Beyond Betrayal

by L. T. Ryan

  “I’ll see you around, Beck.”

  “Someday, maybe.”

  She flicked the door with her fingertips. He pulled away before it had closed. The engine revved and echoed off the two opposing twenty-story buildings. Beck turned right at the first stop sign. The Infiniti disappeared behind a wall of concrete.

  Clarissa walked along the sidewalk toward the lobby entrance. She dragged her fingers along the rough exterior of the building. It felt like heavy-grit sandpaper. Would probably have the same effect, too, if she pressed any harder. The pizzeria around the corner baked their last pies of the night. They must’ve had the front door open. The aroma hit her hard.

  Through the smoky glass entrance, she peered in at the empty lobby of her apartment building. Her key and access card were in a safe deposit box two miles away. She had no way of retrieving them until morning. Clarissa traced her hand along the door and reached for the call button mounted to the side of it. A man answered after two quick buzzes.

  “This is Carrie Reese,” she said, using the alias the apartment was leased under. “My flight home from Europe was delayed, and I didn’t have the opportunity to get my access card and apartment key. Can you let me in?”

  The door buzzed and the lock clicked and the cameras moved to focus on her. She pushed the door open. The lobby smelled fresh, looked spotless. A man she didn’t recognize sat behind a counter. He had a smile plastered across his weathered face. Wrinkles rose into his bald head. He waved her over. When she reached the counter, he lifted a frail arm and placed a key in front of her.

  “For your room,” he said. “Nice to have you back, Ms. Reese.”

  She smiled and grabbed the key. She didn’t recognize the guy, but he acted as though he knew her. She brushed it off and walked to the stairs. She hurried up three flights and exited onto her floor, pausing near the stairwell for a moment. She heard no noise and no voices, so she continued down the hallway.

  Her apartment had been empty for over a month. As a rule, she kept the refrigerator as barren as possible, making sure to pour out milk and get rid of anything that could mold if she had to go away for an extended period of time. She questioned whether she had done that, and whether she had taken out the trash before leaving.

  She opened the door, prepared for an obnoxious smell to greet her. It didn’t. The air fresheners plugged into the wall did their job. She crossed the dark room to the open kitchen. There, she felt along the wall for a light switch. The overhead light blinked on, illuminating the space. She pulled the refrigerator door open, grabbed a bottle of water off an otherwise empty shelf.

  Something beeped behind her. She spun around, hand on her pistol. A thin black box sat on the counter next to sink. She grabbed it, shook the box and listened to the contents rattle against the inside. The thought that it might be a bomb passed through her mind. She dismissed it. Why go through all that trouble to get her home only to blow her and the building up? Pointless. They didn’t operate like that.

  At least, not that she knew of.

  She used a serrated steak knife to cut the clear tape that sealed the box. The lid slid off with a gentle tug. A new cell phone waited for her inside the box. A blue light in the upper left corner flashed every five seconds. She pulled the phone out of the package and hit a button on the side. The screen lit up. She dragged her index finger across the large face of the phone. There was one missed call. It had come from the 202 area code, locally in D.C.

  She tapped the number, then the green phone icon. After a three-second pause, she heard it ringing. She brought the phone to her ear.

  Sinclair answered. “Hello, Clarissa.”

  She was less polite. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I supposed to keep guessing?”

  There was a pause on the other end as Sinclair took in a deep breath and blew it out into his phone.

  “I do apologize for keeping you in the dark like this,” he said. “Let’s just say, it was absolutely necessary. You’ll have to trust me on that for another eight hours or so.”

  She walked toward the door that led to her balcony. The vent in the ceiling blew a gust in the direction of the door, causing the blinds to sway. She pulled them back. A full moon hovered in the sky directly in front of her. She slid the door open and stepped outside. The air was warm, humid. She didn’t care. Clarissa draped her left arm over the railing and leaned forward, looking down at the street. A car drove past. Headlights spread out in a cone formation, washing over the cracked asphalt.

  “What happens in eight hours?” she asked.

  “A car is going to come for you. You’ll need to be out front when they arrive.”

  She pulled the phone away from her head and checked the time. It was ten o’clock. She had to be ready at six in the morning.

  “Where is the car going to take me?” she asked.

  “To an undisclosed location.”

  “What will happen there?”

  “A meeting that will never have taken place.”

  “Lots of secrecy here, Sinclair.”

  “Honestly, Clarissa, are you surprised?”

  She wasn’t. This was her life now, and probably until the day she passed on. In some ways, it suited her well. Always on the move. Always pretending to be someone other than herself. There were downsides to it, as well. They were few, but powerful enough to wreak havoc on her emotional side.

  “Anyway,” he said. “Get your rest. Gather anything important from your apartment. You won’t be going back any time soon.”

  Any other day, she would have taken that as a threat. Today, she didn’t care. Plus, would he have told her to take anything important with her if he intended to kill her?

  Perhaps. If she had something he wanted.

  And she knew that.

  Chapter 6

  Five a.m. arrived too soon. Of course, it always did.

