The Gemini Deception (12 page)

The thousands of children and parents who’d been invited all had to pass through even more extensive screening than usual because of the assassination attempt. In the last administration, the First Lady had spearheaded the day’s fitness festivities, but since Thomas’s husband had recently passed away, it was up to Ryden to make up for the absence of a First Spouse. That meant she would have to rotate among all the activities to mingle with the visitors. Her schedule had been cleared of everything else for the rest of the day.

She stood behind the closed door that would take her out to the crowd, with just Harper Kennedy in the room with her. Considering that scores of media representatives and Thomas’s family would attend, it would certainly be her biggest challenge to date. Ryden took deep breaths to steady her rapid breathing, but that didn’t help calm her nerves.
You’re going to do fine
, she kept telling herself.
Just remember your training.
No one will…

She suddenly felt a little light-headed, but even as that fact registered in a slight blur of focus, she felt a sturdy mass against her back and a steadying arm around her waist.

“Are you all right, Madam President?”

“I…I think so.” Ryden blinked hard. “What happened?”

“You almost passed out.”

Ryden remained against Kennedy’s body, still too shaky to move. “I didn’t touch my breakfast,” she lied. “Not very wise.”

“Maybe you should sit down.” Kennedy helped her to an armchair. “Get the president a glass of orange juice,” she said into the communications device in her sleeve.

Very soon, a sweet middle-aged woman named Betty, one of several domestics who attended the chief executive, came through the door with a full glass. “Is Madam President not well?” she asked.

“A dizzy spell, that’s all.” Ryden’s head was clearer now, but her hands still shook.

Ratman barged into the room. “What’s going on?”

“The president is unwell,” Betty replied.

“I don’t remember asking you,” he said sharply. “Please, return to your duties.”

“Of course.” Betty hurriedly left.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Ryden.

“I got dizzy. It’s nothing serious.”

“Good. It would be…disappointing to stand all these people up.” He shot her a warning glance.

If her hands were shaking before, they were almost out of control now. She had to do something before Ratman and his watchdog considered her incompetent. “I’m much better now.” She got up and Kennedy rushed to her side. “I’m fine, Ms. Kennedy. No need to fuss over me.”

Ryden went to the door, took another deep breath, and walked out to meet the thousands waiting outside. As soon as she emerged and stepped toward the microphone, the noisy crowd quieted. Except for some of the children, all eyes were on her.

Shield stayed very close to the president while remaining out of her way as Thomas kicked off the first two events, lacing up sneakers for a brief run with Allyson Felix, then shedding her footwear entirely for a little beach volleyball with Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh. In keeping with the theme and informal dress code for the day, Thomas had opted for designer activewear, but Shield didn’t want to blend in. In her dark suit and sunglasses, she wanted to make it clear to anyone watching that Elizabeth Thomas was being well guarded.

The president had transformed herself into her smiling public persona the instant she greeted the crowd, leaving any trace of worry or nervousness at the door. Shield could understand the dizziness having been due to low blood sugar, though she seemed fine now. However, the chief executive’s rattled nerves really puzzled her. Thomas was a veteran at national politics and this event was far less demanding than her other duties, yet her hands had been shaking so badly, Shield thought they might come loose.

And the shaking had intensified when Kenneth Moore walked in. And although he seemed genuinely concerned about Thomas’s well-being, something about his attitude and close scrutiny of the president didn’t make sense. Even now, he constantly stood a few feet away from Thomas and at all times was within earshot. Was this extreme behavior toward her because of the attempt on her life? That, combined with the loss of her husband, could be why he was so watchful of her. Shield knew presidents usually got close to their private advisors and vice versa, so maybe he was being overly protective because of her probable fragile state.

As if on cue, Moore approached Thomas and whispered something in her ear. The president smiled and waved across the lawn to a woman Shield recognized as Thomas’s sister, Nancy Payton. Nancy waved back enthusiastically and, with her husband, son, daughter, and family dog—a German shepherd mix—made her way toward Thomas.

