I named the third man. "Dead."

  "Langston Coffman," I nodded at the fourth photograph. "Dead."

  "What the hell?" Auggie exploded behind me. His cell phone rang. I listened and drank more coffee as he spoke to someone in the CIA. All four owners of Civilian Security Services had died moments earlier while visiting their attorney's office.

  * * *

  The pilot of the plane was found six hours later—he'd been driving westward as fast as his truck would take him. Rafe was asleep, as was Auggie when the call came. Les Banks was in an Arkansas jail, waiting for the FBI to arrive and question him. Local authorities had already gotten some information about the mist he'd sprayed on an unsuspecting college stadium crowd in Georgia.

  Sure, he'd pulled a banner behind his plane that said congratulations, graduates, but that wasn't the only thing he'd been asked to do.

  "Leo, stop fretting. I don't think we could have stopped much of this, even if we'd known in advance," I said. He'd taken the call, then relayed information to James, Nick, Maye and me.

  "I just feel responsible," he muttered.

  "Then stop. You didn't do any of that crap," I said. My head still hurt, but I hadn't taken anything else for the pain since Rafe ousted me from our bed. He slept there, now. I could only imagine the scenarios played out across the nation as people speculated on the massacres in Georgia and Afghanistan.

  The White House deliberately leaked information that the owners of Civilian Security Services were responsible for all of it, including Montana, but nobody had a good reason for any of it. That didn't stop them from making wild suppositions, however.

  As wild as those suppositions were, they were far from the truth. Auggie and I would have a discussion about that—when he woke.

  "They're saying that CSS was testing chemical weapons," Maye said.

  "That's plausible," Leo sighed. We'd moved to the small kitchen to have a cup of coffee and discuss the pilot's arrest in Arkansas. "Do you think we'll get anything useful out of the pilot?" Leo turned to me.

  "I doubt it. The money was good, as long as he didn't ask questions. He had no idea he was about to murder ten thousand people."

  "Where are the survivors? With the ones in Montana?" Nick growled.

  "Nick, we don't have any authority in the matter," Leo sighed. "I wish we did. I think Richard might work with them, and I wouldn't mind helping, but we've been cut out of it."

  "We knew what we were walking into, up to a point," Nick said. "And it was still a shock. What will it do to those people?"

  "It's complicated, and I don't feel comfortable discussing it," Leo shook his head.

  I knew what he was saying—what the drug had done to me. How I'd wakened in unfamiliar surroundings in a body unfamiliar to me. After the trauma in Paris, there'd been a second trauma waiting. Poor Leo; he'd done his best to get me through all that, but some things would never fully heal, I think.

  "I need more coffee." I stood and lifted my cup. To illustrate my point, I yawned on the way to the coffee maker.

  That's when the call came from the President. Mr. Evil had called her back, just as he said he would. She wanted to see all of us in her office.

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  At least I'd had four hours' sleep before I had to rise and go to the White House. Rafe looked better than I did when we loaded into vans for the trip. Mentally, he was older than I. Physically, after the drug, he was much younger.

  I'd never felt my age as much as I did right then.

  Corinne still didn't look good, though. She was worn out; that was easy to see. Leo was still troubled, although he was better now than when I'd seen him before going to bed.

  Corinne convinced him somehow that the massacre in Georgia wasn't his fault—that others deserved the blame. She was right, but we worried that she could have kept it from happening if she hadn't been asleep.

  The trip to the White House seemed to take forever. Armed guards and Secret Service surrounded our group the moment our vans were parked, and we were ushered quickly into the White House.

  Madam President waited in a private study.

  "He called back, just as he said he would. Pointed out that all four involved in Montana, Georgia and Afghanistan are now dead. How the hell did he accomplish that?" the President asked after we'd been seated. "Preliminary medical reports say they died of natural causes. Can we believe that? How did he manage to kill them that way?"

  "What did you say to him?" I asked quietly.

  "I told him no. I pointed out that he'd arranged for four deaths, after promising them something. I had no desire to work with him in the beginning, and this reinforces my decision."

  "What did he say?"

  "He turned to blackmail." Madam President covered her face with her hands. "He says he'll kill again if he doesn't get what he wants, only it will be more people next time. Colonel Hunter, we already have a panicked country. What will happen if he delivers on his threat on a much grander scale? How are we to extricate ourselves from all this?"

  "I don't know," I shook my head. "I think we should call everyone together and discuss it."

  "They're on the way, now. Dr. Shaw, we have a comfortable space arranged for you and these," she swept out a hand, encompassing Maye, Corinne and the others. "We'll keep you informed. Be advised that this could take a while."

  * * *

  Corinne

  "Did you get enough sleep?" I asked Rafe as we settled on a love seat. The room we'd been led to was tastefully decorated and comfortably furnished, but I wanted to be anywhere except where I was.

  The blackmailer, whoever he was, wanted Rafe and me. Madam President was considering it, just to avoid another massacre. She already had enough trouble at her doorstep, and if giving up two people made that go away, then why wouldn't she consider it?

  I liked to think that she really didn't know what she was giving away, but squashed that thought immediately. Rafe grimly accepted our fate, and was already plotting ways to handle it.

