The Value Of Valor - KJ3 (29 page)

“D-do you think they know about me?”

“I’m sure they do, just as they know about me. Did you use your credit card to buy the airline ticket to get here?”

“Of course.”

“Then you can be sure they know you’re here.”

Barbara’s face blanched. “Th-they do?”

Peter nodded. “The good news is that I rented this condo under another name, so I doubt they’ve been able to figure out your exact location yet.”

“Yet.” Barbara swallowed hard. There was another moment of silence. “Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I want to know where Kate is.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Okay. Trust me that she’s as safe as she can be given the circumstances.”

“I do trust you. It’s me I don’t trust. I want to know that no matter what, I’ll never jeopardize our Kate.”

“You won’t.”

“What’s the game plan?”

“Collect evidence and catch the bad guys. Then bring Kate home.”

Barbara laughed. “Sounds easy enough.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Lynn Ames

“Is there anything I can do to help? Other than watch Fred, I mean.”

“Actually, I think the fact that we were taking good care of him was the most comforting thing to Kate.”

Barbara chuckled. “Figures.”

“Thanks for being here, by the way. If you hadn’t been, I would’ve missed her phone call, and who knows what might have happened.” Peter was not unaccustomed to danger, but the idea of Kate being out there all alone and without any resources other than her wits made him crazy.

“She’s not here. I told you she wasn’t.” Lorraine slammed a coffee mug down on the table at the hotel in Flagstaff where they had stopped for the night.

“Shut up.” Steven paced around the room, a finger in one ear, a satellite telephone in the other. “Yes, yes. I understand. Right.” He hung up the phone. “She used a credit card to buy gas in Colorado. She must be driving through the night or else she flew to Denver and rented a car.”

“She didn’t have enough time to drive to Denver. I think we have to consider the possibility that it’s all a ruse.”

“The woman is in public relations, not espionage or subterfuge. How do you figure she managed to fake two ATM withdrawals and one credit card transaction?”

“She’s also very bright and has friends. What about Peter Enright?”

“What about him?”

“There’s very little information available about him other than that he worked for the New York State Department of Correctional Services for years and is an independent consultant with an expertise in weapons and technology.”

“So?”

“So I suspect he’s more than what his dossier says on paper. He travels often to Washington and was seen several times in the company of the president.”

“We’re tracking him.”

“My point is that he may already have made contact with Kyle and helped her.”

“There’s no record of him anywhere near Arizona.”

Lorraine bit her tongue in an effort to keep from telling Steven what a moron she thought he was. “A man with the kind of resources Enright has wouldn’t necessarily leave a trace.”

“We have to stick with the evidence we have.”

“One of us should be looking into other possibilities.”

“The Viper has ordered us to stay on her trail.”

“My point precisely. We’re not on her trail.” Lorraine planted her palms on the small table that separated her from Steven.

The Value of Valor

“We leave for Colorado in two hours. I suggest you get some sleep,”

he hissed. “You too, Paul.”

The sound of the door as it slammed behind Lorraine echoed loudly in the quiet of the room.

“Albert Park, please.”

“American, eh?” the cabbie asked as he pulled away from the curb.

“Is it that obvious?” Kate smiled at the young man, who looked something like a California surfer.

“’Fraid so, love. The good news for you is that we like most Americans ’round here. We’re a pretty friendly lot.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“You on vacation?”

“Um, sort of.”

“Well, you’ll love it here, that’s for sure.”

Kate smiled at him in the rearview mirror, grateful that everything she read about Kiwis respecting privacy seemed to be true.

“Here you go, love, Albert Park.”

“Thank you.” She reached into her pocket, fishing for her wallet.

“Damn. I only have American money, is that okay?”

“Brilliant, love.” At her blank stare, he translated, “That’s great. I love American money.”

“Here you go.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

She stepped out into the bright sunshine and squinted, trying to get her bearings. She spotted a beautiful, majestic oak tree and found herself drawn to it. Its arms were as big as most tree trunks, and for a fleeting moment, she was tempted to climb it. She laughed at herself, remembering all the times her mother had yelled at her for climbing trees in her good clothes.

She sought the shade of the tree, surprised at the heat of the New Zealand summer. She leaned her shoulder against a branch and surveyed the area. Young couples reclined on blankets on the grass, business people enjoyed their lunches on the benches that lined the park, and children ran around what appeared to be a circular path.

She pushed off the tree and followed the kids. She walked at a leisurely pace, stepping off the path several times to get out of the way of fast-moving children. After several hundred yards, she saw it—a clock.

The face was made of grass, the hands and numbers fashioned out of beautiful flowers.

She walked around until she was at 7:00 and sat on the bench without looking down. She casually stretched her arms over the back of the bench and tucked her feet under it.
There!
She kicked something with her heel.

Lynn Ames

It felt like a backpack. She looked around. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her. She reached under the seat, pulled out a navy blue backpack, and set it on the seat next to her.

For a moment, she simply ran her trembling fingers over the rough material, grateful beyond measure for Peter and his network of contacts.

She unzipped the main compartment, peering inside to find several pairs of jeans, two pairs of shorts, some T-shirts, a shiny new pair of hiking boots, a pair of sneakers, some athletic socks, underwear, and two sports bras. She rezipped that compartment and unzipped the smaller pocket. In it, she found a satellite cell phone, a compass, maps, a gun, and a set of car keys.

She wrapped her fingers around the phone, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Several tears leaked out and rolled down her temples.

“Thank you, Peter. I can’t tell you what it means to know I’m not alone out here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She took the phone out and powered it on, pleased to see that it had both battery power and signal. She palmed the car keys, zipped the small compartment, and stood, taking a last look around. Nothing seemed amiss, and no one seemed to be watching her. Satisfied, she shouldered the pack and strolled through the park until she found Wellesley Street. It took only a couple of minutes before she found the car.

