Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

After an uneventful hour and a half had gone by, the president discreetly looked down at her bare left wrist. She let half a minute pass before she looked down at her right hand, where her watch was. Strange , Shield thought, but then again, so was everything about this mission.

Half an hour later, Thomas got up, and her massive Secret Service contingent followed. Shield approached the president and followed her out to the foyer while the other ten bodyguards cleared the way.

Thomas paused for a moment and looked around.

“Can I help?” Shield asked.

“No, I found what I was looking for,” the president replied as she headed toward the ladies’ room. “I won’t be a minute.”

Shield didn’t say anything but followed her.

“That’s really not necessary,” Thomas said when she intercepted her at the door.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Shield tried not to sound sarcastic. “But it’s my job.” She checked the outer lounge / powder room and interior stalls while Thomas stood at the door. Although security had already checked everything far in advance and again during the evening’s festivities, she secured the rooms once more and motioned for the president to enter.

Thomas took a seat in the lounge before one of the mirrors and opened her purse. “I’m certain you have better things to be doing than check bathrooms,” she said before touching up her lipstick.

“You’re right, I do.” Shield stood a few feet behind her, studying the president’s face in the mirror. “But like I said, it’s my job.”

“And yet, for someone so concerned about protecting me, you seem to find time to enjoy yourself in the process.”

“Excuse me?”

Thomas looked at her in the mirror. “Please refrain from unprofessional behavior in my presence, and save it for the bars.”

“Unpro…” Shield lowered her voice. “I don’t understand.”

“I said you could call me by my first name in private,” the president said. “I didn’t say you were free to pick up women on the job.”

Where the hell had that come from? Shield was a professional at all times while working; she’d barely even glanced at the waitress. She was about to fire back with something caustic but stopped. The Secret Service contingent was just outside and she was wearing a communications device, so the other agents might already have heard the whole conversation. Shield had a name in her field and wasn’t about to mar it because Thomas was looking for reasons to fire her.

None of this was making sense. One moment, the president wanted them on a first-name basis, and the next she was trying to pick a fight. Did Thomas have regrets about how open she’d been with Shield the other night? Was she afraid she might have insinuated something incriminating, or did she regret having shown how afraid she was of Moore?

Shield looked at the president and smiled. “My apologies, Madam President.” She went back out into the foyer and shut the door behind her.

*

Ryden stared at the mirror. She looked as infuriated as she felt, more with herself than anyone. She had no idea where all that had come from, especially since her bodyguard hadn’t done anything wrong. Though Kennedy might be Ratman’s guard dog, so far she had been polite and discreet. She’d even lied for her to Moore.

Kennedy, however, unnerved and unsettled her; the way her bodyguard scrutinized her every move made her feel transparent. That scared her in a way even Ratman didn’t. Kennedy’s steel-blue stare seemed to see inside the real her —Ryden the florist and candle maker, the insecure, repressed, and distant orphan who’d come to fear affection, not the blackmailed and threatened look-alike liar she was now. That possibility frightened her more than the dangerous web of deception she was trapped in.

She had spent the last forty years surviving, not living. Too afraid to get close to anyone, she’d known foster kids couldn’t afford the luxury of love or attachment, so she’d learned to make herself invisible in order to be accepted or at least tolerated. That way, one of the foster families would let her stay and include her in their life, and maybe someone, someday, would care enough to even love her. That day never came.

When she’d turned eighteen, she was free to be where and with whomever she chose. But freedom meant nothing because she’d become too afraid to fully live.

Ryden looked up at the mirror. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t realized she’d been crying until she saw the smudged mascara. Maybe this time when she was freed from this new hell and received a new identity and fresh start, she’d find the strength to live.

She wiped her eyes and straightened her skirt and blazer before opening the door. Kennedy, standing just outside, turned to look at her, but Ryden stared straight ahead. She just didn’t have the strength to face those soul-searching eyes. Without a further word to her bodyguard, she returned to the dinner.

Soon the evening finally came to a close, and the White House retinue returned to Air Force One. Ratman once again secluded himself alone with her in the office of the plane, leaving the bodyguard outside.

“You did well tonight, as far as I could tell,” he said. “Any complications during dinner?”

“No,” she said hastily. “My dinner companions kept pressing for more specifics about future trade and the European economic crisis, but I stuck to what you told me.”

He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket as he nodded approvingly. “I have a slight addition to your schedule tomorrow.” Handing the typed sheet to her, he said, “I need you to make a phone call in the morning precisely at nine a.m. Your schedule is free then. I’ll have a special cell phone for you to use, and I’ll be listening in to feed you anything further you need to say.”

Ryden glanced down and read the lines. At least one of the reasons for all the intrigue involved in putting her in the White House became suddenly clearer.

Chapter Twelve

Arlington, Virginia

Next morning, March 1

Senate Majority Leader Andrew Schuster smiled as he peered out the window of his tri-level Tudor mansion, watching his son Matthew chat excitedly with two of his neighborhood friends. Matt was no doubt regaling them with descriptions of their visit to Disneyland to celebrate his eighth birthday, one that neither of his parents had thought he’d see.

Three months ago, Matt had been near death, but the liver transplant had transformed him into an active, healthy kid with a bright future. Andrew still had moments of regret that he’d had to arrange a black-market deal to get his son moved up the waiting list and procure a matching organ, but only because an innocent man’s life had been cut short to make it happen. He still asked himself repeatedly, would he have taken the deal with the Broker if he’d known the young donor would be killed to make it happen?

At least the truth had never come to light, which would have crippled his rising political career. As the Senate majority leader, he was one of the most powerful men in Washington and well positioned to make his own run for the presidency in eight years—four, if Elizabeth Thomas decided not to run for reelection.

Andrew sincerely liked Thomas and personally agreed with most of her announced legislative agenda, especially her controversial plan to combat the illegal-arms trade. The president wanted to create a whole new department within the ATF—Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives—to deal exclusively with the problem. The plan would provide the new department not only with ample resources and funding to do the job but also with legislative muscle to strengthen penalties for those who continued to deal in black-market weapons. Despite major opposition from the National Rifle Association and other pro-gun groups, the Democrats had regained narrow control of both houses of Congress, so the proposed plan should sail through without major obstacles.