by L. C. Shaw
He followed the circular driveway past the front door and around to the four-car garage, per Phillips’s instructions. Using the remote, he opened the garage doors. Three cars were parked inside—a navy blue Aston Martin Vanquish, a black BMW 7 Series sedan, and a green Range Rover with a dog rescue bumper sticker that must belong to Taylor. He parked the Mustang in the only open spot, got out of the car, and pressed the intercom. Malcolm had given him the code to get into the house, but he didn’t want to spook her.
A wary voice answered. “Who’s there?”
Hearing the strain and grief in her voice broke his heart. “It’s Jack.” He heard a dog growling in the background.
A click and then the door opened. She was standing on the other side, a ghost. They looked at each other.
He pulled something from his pocket. “Gummy bear?”
A forlorn smile appeared then vanished just as quickly. He crossed the threshold, and they stared at each other for a long moment. He’d forgotten how beautiful her eyes were—like sparkling emeralds. Even now, red-rimmed from crying, they were arresting. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time to be thinking about things like that. A golden retriever came up to him and began to sniff and wag his tail.
“What are you doing here? How did you get into the garage?” she asked.
“Malcolm gave me the remote.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’ll explain everything.” He followed her into the huge kitchen and took in the marble countertops and the ornate chandeliers hanging above a center island that could easily accommodate twenty people around it. He’d have bet she and Phillips could’ve walked around this house for days and not run into each other.
The dog jumped up and nudged Jack’s hand with his head.
“This is Beau.” Her voice was wooden.
Jack crouched down and ruffled the fur on the dog’s head. Beau’s tail thumped wildly.
“Nice to meet you, Beau.” He looked up at her. “Malcolm came to see me last week and told me that if anything happened to him, I was to come straight here.”
“I can’t believe he’s d-dead.” She stumbled on the word.
“Taylor.” Jack took a breath. “It wasn’t an accident.” There was no easy way to say it, so he just came out with it. “He was murdered.”
She shook her head. “No, no. What are you talking about? He died of an allergic reaction. He’s allergic to shellfish, there must have been some in his sauce. The medical examiner ruled it an accidental death.”
Jack persisted. “He warned me that someone was after him.”
“I don’t understand. Why would he come to you? You hardly know him.”
“He said I was the only one he trusted. He’s seen me around the Hill, knows my reputation.” Jack hesitated for a moment before asking, “And I assume he knows our history, that I’d want to help you?”
At this she glared at him. “Yeah, well, he should have gone to someone else.” Her eyes filled with tears and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Did he say anything out of the ordinary before he left?”
She shook her head. “No. But . . .” She stood up, pacing. “Well, he was preoccupied, distracted. I just figured he was stressed from work. The trip was a last-minute thing, just to blow off some steam. I don’t dive. It’s something he does alone.”
Jack sighed. “He told me he would be killed, that I had to get you. You’re in danger. We have to get out of here tonight.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere. I have to plan his funeral.”
He tried a different approach. “Let’s just back up a minute. What do you know about this vaccine bill he voted on before he left?”
She shrugged. “Malcolm was for it. It was going to help a lot of families that couldn’t afford the vaccine. RSV infection is horrible in babies, and the vaccine is costly.”
“So why did he change his mind?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He voted no.”
“That doesn’t make any—”
She was interrupted by the buzz of the intercom.
“Are you expecting someone?” He didn’t like this. It was almost ten o’clock—late for visitors. He walked over to the window. Even with the outside lights on, the thick hedge of boxwood in front of the driveway made it impossible to see anything.
“See what they want, but don’t buzz them in.”
She gave him a skeptical look, then pressed the button on the speaker on the wall. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Phillips?” a gravelly voice asked.
“May I help you?”
“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. We’re from the Capitol Police. We need to speak with you.”
She hit the buzzer before Jack could stop her. “Come in.”
“Why did you do that? How do you know they’re legit?”
“It’s the police. They must have news. What’s wrong with you?”
A few minutes later, the flash of headlights shone through the curtains briefly and a car door slammed. A low growl came from Beau and he padded close behind Taylor.
Jack followed her into the hallway, and as she opened the front door, he stood behind it, unseen, but could hear what was going on.
“May I see some ID, please?” Taylor said. “What are you doing?” she asked, her tone rising.
Jack heard the exterior storm door being rattled, then Taylor slamming the front door shut and engaging the deadbolt.
The sound of broken glass made them both jump, and Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the hallway. Beau was barking and jumping up and down now.
Her eyes were wide as she said, “When I asked for ID, he tried to open the door.”
Jack flew into action. “We have to leave. Now. Get in my car—it’s in the garage.” He pulled out his gun just in case there were any surprises waiting for them there.
“I have to get my stuff.”
He could hear something ramming against the door. They’d be in the house any second.
“No time. Let’s go.”
