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Alex Ludmere, Vice President of the United States, was on the golf course. He was on the fifth hole and already so far above par that he had hit double digits. He was getting worried. When Alex got worried, he got anxious. And when he got anxious, everything suffered.
“You're over-compensating,” his companion pointed out after his ball soared past the green.
“I can see that,” he retorted, slamming his club into the bag that the caddie was holding. “I don't understand why it is so hard to find one woman.” He waved the caddie away and began walking toward the area where his ball had disappeared, his companion falling into step beside him. “She's one woman.”
“We knew it wouldn't be easy, but she can't hide forever,” the woman said soothingly. “We'll find her soon.”
“I mean, we found Bin Laden, for Christ's Sake,” Alex muttered.
“Calm down,” his companion smiled at him. “Every agency is looking for her. She can't contact anyone without us finding out. We just have to be patient.”
“For how long?” Alex stopped and looked down at her. “It's already been three months. It shouldn't have taken this long. It shouldn't have even come to this. You assured me that this was going to be taken care of three months ago!”
“It would have been if you hadn't tried to interfere,” she shot back. Alex scowled at her and she sighed. She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Look, the past is done. So she was lucky. Her luck can't possibly hold out for much longer. Something will force her out into the open.”
“You'll excuse me if I'm not comfortable with that something being me,” he muttered, turning and continuing to stride along the fairway. “A bullet could already be in my brain before you find out where she is!”
“You know I'm not going to let that happen.” The woman calmly fell back into step with him, matching him stride for stride. “She isn't as good as everyone says. I found her in South America. The Engineer found her in New Jersey. We'll find her again.”
“And that's another thing!” Alex stopped again and swung around to face her. “Where is he? He disappeared too! I can't have all these loose ends out there!”
“I told you, The Engineer is dead,” his companion reminded him.
“You have no body.”
“I don't need a body,” she retorted. “There was blood all over that barn.”
“What if he walked away?” Alex demanded.
“No way anyone was walking anywhere after that amount of blood loss.” She turned to start walking again and he reluctantly followed suit. “No. It's very safe to say that The Engineer is dead.”
“Well, you still need to find her,” Alex muttered.
“I will.” His companion glanced at him and took note of the high color in his cheeks. “I always take care of you,” she said soothingly. “Just leave it all to me. You're worrying needlessly.”
“Ha!” Alex exclaimed. “Easy for you to say. She saw me in Cairo. She can testify that I was there! If that ever got out....”
He shook his head and took a deep breath.
“It won't.” The woman stopped and faced him, taking hold of his arm and forcing him to look at her. “You need to calm down, Alex. You have the banquet tonight and there'll be a lot of press there. You need to get a hold of yourself. Do you have any more of those pills the doctor gave you?”
“They make me dizzy,” he said. She smiled.
“They help you calm down,” she retorted. “You're working yourself up into one of your spells. You just do what you do best, and leave the woman to me.”
“Make sure you take care of it this time,” Alex replied, stopping next to a large sand bunker. His ball was in the center. “Shit.”
“I will,” his companion assured him. “I'll have better luck with her than you will getting that ball out of there,” she added.
The parking garage was well-lit, but even the most well-lit garages had their shadows. If they didn't, it was a simple enough task to create them. Viper's bullet had done just that, creating deeper shadows in the corner of the fourth floor of the parking garage than originally present. She blended now with the darkness, a shadow herself, dressed in loose black pants and a lightweight black hoodie. The hood was pulled up securely, covering her head and casting her face into shadows. She wore tight black leather gloves that fit her hands like a second skin and flexible black boots on her feet. The sweltering heat hadn't lifted much when the sun went down, and the air was heavy and humid. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts but she ignored it, her eyes locked patiently on the elevator alcove.
“Where are you?” Hawk's voice spoke in her ear. “None of the cameras are picking you up.”
“Surprised?” Viper spoke quietly.
“Curious,” he retorted. After a few moments of silence, he added, “'I have control of the cameras now.”
