Whitewash (70 page)

William Sidel could barely contain himself. Here he was seated next to the president and surrounded by a roomful of Fortune 500 CEOs, senators, foreign diplomats and celebrities. He was supposed to make a short speech. John had told him to keep it light and charming. Like John could instruct him on being charming. Who was he kidding? Sidel was in his element. He’d tell a few jokes, roast a couple of easy targets, work the room.

He didn’t even wait for all the salads to be served. Sidel couldn’t wait. He was back up on his feet and at the podium, anxious and ready. He noticed a trio arrive late, but paid little attention to them. And neither did anyone else. Instead, they were awaiting his words.

Eric expected to feel relief when Sabrina so easily accepted his confession that he worked as an undercover agent. Any relief was short-lived, however, and replaced by more clandestine planning. Maybe he was even a little worried that she was so anxious to join in his suggested covert operations.

It had happened quickly and rather smoothly. Within an hour of their decision, Colin Jernigan appeared with a gown and tuxedo, invitations and dinner seating down in front of the podium. They were only a few minutes late and even that Colin had orchestrated so that they walked in just as Sidel made his way to the podium. So what if they missed the appetizers; Sabrina looked ready to deliver the main course.

Sabrina tapped her foot impatiently under the table. The shoes Jernigan had gotten for her were a size too big and too tall. She’d stuffed tissues in the toes, but they still slipped off her heel. Even as she tapped her foot she could feel the shoe swinging and just when she needed every ounce of confidence.

Sidel started in with his lame frat-boy jokes. Actually, she’d be doing everyone a favor by shutting him up. And yet, her stomach continued to twist into knots. Her throat was dry despite having gulped her entire goblet of water. Jernigan even slid his glass over to her. Was it that obvious?

The attractive black woman across the table watched her out of the corner of her eye. She had nodded when Jernigan brought them in, even offered Sabrina a slight smile as she gestured for them to sit down.

Sabrina glanced at Eric. He had told her she could back out if she wanted and they’d simply enjoy the meal. In the last week she had survived her car being shoved off the road and exploding. She’d witnessed the death of her coworker. She’d had her reputation smeared and her life threatened. She’d come much too close to a water moccasin and face-to-face with a hired killer. And the man in front of her, standing at the podium, had been responsible for all of it. She stood up.

“Mr. Sidel,” she called out. Silverware clinked and stopped. “Is it true your processing plant is responsible for the contamination of Jackson Springs Bottled Water?”

Complete silence.

Sidel still had a smile left over from the joke he had just told. It took him a few seconds before the attack registered. “Excuse me?”

“Dozens of people have gotten sick. A ten-year-old girl was hospitalized with dioxins found in her bloodstream. Dioxins that your processing plant released into the Apalachicola River.”

She could see two Secret Service agents starting toward her, but Jernigan waved them off.

“I’m quite certain you don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

There were whispers now and shuffling of chairs as guests tried to get a better view.

“Oh, but I do.” And just as she saw the recognition start to register on his face she said, “I used to be one of your scientists.”

Abda had finished serving the head table just as the woman began to jeer Mr. Sidel. He had felt a disappointment, a physical draining of energy. The trays weighed him down. Every plate, every serving became an effort. He had not realized how difficult it would be to go from assassin to ordinary waiter. He should have felt relief. He should feel joy, for their mission had obtained their goal. They would, indeed, be awarded a portion of the military oil contract and their nation’s influence and standing would remain strong and steady. But instead of accomplishment, Abda lacked focus.

He listened to this woman and he heard the passion in her voice. Perhaps that’s what he worried he had lost somewhere between the appetizers and the salads, his passion. No, he had replaced passion for resolve. That was not a bad thing. Passion could be dangerous. And that’s when Abda saw Khaled approaching the head table. He balanced a tray on one hand above his head. All eyes were on the woman. No one noticed him. He was just another waiter. But Abda saw what was on the tray, three small, plastic bottles with pull-top caps.

Abda froze and watched as Khaled set the tray down next to the head table. He picked up two of the bottles. No one paid him any attention. He shoved the top of one bottle into the bottom of the other. He picked up the third bottle.