“But—”
“Taylor, please!”
The dog whined as they all ran to the garage.
He started the car, not turning on the headlights, and opened the back door for the dog, who jumped in. Turning to Taylor, he said, “I don’t know how we’re going to get past them.”
She pressed her index finger onto the fingerprint reader pad on the alarm panel, grabbed a key ring from the hook on the wall, then got in the passenger seat. He watched in shock as the ground in front of the car opened into a black void that ultimately revealed a downward ramp.
“What the—”
“It’s an underground tunnel. Installed by the previous owners.”
This was something new. He pressed on the gas and slid the car into the dark opening. A dimly lit tunnel led them about a mile from the house, still her property apparently, until they came to what looked like a solid concrete wall that was stained red from years of groundwater rusting the concrete’s rebar.
“Now what?”
She took the key ring, which had a small LED flashlight attached, and illuminated the wall until she found the oval embossed star on the face of the concrete. As she held the proximity sensor on the key chain against the star, the muted sound of mechanical movement commenced. The wall slowly opened as if it were a garage door.
Jack drove through and cast a sidelong view at Taylor. “Seriously? Was the previous owner regularly hunted by assassins or something?”
“She was a former head of state. It’s one of the things that drew Malcolm to the house. He thought it was cool. Like the Batcave or something.” She bit her lip. “I always thought it was ridiculous. Never thought I’d need to use it.”
Jack was relieved to see that theirs was the only car on the road and that they’d make a clean getaway.
“Who do you think was at the door?” she asked.
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“I can only assume they’re connected to whoever killed Malcolm.”
“So it’s really true? He was murdered?”
“Looks that way. Right now we need to put some distance between us and them—whoever they are. Let’s get out of the state, and we’ll stop somewhere for the night. I’ll show you everything when we get there.”
She ran a hand through her hair and looked at him.
“This is surreal. I cannot believe I’m actually in a car with you running off into the night.” Then her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“I forgot my progesterone shots.”
“Your what?”
She was quiet a moment then sighed. “Jack. I’m pregnant—I’m high risk. I need to take these shots for two more weeks. Without them, I could lose the baby. We have to go back.”
Jack shook his head. “We can’t. It’s too dangerous.”
Pregnant! Phillips had left that little tidbit out. The idea of her carrying another man’s child upset him more than he wished, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. Rubbing his temples, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.”
Chapter Four
THE LIMOUSINE CAME TO A STOP, AND AS DAMON CROSSE waited for his driver to get out and open his door, he admired the massive stone facility he had commissioned. He’d purchased the two hundred acres in upstate New York over twenty years ago, but this newest compound had been recently completed. Towering iron gates, which surrounded the perimeter of the property, served as a deterrent to the curious; guards stationed in towers and twenty-four-hour video surveillance ensured that he was informed of all goings-on at all times. He divided his time between this building and one much more secluded and secret, where the important work was being done. But today was the start of the new fellowship program and he was curious to get a look at the newest recruits. Before getting out of the car, he removed a long white hair from his pant leg. He would have to speak to his housekeeper about brushing Peritas more often. He normally kept the Great Pyrenees with him, but today his schedule was too packed to give his pet the attention he deserved.
The latest group had just arrived. He took the long hallway to the west elevator, entered, and pushed the button, tapping his foot on the descent to the basement level. He emerged and walked down another cold, bare corridor before entering the room adjoining the barracks, where he could observe the new group through the two-way mirror. They sat on their bunks, awaiting further instruction. Their excited chatter and delight at the novelty of their circumstances had been replaced by an apprehensive awe due to the formidable surroundings. Every group reacted the same way. A knock at the door made him turn.
“You may enter,” he said.
“Sir, is there anything else you desire?” Jonas, his longtime estate manager, spoke.
“Everything is as it should be?”
“Yes, sir. The dossiers are on your desk. The medical records on all the recruits are attached to each folder. Everything so far is unremarkable.”
“That is all then.”
Jonas cleared his throat.
“He’s waiting in your office, sir.”
“Very well.”
Damon watched as the heavy door closed, then observed the recruits for half an hour. Deciding he had let the visitor wait long enough, he rose and returned to the main level, and to his study.
He stopped before opening the door, pulled out his cell phone, and watched the man on the screen. Dwarfed by the enormous wing chair he sat in, the visitor waited. Despite the chill in the air, perspiration had discolored his thin white shirt, and beads of sweat glistened on his brow. He muttered, “We’ll find her, sir. Not to worry. Not to worry.” His head bobbed as he repeated the mantra to himself over and over.
Damon frowned, put the phone in his pocket, and opened the door.
“So good of you to come.” Damon’s smooth, deep voice resonated in the room. “I trust you have good news for me?” He seated himself behind the large mahogany desk and looked at the visitor with pursed lips.
