Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(20)

Corinne, if you need help when we arrive, ask for it, August texted me. I didn't have the phone I'd been given in my hand, so I pulled it from the small purse I carried when I felt it vibrate.

If I get the help you're suggesting, I'll be out for the rest of the day, I texted back. I'll deal with this the best I can.

I'll have Shaw on standby.

Right.

What's wrong? That came from Rafe.

You know, I'd like to say mind your own business, but that will only intrigue you, I texted back.

Have you tried meditation?

With hopeless regularity.

I'm sure most of our conversation could have taken place verbally, if we didn't have the sounds of the helicopter vibrating our bones as well as our eardrums, and if our ears weren't covered in protective gear. Therefore, texting worked as the next best thing. I just had no desire to continue our conversation.

I was grateful when the chopper set down and we were allowed off it.

*

An hour later, after a quick lunch, we were ushered into the meeting room. In addition to the French Ambassador, the British Prime Minister was there with his interpreter, the German Chancellor had come with his interpreter, and the acting Russian Ambassador had also come.

All of them were frowning.

I wanted to hold up my hand and say "all my fault," after which I would be escorted from the building and allowed to write in quiet confinement.

That didn't happen.

Several things concerned me about that meeting—it was an extension of what had been discussed at a recent G-8 conference. Terrorist threat levels were on the rise for some reason, and everyone wanted everybody else's information.

All of them discussed potential targets—public transportation, water supplies, government facilities and so on. The French Ambassador brought up the attack in Paris six years earlier, but the others considered that an anomaly.

Why would terrorists attack another museum?

During that meeting, which lasted four hours and would continue into the next day, I watched several people. I noticed Rafe watching the same people. I had four hours of rehashed conversations to mentally consider what—and how much—to tell August.

*

We met over dinner—all of us. I didn't want to tell everybody there what I knew. Rafe was holding back for the same reason. "I didn't get much," Maye offered. "Pretty much what they were thinking is what they were saying. They're all afraid they'll be targeted next."

"The French Ambassador is pissed; I could smell it all over him," Nick said.

"He's mad because of that stupid museum debacle. Who cares if a couple of paintings got burned?" Becker huffed.

"Thirty-nine people died there," Ken reminded Becker. "Most of them Americans."

"One of the terrorists was American. The French Ambassador tries to make it look as if he were in charge," Maye said. "I doubt that's the case. His profile points to his being a follower, not a leader."

"I believe he wanted to commit suicide and appear a hero to his adopted religion," Rafe said quietly. "Colonel Hunter, I'd like a private word with you when we're done, here."

"What about?" Dalton began.

"A private word," Rafe insisted.

"Can I be there?" I asked. "I think Rafe and I may have something similar to say."

"You think so?" Rafe lifted an eyebrow and gave me a skeptical frown.

"I think so," I said, toying with my fork. We had prime rib sitting in front of us; I'd barely touched mine, although it was quite good.

"Then we'll talk after dinner," August agreed. "The three of us. Privately." He challenged Dalton to disagree. Captain Dalton Parrish didn't argue with Colonel August Hunter. Sometimes, rank really did have its privileges.

*

"The British Ambassador's interpreter isn't who she says she is."

"She's a spy-for-hire."

Rafe and I attempted to speak at the same time the moment the door closed behind August. He'd chosen a small meeting room in our shared bungalow for the private conference. August didn't display shock often, but he wore a concerned expression now.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he sputtered.

"She's—well—she's wormed her way into that position for a reason," I said. Rafe stared at me as I offered that information.

"I was about to say the same thing, only I can say that I've seen her before, and disaster always follows close behind. Somebody wants information, and she's getting it for them," Rafe sighed.

"Let me talk to some of the others. You'll both be on call, tonight, in case I can get a meeting." August stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

"That went well," I muttered.

"You know we'll have to talk to the President tonight," Rafe said.

"Yeah."

*

"I don't know what her real name is," Rafe answered the President's question later. It was nearly midnight; Rafe's and my exposition of the interpreter in question had raised some eyebrows and caused a flurry of investigations. "I've never seen her use the same name twice."

"I'd doubt your information, if Corinne hadn't pointed her out as well," Madam President shook her head.