“He has a bomb,” Abda yelled.

Eric grabbed Sabrina and shoved her down onto the floor. Jernigan already had his gun out. Secret Service agents were scrambling toward the president. And the Middle Eastern man in a waiter’s uniform held his hands up for everyone to see he was serious. Two bottles already attached in one hand. Another bottle in his other hand. Liquid explosives, Eric thought. The man would need only to shove the last bottle into the others. As soon as the three liquids mixed they would explode.

Jesus! All this security and a waiter could stand two feet from the President of the United States and blow up an entire banquet hall.

Eric’s eyes raked the room.

“Take it easy,” Jernigan said to the man as he approached him, walking slowly, his gun held down by his side. “Whatever it is you want, we can get for you.”

The man wouldn’t answer, his eyes darted back and forth from the bottles in his hands to Jernigan to the frantic guests at the head table.

“You don’t want to do this,” Jernigan continued in a tone Eric recognized. In training, Eric used to joke and call it the lullaby tone. “Tell me what you’d like me to get for you.”

The man looked at Jernigan now. And Eric thought perhaps the lullaby tone really did work. But then the man smiled and his hands moved together. Before they connected, his head exploded with a blast from above. Eric didn’t even see the sniper.

Saturday, June 17
Airport Marriott
Tallahassee, Florida

Natalie Richards sank into the leather seat and stretched her legs out in front of her, pushing off her right shoe then her left. Having this solo limo ride to the resort was something new for her, a definite treat. No business to be conducted. No egos to stroke. No deadlines or special deliveries. No phone calls. No madmen with bombs.

Everything had worked out perfectly. Well,
perfectly
wasn’t the word she’d use out loud. They had come damn close this time. Too many risks, and she was glad none of them were her decision. If it were up to Natalie, she wouldn’t give these assholes the time of day, but then she wasn’t the diplomat her boss was. To Natalie they all looked like the enemy and sometimes she couldn’t see the greater picture. Sometimes she had moments of doubt. Not that she would ever admit it.

In her line of work, at this level of security, you accepted that there might be casualties, though she wasn’t used to almost being one of them. But Natalie could sleep well knowing that blood had not been shed on her shift…
this
time.
That there would be another and another could be unsettling if she gave it much thought.

This past week when she was missing her boys she had brief thoughts of packing them up and moving to the Midwest, maybe Chicago, maybe even Omaha. She had friends in both places who kept tempting her to come live “a normal life.” Natalie smiled at that. She supposed what she had just been through didn’t really count as normal. Maybe it was time to start thinking about a change.

She looked over the driver’s shoulders out the front windshield and saw a sign that read Destin, sixty miles. She had forty-five minutes to go before their arrival at the private resort. She’d have plenty of time to think and make decisions.

Her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. Why hadn’t she turned the damn thing off? She picked it up, intending to do just that, when she recognized the caller’s number.

“This is Natalie Richards.”

“Are you there yet?”

“Sixty more miles,” Natalie said, smiling at the obvious excitement in her boss’s voice. “And thank you again.”

“You deserve every bit of this. It’s not just me saying thank-you, it’s the entire country. Sometimes it’s not easy keeping the president focused and in line.”

“Well, we make a good team.”

“Exactly. And that’s why I’m calling. I want you to think about something while you’re out there basking in the sun on those sugar-white beaches. I’ve decided to run for president, and Natalie, I want you to be my campaign manager.”

Natalie was speechless. All the continued risks and secrets, all the hopes for a normal life were suddenly overshadowed by her sense of pride and duty.

“With all due respect, sir, you came damn close to becoming the president last night,” Natalie said. “Despite all that, I’d be honored to be your campaign manager, Mr. Vice President.”

Saturday, June 17
Airport Marriott
Tallahassee, Florida

Natalie Richards sank into the leather seat and stretched her legs out in front of her, pushing off her right shoe then her left. Having this solo limo ride to the resort was something new for her, a definite treat. No business to be conducted. No egos to stroke. No deadlines or special deliveries. No phone calls. No madmen with bombs.

