Assassin's Promise, The Red Team Series, Book 5 (37 page)

She held a finger to her mouth as she put the call on speaker.
 

“Dr. Chase.”

“Dr. Zimmers. Thank you for returning my call. I need to give you an update.”

“Yes. And I have some new information for you. There have been some developments in our investigation that affect your situation. Can you please come meet me at the provost’s office?”

Her panicked eyes zipped over to Greer. “I can’t right now.”

“Where are you?”

She pinched her eyes shut. “I’m at the Friendship Community…and I’m stuck here under quarantine.”

“Ah. Do you by any chance know Senator Whiddon, from Colorado?”

Remi looked at Greer. He held his breath, waiting for her answer. “Yes.”

“Mm-mmm. So much has happened since we last spoke. I was hoping to tell you in person. The FBI has been here.”

Remi’s mouth and eyes opened as she waited to hear more.

“Dr. Crawford has been arrested.”

“Board member Dr. Crawford?”

“Yes. We discovered he paid the thugs to tag the building. And it was he who broke into your office.”

“Oh my God. Why?”

Dr. Zimmers skipped that question and went back to his own. “How is it that you know Senator Whiddon?”

Remi was silent for a long moment. Greer wondered how she would answer. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “He was a prophet in the polygamist community where I was raised. The Grummond Society.” She met Greer’s eyes. “I was married to him when I was twelve.”

“Ah. It all makes sense now. Dr. Crawford, apparently, was being blackmailed by the senator, who had some ugly dirt on his extra-marital affairs. Dr. Crawford was pressuring your assistant to get you to stop working on your Friendship Community research. Your assistant did the right thing. He reported the situation to me immediately, and I brought it to the provost.
 

“When things escalated, and when the FBI started talking to us, we brought the issue to you. It was our hope at the time, when we didn’t know everything that was happening, that having you put some distance between yourself and your project might have kept things from taking a disastrous turn. I’m sorry that we couldn’t give you a better explanation at the time. We, too, were kept in the dark.”

“I understand. I never faulted you for your decision. I just couldn’t figure out what I had done to lose your support.”

“You never lost my or the university’s support, I assure you. Agent Villalobo has filled us in regarding your pivotal role in helping spot the perfidious activities being conducted through the Friendship Community. He’s going to be recommending you for the Presidential Citizens Medal because of the danger you put yourself in so that a national and international crisis could be averted.”

Greer grinned. He’d found the link between Whiddon and Dr. Crawford. Lobo had taken the info and run with it. He was glad to hear that Dr. Crawford had been arrested.

The stress in Remi’s voice yanked him out of his thoughts.

“Dr. Zimmers, I don’t want that medal. Absolutely not. I did not do this for personal glory. I don’t want to become known as the person who destroyed this community so that I could make a name for myself. I would never again be able to establish rapport with any other groups I want to study. And I will lose all standing with the Friends, which I cannot do at such a critical juncture. Please have him withdraw his nomination.”

“Dr. Chase, you did not destroy that community. It was their own actions that secured their downfall.”

“I insist, Dr. Zimmers.”

“Very well. I can’t say I agree with your decision, but I will see that it’s honored. When will your quarantine be finished? And, of course, I should have asked first—how are you feeling?”

“I believe I should be in the clear in about two more weeks. I feel fine. I’ve had the vaccination. I don’t think I was exposed, so I’m not worried about the quarantine, other than what it will do to my position at the university.”

It seemed to Greer that he heard a little chuckle in Dr. Zimmer’s voice. “Put your fears to rest. The provost encouraged me to consider putting you up for tenure early.”

Remi looked up at him with a stunned expression. He bit his lip to keep from shouting out.

“As you know,” Dr. Zimmer continued, “going up too early isn’t good for one’s career, but it shows how deeply the provost supports you. I only mentioned it so that you would have no worries about your position here. We’re far more concerned about losing you to more competitive universities, though of course you didn’t hear that from me. Mr. Weston will be covering your classes until you can return. And by no means am I implying that you need to rush. You have before you an extraordinary opportunity as a sociologist to document this event and its impact to the Friends’ community.”

