Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(14)

All of them are sent out regularly on assignment; sometimes outside the country. I wasn't surprised that their handlers were with them; Dalton insisted on being with me when I met with the Five at breakfast.

I wasn't stupid enough to ask why they were called the Five and not the Six. To them, Corinne didn't count. I understood that—up to a point.

It wasn't difficult to determine that something was happening with Corinne—latent talents or such—because she'd only been brought to the Mansion recently, after being on the outside for more than five years.

That spelled one thing to me—she'd suddenly become more valuable. Whatever the talent was, it wasn't common knowledge. The Five thought her just as ineffective as they'd always imagined.

I'd gotten an earful, too, from Corinne's handler about PTSD, which Corinne has. I didn't interrupt the rant, although I knew more about the illness than he did. I'd seen too many—soldiers and spies—formerly strong and resilient, suddenly fall because of the affliction. Where I came from, a spy with PTSD didn't live long. They were too much of a liability.

It intrigued me, too, why they'd given Corinne—a civilian—the drug. Perhaps we were more alike than I wanted to think. Information can be quite valuable, and I figured Corinne held something they wanted.

Just as I did.

"I hear you're gonna teach Corinne Krav Maga," Becker snickered as I studied the remains of my breakfast. The eggs, toast and ham I'd consumed. I've never liked hash browns. Those stayed on my plate, untouched.

"Are you an expert?" I refused to blink as I turned to him, lifting an eyebrow in speculation.

"I'm good enough," he growled. Easy to anger, that one.

"Maye's the expert," Ken intervened. Peacemaker.

"I'd like to see you take her on," Nick said. Instigator.

"I just arrived," I said. "I'd like to settle in before anyone attempts to bloody me up."

"I believe it's my choice whether I bloody anyone or not," Maye lifted her cup of tea gracefully. Deadly—no doubt about that. Curly red hair? The best disguise I'd ever seen.

"I have news," General Safer walked up to our table. We'd met in a private corner of the cafeteria, but still visible to anyone who came inside. I recognized him, even before I'd been informed that he was currently in charge of the Program.

When the President replaced General Edwards, Safer would go back to his former position of second-in-command. Meanwhile, he had news. All of us at the table quieted, waiting to hear what it was.

"The President just named a new Secretary of Defense, who will be placed in charge of the Program."

"Who?" Carol White, Kevin Harvey's handler, asked.

"General Paul Cutter," Safer deadpanned.

*

Corinne

"One last thing," Dr. Shaw said before draining his coffee cup. I'd gotten up and made coffee for both of us in my kitchen, while we talked. I liked having our session there, instead of going to Dr. Shaw's office downstairs.

"There's a last thing?" I asked.

"The President named a new Secretary of State."

"It's Cutter, isn't it?" I mumbled, staring at my fuzzy slippers.

"It's Cutter. I'm surprised you know about him."

"You can't turn on the television and not know," I muttered. "He's a nightmare. Please tell me he won't be in charge of the Program."

"I can't tell you that."

"Dr. Shaw, the virus has been introduced. Be ready for the consequences," I said.

"What do you mean? He's charged with preserving national security."

"In his mind, that has nothing whatsoever to do with what we are," I snapped.

*

"Corinne?" August walked in after barely tapping on the door outside the kitchen. He and Ilya/Rafe found Shaw and me at the kitchen island, having our debate about General Cutter, * extraordinaire. Cutter was army, so Shaw was doing his best to defend him.

I wasn't buying the load of excrement the good doctor thought to sell.

"Corinne, I wanted to introduce—properly—Rafe Black, the newest addition to the Program," August announced.

"Any more coffee?" Rafe asked immediately.

"Look, I figure you got enough in the cafeteria, but if you think it's necessary to break the ice, then sure, we have coffee. Caf? Decaf? I don't have anything that went through an animal first, so if that's what you want, you're on your own."

"There's something you should know," August nodded toward a barstool, silently telling Rafe to sit. "Corinne, here, writes the Sarah Fox mysteries. If you don't behave, she'll kill you at least twice in her next book."

"How did you escape your handler?" I ignored August and pointed my question directly at Rafe.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, his voice cool, his face expressionless. That probably came in handy in the spy business when dealing with difficult people. I figured all the women in the Mansion were already signing up for nights with Rafe. He was attractive in a rough sort of way—tall, with dark hair, darker eyes and an air of command about him.

"Looking for pointers," I replied, setting a cup of full-caf in front of the former Soviet spy. "Want cream and/or sugar?"