Across the way, an unassuming businessman folded his newspaper, packed up his lunch, and followed her. “I’ll give you this, Skydiver, she certainly is a looker. No wonder you’re willing to die for her.”

Peter sat across the dinner table from Dr. Melanie Anders. She was everything he’d described to Kate and more. She was beautiful, intelligent, and capable; and at the moment, she was scared to death.

“Look, Peter, I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, I can’t help you.”

“Tell me what happened when the president died, Mel. Take me through it.”

“I can’t.”

“I promise you, no one will hurt you.”

“It’s not that.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t allowed in the room.”

“Is that unusual?”

“God, yes. I’m usually the one in charge of maintaining the chain of custody—making sure nothing happens to the body after death and before the autopsy.”

“And this time?”

“Dr. Taggart—the ME—cleared the room. No one was allowed in.”

The Value of Valor

“Is there a written protocol that describes what’s supposed to happen in a case like this, where a president dies?”

“Yes.”

“Was the protocol followed in President Hyland’s case?”

Melanie shook her head miserably. “No,” she whispered. “Not only that, but it was made very clear to me that asking questions or talking about the case would be severely frowned upon.”

He reached across the table for her hand. “Who threatened you?”

“N-no one.”

“Come on, Mel. This is me. Who threatened you?”

“I have to go.” She tried to pull away from him.

“Wait,” he exerted just enough pressure on her hands to keep her from getting up. “At least tell me who the doctor was who pronounced the president dead and what the cause of death was.”

“I can’t.”

The terror was clearly visible in her eyes, so Peter relented. “Okay.

Okay. I won’t push you anymore. If you change your mind, give me a call.”

“Why are you so interested in all this, anyway?”

Peter shook his head. “Better if you don’t know.”

She nodded in understanding. “I’ve really got to go.”

“Keep in touch, will you?”

She laughed. “You’re a fine one to talk. You’re never around.”

“You’ve got a point there. Take care, Mel.”

“You too, Peter.” She kissed him on the cheek before getting up and leaving the restaurant.

Peter watched her until she was out of sight, his mind clicking on possible explanations for why the president’s case was handled in such a secretive manner. Regardless, the lack of a cause of death and an autopsy report meant that he was missing a critical piece of evidence. Without it, he might not be able to prove that the Commission killed the president and more importantly, he might not be able to save Kate.

Lynn Ames

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

he rain was coming down hard as dignitaries, friends, and the T media gathered in the cathedral for Kate’s funeral. Peter and Barbara arrived together and sat in the second row—the first row was reserved for the president of the United States and his entourage.

Peter watched the crowd file in; he recognized faces from Kate’s past—co-workers from her television days, colleagues from other media outlets, members of the White House press corps, the Senate majority leader, the speaker of the House, members of President Hyland’s Cabinet, the commissioner and former commissioner of DOCS, Michael Vendetti, and the rest of Kate’s staff.

He also took note of the five operatives who took up strategic positions around the cathedral. He watched them scanning the crowd, obviously looking for anything that would lead them to Kate.

“Peter Enright?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Mimi Hyland.” The former first lady sat down to his right as a host of camera shutters clicked and flashes exploded in her face. “My husband spoke very highly of you.”

“I thought the world of him, too, Mrs. Hyland. He was a great man; we’ll all miss him.”

Mimi nodded, her hands shaking slightly. “No one more so than I, I assure you.”

“Mrs. Hyland?”

“Mimi, please.”

“Where is your Secret Service detail?”

Mimi shrugged, seemingly caught off balance by the blunt question.

“They gave me the option to continue using their services—I declined. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable using the taxpayers’ money to protect me.

After all, what could I need protection from?”

Peter chose to ignore the question, thinking that she might very well be better off without them.

“Charlie had a great deal of confidence in you, Peter—in your ability to get to the bottom of things. He never told me precisely what it was you
The Value of Valor

were working on for him—only that he knew you’d find the answers he sought.”

“I appreciate that, ma’am.”

“That’s why I need to talk to you.”

Peter turned to face her, a question in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I understand you were a great friend of Kate’s, and I don’t want to intrude on your grief, but I need some answers, and I can’t seem to get them on my own. It-it’s about Charlie’s treatment at the hospital.”

“Mrs. Hyland?” Peter cut her off. “Is there any chance we can discuss this later, in a more private setting?” His gaze shifted around the room as he noted the many eyes upon them.

Mimi looked around, as well, as if noticing the attention her presence garnered for the first time. “Oh. Of course. By all means.”

“Can we get together later this afternoon? I could stop by your house.”

“That would be fine, Peter.”

“Then I’ll see you this afternoon. Can I call you to confirm the address and time?”

“Of course.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion at the back of the hall. With great fanfare, President Wheeler made his entrance, flanked by a cadre of Secret Service agents. He took his seat in the front row as agents fanned out around him.

Seconds later, the priest appeared at the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, good friends, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of a wonderful and talented woman—Katherine Kyle. While we grieve over the tragic end of her time here on Earth, let us celebrate that Katherine has gone to a far better place…”

Barbara leaned over to Peter, “Can you believe this load of crap?

Kate doesn’t have a religious bone in her body. If she were here, she’d be throwing things at this idiot.”

Peter nodded his assent as he continued to monitor the operatives, following their lines of sight to determine on whom they were focused.

He barely heard the priest when he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president has asked to say a few words about Katherine.”

Wheeler rose from his seat and ambled to the altar. He fumbled as he pulled a dog-eared piece of paper from his right inside breast pocket.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m truly sorry to be standing up here today, eulogizing a woman who died far too young. I didn’t know Katie all that well…”