Girl of Vengeance (13 page)

George-Phillip responded, “It isn’t possible. I suspect he began planning it and putting it together the moment your father was raised as a replacement for Secretary of Defense.”

“But that was only three weeks ago.”

“No, Carrie, it was many months ago. The President knew the former Secretary was very ill. Your father was approached about the job in December of 2013.”

“Six months ago.” Carrie’s face was grim as she said the words.

Andrea said, “Then who tried to kill our mother? Someone chased her to the border and shot at her there. Collins? Why?”

George-Phillip leaned his head in his hands. “I’m not sure. The news media is speculating there’s some kind of drug war connection. Perhaps Collins thought he could reinforce that narrative? The shooter was captured, by the way.”

Carrie said, “Right. Nick Larsden. Bear and Anthony were discussing that earlier, they want to go out to Washington to see if they can question him.”

“Bear and Anthony?”

“Bear Wyden—he’s with Diplomatic Security. And Anthony Walker is a reporter with
T
he Washington Post
.” As Carrie said the words, her face flushed a little. Just a tiny bit. But enough it caught Andrea’s attention. George-Phillip did not appear to notice, and Andrea thought it best to not say anything.

“I know Walker,” George-Phillip said. “He interviewed me a couple of years ago. I rather liked him.”

Andrea said, “Okay, so this Collins guy tried to have me and my mother killed. And you. He wants to burn the house down before anyone gets wind he was involved in this massacre. So how do we get ahead of him?”

George-Phillip’s brow furrowed. “I think we need to prove, publicly, that he was involved.”

“Won’t that look like it’s just defensive?” Andrea asked. “That you or … Richard Thompson … are trying to muddy the waters?”

“It might,” George-Phillip said. “But the report I wrote was unequivocal, and the evidence implicating Collins was fairly clear.”

“That report needs to be publicized.”

“I’m afraid it’s highly classified. I would need to consult with the Prime Minister before releasing it.”

“Can you do that?” Carrie asked.

“Yes,” George-Phillip responded. “But first, I believe dinner should be ready. Why don’t we gather your sister and brother-in-law, and we’ll dine.”

Andrea nodded. She was famished and needed to rest a little. She still didn’t understand all of what was happening. But tendrils of trust were beginning to grow. George-Phillip seemed sincere. And the truth was, she
wanted
to believe him. She was tired of being hurt. She was tired of carrying around the knowledge that her supposed
father
never wanted her.

A few minutes later, Alexandra and Dylan joined them in the large dining room around a large table. As they took their seats, Dylan’s eyes darted back and forth between George-Phillip and his daughters.

“Wait a minute, I just thought of something. If he’s your dad,” Dylan said, waving a hand in George-Phillip’s direction. He grinned. “Wouldn’t that make the two of you … Princesses?”

“Dylan,” Carrie said. “That’s … ridiculous.”

“It’s not really,” George-Phillip said. “I’m styled Prince because my grandfather was George VI. But I’m extremely far outside of the line of succession. Jane is not considered a
Princess,
but she will inherit the title of Duchess. I’m truly not certain where the two of you will fall. To some extent that will be up to Her Majesty to decide when we make your parentage public. You’ll certainly want to come to London.”

Andrea slowly shook her head. “Neither of us are citizens of the United Kingdom.”

George-Phillip smiled. “I promise you, we will sort that out. I’m not sure the time is right to make it public, however.”

“Why not?” Dylan asked.

“I want to ensure that you are all safe first. Andrea and Dylan, I believe you should both remain here for the time being, at least until we can sort out whether or not you’ll be charged in relation to the attack on the condominium.”

Andrea nodded. That made sense.

“Carrie—my understanding is that you’ve lost your Diplomatic Security protection?”

She nodded.

“I intend to discreetly inform the President that the two of you are my children. And I’m going to request that you be provided official protection until all of this is resolved. I may be able to obtain assistance from the Special Escort Group as well, but they’ll need clearance.”

