by L. T. Ryan
Clarissa looked back at him, then at Beck. He nodded. She retracted the blade and held it out for Jordan. An inch-long flame sprouted out of the lighter. Jordan waved it under the knife. The fire enveloped the steel blade, heating it to the point it glowed red.
Clarissa held the blade close to her skin. The heat it produced burned her without making contact.
“I can’t stop, Clarissa,” Beck said. “If you can’t do it, then Jordan will have to.”
She glanced back in time to see the guy in the backseat smile. For whatever reason, he’d take pleasure in giving her pain. There was no way she could accept that.
With a deep breath, she brought the blade to her skin and pulled back, slicing her wrist open a quarter-inch deep. She grimaced at the pain, and the muscles of her arm, chest, stomach and legs tightened. She made no sound, though. The RFID chip was visible. She placed the knife in her lap and grabbed hold of the chip with her right thumb and forefinger. With a tug, the device pulled free from the layers of skin and fat it had been embedded into.
“Throw it out,” Beck said, using the arm controls to lower her window.
She clutched the tiny device. “This can get us into places, Beck. Places we wouldn’t be able to reach otherwise.”
“And they’ll know we’re coming. It’s not worth it. Throw it out before they get too close.”
She closed her eyes and reached her hand outside. The wind rushed against her closed fist, forcing it upward. She forced her arm further back, then released her grip. The chip blew away from her palm, and with every second that passed, they distanced themselves from being found by Sinclair.
Chapter 38
An hour later they exited I-70 near the I-81 junction in Hagerstown, Maryland. The location was close enough to D.C. that they could get back if necessary. It also placed them far enough away that they weren’t likely to be spotted by a random cop. Depending on the situation, their faces could end up all over the evening news. If that happened, no place would be safe.
Beck pulled into the parking lot of a local motel chain. He went inside to get a room, leaving Clarissa alone with Jordan.
She shifted in her seat, placing her back against the door so she could keep an eye on the man. He sat opposite her, in the back seat. His gaze drifted to the pistol she held in her right hand. The wound on her other wrist had stopped bleeding about thirty minutes earlier. It probably needed stitches. By the time she would be in a position to get them, it’d be too late. It didn’t matter, though. She could handle a scar.
Several times during their five minutes alone, Jordan acted as though he had something to say. He’d draw in a sharp breath of air, open his mouth, look at her, then glance away. Beck hadn’t filled her in on his presence. When she took a moment and thought about it, she was still surprised that he was in the car. And as much as it seemed he wanted to tell her something, she had a desire to ask him why he was present.
The door to the motel’s office opened. Beck stepped out, clutching a key card. He walked toward the car with his head on a swivel, scanning the parking lot and road beyond for any sign of a threat. He took the seat behind the wheel and drove them around the back of the long rectangular building.
Entering the room, he said, “We won’t be here long. Just need an hour or so to discuss things, regroup, get cleaned up. It’s been a long twelve hours.”
Clarissa found herself nodding in agreement. Her brain and body were starting to catch up to the events of the past few days, and fatigue overtook her. Not only that, but the question of how many times she could cheat death entered her mind.
She found the bathroom and took a quick shower. The warm water running off her body did little to sequester the thoughts that ran through her mind and the replays of the events of the past few days. She cut the water and grabbed a towel. After drying off, Clarissa put on the same clothes she had worn since the evening before. It was all she had. After they were safe and their names were cleared, she’d make finding a change of clothes a priority.
Beck and Jordan were seated at the small table against the rear wall. The sliding door behind Beck was open. The breeze that blew in was warm and smelled of exhaust.
“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, alternating her gaze between the two men.
Beck leaned back in his chair and wrapped his hands around the back of his head. The move eased Clarissa’s tension. In doing so, he non-verbally told her that he intended to do her no harm, and neither did Jordan. If Beck felt threatened by Jordan, he would never expose himself in such a way.
“Jordan’s the only one I encountered today,” Beck said. “First, I went by your old apartment building. There were four spooks out there. They didn’t notice me. Of course, I made it hard for them to do so. But it was clear why they were there. I’d guess there would be one or two around anywhere you might go, including any banks you have a relationship with. After that, I went by my building, being more cautious because they would be looking for me there. The guys they had positioned there were tougher to spot, and I only saw two. But that makes me think there were at least two more there.”
“Who is behind this?”
“It’s a good question, and one that I don’t readily have an answer for. Jordan, however, has some information. I’ll let him tell you his story and we’ll go from there.”
Anger flashed across Jordan’s face, quickly rescinding. Clarissa got the first inkling that he wasn’t there freely, and Beck had somehow brought him in against his will.
“When you said that he’s the only one you encountered,” she said, “what did you mean?”
Beck shifted his stare in Jordan’s direction. “I figured out where he was hiding.”