Everything had worked out perfectly. Well,
perfectly
wasn’t the word she’d use out loud. They had come damn close this time. Too many risks, and she was glad none of them were her decision. If it were up to Natalie, she wouldn’t give these assholes the time of day, but then she wasn’t the diplomat her boss was. To Natalie they all looked like the enemy and sometimes she couldn’t see the greater picture. Sometimes she had moments of doubt. Not that she would ever admit it.

In her line of work, at this level of security, you accepted that there might be casualties, though she wasn’t used to almost being one of them. But Natalie could sleep well knowing that blood had not been shed on her shift…
this
time.
That there would be another and another could be unsettling if she gave it much thought.

This past week when she was missing her boys she had brief thoughts of packing them up and moving to the Midwest, maybe Chicago, maybe even Omaha. She had friends in both places who kept tempting her to come live “a normal life.” Natalie smiled at that. She supposed what she had just been through didn’t really count as normal. Maybe it was time to start thinking about a change.

She looked over the driver’s shoulders out the front windshield and saw a sign that read Destin, sixty miles. She had forty-five minutes to go before their arrival at the private resort. She’d have plenty of time to think and make decisions.

Her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. Why hadn’t she turned the damn thing off? She picked it up, intending to do just that, when she recognized the caller’s number.

“This is Natalie Richards.”

“Are you there yet?”

“Sixty more miles,” Natalie said, smiling at the obvious excitement in her boss’s voice. “And thank you again.”

“You deserve every bit of this. It’s not just me saying thank-you, it’s the entire country. Sometimes it’s not easy keeping the president focused and in line.”

“Well, we make a good team.”

“Exactly. And that’s why I’m calling. I want you to think about something while you’re out there basking in the sun on those sugar-white beaches. I’ve decided to run for president, and Natalie, I want you to be my campaign manager.”

Natalie was speechless. All the continued risks and secrets, all the hopes for a normal life were suddenly overshadowed by her sense of pride and duty.

“With all due respect, sir, you came damn close to becoming the president last night,” Natalie said. “Despite all that, I’d be honored to be your campaign manager, Mr. Vice President.”

Chattahoochee, Florida

Sabrina set the foil-wrapped corn bread on the tray in front of her father. It was still warm, fresh out of Miss Sadie’s oven. He looked good today though his fingers were tapping the recliner’s arms. His eyes lingered in one place for longer periods of time. They almost seemed focused on her. She thought she saw him smile when he noticed Eric standing behind her.

“Hey, Dad,” Eric said, but he stayed where he was.

“We’re talking to your doctor about taking you on an outing for the weekend,” Sabrina told him. “How would you like to take a drive and go to the beach? Maybe go deep-sea fishing.”

“As long as I don’t miss my friend Mick,” Arthur Galloway said, his eyes flashing back and forth from Sabrina to Eric. “He came to visit again last night. Brought me a Snickers.”

“Mick?” She didn’t remember anyone in her dad’s life named Mick. She glanced back at Eric and he shrugged.

“How would you like to spend a couple of days on Pensacola Beach?” Eric asked. “Yœou can meet some of my friends.”

His fingers frantically tapped. “Howard Johnson?”

Sabrina smiled. He did remember. But just when she was feeling confident he added, “My friend Mick had to go to the vet to get stitched up. He showed me the sutures.”

She wanted to correct him. How could he get confused with vets and doctors?

“Your friend Mick’s not a dog, is he?” she joked.

“No, no.” Then he leaned forward and in a whisper he said, “You see, doctors have to report certain…wounds. Vets don’t.”

It made no sense to Sabrina and she could see Eric was beginning to get frustrated, too. She wanted them to have two days of enjoying the sun and water and each other. She hoped she wasn’t being naive in thinking that was possible. After all they had been through they deserved some normalcy.

“Can we stop and get cheeseburgers on the way?” he asked suddenly. “With pickles and onion?”

She felt Eric’s hand on her shoulder and she was nodding and smiling even before their dad added, “Maybe some fries and a chocolate shake?”