Price Of Honor

Chapter Ten

Dusty arrived before anyone else on her team at the hangar where the C-17 cargo planes were fueled, loaded, and ready to go. The transport agents were responsible for securing the presidential limo within the belly of the huge cargo plane along with a second limo—an exact replica of the first that would be used were there any problem with the primary car—the hazmat van, and the SUVs for the Secret Service protection details, presidential staff, press, medical, K9, EOD, counterassault, and communications teams. She liked to inspect the kennels where Atlas and the other dogs would ride before they were loaded, just to be sure everything was secure.

“Okay to check it out?” she asked when Larry Murtaugh, the transport supervisor, appeared in the doorway of the cargo hold. Murtaugh, a burly fifty-year-old with flinty blue eyes and close-cropped red hair peppered with gray, was a stickler for details and always insisted on doing the final checks whenever the presidential vehicles were loaded for long-distance travel.

He waved her up and grunted at her as she climbed aboard with Atlas. “Still don’t trust us?”

She grinned and shrugged. “Atlas is a nervous flyer.”

“Bullshit.”

He was right. Atlas didn’t mind flying. It was almost as if he knew a big job was coming when they landed. He had been through this hundreds of times and wasn’t bothered by the sounds of the big machines, the air guns driving bolts into metal, the steady background roar of the engines. The smell of gasoline and oil didn’t faze him either. She wasn’t nervous, but she didn’t like securing him in a crate that could break free and go careening around the cavernous space in midflight either. He trusted her to keep him safe, just like she trusted him to alert her to danger before they or anyone else could get blown up. She followed Murtaugh as he walked up and down both sides of the long double rows of vehicles, checking off items on his clipboard. The kennels for the dogs were secured to the floor with clamps and separated by solid barriers, so the dogs could only see out the front. Atlas sat by her side as she looked over the moorings of the crate with his name on it.

“Not just yet, buddy,” she murmured at his expectant expression. When she was satisfied all the kennels were securely fixed and there’d be no in-air problems, she dumped her duffel in the back of one of the K9 vehicles and walked him back out into the hangar. Other agents were beginning to arrive, suitcases and travels bags in hand. No one looked particularly happy.

Riding in a C-17 was a miserable way to travel. The massive cargo bay was cold and noisy. The unpadded metal benches along either side were uncomfortable, but better than the jump seats fore and aft that rocked with every dip and roll of the big plane. The roar and rattle of engines and draft made conversation impossible, not that she really went in for small talk most of the time, but a long overseas trip could be deadly boring without a little casual chatter. She always sat where Atlas could see her. And where she could see him. They traveled better that way. She nodded to a couple of guys on her team as they went past with their dogs. She’d wait until the last minute to board. It wasn’t as if she had to worry about getting a seat.

She sat on a crate out of the flow of traffic with Atlas at her feet. She was already in uniform—black BDUs, black lace-up boots, and a black cap with USSS above the bill. The back of her nylon jacket read K9 Division. Atlas would wear a light vest with similar designations when they disembarked. As soon as they touched down, she and six of the other K9 agents would load into the SUVs, drive directly to the convention center where the president would give his breakfast speech, and do the final sweep on the path he would take inside and in the rooms he would occupy. Once he and his entourage were safely inside, she and Atlas would patrol the inner perimeter and sweep the vehicles before he left to travel to the train.

Until they arrived in Chicago, she had nothing else to do, which was just as well. She was having a little trouble concentrating. Okay, a lot of trouble. Her mind was elsewhere, which probably explained why she’d slept so fitfully, after she’d finally managed to fall asleep. She couldn’t stop replaying every minute of the past twenty hours, recalling the conversations she’d had with Viv, dissecting the things she’d said or failed to say, the way Viv had looked at her, laughed with her, touched her. None of it had been expected. All of it was special.

She’d never been able to talk to anyone so easily. She’d never been with anyone who touched so naturally. She’d never gone home wishing she could have had one more minute, one more hour with someone.

She was making too much of it, she knew that. But she couldn’t stop herself. Every time she thought of Viv, her stomach tightened and a surge of pleasure rippled down her spine. The sensation was addictive. One she’d never experienced and hoped would never end.

She reached down, scratched between Atlas’s ears, stroked his back. Him she knew. Him she trusted, loved, relied on. Uncomplicated feelings he returned a thousandfold. She was totally out of her depth with Viv. Inexperienced didn’t begin to cover it.