  The last time Clarissa had glanced at the clock had been after midnight. She estimated it took another forty-five minutes from that point to fall asleep. That was nothing new. Difficulty achieving a restful state had always plagued her. Nothing she tried had worked, so she lived with it.

  She shuffled from her bed to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. The first few drips provided confirmation that she’d soon receive her morning jolt. She returned to her room, headed for the shower. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged, awakened and somewhat refreshed, wrapped up in a white terrycloth towel. Her dark hair hung in strands, draped over her shoulders, chest and back. Cold drops of water streaked down her bare skin before settling into the towel.

  In her closet, she pushed aside her clothes, revealing a safe. A keypad with slightly illuminated numbers stared back at her. She entered the security code, pulled the door open, and checked the contents. Inside were a passport and Maryland driver’s license. Both had the same false identity. A wad of cash in different denominations totaling around five thousand dollars. And a Glock 17. She wanted to take the items with her and place them in a security deposit box. She couldn’t, though. Presumably, whoever picked her up wasn’t going to chauffeur her around wherever she wanted to go. She would have to get back to the apartment after the meeting to collect the items. Sinclair’s warning that she wouldn’t be able to return anytime soon played again in her head. She’d take the chance, knowing if it came down to life or death, she’d be better off with a way out.

  She slipped on a pair of compression shorts with a holster in the rear for the M9 Beck had given her. She put on a pair of jeans over the shorts, and a casual shirt.

  The coffee had finished brewing. Dark roast aroma filled her room, causing her mouth to water. She hurried to the kitchen, poured a mug and stepped outside onto the balcony.

  Faint traces of stars shone above. The moon had sunk below the horizon. The air was cool and the humidity had been kept at bay. It’d return in a few short hours. Better get used to it, she told herself. Summer is only just beginning.

  She sat down at the small wrought iron b
istro table in the corner. The seat was damp with dew. She didn’t care. Her pants would dry. Clarissa extended her legs over the railing, crossing her left foot over her right. She sipped on her coffee until it cooled, then she polished it off in a couple swallows.

  In the short time she sat outside, the humidity rose, making it feel as though the temperature had gone up several degrees. Already her forehead grew damp. She exited the balcony into her apartment. It was cool and quiet and still smelled like a cafe. The clock on the stove indicated she had fifteen minutes left. She walked past it, reached into the cabinet, grabbed a travel mug, and filled it.

  The only sound in the room was the air conditioning. She closed her eyes and breathed in time with the rhythm of the system.

  When it was time to leave, Clarissa reached behind her back and checked her weapon. The M9 fit snug in the holster. She grabbed her purse and the cell phone and left the apartment. There were two sets of stairs in the building. She walked the length of the hall and took the ones furthest from her. Nothing more than a hunch. The first of many on this day, she thought.

  No matter how many there were, she only had to be right one time. That was all that mattered.

  Downstairs, she passed through the lobby and stepped outside. The sun hadn’t surfaced yet. It was dark and muggy. The street was empty. In a few hours, vehicles would be jammed end to end in front of the building.

  She heard the car’s engine before it appeared. It rounded the corner and approached slowly. Headlights cut through the hazy morning air. The driver cut them off. Clarissa caught a glimpse of the man as the black car came to a stop. He had buzzed dark hair and wore a black suit. He brought the sedan to a halt next to her. The passenger side window rolled down.

  “Ms. Abbot?” the guy asked.

  She leaned forward, right hand behind her back. “That’s me. Sinclair send you?”

  He nodded. “Get in.”

  She reached for the handle and pulled the front door open. She expected the guy to protest and tell her to get in back. When he didn’t, she feared the backseat would be occupied with two more men. One she could deal with. Three spelled bad news.

  She stuck her left leg in, ducked her head and looked past the front row.

  The seat was empty.

  She exhaled in relief, sliding into the passenger seat and closing the door. The window rolled up. It got caught near the top. The motor whined for a second, then the window lurched into the weather stripping. Maybe the vehicle had been t-boned, or the driver had slammed into something. She pulled the seatbelt across her chest and latched it.

  “So, where are we going?” she asked.

  The guy said nothing. He put the sedan in gear and pulled away from the curb. It seemed as though he drove in a large square, heading up 11th, west on Q Street, and then south on New Hampshire Avenue. A few more unnecessary turns placed them on Pennsylvania Avenue, headed toward the White House.

  She almost laughed at the thought of going to meet the president. What would President Rhodes want with her? Just her presence in the domicile would spark rumors the likes of which she had never seen.

  “What?” the guy asked.

  Presumably, he’d seen the look on her face. She stopped smiling, shook her head and said nothing.

  The guy didn’t press for more. He continued on, stopping when the traffic lights told him to.

  Traffic picked up the longer they drove. Maybe that was the point. Why come get her so early, though? She thought back to her items in the safe in her closet. She knew why. Sinclair wanted to prevent her from leaving to take care of something and then returning to her apartment in advance of her ride. Nothing important opened before eight or nine in the morning. By getting the guy to drive her around for an hour or so, Sinclair cut her off. She felt annoyed. It wasn’t like she had plans to flee.

