Control: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 38) Page 13

  CHAPMAN: I like Nealon for patsy. Just putting that out there. And I happen to have acquired the services of some metas of questionable background and morals just this morning in anticipation of having to extend into hard power territory in some way (though not this one!). Happy coincidence.

  Chapman looked up. “How good is this Phinneus at shooting?” He focused on Chase, because she seemed the most in the know of the bunch currently with him.

  “Best in the world, as far as I know,” Chase said.

  “So he could hit a target a mile or two miles away?”

  “That's what he said.” Chase folded her arms in front of her. “Why?”

  That answer only received a smile in return, because that was all that he needed them to know.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sienna

  I'd been living Chapman-free for an hour or two, sifting my emails and parsing incredibly inconclusive forensic reports when my phone rang with an unknown DC number. Because I was on the job and important people called me sometimes, I answered with a cautious, “Hello?”

  “Agent Nealon?” came a slight, borderline fake Southern drawl on the other end of the line. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Redding over at Joint Base Andrews. The president is stepping on Air Force One in about an hour and he'll be making some remarks ahead of his departure for Michigan. He'd like to appear with you and also have some words just before takeoff.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said, mind rushing through the implications of everything I'd just heard. “Just me?”

  “Just you, ma'am,” came the reply. “Secret Service and the gate guards will be informed of your arrival and you'll be able to move right through security.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and Redding hung up. I frowned at my phone as I started to put it down.

  “What was that all about?” Hilton asked from the other end of the long conference table.

  “I've been summoned to Joint Base Andrews to see the president off,” I said.

  Hilton put on a pouty face that wasn't much of a stretch for her. “I wish I got calls to see the president.”

  “Maybe next time,” I said, pulling my jacket off the back of my chair and shutting my laptop. “Keep an eye out for any emails I need to be made aware of.” I flashed my phone at her. “Give me a shout if anything important comes through.”

  “Understood,” she said, already back to focusing on her computer. I breezed out through the door and down the hall, already frowning about what exactly this little trip meant for me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Chapman

  “So you can do that?” Chapman asked, staring across the short gulf between them in the hotel room.

  Phinneus just looked back at him with smoky, unimpressed eyes. “Yep.” All that was missing was him delivering a perfect spit into a spittoon, because he certainly looked like an Old West character.

  “And you're going to do it with...that?” Chapman glanced at the weapon in his hand. It was a rifle, sure, but it had a lever on it, like...well, something out of the Old West. It was certainly on brand for Phinneus, but Chapman had questions about whether it was the right choice for the task at hand.

  Phinneus stared at him. “Nope. I'll take care of procurement myself. Wouldn't want you to have to get your hands dirty.”

  “Good, good,” Chapman nodded along. He was nearly alone with Phinneus in this, controlling his breathing as he pondered what was at stake.

  It was fine. It was all going to be fine.

  “It'll work,” said the other speaker in the room. He looked over his shoulder to find Veronika Acheron looking at him, putting voice to the reassuring words he was telling himself in his head.

  “And you're fine with this?” Chapman asked. He'd had to pussyfoot around a little until he felt comfortable bringing it up to these two – and only these two. But they'd gotten on board quickly once he'd quoted them a monetary figure high enough to compensate them for any trifling fits of conscience they might have.

  Veronika shrugged. “This is retirement-level money for me, so yes. I'm fine with it, provided nobody screws up and gets us caught. I know Phinneus is sound on that.” She seemed to hesitate. “I'm not necessarily copacetic with some of the others, though.”

  “Use who you want,” Chapman said. “I don't care as long as the job gets done. But the circle has to be tight. People who can keep a secret, right?”

  “Yes,” Veronika said. “I'll take Kristina aside and gauge her reaction. If it's good, maybe I'll include her as backup if you're cool with paying out an additional stake?”

  Chapman pursed his lips. “The money matters less than the silence.”

  Veronika nodded. “Kristina's discreet. Keep the rest of them away from any mention of this, though, okay?”

  “I've got another meeting scheduled shortly,” Chapman said, rubbing his sweaty palms together. “They can come with me. You've got it from here?”

  “Yes,” Veronika said. “And you've got deniability. Nice working with you, Mr. Chapman.”

  “Don't say that til it's done.” Chapman rose.

  Phinneus and Veronika exchanged a look. “We're on it,” Veronika said, smiling at him, “so it's as good as done.”

  “Take that to the bank,” Phinneus said. And he brushed a hand against the metal of his gun, causing Chapman to lightly shudder just from the visual. Guns were so repugnant. But when in Rome...

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Sienna

  I was waved through the checkpoint onto Joint Base Andrews with only a cursory examination. Parking my government-issue SUV in the lot with the other visitors, I hiked in, following a column of presidential staff and White House personnel dressed in the formal workwear of Washington. I felt underdressed in my cheap clothes, and a little overdressed with the number of weapons on my person, but then, that seemed like it was to be expected wherever I went.

