Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(21)
"I understand your reluctance to believe anything I say," Rafe acknowledged. "That doesn't alter the fact that this woman, who currently uses the name Mary Evans, is quite adept at changing identities and nationalities—as the situation requires."
"How do you know so much about her?" the President asked.
"Because she was hired by the Soviet government on at least two occasions. I have nothing but contempt for her."
"This changes things," the President flung up a hand. "Look, I've got several agencies investigating her background—photographs, information, you name it. What I have so far shows she's really good—otherwise, she'd never have been hired by the British government."
"As you see, other governments have hired her," Rafe said. He was suggesting that the British government hired her for their own purposes.
"I don't believe for a minute the Prime Minister knows about her," I snapped, causing Rafe to turn swiftly in my direction. "You said she was gathering information for somebody. It's not the British government."
"If we grab her now, we'll never know what she's up to, or who hired her," August pointed out. "Besides, what would we charge her with? All we have is information that we can't substantiate." He jerked a thumb in Rafe's and my direction.
"Look, I'm having her phone tapped, and we'll have someone checking phone calls, in and out. We'll set up somebody to follow her and report on every movement from now on. I don't want to alarm the Prime Minister if we can help it," the President said before turning to me.
"Corinne," she said, "Is there anything you can give me to get the French Ambassador and his President off my back?"
I froze. Rafe now stared at me. August shook his head and looked away. "No, Ma'am," I lied. The panic attack came immediately afterward.
*
I don't know how Rafe found his way into my bedroom the following morning, but he was there with a cup of coffee in his hands. Surprisingly enough, he offered the cup to me.
"You were there," he stated baldly as I worked my way into a sitting position and accepted the cup.
"Go away. Thanks for the coffee."
"I figure there are people out there who'd pay seven figures or more to know you survived that attack."
"Are you one of them? Plan on selling that information to the highest bidder?" I asked, handing the cup of coffee back to him. "Go away. I have enough worries without you adding more."
"I understand that. Perhaps better than you know," he said, handing the coffee cup back to me and sitting on the bed. He ended up leaning against the headboard beside me and staring at the wall in front of us. "How much do you think someone might pay to have information on my continued existence?"
"Touché."
*
"Madam President, those panic attacks happen every time the subject comes up. I keep waiting for her to tell me—to get that burden off her shoulders. It's locked up so tightly within her, she may never let it go." Dr. Shaw shifted in his chair as the President studied the doctor across her temporary desk.
"Look, I know all about the forensics. About how the bodies showed signs of torture before they were killed—Corinne's included. I may know why they waited until the last to shoot her, but that's information I don't feel comfortable giving out." President Sanders raked fingers through dark hair turning gray at a rapid rate. The presidency tended to do that—make someone gray long before their time. Madam President refused to mask the signs of age or stress with hair color.
"You know that would be considered privileged," Doctor Shaw began.
"I and two others know. That's it, unless Corinne chooses to tell you herself."
"Of course, Madam President."
"Will you do me a favor, Shaw?"
"Of course, Madam President."
"I want information on Derik Thompson's parents. His upbringing. Anything you can find that might point to his reasons for becoming a terrorist and involving himself in that mess. I'm tired of being vilified in French."
"I'll get right on it."
*
Corinne
Becker made an effort to sneer at me as we walked toward the meeting room. I figured there'd be more of the same from all involved—posturing, withholding information, excuses, blame, all in several languages.
I wasn't disappointed. Rafe and I, though, made a point to watch everyone in the room and not just Mary Evans, AKA the spy to be named later.
Chapter 6
"Something's going on." Nick dropped his bag on the floor of his suite. Becker had followed Nick after the choppers left them at the Mansion. "Why are they talking to Corinne, all of a sudden?"
"I think Maye knows something, she's just not talking."
"Or just not talking to us."
"Too bad they stuck Corinne in the bungalow with Colonel Hunter, Captain Parrish and the Russian. I figure we could pound a reason out of her."
"You know you'll be in trouble if you touch her," Nick warned.
"Huh. What's a little punch, now and then?"
"Becker, you know your brain isn't your best asset. Let me think about this, all right?"