Radclyffe - Honor Reclaimed

"What's the status, Lieutenant?" Landers asked.

"They're on their way down." He carried a stack of silver packs the size of small knapsacks to the zippered front of a white polyurethane enclosure that he had erected between the side doors of the black vehicle and the double glass doors of the building's lobby. The entire structure, resembling a long narrow tunnel, extended like an accordion from inside the vehicle and was supported by thin semicircular hoops at four-foot intervals. When he unzipped the flaps and folded them outward, he created a chute that led directly from the front door of the building to the car. Then he placed a stack of foil-wrapped packages on the plastic floor just inside the front opening.

From a few feet away, Cam observed everything warily. She could feel the dozens of eyes on her back as the first responders clustered behind the barriers that had been hastily erected to keep even the emergency personnel back from the immediate scene. "Environmental protection suits?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I want you to suit me up so I can go in the vehicle with them."

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the front door, his posture erect and alert. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't do that. Authorized personnel only."

She took one quick step forward before Landers caught her arm. Cam whipped her head around, a sharp retort on her lips.

"Just hold it together a little longer, Cam," Landers said in a low but forceful tone. "Let them secure the assets, and then we'll worry about access."

Assets. Packages. Targets.

Cam swore, but held her ground. Suddenly, the glass doors opened, and the three officers in protective suits exited in a cluster, each guiding a figure shrouded in white. Cam sought Blair's gaze above the surgical mask, and for one brief instant, they connected. Her lover's blue eyes, so clear and strong, called to her.

"Blair," Cam whispered.

And then she was gone.

Cam stood on the sidewalk, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life, while all around her, activity escalated. Landers ordered the HAZMAT team back into the building to complete decontamination procedures, while firemen were dispatched to secure the main water and electrical supplies. The perimeter that had been hastily erected around the square had traffic snarled for blocks in every direction. The wail of police sirens was a constant backdrop to her own clamoring thoughts. For the first time in her life, she couldn't formulate a plan. Someone had taken Blair, and that single devastating fact left her reeling. It didn't matter that those in charge were presumably friendly. She trusted no one and struggled to subdue the panic that ate at the edges of her reason.

"Cameron."

Cam glanced down at the manicured hand loosely holding her wrist. She recognized the slender fingers, the perfect oval nails, the practiced touch. She raised her eyes to Valerie's and saw that the CIA agent had a cell phone cradled against her ear. Valerie smiled faintly and nodded at her, and Cam's head cleared.

Where? Cam mouthed.

Valerie nodded again but said nothing, obviously still listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. Standing nearby, Felicia watched just as acutely, and the instant Valerie closed the phone, snapped, "Well? Do you have a location for us?"

"Walter Reed," Valerie announced,

"Let's go," Felicia said, starting toward the street.

"Wait a minute," Cam instructed. Both women looked at her in surprise as she removed her radio and clicked to a secure frequency. After a few seconds, she said, "This is Roberts. Are you in the loft? Okay, describe for me the location of the paintings.. .In what?.. .Which crate?.. .Okay, thanks."

She disconnected and turned to her team members. "The HAZMAT officer says the paintings came out of one of the crates labeled 9/6. That's the date of Blair's last show."

"Do you think the toxin was planted at the gallery opening?" Felicia asked, her face creased with concern.

"It's possible. Foster was there," Cam said grimly. "And the crates with the paintings that were sold that night are still there now, waiting to be inventoried and shipped."

"Oh my God," Valerie murmured. "Diane."

Felicia looked at her watch. "It's almost eleven. They'll be opening right about now."

Galvanized, Cam pointed to Blair's building. "Valerie, find Landers and have her dispatch another team to Diane's gallery. Felicia and I will head over there-—"

"No," Valerie said sharply. "I'm coming with you."

"Fine," Cam said, knowing there was no time to waste and that she would not be able to dissuade Valerie in any case. "Felicia, brief Landers."

"Got it, Commander."

*

The five-minute walk to where Cam had left her vehicle seemed to take an hour as they pushed and squeezed their way through the dense crowd. Once they were on their way, traffic forced Cam to drive at five miles an hour even when they were several blocks beyond the cordoned-off area.

"God," Valerie groaned, "I could walk there faster than this."

"It's unlikely that anyone will disturb those paintings," Cam observed, threading her car between two yellow cabs and earning irate oaths from both cabbies.

"Those bastards."

Cam glanced at Valerie, fairly certain that she hadn't meant the cab drivers. She could never remember hearing Valerie raise her voice before, let alone curse. She wondered if it was something more personal than the attacks earlier in the week that provoked her response. "Was Diane part of the plan?"

"God, no," Valerie answered quietly.

"But it wasn't an accident you were at the gallery opening." Cam glanced at her watch. It had only been eighteen minutes since they'd left Blair's building, but it felt like eighteen hours. And nothing she could do would get them to Diane's any faster. She doubted that even Landers's team could get there quickly, considering the state of traffic. "Did they tell you to establish a relationship with Blair's best friend?"

"Our orders are never as direct as that, and we often only get a clear picture of the greater plan after the operation has begun. Sometimes, not even then." Valerie stared ahead into the clogged Manhattan streets, her thoughts turned inward. "No. I was just as surprised as you were when I got the call to show up there."

"You hid it well."

"That's my job, don't forget," Valerie said in a slightly mocking tone.

"Are you really an art dealer?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

Much to Cam's surprise, she realized that her initial resentment at discovering she had been the victim of an elaborate deception had turned now to a curious form of respect. Valerie was, very much like Cam, bound by duty. Both answered the call without question, often at significant cost to themselves and those who loved them. It was difficult for Cam to remain angry when she herself carried much of the same guilt.

"When did they recruit you?"

Valerie smiled softly at Cam. "Even sooner than you. I was a senior in high school."

"Jesus."

"I was bright and idealistic, and I came from a long line of patriots. Both my parents were career Navy."

"Do they know?"

She shook her head sadly. "No. And my father died thinking that I had tossed over the guiding principles they had taught me in favor of an extravagant lifestyle."

"I'm sorry," Cam said, meaning it.

"Well, I could have taken a more traditional route, but," she shrugged and laughed, "there was something about the secrecy that appealed to me."

"No regrets?"

A beat of silence passed, then Valerie answered quietly, "Only one."

"If it makes a difference," Cam said, "I understand."

"That means more than you'll ever know."

Cam finally turned onto the street where Diane's gallery was located, swerved into an illegal parking place in front of a fire hydrant, and cut the engine. As they hurried up the street, she said, "I want you to get Diane and the rest of the employees out of the gallery. If they haven't moved the paintings, there is no reason at this point to believe any of them have been contaminated. You take Diane home while I wait for Landers's team to show up and secure the space."