Betrayal (4 page)

Wiley smiled despite himself. He shifted his grip on the latte and took the Washington insider’s cool hand, amazed that Stuart had acquired such a secret. A short list like that would only be known to the President and his top two or three advisors.

After they shook, Stuart continued. “Meanwhile, it’s no secret that Mills will top the other ticket. And I’m ninety-five percent sure that he will select either Anders or Metcalf to run as his VP.” Stuart gave an open-palmed shrug and settled back in his seat, implying with tone and demeanor that Wiley could easily fill-in the rest.
 

Wiley drew a blank, but he was not about to let the smug SOB get one up on him. Not here. Not in his own house. He took a long sip of latte, inhaling deeply to maximize the punch of the nutty brew. He tried to think. Anders was the two-term Governor of Georgia and Metcalf was a four-term Florida Senator. Both had solid backgrounds, but neither eclipsed his two terms in Congress, four years in the Virginia governor’s mansion, and current service as Director of the FBI. Both Anders and Metcalf were married … Was that it? Wiley wondered. Did Stuart want him engaged? No problem. Why had he gone through all the drama to ask? Stuart was hardly the sentimental type, but then everyone has his quirks. Apparently marriage was the one thing besides power that was sacred to the man. Wiley found that nice to know, and tucked it away for future reference.

Having discovered his reptilian campaign manager’s soft underbelly, Wiley changed his tactics. He wanted the satisfaction of hearing Stuart vocalize his feelings. “Go on, Mister Slider.”

Stuart gave him a direct, icy stare. “Anders is six-foot-four, Metcalf six-five … and Cassi is six-one. You however are a relatively puny five-ten-and-a-half—in heels. You cannot run on a power platform while appearing substantially shorter than everyone else in the game. Try it and you will become a caricature, a political Chihuahua, a late-night joke.”

Hearing those words, Wiley felt as though he had been sucker punched.

Stuart did not give him time to breathe. “I can deal with Anders and Metcalf. You won’t ever have to stand right next to either of them, although I’m sure their campaign managers will try shamelessly. But Cassi … there’s no way to avoid that money shot. The comparative picture of you will have longer legs than hers. ‘Which Proffitt wears the pants?’ ‘Who’s really on top?’ ‘Wittle Wiley Wannabe.’ The tabloid headlines will be your deathblows.

“It all comes down to this, Director. Either you forget about Cassi Carr, or you forget about the Oval Office. Those are the only two options.” Stuart folded his hands across his chest.

But there weren’t two options. They both knew that.

Wiley closed his eyes. He would have to leave Cassi.

Stuart said, “I’ll give you until Monday to do it.”

When Wiley finally opened his eyes he found that Stuart had vanished. For once he appreciated the man’s magical talent.

Checking over his shoulder more than once, Wiley walked over to the wall safe, spun through the combination, and withdrew a small box. It was robin’s-egg blue and approximately two inches cubed. He untied the white silk ribbon, tilted back the lid and stared. It was beautiful, he thought, as unique and flawless as the woman for whom it was intended.
 

Wiley had found the perfect engagement ring a month ago. For weeks he had enjoyed the anticipation of a spontaneous proposal. Holding that joyous secret in the palm of his hand made him feel like a Christmas-morning kid. In fact, he had cradled it hopefully in his pocket on six separate occasions, ready to take a knee. But the moment had never been just right. His latest plan was to propose at dinner tomorrow night. He had picked the perfect restaurant and even dropped a few hints. Tomorrow was now out of the question, of course. As was the next five years …

For a fleeting second, Wiley wondered what Stuart would have done if he had already proposed. Then he remembered that Stuart had violated Cassi that very night. He had drugged her in her sleep just so that he could deliver his news with panache. Wiley decided not to pursue that line of thought any further.

He closed the Tiffany lid. It gave a final, fatal clap. He re-tied the white bow and secured the box in the safe. Turning his back on one future in favor of another, he staggered across the study to the adjacent bath … and threw up.

Chapter 6

Downtown Alexandria, Virginia

“W
HAT
DO
WE
have?” Cassi asked, trying to focus on the job at hand while still reeling from a shock of her own.

Officer Foster looked down at his notebook and smiled, “We got us some fans of The King.” He cleared his throat. “Elvis Aaron Adams got laid-off from the canning plant today. Came home to find his wife—Priscilla, I kid you not—in bed with another man. Now Elvis is threatening to kill them both with his shotgun. For about ten minutes he was screaming his head off and throwing things, during which the widow who lives next door called us. Then things went silent.”

“Have any shots been fired?” Cassi asked, remembering that this was the second time she had negotiated with a man named Elvis and wondering if that could be pure coincidence.

“Not a one.”

She nodded a couple of times as she processed the situation and then said, “Tell me about Elvis.” On any other day, she would have enjoyed the humor inherent in that sentence. Today she was not feeling the least bit whimsical. Officer Foster seemed to sense her mood.

“He’s Caucasian, forty-three years old. Five foot six. Two years ago when his driver’s license was issued he weighed one-forty-five.”

“Does he have a record?”

“Not even a parking ticket.”

“Do they have children?”

“The neighbor says no. She says it’s just the two of them living there.”

“How long ago did he return home?”

“About forty minutes.”

Cassi nodded as her processor kicked into overdrive. Forty minutes was a lot of cooling off time. It was also plenty of time to get worked up into a murderous frenzy or plunged down into a suicidal slump. Neither option looked good for Priscilla or her paramour. She decided to see how astute Foster was.

“Is Elvis a drinker?”

“The widow said yes, but when I pressed her on what that meant she admitted that it’s just a few beers on a Friday night.”

Cassi said, “Nice work,” and pulled out her cell phone. “What’s his number?”