One of the two phones clipped to her belt vibrated. She glanced down and saw the symbol for a text message on her personal phone. The only texts she ever got on that phone were airline updates or weather alerts. The sky was clear and she wasn’t flying commercial. Pulse racing, she thumbed the icon to bring up the message. It was from Viv’s number. She already knew it by heart. She’d almost dialed it in the middle of the night just to hear her voice again. Thankfully, sanity had prevailed.

Have you left yet?

Dusty stared. Viv was really texting her. She hadn’t expected to hear anything from her until later in the day. Maybe not even then. She tried to type an answer and had to delete the gibberish and press the letters deliberately one at a time. No, still loading plane.

Busy?

No. Dusty held her breath, waiting for more.

I woke up thinking about you.

Dusty’s heart did a funny thing in her chest, as if it had come loose and dropped a couple of inches. She wet her lips. Her hands were shaking. Carefully, she formed the words. Didn’t sleep much. Yesterday was great.

:-) For me too.

Dusty stared at the screen for a while. She wasn’t sure she should answer. There wasn’t a question implied in what Viv just typed. What did she say now? She had to say something. She didn’t want to lose the tenuous connection between the two of them. Atlas says hello.

Two smiley faces returned. Tell Atlas hi back for me. Can’t wait to see you both later.

I’m off shift at four.

Dinner again?

On the train? Dusty heard someone call her name. She ignored it.

Anywhere.

Dining car. 5?

Perfect, Viv texted back. See you tonight.

Yes.

Dusty took a minute to collect her scattered thoughts. Viv had texted her. Been thinking about her. She said that. And Viv wanted to see her for dinner. She hadn’t imagined any of it. Maybe it was actually real.

“Yo, Nash! You planning on flying or walking?”

“On my way,” Dusty yelled to her shift supervisor. She stood, and Atlas rose with her. “Come on, boy. We’ve got to get to Chicago.”

*

Hooker drove toward the diner thinking about money. He was going to be early for the meeting, but that was fine. He wanted some time to consider his options. If the girl was leaving town and headed toward Colorado Springs, she’d have to take the money with her. She wasn’t going to open any kind of bank account or secure the funds electronically somehow. No, she’d have the cash with her.

Chances were she wouldn’t bring it in the vehicle when she met him. But it would be close by. Hotel room, probably. Maybe a locker at the bus station. He thought back to the look in her eyes when she’d said there was nothing he could do to make her tell him where it was. He didn’t have any experience torturing people, and the idea of torturing a woman turned his stomach. He didn’t think it would work with her and was just as glad. He was guaranteed ten grand. She’d come through with that. She looked like Graves, probably more than she knew. And she was likely her father’s daughter and righteously honorable too. No, she wouldn’t cheat him.

So he could take the money she offered him for providing a contact and that would be the end of it. He’d never see her again. He’d be ten grand richer. Russo would be unhappy that he couldn’t retrieve the $250,000, but that had been a gamble and not his decision to begin with. But two hundred thousand plus was hard to walk away from.

If he couldn’t intimidate her into telling him where it was, he had to blackmail her. He didn’t know her real name, and he couldn’t implicate her in the failed attack on the president without putting his own head in the noose. So what mattered to her? She definitely had plans—what he couldn’t tell, but if she was after explosives, she wanted to make a big statement. A threat to expose her might do the trick, especially if she was as fanatical as Graves and the rest of that bunch.

He pulled into the all-night diner with its sorry dented metal façade and empty parking lot and sat with the motor running to keep warm. Two pickup trucks were the only other vehicles. She wasn’t there yet, but he bet she’d be early too.

She was definitely her father’s daughter, he’d bet money on it. He laughed. He was doing just that.

*

Blair’s limo pulled across the tarmac toward Air Force One where a ring of Secret Service agents formed the inner perimeter, assuring that no unauthorized personnel approached the presidential plane. The backup Boeing 747 idled a few hundred yards down the runway in front of the third jet that would carry press and staff who could not be accommodated aboard Air Force One.

Blair glanced at Cam. “Are you ready?”

“You mean to play first daughter-in-law?” Cam grinned. “Can’t wait.”

Blair laughed and kissed her. “I know you hate it. I’m sorry. We’ll keep you out of the spotlight as much as we possibly can.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Cam kissed her as agents jumped out of the follow car and descended upon them. “I’m always happy at your side.”

