Politics of Blood (Gray Spear Society Book 8) (37 page)

Ethel nodded. "Proceed."

Neal took out his phone and made a call.

* * *

George Seferis' eyes were almost closed when a jostling woke him up. The bus was stopping.

He was sitting near the front where he had a good view out the windshield. He knew this location very well. The bus had stopped at the intersection of 17th Street and I Street in Washington, DC. It was just three blocks from the White House.

The driver and guards had changed a few times during the long trip from Chicago. At the moment, a man was driving, and a man and a woman were standing guard in front. As with all the others, they were heavily armed and dressed in gray and black.

The driver negotiated a tough turn and maneuvered the bus into a narrow alley between a hotel and an office building. Without a word, he and his two friends left the bus. They quickly vanished into the deep shadows of the alley. Seferis perked up.

A tall, attractive woman in street clothes boarded the bus. Her long, brown hair was tied back in a ponytail with a gray ribbon. A thin, faint scar ran down the right side of her face.

"Vice President Darrow," she called out. "Secret Service Director Seferis. Please come forward. I need to speak with you."

The two men went to the front of the bus. Seferis glanced at the Vice President and was shocked at how tired he looked. He was sixty years-old, but he seemed more like eighty now.

"You work for Miss Pickenpaugh?" Darrow said nervously.

The woman nodded.

"Where is President Haley?" Seferis said.

"In a very safe place," she replied. "I had breakfast with him this morning."

"He's in Washington?"

"Don't worry about him. He'll appear when the time is right. Here are your instructions."

"Wait!" he said. "Why should we do anything for you?"

"Because your enemies are still out there. There will be more attacks like last night, and the next one might succeed. We are trying to finish this mission today and get out of your life, but you have to cooperate."

Seferis wanted to argue the point, but after everything he had seen, he didn't have much ground to stand on. He nodded vaguely.

"As I'm sure you noticed," the woman said, "we are very close to the White House. There is a crowd of reporters waiting on H Street thanks to an anonymous tip from us. Mr. Seferis, you will drive the bus there. Then everybody can go home. Mr. Vice President, you will greet the reporters and give a little speech."

"About what?" Darrow said.

"Anything you want. You could thank the Secret Service for saving your life and protecting the leadership of the nation. Mention that the President is still alive and well. Let Mr. Seferis take all the credit. Our involvement must remain a secret forever, of course. Just keep talking in front of the cameras for at least twenty minutes."

"You want the assassins to know all of us survived?" Seferis said.

The woman nodded. "Exactly. Good luck." She got off the bus and walked away.

He looked at the unguarded door. If he wanted to leave, nobody would stop him.

Darrow put a hand on Seferis' shoulder. "When Miss Pickenpaugh wants you to do something, it's best just to do it."

Seferis sighed and sat in the driver's seat. The vinyl covering was still warm. The rumble of the big diesel engine was soothing.

He backed the bus out of the alley with some difficulty. Space was tight, and the beast was unwieldy. He left some black paint on the walls before finally escaping.

The drive over to H Street took only a minute, and finding the reporters was easy. A cluster of them had gathered on the sidewalk by Lafayette Park where trees provided some nice shade. There were at least three television crews. Seferis parked at the intersection with 16th Street in a totally illegal spot.

He looked across Lafayette Park. A famous statue of Andrew Jackson on a horse stood in the center of the tree-filled park. The front of the White House could be seen further away.

Seferis stood up and announced, "End of the line."

Vice President Darrow left first, and he immediately headed towards the reporters. Despite his exhaustion, he kept his head high, his back straight, and a smile on his face. He was a consummate politician.

Everybody else filed out in an orderly manner. They looked around with puzzled expressions as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Most of the Secret Service agents stayed and were obviously waiting for orders. The traitor Julie Zimmer walked off at a brisk pace.

Bernard Templeton hung back to talk with Seferis.

"What's going on?" the billionaire said. "Why are we here?"

"I don't know, and if I did, I probably couldn't tell you. Go home. On behalf of the President of the United States, thank you for everything you've done."

"What about my house?"

"We'll work out some kind of compensation," Seferis said. "If you'll excuse me, I have a job to do."