  As was I. The thing that terrified me most?

  That someone would insist I be blindfolded.

  "I've had enough sleep," Rafe responded distractedly. I held back from asking further questions. He was busy thinking, just as I was.

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  "They're asking for Corinne and Rafe." The Vice President's words were flat as he shook his head. He didn't want that to happen—they'd saved his life.

  "I hope you'll excuse the question, Madam President," the Secretary of Commerce said, "but I don't understand who these people are."

  "I know. These two are very talented special agents. He either wants to use them or kill them; he hasn't said which."

  "So he has us by the balls, if you'll pardon the sexism attached to that comment," the Secretary of Agriculture said.

  "Yes," the President replied. "We turn them over, or we get another Georgia."

  "Why would he want them?" the Secretary of Homeland Security asked. I could tell he was pissed because he hadn't heard of either one. I wanted to strangle him—it was easy enough to see that he was interested in any talent that might help his department.

  "I've worked with them," the Vice President said. "They saved my life in London."

  "Is that how you got out of Downing Street alive?" someone else asked.

  "Yes. I can't reveal more than that, it's still classified as need-to-know."

  "There are things you should know," the President sighed. "This same person was behind the terrorist attack at the Louvre. He manipulated those events in order to steal valuable paintings and works of art. He is also behind the thefts and deaths in London and Edinburgh. You see what we're dealing with, here? With Corinne and Rafe, he can be assured of getting in anywhere and getting out again with very little tro
uble. That's how talented they are."

  "We have to weigh two lives against tens of thousands?" the Attorney General asked.

  "We do." Madam President's shoulders slumped. She knew, just as I did, what they'd already decided.

  "Did he provide a time and place to turn them over?"

  "Yes. We have an hour, and it'll be in one of the tunnels leading away from White House."

  "How the hell?" the Attorney General exploded.

  "I didn't stay on the phone to discuss how he knew. The clock was already ticking," the President snapped. "Now, if you don't have a suggestion as to how we're going to inform two of our agents that we're trading them for civilian lives, then shut up."

  * * *

  "Madam President, we don't make deals with terrorists," I reminded her as we made our way to the room where Shaw and the others were.

  "We don't have a choice," she hissed. We'd left the cabinet in the meeting room and walked away with only the Vice President and two Secret Service agents at our heels. "If we could have questioned those pricks in Canada before they dropped dead of who knows what, then we might have learned something. We have nothing on this man—if it is a man. The voice is disguised every time."

  "What did he tell you to do, then?" I asked, attempting to keep my voice civil. This was the worst kind of betrayal, in my book. Yes, it might save lives in the interim, until the bastard wanted something else. He only had to threaten us again. We were setting a dangerous precedent, and choosing a path we couldn't change or abandon, once we were on it.

  "We have to meet outside the tunnel entrance. He said no weapons and only two others—no Secret Service and no cameras. He said to turn everything off; he'll know if we don't."

  "Three people to escort Corinne and Rafe?"

  "That's what he said."

  "Fuck."

  * * *

  Corinne

  Ilya, they're going to trade us, I thought at him.

  "I know," he murmured as he pulled me against him and kissed my temple, his breath warm and soft against my skin. Too many scenarios ran through my mind as he held me close—scenarios from more than six years earlier, when I'd witnessed torture and death at the hands of the deranged.

  I didn't imagine this would be any better—after all, the one behind all this didn't seem to worry about killing—had been behind the killings I'd witnessed in France, actually, just to steal paintings and a crown.

  Whomever or whatever he or she was, they'd become bolder. More convinced that they were untouchable. In their sociopathic mind, they were invincible.

  They wanted us—Rafe and me—to do their dirty work. Rafe could provide shielding for us, and I could lead him through any maze and past any keypad to get us in anywhere. Cutter had provided that information, through Dalton.

  "How will he blackmail us to cooperate?" I pulled away from Rafe. "We know somebody wants you dead. I think this guy wants us alive."

  "I do not know," he replied, his eyes betraying worry. "I have no one left. Baikov saw to that."

  "This is so fucked up," I mumbled.

  "It is certainly that. Cabbage, we will go. And we will destroy him."

  "He'll expect us to try."

  "I know that. He does not know all we are capable of."

  "True."

  Madam President, Auggie, the Vice President and two Secret Service agents walked through the door, interrupting our conversation.

  * * *

  "Cori, this is the last thing I would have agreed to," Auggie said. He'd asked for a few minutes alone with Rafe and me. The others had left the room to give us privacy.

  "I know that," I said. "I don't think anybody here really wants that. I just worry that this won't be enough."

  "That is also my concern," Rafe said.

  "And mine. This is a slippery slope, and nobody can see the bottom of the pit we've dropped into," Auggie agreed. "That's why I've brought this." He handed each of us a small capsule. I'd never seen one before; nevertheless, I knew what it was—a means to commit suicide.

  "Absolute last resort," I turned to Rafe.

  "Agreed."

  "We have to leave in a few minutes," Auggie said, and his voice broke. "Cori, I love you. Not the way Rafe loves you—you're the daughter I never had. Be safe. Please. Stay in contact with me as long as you can."