“Thank you,” Carrie responded.

The remainder of the evening seemed to Andrea to be almost … normal. Whatever that was. For the first time since leaving Spain, Andrea found herself laughing and enjoying herself. After dinner, they moved to the parlor, where Jane snuggled in Carrie’s lap as they all talked. George-Phillip told them about his late wife Anne, and Carrie told him about Ray. For a little while, Andrea found herself feeling the warmth of a real family, no matter how odd it was.

George-Phillip sent Jane off to bed at eight. A few minutes later, Carrie said, “I’ll need to get going too. It’s not really fair leaving Rachel with Julia this long. But I wonder … George-Phillip … perhaps Alexandra can stay here with Dylan?”

Alexandra flashed a grateful smile at her, and George-Phillip assented. Soon after, the party broke up, and Andrea returned to her room on the second floor, overlooking the grass she’d run across to break into this building just a day ago.

She rummaged in her bag, pulling out one of the throwaway cell phones she and Dylan had purchased a few days before. She turned out the light and got into bed, then sent text messages to Luis and then Sarah.

A response from Sarah came almost immediately.

Hey, what r u up to? Are you at the Embassy?

Andrea responded,
Tired. Still here. Safe. Carrie is on her way back to the condo.

Sarah:
I’m not there. Snuck by the guards, I’m at Eddie’s.

Andrea smiled. Eddie was Sarah’s boyfriend, a muscular emergency medical technician who was working his way through med school at George Washington University.

Andrea: Good! Have you heard from Mother? Or Jessica?

Sarah: Jessica’s awake and recovering. Mom’s weird.

Andrea: How?

Sarah: She’s nice. I don’t get it. I don’t get her.

Andrea: We’ve learned a lot from GP. I think he still loves her.

Sarah: Details?

Andrea filled in some of the details George-Phillip had related. As she was typing out the story on the tiny cell phone keys, she was concentrating so hard she didn’t notice the lock turning behind her.

Andrea: So, GP thinks it’s Collins who sent the attackers. And that we might still

Andrea barely had a second to move when she sensed, rather than saw, the door open behind her. She jumped up, tangled in the blankets, but she was too late. Her vision went black, spotted with stars, when a heavy fist hit the back of her neck. She fell forward on the mattress then suddenly felt her own pillow shoved against the back of her head. A knee pressed into the small of her back, the weight of a heavy man on top of her. She struggled to throw him off, pushing to the left, then the right.

Then, a voice. Near her left ear, muffled by the pillow, the voice said in a contorted tone, “This is a gift from your
father.
”

A crushing pain in her back as the man kneed her in the spine. She tried to scream, but the mattress was pressed against her mouth, the pillow crushing her head. She struggled, her hands grasping for something, anything.

Her hand closed on something. It was metal, cylindrical. A
pen?

She closed her fist around it and swung downward, as forcefully as she could.

The man howled as the pen connected, gouging into his skin. She pulled back and hit him again, then saw stars when he pummeled her.

“Run away,” he said. “Run fast, or you’ll die.”

Then he was gone, the door shutting behind him. She heard footsteps receding down the hall, and she curled up, gasping for air, her heartbeat racing, the pulse whooshing in her ears.

Whoever it was had a key. Had George-Phillip sent them? Was it all a lie, and he just wanted to lull her into trusting him? Was there something else?

She became aware of a repeated buzzing. Vibrating.

The
phone.
It was silenced, but vibrating. She grabbed for it, pulling up the messages.

Sarah: You still there? Details?

Sarah: Andrea? Are you okay?

Sarah: Andrea! Call me!

The phone showed two missed calls from Sarah’s number. She dialed without thinking.

“Hello? Andrea? Are you okay?”

“No,” she gasped. “Someone attacked me. In the room.”

“Holy shit,” Sarah said.

