Cloud Dust: RD-1 (20 page)

At least the Senate approved of him—the President couldn't appoint
him without their consent.

"Cabbage," Rafe extended an elbow after stopping his
treadmill.

I took his arm. I waved at James as Rafe steered me out of the
gym.

* * *

"I really don't feel good about this," I said as I
put diamond studs in my ears. Rafe stood behind me, combing his hair. We were
nearly ready to go.

"I am not comfortable, either. We will get through this,
my love, as we are only watching from the side."

"I'm worried for Auggie. And the President, although
she's still on my shit list."

"That is the way with leaders—they cannot be all things
to all people, though we expect it of them always."

"Ilya, something will go wrong—we both know it. We just
don't know what form it will take."

"I know. People will die to prove a maniac's point. It
remains to be seen whether we will be counted among the dead."

"That's scary," I hugged myself and mumbled.

* * *

Cameras clicked in the White House press room as Auggie
stepped toward the podium. Rafe and I stood in a corner away from the cameras
to keep an eye on Auggie and the President.

One journalist caught my eye and forced me to draw in a
painful breath. He'd gotten information from an undisclosed source. That
information included video and photographs.
Oh, God, Auggie
, I sent to
him.
Civilian Security Services has gone nuts in Afghanistan and wiped out
three villages
.

Chapter 17
 

Corinne

"I only have preliminary information," Auggie said
when he responded to that journalist first. "I have been made aware of the
situation, but we are scrambling for more intel."

I fed information to Auggie mentally, while the journalist
stood and stared—he imagined he had an exclusive, straight from the source. He
did, but he didn't know about me.

His information says at least six hundred are dead,
including children
, I sent to Auggie.
Gunned down and left where they
fell. These guys are cutting a swath through the Afghan hills, with nothing to
stop them
.

Leo Shaw nodded as Auggie looked in his direction, then left
the room. The military was about to get involved with this.

Leo was probably more than surprised when I included him in
the mental conversation. James, too.

James, I need photographs of all those assholes in
Afghanistan—the Civilian Security guys
, I said
. Somebody has to have
those records. Get me the same on whoever has a stake in that company, too
.

I watched as he gave a slight nod and followed in Leo's wake.
No matter how you looked at this, it would reflect badly on the President—those
people were on the government payroll. I suspected they wanted a war, and
probably had a good head start on creating one.

The fortunate thing, I suppose, was with the dropping of that
bombshell, it was the best excuse ever for ending the press conference and
going straight to work. The Press Secretary took over and handed out standard platitudes
while Auggie, Rafe and I walked out of the room with Madam President.

"What the hell is happening?" the President demanded
as Auggie walked so fast I had to trot to keep up.

"Corinne has more information than I do, but that's about
to change," Auggie snapped. "Somebody get the Secretary of the Air
Force on the phone. We have to plan an air strike."

"Some—if not all—the Civilian Security Services personnel
we have in Afghanistan just went batshit crazy and attacked villages, killing
everybody," I said. "That's the gist of it, and until James can get
me photographs, that's really all I can give you."

"Then you have anything you want, Corporal," Madam
President nodded at James while Auggie and Rafe broke into a run.

That's how I ended up in a room full of computers while James
ran record after record of the Civilian Security Services employees in
Afghanistan. I ticked them off as on or off the list as we went through
photograph after photograph.

James made two lists while we went through the records—one titled
yes
and one titled
no
. Three-quarters of the way through more
than thirty-five hundred records, I developed a nosebleed and a headache. I
kept going. Madam President paced behind us while I updated information as I
studied photographs and held bloody tissues to my nose.

"They're driving to this village," I pointed out the
fourth target on a map someone else had pulled up on a second computer.

"Get that information to Colonel Hunter," the
President shouted at her Deputy Chief of Staff. He was on a phone nearby,
relaying information to wherever Auggie had gone with Rafe.

The Deputy Chief delivered the message. "He asks if you
want to send drones," he held a hand over the receiver and asked.

"I want whatever it will take to stop these
bastards," the President said. "I want an air strike on that convoy
as quickly as possible. Send both, since we have no idea what kind of weapons
they have."

"Yes, Madam President. Colonel Hunter, use whatever force
is necessary to kill the rogues before they reach the next target. Send in
manned and unmanned aircraft."