“They don’t have a land line and both their cell phones are switched off.”

She cringed. That was bad news. “Thank you Foster. I’ve got it from here.”

Per regulations, Cassi knew that she should remain out of shotgun range. That would mean negotiating through a bullhorn. Whereas some of her colleagues preferred the authority of that technique, she used it only as a last resort or if drugs were involved. Her preference was always to try to connect with the perpetrator on a personal level. Without a phone, that meant she had to get close, close enough to Elvis for each of them to read the inflections in the other’s speaking voice.

She had a decision to make. If her analysis was correct, Elvis was highly unlikely to shoot first and ask questions later. Yesterday that would have been good enough for Cassi. Today she was not sure. She had awakened at Wiley’s feeling funny. Then she had watched with teary eyes as a white urine strip grew a blue stripe. If she risked her life today, she would be risking two.

A silenced scream emanating from the house made up her mind. She would ignore the regulation. Cassi ran to the front door and stood shielded by the frame. “Good afternoon, Elvis,” she said in a loud but friendly tone. “My name’s Cassandra Carr, Cassi for short. I’m here to help you. Would you please step toward the door so we can talk?” Pretty please with sugar on top.

Elvis did not offer an immediate reply. That was to be expected. He needed a minute to make up his mind. Cassi tried to focus on something else to keep from getting nervous while she waited, like whistling her way through a graveyard. It was not difficult. Her personal life had the sad, magnetic draw of the best soap operas. The irony of the latest development leapt to mind. During a recent interview on
PoliTalk
, Wiley had used the fallibility of condoms to make allegorical reference to homeland defenses—Was ninety-nine-percent efficacy good enough?—unaware that one of his own little soldiers had recently crossed enemy lines. If this were not so serious she would find it funny.

How would he react? She wondered. Would he be thrilled or horrified? Angry or overjoyed? Would he spurn her or propose? Surely he would propose now, Cassi figured. That was what she wanted, more than anything. But did she want it this way? The answer came immediately, soft but solid like an elephant appearing beneath a magician’s wand. No. No, she did not want to get Wiley this way.

The opening of a window on the second floor shook her back to the present. She stepped back for a better view and simultaneously plotted her course of retreat. She would beat feet at the first sign of a shotgun barrel. Unfortunately, she realized with a sinking heart, there was no suitable shelter anywhere close—just a thin lamp pole and a couple of scraggly bushes. The corner of the house was her only safe bet, and that was twenty feet away. The prudent thing for her to do would be to run there immediately.
 

Elvis preempted her bolt. “You can help by leaving, all of you.”

Cassi paused. It was a good sign that Elvis did not open with a threat. To her that indicated that violence was not the first thing on his mind. Furthermore, his request showed that he was anxious to escape. She replied, “I’d be happy to leave. So would all my friends.”

Elvis did not react immediately. He was waiting for her conditions. Cassi wanted him to accept the fact that there would be conditions, so she waited for him to ask. As she stood there on the concrete stoop beside the small dilapidated house, the focus of twenty sets of battle-ready eyes and one hostage taker, Cassi’s thoughts again drifted to her own condition.

She could not tell Wiley about the baby. Not now. Not until he proposed. And that meant that she could not tell her employer either. They were one and the same. Standing there in the shadow of a crime she wanted to feel good about her decision. She wanted to rest easy knowing that she had made it for the right reasons. But she did not. She felt guilty. She felt guilty because deep inside she was glad for the excuse.

Cassi was a leading contender to replace Jack Higgins at the end of the year when he retired as head of the FBI negotiations unit. Ever since he had announced his intentions she had tried not to court disappointment by thinking about it too much, but that was impossible. Running the negotiations unit was her dream job. And regardless of the psychological defenses she was trying to construct, she knew that she would be crushed if she did not get it.

Cassi did a quick tally of the math. She would be in her fourth month when Higgins’ successor was announced. Since this was her first child, she could probably keep her condition hidden until then if she dressed loosely enough. She was not completely comfortable with the ethics of springing the news the same month she got the promotion, but then there was no chance that they would give her the promotion if they knew she was pregnant, and that was not fair either. Was it?

“Okay. Then go on. Leave.”

Cassi snapped back into the negotiation at the sound of Elvis’s strained voice. “It’s not quite that simple, Elvis. First I need you to throw me your gun.”

“Don’t treat me like a fool.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool, Elvis. I think you’re a good man in a bad situation. You’ve been betrayed. I know you’re a decent guy. I know you don’t have a record. I just want to keep you from acting foolishly in a moment of anger. I don’t want you to do anything that would ruin the rest of your life. Let’s face it. If she betrayed you, she’s not worth it.”

“Will you let me go?”

“I will.”

“I can just get in my car and drive away and you won’t try to stop me?”

“Not if you didn’t hurt anybody. Not if you leave the gun behind. You didn’t hurt anyone, did you Elvis?”

“Nothing but a couple of slaps.”

“Slaps they deserved.”

“Damn right.”

“Then you’re a free man. Go ahead. Leave the unworthy bitch. Start a new life. A better life. Or wait for her to come crawling back once she realizes what she’s lost. Your choice.”

Again there was silence. Cassi was worried by the lack of sound coming from the house. Normally the two hostages would be making some noise, trying to connect with the police lest they be forgotten once the bullets started to fly. She hoped that they were just scared into silence.

What would she do if Wiley did not propose soon? Cassi wondered. With the baby growing inside her, she could not wait too long. He would resent the position she had put him in even more if he found himself inextricably trapped. She knew from her counseling days that such a situation could open an emotional rift between them that would drain the intimacy from the rest of their lives.

“I’m coming out,” Elvis said, his voice just behind the door.