She’d been reluctant to carry the monstrosity, but the president had insisted she take it with her to the embassy. She was grateful to him beyond words. Thinking about him made her eyes tear up. She got to work in earnest.
She called the operator, getting the phone numbers for four airlines: Delta, USAir, United, and American. She made reservations from three different airports—Dulles, National, and Baltimore-Washington International, going to eight different destinations. All the flights were scheduled to depart on time, and all were less than two hours from departure. Just for good measure, she called Amtrak and booked herself on the Metroliner train to Boston out of BWI.
By this time, the cabbie was approaching the light at Connecticut and Q, on his way up the street to the Hilton. Kate slumped low in her seat and scanned the area quickly. All clear. Not even anyone guarding the Metro stop. Not, she reminded herself, that they would all stand out and look like the G-men that they were. So she turned her attention once again to the area directly around the top of the stairs and escalators
Lynn Ames
leading down into the Metro. She evaluated every homeless person, every waiting businessman, every person who looked even slightly suspicious. But even her imagination, which was on hyper drive at this point, could find nothing out of the ordinary.
The cabbie pulled to a stop, and Kate handed him a fifty-dollar bill, telling him to keep the change, hoping that he would remember her. She strode purposefully into the lower lobby and over to the Super Shuttle, which ran limos and buses to all the area airports. She booked a one-way trip to BWI using her MasterCard. The shuttle was scheduled to depart in fifteen minutes.
Next she slipped into the ladies room, looking at her reflection in the mirror and trying to make some order out of the mess. Deciding that her elegant, if soggy, black silk sheath was far too conspicuous, she took the escalator up one flight to the main lobby. Off to the left, she spied the small gift shop replete with T-shirts, shorts, and sweatpants for the tourists. She browsed the rack quickly, selecting a T-shirt that appealed to her ironic sense of humor, a pair of black sweatpants with an American flag plastered on the front left leg, and a cheap pair of Nike knockoffs with white sweat socks.
She disappeared into the upstairs bathroom, where she peeled off her dress, slip, and pantyhose, exchanging them for her black T-shirt with the
“FBI” emblazoned in white on the front, the sweats, and sneakers. She balled the ruined dress up and put it in the garbage, making sure to cover it with some other trash. She exited the front door of the main lobby and hailed a cab that was waiting for guests heading out for an evening on the town.
She checked her watch, nodding a little to herself. “DuPont Circle Metro station, please.”
The cabbie, this one an older man in his fifties with flaming red hair, swore under his breath about tourists who didn’t know enough to realize that the Metro station was only several short blocks away.
When they arrived at the stop, Kate again took a careful look around.
All quiet. She handed the cabbie a ten-dollar bill, not wanting to give him so much money that she would call attention to herself this time, and got out, disappearing immediately down the escalator with a crowd of twenty-somethings already well on their way to wicked hangovers. She sighed, mumbling, “Just another Friday night in D.C.”
Kate took the Metro to National Airport, arriving at the USAir first-class counter with thirty-five minutes to go until her flight to Phoenix departed. She picked up her ticket at the counter and headed for the gate.
On the way, she passed a Wilson’s House of Leather store. She hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside. Within five minutes, she had paid cash for and changed into a sleek pair of black leather pants and a soft,
The Value of Valor
short, black leather jacket over her FBI T-shirt. She also bought a small black leather carry-on into which she stuffed the sweatpants. Then it was off to the gate and her waiting flight.
Kate was one of the last to board, and as she did so, she ran her eyes over the passengers within her line of sight. Nothing seemed out of place.
She breathed a small sigh of relief, sat down in first class, and accepted the proffered soft drink from the flight attendant. The plane took off without incident and climbed to its cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet. When the flight attendant appeared at her elbow with a choice of chicken parmesan or stuffed filet of sole, Kate was reminded that she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. She accepted the steaming portion of stuffed sole gratefully and dug in, knowing it might be her last peaceful meal for quite a while.