"Do not fire on any villages," the President added.

"Did you get that?" the Deputy Chief asked.
"Good. Yes. Immediately. Madam President, he says he'll have bodies
airlifted out when they're done," the Deputy Chief hung up the phone.

"Good. Thank you. Corinne, if you and James will come
with me to the Oval Office? Andrew, ask Colonel Hunter and his guard to meet us
there when everything is in motion."

"Yes, Madam President."

* * *

"Corinne, what can you tell me?" the President sat
heavily on her desk chair and leaned her elbows on the desk.

"I couldn't get a clear count on fatalities," I said,
slumping onto a guest chair. "I gave the village names to James, so he can
tell you approximate populations. I believe the number of deaths they handed to
the journalist are very conservative."

"Do we still have him in custody?" the President
turned to one of her Secret Service agents. I recognized him as someone who'd
ridden to the Vice President's funeral with us.

"We do, but he's protecting his source."

"Of course he is," the President muttered. She had a
headache, just as I did, but her nose wasn't bleeding; mine was.

"Can I get a cold, wet cloth?" I asked, pulling the
red-soaked tissue away from my nose.

The agent opened the door and shouted for someone to bring
tissues and a cold, wet cloth. Leo, Rafe and Auggie walked in before the cloth
arrived.

"Corinne?" Leo scooted James over on the sofa we
occupied, then pulled my hand and the bloody tissue away from my nose.

"I have a headache," I mumbled.

"I don't doubt it," Leo muttered.

"Here's the cold cloth," the agent handed it to Leo.

"Lean forward a little," Leo said before placing the
cold cloth on the bridge of my nose and pinching gently. "Breathe through
your mouth if you have to," he said. "The pinching and the cold
should help the blood clot," he explained.

In less than five minutes, the bleeding had stopped.
"Thank you," I mumbled. "Can I have some water, now?"

Leo Shaw grinned and nodded. "Want something for your
headache, too?"

"Ibuprofen?"

"We'll see."

* * *

An hour later, we received information that the convoy had
been bombed and the cleanup crew dispatched to retrieve bodies, vehicles and
weapons. Auggie had to stay with the President to field incoming questions and
deal with the press. Rafe stayed with them. Leo, James and I were driven back
to our ugly, temporary building.

"No more for you tonight," Leo said as I asked James
for information on the ones who owned the Civilian Security Services; I knew
they had to be responsible for the killings in Afghanistan. "James and I
can handle that through regular channels," Leo continued. "You're
going to bed."

After a dose of ibuprofen, I climbed into bed and attempted to
sleep. That didn't take long—Leo told the nurse who brought the ibuprofen that
it was only that. As it turns out, it held a sleep aid, too. I intended to have
a talk with Dr. Leo Shaw—once I was fully conscious and not so sleepy I
couldn't move.

* * *

Ilya

The only images televised were taken from far away with Telephoto
lenses or from the air, also with Telephoto lenses. The air, too, about a
football stadium in Georgia was being tested for remains of the drug.

Journalists were abuzz with the poison's second use—the same
poison that reportedly killed two thousand or more in Montana. The government
in that southeastern U.S. state had convened and officials from Homeland
Security and other agencies were arriving quickly to discuss necessary actions
and investigations.

Authorities were forced to examine the scene in hazmat
suits—the drug had been loosed as mist by an innocent-looking small plane,
dragging a congratulatory sign behind it. The concoction had been invisibly
sprayed as families and graduates sat in a rapidly warming stadium with very
little breeze to provide relief from the heat.

What I could see from televised images showed bodies slumped
in their seats or scattered across the turf of the field. It looked as if a
multicolored wheat field had been harvested by a giant sweep of a scythe.

Deaths occurred outside the stadium, too—it couldn't be
avoided since the mist had been released in the air. That meant the college
campus was on lockdown, and bodies lay on grassy lawns where they'd fallen,
once the mist was inhaled.

The drug was being used as a form of chemical warfare, and
that was unacceptable.

* * *

Notes—Colonel Hunter

I wanted to tell Shaw that anyone might have made the same
mistake, especially a physician, when one of his patients needed rest. The
truth was, if Corinne had been awake and allowed to study photographs of Dante
Dolsen and three others connected to Civilian Security Services, she might have
told us what else they'd planned.