“Thank you, Dr. Zimmers. You just made my day.”

“Stay well, Dr. Chase. And stay safe. I would love to hear more about your time with the Grummonds. I can imagine it being a very formative experience.”

“It was.”

“You were brave to tell me. I’ll keep that information confidential. By the way, are you in a safe place where you are?”

“Yes. Why?”

“The FBI informed us the senator has gone missing.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Senator George Whiddon lowered the sun visor. It was so hot outside that his Mercedes had a difficult time keeping things cool. He’d plugged the location coordinates into his GPS. It hadn’t rained in weeks out here in the remote Colorado plains. Months, even. The dirt road he was on sent a plume of dust high into the air. He was going to have to get his car detailed after this trip.

But it would be worth it.

He hated this half of his state. It was a barren wasteland, fit only for oil rigs and rattlesnakes. The plains were brown with dead grass. Even the sage and rabbitbrush looked skeletal. He came this far east in his state only during campaigns. The rest of the time, he sent his employees when something needed his attention.

He tried to adjust the air conditioning again, but it was already as cool as it would go. Maybe it wasn’t only the August heat making him sweat. Maybe it was the fact that he was finally going to meet King. For more than a decade, they’d been partners, building a future fit for world leaders like themselves. For ten years, he’d pulled strings for King from inside the government, run interference for him, smoothed the way for him. Whatever King wanted, King got—and not only from George.
 

None of his peers, the few of them who were going to survive the coming Armageddon, knew what King looked like. None of them had met him in person. He would be the first. He already suspected he was King’s highest-ranking operative. For that’s really what he was. An operative. A rebel. An instrument in the making of a new world order. A founding father of the new country.
 

His place in history would never be forgotten.

He smiled, then guzzled a long swallow of water from his plastic bottle. The fine dust from the road left grit in his mouth—even with the windows closed and the air on recycle. He looked at his GPS. Twenty-three more miles to go. This part of Colorado slid seamlessly right into Kansas. He wasn’t surprised this was where King had picked for the meet. King was a man who fiercely protected his privacy. Out here, there were no cameras. And the appointed meeting time was conveniently between satellite rotations.
 

George watched his progress on his phone’s map. He’d reached his destination. He slowed, then stopped. There was nothing out here, only miles and miles of brown earth, dead grass, and wind. It was a great ocean of parched land.
 

The only thing that told him he was in the right spot was a black SUV parked facing away from him on the low slope of a hill. He drove across the dry field and pulled up next to it.
 

His phone rang.
“Leave your keys in the ignition and your phone in your car,”
the electronically altered voice ordered. George complied, feeling ripples of excitement.
 

“Very good. Pick up the wand and scan yourself.”
 

Again George complied. Of course he wasn’t wearing any transmitting devices. He wasn’t a fool. He knew everything he’d done for King could come back and bite him in the ass.
 

“Very good. Pick up your phone and come forward.”

George could feel his heart speed up. This was a day he’d never forget. This day made everything he’d done for King worth everything it had cost him. George walked up over the hill. His palms were damp.
 

A man sat in one of two folding chairs. Between the chairs was a cooler.

George walked up to the man, who was younger and more fit than he’d expected King to be. The man wore glasses, so it was hard to tell his age. Somewhere between twenty-five and forty, he guessed.

George held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, King.”

King didn’t look at him or return the handshake. Instead, he turned and retrieved an ice-cold bottle of water from the cooler. George’s mouth watered in anticipation.

King cracked the seal and guzzled the refreshing liquid. “Sit down,” he ordered.

George sat.

“You’ve broken my trust,” King said. Somehow, even in person, his voice was being electronically altered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

“May I have some water?”

“In time.”

They sat in the bright afternoon sun. The dry air evaporated George’s sweat as soon as it appeared on his skin, leaving it salty and itchy. He licked his lips, a rough drag over dry skin.
 

