Cloud Dust: RD-1 (21 page)

"Karl Graham," I named the third man.
"Dead."

 "Langston Coffman," I nodded at the fourth
photograph. "Dead."

"What the hell?" Auggie exploded behind me. His cell
phone rang. I listened and drank more coffee as he spoke to someone in the CIA.
All four owners of Civilian Security Services had died moments earlier while
visiting their attorney's office.

* * *

The pilot of the plane was found six hours later—he'd been
driving westward as fast as his truck would take him. Rafe was asleep, as was
Auggie when the call came. Les Banks was in an Arkansas jail, waiting for the
FBI to arrive and question him. Local authorities had already gotten some
information about the mist he'd sprayed on an unsuspecting college stadium crowd
in Georgia.

Sure, he'd pulled a banner behind his plane that said
congratulations
,
graduates
, but that wasn't the only thing he'd been asked to do.

"Leo, stop fretting. I don't think we could have stopped much
of this, even if we'd known in advance," I said. He'd taken the call, then
relayed information to James, Nick, Maye and me.

"I just feel responsible," he muttered.

"Then stop. You didn't do any of that crap," I said.
My head still hurt, but I hadn't taken anything else for the pain since Rafe
ousted me from our bed. He slept there, now. I could only imagine the scenarios
played out across the nation as people speculated on the massacres in Georgia
and Afghanistan.

The White House deliberately leaked information that the
owners of Civilian Security Services were responsible for all of it, including
Montana, but nobody had a good reason for any of it. That didn't stop them from
making wild suppositions, however.

As wild as those suppositions were, they were far from the
truth. Auggie and I would have a discussion about that—when he woke.

"They're saying that CSS was testing chemical
weapons," Maye said.

"That's plausible," Leo sighed. We'd moved to the
small kitchen to have a cup of coffee and discuss the pilot's arrest in
Arkansas. "Do you think we'll get anything useful out of the pilot?"
Leo turned to me.

"I doubt it. The money was good, as long as he didn't ask
questions. He had no idea he was about to murder ten thousand people."

"Where are the survivors? With the ones in Montana?"
Nick growled.

"Nick, we don't have any authority in the matter,"
Leo sighed. "I wish we did. I think Richard might work with them, and I
wouldn't mind helping, but we've been cut out of it."

"We knew what we were walking into, up to a point,"
Nick said. "And it was still a shock. What will it do to those
people?"

"It's complicated, and I don't feel comfortable
discussing it," Leo shook his head.

I knew what he was saying—what the drug had done to me. How
I'd wakened in unfamiliar surroundings in a body unfamiliar to me. After the trauma
in Paris, there'd been a second trauma waiting. Poor Leo; he'd done his best to
get me through all that, but some things would never fully heal, I think.

"I need more coffee." I stood and lifted my cup. To
illustrate my point, I yawned on the way to the coffee maker.

That's when the call came from the President. Mr. Evil had
called her back, just as he said he would. She wanted to see all of us in her
office.

* * *

Notes—Colonel Hunter

At least I'd had four hours' sleep before I had to rise and go
to the White House. Rafe looked better than I did when we loaded into vans for
the trip. Mentally, he was older than I. Physically, after the drug, he was
much younger.

I'd never felt my age as much as I did right then.

Corinne still didn't look good, though. She was worn out; that
was easy to see. Leo was still troubled, although he was better now than when
I'd seen him before going to bed.

Corinne convinced him somehow that the massacre in Georgia
wasn't his fault—that others deserved the blame. She was right, but we worried
that she could have kept it from happening if she hadn't been asleep.

The trip to the White House seemed to take forever. Armed
guards and Secret Service surrounded our group the moment our vans were parked,
and we were ushered quickly into the White House.

Madam President waited in a private study.

"He called back, just as he said he would. Pointed out
that all four involved in Montana, Georgia and Afghanistan are now dead. How
the hell did he accomplish that?" the President asked after we'd been
seated. "Preliminary medical reports say they died of natural causes. Can
we believe that? How did he manage to kill them that way?"

