Castillo held up her arm cast. “I was in a car accident before I found your friend here.”
Tivonté sniffed the flowers. “Thanks, girl. I told you. After saving my ass, we’re fam. For real.”
Shawn nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry I was such an ass to you the last time. And I’m damn sure glad that you ignored me and went by La Plume that day. Matter of fact, you’ve saved two of my friends now. You’re definitely family.”
“Wow.” Castillo glanced back at Abrianna and smiled. “I’m glad I could help.”
Abrianna cleared her throat and said, “I, uh, never thanked you for saving my ass back in the day. I’m sorry about that. Shit was kind of crazy then and, uh—”
“No need. I was—well, it sounds kind of cold to say that I was doing my job. It meant more to me than that, but—you’re wel-come.”
Abrianna smiled. “Well, thanks for saving Tivonté, too. I don’t know what I’d do without this knucklehead.” She patted Tivonté on the back. “And if you’re a part of their family, then it means you’re a part of mine as well.”
Castillo beamed.
Draya swiped her eyes and announced, “This calls for a group hug.”
No one gave Castillo time to protest before five sets of arms nearly squeezed the life out of her.
A nurse entered the room, pushing a wheelchair. “It’s time to go home, Mr. Hollis.”
Everyone cheered.
22
Chesapeake Detention Facility
Lights out.
On the top bunk in his cell, Kadir stared at the ceiling. His mind raced, but there were way too many coulda, woulda, and shouldas to count. He turned his thoughts to the other side of the world to Yemen. Had the news reached his family? Was his father hanging his head in shame again? Were his mother’s tears soaking the pillows? The only member of his family who was proud was probably his twin brother. Baasim had long stopped being a fan of America’s democracy and vowed to never return.
I should’ve gone home, too.
His father, Muaadh Kahlifa, had begged him when he was first paroled. He was sure the law wouldn’t have chased him there. But in Yemen, Kadir would’ve had a different struggle. The country had been in the midst of a civil war since the Houthi rebels seized the government years ago. It wasn’t the Yemen Kadir remembered visiting as a child.
Where does that leave me? A man without a country? he mused. It leaves me in prison.
“Open cell C-165,” a guard barked.
Startled, Kadir sat up.
His cell number was repeated in the distance before a loud buzzer sounded and the metal door opened.
“You got a new roommate, convict.” The guard’s grin slanted.
Kadir ignored the guard and focused on the six-foot-six black dude ducking into the cell with steps that were as heavy as an elephant’s. The man was as broad as a mountain with muscles that had muscles.
The guard chuckled, patting the big man on the back. “Now you two play nice and get along, especially you, Precious. The medical ward is complaining about patching up your cellmates. The last one nearly got shipped out to the morgue.”
Kadir groaned.
“Close cell C-165,” the guard yelled.
The order was repeated from the corresponding guard while Kadir and Precious sized each other up. After their door shut, the prison guard had one more message, “By the way, Kahlifa, Special Agent Bell says hi.” He laughed and marched away.
Fuck.
A malicious grin wormed across Precious’s thin lips.
Kadir hopped down, never breaking eye contact with the giant.
Precious rolled his neck, cracking the tendons, and then pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand.
Kadir angled his body away from his aggressor and planted his feet. Mentally, he mapped out the giant’s vital organs, prime real estate when calculating how to take down an opponent. Every man’s vulnerability was the chin; tap that hard enough and Precious’s knees would fold. However, most fighters knew that, so the chin was also one of the most protected. Kadir had a good reach, but he doubted a clean shot would open to him.
Precious inched closer, bouncing side to side.
Kadir put up his fists.
“I’m going to enjoy this, rag head.” Precious dropped his chin and went with a right hook.
Kadir dodged, dancing on his toes. After landing a punch against the giant’s side, Kadir realized he was in trouble. The man was made of steel. Pain ricocheted up his arm, throwing him off his game, which opened him up for a solid punch to the face.
Kadir’s lip split and sprayed blood across Precious’s orange uniform, which pissed the giant off further.
Growling, Precious attacked, ending their graceful dance. The fight turned into an old-fashioned street brawl with Kadir dishing out at much as he received. After a six-year stint, this was not Kadir’s first prison fight. Unable to outpower those steel fists, Kadir switched up and used his old high school wrestling moves, hoping to exhaust his attacker.
Kadir succeeded in getting Precious into an Anaconda Choke, an arm triangle chokehold from the front headlock position, a near impossible maneuver to escape.
Precious grunted and growled, but soon his body went limp beneath Kadir. He held on for a while longer, but to avoid catching a murder charge, Kadir released the big man and then scrambled back in case Precious was playing possum.
He wasn’t.
Precious was out cold.
“Well, shit!”
Kadir whipped his head toward the voice. The prison guard had returned with a couple of buddies with clubs, and none of them looked pleased.
23
The White House
President Walker was on his third bourbon an hour before noon. He didn’t bother to turn from the tall windows when he heard the angry march of his vice president into the Oval Office. “Well?”
“The House gaveled in Gary Everhardt as the new speaker. He sailed through with over two hundred and thirty-three votes. They are holding a press conference now.”