King lifted his face to the sun and smiled. George took note of all of his features. His legs were long and muscular, his waist lean, his shoulders broad. George had the feeling that King was six inches or more taller than he was. A few days’ growth of beard shadowed the ridge of his jaw. There was a cleft in his chin. His hair was a warm brown, reddish in the bright sun. Black nitrile gloves covered his hands, partially covering the tactical watch on his right wrist.

“You’re not King.”

The man smiled. “How would you know?”

“You’re too young.”

The man’s head slowly tilted his way. “Maybe I have a clear conscience and therefore age slowly.”

“I’m fine with what I’ve done. It’s for a greater good. A new beginning for this country and the world.”

“One where prophets marry twelve-year-old girls and rape them before an audience of like-minded religious fanatics?”

The first whisper of panic flicked through George’s mind. “Who are you?”

“Your life, as you know it, ends today, in the way of your choosing.”

George tried to lick his lips again, but this time his tongue stuck on the first patch of skin it reached. He pulled it back into his dry mouth. “Did King send you?” His voice was raspy. He needed water.

Silence. The man reached into the cooler and brought out a fresh bottle of water. He set it on the cooler, then handed George a clipboard with pieces of white paper and a pen tied to the clip.

“Confess your sins. I hear it does a body good.”

“No.”

The man smiled. “This is the end of the road for you. Did you not notice?”

“I want water.”

“When you finish. Start with the animals you tortured as a boy. The girl you raped in high school. The one you murdered in college. Spend plenty of time on your sprint of pedophilia as a prophet in the Grummonds. Does your wife know how many girls are in your harem? List whose palms you greased to start your career as a politician. Don’t leave your association with Amir Hadad out. Or your part in earmarking funds for the research facility that was testing bio weapons on underage volunteers from the Friendship Community. Such a fascinating life you’ve lived. Write it all out. I have time.”
 

The man smiled. Only King knew those things about him. He had to be King.
 

“Oh, and be sure to note how you mobilized the WKB against the girl who was one of your twelve-year-old brides, ripping open a wedge in my organization wide enough for the whole fucking federal government to step into. That, my friend, was your biggest sin. Now write, before your water gets hot.”

“I had to stop her.”

“Not at the cost of my kingdom. Write. It. Down.”

George wrote down the things King listed. He wasn’t King. He couldn’t be King. He was too young; George had been working with him for more than half this guy’s life. Perhaps there was more than one King? Maybe this King had inherited the job from the previous? He wrote the things the man mentioned, no more and no less, though there were more. Too much for the sheets given him.

He handed the clipboard to the man and reached for the water.

“Ah-ah-ah. A moment, please.” The man read over the confession. “Sign and date it.”

George took the clipboard back and did as he requested.
 

“Very good. Now, we just have your decision about the rest of your life. I am not going to kill you.” King smiled, the expression anything but benign. “Here are your choices. Option A, you turn yourself in, with this, and accept your punishment.”

“That will end my career. I’m far too useful to you. I know things about you.”

“Very true. Hence Option B.” He nodded toward the still-cold bottle of water. “Drink the entire contents of this bottle.”

“Why that bottle and not a different one from the cooler? What’s in it?”

“LSD. Not enough to kill you, though your death will follow shortly. Of course”—King touched his heart—“I am not without empathy. The LSD will prevent you from feeling anything.”

King removed the papers from the clipboard and slipped them into a sealed plastic bag. “What is your choice?”

“My life’s over either way.”

“Very true.”

George reached for the water bottle. He opened it and looked at King as he guzzled most of its contents.
 

King smiled and settled back in his chair.
 

Instead of the pain George had expected, a comfortable, warm sensation slipped through his veins. He laughed. This wasn’t death. King had just been scaring him. He had overstepped in sending the WKB after that bitch. There wasn’t anything on that paper that King didn’t already know about him, obviously. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for King’s bullshit. Thank God he hadn’t lost his head and begged.