  The stream of personnel was heading toward Air Force One, which was parked on the tarmac. I'd seen it on the news before, of course, big and blue and being loaded and prepped for flight when the president arrived, as he always tended to, via the Marine One helicopter.

  They had a cordon to rope off the president's walking from the White House press pool, which was standing nearby, waiting, in a little herd like the animals they were, in their rope pen. I was already sweating from the walk and my suit, but I waited behind the line with the Secret Service agents, unsure exactly why I'd been summoned but trying my best to be patient about it. Perspiration was forming everywhere, and I found myself wiping my upper lip every few minutes because the press was snapping photos like crazy and I didn't need a high resolution shot of myself sweating like a pig to become a meme.

  “Hey, Sienna!” They were calling me, too, trying to get me to come over and talk to them while we all waited. I didn't rise to the bait, of course, using my dark sunglasses to pretend I didn't see the crowd of reporters and refusing to look at them directly, as if they were the corona of the sun.

  I heard Marine One coming long before it actually appeared, the whip of the chopper blades starting as a distant whump whump whump and getting louder before finally sweeping into sight over one of the hangars that were functioning as the backdrop to my waiting game. Hangars behind me, tarmac in front of me leading to the runway, which stretched for a mile to my left until it disappeared into woods and, presumably, a fence somewhere down there that marked the end of Joint Base Andrews. To my right the runway didn't stretch quite as far, and some buildings were way, way down there.

  Marine One settled on the tarmac, the rotor wash drowning out the shouts of the reporters, blessedly. My hopes that I'd blend in and look like just another Secret Service agent had unfortunately flagged with the first shout of my name. Bummer. Sometimes I missed being anonymous and in disguise.

  The president dismounted off the helicopter's steps, throwing a half-hearted salute to the Marine standing guard beneath. He started across the tarmac as a dozen cameras went off, recording every
step he took for posterity or something. He gave the press corps a little wave, as he began to cover the hundred yards or so between his helicopter and Air Force One.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Phinneus

  “How's the spot?” Veronika asked. She was crouched next to him with binoculars, a USAF battle dress uniform tailored to her frame clashing with the local flora.

  “It'll do,” Phinneus said. He was sweating through his own Air Force BDUs. The Barrett MRAD he'd procured through his black market contacts wasn't his favorite weapon ever, but it'd do. He'd fired enough shots to be sure it was properly sighted, and now he was ready. Lying prone here in the vegetation at the end of the runway at Joint Base Andrews, he had a decently clear field across the runway. He wiped his face with his sleeve, missing his cowboy hat right about now. He'd doffed his Air Force cover because he didn't want anything to interfere with the scope.

  “I like that you're a man of few words, Phinneus,” Veronika said. She wasn't holding still, which was annoying, but hardly world-ending. That was the problem with meta senses; if you were standing next to someone who crinkled a cellophane wrapper, they might as well have been doing it in your ear. “But if you need anything, you know, other than me sitting here and acting as spotter, do let me know.”

  “I will,” Phinneus said, chambering the first round. He'd been working with guns for a hundred and fifty years, and he never lost the respect for what they could do. The minute you did, you'd get sloppy, and probably accidentally shoot yourself. Safety still on, he gently increased the scope's magnification and started seeking his target.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Sienna

  I waited for the president, arms folded, differentiating myself slightly from the Secret Service agents along the path by posture alone. They kept their hands free at all times to draw their service weapons. Folding your arms on duty would be a big no no. I assumed President Gondry would notice that, at least subconsciously.

  He didn't. Or if he did, he certainly didn't act like he'd seen me. He veered toward the press corps, waving at them as he approached. “How's everyone doing today?” he called genially. “You feeling better, Tyler?”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the reporters called back. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Airsickness can be real hell on you,” Gondry said. “I've been known to experience a bout myself. One time, when I had some fluid buildup in my ear.” He made a waving gesture around the side of his head. “Felt like I was in that movie where the fellow walks the tightrope between the twin towers. You know what I mean?” He made a show of weaving about drunkenly, and the press corps laughed.

  I chuckled slightly, too, under my breath.

  “I'll take five questions this morning, how about that?” Gondry said, and he turned as he addressed the press corps, trying to take in the whole sweep of them, give everyone in the crowd a little eye contact. He snapped up a hand and pointed. “You first, Tyler. What do the readers of Washington Free Press want to know today?”

  “Uh, thank you, sir,” Tyler said from within the depths of the crowd. “Are you going to announce additional sanctions on China today?”

  “No,” Gondry said. “We've hit them hard, and now our negotiators are talking with theirs. Thus far, signs are not promising. Let's be clear about what we're dealing with here – they invaded our sovereignty and operated military forces on American soil in a concerted effort to build up a program of genetic engineering based on imprisonment and brainwashing. This would be appalling enough carried out in their own country, but to do so in ours is simply beyond the pale. We're still examining all the options in search of the appropriate response, and I do believe we'll be making additional announcements as time goes by, but there's nothing more to talk about right now. Next – Samantha.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Samantha said. “Do you have any comment on the progress of the Bilson investigation?” She looked past him at me, and I frowned slightly. She was trying to draw me in, and I didn't care for it at all.