“I love you,” Blair murmured just as Stark opened the door.

Cam followed Blair out as the rest of the detail closed in and they crossed toward the stairs at the front of the plane where the presidential suite was located. The rear doors led into the press section. Blair settled in the lounge area adjoining her father’s private quarters to wait for him. Lucinda would arrive with him, along with the president’s physician and the military aide who carried the briefcase with the nuclear codes.

“I imagine we’ll be reviewing his remarks,” Blair said.

Cam kissed her. “I’m going to talk to Stark for a while. I’m sure there will be schedule changes once Lucinda boards.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Cam made her way toward the rear of the forward section, nodding to the PPD shift agents and Blair’s detail. She settled into a seat next to Stark. “Anything new in the morning briefing?”

Stark shook her head. “No.”

Cam watched Blair rise to give her father a hug. The president looked rested and eager to start his first major offensive of his reelection campaign. Eight days on the road. “Sometimes the quiet bothers me more than anything else.”

“Me too.”

*

Viv never got over the excitement of flying on Air Force One. Climbing aboard the most elite aircraft in the world with the president of the United States was one of the premier perks of being part of the White House press pool. She never said it out loud, but every trip thrilled her. Of course, being a witness to history in the making was the greatest honor of all, and every time she boarded Air Force One she was humbled. The thrill was there today, just like always, but as she lined up with her colleagues for coffee and pastries at the small minibar in the rear of the press section, she couldn’t totally keep her mind on business.

I’m off shift at four.

She almost couldn’t believe she’d texted Dusty at oh-dark-thirty. That was so unlike her! She’d never been one to pursue a woman, not that she had anything against it, it was just that she’d never actually met anyone she’d wanted or needed to pursue. Most of the time an invitation would pop up seemingly out of nowhere for dinner or a show or some other kind of date when she hadn’t really been thinking about it—or the woman in question. She’d usually be pleased by the invitation and most of the time happy to accept. She wasn’t passive when it came to women, she just wasn’t looking.

She hadn’t been looking yesterday, either. But she couldn’t help but notice. Dusty was hard not to notice. Not just the way she looked, which was hot and sexy and even more so because she clearly didn’t have a clue just how hot and sexy she was. More than that, she was a mystery, not dark and foreboding and alienating, but captivating, like the glimmer of something beautiful encased in amber. Viv wanted to crack the smooth shell and free the secret.

“This ought to be fun, huh?” Brad Cooper, every inch the tall, dark, and handsome cliché with eyes so blue they ought to be outlawed, smiled at her sardonically. His tone said he thought the trip would be anything but a good time.

“Oh, hi, Brad.” Viv reluctantly deserted her musings about Dusty to be polite. Brad was one of the guys who treated her as a colleague and nothing more, for which she was thankful. She knew there were plenty of other females, attached and unattached, who were interested in catching his attention. Maybe that was why he enjoyed her company. He’d been on the beat a few years longer than her and been one of the more helpful reporters when she’d first joined. While everyone feigned collegiality on the surface, they were all competing for the best angle on the same story. After all, they were all being given the same sound bites from the presidential press office, they were all witnessing the same events, they were all reporting on the same timetable. What it had taken her some time to learn was that they were all secretly working their inside sources, hoping to get a jump on everyone else. She had yet to develop much leverage in that area, partly because of the nature of most of her features, but mostly because it just wasn’t her style.

“I’ve never been on a long train ride,” she said with a laugh. “I suspect it’s going to be…interesting.”

“I suspect after the first night trying to sleep in a bed two feet wide you’ll change your mind.”

“It’s a brilliant media move, though, don’t you think?” She waited for him to get his coffee and they sat together. “It will appeal to the public—this grassroots kind of campaign.”

He nodded. “He could use a bit of a down-home, common-man image, if he can pull it off.”

She was surprised by the flatness in his tone, but then reminded herself that as much as the press sought neutrality, reporters were still individuals, and not everyone was in Powell’s camp. She found Andrew Powell to be an energetic, intelligent, and fair president, but that wasn’t why she was here.

“I’d prefer a train ride here in the States than an overseas trip anytime,” she said, steering away from a flammable topic.

“I agree with you.” He laughed. “At least the food will be recognizable.”

She smiled, sipped her coffee, and thought that eight days on a train with Dusty Nash sounded like a very fine idea.