The Gemini Deception (10 page)

The White House, Washington, D.C.

Later that day

Ryden swiveled in the cushy leather chair, away from the massive Oval Office desk to face the three large south-facing windows behind her that overlooked the Rose Garden. The sun was just setting, so the external security lights popped on, illuminating the grounds. Two days after the switch, she’d so far done a very convincing job deceiving the world and those close to Elizabeth Thomas. But she was already exhausted. They hadn’t told her exactly how long she would have to play president, but she felt every bit the imposter she was with every minute that passed. For some reason, she’d thought it would get at least slightly easier over time, but forty-eight hours later, her nerves were raw and the headache wouldn’t go away.

The toughest moment had been when she appeared on TV that morning in the press briefing room, to show the world the president was still alive and well. She wasn’t ready for a full-blown press conference with impromptu questions she might not know how to answer, but she’d delivered a statement that she was uninjured by the attack and vowed that justice would be served. No one would stand in the way of a better America, and so on. The most difficult part for her had been in praising Thomas’s Secret Service agents for their courage and sacrifice, and extending condolences to their families.

Kenneth Moore, Thomas’s special advisor and her contact within the White House, had scripted every word that came out of her mouth. The whole operation to switch Ryden with the president would not have been possible without him. He had fed her mysterious employer the dates and location of the Democratic Party fund-raiser even before it was publicly announced, and he had been the one to pass on the president’s every move and details about her wardrobe, including her ensemble the day of the exchange.

Moore knew virtually everything about Elizabeth Thomas, since he was her right hand the same way he was now Ryden’s. He’d been with Thomas since her early days in the Senate, so Ryden couldn’t imagine what had prompted him to turn on her. She wanted to feel confident knowing he was there to tell her what to say and when, but the guy simply terrified her. With black beady eyes that constantly observed her, and a thin face and lips, he looked like a giant, dangerous rat. When they were alone, he prefaced most comments by leaning close to her ear and saying, “So far, so good. Keep it that way and you’ll live.”
She’d tried to pull away earlier today before he got too close, but he’d grabbed her by the hair. She already loathed him so much she now wanted to hurt him more than she did her anonymous employer.

He’d met with her earlier to tell her the Secret Service had appointed a new special agent as her primary bodyguard, one who would be with her at all times—even within the White House, where the Uniformed Division usually provided security. He didn’t say that this new bodyguard was in on their conspiracy, but he implied as much when he pointedly reminded her that several other entities within the White House were watching her and would report back to him any slips or attempts to reveal the deception.

Ryden jumped when the phone rang. She swiveled around and answered. “Yes?”

“Your appointment with the Secret Service is in five minutes,” Ratman said. “Meet me in the Cabinet Room.”

Ryden straightened her clothes before she opened one of the four doors leading out of the Oval Office. Though it was her first visit to the adjacent Cabinet Room, where the president routinely met with her cabinet secretaries and advisors, she knew which seat was hers. Not only was each leather chair around the large oval table outfitted with a small plaque designating who sat where, she’d been supplied with floor plans, virtual tours, and pictures of all the rooms in the White House during her training.

Ratman and the two people present stood when she entered. One was a pleasant-looking middle-aged man she recognized from her briefings with Tonya as Frank Alexander, the Secret Service director. The other was an attractive woman probably in her mid-thirties—four or five years younger than Ryden, and at five-seven or so, a couple of inches taller than she was. She had blue eyes, full lips, high cheekbones, and shoulder-length light-brown hair with blond highlights. With a lean, athletic build and skin bronzed from long hours in the sun, she was a striking woman in her classically tailored black suit.

“Good evening, Madam President,” the man said.

Ryden shook his hand. “Good evening, Director Alexander.”

“We’re all very sorry about what happened.”

“Please.” Ryden lifted her hand to stop him. “I’m sorry about your men. They gave their lives to save mine.”

“It’s what we do, but yes, we were very sorry to lose our friends and colleagues.”

“I can’t imagine how their families must feel.”