  “Not at present, no,” Gondry said. “It's in capable hands, and we'll announce something when policy and procedure allows it.” The president seemed to be picking up on the crowd looking past him to me, because as he turned in profile I saw the creases in his brow, the pucker of his lips as he assessed his audience, how they were looking past him. He turned and looked at me, and registered mild surprise to find me standing against the hangar. “Oh. Agent Nealon.” He waved a hand in a clear gesture to join him. “Don't just stand there in the shadows, come on over.”

  I tried so hard to keep my face neutral and out of full Sienna RBF territory. I didn't want to smile, either, because my forced smiles were occasionally terrible, bordering on frightening. Keeping my arms folded across my chest, I froze in place, the president watching me with the entire press corps behind him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Phinneus

  “Is that Nealon?” Phinneus asked, peering through the scope. He was adjusting the resolution, zooming in, and had just about reached the maximum for this particular implement, when he'd seen her moving out of the shadows of the hangar. She'd looked like just another Secret Service agent in that dark suit and sunglasses. Only as she'd caught the attention of Gondry had he realized she wasn't standing like them and taken a closer look.

  “Is it?” Veronika asked. “I think your vision might be better than mine.”

  “It's her,” Phinneus said. “What's she doing here?”

  “She works for the FBI. Sounds like she's up to her sweet little ass in this business.”

  Phinneus paused, looking up at Veronika. “Really? You've got a thing for Nealon?”

  Veronika let out a rough sigh. “No. But I do appreciate her unrepentant badassery in much the same way I admire yours. You got a shot?”

  “Yeah,” Phinneus said, centering the crosshairs on Gondry's chest. He wasn't going to take a chance on missing with a head shot. Not when a bullet of this caliber – .338 Lapua Magnum – would leave a hole in the man's chest the size of a fist. He'd pump two, three rounds in just to be sure. “Think I should take Nealon while I'm at it? Boss doesn't seem to like her much.”

  “But he hasn't offered payment for killing her yet,” Veronika said. “Maybe you could weasel a bonus out of it – assuming you didn't fail in the attempt.”

  “I wouldn't fail,” Phinneus said, letting the pride creep into his voice.

  “You did last time.” Veronika sighed, shifting around on her knees. It wasn't as loud as crinkling cellophane, but neither was it quiet. “I am too damned old for squatting out in the woods anymore, Phinneus. Kindly do whatever you're going to do so we can get out of here, will you?” She shifted again, crackling twigs and pine needles as she moved.

  Phinneus ignored her, drawing his bead and slowing his breathing. The president was about a mile away, and the wind was out of the east at about five miles an hour. He shifted the crosshairs appropriately, drew one last breath, and started to let it out. He snapped the safety off, and moved his finger onto the trigger, ready to squeeze...

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Sienna

  I hesitated when the president called me over. He'd made the grand, sweeping gesture with his hand, beckoning me, and I just...

  Froze.

  “Looks like she's feeling a little shy,” Gondry said, like a carnival barker trying to coax a kid out of the stands to be part of an act. “Let's hear a round of applause for our hero, eh?” And he started clapping. The press joined in, though much less enthusiastic than the president.

  I started toward them like a robot with ungreased joints and with all the enthusiasm of one. I didn't smile, didn't wave, just walked across the tarmac as Gondry revved them up further.

  “By her actions she saved thousands of kidnapping victims from the Chinese,” Gondry said. “Those poor people were likely to become test subjects in human experimentation, victims of a sick and twisted breeding program. Agent Nealon put herself at great risk f
or that, even going against forces in our country – this Network I told you about – in order to make it happen.” When I got close enough, he clapped a hand on my shoulder.

  Gondry wasn't a strong man, but he did jar me enough that I almost missed the subtle vibration in my pocket.

  Almost.

  My phone was buzzing, and though it was bad form to take it out in front of the press corps, the feeling of it against my rib cage was annoying beyond belief. I slipped a hand into my jacket and tilted my head as I looked at the screen.

  A text message had come in. No, five of them, all exactly the same. One word, all caps, over and over.

  GUN

  GUN

  GUN

  GUN

  GUN

  Cold tingles ran across my scalp as the word hit me like a battering ram, in context.

  “GUN!” I shouted, and pitched myself sideways, taking care not to hit the president with metahuman force and killing him.

  I took him down nonetheless, as the crack of a gunshot echoed in the distance, and the screams of the press nearly drowned out the distant thunder of another shot – and another and –

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Phinneus

  “What the raw hell?” Phinneus growled as he chambered another round.

  “Thought you said you weren't going to miss,” Veronika drawled from beside him. She'd dropped right to the deck, apparently deciding that being crouched presented too much of a target for the Secret Service snipers, who were already returning fire in their general direction.

  Didn't matter. They weren't going to hit him. Not at this range. Hell, they probably didn't even have a target.