Chapter 18

“Damn smoking laws.” Tanya Davis pushed her way out the mechanical access door in the Immigration building in downtown Washington D.C. The slab of concrete where she took her forbidden smoke breaks was noisy from the blowers that regulated the temperature inside, but it was hidden from view and accessible during her day without having to go back through security.

Stepping out onto the concrete, she realized she wasn’t alone.

“Oh, hey,” she said in the way of greeting. She quickly stole a look at the man: tall, handsome, taking a drag off his cigarette. “I didn’t know anyone else knew about this place. I won’t interrupt…”

“No, please.” The man gestured a welcome. “My hidden concrete slab is your hidden concrete slab.” He smiled. “Besides, I need to meet some people. I’ve just been transferred from New York City. I’m John.” He offered her a light as she retrieved a cigarette from her purse.

She puffed to start the burning. “I’m Tanya. If you need anything, I’ll be glad to help. I’ve been here a long time.” She took a long drag, stomped her feet, and said, “It’s really cold out here.”

“Yes, it is.” He laughed. “But sometimes you just need a break, right?”

“Tell me about it.” Tanya sighed. “It has been a crazy couple of weeks around here.”

“I bet. We even heard about it in New York.”

“No way. Are we that infamous?”

He drew in a long puff and then crushed out his cigarette. “The story I heard was about a guy from the Ukraine wanting asylum.”

“Oh, yeah. What a nutcase. He said he had information about nuclear missiles being reactivated. I actually typed up the report for Hannigan.” Tanya nodded.

“Did he get asylum with that B.S.?”

“Conditional. He had to get a sponsor, and he had all sorts of appointments with people who know about nuclear weapons and crap.”

“Who’d sponsor that? Did they hit up a Ukrainian church to take him in or something?” The man casually leaned on one of the blowers.

“That was the really interesting part,” she explained. “He claimed he knew Meredith St. Claire, you know, the daughter of Senator William St. Claire.”

“No way…”

“But, here’s the strange part. He didn’t seem to know what a prominent family she was from. He had met her on one of her humanitarian missions to the Ukraine like five years ago. He totally asked for America’s darling daughter St. Claire to sponsor him.”

The man shook his head. “That’s messed up. So what, did her publicist let him know she was unavailable? She didn’t do it, did she?”

Tanya grinned. “Not only did she do it, when she heard he was here, she raced down from work to see him and help any way she could.”

“So, Kostya got asylum into our country and is being sponsored by the daughter of William St. Claire,” the man summarized. “I bet her address is unlisted. Where are they hiding them?”

“In Georgetown, I think.” Tanya answered, but then looked puzzled. “I never told you his name.”

The man moved swiftly, grabbing her with his gloved hands. She didn’t even have time to scream before his fingers pressed in and broke the hyoid bone in her throat. He pressed her against the vibrating blower, the loud motor pushing warmed air into the building, and lifting her as she struggled to capture air into her lungs. Finally, with a last involuntary twitch, her body sagged against his hands. Quickly checking for a pulse or breathing, he assessed his work, and ran toward the back fence.

He just found the key to getting Kostya: finding Meredith St. Claire.