Politics of Blood (Gray Spear Society Book 8) (5 page)

"I can control it," Boreas said. "Who is the target?"

"Try me first."

The blue tint in Boreas' eyes darkened until they were the color of the sky.

"Ugh!" Aaron cried.

He collapsed to the floor in an awkward heap. His whole body was shivering as if he were freezing to death.

"Are you OK?" Boreas said.

Aaron nodded but didn't get up. His teeth were chattering loudly. Boreas walked over and helped him to his feet.

"What's your maximum range?" Aaron said with difficulty. He could barely stand.

"About twenty feet. I need line of sight, but I can hit multiple targets at once with precision."

"I want to see that. Smythe, Norbert, Tawni, and Sheryl, come here."

Sheryl reluctantly walked over and joined her fellow
legionnaires
on the practice mat. They glanced at each other anxiously. She felt like the unwilling victim of a science experiment.

Without warning, Boreas' eyes turned blue again. Sheryl could feel the warmth and strength being sucked out of her body. It was one of the most uncomfortable sensations of her life. She actually thought she was dying. Her legs failed, and she was unable to protect herself as she fell.

She groaned and shivered on the mat, completely incapacitated. A terrible chill had settled deep in her bones. All four
legionnaires
had gone down at once.

"Nice gift," Aaron said. "How fast can you kill with it?"

"Three seconds to achieve unconsciousness," Boreas said. "Five for death."

"That's a long time when people are shooting at you."

"Yes. I can also freeze specific body parts. Hands, feet, testicles. It's an effective interrogation technique."

Aaron nodded. "The legate made a fine choice for a bodyguard."

"Thank you," Boreas said. "That means a lot coming from a man with your reputation."

The
legionnaires
were pulled to their feet. Sheryl's strength was returning slowly, but it would be a while before she felt right again. She wanted to take a long, hot bath.

"Back to work, everybody," Aaron announced. "The President will be here tomorrow, and we have to be ready for him. Break time is over."

Sheryl grunted.
Sometimes, I hate that man,
she thought.

* * *

Aaron walked into the lobby of the Rosemont Tower Hotel. He had changed into his finest business suit and dress shoes. When dealing with the staff of the hotel, it was important to look like a billionaire owner.

The carpeting used a black and gold hexagonal pattern that was glamorous without being ostentatious. Gleaming, stone tiles covered the walls. The most striking feature of the lobby was a suspended water sculpture where a chandelier would normally hang. Flowing water cascaded across a series of rectangular glass panels producing a soothing sound. The water seemed to disappear at the bottom where concealed drain pipes sucked it away.

Aaron crossed the lobby to the front desk. He smiled at the clerk and said, "Tell Mr. Rosenblum that Mr. Berrycloth is here."

"At once, sir," the clerk said.

A moment later, Rosenblum emerged from an office door. He wore a sharp, black suit with a blue necktie and a golden handkerchief in his breast pocket. Wisps of white hair formed a ring around his skull. His shoes were made of yellow leather.

"Hello, sir!" he said with a smile. "Is anything wrong?"

Aaron shook his head. "No. Why do you think something is wrong?"

"When we talk, it's usually for a reason."

The two men moved to a quiet corner of the lobby. The doorman gave them a curious look, but he was too far away to overhear their conversation.

"I did come to warn you," Aaron said. "I'll be unusually busy for the next several days. I may not respond to calls with my normal promptness."

"Don't worry, sir," Rosenblum said. "I can deal with any problems on my own."

"Do you have any idea how many convention delegates are staying here?"

"I would guess at least a hundred. If you wanted a room in this hotel during the convention, you had to make a reservation four months in advance."

"There will be a lot of protests," Aaron said. "Some of the troublemakers could be staying here. Make sure our security team is on full alert."

"Yes, sir." Rosenblum looked down.

"Is something wrong?"

"I just..." Rosenblum hesitated. "I just wish I knew what was really going on. I see your special employees walking through the lobby every day, and they seem to just disappear. You don't care about money. You pretty much told me this hotel is a front for another operation. I'll be honest. Sometimes, I worry I'm working for a criminal."

