Cloud Rebel (R-D #3)(55)

Nobody replied.

"What evidence do they have against Graye?" Granville asked.

"Nothing yet, but the timing, according to the forensic pathologists who've calculated the drug's path through her system, says the only person who had access to her at the proper time would be Graye—while they were alone in the bedroom. FBI is combing through the residence now, looking for proof."

Val squeezed my hand and led me to the table, where we both sat. He didn't want me to explode again, and I wanted to. I wanted to yell at Auggie and Granville both, for not allowing me the time or giving me permission to see Madam President's body.

"You know what," I stood and snapped at both of them. "Nefrigar is right. I don't answer to either of you." I disappeared before Val could stop me. My destination was the autopsy lab, and I appeared there while shielding myself from those present.

Yes, I felt ill at the sight of her body lying open on a table, but I could see her face below the opened skull.

I saw her final moments as Graye bent over her. The word why was on her lips as she died.

I needed to see Graye Sanders, and I needed to see him immediately. Somehow, I understood that the task could prove impossible—if my suspicions were correct, he was already dead.

*

"The note was found in his bedroom," the Phillips clone said during the interview. The President, just like the rest of us, was learning of Graye Sanders' death through an interview on the news instead of from more official sources.

"We have a copy of the note," the journalist claimed. "The original has been turned over to the FBI."

"When?" Granville exploded. "I've gotten no word of that."

"Sir," a Secret Service agent stepped to the President's side and handed a cell phone to him. "FBI Director on the line."

"Right." Granville rose and walked into the hall to answer.

The rest of us, along with the entire country, were exposed to the suicide note at the same time, in which Graye Sanders admitted killing his wife because, in his words, she'd told him she wanted a divorce after her term was up.

"I had no idea he had a gun," the Phillips clone wiped imaginary tears away. "No idea."

"Coming up next, we have two psychologists who deal with suicidal patients, and the Director of the National Suicide Hotline," the female journalist declared.

"Fuck," I muttered.

"Cabbage?"

Ilya had come. He sat on one side while Val had the other.

"I'm okay," I held up a hand. "I've already had one screaming fit today. I can put this one off until tomorrow."

"We must speak with Bekzi later," Val said. "Your Ilya must come, too."

"This doesn't sound good." I leaned back with a sigh and closed my eyes. "Make it go away," I whispered.

"Dearest, I cannot," Val said softly.

*

Former President Phillips' home

Alexandria, Virginia

"At least the snoopers are gone, now," the one posing as President Phillips sighed. "They looked through everything. We left nothing to chance—all will be as it appears, that Graye Sanders took his own life. I also appreciate your arrival on such short notice."

"It is nothing—you know I will support you no matter what," the Merle Askins clone nodded. "I am available to you at any time—you must understand this."

"I'm beginning to see that, but I worry that I rely on you too much."

"I feel we will have need of our slave," Askins jerked his head toward the wizard in the corner. "I wish we had more like him, but that will not be, I fear."

"Why can't we have others? I have been informed of the drug's use. I know how you brought me back from death, now."

"It must be the blood of an original survivor," Askins insisted. "We have taken this one's blood many times, and it does nothing." He jerked his head toward the captive wizard, who sat at a corner table, his hands shackled firmly to its steel surface.

"We keep attempting to find the original. He eludes us, as does his daughter and her husband. Our men failed to get information from Sergei while they had him—and he disappeared after his rescue. We imagined that tracking his friends would lead us to him, or at least bring him to investigate their deaths, but that effort has proven fruitless. What do you suggest we do now?"

"Are you sure there is no more blood to be had from the original?" the Phillips clone asked, his expression thoughtful.

"I am sure. There was precious little of it in the beginning. When Becker escaped, he brought what he could with him. The rest was destroyed with the mansion. I wish we had her blood," Askins said. He'd read all the notes concerning Corinne Watson. Before her death, she'd performed near-miracles.

"It was destroyed inadvertently, when they thought her worthless," Phillips snorted. "According to Becker, before his death. I've read the reports, too, if you remember."

"We learned never to send all our clones against an enemy at the same time," Askins noted. "The Becker clones are all dead, just like the original."

"I hear there is no available information as to who cleared out the Nevada facility. I hoped to find at least a few grains of the drug. Nothing remains. Both our caches were destroyed. If any exists, the Americans have it."