Mirrored Man: The Rob Tyler Chronicles Book 1 (46 page)

“Do we really have time for this?”

Ignoring the question, she continued to
rant. “That’s all I need. Some so-called journalist to get a whiff
of this and start digging around.”

“Margaret!”

She gave him a scornful look. “I was making
my bones here in D.C. when you were making mud pies in your sand
box! Don’t presume to warn me about
my
town, Mister Junior
Senator! And just what topic is it that you’d like to stay on,
Kevin?”

Kitchens remained silent. He was the one who
had strayed away from the main point of their discussion.

Kingsley took a sip from her glass of water.
She was beginning to regret the fact that she’d chosen to forgo her
favorite wine. “Seven people are dead. And we, that is you and I,
are ultimately responsible.”

“No.
You
are ultimately responsible.
I'm just a junior senator from the state where you wanted to
conduct this … this—”

“Would you please shut your backwoods-hick,
kudzu-chewin’, Georgia good-ole-boy mouth and let me think for a
minute?”

Kitchens fell silent for several more
minutes. As Kingsley contemplated her next move, he had time to
regret the fear that he had revealed to her by trying to shift the
blame her way.

When Kingsley spoke again, she did so
matter-of-factly. “We need to keep Perez on a very short leash.
Both him and Talbot.”

“Jim Talbot is Stillman’s eyes and ears. As
long as he’s involved, she’s involved. And she don’t like gettin’
her toes stepped on.”

“Well, then. We’ll just have to make sure
she understands the gravity of the situation. After all, this whole
thing took place on
her
base. She needs to make sure she
keeps her mouth shut too, or she could find herself in the middle
of a career-ending controversy.”

Kitchens smiled. “Absolutely. As for Talbot,
he and his people are, for the time being at least, reporting to
Perez. And Perez is reporting directly to me. As of now, you and I
have direct control of the investigation.”

Kingsley scoffed again. “You mean other than
the CIA, the FBI, the JAG office, and the locals.”

“They’re not getting anything we don’t want
them to get. Perez understands what we want, I can guarantee you
that.”

“What about the homeowner who was shot? Is
he alright?” Kingsley asked, not sure what condition she would
prefer him to be in.

“He’s in stable condition at the hospital.
The local sheriff and police chief have been sniffing around, but
they won’t get anything from him.”

Kingsley gave the younger man a doubtful
look, but decided to remain silent about his assumption.

“Our biggest problems are Phillips, the
clone, Yeoum and Tiong. I think it’s safe to assume that Phillips
is with the clone and that the professor and Tiong are together.
The question is where they are.”

“Really? You figured that out all by
yourself?” Kingsley wasn’t concerned about Tiong. If he and the
professor were together, they would be found in short order. What
their condition would be when they were found, she couldn’t guess.
What perplexed her was where June had taken the clone and why. From
everything Yeoum had told her, the clone would have little or no
cognitive abilities. Its mind would be a complete blank except,
perhaps, for some of Rob’s more recent memories. What was she
doing? She looked at Kitchens. “What’s Perez had to say about the
mole? Who does he suspect?”

“His working theory is either Covington or
Doctor Phillips,” answered Kitchens.

“That’s a pretty short list, considering how
many people are involved.”

“My money’s on Phillips. I never liked
having an activist involved in this.”

Was the ethologist tree hugger in on it?
Did she team up with her environmentalist friends to make some
political statement about saving the animals?
“Why not the
professor?” Kingsley asked. “Maybe he’s gotten homesick.”

“All Yeoum cares about is his research. He’d
never do anything to jeopardize his work.”

Kingsley took another sip from her glass.
“My father always told me that in any mystery, it was either the
most likely or the least likely suspect. My money is on Covington
or one of the other security guards.”

“Why not Tiong?” Kitchens asked.

“How is Perez going to proceed?” she asked,
ignoring his question. Kitchens narrowed his eyes and was about to
ask again when his cell phone rang.

Kingsley watched as he answered and listened
intently, trying to hear the voice on the other end.

“That’s great news Eddie! Great news! Any
leads on Mather’s car?”