“It’s always hard to break such news.” He looked away, still clearly upset. “Their families will be well compensated and looked after.”

“A small but necessary comfort, I’m sure.”

“Indeed.” Alexander turned to his right. “Let me introduce you to agent Harper Kennedy.”

The agent took a step forward and extended her hand. Ryden reached for it guardedly as the Ratman’s words rang loud and clear in her ears. She could be one of
them
.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Madam President.” Kennedy’s hand was rough and firm, more the hand of someone who did manual labor than a woman who stood guard. She looked Ryden in the eyes as if trying to see past her.

Tonya had taught Ryden to never look away during introductions, and so far she’d done a good job even with those closely associated with Thomas, but the intensity of this woman’s stare made her feel exposed, susceptible to the lie she was living. The woman furrowed her brow and for a second Ryden swore she saw her sniff. Had Kennedy met the president in the past, and did she somehow smell different? Ryden finally pulled her hand away and the woman let go.

“I will be your SAIC—Special Agent in Charge—from now on,” Kennedy said. “That means I will be with you at all times, including the places men aren’t allowed.”

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” Ryden asked.

“With all due respect, Madam President, your attackers proved to you, us, and the world that organized terrorism is a real threat, one that can strike at any moment. We want to ensure you are constantly protected.”

“But I was protected when these people attacked. I’m alive because your people made the ultimate sacrifice. Because they did their job.”

“Yes, and now your attackers know that. They also know what to do differently. These people…” Kennedy paused, and those intense blue eyes bore into Ryden again, “got past our security, which means we failed. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky. Our men saved your life, but they failed at their job. We will not allow that to happen again. If that means twenty-four-hour protection, regardless of the situation or location, then that’s what I will do.”

“What makes you so sure you can handle a situation like that on your own?”

“Because I have thirteen years of experience with similar situations.” Kennedy sounded arrogant and Ryden didn’t know if she liked that. She sure had a lot of overconfidence for someone who looked like she belonged in the
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit edition.

“Madam President,” Alexander said, “Kennedy here is indeed one of the best in her field. She is highly trained and skilled in surveillance, guarding, martial arts, and various forms of combat. Her instincts are unparalleled. She comes highly recommended.”

“Recommended by whom? I thought she was one of your people.” Ryden knew she was pressing her luck. Ratman had said to stick to the script so that she didn’t say something stupid or unconventional, but she couldn’t help herself.

“We have contracted her,” the Secret Service director replied.

“In other words, she’s on loan,” Ryden concluded.

“From a very prestigious private organization. I presume you’ve already been briefed about the EOO—the Elite Operatives Organization?”

Ryden hadn’t, but the tone of the question made it clear that Thomas probably
had
been, so she nodded. “Why doesn’t she work for you if she’s so good?”

Ratman shot her a warning stare before he jumped in. “The president is understandably still very shaken up. She wants to make sure her new guard is qualified for this job.”

“I would want that, too,” Kennedy said. “I’m…on loan, Madam President, because I’m not for sale.”

“I see.” Ryden had hoped Ratman’s implication about the new guard was just to scare her, but now she was convinced it was true. She was certain her mysterious employer had deliberately hired an outsider for this position to keep close tabs on her.

Ryden turned to Kennedy. “Does that mean you start as of now?”

“As of tonight,” her bodyguard confirmed. “I will be staying in the bedroom next to yours.”

*

Houston, Texas

“And how is Madam President today?” TQ hadn’t yet contacted Yuri Dratshev since the kidnapping, presuming that if anything whatsoever went amiss she would have been immediately notified. She’d spelled out to the Russian mob boss several conditions regarding his part of the plan: he was to use only a handful of his most trusted men, who would be told to keep the president somewhere safe and secure, under heavy guard and well fed. They were not to know who had hired Dratshev or why the operation took place. And they were to keep their faces hidden whenever they were around her, not that they needed to be reminded of that. Considering who their captive was, they had to be well aware of the consequences should something go wrong.