He stepped off the bus. Cool, fresh autumn air invigorated him. The big, black bus was stopping traffic and getting a lot of attention from people on the street.

His Secret Service agents gathered around.

"I need ten volunteers to stay and guard the Vice President," Seferis said loudly. "I know you don't have weapons or radios, and you're dead tired, but we can't abandon him. The rest of you have the option of going home. I have to run to my office and try to get things sorted out." He sighed. "It's probably total chaos over there."

* * *

General Joseph was sitting in a Pentagon conference room with an Air Force colonel and a major. They were going over budget figures and allocating money for procurement. It was tedious, mind-numbing work, but Joseph didn't mind. He was still feeling the warm glow of heroic accomplishment.

The colonel's phone buzzed. He grabbed it and checked the message on the screen. Joseph frowned at the interruption.

"That's a relief," the colonel said. "The wild rumors about the President being dead aren't true."

Joseph leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"The Vice President is giving a press conference in Lafayette Park. He just told the media the President is safe and sound."

"The Lafayette Park here?"

"Yes, sir," the colonel said. "Near the White House."

Joseph felt a chill. He stood up quickly. "I have to go, gentlemen. We'll reconvene... later."

He bolted out of the conference room. He jogged through the long, tiled hallways of the Pentagon and ignored the looks people gave him. His heart was pounding. It was impossible for the Vice President to be alive and in Washington. He was supposed to be dead and in Illinois. Something had gone horribly wrong.

Joseph went into his office, closed the door, and locked it. He turned on the television and flipped to the local news channel. His eyes widened in shock. Vice President Darrow was indeed giving an outdoors press conference. Secret Service agents stood in the background. Everybody looked exhausted, and their suits were rumpled, but they were unharmed.

"The President is safe," Darrow said in his deep, booming voice. "His life is not in danger. Recent events forced us to take extraordinary security precautions, but thanks to the heroic efforts of the Secret Service, we've come through unscathed. I'd like to thank Director George Seferis in particular. His leadership was invaluable in this difficult time..."

Joseph felt numb as he staggered over to his desk. He sat heavily on the chair.

Bright red words, drawn with holographic lasers, appeared on the television screen. "2: WTF? I SEE DEAD MEN ON MY TV!"

Joseph quickly grabbed his rubber stress ball and squeezed hidden buttons. He sent, "1: WHAT WENT WRONG?"

"3: DON'T KNOW. MY CONTACT JUST CALLED ME. SHE WAS PISSED. MADE THREATS. REFUSED TO TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED."

"4: NEED TO TIE OFF THAT LOOSE END QUICK."

"3: ALREADY ON IT."

"1: CALM DOWN. WE CAN FIGURE THIS OUT."

* * *

Aaron cocked his head and said, "What the fuck? Why are they just sitting there? They should be panicking."

The surveillance video showed all three conspirators at their desks in their offices. They were watching the news on television.

"It's strange," Neal said. "They're certainly working those stress balls like crazy."

Wesley moved closer to the surveillance monitors. He squinted as he stared at the grainy images.

"See anything?" Aaron said.

"Something is wrong with those stress balls."

Aaron focused his attention on the ball in Joseph's hand. The general was holding it in his lap, so it was almost hidden from view. Aaron could just see Joseph's fingers frantically clenching and releasing in a peculiar manner.

"Damn it!" Aaron said. "He's sending messages using some kind of code. They're all doing it. Those balls must have a transmitter inside. But how are they receiving?"

Hidden microphones were planted in the offices. The sound was playing through a speaker, but all Aaron could hear was the noise from the televisions.

"I don't see any earpieces," Neal said. "They're just watching the news."

Aaron squeezed his fists in frustration. His enemies were having a crucial conversation right in front of him, and he wasn't getting a word of it. His clever plan was failing.

* * *

A white envelope was shoved under the door of Joseph's office. He dropped the stress ball on his desk and ran over to grab the message. The envelope was made of thick, hard material with a textured surface. Residual heat forced him to hold it by the corners.

He opened the door and stuck his head into the hallway outside. There was no sign of the messenger, of course. There never was. Joseph closed the door and relocked it.

