The Gemini Deception (24 page)

The news reports went on to say that Jeffrey Thomas, an attorney, was fifty-six at the time of his death, thirteen years older than his politician wife. The couple had been married for twenty-two years and had no children. Shield could find no reference to whether an autopsy had been performed.

By the time she got through finding everything she could on the Internet, it was three a.m. in D.C., one a.m. in Colorado. She could have waited for morning, but she dialed the EOO’s number and asked for Reno.

“All of you are responsible for the black circles under my eyes,” he said immediately.

“Sorry about the late hour, Reno.”

“Yeah, that’s what you all say.”

“What happened to that sunny personality of yours?”

“I was told it bothers some,” he replied grumpily.

“Who?”

“Jack Harding and Chase.”

“You mean Phantom.”

“She doesn’t like that name.”

“What’s the deal with her, anyway?” Shield had been away on assignment when the rogue former agent had returned to the EOO headquarters a few months earlier. She’d teamed up with agent Chase to track down Andor Rózsa, the madman who had kidnapped her partner Cassady Monroe, aka operative Lynx. “Strange that Pierce let her get away with going AWOL.”

“No one really knows why, but there’s talk,” he whispered.

“Ah, yes. The ever-growing grapevine.”

“That’s funny.” He chuckled. “You owning a—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” She cut him off before he finished pointing out the obvious.

“Now, you see? It’s that exact attitude that’s changed me.”

“It shouldn’t matter what people say. Just keep being your sunny self. We have enough cynics among us as it is.”

“You think?” he asked sarcastically.

“At least your positive outlook makes you original, compared to most of us.”

“True.”

“So, here’s what I need: Jeffrey Thomas’s autopsy reports.”

“Give me a few.”

Shield stared at her bottle of wine on the dresser as Reno clicked away. But instead of traveling back to Tuscany, her thoughts took her to Thomas. Was she already asleep? How long would she give Shield the silent treatment? She was just trying to keep Thomas safe and… “What the hell, Reno, did you just swallow a bird?” she asked when slurping sounds and a loud gulp interrupted her thoughts.

“It’s cola. Need the caffeine. And yes, I’ve been told that, too, bothers people.”

“Let me guess.”

“Yeah. Same duo.”

“Now officially a trio.”

“But it makes me original, right?”

“Wrong.”

“So, anyway…turns out no autopsy was done on Thomas. He was a longtime heart patient and they didn’t find it necessary to perform one.”

“I see.”

“Anything you want to share?” he asked.

“Like I’ve said, I don’t trust Moore.”

“You think he was involved in Jeffrey Thomas’s death?”

“Tell Pierce I’m taking some time off tomorrow,” she said. “The president doesn’t have anything scheduled but meetings within the House. She should be fine for a few hours with the regular guards.”

“What are you up to, and can I help?” Reno sounded eager, like he always did when a conspiracy was involved.

“I’m going to visit a certain country club. I’ll let you know if I need your expertise.”

“Cool.”

“Thanks, Reno.”

“
Finally
a thank you,” he shouted. “Is it so hard for some to acknowledge I’m a human being and not an android?”

“Good night,” Shield said.
Poor guy’s cracked. He really needs a vacation before he breaks and even the company shrink won’t be able to glue him back together.

Outside Houston, Texas

Next morning, March 4

Jack’s bladder hurt so much she bent over in pain. She’d be damned if she’d give TQ the satisfaction, but she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to master her bodily functions. She was cold, her head hurt from the bright light, and although she was parched, any liquid intake would only worsen her situation.

“Hello, Jack.” TQ’s voice filled the room.

“What time is it?”

“If I wanted you to know, I would have greeted you accordingly.”

“I’m gonna say it’s morning.”

“Maybe,” TQ said teasingly. “Then again, maybe not. So, how is life in a box treating you?”

“Nice and quiet in here, and I love what you’ve done with it.” Jack looked around.

“Thank you.”

“You said you were going to let me hear Cass was all right.”

It was quiet for a while, then TQ’s voice came back. “I keep my promises.”

