Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

Ratman and the two people present stood when she entered. One was a pleasant-looking middle-aged man she recognized from her briefings with Tonya as Frank Alexander, the Secret Service director. The other was an attractive woman probably in her mid-thirties—four or five years younger than Ryden, and at five-seven or so, a couple of inches taller than she was. She had blue eyes, full lips, high cheekbones, and shoulder-length light-brown hair with blond highlights. With a lean, athletic build and skin bronzed from long hours in the sun, she was a striking woman in her classically tailored black suit.

“Good evening, Madam President,” the man said.

Ryden shook his hand. “Good evening, Director Alexander.”

“We’re all very sorry about what happened.”

“Please.” Ryden lifted her hand to stop him. “I’m sorry about your men. They gave their lives to save mine.”

“It’s what we do, but yes, we were very sorry to lose our friends and colleagues.”

“I can’t imagine how their families must feel.”

“It’s always hard to break such news.” He looked away, still clearly upset. “Their families will be well compensated and looked after.”

“A small but necessary comfort, I’m sure.”

“Indeed.” Alexander turned to his right. “Let me introduce you to agent Harper Kennedy.”

The agent took a step forward and extended her hand. Ryden reached for it guardedly as the Ratman’s words rang loud and clear in her ears. She could be one of them .

“It’s an honor to meet you, Madam President.” Kennedy’s hand was rough and firm, more the hand of someone who did manual labor than a woman who stood guard. She looked Ryden in the eyes as if trying to see past her.

Tonya had taught Ryden to never look away during introductions, and so far she’d done a good job even with those closely associated with Thomas, but the intensity of this woman’s stare made her feel exposed, susceptible to the lie she was living. The woman furrowed her brow and for a second Ryden swore she saw her sniff. Had Kennedy met the president in the past, and did she somehow smell different? Ryden finally pulled her hand away and the woman let go.

“I will be your SAIC—Special Agent in Charge—from now on,” Kennedy said. “That means I will be with you at all times, including the places men aren’t allowed.”

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” Ryden asked.

“With all due respect, Madam President, your attackers proved to you, us, and the world that organized terrorism is a real threat, one that can strike at any moment. We want to ensure you are constantly protected.”

“But I was protected when these people attacked. I’m alive because your people made the ultimate sacrifice. Because they did their job.”

“Yes, and now your attackers know that. They also know what to do differently. These people…” Kennedy paused, and those intense blue eyes bore into Ryden again, “got past our security, which means we failed. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky. Our men saved your life, but they failed at their job. We will not allow that to happen again. If that means twenty-four-hour protection, regardless of the situation or location, then that’s what I will do.”

“What makes you so sure you can handle a situation like that on your own?”

“Because I have thirteen years of experience with similar situations.” Kennedy sounded arrogant and Ryden didn’t know if she liked that. She sure had a lot of overconfidence for someone who looked like she belonged in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

“Madam President,” Alexander said, “Kennedy here is indeed one of the best in her field. She is highly trained and skilled in surveillance, guarding, martial arts, and various forms of combat. Her instincts are unparalleled. She comes highly recommended.”

“Recommended by whom? I thought she was one of your people.” Ryden knew she was pressing her luck. Ratman had said to stick to the script so that she didn’t say something stupid or unconventional, but she couldn’t help herself.

“We have contracted her,” the Secret Service director replied.

“In other words, she’s on loan,” Ryden concluded.

“From a very prestigious private organization. I presume you’ve already been briefed about the EOO—the Elite Operatives Organization?”

Ryden hadn’t, but the tone of the question made it clear that Thomas probably had been, so she nodded. “Why doesn’t she work for you if she’s so good?”

Ratman shot her a warning stare before he jumped in. “The president is understandably still very shaken up. She wants to make sure her new guard is qualified for this job.”

“I would want that, too,” Kennedy said. “I’m…on loan, Madam President, because I’m not for sale.”

“I see.” Ryden had hoped Ratman’s implication about the new guard was just to scare her, but now she was convinced it was true. She was certain her mysterious employer had deliberately hired an outsider for this position to keep close tabs on her.

Ryden turned to Kennedy. “Does that mean you start as of now?”

“As of tonight,” her bodyguard confirmed. “I will be staying in the bedroom next to yours.”

*

Houston, Texas

“And how is Madam President today?” TQ hadn’t yet contacted Yuri Dratshev since the kidnapping, presuming that if anything whatsoever went amiss she would have been immediately notified. She’d spelled out to the Russian mob boss several conditions regarding his part of the plan: he was to use only a handful of his most trusted men, who would be told to keep the president somewhere safe and secure, under heavy guard and well fed. They were not to know who had hired Dratshev or why the operation took place. And they were to keep their faces hidden whenever they were around her, not that they needed to be reminded of that. Considering who their captive was, they had to be well aware of the consequences should something go wrong.

“They tell me she is scared and quiet,” Dratshev replied. “She tried to negotiate with money and the usual bullshit.”

“You did a good job, Yuri. Your men will be paid well once this is over.”

“I know, I told them. They will do a great job, you don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m sure they want their boss and his family to live a long, happy life.”

“If they don’t,” Dratshev said, “I will kill them myself.”

“Now, concerning this ridiculous legislation against us…” TQ stopped when she heard another voice coming through the line. Irritated, she spoke louder than usual. “Who is that?”

“Where?”

She could almost see the idiot turn around to look. “I hear someone.”

“Oh, I am listening to my messages.”

TQ rolled her eyes as Dratshev let the recording drone on. She was about to tell him to turn it off when she realized she recognized the voice, or thought she did. No. It couldn’t be . She sat up in her chair and listened more intently. “Who was that?” she asked when the recording ended.

“Old friend. She works for me sometimes,” Dratshev replied.

“When did she call?”

“It is an old message. I’m not regular.”

TQ would have corrected him, but she was too undone by the voice to even get aggravated at his lack of proficiency in basic English. “Play it back and get me closer to the speaker.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!” She didn’t routinely shout, but then again, her reactions in general had been atypical since her brother’s death. So much so, in fact, she wondered whether she’d actually felt something for the inadequate fool.

A few seconds later, Dratshev said, “Here it goes.”