“You weren’t supposed to be there for this,” Jordan said. “When we planned it, his assistant would be gone, and the next would be starting the following week. Threw me for a loop that you were there at all when I found out a day ahead of time. Of course, McCormick didn’t care. ‘Just some’…” Jordan paused, glanced away. “‘Bitch,’ McCormick had said. ‘She won’t get in the way.’”
Clarissa said nothing and nodded for him to continue.
“The way these things go down, when there’s an attempt, no one on the street can tell anything. We react so quickly, surround our guy. Even the shooter wouldn’t know for sure if he hit or not.”
The man paused to sip from a paper cup. Clarissa took a few steps forward and sat down on the edge of one of the twin beds, leaving the other between her and the men. She looked toward Beck, who focused on Jordan.
Jordan continued. “So, I was against this going down, but the day went as planned. Only thing was, you were there waiting for us outside of McCormick’s office.”
The conversation he’d had with her that morning took on new life. Perhaps he had meant what he said, about her being there for a certain reason. Or maybe she’d misread him, and he thought her purpose was for something else. Whatever he’d taken from it, he had no problem with her joining them.
“We took the tunnels, as planned,” Jordan said. “Then he had his meeting. I kept my eye on you. I had my doubts from the beginning. You were somewhat unprecedented, but, because of Beck’s involvement, I didn’t put too much stock into thoughts that you were there because of what was going down.”
“So that’s why?” Clarissa said, directing her question to Beck. “No one would tell me what was going on, but you knew what Jordan was up to.”
Beck said nothing. He held up a single finger and gestured toward Jordan, who picked up with his story.
“The call for lunch was part of the plan. That wasn’t for your benefit, if that’s what you’re thinking. We did that in case anyone else was listening in. We didn’t want anyone to think that we directed him out there for any reason other than to get in the car and go to lunch.”
Clarissa said, “But the shooter knew he was out there. Wouldn’t that be indictment enough?”
Jordan shook his head. “Crazy person gon
e crazier defense. As far as anyone would be concerned, so long as the shooter went uncaught, he or she was only in it to shoot the first person that looked important. Could have been McCormick. Could have been the French Ambassador. Didn’t matter. Get it?”
“I suppose.”
“So the…” He paused and looked at Beck. “So, the person we had up there, ace sniper. Could make the shot from max distance. The plan was to use a low-caliber round, put it through the shoulder.”
“McCormick was okay with this?” she asked.
Jordan nodded. “His idea. Hell, he picked the shooter.”
“What the hell was the reasoning behind all this?”
“The election.”
“Presidential?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a couple years away.”
“Groundwork starts now. And the president, in his second term, had already made it clear to McCormick that he was not going to throw any weight behind the vice president. He would push for an outside candidate for the party’s nomination.”
Clarissa shook her head. “If I’ve got this right, McCormick arranged for his own assassination attempt because he wasn’t getting the nomination?”
“Not exactly,” Beck said. “It seems that McCormick was under the delusion that surviving an attempt would raise his sympathy levels with the public, making it impossible for the president to not support his bid for nomination.”
“And if he didn’t,” Clarissa said, “he’d ruin his Party’s chances of winning the election. I just saw something about his approval rating dipping. Failing to rid the hot hand would be political suicide then.”
Beck nodded.
Jordan said, “Pretty much. But then it didn’t go down as planned.”
Clarissa had seen the damage up close. Sure, she’d been tackled and perhaps that had clouded her memory, but the hit McCormick had taken had been far worse than what Jordan explained should’ve happened. And that was what bugged her about his version of the events.
“The shot wasn’t as we planned. The bullet that hit McCormick was meant to be fatal,” Jordan said.
“Your guy turned on you?” she asked.
“He’d never do that.”
“Then what happened? Why’d he try to kill McCormick?”
“It wasn’t our guy that fired the shot. He was in the morgue when this all went down.”
Chapter 39
The sunlight hit Clarissa directly in the face as she rose off the edge of the bed. It felt as though the wind picked up. A warm burst blew through the room. Pages of a notepad on the dresser rose and fell.
She looked at Beck. He was staring back at her, perhaps to gauge her reaction to Jordan’s story. She didn’t have one other than surprise. She thought she knew where it was all leading, and that they’d only have to find the rogue shooter in order to clear their names. With Jordan knowing the identity of the assassin, that wouldn’t be hard to do.
But this? If Jordan’s guy was already dead, who was behind it?
“So it’s safe to assume that you didn’t know your shooter was dead and in the morgue at the time?”
“I had confirmation from him when we were in the hall,” Jordan said. “Remember when I walked away? That was why.”
“It takes more than ten minutes to end up in the morgue. You had to have had some kind of encryption set up with this guy, right?”
Jordan nodded. “I did. He and I were the only ones who knew it. Which means that—”
“Someone tortured it out of him,” Clarissa said. “What do we know of the condition of his corpse?”
“Nothing. No one has been allowed to see it.”
Beck said, “So, basically, what we are looking at is that someone outside of Jordan’s circle knew about the plan and decided to call an audible. We’re talking about someone capable of taking a trained sniper, someone with Spec Ops training, torture them into giving up dates and locations and pass codes, then getting someone into a Federal building, pulling off the shot, then escaping or blending in.”