Alina was silent, her eyes never wavering from the alcove. Both the elevator and the stairwell exited from the same place. Regardless of which one her boy took, she would see him. The minutes ticked by slowly and she crossed her arms, leaning back against the cement wall behind her patiently. A slight, humid breeze wafted over the top of the wall, carrying a hint of fresh air into the parking area and providing a welcome break from the heavy smell of tarmac, oil, and stale urine.
The elevator dinged and Alina tensed. She relaxed back into the shadows when two women in suits emerged, laughing as they stepped off the elevator.
Parking buddies, Alina thought, watching as they walked through the quiet parking garage quickly, their heels echoing loudly on the worn cement. Their cars were parked a few spaces apart and they called goodnight to each other as they reached them. Viper returned her gaze to the alcove as the cars drove down the exit ramp. Once upon a time, she had been uncomfortable walking through a parking garage at night as well. That was before the military. Before the shadows became her friend. Before her entire body became a weapon.
Before she learned how to kill.
The sound of the stairwell door swinging open a few minutes later made Viper straighten up in the shadows again. The door swung shut and the sound echoed out of the alcove, followed by a tall man dressed in a black suit. Alina exhaled slowly as Michael O'Reilly stepped out of the alcove and into the almost empty parking garage.
“Bingo,” she breathed.
“Roger that,” Hawk answered calmly.
Viper watched silently from the darkness as Michael turned toward where she lurked, heading for the black F150 parked halfway down the aisle. He unbuttoned his jacket, loosening his tie as he went, and Viper caught the glint of his sidearm as he passed the shadows where she was concealed. His laptop bag was slung over his shoulder, and he still moved with the confident, steady stride of a military man, his shoulders squared and his head up.
Once a Marine, always a Marine, Alina thought, watching him.
“You're clear,” Hawk told her.
Viper moved out of the shadows swiftly and silently, coming up behind Michael as he reached his truck. He never heard a thing.
In one fluid motion, she swept the back of his knees with her leg and wrapped her arm around his neck as his legs buckled. The laptop fell to the ground and she pressed her .45 against the back of his neck, turning him away from the mirror shine of his truck before he could catch a glimpse of her face.
Michael never stopped moving and Viper expected no less. When his elbow slammed backwards, she was ready. She absorbed the hit to her abdomen with a grunt, thrown back against the side of his truck with the force of the blow. Before he could follow it up with another one, Viper wrapped one leg around him and squeezed, using the truck to support her balance. She tightened her arm around his neck sharply at the same time, forcing him to change tactics. With one arm pinned by her leg, Michael tried to get his free hand under her arm to leverage it off so that he could breathe.
“I hear you've been looking for me,” she purred in his ear.
At her words, he instantly stilled. Viper loosened her hold slightly and he gasped for air.
“Viper?” he choked out.
Alina gently caressed one ear with the barrel of her gun while she sighed into his other ear.
“I don't believe we've been properly introduced,” she said softly.
“Let go of my neck and I'll be happy to oblige,” Michael shot back breathlessly. Viper chuckled softly.
“I can't help but feel that would be detrimental to my tactical position,” she replied calmly. “You Marines are so unpredictable.”
“Honey, you haven't seen anything yet,” Michael snarled, eliciting a genuine laugh from her.
“Promises, promises,” she murmured. She tightened her arm again sharply and moved the barrel of her gun to his temple. “I'll keep this short,” she hissed, “before you run out of air. You're being fed a bunch of fairy tales about bad girls that go bump in the night. Because you're a Marine, and I'm partial to gunnies, I'll give you a word of advice. Pay less attention to me and more to a dead ghost called The Engineer.”
She loosened her hold slightly so that he could gulp down some air.
“The Engineer?” he repeated.
“Yes. Specifically, what he was doing in Jersey three months ago and how he got there,” Viper instructed. She moved her lips against his ear. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered just before hitting him swiftly with the handle of her gun.