Having polished off the main course and a chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream sundae for good measure, Kate reclined in her seat. She wanted to sleep, but she was afraid to let down her guard that far. So instead she gazed out at the night and contemplated all that had happened in her life in the last few months.
Peter stepped off the plane at Dulles, anxious to share his news with Kate. He made his way directly outside, having carried on only a small bag, and hailed a taxi waiting at the curb. When he gave the driver his address, he noticed that the man seemed completely distracted, and the radio was turned up so that Peter couldn’t help but hear it.
“…to repeat then, President Charles Hyland, less than two months into his first term, has died after collapsing during a speech to journalists at the National Press Club in Washington. Official word from the White House came just moments ago from Deputy Press Secretary Michael Vendetti…”
“…this is a sad and difficult day for the people of this nation and the world. President Hyland was a great man. Let no one think, however, that the president’s death leaves America weak. As spelled out in the Constitution, Vice President Alton Wheeler will be sworn in as president by the chief justice of the United States. The ceremony will take place in the Oval Office within the hour.”
Peter sat in stunned silence in the backseat. Dead? The president was dead? And why was Vendetti giving the statement instead of Kate?
Under the circumstances, it was clear to Peter that he would never be able to get anywhere near the White House.
“Stop at that gas station for a minute and wait for me, will you?” he asked the cabbie.
Lynn Ames
Before the taxi had even come to a complete stop, Peter was out of the backseat, striding toward the phone booth. He dropped change into the slot and dialed Kate’s private number in the West Wing.
“Katherine Kyle’s office,” Kate’s assistant answered the phone.
He had met her several times before while visiting the White House.
He found her to be efficient and protective of Kate—attributes he admired.
“This is Peter Enright, is Kate there?”
“Oh, Peter. It’s the strangest thing. I can’t seem to find her. She told me she had a diplomatic reception to go to this evening, then she was going to meet up with the president at the National Press Club.” She choked on the end of the sentence.
“When’s the last time you heard from her?” A tight knot formed in his stomach.
“When she told me her schedule. That was it. She never showed up at the Press Club. Isn’t that odd?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And right after that, well, I expect you know what happened right after that,” she sobbed.
“If she calls in, would you please tell her I’m looking for her?”
“Of course. Isn’t it just awful?”
Peter hung up the phone before the woman was done talking.
When he got back in the cab, he directed the driver to take him to Kate’s place, instead of his condo.
Peter let himself in with the key Kate had given him so that he’d be able to let Fred out when necessary. The dog greeted him enthusiastically, talking like a Wookie from
Star Wars
and weaving in and out of his legs.
“Hey, buddy. Where’s your mom?” Peter didn’t see anything out of place, and it was clear that the dog had been fed dinner. If Kate had gone to a diplomatic reception, she would’ve come home to change first. She must have fed him then, Peter figured.
He searched the rest of the town house, finding nothing out of the ordinary. The dog followed him everywhere. “Do you need to go out, Fred? Huh? What do you say?” He snapped a leash on the dog, taking him out through the garage. Kate’s car was still there. Peter put a hand on the hood—it was cool to the touch. Something wasn’t right.
Instinct born out of years of experience informed his next move. He went back inside, found the spare key to Kate’s car, loaded Fred inside, and moved it a block away. He got out, let the dog out of the backseat, and locked the car.
“Come on, buddy, this may be the last walk you get until morning.
Better make it count.”
The Value of Valor
Although he didn’t want to take the time, Peter couldn’t begrudge Fred his outing—Kate wouldn’t want him to. They walked along the river, Fred stopping to sniff at the grass, trees, and anything else he could find. As they made their way back toward the town house, Peter pulled the dog up short. A nondescript black sedan was just pulling in front of Kate’s place; three men hopped out. Peter made them out immediately as black ops. He and Fred watched from the shadows as the men broke into the town house.