  "I will." I wanted to weep. One shouldn't meet the enemy while one is crying; I worked to keep my vision clear. We walked out of the room together, my hand held firmly in Ilya's, my eyes on Auggie's broad shoulders as he led the way.

  * * *

  "Those four in Canada," I spoke as Auggie dropped back beside Rafe and me, "They wanted to facilitate the apocalypse," I explained. "They called themselves the four horsemen. Took on those names to describe themselves. Thought they'd been given divine instruction to do that."

  "What the hell would make them think that?" Auggie exploded.

  "You'd be surprised what some people will believe," I said. "If it fits well in the beliefs they already hold. Provide some smoke and mirrors and presto—you have a man-made apocalypse. Of course, it never hurts to have so much money you can make just about anything happen, including a war in the Middle East."

  "And someone to rely on who can make those things happen without leaving even a trail of smoke behind," Auggie muttered.

  "Remember that same someone ended up betraying them," I said.

  "I remember."

  * * *

  Madam President and her Chief of Staff, Hal Prentice, walked ahead of us. I only saw the backs of their heads as we made our way through underground passageways beneath the White House.

  I'm sure the President kept her Chief of Staff informed—as much as she could—that was his job. I'd just never seen him in person. Well, there was no time for proper introductions now. Our time was winding down and we were nearing our destination.

  Rafe walked beside me, his face set and so silent I barely heard his footsteps. Yes, I was seeing the spy who'd worked for the Soviet Union for so many years, and even beyond the days after the cold war ended.

  They'd coerced him. I knew it; I'd merely waited for him to volunteer that information. After the next few minutes, that opportunity might never come. Reaching out, I gripped his fingers with mine and squeezed. I love you, I sent to him. He lowered his chin in acknowledgment.

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  A war raged within me. I wanted to grip the throats of the ones forcing us to give up Corinne and Rafe, so I could squeeze the life from them. I would enjoy watching the light leave their eyes as they died. This is how anyone might feel when they are faced with such helpless feelings—when someone they care for is in danger.

  Rafe would go down fighting—I had no doubt of that.

  Poor Corinne didn't stand a chance. She'd see exactly what they were, and if they didn't kill her outright, would attempt to force her to do unspeakable things.

  A heavy door loomed ahead of us, with a keypad glowing softly at its center. On the other side of that door lay disaster. I glanced at Corinne. She was pale. Shaking already. I offered a silent prayer to anyone listening as the President reached for the keypad and entered her private code.

  * * *

  Corinne

  When the door swung open, we saw nothing except a narrow, concrete entrance sloping upward, and beyond that, ornamental shrubs and trees, hiding the entrance. In the distance I could hear sounds of traffic—people going here and there on their daily journeys, unsuspecting that the fate of the world might hang upon the next few minutes.

  "What time is it?" Madam President asked.

  "We have two minutes," Chief of Staff Hal Prentice replied. "We're not late." He stood next to the President, blocking her from any attack that might come from the greenery above as he spoke.

  "Where are they?" Madam President betrayed her nervousness by rubbing her arms.

  Rafe reached out and pulled me against him. I knew his shield was up, but Madam President was t
oo far away to include in his protection. I wondered in a distracted fashion if she realized that. Auggie, on the other hand, was close enough to be included in Rafe's protective bubble.

  My breath caught when the Chief of Staff called time and the ones who'd come for us revealed themselves.

  Chapter 18

  Corinne

  They detached themselves from concrete walls, their clothing blending so well with the surface they'd seemed a part of it. That wasn't the most frightening thing, however.

  All eight of them looked exactly like Becker.

  Not only had Cutter's cronies developed a way to kill thousands with Becker's blood, they'd learned to create clones, just as the ones who'd sent assassins after the rest of us had. How they'd managed to replicate so many so quickly was a mystery. Each clone held a weapon as they took steps in our direction.

  "Becker, that's close enough," Auggie commanded.

  "That name has no meaning to us," one of the clones replied. "We are here to collect those two." He nodded in Rafe's and my direction. I worked to keep my breathing even—they had orders to keep me alive and kill Rafe, once they got us away from there.

  "How many of you are there?" Madam President's voice quavered. Hal Prentice, still standing between her and the approaching clones, gripped her elbow to steady her.

  "That is not our information to provide. Command them to come with us quietly, or we will kill all present."

  "That wasn't part of the deal," she snapped.

  "It will become part of the deal if they are not given to us willingly."

  "Come, cabbage," Rafe urged softly, pulling me with him toward the waiting clones. I had no idea how they intended to get us out of there. It didn't really matter; Rafe would be dead and I'd be a prisoner if they had their way.

  Ask them if he's watching—the one who sent them, I mentally instructed Madam President. I worried about the consequences if I refused to cooperate.

  Rafe's life mattered most to me at that moment.

  "Is he watching? I want to know," Madam President's voice wobbled again.

  "You are so shortsighted," the spokesman replied.

  And you are so dead, I sent directly to him. He dropped immediately, as did the seven others who flanked him.