Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

Shield intervened immediately by putting herself between the president and the dog.

“Toby only barks when strangers try to pet him,” the boy said. “He’s never barked at you before, Auntie.”

“Maybe he’s just nervous from all the activity,” Nancy said. “Why don’t you take him for a walk, guys, and let him get familiar with the surroundings?”

Thomas kept smiling. “Poor thing,” she said, her eyes still on the dog. “Go have fun, Toby.”

The dog turned around at his name and started to growl again. The boy pulled him back. “Bad dog.” He headed away with the animal, his sister close behind, toward a cordoned-off area nearby to watch Kayla Harrison in a judo demonstration.

“I don’t know what got into him. He’s gaga about you,” Nancy said.

Moore stepped in. “Like you said, just too much going on for him. We might have to lock him up.”

Thomas turned to her special advisor. “That won’t be necessary. He’s harmless.”

“That may be so, but that scene got people’s attention,” Moore insisted.

“I said, that won’t be necessary.”

Shield noticed the subtle shaking of Thomas’s hands just before she clasped them behind her back. Thomas turned to Nancy and her husband and smiled. “Come on, guys, let me show you around.”

Shield stayed alert behind them as the president walked the couple through the tourist route, showing them the grounds and where all the activities of the day were scheduled, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened with the dog. She’d been around canines ever since she moved to Italy and had never witnessed anything like that before. Her own dogs were her friends, as well as her property guards. They would get aggressive only when on guard and nervous only if a stranger approached—never a friend or someone they’d met before.

Shield stared at the president, who was walking a few steps ahead. Thomas’s sister and brother-in-law were completely engaged in the tour and the little facts Thomas was telling them, mostly nonspecific information readily available on the Internet. Maybe she wasn’t allowed to share anything less generic, even if it was to family.

Moore generally walked beside Thomas, looking very alert. But when the president and her family stopped to chat in the still-dormant Rose Garden, he waited off to one side, near Shield.

“There’s plenty of security,” Shield told him. “She’s in good hands.”

“I’m sure she is. What happened at the fund-raiser was organized. Whoever was behind it knew what they were doing.”

“A terrorist’s cunning or expertise doesn’t exclusively reflect someone else’s incompetence. Very often, their ability to succeed hinges on having knowledgeable individuals to help them.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, I hope the ongoing investigation leads to some satisfying answers.”

“Such as?”

“Per fas et nefas,” she replied.

Moore translated from the Latin. “In good and bad things.”

She nodded. “In other words, by any means necessary.”

“So?”

“The organization I work for trains us to believe the cause justifies the means.”

Moore looked at her. “And?”

“I suspect whoever helped the attackers is an insider, who believes in someone else’s reasons or has his or her own for doing so.”

Moore cleared his throat. “That’s a heavy accusation.”

“Are you surprised?”

Moore hesitated before he answered. “I guess not, but it’s a damn disturbing theory.”

“I don’t think it’s a theory,” Shield said. “That’s why I don’t intend to let her out of my sight.”

*

Near Colorado Springs, Colorado

Jack unfolded the stub and dialed Yuri’s Dratshev’s number from a phone booth. She had stopped using disposable cells since her last job and didn’t intend to get one now just to hear out the mob boss.

The Russian picked up. “Da.”

“It’s Jack.”

“Good. You got my message yesterday.” He sounded almost relieved.

“I got it last week.”

“No, that was another job, for other reason.”

“I haven’t looked for another message since,” she said.

“I tried to reach you again.”

Anyone who’d used her in the past was rarely persistent. If Jack didn’t get back to them within a couple of days, they’d assume she was unavailable either because she had another job or because she was dead or arrested. Dratshev, on the other hand, would keep trying to contact her until the cleaners was out of stubs. He’d always had a lot of respect for her ability to do any kind of work without complications.

“Two jobs in one week? Business is either going really well or really bad.”

“Business is business. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.” Dratshev wasn’t his usual self. Annoying and crude as the guy was, he was always in a good mood.

“I bet some new laws have thrown a wrench in your plans.”

Dratshev was silent. “I don’t plan to buy a ranch,” he finally said.

Jack almost laughed. “I mean, someone is making problems for the metal business.” That was the term Dratshev used when referring to the weapons trade.

“Ah. Da , that suka .” Dratshev hesitated before adding, “Fuck her. She will change her mind if she wants money to invest in her America. I have other merchandise until then.” The mob boss wasn’t getting to the point and didn’t seem eager to talk about what was on his mind.

“Okay. Well, anyway,” Jack said, “I’m calling to let you know you have to stop asking for me.”

“Why, we are friends, no?”

“No. But that aside, I’m retired.”

“You mean—”

“I mean I don’t work anymore.”

“But for me you make exception.”

“Not for you or anyone.”

Dratshev sighed. “Just one more?” He sounded desperate, and the words big money hadn’t even come up.

“What’s up?”

“A friend wants to meet you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She wants to talk to you, not me.”

“She?” It was rare to have a woman in this business.

“Da.”

“How does she know me?”

“I don’t know, but she knows I know you,” Dratshev said.

“Who is it?”

“Someone with big money and…big power.”

So, someone else was the one with big money this time. “An associate of yours?”

“ Da . We have business in common.”

“Tell her no.”

“I can’t. She doesn’t like that word.”

“Tell her I’m dead.”

“She knows you are alive.”

“Who the hell is she?” Jack was getting irritated.

“Her name is TQ. They call her the Broker.”

“I don’t know any TQ.” Jack’s heart was pumping so hard she could see her shirt move. “But what the hell, one last job for big money can’t harm. Give me her number.”

“No number,” Dratshev replied. “She calls me.”

Just then, Cassady came out of the department store and waved at Jack when she saw her in the booth.

“Listen, tell your associate I’ll talk to her,” Jack told Dratshev. “I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

“Jack, this woman, she—”

“She what?”

“I have never met her, but she is very scary.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Jack said hastily, and hung up.

Cassady had just reached her when she stepped out of the booth.

“Who was that, hon?” Cassady asked.

“Someone left me a message at the cleaners. I wanted to see what it was about.”

Cass frowned. “Are you kidding me? We agreed you’d never contact these people again.”

“I know this guy. He’s the one who hired me for Owens.”