“They tell me she is scared and quiet,” Dratshev replied. “She tried to negotiate with money and the usual bullshit.”

“You did a good job, Yuri. Your men will be paid well once this is over.”

“I know, I told them. They will do a great job, you don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m sure they want their boss and his family to live a long, happy life.”

“If they don’t,” Dratshev said, “I will kill them myself.”

“Now, concerning this ridiculous legislation against us…” TQ stopped when she heard another voice coming through the line. Irritated, she spoke louder than usual. “Who is that?”

“Where?”

She could almost see the idiot turn around to look. “I hear someone.”

“Oh, I am listening to my messages.”

TQ rolled her eyes as Dratshev let the recording drone on. She was about to tell him to turn it off when she realized she recognized the voice, or thought she did. No. It couldn’t be
.
She sat up in her chair and listened more intently. “Who was that?” she asked when the recording ended.

“Old friend. She works for me sometimes,” Dratshev replied.

“When did she call?”

“It is an old message. I’m not regular.”

TQ would have corrected him, but she was too undone by the voice to even get aggravated at his lack of proficiency in basic English. “Play it back and get me closer to the speaker.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!” She didn’t routinely shout, but then again, her reactions in general had been atypical since her brother’s death. So much so, in fact, she wondered whether she’d actually felt something for the inadequate fool.

A few seconds later, Dratshev said, “Here it goes.”

“I got your message,” the woman’s recorded voice said. “FYI, I stopped taking jobs, but curiosity got the best of me when I saw you were trying to reach me. Anyway, assuming I still care in a few days, I’ll try again.”

That’s her
. TQ was certain it had to be the woman she’d vowed to find. “What’s her name?”

“Who knows?” Dratshev said. “No one uses a real name. This woman is mysterious but…very good. The best in the hit business.”

“What name does she go by?”

“With me?”

“No, with my grandmother. Of course with you.”

“In the business, they call her Jack, or Silent Death.”

TQ almost gasped at the confirmation of her suspicion. “Where can I find her?”

“You want to find her?” Dratshev laughed. “No one finds her.” He laughed again. “She finds you, if she feels like it.”

“Are you too stupid to realize I could have you extinguished like a bug for laughing at me?” How dare he make her feel naïve or stupid for thinking she could find this arrogant bitch? TQ could find or buy whomever she wanted.

Dratshev’s laughter ceased abruptly and his voice was appropriately apologetic. “I don’t want to offhand you.”

“It’s offend, and you have, and this is how you are going to make up for it. You are going to find this Jack and bring her to me.”

“But—”

“Do it!” she shouted, and hung up. She walked to the bar and poured a glass of whiskey, downing a good measure of it in one long swallow. Returning to her desk, she idly tapped the glass with her finger. The mere voice of that woman had brought back feelings of helplessness and anger. The first was a feeling long foreign to her and one she’d promised she’d never allow anyone to make her feel. The second was what sustained her.

She was going to find Jack, no matter what or whom it took, and she was going to make sure the bitch knew just how badly she reacted to being made to feel vulnerable.

She snatched the letter opener off her desk. She was going to personally torture that— Someone knocked on the door. “What?”

One of the two maids entered. “Your bath is ready, madam.”

“You’re two minutes early.”

The maid’s eyes widened in horror as she checked her watch. “My mistake, madam. My watch is running fast.”

“Come here.”

The young woman approached cautiously and stopped in front of her desk. Without hesitation TQ stabbed her in the eye with the letter opener. “And that’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do with you, Jack,” she whispered as the maid fell to her knees and screamed in pain.

Shield waited outside the Cabinet Room while Elizabeth Thomas and Special Advisor Kenneth Moore met privately for a half hour after her introduction to the president. When the two came out and went in different directions, she fell into place a couple of steps behind Thomas. Even here, she was on high alert to any hint of danger. During the journey to D.C., she had studied blueprints of the White House, so she knew they were headed to the second-floor private quarters, where the president’s bedroom occupied the southwest corner.