“Okay, buddy. That’s it. Let’s go.” Peter jogged in the opposite direction, the dog easily keeping stride with him. He loaded Fred in the backseat of Kate’s car once again, got in, and revved the engine as he took off.
He had been smart to move Kate’s car—one more possibility for the goons to consider when trying to figure out where she’d gone. Without the car, they would have to consider that she might have come back for it. He tried to puzzle through the clues himself.
He knew that Kate would never have gone missing at a time like this—not voluntarily, anyway. That meant she was in trouble. Peter was having difficulty figuring out why she would go to a reception instead of accompanying the president to his first major address in front of the national media. She wouldn’t have done so unless ordered to do it by President Hyland.
Peter checked his rearview mirror as he had been doing since he left Kate’s—all clear. He pulled up to his rented condo in Alexandria and drove the car into the extra space in his garage. It was best to keep it out of sight. He let Fred off the leash before opening the door, knowing from experience that if he didn’t, the dog would pull his arm off trying to get inside to find the toys he knew Peter kept handy for him.
Peter turned on lights as he made his way into his bedroom, where he stowed his gear. He could hear Fred squeaking the stuffed puppy he kept in a toy box in the kitchen, and he followed the noise, figuring Fred would be thirsty. As he filled the water bowl, he noticed a single piece of paper on the table.
“Technowiz, I’ll be at a cocktail reception tomorrow night (Friday)
on the arm of one of my boss’s oldest friends, who is returning to this
country unexpectedly from the Far East. My boss thinks we’ll have a lot
to talk about; I promised him I would tell him all about it before the
evening was over—he’s anxious to get the full report. He’s going to be
working across town visiting the fourth estate. Either he or I will fill you
in afterward.”
He read the note twice. The president sent Kate to meet with his CIA contact and report back. Peter reddened as a flash of anger washed through him. Why on earth would the president put Kate in such danger?
Lynn Ames
Just as quickly, he shoved his pique aside. There would be time for recriminations later. Obviously, Kate and the CIA man had been made.
Not good. Peter picked up the phone.
“Dr. Jones.”
“Barbara? It’s Peter.”
“Hey, stranger. How goes the war?”
“Can you get down here tonight?”
“I can sure try. I think there’s one more shuttle tonight. If I can get a seat on it, I can be there before midnight.”
“Good. I need you to come to my condo. Fred’s here, and he needs some company.”
“What’s the matter? You sound strange.”
“Our friend had to go out of town suddenly, and she left something behind. I’m going to try to track her down.” He was sure his place wasn’t bugged, and he had taken the usual precautions to ensure that the condo lease was not traceable to him, but still…he didn’t like to take chances, so he kept his remarks cryptic. “You can stay here, the security is top notch, so there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.” He hoped Barbara understood what he was trying to tell her.
“How long will you be gone? And what if you don’t find her in time?”
“I wish I knew. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. You know where to find the key?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Thanks, Barbara. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No, but I’m hoping you will be.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Peter ran down the hallway to his office, opened a file drawer with a key, removed several weapons, a passport, a cell phone, and a stash of emergency cash. He grabbed his still-packed bag, checked one more time to make sure Fred was all set, and bolted out the door. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew had to do something.
The Value of Valor
CHAPTER ELEVEN
lton Wheeler’s eyes were as big as saucers. “What exactly A happened to the president?” He swallowed hard, understandably frightened. He’d seen the president just the day before and he had looked the picture of health. As much as the vice president despised Charles Hyland, his sudden death from natural causes seemed incomprehensible.
Robert Hawthorne wheeled back from the window, where he was watching the lights wink in the distance. “It doesn’t matter. Do exactly as you’re told, and everything will be fine.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? If I’m going to be president, I want to know.” Hawthorne’s answers were making him even more uneasy.
“Don’t push me, Al.” Hawthorne was tired, frazzled, and debating what he wanted to tell the man who would be president.