Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(67)

"Here," I handed a business card to James. It was an attorney's card, with the words "Call me," handwritten on the back. I'd found it at the bottom of one of the boxes.

"This is one of the lawyers Sarah Fox uses," James mumbled, staring at the card as if it might catch fire at any moment.

His cell phone rang. Colonel Hunter was calling, demanding to know where we were and what we were doing.

*

Maye

The third group looked very much like the first and second. Sounded very much like the first and second. Except there were three in wheelchairs. Two of them were teachers, with students crowding about them. The other was a tiny, male student—much too small for Mary Evans to emulate in disguise.

With students asking both teachers questions, I began to doubt Corinne's information. Still, I watched this final group as the docents began the tour.

Until one of the docents approached the wheelchair-bound female teacher. "Miss Vernon," she gushed, "Do you remember me?"

I caught the mental gear-switching as the woman attempted to invent a viable answer. That answer wouldn't be driven by mere forgetfulness. Instead, it was calculating and cold as she replied, "Of course I remember you; I just can't recall the name."

She was my target. Tapping the radio strapped to my belt, I sent a message to agents waiting nearby before lifting the camera I'd hung around my neck. "Excuse me," I called out, "Would you mind if I took a photograph for the new brochure?"

The docent couldn't be more pleased as I walked toward her. "This is my third-grade teacher, Miss Vernon," the docent giggled. "She's the reason I'm working here, now. She made me so curious about everything."

"Miss Vernon" wasn't happy. I realized she wore a mask and wondered for a moment where the real Miss Vernon was. That would have to wait. I knew my backup was closing in as the docent posed beside Mary Evans' stolen wheelchair. The children were pulled away by two teachers as I made ready to snap the pictures.

I only had time to take one before two FBI agents approached Mary Evans. "Ma'am," one of them said, "Please come with us."

She was out of the wheelchair fast—I'll give her that, but her attempt at taking the poor docent hostage was thwarted—I'd already punched Mary in the face before she could pull the poor girl against her.

Children snapped cell phone photographs as the prosthetic mask was pulled away from an unconscious Mary Evans, and she was handcuffed before she regained consciousness. I watched in satisfaction as she was led away, her steps unsteady. I'd hit her quite hard, as it turned out.

Colonel Hunter wouldn't even bother to ask if I'd used too much force on this one.

*

Notes—Colonel Hunter

Madam President wasn't pleased when she received news of Corinne's disappearance—until she learned that Corinne was instrumental in capturing Mary Evans.

Corinne's last mental communication was with Maye, and Maye had looked at everyone who arrived at the Smithsonian in a wheelchair the day after Corinne's disappearance.

We had Mary Evans in custody now, although she'd attempted to take a hostage. She learned she was no match for Maye. We needed Corinne, now, to take a look at our prisoner, but Corinne was gone.

I'd been forced to order Rafe and James back to the villa—they'd gone hunting for Corinne on their own. Word was they had information that could prove useful, but that remained to be seen. We'd tabled it for a bit while Mary Evans was settled into a makeshift cell at the villa.

Rafe wanted to choke information out of Mary Evans about Baikov, but Shaw held both of us back. Mary Evans, or whatever her true name was, wasn't talking. We left her alone for a while, determined to vet anyone who came near her during her confinement.

I sat in my office while James worked on assignments, and he wasn't talking much, either. It wasn't difficult to tell he wanted to go out again to search for Cori.

That's when Richard knocked on my door.

"Dr. Farrell?" I said as he walked in and took a seat.

"I found this," he slid an envelope across my desk. I recognized Corinne's handwriting immediately.

"What the hell?" I said, lifting the flap and pulling a single sheet of paper out.

Richard, the letter began, if you want any information from the male prisoner, have Rafe say the following words in Russian to him, in the exact order given.

Green.

Yellow.

Seven.

Red.

Nine.

Eight.

White.

Sincerely,

Corinne.

"What is this supposed to do?" I shook my head at Dr. Farrell.

"No idea, but I'm willing to give it a try. Nothing else has worked."

"James, get Rafe in here," I called.

In ten minutes, the four of us stood outside the prisoner's cell. Rafe held the letter in his hand. I nodded to him.

"Zee-lyo-niy," Rafe said in a heavy accent.

"Zhol-ty."

"Syem."

Dr. Farrell and I stared as the prisoner's eyes went from cloudy to clear and he began to sit up straighter on his bunk. By the time Rafe said the last word—bye-liy, the prisoner was completely focused—on Rafe.

He spoke for the first time, too, in Russian. I didn't understand it.