“What?” Kingsley asked, anxious to hear
something positive.

“What about the”—he caught himself before he
said the word—“Mister Tyler?” He listened, and then continued
speaking into the receiver. “Okay. Keep me posted.”

“What’s happened?” Kingsley asked.

“Bennett managed to get into his computer
files,” Kitchens reported. “He had the security footage backed up.
As it turns out, only the tunnels got flooded. Air pressure inside
kept the water out of the labs, but they still haven’t learned much
more than what we knew before. They need to get inside. They think
that the south tunnel can be pumped out by the end of the week,
giving them access.”

“The end of the week? Why so long?”

“Well, there’s over fifty million gallons of
water in there, and that’s just the south tunnel. Double that for
both tunnels. Shoot, when they were flooded the river practically
dried up.”

Kingsley sat back and rolled her eyes.
“Another very public event that will need an explanation,” she
moaned.

Kitchens smiled. “That one’s already
covered. The USGS recorded a quote seismic event unquote, and has
already explained it away as a sink hole.”

“Well, thank God for small favors.”

“Amen to that.”

“Was there something about Mathers’
car?”

“Yes. The police found it at a truck stop in
Tifton, Georgia. A man and a woman were seen driving away from
there in a stolen car on Monday afternoon.”

“Where’s Tifton?”

“It’s about an hour south of the base.”

“So, they’re heading south? What on earth is
that woman up to?”

“We're about to find out,” Kitchens said.
“Eddie and his team are on their way to Apalachicola, Florida.”

“They found Phillips?” Kingsley asked
hopefully.

“She turned herself in to the local sheriff
last night.”

“And the”—she caught herself—“Tyler?”

“All Perez said was that
he
isn’t
with her.”

She rolled her eyes again and her shoulders
slumped. “Wonderful. Just when I thought our luck was
changing.”

Kitchens had to suppress another smile. Even
under these circumstances, he was enjoying watching the woman
squirm. “Paramount to our concerns is that we keep the president
outside of this.”

“The president isn’t in this,” she reminded
him.

“Doesn’t matter. If he gets connected to it
now …” He let the sentence trail off, its implication plain.

“Well, we may have to dangle one of the
joint chiefs, probably Piedmont of the Air Force,” Kingsley said,
hardly believing the words had actually escaped her lips. She was
in uncharted territory now. It was self-preservation at any cost.
She cradled her forehead in her hand. “And Tyler is still in a
coma?”

“Yes, as of an hour ago.”

She lowered her voice further. “And the
major is positive that they have the real Robert Tyler there in the
hospital?”

“Absolutely.”

“How can they be sure if he’s in a
coma?”

“I’m no doctor. He says there’s physical
evidence, something about scarring. I’ll take his word.”

Kingsley glared at Kitchens. “You tell
Mathers I want proof positive.”

“Unfortunately, until he does wake up, we
have to go with what we have.”

“So, are we seriously proceeding under the
assumption that the clone is on the run?”

“Until it’s found, that's the game
plan.”

She shook her head. “It would be impossible
to make this up.” She thought a moment. “Maybe that’s the one thing
that we can use to our advantage.”

“What’s that?”

“The fact that nobody will believe it.”

Kitchens paused for a moment. “Maybe it’s
dead.”

“We should be so lucky.” She shook her head.
“Like you said, we have to proceed under the assumption that the
clone is out there, somewhere. But make no mistake, Kevin. We have
got to tie this off.”

Kitchens laughed, drawing a penetrating
stare from the senior senator. “We can't tie it off. It's gone too
far. There are too many people … too many agencies involved. I told
you to let the Air Force handle it. But no, you catered to Walsh
and got NCIS involved, and look what it's gotten us.”

Kingsley continued to stare, but she knew he
was right. In her zeal to get to the finished product, she had
gotten sloppy. “Haste makes waste,” she said under her breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Something else my father used to say. Haste
makes waste.”

“Sounds like a wise man.” His comment was
laced with sarcasm.

Ignoring his attitude, she smiled at the
memory. “He was.”