He pulled a piece of paper out of the envelope. Most of the message was alien gibberish, but there were a few recognizable words. They read, "Yure ennemees ar watshing yu now!!! - frend."

Joseph's heart fluttered as he looked at the ceiling panels of his office. He couldn't see the bugs, but now he knew they were there.

He went back to his desk, sat down, and picked up his stress ball. The Corners of Freedom had devised a form of communication that was secure even in the presence of spies. The holographic laser lines were visible from just one spot behind his desk. The transmitter in the ball used a special code. Those extreme precautions would be put to the test now.

Joseph sent, "1: JUST GOT NOTE FROM FREND. MY OFFICE IS BUGGED."

"3: GOT SAME NOTE."

"2: ME TOO."

"4: NOT ME."

"1: WHY NOT? WHAT MAKES YOU DIFFERENT?"

"4: DON'T KNOW. DID FIVE GET NOTE?"

"1: NO IDEA. WAIT. YOU DIDN'T DRINK WITH US LAST NIGHT."

"4: RIGHT. SOMEBODY AT THE BAR SAW YOU TOGETHER. I KNEW CELEBRATION WAS BAD IDEA."

Joseph's heart sank. He remembered the strange, muscular waitress. Three of the five Corners were now hopelessly compromised. It was just a matter of time before they were arrested or worse.

"2: WHAT NOW?"

"1: LET ME THINK. MAYBE WE CAN USE THIS."

* * *

"I need to read that note!" Aaron said. "It's too blurry. Can we enhance the image or something?"

He looked at Todd, who was sitting at his computer workstation.

"Working on it, sir!" Todd answered. His fingers were clattering on his keyboard. "I think I can recompose the image using multiple frames."

"Just do it fast." Aaron sighed with frustration.

He turned to Ethel. She and President Haley were holding hands like teenagers in love.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Aaron said. "I seem to be falling a little short today."

"I don't expect you to be absolutely perfect all the time," she said. "Ninety-nine percent of the time is adequate. And I thought it was a brilliant plan, too."

Aaron's attention drifted to Wesley's protection team. They were standing back and showing only mild interest in the proceedings.

Aaron had spent some time with all four of them, but he knew Yvonne best of all. She had once been part of the Chicago cell. She was a small woman with freakishly bulbous muscles. She had enough strength to literally tear a man to shreds with her bare hands.

Charles had been the legate before giving the job to Ethel. His gift was something called "psychological camouflage," which meant people didn't pay attention to him. When he used his gift at full power, he became effectively invisible. His enemies would ignore him even when he was killing them.

Atalanta had been Charles' bodyguard before becoming Wesley's bodyguard. She had Japanese ancestry and was as tall as Aaron. Atalanta's skin was impervious to anything lighter than a high-power rifle bullet, and her bones were almost unbreakable. She was also one of the best swordsmen on Earth.

Aaron knew Guthrum the least. He had been Ethel's bodyguard until four months ago. He was very tall with deathly pale skin. His extraordinary gift was the ability to see a few seconds into the future. He could respond to attacks before they actually occurred. He was unbeatable in straight combat.

Together, they formed a frightening team. Messing with Wesley was a quick and sure form of suicide.

"I got it!" Todd declared. "Come look, sir."

Aaron stepped quickly over to Todd's workstation. Ethel and Neal were just behind Aaron.

A clear image of the secret note was on one of the computer screens. Aaron could read the words easily despite the atrocious spelling. He was just as interested in the complicated glyphs that decorated the rest of the page. He had seen writing like it before.

"We need to shoot this over to the twins and get their opinion," he said.

"The twins?" Todd said excitedly. "Can I talk to them?"

"And I want to see their faces," Wesley said.

Aaron shook his head. "No. That's a bad idea."

"I'm sure God made them beautiful."

"Yes, but their condition is a secret."

"Let me see them!" Wesley's glittering, blue eyes glared at Aaron.

Moments like these reminded Aaron that the boy was still a boy. Wesley could be as selfish and petulant as a normal ten year-old.

"Do you promise I can trust everybody in this room?" Aaron said. "They won't endanger the twins?"