Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(75)

"Tell me, then." He led me toward our bed and we settled upon it. "I'm sure you're familiar with reported incidents in 1969 and 1986 in Russia," I began.

*

The deaths in Montana may as well have happened on another planet. So many bodies were either unrecognizable or missing. Family members were shown in news reports, holding signs with photographs of loved ones who would never come back to them.

Faked autopsy reports abounded, all orchestrated by the U.S. government. All the victims would be cremated, too—the excuse was that the poison in their bodies could cause problems. Family members would receive an urn with their loved ones' ashes, after the government was done with the investigation.

I felt sick—the television was turned on in our brand-new cafeteria and it was inevitable that I'd see all of it. So much of it was speculation and lies, and at that moment, I wanted to strangle the President plus the heads of the CIA, FBI and Homeland Security.

"Cori?" August asked as I made my way out of the cafeteria without eating.

"Going to the other one. The one without a television in it," I said.

"Rafe?" he asked.

"Sitting in our suite mulling over the price of good Scotch," I lied. "He should be out in a few." Actually, Ilya was in our suite, thinking about the information I'd given him and drawing his own conclusions as to who was involved and what they'd accomplished afterward.

"I'll come with you," Auggie offered. "I don't want to see that shit, either. It's disturbing."

"Yeah."

Rafe leaned in to kiss me when he found Auggie and me morosely silent as we drank coffee in the smaller kitchen.

"I know it's a mess, cabbage," he murmured. "It isn't your fault."

"None of it is," Auggie leaned back and stretched. "You'd have done something about it if you'd had proper information. I understand your reasons now for letting Cutter go as long as you did—he had information we desperately need. We have to find the ones responsible for this and do it soon."

Auggie had no idea he and Rafe were discussing different topics. I didn't enlighten him. "Have you eaten?" Rafe interrupted the conversation while walking the few steps to the fridge and opening the door to study its contents. He shuffled things around, looking for something suitable to eat.

"Didn't feel hungry," I admitted.

"I'll make eggs and toast. Colonel Hunter, do you want anything?"

"I'll have the same," Auggie grunted. "I'm not too hungry, either."

*

Madam President's personal cell phone rang, with the First Gentleman's caller ID in the window. "Graye?" she answered the call.

"Oh, I'm not Graye," the electronically enhanced voice said. "But I can deliver the next election to you if you want it."

"Who is this?" President Sanders demanded.

"I can give you the election by handing you those responsible for Montana," the voice went on. "I want something in return."

"What the hell would that be?" Amelia Sanders asked.

"I'll send a photograph. I want both. Alive. I'll call back in two days. I can't guarantee what may happen between now and then. Think about my offer and give an answer in two days, Madam President."

The President stared as a photo arrived on her cell. It was of Corinne and Rafe, taken during the meeting at Camp David.

*

Notes—Colonel Hunter

"What do you suppose will happen in the next two days?" I'd never seen the President so distraught. It was understandable—the one Corinne sought was also seeking her. He'd learned of her importance, likely through General Cutter. Rafe, too, was on the agenda, and I figured it was the Russians—Baikov in particular—who wanted him.

"If there's another Montana, the entire country will go crazy," I acknowledged. "What concerns me is that he'll be betraying those responsible for Montana, therefore, there's no guarantee he won't betray you, too."

"There is no good way out of this," the President shook her head. "I'm trading lives for lives if I concede, and potentially more lives if I refuse."

At least she didn't mention her presidency, or the continuation of it in this conversation. Corinne could determine the President's sincerity, but I didn't want to frighten her with this. Not yet, anyway. "Have you attempted to track the call?" I asked.

"Of course. It's untraceable, according to at least three agencies."

"Did anyone record it?"

"Of course not."

"Not good."

"He didn't even say not to try, or not to talk to anyone about the call. What is that supposed to mean?" she flung out a hand and stood to stare out a window at the White House lawn.

"It probably means he's so confident now that he's taunting us with it. He's destroyed two secure locations. Killed the Vice President. Stolen who knows what from some of the most secure places on the planet. Made attempts on many important lives, and would have succeeded, if not for Corinne."

"This means that Cutter received information from Dalton, then passed it along to his backers, who handed it to this murdering thief."

"That is the most likely scenario, yes. Information is often more valuable than gold, and information on Corinne—who wouldn't pay any asking price for that kind of talent?"