“Are you planning to go down there?”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. “To
Georgia? Are you out of your mind? I ain’t goin’ south of the
Mason-Dixon till this mess gets straightened out,” she said,
butchering his accent in an attempt to mock him.

Kitchens smiled and nodded, satisfied with
the answer. “Well, maybe it's time I did.”

Kingsley’s ears perked up. “What are you
talking about?”

Kitchens simply smiled silently.

“Do you see an opportunity here, Kevin? What
did you have in mind?

“Well, it is my ole stompin' grounds. If I
go back home, nobody will suspect a thing. And I might be able to …
expedite things.”

“What will you tell Perez?”

He displayed a politician’s smile. “I'll
tell him he's doin' an outstandin' job, and that we're gonna make
any and all resources available to him. And I’ll tell him to keep
up the good work.”  He leaned forward, putting his elbows on
the table. “Margaret, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm
an up-and-comer. I need to make
my
bones. And from some
friends here in D.C. I know you picked me for that very reason.
That, and because a rookie senator from the south is easy to
discredit in some”—he picked up his nearly empty glass and took a
sip—“unsightly scandal.”

Kingsley wondered at the man’s sudden
boldness, a quality she had thought he sorely lacked.

“You're a very powerful woman, Misses
Kingsley,” Kitchens continued. “You have a mountain of important
tasks on your plate. Let me take care of this bit of unpleasantness
for you.”

“And I can, at some future date, take care
of some things for you, in a like manner that you handle this
one?”

Kitchens made note of the implication.
“Nothing as messy as the current situation, I can assure you.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “Are you sure
you're not getting in over your head?”

He sat back and grinned. “Ma'am, we have a
way of doin' things in the south. I'm sure you can appreciate that.
You’d be better off not knowing all the details, though.”

Kingsley started to relax. Now that Benny
was dead, a sad fact but one that she could use to her advantage,
she was no more attached to this situation than Kitchens was.
Why not let the Georgia boy put himself out on a limb,
and at his own request at that
?

She picked up her glass again and winked.
“Alright.”

* * * * *

INSIDE ROOM 6434 OF
the Houston
Medical Center in Warner Robins, Georgia, registered nurse Lorraine
Jackson was reading the chart of the male patient who had been
admitted three days before by an Air Force doctor. For some reason,
she took a special interest in his case. He seemed to be perfectly
healthy apart from a few bumps and bruises. He was in his mid
forties, but in extremely good physical condition. He had been the
subject of a sleep study when everything that could have possibly
gone wrong went wrong, and he inexplicably lapsed into a coma. And
to make matters worse, he had fallen out of bed, striking a table
with his head on the way to the floor. But there was something else
about the man. He was different from her other patients in a way
that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and something told her
she should pray for him. Being the good Baptist choir member that
she was, she had even made it a request at her weekly Bible
study.

She paused for a moment at the foot of his
bed and bowed her head. “Lord, please watch over this man. Let your
grace and healing pour over him like water and restore his
strength. Give him the ability to rise from the confines of this
bed, if it's your will Lord. Let him walk out of here and back to
his life, so he can be a good and faithful servant for your glory,
God. It's in the precious name of Jesus that I pray these things.
Amen.”

She checked his vital signs and then moved
to fluff the pillow under his head. She took a moment to search his
face for any signs of waking. Seeing none, she began to work his
joints to keep his muscles lithe. “You are just gonna have to wake
up soon, Mister Tyler. These things ain't gonna like it if you
don't get up and do some exercise pretty soon,” she added, picking
up his arm and flexing it. “Now I know it’s a little early yet for
physical therapy, but you don't mind if I give you a little extra
TLC now, do you?” She searched his closed eyes for any kind of
response, but got none. “I didn't think so.” Replacing his arm, she
walked around the bed. “I ain't gonna be able to keep you on my
floor for very much longer if you're just gonna lay here. Pretty
soon, somebody is gonna want this bed and they’re gonna send you to
rehab. You ain't gonna like that so you better go on and wake up
now.” She frowned and patted him on the belly. “And I'll bet you’re
gettin’ pretty hungry, eatin' nothing but what we feed you through
these here tubes.”