The door opened and the same small-framed person she’d seen in the warehouse came in and approached her. She could tell now it was a man. He placed an iPad in front of her and pressed Play. The camera was zoomed on Cass during rehearsals, and the date stamp on the video was, from what Jack calculated, that morning. She would have doubted the date, knowing it could be manufactured, but the conductor spoke and announced that opening night was tomorrow. Jack sighed in relief.

The little man turned off the iPad and left without a word.

“Like I said, I keep my promises,” the bitch’s disembodied voice said.

“You mean you like to know you have something to blackmail me with.”

“That, too. How is your vision, Jack?”

“A bit blurry.” In reality, the lights, in combination with her migraine, had almost rendered her blind. Shutting her eyes didn’t help because the light penetrated her lids.

“Your eyes seem quite red—irritated, if you will. Most would be practically blind by now.”

“I’m special that way.”

“Pride is a dangerous quality.”

Jack shrugged. “I’m all about danger,” she said flippantly. If that crazy bitch was convinced she was still a killer, she’d do her best to keep her believing that. She’d let her think she was the Queen of England if that meant keeping Cass safe and getting her blind ass out of here.

“I like your perseverance, Jack. It shows character. The kind most don’t have, or fake.”

“Well, I have it, and sure as hell don’t need to fake it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you doubt me?”

“You haven’t soiled yourself, and you must be in dire need of water by now,” TQ said, “yet you haven’t given in to either need.”

“Can’t do much about water.”

“You can ask.”

“I was told to wait until it was brought to me.”

“You could have asked, anyway.”

“I don’t beg.”

“Not even if that meant saving Ms. Monroe’s life?”

“Then I’d beg,” Jack replied.

“So you see—”

“I wonder what it’s like to be so lonely, so alone, you have nothing and no one you love enough to beg for their safety. And no one in the whole wide world who loves or cares about you to do the same. Can you imagine how sad and empty life must…” Jack paused. “Oh. Oops, I’m sorry. I just described your life.”

“No need to apologize. My life is exactly the way I want it. Yours, on the other hand…”

“Mine, on the other hand, is the life of a paid killer. Don’t think for a moment I’ve deluded myself into thinking I’m worthy of anyone’s love or a normal life. I go through the moves and hope Cass doesn’t see me for what I really am.”

“No redemption in love, Jack?”

“Hardly,” Jack lied.

“Why not?” TQ almost purred.

“Because for the right price, I’d still take whoever out.”

“But you said you don’t do that anymore.”

“It’s easy to make proclamations when there are no temptations.”

“Are you claiming you’ve still got it?” the ice bitch asked. “That you’re capable of killing?”

Jack lifted her half-opened eyes to the camera. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” TQ stopped talking, and Jack was too exhausted to pursue any further conversation.

She had dozed off when she heard a clamor of scuffling just outside. The door opened, and two men dragged someone in. Jack blinked several times to clear her eyesight. The man in their custody struggled to break free but was pinned facedown on the floor next to her.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“A little gift to feed your appetite,” TQ’s voice answered over the loudspeaker.

Jack looked back at the man on the floor and did her best to focus her vision. He was naked except for his boxers, balding and middle-aged, with thick glasses and a familiar tattoo on his thigh. Leaning forward as far as her restraints would allow, Jack squinted to be sure she was seeing right and made out the image of a baby rattle and the initials BJC.

TQ’s two henchmen let go of the guy. One of them uncuffed her from the chair, and then both left the room.

The bald guy rolled over onto his back and then sat up, obviously too terrified to move any further. He trembled as he looked around the room.

Jack pushed off the arms of the chair and got up, but her legs were too numb to hold her weight so she sat back down and stomped them to restore circulation. “What’s he doing here?” she asked as a painful tingling returned to her limbs.

“Go to the door and slide the meal slot.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then I hope you find my offering irresistible.”

Jack got up. Her legs were a lot better, but she had a hard time getting to the door; her eyes were mere slits because everything was so damn blinding white. She eventually managed to find and slide the little panel, and she stuck her hand in. The feel of steel surprised her. “What are you up to?” Jack asked, and pulled the gun in: a SIG Sauer from the feel of it.

