Radclyffe - Price of Honor

“I’ve never been on a long train ride,” she said with a laugh. “I suspect it’s going to be…interesting.”

“I suspect after the first night trying to sleep in a bed two feet wide you’ll change your mind.”

“It’s a brilliant media move, though, don’t you think?” She waited for him to get his coffee and they sat together. “It will appeal to the public—this grassroots kind of campaign.”

He nodded. “He could use a bit of a down-home, common-man image, if he can pull it off.”

She was surprised by the flatness in his tone, but then reminded herself that as much as the press sought neutrality, reporters were still individuals, and not everyone was in Powell’s camp. She found Andrew Powell to be an energetic, intelligent, and fair president, but that wasn’t why she was here.

“I’d prefer a train ride here in the States than an overseas trip anytime,” she said, steering away from a flammable topic.

“I agree with you.” He laughed. “At least the food will be recognizable.”

She smiled, sipped her coffee, and thought that eight days on a train with Dusty Nash sounded like a very fine idea.

Chapter Eleven

0530. The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour and a half. By then she’d be ninety miles away, and this town, these mountains, the past wouldn’t even be a memory. She’d learned to erase memories that served only to weaken her with longing and loss. All she’d take with her from this place would be anger and determination, and the sound of her father’s voice calling her to action. Jane pulled in next to Hooker’s black pickup truck, left the engine running, and signaled for him to join her in the Jeep. He frowned but, after a few seconds, climbed out of his truck and slid into the passenger seat.

“Do you have the information?” Jane asked.

“Yeah,” Hooker said. “But there’s a problem.”

His eyes drifted down to her hand in the pocket of her cargo coat. If he made the assumption she had an automatic pointed at his midsection, he’d be right. “What kind of problem?”

“My contact has to bring in a supplier, and they won’t deliver unless it’s face-to-face.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, as long as I set the meeting place,” Jane said.

“That’s the problem. They don’t know you. But they know me.”

Jane laughed. “Are you suggesting I take you along?”

Hooker grinned, his dark eyes glittering like a fox scanning a henhouse. “That would be the idea.”

“No deal. I don’t plan on spending the next four days worried about you trying to kill me in my sleep.”

“Look, I’m no killer.” At her stare, he shrugged. “I’m no cold-blooded killer, let’s put it that way. If somebody comes after me, sure I’m going to defend myself. Besides, think about it. You know who I am, and that’s a big risk. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.”

“Then we share that much.” Jane didn’t trust him, but trust was not the issue. Expedience was. Jennifer might not have much more time. And she might never have another chance. She had something Hooker wanted, but he posed a threat. “No deal.”

“If you take me with you, I can spell you driving and you’ll get there quicker. The buy will go down without a problem, and then we’ll part ways.”

“What about your boss?”

Hooker grunted. “I’m independent.”

Translated as he had no loyalty to anyone but himself. That was in her favor. She wasn’t looking for a partner. “How much?”

“Another fifty thousand.”

Jane laughed. “Another twenty-five.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty.”

He studied her and seemed to realize she wasn’t going to bargain anymore and nodded. “You’ll find I’m a pretty handy guide.”

“There’s one more thing.”

He eyed the hand in her pocket again. “What would that be?”

“I want the name of the man who hired you.”

Hooker snorted. “Yeah, and then my life won’t be worth anything. I can’t—”

“What makes you think your life is worth anything now?”

“You’re not going to kill me in the parking lot of this diner.”

“No, but I might do it a couple miles from here and dump your body in a field. There’s a storm coming. They won’t find you until summer.”

“I don’t think you’re any more of a killer than I am.”

“You’re wrong,” Jane said softly. “The name.”

Something in her voice must have convinced him. He sighed. “Twenty-five thousand.”

“A hundred thousand. Ten now as agreed. The rest when I get the explosives…in cash.”

“Franklin Russo.”

Jane laughed. “Your loyalty is touching.”

“Once Russo figures out I’m not coming back with the cash, he’ll be pissed. No more job.”

“Then why take it?”

Hooker chuckled. “Someday soon he’ll decide I’m a liability. When that happens, he’ll get rid of me without losing a second’s sleep. I consider this my severance pay.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“I don’t live far from here. Follow me back so I can stash my truck and grab some clothes.”

“You better pack anything you don’t want to do without. You don’t know you’ll be coming back.”

*

Chicago

The cargo plane taxied to a stop, and a few minutes later the big cargo bay doors opened and the ramp descended. The flashing lights of the police, fire, and emergency response vehicles parked along both sides of the runway lit the landing zone in a wash of red. Blustery winter air flooded the hold, and Dusty hurried to free Atlas from his kennel so he could move around and keep warm. As soon as the K9 SUVs were offloaded, she led him down the gangway and into the rear of the lead car. She climbed into the passenger seat next to the driver.

Dave Ochiba nodded to her. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket despite the ten-degree weather. “No time for coffee.”

She laughed. “When is there?”

She liked Dave. He was friendly without getting personal. His unlined face, the color of polished walnut, made it impossible to judge his age, but she knew he’d been driving in the K9 unit well before she came on board. He was one of the only people she’d ever let handle Atlas if an emergency arose.

He grinned, started the lights flashing, and pulled out behind a quartet of motorcycle cops who swooped in front of them and led them down the access road to the highway. Two other K9 SUVs and a half dozen support and command vehicles followed as they headed toward downtown Chicago. Three miles out they came to the outer perimeter where local law enforcement had barricaded the road and redirected traffic around the anticipated presidential motorcade route. Dave stopped at a checkpoint and, once cleared, sailed down the now-empty streets. They passed another constellation of local law and Secret Service vehicles a mile from the convention center at the inner perimeter. Dave pulled around the back of the convention center and she clipped Atlas’s leash to his harness.

“Let’s go, boy.”

In their assigned sector, they checked all the potential sites for ordnance placement—under vehicles, within Dumpsters and trash cans, on loading docks, and along walkways. The other agents and their dogs did the same until all the parking lots and entrances had been cleared. Once inside, the agents and dogs worked a grid pattern on the main floor, basement, and exit. The advance team was already on-site, posted on the stage where the president and his party would gather for the speech, at the exit routes, the restroom that had been cleared for the president’s use, the ready room where he could review his notes, and the large banquet hall where the breakfast itself would be served. By the time they finished, the president’s motorcade was en route.