Aaron patted him on the shoulder. "I'm not a criminal."

"How can I be certain? I don't know anything about you. I asked around, and nobody ever heard of a Mr. Berrycloth."

"You've been checking on me?"

"I wanted to know what kind of man I'm working for, sir," Rosenblum said. "It's not a ridiculous desire. I asked a private investigator to run a background check. What he found was very uninformative. Is Berrycloth even your real name?"

Aaron sighed. He thought about the Chinatown project. It was starting to look like that building might become his primary headquarters as soon as it was ready. The hotel would be demoted to backup. Too many people were asking too many questions around here.

That was several months in the future though. In the meantime, he had to manage the situation.

"Walk with me," Aaron said.

They went out to the parking lot in front of the hotel. It was packed with cars, and Aaron noticed some very expensive models in the mix. The Rosemont Tower Hotel was considered top-end accommodations.

Aaron inhaled cool, fresh air. A few brown leaves skittered across the parking lot in the breeze. It really was a perfect autumn day.

He looked up at the copper-colored side of the building. "This is a truly remarkable structure," he said. "It has many surprising features."

"Like what?" Rosenblum said.

"The entire exterior is sheathed in bulletproof glass, and it can't be climbed. Nothing will stick to that surface, not even a suction cup. There are no handholds. You can't even force a knife between the panes of glass. If you look very carefully, you can see seams on the corners of the sixth floor." Aaron pointed.

Rosenblum squinted and stared. "What are they for?"

"That's where Vulcan cannons swing out. They fire 20 millimeter ammunition at 100 rounds per second. The tungsten-tipped bullets will cut through armor plate."

Rosenblum was silent.

"This isn't a hotel," Aaron said. "It's a fortress built to house a secret. A very important secret. I would die to protect that secret, or kill."

Rosenblum faced him. "You're serious."

"I could tell you the secret, but then you'd be part of it. You'd have to give up everything: your career, your friends, and your family. You'll never see your beautiful grandchildren again. Mickey and Mallory."

Rosenblum's eyes widened.

"You're not the only person who does background checks," Aaron said sternly. "So do you want to be like me? I'm an anonymous face with a fake name. I can't go home. I'm not allowed to have a family. I'm expendable. When I die, only a handful of people will even know I'm gone. That's the price for learning this secret. Or, you could be the overpaid general manager of a fine hotel and keep your nose out of my damn business!"

Rosenblum looked down.

Aaron pointed at the asphalt beneath their feet. "There are anti-tank mines under this parking lot. What's your decision? Do you want to throw everything away just to learn the truth, or are you satisfied with your life as it is?"

Rosenblum swallowed. "I don't mind being an overpaid general manager."

"That's what I thought. This is the last time I want to have this conversation. My tolerance has reached its limit. You've been warned."

Aaron walked off angrily.

* * *

Aaron returned to the conference room that evening. All the
legionnaires
were there along with Ethel and her bodyguard. Bethany, Leanna, and Perry had joined the party this time. Altogether, there were ten people in the room. To Aaron, it was an uncomfortably large group.

Perry was standing in front of a computer monitor mounted on the wall. He would give the presentation. The twins had seniority, but Perry was a much smoother and more understandable public speaker.

An image of a middle-aged, black man appeared on the monitor.

"Roy Gilbert Haley," Perry said. "Age sixty. Born and raised in North Carolina. Widower. His wife, Cynthia, died a year ago, but I'm sure everybody already knew that." He cleared his throat nervously.

Aaron studied the picture. Haley had a broad, perfectly proportioned face. Distinguished flecks of white salted his short, black hair. He wore thin glasses with no rims. He had the air of a respectable college professor.

Perry continued, "The Democratic National Convention will take place over four days, starting the day after tomorrow. The main events will be in the United Center at night. They will be carefully staged for a prime time television audience. The participants are expected to follow the approved script. All daytime activities will happen in many other venues around Chicago."