Michael sagged, a dead weight against her. Alina lowered him to the ground gently and lifted his keys out of his pocket. She unlocked the truck and tossed the laptop and his side arm inside. After locking the truck again, she dropped the keys back into his suit pocket.
A moment later, she had disappeared.
Stephanie pulled into the car park before the small building at the entrance of the cemetery. As she was getting out of the car, an older, wiry man came out of the building. He was dressed in khaki pants and a plaid button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. When he saw her, he paused at the door.
“Can I help you, miss?” he called.
“Yes.” Stephanie slammed her door and walked up to him. “I was hoping you could point me in the right direction of a grave.”
He nodded, his weathered face breaking into a friendly smile as she joined him at the door. Stephanie smiled back and brushed her hair out of her eyes. He looked like a gargoyle.
“You just caught me,” he told her, holding the door open for her to step into the small building. She stepped into a room with a single desk and two chairs. “I was just closing up.”
He walked around her and went behind the desk, seating himself.
“I'm glad I caught you.” Stephanie sat in one of the chairs.
The gargoyle nodded and turned the computer on.
“I close up a little early on Tuesdays,” he told her while he waited for the computer to boot up. “Bingo night at the fire hall,” he added. “I like to get there early so's I get a spot right up front. I don't hear so well as I used to.”
Stephanie grinned. She could believe it. He didn't look a day under ninety.
“Well, thank you for coming back in for me,” she said, settling her purse in her lap. “I appreciate it.”
“Oh, it's no bother for a pretty lady like you,” he replied. “Where you from? Not around here, I reckon.”
“I'm from New Jersey,” Stephanie answered readily. He nodded sagely.
“I thought you had to be a Yankee,” he said and Stephanie blinked.
“You still call us Yankees?” she blurted out. He laughed.
“We surely do,” he answered. “I'm originally from South Carolina,” he told her, leaning on the desk as if he had all the time in the world. “My daughter made me move up here a few years back. She said she was worried about me, all alone after my Millie passed on. I told her I was perfectly capable of doin' for myself, but she wouldn't hear of it. I told her I would go as far as Virginia, but no further.”
“You don't like us Yankees, huh?” Stephanie asked with a twinkle.
He chuckled and waved his hand.
“I like you guys just fine,” he assured her. “It's all your hustle and bustle I don't like. So my girl, she compromised and moved down to Virginia.”
“That was nice of her,” Stephanie said.
“She's a good girl, my Sarah,” he told her, peering at the computer screen. “Well, I think she's just about up,” he said, leaning over the keyboard and pecking at the keys with his forefinger.
Stephanie watched as he hunt and pecked in his password, peering at the screen after each peck. She bit back a grin and waited patiently in silence, not wanting to distract him. After a few moments, he nodded.
“There now.” He looked at her. “What's the name we're huntin' for?”
“Shannon Gleason,” Stephanie told him. He nodded and turned his attention back to the keyboard.
“I remember her,” he said as he started to hunt and peck again. “Lots of visitors to that plot. She must have been a nice lady.”
Stephanie's ears perked up.
“She was,” she told him. “She's had a lot of visitors recently?”
“She surely has,” he agreed, peering at the screen briefly before turning his attention back to the keyboard. “You would think as many times as I've typed in her name, I would remember where she's resting, but my memory isn't what it used to be, it's surely not.”
Stephanie leaned forward slightly, looking at the screen.
“I wonder...do you keep track of people who come to visit?” she asked.
He continued to hunt and peck, not looking up.
“We don't keep track of the visitors as a rule,” he answered, “but all visitors are encouraged to sign the log over yonder.” He waved his hand toward the back wall and Stephanie turned to look at where he was motioning. “Most folks do.”
“Really?”
Stephanie got up and went over to a table with a thick log book resting on it. It was open and there were a few entries on the page, listing names of visitors and who they were there to visit. She flipped back a page, scanning the names quickly until her eyes fell on Shannon's halfway down the page. Three visitors were in the party, and they were signed in by a woman. Stephanie took out her phone and snapped a quick picture of the log entry, glancing behind her to make sure that her new friend was still typing. He was still pecking away, so she flipped back another page. Finding another entry for Shannon, she snapped a picture of that one as well.
