The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(26)

“And Marcus?” White asked, his voice a murmur.

“Shot and killed in the elevator,” White replied. “The local police also found the body of a guest of the hotel next to Marcus. A young man. He was stabbed in the back of the neck.”

“Jesus,” White said, his head throbbing with pain.

“Both drivers were shot and killed while behind the wheel,” Summers continued. “Bullets to the head. They never knew what hit them. Because of the GPS trackers installed in the vehicles, we were able to locate them both in an underground parking garage in a nearby neighborhood.”

White felt empty inside. It was as if he had lost his soul. Summers got up from his chair and walked to the minibar. He grabbed four of the miniature liquor bottles and placed them on the small table. One of them tipped over and rolled toward the side of the table. White caught it before it fell. It was a small bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Summers was holding one too.

White twisted the cap off and downed it in one gulp. Summers did the same with his. White placed the small recorder on the table, next to the remaining bottles, and looked at Summers. Summers slipped the recorder back into his pocket. Then he grabbed another bottle, unscrewed the cap, and gave it to White. He repeated the same process for himself.

“Okay, tell me what happened,” Summers said as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

And, with a heavy heart, White did. He didn’t leave any details out. Not even his relationship with Veronica.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Naval Air Station Fort Worth, Texas

The rumble of the wheels hitting the runway woke Veronica with a start. There was another bump followed by the squeals of tortured rubber. She felt the breaking effect as the air force pilot reversed the thrust of the engines. The plane rolled for less than a minute before turning off the runway and taxiing toward a large, well-lit hangar. She looked out the window but didn’t recognize the place. It resembled a military airfield more than a runway in a major American city.

Seated to her right was one of the Secret Service agents from the San Francisco field office. She had met him for the first time a few hours ago when he and six other agents had rushed her out of the hotel and escorted her to the government-owned Gulfstream sitting idle for her at the San Francisco International Airport. He was a big man, built solidly with thick arms and wide shoulders, but with kind brown eyes. He smiled at her and said, “We’re at Naval Air Station Fort Worth, ma’am. Right outside Dallas, in case you’re wondering.”

“We’re in Texas?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Veronica didn’t recall falling asleep, only that she had felt emotionally and physically spent upon boarding the aircraft. The last thing she remembered was asking the agent where they were going. Texas hadn’t been his answer.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

“Your father wants to see you,” the agent said, fishing a pack of gum out of his pocket.

She’d had no idea her father was in Texas.

The agent took a piece of chewing gum for himself and held the pack out to Veronica. Her mouth tasted as if she’d licked an ashtray. She figured that was why the agent’s eyes were almost pleading with her to accept.

“Thank you,” she said, taking two sticks. She unwrapped them and popped them in her mouth. She almost spat them out, so intense was the watermelon flavor.

“I like them a lot,” the agent said, chewing his gum hungrily and handing her a bottle of water.

She forced herself to swallow the sweet chemical substance in her mouth and then drank a third of the bottle, washing the watermelon taste away.

“Have you heard from Special Agent White?” she asked between two more sips of water.

“Nothing more than what we already knew when we left San Francisco,” the agent replied.

“What about the rest of my protective detail?”

The agent’s jaw tightened, and the lines on his face spoke of a burning rage. “I don’t know,” he said, turning his face away from her, as if he knew she could read right through him.

She gently touched his arm. “Please,” she said. “I need to know.”

He nodded. His eyes were dry, but there was a grief in them that scared Veronica. She feared what he was about to say next.

“They didn’t make it,” he said. “They were all murdered.”

Veronica’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t say anything. Instant guilt overwhelmed her, choking the words in her throat. She pressed her lips together. Oh my God. This is insanity.

Until a moment ago, and despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary, she hadn’t been totally convinced that she’d been the actual target of the attack. Now, with all her protective detail but Clayton dead, there couldn’t be any doubt. But why? she asked herself. Why? She was an archaeologist with little or no influence outside the archaeological circles she operated in. She did have a significant social media footprint, but there was no way anything she had ever posted could have led to an attack on her life.

Could it be because of her father? She didn’t see that either. Her dad wasn’t even the vice president yet. She knew he used to be the commanding officer of JSOC. Could that be it? Terrorists coming after him through her? She wasn’t naive. She was well aware of what JSOC did. Not all the operators assigned to JSOC were like Clay. A bunch of them were real killers, sent deep behind enemy lines to exterminate America’s adversaries. She understood the need for that, but, on the other hand, it would be immature to think their enemies wouldn’t fight back the same way.