"What did you say to him?" I asked quietly.

"I told him no. I pointed out that he'd arranged for four
deaths, after promising them something. I had no desire to work with him in the
beginning, and this reinforces my decision."

"What did he say?"

"He turned to blackmail." Madam President covered
her face with her hands. "He says he'll kill again if he doesn't get what
he wants, only it will be more people next time. Colonel Hunter, we already
have a panicked country. What will happen if he delivers on his threat on a
much grander scale? How are we to extricate ourselves from all this?"

"I don't know," I shook my head. "I think we
should call everyone together and discuss it."

"They're on the way, now. Dr. Shaw, we have a comfortable
space arranged for you and these," she swept out a hand, encompassing
Maye, Corinne and the others. "We'll keep you informed. Be advised that this
could take a while."

* * *

Corinne

"Did you get enough sleep?" I asked Rafe as we
settled on a love seat. The room we'd been led to was tastefully decorated and
comfortably furnished, but I wanted to be anywhere except where I was.

The blackmailer, whoever he was, wanted Rafe and me. Madam
President was considering it, just to avoid another massacre. She already had
enough trouble at her doorstep, and if giving up two people made that go away,
then why wouldn't she consider it?

I liked to think that she really didn't know what she was
giving away, but squashed that thought immediately. Rafe grimly accepted our
fate, and was already plotting ways to handle it.

As was I. The thing that terrified me most?

That someone would insist I be blindfolded
.

"I've had enough sleep," Rafe responded
distractedly. I held back from asking further questions. He was busy thinking,
just as I was.

* * *

Notes—Colonel Hunter

"They're asking for Corinne and Rafe." The Vice
President's words were flat as he shook his head. He didn't want that to
happen—they'd saved his life.

"I hope you'll excuse the question, Madam
President," the Secretary of Commerce said, "but I don't understand
who these people are."

"I know. These two are very talented special agents. He
either wants to use them or kill them; he hasn't said which."

"So he has us by the balls, if you'll pardon the sexism
attached to that comment," the Secretary of Agriculture said.

"Yes," the President replied. "We turn them
over, or we get another Georgia."

"Why would he want them?" the Secretary of Homeland
Security asked. I could tell he was pissed because he hadn't heard of either
one. I wanted to strangle him—it was easy enough to see that he was interested
in any talent that might help his department.

"I've worked with them," the Vice President said.
"They saved my life in London."

"Is that how you got out of Downing Street alive?"
someone else asked.

"Yes. I can't reveal more than that, it's still
classified as need-to-know."

"There are things you should know," the President
sighed. "This same person was behind the terrorist attack at the Louvre.
He manipulated those events in order to steal valuable paintings and works of
art. He is also behind the thefts and deaths in London and Edinburgh. You see
what we're dealing with, here? With Corinne and Rafe, he can be assured of
getting in anywhere and getting out again with very little trouble. That's how
talented they are."

"We have to weigh two lives against tens of
thousands?" the Attorney General asked.

"We do." Madam President's shoulders slumped. She
knew, just as I did, what they'd already decided.

"Did he provide a time and place to turn them over?"

"Yes. We have an hour, and it'll be in one of the tunnels
leading away from White House."

"How the hell?" the Attorney General exploded.

"I didn't stay on the phone to discuss how he knew. The
clock was already ticking," the President snapped. "Now, if you don't
have a suggestion as to how we're going to inform two of our agents that we're
trading them for civilian lives, then shut up."

* * *

"Madam President, we don't make deals with
terrorists," I reminded her as we made our way to the room where Shaw and
the others were.

"We don't have a choice," she hissed. We'd left the
cabinet in the meeting room and walked away with only the Vice President and
two Secret Service agents at our heels. "If we could have questioned those
pricks in Canada before they dropped dead of who knows what, then we might have
learned something. We have nothing on this man—if it is a man. The voice is
disguised every time."