Clarissa sat down on the corner of the bed, across from Beck. “Sinclair.”
“Seems the most obvious choice in terms of taking over and completing the job. He hunted us down. Found you again.”
“But why not put an end to it back in D.C.?”
Beck shook his head. “I didn’t have control over the situation. Plus, my only backup at the time was him.” He gestured toward Jordan. “Think I trust him with my life at this point?”
Clarissa knew he didn’t, and neither did she. She remained focused on Beck, attempting to read his body language. He gave away nothing. His posture, hand placement, facial expressions, nothing told her if he was with or against her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow involved, though. Why did it continue to creep up on her? Everything he’d done up this point had been to help her. Why waste all that time and energy to turn on her in the end?
“How would Sinclair have known?” she asked.
Beck looked toward Jordan, who shrugged.
“I don’t know the guy,” Jordan said. “No one on my team knows him. Is there a chance he got to one of them? Perhaps. But none of them were in on this. He must have found out some other way. Every conversation I had with McCormick was in private and out of range of any listening device. I’d assume he took the same precautions with the other guy, but, in the end, I can’t be sure.”
“Beck, I have to ask, what were you told about my presence at that meeting?”
Beck shifted in his seat, then, looking at his watch, rose. “I think we’ve been here long enough. It’s best we move. We can continue the conversation in the car.”
They headed toward the front door. Clarissa led the way. She heard a thump, followed by a body falling to the floor. She spun around with her pistol drawn. Beck stood over Jordan’s limp body, a blackjack dangling from his right hand.
“I think we got everything out of him.” Beck leaned over and took Jordan’s SIG, then tucked it in his waistband. He hooked his arms under Jordan’s and dragged him over to the table where he set the man down on the floor again. The base of the table was thick, with four wide feet, all mounted to the floor. Beck pulled Jordan’s arms around the base and handcuffed the man.
“You’re gonna leave him here?”
“We can’t bring him with us, and I want him where I can find him. I’ll have someone out here soon to watch over him.”
They left the room and hurried to the car. Beck backed out of the parking spot and found the exit.
“Where are we going?” Clarissa asked.
“Back to D.C.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Remember what you asked me back there? If I knew why you were at that meeting?”
She nodded while watching the cars behind them in the side mirror.
“I wasn’t told much at all. One of them knew what was going on, though, and they duped us all.”
“You mean Banner or Polanski?”
Beck nodded. “That’s why they called Sinclair.” The car rolled to a stop at a red light. Beck looked over at her. “Clarissa, did you do anything to upset him?”
“Upset him? No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“What were you doing before you came back to the States for this assignment?”
“I was in London. Living in a fortress of a house that belonged to a terrorist group.”
“Did you do anything to benefit them?”
The question offended her. “I did my job.”
Beck seemed to sense her objection to being questioned. “I’m only trying to figure out why he’d turn on you like this.”
She nodded involuntarily. “So am I.”
The light turned green, and Beck took his foot off the brake and accelerated quickly. He directed the car to the highway on-ramp and merged in with the other vehicles. They remained silent for a few minutes. Clarissa rolled down her window and let the warm air circle through the car.
“Why me?” she aske
d.
“They needed a fall guy,” he said. “It’s the reason your name was floated as a possible suspect at first. When Jordan went to ground it looked bad for him, and your name got lost in the shuffle. I’m sure it’ll float back up if the heat gets too high.”
“I was never there to uncover any information, was I?”
Beck shook his head. “Now we’ve got to figure out which of them set this up.”
That wouldn’t be easy. Both would say the same thing. Neither Banner nor Polanski would admit to proposing the meeting. Only one would be telling the truth. Their hope would be a trail of some kind. A quick email or voicemail. It might come across as innocuous, but when looked at through the eyes of intent, the meaning would be obvious.
“You’re good at judging people, right?” Beck asked.
“That’s debatable.”
“It was part of your job, though. So, tell me, what’s your read on them? Did either stand out?”
She thought back to the initial meeting and the time afterward. She only spent a little time with Banner. He seemed hurried, bothered almost, by having to take part. That alone presented evidence that he wanted to be as far away from the situation as possible. She relayed her thoughts to Beck.
“What about Polanski?” he asked.
“She’s a different animal. There was a ton of resentment toward everything about the Service. She showed nothing that indicated she liked me, or even wanted me there. But more than that, she seemed to hold a big grudge for being passed over for higher-level positions.”
“I’ve heard her gripe before. Most recently after I was promoted. It wasn’t even something she would have done, but seeing me get moved up had a negative effect on her.”
“What would she have to gain?”
“By having McCormick killed?” he asked.
She nodded.
“That’s what doesn’t make sense. It isn’t like that cleared a path for her to move up. Even if someone was fired as a result, it wouldn’t have opened a position she would be in line for.”
“Was McCormick ever involved in any of those hiring decisions?”