Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(62)
"Then I'll have the FBI take charge of the bodies—they'll be brought here," I said. "How long will it take for you to get back?"
"Not long, if you arrange for transport."
"Where are you now?"
"Outside Provo."
"Then I'll make arrangements. I hope you don't mind driving instead of flying. Will you be at this number when I call you back?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll call you back in fifteen." After ending the call, I shouted for James.
"Sir?" He appeared in my doorway.
"Get Corinne and Rafe in here."
"Right away."
*
Corinne
I felt sorry for James—Auggie was working late, therefore James was also working late. Rafe and I walked in after James called us, and took seats in Auggie's office.
"I got a call from Nick," Auggie said immediately. "Becker and Gene are dead and probably pretty toasty by now. Nick burned the house down around them, but Cutter got away. Any idea where he might be, Cori?"
"On his way to Canada in a small plane, if he isn't already over the border," I shrugged.
"Tell me why we ought to keep him alive." Auggie's words surprised me.
"The only reason for him to still be breathing is that he may know how to contact the one who's orchestrating all of these things," I said.
"I want him dead," August huffed. "I don't care where he dies, I want him dead."
"Will the President implicate him in the Sacramento bombing?" Rafe asked.
"I don't know." Auggie dropped his face in his hands. "She should, but we still don't know who's funding his activities. We've hit a wall on the money—it's likely coming from offshore accounts."
"Not good," Rafe said.
"There are other complications, too," August sighed and dropped his hands to blink at us. "The President is scheduling a trip to Sacramento for a memorial service. She intends to speak at the service, then meet privately with the Governor afterward. I'm going, too, and I want both of you with us when we go."
*
Notes—Colonel Hunter
"Shaw, I'm naming you my second-in-command," I said. I'd asked him to meet me for a drink in what we'd come to think of as Corinne's kitchen. She had some fine Scotch there, so I poured for both of us. "If anything happens to me, then you're in charge of the Program until the President says otherwise."
"If anyone else asked, I'd refuse," Shaw said, lifting his glass in a toast. "Cheers."
"Why?" I asked after downing my first shot and pouring another.
"Because I haven't trusted anyone before you who's been in charge of the Program."
"Even Safer?"
"Come on, Safer never intended to be in charge. He liked where he was. Did you talk to him about this?"
"I did. He said he'd be happy to step aside now, as he has full confidence in you."
"That's good to know." Shaw emptied his glass and held it out for more. "Corinne has good taste in Scotch."
"And the money to buy the good stuff," I agreed. "She asked James to order a case of this right after we moved in here. Probably realized we'd need it."
"How much would a case of twenty-five-year Macallan cost, anyway?"
"Corinne doesn't seem to care about that."
"Right now, I'm glad. This is really good."
"I sent a list to you already, of things I'd like for you to do in certain circumstances if you find yourself in charge," I said. "Let me know if you have a problem with any of them."
"I will."
*
Corinne
"I hate packing," I said. "I hate dresses more." Our suitcases were spread across the bed, both in various stages of packing.
"You look good in them, cabbage."
"Right. I hope we won't need this thing," I shook my head after stuffing the dress bag into my suitcase. Heels followed, as did a new wig, a contacts case and a makeup kit. I'd have to wear the wig and contacts while appearing in public with Madam President, but I hoped there were no events requiring a dress.
Sacramento would be warm enough in late spring so I wouldn't need a heavier jacket. Ilya had to pack his dark suit and tie.
"Too bad we can't stay a few nights in San Francisco—I love it there," Ilya said.
"Why, you little spy, you," I turned and tickled his ribs.
"What's not to love about clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl?" he grinned.
"I wish we could go, too. By ourselves. Just to do touristy things and eat and sleep late in a nice hotel."
"Someday, we will do those things."
"Honey, I hope you're right."
*
Six o'clock comes early, when you have to get up at five and get ready to drive to the White House, after which you have to take a helicopter to an airbase and fly from there to California.
"Corinne, you look tired," Auggie said when we walked toward Air Force One.
"Early mornings," I mumbled. "No Starbucks."
"There will be coffee on the plane." The President walked past us, flanked by Secret Service agents. "Breakfast, too."