Instead, we had no idea and were in the process of getting
four wealthy businessmen extradited from Canada when we learned what else was
on their agenda.

An outdoor college graduation ceremony was gassed with a mist
version of the drug and more than ten thousand died, in and outside the stadium.
A handful of others had been affected and changed, the same as in Colfer,
Montana. Just as before, other departments took the lead on that, and I'd only
received perfunctory calls from the President so far, although I had a meeting
scheduled with her later.

The country was going nuts, Afghanistan was ready to declare
war after the killings there and several other Middle Eastern countries were
siding with them. Ugly demonstrations were occurring across the Middle East, while
effigies of the President alongside American flags were being burned in the
streets. My meeting with Madam President would cover initial responses to the
debacle in the Middle East.

I drank a cup of coffee in the cafeteria while watching the
news with Rafe and James. None of the media coverage was good and the
population, understandably, was panicked. We needed more information, and we
needed it soon. Just like the attack at the Louvre—it looked as if Americans
were involved in these acts of terrorism.

"We need to be able to point a finger at these
assholes," I muttered, slapping my cup onto the table.

"I'll see if I can get Corinne up," Rafe nodded to
me.

Neither he, James nor I had gotten any sleep; we'd been up all
night, following the events in Afghanistan. Madam President had spoken with
authorities in the country, who were understandably incensed that nearly fifteen
hundred of their citizens had been killed by Americans under contract with the
U.S. government.

"Get coffee in her, then see what we can do about this
mess," I nodded. It didn't matter that the Americans who'd done the
killing were rogues operating outside the law and at someone else's command.
The mere fact that we'd sent them into Afghanistan to begin with bloodied our hands
as well.

We also needed information as to why the ones behind Civilian
Security Services chose to kill in Montana and Georgia. That information had to
be provided to the media, who were making wild speculation on how and why the
government failed to protect them.

Dante Dolsen was the primary owner, with more than half
ownership of Civilian Security Services. He was also an American, just as the
other three were, but all four lived in Canada.

All four protested our emergency request to the Canadian
government to extradite them and sought a judicial review of the Minister's
surrender order. They had enough money to convince anyone that they were
uninvolved with the events in Afghanistan. They hadn't been linked yet to the
U.S. attacks.

An official call to the IRS indicated that a large portion of Civilian
Security Services' investments were likely held in Canadian or other foreign
banks, and they'd been avoiding proper taxation for years. Recent legislation
had been passed in an attempt to close that loophole, but the problem lay in
forcing financial institutions from other countries to obey U.S. tax laws.

"James," I said. "Have those photographs ready
for Corinne, since Rafe is going to get her up. We only need five minutes of
her time if she's still groggy. Make sure every television in this fucking
facility is turned off, too, while you're at it."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Corinne

"My love, wake now. We need you." Ilya's voice woke
me. Groggy didn't begin to describe how I felt—Leo had given more than enough
of a sleep aid to an exhausted person to keep them sleeping round the clock.

"Honey, no," I mumbled. "Sleep."

"I know," he rubbed my back gently. "You have
to get up. Colonel Hunter needs your help. Everyone needs your help." His
lips were warm against my temple as he kissed me.

"Feel awful," I said.

"I know. Headache gone?" Fingers brushed hair away
from my face.

"No."

"We'll find something for it. Come with me, my darling.
Ten minutes of your time is all we require."

That's how I ended up shuffling beside Rafe down a long
hallway, wearing a bathrobe and shambling along like a drunken gazelle. Rafe
kept a hand on my arm so I wouldn't wander into walls as we walked.

"Coffee?" Rafe said as he and I walked into Auggie's
office.

"Here." James' voice—I couldn't see him since my
eyes attempted to close once I stopped moving.

"Drink this," a paper cup was shoved into my hands.
If I'd been awake, I'd have savored the warmth of it. Instead, I drank, the hot
brew almost scalding my tongue as I swallowed.

"Here, Cori," I heard a wheeled office chair as it
rolled backward. Hands pushed me onto it and I sat. "We really need you to
look at these pictures," Auggie said. I swallowed another mouthful of
coffee and forced my eyes open.

Four photographs were displayed on a computer screen, so I
fought to bring them into focus.

"Dante Dolsen," I whispered as I stared at his
image. "Dead."

"Francis Pike," I went to the next photograph.
"Dead."