Aaron frowned. His team would have to cover a lot of ground.

"A variety of agencies are contributing to the security," Perry said. "The Chicago Police and the Illinois State Police are responsible for controlling the public. They'll operate outside the venues and make sure only people with the right credentials get in. The FBI and Homeland Security will guard the delegates and convention staff. They'll be inside the United Center when the speeches are delivered. The Secret Service will focus on the President, the Vice President, and other high ranking government officials. They're the innermost layer. All the gritty details are in your reports."

Aaron looked down at a thick stack of papers in front of him. Everybody had a copy. There was far too much material to read in one sitting. He would have to work his way through it as time permitted, or just skip to the interesting parts.

"Haley will attend many different functions," Perry said, "at least a dozen a day. I have his current schedule, but unfortunately, it keeps shifting. Most of the daytime appointments are for fundraising events. I'll keep the whole team up to date by sending text messages. I'll make sure you know where the President is at all times."

"Good," Aaron said. "How is the threat analysis coming along?"

"He has a lot of enemies, sir. The conservatives hate him because he's a liberal. Some liberals hate him because he's not liberal enough. There is a strong racist element, of course. Some people just can't stand seeing an African-American in a position of power." Perry glanced fearfully at the legate. "I'm not one of those people."

"Keep working on the threat list. I'll review it with you tomorrow." Aaron faced the rest of his team. "Smythe and Sheryl, I want you to check out the United Center first thing in the morning. Look for gaps in security. Norbert and Tawni, your first assignment is the protestors. Talk to the people in the streets and try to pick out the dangerous ones."

"Sir," Sheryl said, "can I have Tawni with me?"

He shook his head. "You're my least experienced
legionnaire
. You need the guidance and protection of my top man." He turned to Ethel. "Have you arranged our meeting with the President, ma'am?"

She had changed into her formal gray robes. A black silk hood soaked up the light. Gold thread was woven into the plush fabric elsewhere, creating a regal appearance.

"I've done my best," she said. "Meeting him won't be difficult. We'll talk to him as soon as he arrives in Chicago tomorrow. Getting him to trust us will be a lot harder."

Aaron made a sour face. "If this meeting goes badly, we'll be surrounded by a hostile army of federal agents and police. We'll have to carve a bloody swath to escape."

"There will be people in the room who will vouch for me, and I'll try to be a nice person. Still, the risks are significant."

"Will Boreas be with us?"

"Of course," Ethel said. "Where I go, he goes."

"That's helpful. Are we done here?" Aaron asked.

"For now. Dismissed."

Chapter Three

President Roy Haley walked out of an elevator and moved swiftly down the hallway of his hotel. A squad of Secret Service agents in black body armor was in front of him, and a second squad trailed behind. More squads were posted at all the exits. It felt like a military operation.

George Seferis, Director of the Secret Service, was accompanying Haley. Seferis had a thin face and big ears which stuck out prominently. His brown hair had a razor sharp part down one side. His black suit had a glossy appearance.

"When are we going to review the security arrangements, sir?" he said.

"Not now, George," Haley said. "I woke up too early this morning. Even the birds were still asleep. I need to rest before I face the world. Besides, I trust the judgment of your security experts."

"Yes, sir. I'll have a summary written for you. You can read it when you have time."

Haley eventually arrived at his suite. He was eager to lie down. A heart condition made travel tiring for him.

He opened the door and walked into the suite. He expected to see more men in black body armor, but instead, he found two people who weren't supposed to be there.

The first was Clarence Felt, Director of the FBI. He was a short man with silver hair. His blue business suit was several grades nicer than what FBI agents usually wore. Small glasses were perched on his small nose.

The second unexpected visitor was Secretary of State Sandra Paz. Long, black hair framed her pretty face. She had been born in Mexico and always wore colorful clothing appropriate for her Latin heritage. She was sipping from a big mug of coffee.

"What are you guys doing here?" Haley said in surprise. "I thought you stayed in Washington."

"We were told to come for an urgent meeting," Felt said. "Nine AM sharp."