Shield followed the president as she headed to meet them. She stood a few feet away as Nancy wrapped her arms around Thomas and kissed her on the cheek. The rest of the family took turns doing the same, and the young children jumped up and down, excited to try out some of the activities.

“How you doing, Peanut?” Nancy asked, her expression one of sisterly concern. “I can’t stop thinking about the attack.”

Thomas seemed to be considering how to answer when the little boy grabbed her hand.

“Did Michael Phelps bring his medals? I want to see them,” he begged.

Thomas smiled and put her hand on her nephew’s shoulder. “Yes, he did. And I bet he’ll even let you hold them.”

“Hey, you never said hi to Toby,” the little girl said excitedly.

Thomas looked down at the dog and bent over. “Hey there, buddy.” The dog sniffed the air. “What, no hello for me?” Thomas took a step closer, and the dog growled, then barked a warning.

Shield intervened immediately by putting herself between the president and the dog.

“Toby only barks when strangers try to pet him,” the boy said. “He’s never barked at you before, Auntie.”

“Maybe he’s just nervous from all the activity,” Nancy said. “Why don’t you take him for a walk, guys, and let him get familiar with the surroundings?”

Thomas kept smiling. “Poor thing,” she said, her eyes still on the dog. “Go have fun, Toby.”

The dog turned around at his name and started to growl again. The boy pulled him back. “Bad dog.” He headed away with the animal, his sister close behind, toward a cordoned-off area nearby to watch Kayla Harrison in a judo demonstration.

“I don’t know what got into him. He’s gaga about you,” Nancy said.

Moore stepped in. “Like you said, just too much going on for him. We might have to lock him up.”

Thomas turned to her special advisor. “That won’t be necessary. He’s harmless.”

“That may be so, but that scene got people’s attention,” Moore insisted.

“I said, that won’t be necessary.”

Shield noticed the subtle shaking of Thomas’s hands just before she clasped them behind her back. Thomas turned to Nancy and her husband and smiled. “Come on, guys, let me show you around.”

Shield stayed alert behind them as the president walked the couple through the tourist route, showing them the grounds and where all the activities of the day were scheduled, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened with the dog. She’d been around canines ever since she moved to Italy and had never witnessed anything like that before. Her own dogs were her friends, as well as her property guards. They would get aggressive only when on guard and nervous only if a stranger approached—never a friend or someone they’d met before.

Shield stared at the president, who was walking a few steps ahead. Thomas’s sister and brother-in-law were completely engaged in the tour and the little facts Thomas was telling them, mostly nonspecific information readily available on the Internet. Maybe she wasn’t allowed to share anything less generic, even if it was to family.

Moore generally walked beside Thomas, looking very alert. But when the president and her family stopped to chat in the still-dormant Rose Garden, he waited off to one side, near Shield.

“There’s plenty of security,” Shield told him. “She’s in good hands.”

“I’m sure she is. What happened at the fund-raiser was organized. Whoever was behind it knew what they were doing.”

“A terrorist’s cunning or expertise doesn’t exclusively reflect someone else’s incompetence. Very often, their ability to succeed hinges on having knowledgeable individuals to help them.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, I hope the ongoing investigation leads to some satisfying answers.”

“Such as?”

“Per fas et nefas,”
she replied.

Moore translated from the Latin. “In good and bad things.”

She nodded. “In other words, by any means necessary.”

“So?”

“The organization I work for trains us to believe the cause justifies the means.”

Moore looked at her. “And?”

“I suspect whoever helped the attackers is an insider, who believes in someone else’s reasons or has his or her own for doing so.”

Moore cleared his throat. “That’s a heavy accusation.”

“Are you surprised?”

Moore hesitated before he answered. “I guess not, but it’s a damn disturbing theory.”

“I don’t think it’s a theory,” Shield said. “That’s why I don’t intend to let her out of my sight.”

*

Near Colorado Springs, Colorado

Jack unfolded the stub and dialed Yuri’s Dratshev’s number from a phone booth. She had stopped using disposable cells since her last job and didn’t intend to get one now just to hear out the mob boss.

The Russian picked up.
“Da.”

“It’s Jack.”

“Good. You got my message yesterday.” He sounded almost relieved.