Her mind racing, Andrea knew she had to leave. Right now. “I’ve got to wake up Dylan—wait…”

She stopped. Dylan was still wanted by the feds because of the attack on the condo. One of the attackers had been a federal agent after all. He was safe here, with Alexandra.

“No … he’ll be safe here. Can you … can you get a car? Can you come get me? I need to find a place to hide.”

“Where? I’m on my way.”

“There’s a park across the street from the Embassy. Let me know when you’re close. I’m going to have to sneak out somehow.”

“Be there soon, sis. I love you. Stay safe.”

“I will,” Andrea said.

Just to be on the safe side, she pushed and pulled, blocking the doorway with the heavy bed. Then she began to gather her bag, with the cash, spare phones, fake ID and Visa gift cards. She began to get dressed. It was time to go back into hiding.

Then she waited. One minute turned into five, and five into twenty. Thirty-three minutes after she’d called Sarah, her phone vibrated again.

Text message.

Sarah: Five minutes away.

That was it. Andrea came to her feet and threw on the backpack. She unlatched the window and opened it up. A few feet from the window, a long metal gutter ran to the ground. Leaning out the window, she grasped the gutter, then let her body swing onto it. Slowly she slid to the ground.

There would still be guards out here. It was about seventy feet to the fence, which stood in the shadow of a line of trees. But the darkness wouldn’t do her any good—she was certain the Royal Marines guarding the place had night vision equipment. She’d just have to run.

She took a deep breath then sprinted for the line of trees. The good news was they weren’t expecting anyone to try to
escape.

She was halfway there when she heard a dog barking, then another. Fifteen more feet and she was under the trees, then fifteen more before she reached the tree closest to the fence. She took a running leap and grabbed a branch and pulled herself up. She slid up the trunk, reaching for another branch.

Shouting, and footfalls. A dog, and a man, running toward the fence. A shout. “Who goes there!”

She pulled herself up another branch, then another. She was above the top of the fence now. As quickly as she could, she stood on a branch that leaned toward the fence, and grabbed another one above her head. She worked her way out the branch.

“Stop!” A shout from below. A guard. Two of them, and more coming.

She didn’t have time. She leapt, grabbing the top of the fence and flipping over, then slid down the fence, coming to rest on the outside, facing the two Marines.

“Tell the Prince I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s not safe.” Then she ran.

She ran through the brush, headed toward Massachusetts Avenue as quickly as she could. She could see heavy traffic moving up and down the street. It was close to midnight, she thought. Finally she reached the street. A gap in traffic—she ran through it, stopping on the double yellow line. Horns blasted at her as drivers crossed by her in both directions, then another gap, and she was across. She heard shouts across the street, and a siren in the distance.

Then she heard Sarah’s voice. “Andrea! Over here!”

She turned that way. Twenty yards away, the park was dominated by a memorial, a stone wall with an oddly disembodied head attached to it. She saw the name
Khalil Gibran
as she ran toward Sarah, who was comically straddling a huge Harley Davidson motorcycle. Her tiny legs barely reached the gearshift, and the helmet she wore seemed badly oversized.

“Are you kidding me?” Andrea shrieked. “How did you even drive that thing?”

“Can you drive one?”

“Yeah. Slide back!”

Sarah handed her another helmet off the back. “It’s Eddie’s,” she said. “He kinda doesn’t know I took his bike. I left him a note. Let’s go! I hear sirens!”

Andrea got the helmet fastened and straddled the bike. She cranked it, the machine roaring to life underneath her.

“Ready?” Andrea asked. At Sarah’s nod, Andrea eased the bike into the traffic, headed north away from the Embassy.

“Where are we going?” Sarah shouted.

Andrea paused for just a second. Then she said, “Want to come with me to see Mom and Jessica? I’ve got questions I need answered.”

Sarah thought for just a second. Then she shouted. “Hell, yes!”

Andrea nodded. “Let’s go!”

“I think you should let me do the talking,” Bear said, his voice low. “I’m a cop. I know these guys, even if I don’t know them personally.”