“Here we go.” Stephanie swung around as the caretaker spoke. She dropped her phone back into her purse and smiled. “I'll write it down for you.”
He tore off a piece of paper from a note pad on the desk and jotted down the numbers and letters of Shannon's final address.
“Thank you so much.” Stephanie walked back to the desk. “I really do appreciate it.”
“Don't you mind it.” He handed her the scrap of paper with a hand shaking slightly from age and then reached over to turn off the computer. “Now, it's easy enough to get to,” he told her, standing up and walking back around the desk. He walked with her to the door and opened it for her.
“Now, what you want to do is go down that main road there.” He pointed to the road as they stepped outside into the late afternoon sun. “Take that down past the second hill and when it splits, you want to stay to the left. When you pass the mausoleum on the right, you want to stop the car. Her plot is a few rows down.”
Stephanie replaced her sunglasses on her nose and turned to him, holding out her hand.
“Thank you again,” she said with a smile. “You've been so helpful.”
“Well, it's always nice to pass the time with a beautiful, young woman,” he told her with a grin and a wink, making Stephanie laugh.
“Why, thank you!” She shook his hand and turned to go back to her car. “Good luck at Bingo!”
She got into her car and backed out, turning the car around. With a last smile and wave, she pulled out of the little parking lot and turned onto the main road that wound its way through the cemetery. Located in Northern Virginia, it was a huge, sprawling cemetery that had been there for over two hundred years, according to the sign at the entrance. It was beautifully maintained, speaking volumes for the wealth of the patrons who graced its grounds. Shannon had mentioned in college that her family was an old one from Virginia, but Stephanie had never realized just what that meant until she read the obituary. Shannon had come from a very old and wealthy southern family.
Stephanie drove slowly, taking in the rolling hills and aged trees. She went over one hill, then drove on for a few moments before rolling over another hill. In the distance, she saw the road split in two, one going left and one going right. She stayed to the left and continued on until she saw a large, square mausoleum nestled in the center of some trees. Stephanie pulled her car to the side of the road and got out, beeping the car locked. She glanced at the address on the slip of paper and started walking. True to what her friend in the office had said, Shannon's final resting place was only a short walk down. Stephanie stepped off the pavement and started walking up the row, the thick grass soft beneath her feet. A gentle, humid breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle and she inhaled deeply, walking slowly and checking each stone as she passed.
She never had any intention of going to the Poconos when she left New Jersey. John would have tried to stop her if he had known she was coming down to Virginia to poke around some more into Shannon's death. He wanted to let sleeping dogs lie when it came to all the events three months ago, but Stephanie couldn't do that. She wanted to find out what really happened to Shannon and if that meant using her vacation to do some digging around, so be it.
Shannon's grave was near the end of the row. Stephanie stopped before it and looked down. A wreath of flowers was propped up on one side of the tombstone and Stephanie stared at the name carved in the marble, feeling hollow. She hadn't been able to make it down for the funeral, which took place the day after the incident on Three Mile Island. She supposed that was why it, somehow, wasn't real. But now, faced with the cold, hard marble with Shannon's name engraved in large block letters, Stephanie felt as if her heart had stopped. The engraving was simple, with just Shannon's name, birthday and end date. There were no cute quotes on the stone, but there was an engraving of a DHS badge in the marble.
Stephanie crouched before the stone with a smile. Shannon had been so proud to be part of the Department of Homeland Security. Her family had chosen well when they included the badge on the stone. She would have liked that.
“I'm sorry it took so long to get here,” Stephanie whispered, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. “I'm sorry that I caused this. It's my fault you aren't with us anymore.”
Her voice caught and she took a deep breath, clearing her throat and staring at the block letters in the marble.
