Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(22)

"Don't take too long. I really want to know what's going on."

"So do I. Patience is a virtue, remember?"

*

Notes—Colonel Hunter

"What was Captain Parrish's reaction when he wasn't included in the meeting with the President?" James asked. James hadn't been invited to the meetings either; he'd gone as my assistant and stayed in the bungalow, doing routine tasks and keeping me in the loop on the chopper explosion.

So far, the pilot hadn't cracked. That worried me, as he was military. Someone had gotten to him, and we were still attempting to determine the cause and what, if anything, he might know about the Program.

The explosive was on a timer—I'd figured that out early on. It made it easier for Corinne to delay all of us without getting herself involved. Too bad her hand was forced later on, with Mary Evans' appearance beside the British Ambassador.

We'd followed her trail—there really was a Mary Evans with all the appropriate documentation—from Northern Ireland. Dead, of course. That came as no surprise. If you dig far enough, eventually you'll see daylight.

The President still hadn't notified the Prime Minister of the doppelganger at his side. She wasn't scheduled to translate for him again until he made a visit to China in six weeks. That could give us enough time to watch her and determine her purpose.

"Dalton wasn't happy. I can't help that," I said, brushing past James and heading toward my office. Instead of sitting behind my desk, I stood at the window beyond it, studying the blackened patches of grass on the lawn and considering the bottle of bourbon in a bottom desk drawer. James brought me out of my musings by tapping on my open door.

"Colonel Hunter?"

"What is it, James?" I turned in his direction.

"Corinne is here to see you."

"Send her in."

*

Corinne

"That's an unusual request, but I'll see what I can do," he said.

I'd asked to see images of all the people Mary Evans had contact with. I had my reasons; August might guess at some of them. I didn't care about that. I wanted to see whomever she saw—it was important.

"Please, Auggie. I think this is important," I said.

"I could show them to Rafe, too," he mused.

"Then show them to Rafe, too. He might know something."

"He turned out to be useful at Camp David," August said.

"I think he's pissed enough at the Russians to be even more helpful. He's from Ukraine, you know."

"Back when Ukraine was still part of Soviet Russia, I know," August agreed.

"Then you know it was never a comfortable union. We're talking genocide, Auggie."

"I know that, too. Your Krav Maga lessons resume tomorrow. Be ready to run with the others at six."

"Yeah."

*

"Chamomile." Rafe plunked the box of tea onto the counter two minutes after I got back to the kitchen. My visit with August hadn't gone as well as I'd like, but at least he was considering my request. Rafe wanted me to sleep instead of staying up half the night, going over what I knew and what might be done about it.

"Really?" I shook my head at him.

"Try it. It won't keep you awake—I know that much."

"You know, I want to bang my head against a wall. Then maybe bang yours against a wall."

"You won't be any good at all tomorrow if you don't sleep. I overheard your argument with Doctor Shaw at Camp David."

We'd had an argument, all right. I couldn't sleep most of the time I was there. He wanted to give me prescription sleep aids. I stopped just short of telling him where to put them.

"You need sleep. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, lately? Those dark circles under your eyes tell me you're exhausted."

"If I drink this, will you get off my case?"

"If you drink this and attempt to meditate."

"Fine. Want to join me in a cup?"

"I will, if you'll drink it."

"Fine."

I didn't point out that he appeared amused—a slight curl at the corner of his mouth gave him away. Honestly, I wasn't sure why he worried about my sleeping habits. He'd just knock me to the floor during our lesson in the morning, after I wore myself out with a three-mile run.

*

Our grocery order was delivered while we were having breakfast the following morning. It was after our run and before Krav Maga. Rafe was delighted that his order was there and set about putting soup ingredients into my slow cooker.

"Real chicken noodle soup, instead of that tinned shit," he said, placing the lid on the cooker.

"Really? Tell me again who stole a bowl of that tinned shit the last time I ate it," I said.

"I've had worse during my lifetime."

"I'm sure you have. If you'll give me fifteen minutes, I'll get ingredients for fresh bread into the bread machine."

"You're kidding."

"No, I like fresh bread. Don't you?"

"I wondered if you actually used that thing, or if it would just sit on the counter collecting dust."

"I use it; I just can't eat an entire loaf by myself before it goes stale."