Sighing, Walker drained his glass before moving away from the window to grab the remote. A panel in the wall slid to the side and revealed a television. The station was already programmed to C-SPAN, where Speaker Everhardt stood before a bank of microphones, monopolizing the screen.
“We are absolutely going to launch an investigation into what part the president of the United States played in the death of our former speaker and colleague Kenneth Reynolds,” Everhardt announced. “I have no doubts that we will find enough evidence to impeach. I, along with millions of Americans, am horrified by the apparent lengths this president will go to maintain power. It’s clear that speaker Reynolds was nothing more than a political pawn in this administration’s dangerous obsession with power. My caucus and I are here to stand up to this dangerous criminal and see to it that he is removed from the power that he covets so desperately. Thank you.”
President Walker powered off the television. “Oh God.”
“Daniel—”
“Don’t!” He wagged his finger. “Don’t start!”
Kate plowed on, “Save yourself and the country the humiliation of a long, drawn-out impeachment trial,” she pleaded.
No sooner had those words tumbled out of her mouth, Donald Davidson and Sean Haverty, chief of staff, strolled into the office.
Walker ignored Kate and shifted his attention to the two men. “Tell me that you got something.”
Davidson crossed over to the president’s desk. “Not much on Abrianna Parker herself, but you might find this interesting. It’s about her father. You’ll never believe this, but he’s Cargill Parker.”
Kate and Walker perked up.
“The oil and gas tycoon?”
“The one and only,” Davidson said, handing over a folder. “Of course, he’s also a Republican donor. He and his wife adopted Abrianna when she was five years old. She ran away from home at fourteen and got caught up in the whole Craig Avery incident.
After she’d been rescued, she disappeared again.”
“Humph. Another little girl lost story, huh? The public will eat that up. That’s not what I want.”
“That may be true. However, Cargill isn’t a boy scout. On paper, he’s a powerful and successful businessman,” Haverty told him.
Kate frowned. “And off paper?”
“Off paper, we get into a dark rumor mill. About him and a secret society that he belongs to.”
“Oh, God. More conspiracies,” Kate mumbled.
“Very persistent rumors and conspiracies,” Davidson insisted.
“Do tell.”
“Mr. Parker is a member of an order called the Dragons Templar. There’s not much known about them. However, there are rumors that have persisted about his private Lynnwood Club. Rumors that involve sex . . . and children.”
Walker lit up. Davidson had handed him the biggest gift he’d ever received. “Really?”
Kate shook her head. “We are in a constitutional crisis and you two are talking about pursuing rumors? Am I getting this right? We’re not going to get out of this bullshit by launching rumors and propaganda. None of that has ever been proven, right?”
Haverty said, “I don’t think anyone has ever tried to prove them. Parker is old money, and that’s one hell of a buffer.”
“Right,” Kate snapped. “That old money isn’t going to suddenly disappear. We don’t have time for this. Step down with dignity or let the Republicans humiliate you by tossing you out on your privileged white ass.”
The office quieted while Walker paced.
Kate’s patience thinned. “I can’t believe that you’re seriously considering this. It’s beyond ridiculous.”
Davidson hedged. “It could play to character. Not only to Mr. Parker’s but also to the type of criminal environment his daughter grew up in. Then you could cast doubt on the authenticity of the surveillance video . . .”
“And even suggest that she coerced the confession before Sanders killed herself,” Walker added, smiling.
“Was it a suicide?” Haverty asked.
“This is madness!” Kate refused to play along.
Davidson kept his eyes on the president. “So what do you want to do?”
Walker decided, “Throw the Hail Mary and pray that we get something that sticks. Go after the father.”
Davidson nodded. “Yes sir, Mr. President.” He exited the office.
Walker added, “Sorry, Kate. You’re going to have to wait a little longer to get behind this desk.”
“You’re delusional.” Kate spun and marched out of the Oval Office. She caught up with Davidson before he left the West Wing. “What in hell are you doing?” she hissed, tugging his arm to make him stop.
“What does it look like? I’m carrying out the president’s orders.”
“What you’re doing is giving him false hope.”
“So?” He shrugged.
“So? This is dangerous. He’s going to drag us all down with him on this foolish witch-hunt. Stop encouraging this nonsense.”
Davidson chuckled. “What do you care if he flails for a while? He’s nowhere near the truth. Only you and I know about your and Sanders’s murder scheme.”
“Shhhh!” Kate glanced around and then pulled him into the empty Cabinet Room. “Lower your voice. Do you want someone to hear you?”
Davidson smirked. “All I’m saying, sweetheart is that you’re going to get what you want sooner or later. Sanders gave you a big fucking gift by naming the White House and not you personally. President Dumb-Shit thinks he sent me to knock off your onetime ‘college-experiment’ to clean up her mess. He’ll never know that you convinced Sanders to kill Reynolds to get her through the Senate committee. So sit back, relax, and watch the show. Let him spin his wheels. He’s not going to get out of this trap.” He brushed a kiss against her stiff lips. “Kitty was just a college fling, wasn’t she?”