“I want you to kill that man.”

“No! Please, I haven’t done anything,” the man pleaded as his shaking intensified. “She’s crazy. Please, don’t—”

Jack turned to him. “Shut the fuck up.” She looked back at the camera. “What’s that going to prove?”

“That you still have a taste for it.”

“I don’t kill for free. What’s in it for me?”

“Better accommodations,” TQ replied, “and a meeting with me to talk about your future.”

Jack lifted the SIG Sauer and the man struggled to his feet, begging for his life. Her eyes still on the camera, Jack fired one shot, and he dropped to the floor and lay still.

Applause came over the loudspeaker. “Brava.” Then the room filled with TQ’s cold laughter. “For someone with compromised vision, you sure got him where it counts.”

“I always execute between the eyes.”

“And blindfolded?”

“On instinct.”

“How lovely.”

Jack looked in the direction of the man. The wall behind him was a blurry red. She walked up to him and fired one more time in the same spot.

“I’m sure he was dead the first time.”

“This one was for kicks.” Jack wanted to spit at his sorry ass but refrained.

“We’re going to get along swimmingly.”

“Now get me the fuck out of here,” she said, desperate to use the bathroom. “I don’t want to be around when he starts to stink.”

*

Bath, Maine

Once she’d signed off with Reno, Shield notified the Secret Service she was taking some time off, booked a flight, then caught a two-hour nap. She was dressed and en route to Dulles Airport to catch her plane by six, before the president even woke up. After a two-hour flight and fifteen-minute ride in her rental car, she arrived at the sprawling Bath Country Club, a public course busy with early morning golfers despite temperatures in the low twenties.

She noted the security camera mounted over the main entrance and others in the lobby. At the main sign-in desk, she asked to speak to the manager, and within a couple of minutes, an athletic-looking guy in his late thirties, wearing khakis and a V-neck sweater embroidered with the club logo, came out of a back office and asked how he could be of help.

Shield introduced herself and flashed him her White House credentials. She told him she was there to check out the area for a possible future visit from the president.

“We are delighted President Thomas would consider visiting us,” he said. “What happened with her husband here was most unfortunate.”

“Yes, it was. I’m sure you did everything in your power to accommodate the situation.”

“Of course.”

She glanced up at the lobby camera. “Do you have security cameras everywhere?”

“Of course,” he said again. “The entrance, bar, restaurant, here, and several on the course itself.”

“Good. Do you mind if I take a look at the feeds in your monitor room?”

“Not at all. Follow me, Ms. Kennedy.”

Shield was taken to a small office dominated by three rows of monitors mounted to the wall and spare CCTV cameras and related equipment stacked on a shelf. A young man was seated behind a desk, his glance darting from one monitor to the next.

“I doubt the president will want to golf,” Shield said. “Perhaps a bit too premature still.”

“I understand,” the manager replied.

Shield looked closely at the monitors displaying images from the course. “Where exactly did Mr. Thomas collapse?”

“Right here.” He pointed to one of the monitors.

“Do you keep digital records?”

“Usually only for a few weeks, but in Mr. Thomas’s case, we kept it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but it’s not usual to have a first man die…I mean collapse, at our club.”

“You kept it for memorabilia reasons?”

He looked chagrined. “We also didn’t know if the FBI would want to take a look at it.”

“Did they?”

“No.”

“It was a straightforward situation,” she said. “Mr. Thomas was a heart patient, after all.”

“Indeed.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary that day?”

“Such as?” He looked at her suspiciously.

“In light of the attack on President Thomas, we want to make sure everything runs smoothly. I have to know if we need to eliminate anything or anyone as a possible threat.” Her response didn’t really answer his question, but when it came to Thomas’s security after the attack, everyone jumped to attention.

“Of course. I understand.” The manager cleared his throat. “Such a wonderful woman. She used to come here with her husband before her election. It’s horrible when things like this happen.” He looked skeptical.