"What did he tell you to do, then?" I asked,
attempting to keep my voice civil. This was the worst kind of betrayal, in my
book. Yes, it might save lives in the interim, until the bastard wanted
something else. He only had to threaten us again. We were setting a dangerous
precedent, and choosing a path we couldn't change or abandon, once we were on
it.

"We have to meet outside the tunnel entrance. He said no
weapons and only two others—no Secret Service and no cameras. He said to turn
everything off; he'll know if we don't."

"Three people to escort Corinne and Rafe?"

"That's what he said."

"Fuck."

* * *

Corinne

Ilya, they're going to trade us
, I thought at him.

"I know," he murmured as he pulled me against him and
kissed my temple, his breath warm and soft against my skin. Too many scenarios
ran through my mind as he held me close—scenarios from more than six years
earlier, when I'd witnessed torture and death at the hands of the deranged.

I didn't imagine this would be any better—after all, the one
behind all this didn't seem to worry about killing—had been behind the killings
I'd witnessed in France, actually, just to steal paintings and a crown.

Whomever or whatever he or she was, they'd become bolder. More
convinced that they were untouchable. In their sociopathic mind, they were
invincible.

They wanted us—Rafe and me—to do their dirty work. Rafe could
provide shielding for us, and I could lead him through any maze and past any
keypad to get us in anywhere. Cutter had provided that information, through
Dalton.

"How will he blackmail us to cooperate?" I pulled
away from Rafe. "We know somebody wants you dead. I think this guy wants
us alive."

"I do not know," he replied, his eyes betraying
worry. "I have no one left. Baikov saw to that."

"This is so fucked up," I mumbled.

"It is certainly that. Cabbage, we will go. And we will
destroy him."

"He'll expect us to try."

"I know that. He does not know all we are capable
of."

"True."

Madam President, Auggie, the Vice President and two Secret
Service agents walked through the door, interrupting our conversation.

* * *

"Cori, this is the last thing I would have agreed
to," Auggie said. He'd asked for a few minutes alone with Rafe and me. The
others had left the room to give us privacy.

"I know that," I said. "I don't think anybody
here really wants that. I just worry that this won't be enough."

"That is also my concern," Rafe said.

"And mine. This is a slippery slope, and nobody can see
the bottom of the pit we've dropped into," Auggie agreed. "That's why
I've brought this." He handed each of us a small capsule. I'd never seen
one before; nevertheless, I knew what it was—a means to commit suicide.

"Absolute last resort," I turned to Rafe.

"Agreed."

"We have to leave in a few minutes," Auggie said,
and his voice broke. "Cori, I love you. Not the way Rafe loves you—you're
the daughter I never had. Be safe. Please. Stay in contact with me as long as
you can."

"I will." I wanted to weep. One shouldn't meet the
enemy while one is crying; I worked to keep my vision clear. We walked out of
the room together, my hand held firmly in Ilya's, my eyes on Auggie's broad
shoulders as he led the way.

* * *

"Those four in Canada," I spoke as Auggie dropped
back beside Rafe and me, "They wanted to facilitate the apocalypse,"
I explained. "They called themselves the four horsemen. Took on those
names to describe themselves. Thought they'd been given divine instruction to
do that."

"What the hell would make them think that?" Auggie
exploded.

"You'd be surprised what some people will believe,"
I said. "If it fits well in the beliefs they already hold. Provide some
smoke and mirrors and presto—you have a man-made apocalypse. Of course, it
never hurts to have so much money you can make just about anything happen,
including a war in the Middle East."

"And someone to rely on who can make those things happen
without leaving even a trail of smoke behind," Auggie muttered.

"Remember that same someone ended up betraying
them," I said.

"I remember."

* * *

Madam President and her Chief of Staff, Hal Prentice, walked
ahead of us. I only saw the backs of their heads as we made our way through
underground passageways beneath the White House.

I'm sure the President kept her Chief of Staff informed—as
much as she could—that was his job. I'd just never seen him in person. Well,
there was no time for proper introductions now. Our time was winding down and
we were nearing our destination.