“I will find who did this, and I'll make sure that they pay for it,” she promised softly.
SHANNON GLEASON.
Three months ago, she had been killed in a convenient car accident after she started a private inquiry into the mysterious DHS agent named Damon Peterson. The last time Stephanie heard from her, she had been convinced that she was being watched. The next day, she was dead.
The mysterious Mr. Peterson was conveniently absent for two days at the time of the accident. Alina had claimed at the time that Damon was in Cairo, Egypt, and nowhere near DC, but before he returned, the incident at Three Mile Island happened and the next day, Alina was gone.
And so was Stephanie's link to Damon.
Stephanie stood up slowly. She didn't know if Damon was involved or not, but she knew she had to find him and question him. She had to find the person who had put Shannon in the ground.
And when she found that person, she had all intentions of returning the favor.
“What the hell do you mean, no one's there?” Michael exclaimed, following Frank, the Head of Security, into the small room lined with monitors.
“Just that, no one's there,” Frank replied. “Look and see for yourself. We saw you walking to your truck, and then we saw you on the ground. Look!”
He pointed to the monitors defiantly. Michael watched the monitors in confusion as the tech seated before them played back the camera images. Frank pointed to four monitors which corresponded with the four cameras on the fourth floor of the parking garage, and Michael watched himself walk out of the alcove from the elevators and cross the parking lot, loosening his tie. He walked up to his truck and stopped briefly, then all four cameras showed him lying on the ground next to the truck, unconscious. The transition between frames was so seamless that it appeared as if he simply dropped to the ground.
“As soon as Bill saw you on the ground, he called me and I rushed out,” Frank told him, shaking his head. “We've gone back through the video stream for the whole day and can't find anything.”
“But that's impossible.” Michael stared at the screens.
“Not according to the cameras,” Frank replied apologetically.
Michael glanced at him before returning his frown to the screens. He stared at them, his mind trying to grasp what was on them. The cameras were a live feed from the parking garage to the security room. How had someone removed a portion of a live feed?
“Bill, were you watching the monitors when I went down?” Michael asked the tech in front of the monitors suddenly after a moment. Bill looked at him apologetically.
“I was, but there are 51 other cameras to watch as well,” he answered. “I saw you walk out of the alcove. I remember because that was the only movement on any of the monitors at that moment. But then the eighth level had some movement, and the sixth had a car alarm. When I went back to the fourth level, you were on the ground. I called Frank right away.”
“And when you played back the stream, this is what you got.” Michael shook his head again angrily.
“How did they hack into our feed? That's what I want to know,” Frank said, scratching his head.
Michael glanced at him sharply. He hadn't told Frank who attacked him, just that he was taken by surprise on his way to the truck. Frank automatically assumed it was a botched robbery attempt, and Michael let him believe it. He was still fuzzy-headed and a dull headache was making his eyes hurt, but he knew that Frank wasn't going to believe that this was a robbery attempt now.
“Where's the video feed stored?” Michael asked him.
“On a server,” Frank answered. “The feed comes in and then gets saved in real time.”
Michael nodded slowly.
“Ok,” he said, running his hand through his short hair. His fingers slid over a welt where Viper had hit him and a fresh wave of anger washed over him. “I'll take care of this. This doesn't leave this room. Understood?”
“But, our system's been compromised!” Frank protested. Michael shook his head.
“It doesn't leave this room,” he repeated firmly. “I don't want this getting out.”
“What about our feed?” Frank demanded.
“Make two copies of the files,” Michael told him. “Give me one, you keep the other, and then delete it from the server. And I mean delete. I want it gone, like it never happened.”
“And my copy?” Frank asked, looking at him.
Michael met his eyes squarely.
“You keep it safe until I tell you what to do with it.”
Frank gave him a hard look before nodding.
“Ok, Mike,” he agreed. “I've known you long enough to know you have something up your sleeve. I'll do it, but for God's Sake, don't make me regret it.”
Michael grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Trust me,” he promised. “You won't be the one to regret it.”