The man swallowed. “She got away, sir.”
“How?” Damon pressed in a soft voice.
“We don’t know. Her car and Phillips’s cars were still in the garage. We checked the records, and there are no other cars registered to either of them.” The man hesitated. “I don’t know how she did it. It’s like she disappeared into thin air.”
Damon said nothing.
The man in the chair flinched and hurried on. “We’ll find out who it is. We will. We’ve got a lot of men on it, it won’t be long. I’m sure, sir—we’ll fix it. Stupid, stupid, I know but—”
“Enough,” he said. His left hand moved to a small box that sat on the corner of the desk, and with deliberate calm, he pressed the red button. He looked up and studied the visitor for a full minute before he spoke again. “You have failed.”
As Damon stood, he nodded toward the back of the room, and the three men who had entered silently surrounded the visitor. They didn’t need to use any force to subdue him. Everyone in Damon’s employ understood the consequence of failure.
He pressed his intercom. “Jonas.”
The door opened. “Yes, sir?”
“Send a team to the Phillips house. Have them retrieve the video footage. I want to know who’s with his wife. There’s no way she did this alone.”
Chapter Five
TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES LATER, JACK PULLED OVER at a run-down motel in Pennsylvania and got them a room. The rumpled man behind the desk looked annoyed at having to tear himself away from his phone, which Jack could see was playing a video not meant for anyone under eighteen. In response to his request for a credit card, Jack slapped two hundred-dollar bills on the counter. They disappeared into the man’s pocket and a room key appeared in their place. No one else was around, so it was easy to sneak Beau from the back seat of the Mustang into the room.
The stink of stale cigarettes wafted over Jack when he opened the door. He flipped a switch, and a dingy bulb in a cracked lamp illuminated a modest room. He threw his bag on one of the two orange Naugahyde chairs next to the small, round wooden table.
Taylor looked around the room, her eyes resting a moment on the double bed, then back at Jack.
“One bed. You should have gotten two rooms.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll take one of the chairs.”
She pulled the comforter off the bed, folded it, and placed it on the floor. Jack didn’t even want to think what kinds of stains would show up on it under a black light. Sitting on the bed, she called Beau over and patted the mattress until he jumped up next to her.
Jack handed Taylor a protein bar, but she shook her head.
“You have to eat. Think of the baby.”
She took the bar, opened it, pulled off a small piece, and put it in her mouth. “I don’t even have any clothes with me,” Taylor said, as she watched Jack put his duffel bag on the table.
“We’ll pick some things up tomorrow.” Rifling through the bag, he brought out a pair of faded blue sweatpants and a Boston University sweatshirt. “In the meantime . . .” He held his breath as he handed them to her, watching her expression carefully.
Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you still have these.” She held the shirt at arm’s length, looking it over, then shook her head. “You kept them all these years?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t force myself to get rid of them.”
She got a faraway look for a minute, pressed her lips together, then stood up and walked into the bathroom without another word.
He turned on the TV and flipped channels until he found CNN.
She returned, having changed, and sat down at the table. “Tell me again about what Malcolm said when he came to your apartment.”
“He was clearly agitated and wasn’t making much sense. He mentioned someone named Jeremy that we need to fin
d, said now that he’d voted against the bill, they would kill him. He said Brody Hamilton is involved somehow, too. He gave me an envelope for you. Then he left.”
“Senator Hamilton? The majority whip?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me see the letter.”
Jack went to his briefcase, pulled out the letter and gave it to her, then sat back down.
She looked at Jack with suspicion. “Why is it open?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t have read it, did you?”
She opened it and read it, her face paling. She brushed a tear from her cheek, then handed it back to Jack who scanned it again.
My dearest Taylor,
Let me begin by saying how I am sorry and how painful it is to know that nothing I can do will fix the mess I’ve made. No matter how it started, in the end, I did love you. If you believe nothing else, believe that. You will find things out—things that will make you hate me. I need you to understand that what we’ve gone through in the last four years to create this life you carry, it changed me. Brought us closer and gave me a glimpse into real love—something I’d never known before you. It was your love and the love I already feel for our child that gave me the strength to stand up to them. To finally do the right thing.
There’s so much more at stake than meets the eye. For reasons too complicated to explain in this letter, I have changed my vote. Look into the rider. It opens the door for untold evil. And look into Brody Hamilton’s record. Once my vote is cast, they will know that I have deserted, and they will kill me. I can’t tell you how it will happen, or when, but you must know that, when you hear of my death, it was not of my own doing. They are excellent at making things appear as they want. They fabricated my entire background and made up a new identity for me to serve their purposes.
Trust no one. Not the press, not the enforcement agencies. They have people everywhere. Disappear. Go deep. I have already arranged your first stop. Jack knows where to go. Once you arrive, you will find instructions for your next one. Don’t waste time.