Kate glared. “I’m not answering that again.”
Davidson shrugged. “Just checking, because I know your gay husband doesn’t give a damn.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Absolutely, Madam President.” He saluted. “Absolutely.”
24
DARPA Conference Center, Arlington, VA
Dr. Charles Zacher took to the stage before members of the Defense Advance Research Project Agency (DARPA) and grabbed them with his opening: “Imagine a soldier who can outrun any animal on the planet, carry hundreds of pounds with ease. Communicate telepathically with his squadron, go weeks without eating or sleeping, or regenerate lost limbs on the battlefield, and be completely controlled, mind and body, by military technicians thousands of miles away. Does this sound like science fiction to you? If so, then you’re not living in the real world.
“We are in a twenty-first-century arms race among a vast array of covert technologies that are presently under development. There will be a new kind of soldier, a genetically modified and artificially enhanced superhuman fighting machine that dominates the battlefields of the future. The engineering of these super soldiers is not only a top priority for the Pentagon, with black budget projects with classifications so high that not even the president of the United States has the clearance to access.”
Dr. Zacher held every member at his conference at rapt attention. “We at T4S are the leaders in this race, and if you’re here with our special invitation, then we believe that you are among the best of the best scientists, and we want you to be a part of our team.”
For the next forty-five minutes, he led potential recruits through T4S’s founding, accomplishments, and mission statement. During the Q and A, he was challenged by the new crop of engineers on the nefarious and questionable morality of some of the projects his company engaged in; those were from the liberal crowd. The other ninety percent of the participants were excited and enthralled with the company’s possibilities.
All too soon, time was up. Dr. Z thanked the crowd for their time, and he exited the stage.
Ned met him and handed him a towel and bottled water. “You were great out there, sir.”
“Thanks.” He patted his forehead dry. “What did you think, Spalding?” Dr. Z asked without turning around to confirm his boss stood behind him.
Spalding chuckled. “You know that I’ve always believed that you’re one of the best.”
Dr. Z turned with a sardonic smile. “It’s always nice to hear, though.”
Spalding said, “Well, there you go.” He folded his arms. “Walk with me.”
Dr. Z handed the towel and water back to Ned and fell in lockstep beside Spalding. His boss waited until they cleared out of the main conference room and away from the loitering crowd in the hallway before he addressed what he wanted to talk about.
“Have you seen the news or read the papers?” Spalding asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you should know what I’m about to say.”
Dr. Z sighed. “You still want me to bring Parker in.”
“I want you to bring them both in. Parker and the reporter—Ms. Lehane.”
“Why?”
“Their propensity to always be in the news is making too many people nervous. The point of having lab rats is to be able to observe them in private. These two have a habit of being in the spotlight.”
Confused, Dr. Z said, “You caught me a little flat-footed.”
“How is that?”
“Well, I thought that the reason you wanted Parker brought in was because she may be exhibiting violent tendencies like Shalisa Young, but it appears that may not be the case at all. She was framed.”
Spalding’s smile tightened. “I understand. Over the years, you’ve grown quite fond of Ms. Parker. You’ve watched her grow up. Pretended to be a grandfather figure to her. So this order comes particularly hard.”
“That’s not it.”
“No? Then enlighten me. What is the problem?”
“There’s no problem.”
“Really? Bec
ause this is the second time that I’ve given this order.”
“We weren’t the only ones who couldn’t find her,” Dr. Z informed him. “The entire federal government was looking for her and quite frankly . . .” He paused to take a breath. “I think that it’s a mistake to grab her now. The type of scandal they’re involved in makes it sticky to extract either one of them. I suggest that we wait until this whole political drama dies down.”
“See. That’s where I think you’re wrong,” Spalding said. “I think this is the perfect time for her to disappear. When she does, we have the perfect scapegoat to take the fall.”
The light clicked on in Dr. Z’s head. “You want to frame the president of the United States?”
25
Chesapeake Detention Facility, Baltimore, Maryland
Every bone is Kadir’s body ached. Most nights he slept with one eye open. The guards made it a game to constantly find excuses to gear up and charge into his cell with clubs swinging. However, the more they punished him, the more he rebelled.
When he entered the visiting room, Abrianna’s eyes rounded in horror. “Oh, my God! What happened to your face?” Abrianna demanded, “Who did that to you?”
She reached over the table to touch him but was reprimanded. “No touching!”
Abrianna jerked back and glared at the guard.
Kadir chuckled. “Kind of reminds me of the Stallion’s VIP room when the bouncer wouldn’t let me touch you during that lap dance. How do you like having the roles reversed?”
“Are you enjoying this?”
“Other than the pain and the swelling, yes. A little bit.”
She sat back in her seat and folded her arms. “So who did it?”
“No one. I . . . slipped in the shower,” Kadir grumbled.
She cocked her head. “Really?”
Kadir ignored her reaction. “How are you holding up?”
“Me? I’m fine. No bathroom tiles have jumped out and whipped my ass,” she said.
“Consider yourself lucky.” Kadir smirked.
Collusion Page 12