  Yet.

  It all depended how things played out. Though he wouldn’t give her a choice, she knew a decision loomed. And it all depended on what she found out today when she met with him.

  The man cleared his throat. “Almost there.” He lifted his index finger off the wheel and pointed.

  She glanced around. They were two blocks from the White House. There were plenty of other government buildings close by. She assumed they were going to one of those. Only, she didn’t expect it would be one that practically sat on the White House lawn.

  Chapter 7

  “What are we doing at the Treasury Department building?” she asked.

  The sun crested over a building to their left. The bright rays reflected off the windows of another. The man slipped a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes. He removed his hands from the wheel and straightened his tie.

  “It’s where I work sometimes.”

  “Where do you work the rest of the time?”

  He ignored her question. “I was asked to bring you in today.”

  “By who?” Her mind raced. She tried to remember all the facts she had stored in her brain about the Treasury Department. Everything to do with money, managing national banks and federal finances, dealing with tax evaders and counterfeit and other financial crimes. The Secret Service had been a part of the department until March of 2003, when they transitioned to the Department of Homeland Security. As far as she knew, the Secret Service maintained their responsibilities over counterfeit production, money laundering, and other major financial crimes.

  None of those things had anything to do with her. Had she unwittingly gotten mixed up in something either in London or before she left the U.S.?

  Her chest tightened. It felt like her stomach flipped over on itself. Clarissa drew in a deep breath, held it while clenching and relaxing her thighs and upper arms. The man didn’t seem to notice her difficulties breathing. He drove past the building on 15th Street, south of F, turned onto a narrow lane, drove through a small parking lot and stopped in front of a gate. Clarissa calmed down. He rolled down his window and leaned out and punched in a code. The gate lifted. He navigated through the opening. Then they went underground into a fluorescent-lit garage.

  “Who told you to bring me here?” she asked.

  He turned the wheel and made a tight U-turn into the next lane. There were parking spaces at the end. Half the cars in the place looked like his. The other half was a mash-up of domestic and foreign vehicles, mostly mid-range with a few luxury automobiles here and there.

  “I don’t ask questions like that, Ms. Abbot. I do what I’m told.”

  She turned her head and rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure why she hid the gesture from the man. Clarissa had never been shy about letting someone see her true feelings.

  “So, what? You’re just going to drop me off in the garage?”

  “Do you think I’d do that? Honestly, do you? From here you can gain access to the White House if you know what you’re doing. Do I seem like the kind of agent that would allow that to happen?”

  Clarissa stared at the man. He looked as serious as a stone, and he had the personality to match.

  “Sorry. I’ll just go along for the ride.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled into a spot, rolled up the window and cut the engine. “Now, we’re going to exit the vehicle. You are going to walk in front of me. Never will you stop or turn or run or skip without me telling you to. And if I tell you to run, you better haul ass, ‘cause that means something really bad just happened.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with a touch of sarcasm.

  “I don’t think this is funny, Miss.” He exited the car and waited by the trunk for her.

  She did as he said, walking two steps in front of him at an even clip. He led her to an access-card controlled elevator. After a short ride, it deposited them into a corridor lit with yellowish lighting inserted into the drop ceiling. A metal detector loomed ahead. Four armed guards surrounded it. Three of them had an animated conversation. One stared ahead at the approaching couple.

  Clarissa glanced over her shoulder. “I should let you know right now that I’m armed
.”

  “Stop,” the guy said.

  She did.

  “Why would you be armed?” he asked

  “I had no idea where I was going or what I would do when I got there.”

  “Who are you and who do you work for?”

  “I thought you said it was not your job to ask questions.”

  The man said nothing.

  She turned her head to the left and made eye contact. “It’s in a holster behind my back. The magazine is in my front pocket.”

  He stepped forward and placed his hand on the small of her back.

  “Lower,” she said.

  He lifted her shirt and slid his fingers toward her waistband. His knuckles pressed into her flesh as he wrapped his hand around the handle of the pistol. He quickly lifted it out of the holster. She felt his shoulder drive into her upper back as if he had turned away to shield himself while putting the weapon away.

  She reached into her pocket for the clip and handed it to him.

  “Go,” he said.

  They stopped in front of the metal detector. One of the guards waved her through. She stepped into and past the machine as they x-rayed her bag. There wasn’t anything in it other than some cash and her phone.

  The guy said, “Checking her weapon, an M9, and one magazine, full.”

  One of the guards took it, unlocked a drawer and placed the weapon in there.

  “They really leave the weapon right there?” she asked as they walked away.

  “No,” the guy said.

  She decided against pressing for more information. He already seemed perturbed with her. She had no idea how much longer she would be stuck with him.

  Turned out that their time together ended ten minutes later. He led her through a maze of hallways, through break rooms, into one elevator, then down a final hall. She struggled to figure out which direction she faced. He halted in front of a dark wooden door.

  “This is it for me,” he said. “Go on in. They’ll be along shortly.”