“I got it last week.”

“No, that was another job, for other reason.”

“I haven’t looked for another message since,” she said.

“I tried to reach you again.”

Anyone who’d used her in the past was rarely persistent. If Jack didn’t get back to them within a couple of days, they’d assume she was unavailable either because she had another job or because she was dead or arrested. Dratshev, on the other hand, would keep trying to contact her until the cleaners was out of stubs. He’d always had a lot of respect for her ability to do any kind of work without complications.

“Two jobs in one week? Business is either going really well or really bad.”

“Business is business. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.” Dratshev wasn’t his usual self. Annoying and crude as the guy was, he was always in a good mood.

“I bet some new laws have thrown a wrench in your plans.”

Dratshev was silent. “I don’t plan to buy a ranch,” he finally said.

Jack almost laughed. “I mean, someone is making problems for the metal business.” That was the term Dratshev used when referring to the weapons trade.

“Ah.
Da
, that
suka
.” Dratshev hesitated before adding, “Fuck her. She will change her mind if she wants money to invest in her America. I have other merchandise until then.” The mob boss wasn’t getting to the point and didn’t seem eager to talk about what was on his mind.

“Okay. Well, anyway,” Jack said, “I’m calling to let you know you have to stop asking for me.”

“Why, we are friends, no?”

“No. But that aside, I’m retired.”

“You mean—”

“I mean I don’t work anymore.”

“But for me you make exception.”

“Not for you or anyone.”

Dratshev sighed. “Just one more?” He sounded desperate, and the words
big money
hadn’t even come up.

“What’s up?”

“A friend wants to meet you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She wants to talk to you, not me.”

“She?” It was rare to have a woman in this business.

“Da.”

“How does she know me?”

“I don’t know, but she knows I know you,” Dratshev said.

“Who is it?”

“Someone with big money and…big power.”

So, someone else was the one with big money this time. “An associate of yours?”

“
Da
. We have business in common.”

“Tell her no.”

“I can’t. She doesn’t like that word.”

“Tell her I’m dead.”

“She knows you are alive.”

“Who the hell is she?” Jack was getting irritated.

“Her name is TQ. They call her the Broker.”

“I don’t know any TQ.” Jack’s heart was pumping so hard she could see her shirt move. “But what the hell, one last job for big money can’t harm. Give me her number.”

“No number,” Dratshev replied. “She calls me.”

Just then, Cassady came out of the department store and waved at Jack when she saw her in the booth.

“Listen, tell your associate I’ll talk to her,” Jack told Dratshev. “I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

“Jack, this woman, she—”

“She what?”

“I have never met her, but she is very scary.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Jack said hastily, and hung up.

Cassady had just reached her when she stepped out of the booth.

“Who was that, hon?” Cassady asked.

“Someone left me a message at the cleaners. I wanted to see what it was about.”

Cass frowned. “Are you kidding me? We agreed you’d never contact these people again.”

“I know this guy. He’s the one who hired me for Owens.”

“Dratshev.”

“I wanted to tell him I’m retired and no longer available.”

“Christ, Jack, you promised.” Cassady shook her head in disbelief as her posture went rigid. “No contact.”

“Relax, babe. I told you, it’s no big deal. Do you really think there’s a chance in hell I’ll get involved in all that again?”

“I just don’t see why it was important for you to contact the Russian scumbag.”

“Because, he’d just keep trying to find me.” Jack put her arm around Cass’s shoulders and squeezed. “Forget it, baby. It’s all taken care of.” She kissed Cass on the mouth. “So, what did you buy for the concert?”

The White House

Ryden’s long day hosting the Find Your Sport event had jangled her nerves until she was ready to scream. Ratman, too, had seemed nervous the whole time, particularly during the period in which she’d entertained Thomas’s sister and family. Her schedule had called for an after-event private visit with them over dinner, but Ratman had abruptly canceled it, announcing that an urgent matter had come up that demanded the president’s immediate attention. As it turned out, there was no such crisis. Moore obviously just wanted the family to leave, fearing Ryden would slip up or have too much of their attention once away from the festivities.